I'm doing okay, but I'm not any physically stronger and it's another Herculean feat to get myself standing and stay standing. Getting myself out of my clothes might require an Act of God.

First though – the IVs and the Pedialyte have done their job, so before I get undressed, first I need to relieve myself. More than an act of God, the one thing that keeps me standing to accomplish that is wanting to accomplish it before Dean comes back and decides I need help.

When it is accomplished though, I need to rest my shoulder against the wall for a minute to catch my breath and regain at least a little strength. I hear Dean outside the bathroom again, talking, to Cas or Bobby, I can't tell.

In another minute there's a knock on the door and Dean just comes right in.

I want to make some crack about how I should've told him to wait for an invitation after he knocked, but that would take more energy than I have right now. Instead I save my breath and wait to hear what he's going to say about my condition.

He sets a set of my warm clothes on the sink.

"You sure you're up for this?" He asks me. He's concerned, trying not to be worried about me, I see it in his face. "We can figure something out."

"Yeah, sure. I can do it." I tell him, even though I'm freezing hot and burning cold and disorientingly lightheaded. "Just – would you turn the water on for me? Give it a chance to warm up? You know how long it takes for the hot water to make it this far…"

I try to make it a joke, even though it's true that Bobby's got a lazy hot water tank, but Dean doesn't find it funny, if the glare he's shooting me means anything. Without taking that glare off of me, he leans down and turns the taps and flips the switch, and the shower turns on.

"Really, Sammy. Whatever it takes, we'll spare your dignity, if you can't hack this – "

"I can do it, Dean. I can. I'll take it easy. I'll take it slow. I will. I can. I can do it."

"All right, all right. Don't wear yourself out trying to convince me. C'mon. Can you get the clothes off by yourself?"

"Yeah." Really, I'm kind of surprised he's given in that easily.

"You want me to put the transfer bench back in? In case you need to sit?"

"No, with my luck I'd trip over it and break my neck."

That makes Dean chuckle.

"Yeah, I can sure see that happening. All right. I will be right outside this door, if you need anything. All right?"

"Yeah. All right. Yeah."

Dean sighs and I wonder if he's going to change his mind just that fast, but he taps my arm and leaves the bathroom and shuts the door and I hear the creak of the floorboards that means he is standing right there next to the door.

And I'm safe, for the moment, from forcible showering.

Steam starts rising from the tub, which means the water is hot enough, which means I need to start taking my clothes off. I shrug out of my long-sleeve shirt easy enough and toss it over the transfer bench still in front of the sink. But pulling off the rest of my clothes takes some doing and stings like I'm flaying my skin off of myself.

Once they're off though, t-shirt and jeans and underwear, all stiff and crumpled and kicked aside, I gather enough strength to step into the tub, under the shower, and oh my God, this hot water is the best thing I have ever felt in my life. I take back every bad thing I ever said about Bobby's hot water tank. I love his hot water tank. I want to take his hot water tank with me anywhere I go.

I'm less in love with his soap and shampoo but right now I'd wash with Bon-Ami if I had to. I want to get clean. I want to put on clean clothes and lay down in a clean bed and forget the feeling of sweat and filth and disorienting agony. So I wash my hair with Bobby's high end shampoo and wash the rest of me with soap that smells like Old Spice and then I just stand under the hot water until it starts to cool off.

I shut the water off and hear that floorboard squeak so I know Dean is restless out there.

"I'm fine." I call as loud as I can as I make what's left of my strength get me out of the tub so that I can get dry and get dressed in private, with no over-protective, over-hovering, over-driven big brother coming in to make sure I do it right.

"Prove it." He calls back, and I think to myself, 'I will.'

Then again, I've only gotten as far as pulling on my boxers and jeans before I'm considering asking Dean for help anyway. I'm lightheaded still, from hunger now I'm thinking, but lightheaded is lightheaded whatever the cause and I'll probably hate collapsing and knocking myself unconscious even more than Dean will.

So, I call him, "Dean?" as I pull on the long sleeved t-shirt and I'm barely done speaking and pulling when the door opens and Dean is in.

"How're you doing?"

"Floor's getting a little unsteady." I tell him, and just to prove my point, I'm abruptly resting my shoulder against the wall, watching the floor pulse under my feet.

"All right, here, c'mon." He moves close enough to pull my arm over his shoulder and that makes the floor go still again. "You can shave later. Let's get you out to the kitchen and feed you before you wither away to nothing."

"Gladly."

I lean more than I want to on Dean's strength as he finesses us through the bathroom door. He grabs my long sleeve shirt and socks off the sink as we pass and then we're in the hallway and making our slow but sure way to the kitchen.

tbc