After his bout in the hospital, Sam has been sleeping a lot, which isn't surprising considering the bucket-loads of meds he's on. Sometimes Dean can't even get Sam to make sense, much less have a conversation with him. He missed him. For a split second he thought about giving Sam a break from the medicine, but he knew that he could never cause his brother that kind of pain.

Sam relished the way time passed while on these strong painkillers. He felt good, and when he was in danger of thinking too much, it was time for the next dose. Keep 'em coming. He really felt as though he needed this break from reality. The reality that his body is broken, his mind is heading in the same direction and he is dragging his brother down with him. Best to not think on it right now.

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His little brother needed to eat. Goddammit, it had been days. He entered Sam's dark room, quickly turned on the light and forced his brother to a seated position.

"Wha'? Dean?! What the hell?!" Sam slurred.

"Time to eat buddy. You're getting too skinny under those pajamas. C'mon Sammy, open up." He pushed a spoonful of applesauce towards Sam's mouth.

Sam tried to fend Dean off, with little success. "Dude, lemme alone. Iss time for more medicine, isnnit?"

"Jesus Christ, Sam! No it isn't time for more medicine. You're not due for another two hours. You need to freakin' eat, man. No…, you are GOING to eat. Now, open the eff up."

Without a moment to catch his breath, Sam was suddenly faced with a mouthful of applesauce. Some of it dripped out the side of his mouth. "Yur… yur not the bossame, jerk." The puppy dog eyes were out in full force now.

"You know what? You're right, Sammy. I'm sorry." At this, Sam's mouth hung open in surprise.

"Ha! Gotcha!" more applesauce filled his mouth.

Sam finished the applesauce and a few bites of a sandwich without a word. Dean noted how "checked out" he seemed. He did seem out of it, but after a few bites of the sandwich, a couple of crumbs went down the wrong pipe.

The agony was overwhelming. His whole body hurt and he couldn't catch his breath.

Strong hands rubbed his back, occasionally tapping gently. "S'okay Sammy. You're okay. Try to take a breath. C'mon now. Breathe with me. In… out….

He didn't notice that Dean had left until a moment later when there were two pills and a glass of water in front of him. "C'mon buddy, you need these."

Without argument, Sam took the pills then flopped back into the cushion of pillows. "Th…thanks Dean. You take carrame, even when I don' deserve it."

"You always deserve it, Sammy. Go to sleep, okay? I'll be back in a few hours with a little food and your meds."

Sam was almost out again when Dean heard, "takes carrame."

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Sam awoke to the persistent call of his bladder. "S'great", he sighed. He pulled himself up on shaky arms and turned on his bedside lamp. "Can do thiss." Rubbing at his chest, he carefully stood and made his way to his bedroom door. Clearing his throat, he called, "Dean?" He knew his brother would raise hell if he were out of bed for no reason, he thought he could explain "the call of nature, and all."

Dean didn't respond, Sam assumed that he was on a supply run or something. He made his way down the topsy turvey hallway. The walls wouldn't stay still and he was getting pretty sick of it. He wondered, for a moment, if this was a Men of Letters trick. Once inside the bathroom, he took care of business and headed towards the sinks. His chest ached and his legs weren't working properly. Everything hurt. He chanced a glance at the mirror and looked at his scary reflection. Greasy hair, dark circles under the eyes, his face was a bit thinner and he noticed sores forming on his lips. "Ugh" was his simple response to what he saw. He noticed out of the corner of his eye, a pill bottle. Bringing it up close to his blurry eyes, he noted that it was his pain medicine. "Yeah… m'in pain." He poured out two tablets then swallowed them with water from the sink, cupped in his hands. The topsy turvey hall was back as he made his way to his bedroom. "I hate you," he gulped as his stomach began churning. Finally his bed, his salvation, was in view. Climbing under the covers, Sam fell asleep immediately.

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Dean carried the bags of soup, crackers and more applesauce down the staircase. Of course, he didn't forget the beer either. After he put everything away in the kitchen he came up to check on Sam. He noted that he was fast asleep with his bedside light on. He decided to leave it on, maybe Sammy would feel like reading or watching a movie or something later.

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He was under water. Sam was certain he was drowning. Hot, disgusting liquid filled his mouth as he reached out for the boat in his dream. Choking on the water, he called out for Dean.

It was time for Dean to head to bed, himself. He would just check on Sam and make sure he was good. Peeking his head into his brother's room, he heard a terrible gagging sound. "Shit!" he yelled running for the bed. Sam was choking on his own vomit and he was turning all sorts of scary colors. "Sammy!" Dean yelled as he reached his brother and turned him on his side. He tried to clear his mouth of regurgitated applesauce and sandwich, all the while patting Sam on the back.

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It's weird. I'm not really sure where this is headed. I have a few ideas, but it is taking me a while to get there. Please feel free to help me, with either grammatical advice, story advice or any advice, really. (How to lose 10 pounds? Sure!)