The light clicks on, and there's no blood on his hands. The sink is the same suspiciously-stained off-white it's been since they got here and there are no red marks on the taps. If he looks behind Dean, his bedclothes are clean, and there's no Lucifer in sight. Sam feels heat rise on his cheeks in shame - how could he have been so stupid?
Dean comes into the bathroom, looking around like he's expecting a threat. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks, turning a concerned gaze on Sam. Sam looks away, not able to meet Dean's eyes.
"I - I, um - I thought -" He trails off, unable to think of the words. He squeezes his eyes closed instead, trying to banish the memory of all that blood. It's gone now, but he can still feel it, staining him, marking him as unclean.
"Alright," Dean says, resigned. "Whatever you were - or are - seeing? It's not real. Okay?"
"I'm fine, Dean."
"Bullshit." He marches over to where Sam is standing and turns the tap off, yanking Sam's hands away. Sam watches with surprise; he hadn't realised he hadn't done that yet. Come to think of it, he can't actually feel his hands anymore.
"Tell me, Sam," Dean starts, challenging. "If you're so fine, I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for why you were standing in the dark, apparently trying to freeze your own hands off."
Sam looks at the floor and shuffles uncomfortably. There's no way he's going to be able to convincingly explain this away, and both of them know it.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean says, which only makes Sam flush harder. Dean apparently takes pity on him, because he backs away, adopting a casual, non-threatening stance. "Look, we'll figure this out, okay? We will. But we can't do that if you're not focused. So get your ass back in bed, and we'll work on it in the morning."
Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, but goes anyway, heading past Dean back into his blood-free bed. He pulls the covers up and closes his eyes, trying to breathe normally as he feels Dean's eyes on him. He knows sleep isn't going to come tonight, but the least he can do is try, for Dean's sake if nothing else.
As Dean's breathing returns to snores, Sam's thoughts shifts back to blood and death and yourfaultyourfaultyourfault. He squirms, but stays put, gritting his teeth when he once again feels blood coating his hands.
RE: FILLED: all the perfumes of arabia (2/2)
Dean comes into the bathroom, looking around like he's expecting a threat. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks, turning a concerned gaze on Sam. Sam looks away, not able to meet Dean's eyes.
"I - I, um - I thought -" He trails off, unable to think of the words. He squeezes his eyes closed instead, trying to banish the memory of all that blood. It's gone now, but he can still feel it, staining him, marking him as unclean.
"Alright," Dean says, resigned. "Whatever you were - or are - seeing? It's not real. Okay?"
"I'm fine, Dean."
"Bullshit." He marches over to where Sam is standing and turns the tap off, yanking Sam's hands away. Sam watches with surprise; he hadn't realised he hadn't done that yet. Come to think of it, he can't actually feel his hands anymore.
"Tell me, Sam," Dean starts, challenging. "If you're so fine, I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for why you were standing in the dark, apparently trying to freeze your own hands off."
Sam looks at the floor and shuffles uncomfortably. There's no way he's going to be able to convincingly explain this away, and both of them know it.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean says, which only makes Sam flush harder. Dean apparently takes pity on him, because he backs away, adopting a casual, non-threatening stance. "Look, we'll figure this out, okay? We will. But we can't do that if you're not focused. So get your ass back in bed, and we'll work on it in the morning."
Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, but goes anyway, heading past Dean back into his blood-free bed. He pulls the covers up and closes his eyes, trying to breathe normally as he feels Dean's eyes on him. He knows sleep isn't going to come tonight, but the least he can do is try, for Dean's sake if nothing else.
As Dean's breathing returns to snores, Sam's thoughts shifts back to blood and death and yourfaultyourfaultyourfault. He squirms, but stays put, gritting his teeth when he once again feels blood coating his hands.
Somewhere to his left, Lucifer begins to laugh.