Day 41: Breakfast

[oftemptation]

Endrance turned his head to look at the intercom, giving it a look that would wither an entire rose garden in an instant. He would never get used to ending up in his room again from somewhere else in the Institute

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[allroadslead]

Adrenaline still running high, Sam awoke with a start. His hand flew to the side of his neck, expecting to feel the slip of blood beneath his fingers. Instead, there was a thin raised line, a few inches in length. A slip of the blade at most, though still deep enough to be visible and too close to hitting the jugular for comfort. No dried blood flaked away at his touch, either. Someone had obviously cleaned the cut. It and the gash near his side, he realized, when he felt the stitches pull as he propped himself up on one elbow. He had no idea who had done that, but his head was fuzzy and he felt like he had a massive hangover, but with more pain, and so it didn't seem worth it to question who had saved him the trouble of having to stitch himself back up.

He gingerly pushed himself to a sitting position, lifted his shirt up to eye the bandage. The novelty of close calls had worn off awhile ago, but even so, he was pretty damn lucky to get away with only a couple of flesh wounds considering his brother had tried to stab him and slit his throat. And it probably said something that such sentences no longer fazed him. Man, why were their lives so-

Dean. God. Yeah. He needed to find Dean. He needed to find Dean and he wanted to find Lelouch. Provided Dean hadn't already gotten there first. Assuming-shit, he'd been assuming that Dean would remember everything, but it occurred to him that it'd be an immensely stupid move for Lelouch to go around brainwashing people if they could simply come after him once they'd regained their senses. There had to be a reason why Lelouch wanted Sam dead, but didn't even bother with the same for Dean. Which meant Dean might've been given, what? A preemptive order that would wipe out his recollection of the incident? One that prevented him from remembering just who was responsible? That, or he'd still be under its influence. He was really hoping for the former, but it wasn't just wishful thinking that made him suspect that that was what had happened. He didn't remember either Andy or any of the psychics maintaining that permanent of a hold. The chances of it being possible were slim; he knew how much it could take out of a person to use those powers and his own were already giving him far more trouble than they should've in this place, for whatever reason.

Or hell, maybe he was trying to avoid considering the possibility that Dean would still be trapped. One more thing to take care of. There was too much crap going on and how was he supposed to prioritize anything anymore when all of it had to do with Dean in one way or another? Half the time, it was like a game of Six Degrees of Keeping Dean Winchester in One Piece.

Screw it. He'd find them both, get some answers one way or another. No point in sitting here worrying, even if getting on his feet was going to be...an issue. He didn't have to try bending his leg to know that his knee was a bit jacked. Of all the places Dean had to slam his foot into, Jesus. But staying put was hardly an option, so he shoved himself to his feet, anyway. The initial movement sent a jolt of pain through his leg, but the next steps were-okay, it wasn't better, exactly, but by the time his nurse poked her head in at last, Sam had managed to keep from limping too heavily. Best he'd get for now, all things considered.