Rhys sleeps for a while, drained by his wrestle with the sticky, toxic, tar-like influence of the demon blood, but he starts to stir when Sam grows restless. Rhys reflexively reaches down to stroke Sam's hair, trying to soothe him before he's fully awake and aware of what he's doing. Pain, sickness, bad dreams, hallucinations, Rhys just wants to be close to make it go away, and it's that part of him that responds first before he's even really aware of what he's doing. Then he actually is awake, feeling the weight of Sam's body on his and remembering everything, and he blinks and looks around, taking stock of the situation.
It wasn't as much rest for Sam as Rhys had hoped for, glancing at the bedside clock and listening to his own mildly throbbing head, but it was some, at least, and he grimaces faintly. His legs feel like lead, and Sam looks flushed and miserable. "Hey." Voice soft in the dim light of the loft, he rubs Sam's shoulder lightly, as much to reassure him as to get a sense of his state. He doesn't want to move just yet, and he's pretty sure that Sam's feeling awful enough that he doesn't want to, either, so he just stays there, letting Sam stay crashed against him. "You think you feel up to trying something to drink in a few minutes? Promise it'll be better than the last one."
"Hey." He shifts directly off of his lap, curling up against his side, burrowing deeper into the quilt that had been tucked around him. The fever is burning him up, but he can't stop shivering. Rhys has taken the edge off of the withdrawal, but there were still side effects that he'd have to cope with. His body craving more of the blood, the last of the toxic stuff working its way out of his system.
The idea of drinking anything at all makes his stomach roil in protest, but he forces himself to nod. He needs fluids, he needs something to keep his body going.
Rhys nods. "Sure. Just take it slow." He gives Sam another minute huddled into the quilt, before he carefully gets up from the bed, stretches hard enough to feel his joints pop, and goes to the kitchen. He puts on tea for himself and makes a cup of apple juice mixed with cool water for Sam, closes the blackout blinds on the window, and dampens a cloth with warm water.
The fridge has a few things in it, but supplies are light...much as he hates the idea, Rhys is going to have to go do some shopping soon, or get some groceries delivered. He's actually doing okay on cash for a change, at least, which is a help right now- one less thing to worry about, because he needs to focus all his attention on Sam right now. But he's got enough to get by for a day or two, at least. See how today goes, then think about maybe calling in a favor or two from a local friend who can drop by with some essentials.
Rhys sits at the edge of the bed with the cup and reaches over to touch Sam's shoulder lightly, letting him know that he's back and giving him as much time as he needs to work himself up to moving enough to drink. "Just manage as much as you can, don't make yourself sick forcing it," he says, voice soft as he reaches over to wipe Sam's forehead.
Closing the blackout blinds earns a soft groan of relief from the huddled mass on the bed. The dark is so much easier on his pounding head and burning eyes. He's freezing and burning up and as long as he holds still, his muscles won't start cramping viciously on him. He can hear Rhys moving in the kitchen and the simple sounds are reassuring. He's not alone, not locked up to suffer withdrawal without help.
The hand on his shoulder stirs him out of a semidoze and he slowly levers himself up to sip gratefully at the cool liquid.
As he drinks, Sam slides his hand around Rhys's wrist. He's not sure if holding his hand would be too much, but the physical contact helps keep him grounded. "Thank you."
One of Rhys's better investments, those blinds, because otherwise, working the night shift and trying to sleep during the day would be hell. In the dimness, he smiles, and turns his hand so that he can slip it into Sam's much bigger one. Apparently no, holding his hand isn't too much to ask, and Rhys's rubs the back of Sam's hand with his thumb as he sips slowly at the juice. Curling back up with Sam might be a bit stifling, considering he's fever-wracked right now, but if he asked him to, Rhys wouldn't hesitate at that, either- anything to keep Sam as comfortable as possible.
"Got peace and quiet for a few days, so just stay put, and let me know if you want me to move the heater or anything," he offers, continuing to massage Sam's hand. He can try a little more magic soon, too, considering it's more of an ongoing therapeutic measure than a quick fix, but he'll have to ration his own energy to keep from wiping himself out.
He lets Sam drink in silence for a minute, then, somewhat regretfully, brings up the next question on his mind, knowing it's an unpleasant necessity. Things have been rocky between the brothers for months now, and if Sam has been fighting demons alone, it stands to reason...Rhys gives a small inward sigh. He makes the question as gentle as he can, though, completely non-accusatory. "Sam? Does Dean know where you are, or do you need me to call and tell him?"
The hand sliding into his gets a faint smile from Sam and he squeezes his hand briefly, grateful for the comfort and the contact. He'd be happy to sit in the cool dark, holding Rhys's hand until he can lay down and rest a little while longer. Here he's safe, here he's able to let his guard down and allow himself to hurt.
Then Rhys mentions his brother and his hand twitches, his entire body going rigid with tension.
"No. No he doesn't know what happened. What I did."
And if it wasn't bad enough losing Bobby, Castiel and faced with what felt like a losing battle? Now he had to crawl out of a whiskey bottle and deal with this?
Grimacing, Sam sets the juice aside and moves to lie down again. "He was passed out when I left. Might not even notice I'm gone." And that's the part that hurt the most, the part that drove him over the edge. Dean was so mired in his own loss, his own pain, that he couldn't acknowledge what was going on around him. Like his little brother losing a battle with an unseen voice in his head.
Rhys sighs, and keeps rubbing Sam's hand. He didn't want to bring the elder Winchester brother up, and seeing Sam's reaction just makes him regret it. He didn't mean to throw it in Sam's face. Things have been tense between them and Dean has never been good at facing problems...things like Bobby's death. Dean's heavy drinking in times of trouble isn't exactly a secret, either.
It's just something that Rhys has a hard time with. The sibling bond is something he respects entirely too much at times. His sister was only eleven when he left, and he would have given anything to have been able to be her Big Brother for longer than he had.
Which is also why it pisses him off so much that Dean is so callous toward Sam, so judgmental. But even when he's being a stubborn, closed-off asshole, Rhys figures that Dean at least deserves to know that Sam is safe. Especially so soon after losing the closest thing the two of them had to a father figure.
But he can't take back the question, he can only try and smooth it over. He wasn't intending on telling Dean anything anyway, or even talking to him, for that matter. Texting was a brilliant thing sometimes. So Rhys just rubs his eye with his free hand...the bad one, the one that bothers him when he's tired. "He doesn't need to know, either, Sam. All I was figuring was leaving him a text to let him know you're okay...that's all. Far as I'm concerned? You needed a break. That's it."
Sam desperately misses when things were simpler. Long before Ruby, before Dean's deal, back when things were normal between all three of them. When his brother listened to him, when he was still so certain that Dean.. well. No sense in looking back, right?
Feverish and dizzy, Sam curls on his side, not quite ready to let go of the steadying influence of Rhys's hand. "Use my phone. Then turn it off. He'll try and use the GPS."
Dean was going to be pissed, and the last thing he needed right now was for his brother and his best friend to be fighting because of him. He just wanted to curl up and try to shut out the fire and the blood and the noise dancing at the periphery of his vision.
Rhys misses those times, too...when the worst they had to deal with was a rogue skinshifter or a gremlin infestation or maybe an aughisky, when getting the job done and cleaning up was so much simpler and they didn't spend all their time feeling lost, broken, and overwhelmed. It might not have been bliss, it was still a scary, dangerous, dirty as hell job, but at least they felt in control of things.
Rhys sighs quietly and folds his other hand around Sam's, too. He'll call soon, but not right now. Not with Sam looking so...lost, huddled up on the bed. He reaches over for the best of the pile of pillows and moves it over for Sam, helping him get more comfortable, and wipes his forehead and neck again with the damp facecloth before letting him settle back down. "I will in a few minutes. Not in a rush." He smiles down at Sam and tugs the blanket back up around his shoulder a little more tightly. "If you can't get back to sleep, just try an' relax, at least. If you do okay with the juice, we'll try some tea in a little while, but I'll be right here, 'kay?"
Those were good days, and it's odd to think that battles and the decompression in the crappy motel rooms with bad movies and beer and pizza were when things were simpler. Better. Poker games at Bobby's. Rhys baiting and screwing with Dean while Sam laughed. Ellen dragging them all back to the house for dinner.
"I can't.. can't talk to him. Not now." And he can't help but feel guilty about it, that he couldn't go to his brother, but Dean was lost in his own guilt and sorrow and.. Sam couldn't reach him. Shutting his eyes against an unexpected flood of tears, he squeezes his hand and gives a shaky nod.
"Might want to turn it off anyway." It had been vibrating and generally sounding in his pocket since he'd called Rhys. Likely Dean had woken up to find him gone.
"You got one thing to concentrate on right now, Sam, and that's getting better. Don't worry about Dean. Even if you do want to have this conversation...this isn't the time for it." His voice is gentle, but stern. Sam is exhausted, hurting, and reeling, and there's no way in hell Rhys would expect him to talk to his brother right now, to do anything but lay here and get his strength back. And Dean isn't in any shape to face things right now, either. Neither brother has ever been good at giving themselves the space to recover when they're down and right now? They're both down.
Rhys squeezes Sam's hands again, giving them another rub, then gets up, a little regretfully. Maybe when he gets back, he can crawl back in with Sam, and sleep a bit more. The bed's big enough, and the contact seems to soothe the big hunter...and Rhys feels better being right there. Right now, even the couch doesn't feel quite close enough, not when Rhys is this concerned. "Get it out of the way, then, eh?" Then maybe the two of them can try and get a little more rest.
Sam's jacket is hanging up, where Rhys put it out of the way the last time he got up, and it only takes Rhys a minute to retrieve the cell phone, flip it open, and tap out a quick text before snapping it shut again and powering it down. "I'm safe, taking a break. Will be in touch soon." He feels a little shitty about such a sparse message, but it covers what Dean needs to know and Rhys doesn't particularly feel like going into the details, either. He slides the phone back into the jacket pocket, feeling better for having passed the message on...especially seeing the backlog of unanswered messages already on the phone.
That done, he pours himself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher in the fridge and chugs it, fills a bottle with water for Sam for the bedside, and returns to his friend's side with a small, hopefully reassuring smile. "See? That's all." He pauses, watching Sam quietly for a few seconds, then slides back onto the bed next to Sam, hands finding his shoulders again to try and soothe a little more of the pain away.
Sam screws his eyes shut and nods, letting Rhys gently boss him around. Most of the time he balks at the idea of resting, of taking anything for himself. But Rhys is one of about three people who can order him to rest and he'll do so without argument. He winces when he hears his phone close, but it's for the best for now. Dean.. will have to cope on his own for a little while longer.
Dizzy and nauseous by the time Rhys returns to the bed, Sam shifts restlessly beside him. The big hunter's hand seeks out Rhys again. His skin itches and crawls and he's freezing and burning up all at once. The contact helps, gives him something else to focus on. It's not as simple and as focused as shoving his thumb against the scar on his hand, but he'll take whatever aid he can.
He's not sure he can sleep, but he can at least lay still so Rhys can. "'ve got cash in my wallet. Cover some of the expenses."
Because even in his wrecked state, Sam wants to help.
Sam is also so close to simply falling down that Rhys doesn't think his body's giving him much choice in the matter, which makes his job as the healer that much easier. But it's nice that Sam listens to him. Not that Rhys is afraid to bully Sam a bit when he doesn't, of course, but the less Sam fights right now, the more energy he's putting toward recovering.
Back on the bed, laying close by, Rhys wraps his hands around Sam's again and holds it. Pain can be a good distraction at times, but gentler is better when it can be managed. And he smiles a little at the offer of cash...unsurprised that Sam is still trying to cover his share. "I'll keep it in mind. We can hold the fort for a day or two. See if you can manage to eat something soon, but as long as you're drinking, that's more important, and I've got enough detox and treatment herbs on hand."
He probably won't doze more than lightly, with Sam restless and keeping watch over him, but Rhys feels better being close, and before he does sleep, he can try a little more magic on Sam, soothe away just a bit more of the pain and bolster his resources. He's worried, and he won't rest well until Sam does...it's as simple as that.
There's only so long Sam can fight sleep. It doesn't matter how uncomfortable he is, that he's hot and aching and the noise in the back of his mind is a nearly constant roar of fire and blood and pain. After a time, his body simply shuts down on him. Not the best way to sleep, but it's the only way that's reliably worked since that hunt a few weeks ago.
He murmurs a sleepy acknowledgement before his world fades out and he sinks gratefully into darkness. The nightmares still come, they always do, but he stirs and mutters through them, never once pulling himself fully awake.
Six hours. He sleeps solidly for six wonderful hours.
The bed is warm and soft and the presence beside him is a reassurance that yes, he's safe. Sam opens his eyes with a groan and instantly regrets it. The moment he allows himself to wake up, his body decides to make it's displeasure known, seizing his muscles with cramps as it works the last of the toxic blood out and craves more. Just a little more to make the pain go away.
It's a lie and Sam knows it, but it doesn't make the sudden pain any easier to bear. He simply shuts his eyes against it and tries to ride it out.
Rhys drifts off into sleep too, for a while, waking now and then to check on Sam beside him. It's restless sleep at times, but it's still sleep, and when Sam starts to shift and mutter, Rhys can't help but reach over and smooth his brow with a cool hand or pull the blanket up a little more.
When he wakes up, he's bleary and carpet-mouthed, but the ache in his head has mostly gone away, and when Sam stirs, Rhys has wolfed down a bowl of cereal and is waiting with another cup of tea for him. More remedy for him to try and keep down, and some fresh, mildly sweet-smelling incense lit to try and help with the headache and air out the closeness of the room. It's been quite a few hours now, and Rhys is starting to worry about the serious symptoms...he's pretty sure he can handle most of them, but seizures worry him the most. Sam's a lot bigger than Rhys is, and keeping Sam from hurting himself might be difficult.
Still, he's watching closely and doing what he can, and at least Sam doesn't have to be alone through this. Being sick and miserable is bad enough, never mind the weight of his backslide on him. Rhys knows what that shame feels like, and being able to be the voice of reason for Sam, to tell him that it's okay, that he's not a bad person...fuck, that's got to count for something.
"Hey. How you holding up?" Rhys says quietly when he sees Sam moving around.
The fresh incense helps clear his head a bit, but does nothing to alleviate the crashing headache or the general feeling of complete and utter hell that accompanies waking up. He's achy, nauseous and can't help but hate himself. It was his fault that he was in this situation to begin with.
"Hey." Wearily, he drags a hand across his face. "I'm.." He's not okay. Not even close to okay. "Better."
Wrapping his hands around the offered mug he offers Rhys a wan smile. Sam isn't sure he'll be able to keep much down, but he's going to try. He's going to soldier through this as best he can because that's what he always does as a Winchester.
It wasn't as much rest for Sam as Rhys had hoped for, glancing at the bedside clock and listening to his own mildly throbbing head, but it was some, at least, and he grimaces faintly. His legs feel like lead, and Sam looks flushed and miserable. "Hey." Voice soft in the dim light of the loft, he rubs Sam's shoulder lightly, as much to reassure him as to get a sense of his state. He doesn't want to move just yet, and he's pretty sure that Sam's feeling awful enough that he doesn't want to, either, so he just stays there, letting Sam stay crashed against him. "You think you feel up to trying something to drink in a few minutes? Promise it'll be better than the last one."
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The idea of drinking anything at all makes his stomach roil in protest, but he forces himself to nod. He needs fluids, he needs something to keep his body going.
"Yeah. Yeah, just a little?"
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The fridge has a few things in it, but supplies are light...much as he hates the idea, Rhys is going to have to go do some shopping soon, or get some groceries delivered. He's actually doing okay on cash for a change, at least, which is a help right now- one less thing to worry about, because he needs to focus all his attention on Sam right now. But he's got enough to get by for a day or two, at least. See how today goes, then think about maybe calling in a favor or two from a local friend who can drop by with some essentials.
Rhys sits at the edge of the bed with the cup and reaches over to touch Sam's shoulder lightly, letting him know that he's back and giving him as much time as he needs to work himself up to moving enough to drink. "Just manage as much as you can, don't make yourself sick forcing it," he says, voice soft as he reaches over to wipe Sam's forehead.
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The hand on his shoulder stirs him out of a semidoze and he slowly levers himself up to sip gratefully at the cool liquid.
As he drinks, Sam slides his hand around Rhys's wrist. He's not sure if holding his hand would be too much, but the physical contact helps keep him grounded. "Thank you."
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"Got peace and quiet for a few days, so just stay put, and let me know if you want me to move the heater or anything," he offers, continuing to massage Sam's hand. He can try a little more magic soon, too, considering it's more of an ongoing therapeutic measure than a quick fix, but he'll have to ration his own energy to keep from wiping himself out.
He lets Sam drink in silence for a minute, then, somewhat regretfully, brings up the next question on his mind, knowing it's an unpleasant necessity. Things have been rocky between the brothers for months now, and if Sam has been fighting demons alone, it stands to reason...Rhys gives a small inward sigh. He makes the question as gentle as he can, though, completely non-accusatory. "Sam? Does Dean know where you are, or do you need me to call and tell him?"
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Then Rhys mentions his brother and his hand twitches, his entire body going rigid with tension.
"No. No he doesn't know what happened. What I did."
And if it wasn't bad enough losing Bobby, Castiel and faced with what felt like a losing battle? Now he had to crawl out of a whiskey bottle and deal with this?
Grimacing, Sam sets the juice aside and moves to lie down again. "He was passed out when I left. Might not even notice I'm gone." And that's the part that hurt the most, the part that drove him over the edge. Dean was so mired in his own loss, his own pain, that he couldn't acknowledge what was going on around him. Like his little brother losing a battle with an unseen voice in his head.
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It's just something that Rhys has a hard time with. The sibling bond is something he respects entirely too much at times. His sister was only eleven when he left, and he would have given anything to have been able to be her Big Brother for longer than he had.
Which is also why it pisses him off so much that Dean is so callous toward Sam, so judgmental. But even when he's being a stubborn, closed-off asshole, Rhys figures that Dean at least deserves to know that Sam is safe. Especially so soon after losing the closest thing the two of them had to a father figure.
But he can't take back the question, he can only try and smooth it over. He wasn't intending on telling Dean anything anyway, or even talking to him, for that matter. Texting was a brilliant thing sometimes. So Rhys just rubs his eye with his free hand...the bad one, the one that bothers him when he's tired. "He doesn't need to know, either, Sam. All I was figuring was leaving him a text to let him know you're okay...that's all. Far as I'm concerned? You needed a break. That's it."
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Feverish and dizzy, Sam curls on his side, not quite ready to let go of the steadying influence of Rhys's hand. "Use my phone. Then turn it off. He'll try and use the GPS."
Dean was going to be pissed, and the last thing he needed right now was for his brother and his best friend to be fighting because of him. He just wanted to curl up and try to shut out the fire and the blood and the noise dancing at the periphery of his vision.
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Rhys sighs quietly and folds his other hand around Sam's, too. He'll call soon, but not right now. Not with Sam looking so...lost, huddled up on the bed. He reaches over for the best of the pile of pillows and moves it over for Sam, helping him get more comfortable, and wipes his forehead and neck again with the damp facecloth before letting him settle back down. "I will in a few minutes. Not in a rush." He smiles down at Sam and tugs the blanket back up around his shoulder a little more tightly. "If you can't get back to sleep, just try an' relax, at least. If you do okay with the juice, we'll try some tea in a little while, but I'll be right here, 'kay?"
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"I can't.. can't talk to him. Not now." And he can't help but feel guilty about it, that he couldn't go to his brother, but Dean was lost in his own guilt and sorrow and.. Sam couldn't reach him. Shutting his eyes against an unexpected flood of tears, he squeezes his hand and gives a shaky nod.
"Might want to turn it off anyway." It had been vibrating and generally sounding in his pocket since he'd called Rhys. Likely Dean had woken up to find him gone.
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Rhys squeezes Sam's hands again, giving them another rub, then gets up, a little regretfully. Maybe when he gets back, he can crawl back in with Sam, and sleep a bit more. The bed's big enough, and the contact seems to soothe the big hunter...and Rhys feels better being right there. Right now, even the couch doesn't feel quite close enough, not when Rhys is this concerned. "Get it out of the way, then, eh?" Then maybe the two of them can try and get a little more rest.
Sam's jacket is hanging up, where Rhys put it out of the way the last time he got up, and it only takes Rhys a minute to retrieve the cell phone, flip it open, and tap out a quick text before snapping it shut again and powering it down.
"I'm safe, taking a break. Will be in touch soon." He feels a little shitty about such a sparse message, but it covers what Dean needs to know and Rhys doesn't particularly feel like going into the details, either. He slides the phone back into the jacket pocket, feeling better for having passed the message on...especially seeing the backlog of unanswered messages already on the phone.
That done, he pours himself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher in the fridge and chugs it, fills a bottle with water for Sam for the bedside, and returns to his friend's side with a small, hopefully reassuring smile. "See? That's all." He pauses, watching Sam quietly for a few seconds, then slides back onto the bed next to Sam, hands finding his shoulders again to try and soothe a little more of the pain away.
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Dizzy and nauseous by the time Rhys returns to the bed, Sam shifts restlessly beside him. The big hunter's hand seeks out Rhys again. His skin itches and crawls and he's freezing and burning up all at once. The contact helps, gives him something else to focus on. It's not as simple and as focused as shoving his thumb against the scar on his hand, but he'll take whatever aid he can.
He's not sure he can sleep, but he can at least lay still so Rhys can. "'ve got cash in my wallet. Cover some of the expenses."
Because even in his wrecked state, Sam wants to help.
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Back on the bed, laying close by, Rhys wraps his hands around Sam's again and holds it. Pain can be a good distraction at times, but gentler is better when it can be managed. And he smiles a little at the offer of cash...unsurprised that Sam is still trying to cover his share. "I'll keep it in mind. We can hold the fort for a day or two. See if you can manage to eat something soon, but as long as you're drinking, that's more important, and I've got enough detox and treatment herbs on hand."
He probably won't doze more than lightly, with Sam restless and keeping watch over him, but Rhys feels better being close, and before he does sleep, he can try a little more magic on Sam, soothe away just a bit more of the pain and bolster his resources. He's worried, and he won't rest well until Sam does...it's as simple as that.
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He murmurs a sleepy acknowledgement before his world fades out and he sinks gratefully into darkness. The nightmares still come, they always do, but he stirs and mutters through them, never once pulling himself fully awake.
Six hours. He sleeps solidly for six wonderful hours.
The bed is warm and soft and the presence beside him is a reassurance that yes, he's safe. Sam opens his eyes with a groan and instantly regrets it. The moment he allows himself to wake up, his body decides to make it's displeasure known, seizing his muscles with cramps as it works the last of the toxic blood out and craves more. Just a little more to make the pain go away.
It's a lie and Sam knows it, but it doesn't make the sudden pain any easier to bear. He simply shuts his eyes against it and tries to ride it out.
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When he wakes up, he's bleary and carpet-mouthed, but the ache in his head has mostly gone away, and when Sam stirs, Rhys has wolfed down a bowl of cereal and is waiting with another cup of tea for him. More remedy for him to try and keep down, and some fresh, mildly sweet-smelling incense lit to try and help with the headache and air out the closeness of the room. It's been quite a few hours now, and Rhys is starting to worry about the serious symptoms...he's pretty sure he can handle most of them, but seizures worry him the most. Sam's a lot bigger than Rhys is, and keeping Sam from hurting himself might be difficult.
Still, he's watching closely and doing what he can, and at least Sam doesn't have to be alone through this. Being sick and miserable is bad enough, never mind the weight of his backslide on him. Rhys knows what that shame feels like, and being able to be the voice of reason for Sam, to tell him that it's okay, that he's not a bad person...fuck, that's got to count for something.
"Hey. How you holding up?" Rhys says quietly when he sees Sam moving around.
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"Hey." Wearily, he drags a hand across his face. "I'm.." He's not okay. Not even close to okay. "Better."
Wrapping his hands around the offered mug he offers Rhys a wan smile. Sam isn't sure he'll be able to keep much down, but he's going to try. He's going to soldier through this as best he can because that's what he always does as a Winchester.
The phone rings and he winces at the noise.
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