(fic) Out in the Cold {part 2 / ?}
Cas stood at the end of the bed, also watching Sam, though with an intensity that was more inquisitive than concern. “I am saying I did not raise Sam from Hell. I do not know why he is back.”
Dean huffed, pacing across the foot of bed, unsure whether to be worried, afraid or relieved. “How can he just pop up, topside, and no one knows what the hell’s going on? It doesn’t make sense Cas.” Dean flopped onto the end of the bed, his head sinking into his hands.
Cas turned from the window and looked at Dean. “No, it doesn’t.”
A thoughtful look crossed Cas’ stoic features and when Dean looked up a second later, Cas was gone. With a glance at the clock, Dean went to the bathroom and opened the door, a billow of steam escapeing in the time it took him to reach in and grab a towel from inside. “Ow! Ouch, ouch...” Dean hissed, tossing the towel between his hands to keep from hot steaming his hands as he walked over to the bed Sam laid on. He quickly lifted the blanket covering Sam and peeled the large towel that was draped across his torso. Replacing it with the heated on, Dean laid the covers back on top of his brother’s quaking frame and sat on the edge of the bed again, carefully running his hands over and over Sam’s back and arms, trying to help with warming him.
“Dude, you’re gone for a month, and you decide to turn up in the middle of a freaking blizzard. Smart move Sammy...” Dean consoled himself by talking to Sam when he was passed out. It had already been two days since Bobby had called in the middle of the night (much to Lisa’s displeasure) to inform Dean that he’d caught wind that Sam was back, and only an hour’s drive from Lisa’s.
Dean had rushed out the door, flipping the cover off the Impala (didn’t feel right going after Sammy in the pickup truck) and speeding down the interstate to reach the storm in forty five minutes. He’d found his brother pale, blue, shaking and cowering in the corner of an abandoned restaurant with what looked like every piece of cloth in the building clutched against him.
Dean took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face roughly to shake the memory. It didn’t matter, what mattered now was why Sam wasn’t warming up. “C’mon Sammy...
Dean huffed, pacing across the foot of bed, unsure whether to be worried, afraid or relieved. “How can he just pop up, topside, and no one knows what the hell’s going on? It doesn’t make sense Cas.” Dean flopped onto the end of the bed, his head sinking into his hands.
Cas turned from the window and looked at Dean. “No, it doesn’t.”
A thoughtful look crossed Cas’ stoic features and when Dean looked up a second later, Cas was gone. With a glance at the clock, Dean went to the bathroom and opened the door, a billow of steam escapeing in the time it took him to reach in and grab a towel from inside. “Ow! Ouch, ouch...” Dean hissed, tossing the towel between his hands to keep from hot steaming his hands as he walked over to the bed Sam laid on. He quickly lifted the blanket covering Sam and peeled the large towel that was draped across his torso. Replacing it with the heated on, Dean laid the covers back on top of his brother’s quaking frame and sat on the edge of the bed again, carefully running his hands over and over Sam’s back and arms, trying to help with warming him.
“Dude, you’re gone for a month, and you decide to turn up in the middle of a freaking blizzard. Smart move Sammy...” Dean consoled himself by talking to Sam when he was passed out. It had already been two days since Bobby had called in the middle of the night (much to Lisa’s displeasure) to inform Dean that he’d caught wind that Sam was back, and only an hour’s drive from Lisa’s.
Dean had rushed out the door, flipping the cover off the Impala (didn’t feel right going after Sammy in the pickup truck) and speeding down the interstate to reach the storm in forty five minutes. He’d found his brother pale, blue, shaking and cowering in the corner of an abandoned restaurant with what looked like every piece of cloth in the building clutched against him.
Dean took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face roughly to shake the memory. It didn’t matter, what mattered now was why Sam wasn’t warming up. “C’mon Sammy...