Dean eased his brother up from the floor, steadying him until he was sure Sam could stand on his own. Then he led him into the kitchen, washed the gunpowder from his face, and fed him a bowl of sedative-laden soup.

Sam stayed quiet throughout. Disconnected, eyes vacant, his body wracked by occasional tremors. When his head started drooping over his bowl, Dean guided Sam back to bed, tucked him in, and then lay down beside him.

"We'll figure it out, Sammy." His voice was thick with the strain of holding back tears. "I'm not gonna let you die either."