"Feel better?" Hank asked gently, when Sam had put a halt to spewing his guts on the floor. He was empty.

Hank had one hand still holding onto Sam's elbow and the other bracing his forehead, as Sam bent forward over his knees.

Sam closed his eyes, tried to swallow down the nausea.

No, he didn't feel better.

What kind of question was that? How could he feel better if he was currently sitting in his own vomit? How could he feel better when he'd lost control in front of a total stranger?

"Sam?" Hank prompted. "Can you take some deep breaths for me?"

Sam hadn't realized that he was holding his breath. He gulped in some air, and let it out slowly.

"Good, kid," Hank praised, squeezing his elbow a little. "There you go."

Sam swallowed again, realizing he should probably mind his manners. "Sorry," he whispered, eyes still closed. He assumed that dealing with a puking kid was above Hank's pay grade.

"Nothing to apologize for," Hank assured. "Do you think you're through being sick?"

Sam nodded meekly.

"Okay. Let's get you cleaned up, huh?"

There was a light switch panel next to the door that had a string attached to it. Hank went over and pulled it. "I'm just calling for some help," he informed Sam, like it wasn't a big deal.

Oh, good. Involve more people in this.

Sam kept his eyes downcast on the floor until a nurse entered the room. She and Hank got to work quickly, bustling around him. Before he knew it, he was being wiped down with no-rinse soap and dressed in a too-big of pair blaring blue scrubs.

Sam continued to swallow hard, trying to rid the stale taste that lingered in his mouth. But that just made him feel sick all over again.

"Here, Sam," the nurse said, offering an unwrapped peppermint. "Would you like this to get rid of the taste?"

Why are these people so good at reading my mind?

Sam nodded and took the mint from her gratefully. He stuck it in his mouth.

"Sam," Hank said, crouching down in front of him. "I'm going to let you get some rest. We can finish this up later, okay?"

Sam wanted to say no. He wanted to just get this over with. He wanted to say I'm fine, I'm good. I'm not really this pathetic. But he was tired, and his face was hot, and he needed Dean. So he whispered okay and let Hank walk him back to his room.

It took two minutes for them to walk from room to room, but neither of them said a word and it felt more like an eternity.

"That was fast," Bobby commented when they appeared in the doorway, lifting his eyes from the newspaper he was reading. He took his reading glasses off and rested them on the arm of the chair he was sitting in.

Dean wasn't in the room and what was left of Sam's stomach dropped into his toes.

"Sam isn't feeling well, so we're cutting the session short," Hank explained. "If he's feeling up to it I'll come and talk with him some more later."

Hank continued to fill Bobby in while Sam made a hasty retreat to the hospital bed. Beds always made him feel safe.

He sunk into the sheets, belly first, and closed his eyes. He was grateful for his chance to shut everything out.

Only it didn't last long.

He felt a hand run through his head of hair not two minutes later. "You okay, kiddo?" Bobby asked gruffly.

Sam felt a little frustration with that question. Did he look okay? He decided to ignore Bobby's inquiry and instead responded with a question of his own. "Where's Dean?" he asked, voice muffled by the pillow his face was currently pressed against.

"He went to get a cup of Joe. I don't think he slept a wink last night."

Sam felt a pang in his heart. He felt guilty at those words, knowing he was the reason for Dean's lack of sleep. While in the meantime Sam had been out like a light; the drugs had taken him under.

He hated not having control.

He let out a shuddering breath. "Why'd you bring me here, Bobby?" he whispered. "I don't want to be here."

Bobby sighed, sadness and remorse coming off him in waves when he said: "We brought you here, Sam, because you burned yourself. Badly. You needed medical attention."

"I didn't mean to," Sam said reflexively, because Bobby had to understand that. He pushed himself up with wobbly arms. "I told you that."

Bobby was perched on the armchair and had pulled it up to the head of Sam's bed.

Sam met his eyes, desperate to get his point across.

"I know, Sam, and I believe you," Bobby assured him, resting a warm hand on Sam's knee. "But you still hurt yourself, buddy. And to be honest, I think it worries me more that this happened by mistake."

It really had been a mistake. That was the scary part. Sam doesn't even remember how it happened. One moment he was laser focused on counting the seconds tick away, the next he was on the porcelain floor of a crummy motel bathtub, pain and fear blinding him.

Losing control.

Again.

Sam looked down at his hands as his chest became uncomfortably tight. Which meant he was close to tears. "I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered, ashamed.

"I know that too, Sam," Bobby responded, squeezing Sam's knee a little.

Dean returned, two coffees in his hand, just seconds later, and Sam felt some of the tightness in his chest melt away.

"Sammy?" Dean seemed startled. "You're back already? That was quick." He crossed the room to hand Bobby one of the cups and promptly took a seat on the foot of Sam's bed. "How was it?" And before Sam could answer, Dean frowned and asked, "Why are you wearing scrubs?"

Sam looked away from Dean's gaze, embarrassed. "Because I threw up," he admitted softly. "Hank's not finished talking to me. He said he'd come back later."

"Puke scared him away, huh?" Dean asked lightly. "Aw, I'm sorry you got sick, man. How are you feeling now?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm okay."

"What about your back?"

"It's fine. Just a little itchy."

"Dr. Rupp said that's how you know it's healing," Bobby piped up. "So that's a good sign, Sam."

"Yeah." Sam scrubbed his tired eyes and yawned. "So what now?"

"Well, you should probably drink a little water and then get some rest," Dean answered. Lunch will be around in a couple of hours."

"Yeah, that's one idea." Bobby agreed with Dean. "But first I want to take the opportunity to knock both your heads together."

"What?" Dean asked. "Why?"

He was answered with Bobby tossing the newspaper in his lap. "You neglected to tell me about this."

Dean raised his eyebrows as he read the headline. Then he started to chuckle. "Damn, I'll be honest with you Bobby. I forgot all about this." He tossed the paper to Sam. "Check it out, Sammer. We're heroes."

The front page had a grainy picture of Sam and Dean entering the diner where Dean had stopped the robbery the day before. "Juvenile Heroes Take Down Man Involved in a String Of Robberies Around Town," Sam read the headline out loud. A feeling of dread filled the pit of his stomach and he couldn't pinpoint why. "Can't believe that was only yesterday," he mumbled.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Tell me about it."

Sam shrugged and handed the paper back to Bobby.

"How do you two knuckleheads get involved in something like this? This guy was dangerous. If you read the whole article you'd know that the last place this guy robbed, he actually killed the gas station clerk to get away."

"Really?" Dean asked. He whistled lowly. "Damn. But Bobby, relax. It was a milk run. I wouldn't have approached him if I didn't think I had the upper hand. C'mon. Dad's trained us for shit like this."

"He's trained you for monsters, and demons, and spirits. Humans are a whole different breed. I swear, you two are going to make me go gray before my time, pulling stunts like this." Bobby ran a tired hand over his face and let out a relenting sigh. "That being said, to say I'm proud of you would be an understatement. You stepped in and nobody got hurt. I guess I just don't like the thought of you takin' down something evil without yer Dad or me around to have your back."

Sam didn't like it either, but he was a little offended on Dean's behalf. "Dean didn't need Dad," Sam said. "He knows what he's doing, Bobby. He's a great hunter. He's smart."

Dean patted Sam's foot. "Sam's the real hero though," he said proudly. "He's the one who spotted the gun in the first place."

"Well, there's no denying that you two make a great team," Bobby said with a hint of fondness in his voice. "Just don't make a habit of it. When yer dad leaves you behind it's because you're supposed go to school and lay low. You're supposed to stay safe."

"We're Winchesters, Bobby," Dean said with a shrug. "Evil has a way of finding us."

Sam's chest tightened up again at the truth of his brother's words. It made him feel unbearably sad. He didn't want to think about that diner or how scared he was when Dean went up to the perp.

That would just send him on a whole other downward spiral.

And he was too exhausted for that.

"Dean…" he spoke up softly. "I-I think I want to go to sleep now. Is that okay?"

Sleeping was the best escape there was.

"Yeah, of course, kid. You still feel okay?"

"I'm just getting really tired," Sam answered. That, and he felt like he was falling apart at the seams, but how do you put something like that into words? He swallowed down the remaining sick feeling in his gut, and turned on his side so his back was facing his company. He let Dean pull the covers up over his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and let sleep drive the getaway car.

TBC…

A/N: So. Hi. Remember me? Lol - I want to sincerely apologize for the delay of this chapter. Life has been kind of a whirlwind over the past 4 months, but I think the storm has finally passed. There were weddings to attend, clinicals to pass, graduations to celebrate, jobs to search, and unfortunately a death of someone very near and dear to me (love you, TK). But some time has opened up again, and so I think (read: hope) I'm back in action. Thank you for being patient through my absence. I truly appreciate you all!