When Sam managed to get his heavy eyelids to lift, a plain, usual hotel room greeted him. The curtains were shut, but he could still hear traffic passing by. He couldn't judge what time of day it was by how many cars went by, though.

He couldn't tell what day it was at all, and it was that thought that helped him manage to blink his heavy eyelids all the way open.

"Sam?"

The voice wasn't at all who he expected to be, and he craned his head towards the speaker, who was to his right. "Bobby?" he asked, and was surprised when his voice was hoarse and tiny. It sounded as if it hadn't been used in awhile. "What...?"

"Good to see you awake, son," Bobby said quietly, and there was a sigh of relief with his words. He moved close to Sam's bedside until he was able to crouch next to Sam's shoulder. "How you feelin'?"

Confused. Bewildered. Beyond puzzled, but mostly... "Starting to feel like I missed something," he croaked. "What-"

Bobby winced at his voice and rose again to full standing. "You need water," he said gently. "Let me get you some before you keep goin'."

It was only when he reached the small table and bent down, pulling a small cup full of ice out of a cooler, that Sam realized what the room itself really looked like. Sheets were haphazardly tossed aside, chairs askew. The duffel bags had been tossed also, not neat and set like they usually were. Towels from the bathroom looked damp and tossed, and the stains looked too dark, like blood. The first aid kit was open with smears of dried blood on the side, and the now meager contents were spread out across the table.

And it was then that Sam realized what the room was missing. Dean.

"Where's Dean?" he asked, pulling his arms up underneath him to rise. It was a slower process then he'd expected, as if he hadn't used the muscles in too long, which was ridiculous since he'd just used them yesterday, but it all paled in comparison because he didn't know- "Bobby, where's Dean? Is he all right, is he..." Oh god, maybe a hospital. If Dean'd gotten so bad to have created this mess, then he had to be in the hospital, but Sam didn't remember him going, and it spurred him on into getting his palms flat on the bed.

"He's fine," he realized Bobby was saying, and suddenly Bobby was back at his side. Sam hadn't even seen him move from the table. "Just stay down, Sam, your brother's fine, I promise you. Ease up already, kid."

Sam stared up at him, still trying to process what he was being told. "Dean's-"

"Right here, dude," and from the left, near the window, Dean was already rising out of his seat and kneeling next to Sam's bed. He'd been sitting in the shadow of the corner near the window; Sam had missed him, and wasn't exactly sure how. He didn't miss seeing his brother now, not with the haggard lines and the circles underneath his eyes, or the way his hair stuck in every direction, looking as if it hadn't been washed for days.

But he looked...relieved. Honestly happy like Sam hadn't seen him in months, and relieved. "How you feelin', Sammy?" he asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

Like Sam's was, except Sam still sounded asleep. "Are you okay?" he asked, and winced, swallowing against the roughness.

Dean gazed at him, before snorting incredulously. "I'm fine, Sammy, I promise. Don't worry about me, dude."

His eyes checked Dean over himself, making sure that Dean wasn't just saying it for Sam's sake, but he seemed to be telling the truth. Besides looking incredibly tired (and still relieved), Dean seemed okay.

And he was looking Sam in the eye for the first time in a week. Ever since the Siren...well, it hadn't been good. They'd lost their rhythm, lost being brothers. The last week, they'd simply been two strangers sharing a car and a hotel room who just happened to have stumbled onto the same hunt at the same time.

And he was calling him Sammy, Sam realized. A nickname that hadn't been used in ages, and he was using it again now, looking concerned. "Sammy? You with me?"

"What happened?" Sam asked, and Dean tensed up all of a sudden, any traces of happiness disappearing. Before Sam could inquire about that, Bobby spoke up.

"What do you remember, Sam?"

Sam turned to him and began to answer, then stopped, because there was no answer. He frowned and dug back, but the most recent memories felt...slippery, like the door was there, but he was being rejected even as he tried to get in. "I..." He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing against the block that kept the memories that were just right there. Finally, a watery image appeared, and he pulled it to as much focus as he could. "A...newspaper? There was a picture on it with words, but..." The image slid away, and Sam realized that his fingers were digging in tight enough to hurt. He released his nose and turned to Bobby. "That's it," he said helplessly. "I can't...guys, what happened?"

Because he was beginning to suspect that the mess in the room, all the bloody towels and the empty first aid kit, had to do with him.

Dean had relaxed, looking relieved again, except there wasn't any sign of a smile this time. Bobby nodded as if he'd expected Sam's answer, but neither of them gave any response beyond that. "Seriously, what happened?" Sam asked, swallowing and coughing once to get past the catch in his throat that just wouldn't go away. He got his hands underneath him again, the mattress indented as if he'd been there awhile. "I don't remember anything." It only took one good push, and Sam was sitting up.

"-ammy?! Sammy? C'mon, open your eyes, I gotcha, you're fine, just c'mon and wake up, okay?"

"Sam? You back with us?"

Sam slowly reopened his eyes, feeling exhausted and not knowing why. He was laying back down again, and both Bobby and Dean had a grip on his shoulders. Dean let out a long sigh of relief before hanging his head. "Holy god, Sammy," he breathed. "Just...just rest for a little bit, okay? Don't try that again."

"Wha-?" And now his mouth wouldn't work at all. Sam swallowed and swallowed again, and had to close his eyes when the room began to spin.

"Just sleep," Bobby advised. "We'll talk later, son. Rest up."

Even as he drifted off again, however, it was Dean's voice that followed him down. "You're fine, Sammy. I gotcha."

Sam slept.