He breathed, and that was something of a feat. The dog that lay on the bed at his side had long since settled from alert to feeling that Sam was not only safe- but as relaxed as he got. Robert had rolled onto his back, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, just grateful to have his owner back.
There had been a short time, for him at least, that the line he so carefully toed- had broken. Shattered under guilt, pressure, a desperation that had cooled a little when Dean had returned to life- and even then, it took time. How long had he spent in another hallucination driven recovery from the demon blood? How long had he argued before he felt that strength he’d found snap once more? There was a question, he knew, of whether it was better to be crazy and unstable- or stable and dangerous to those in his way.
Maybe the worst part was that he remembered everything he did. He remembered the friends he threatened, his attempting to keep Dean imprisoned, essentially, in a room. That he’d kept Ruby prisoner when he’d found her again, that he’d been too damn high on the blood and the power, on that hell side that came through to fight his own anger. He could blame hell for part of it, but he couldn’t blame the addiction, the anger, on anyone but himself.
It made him rather- slow to move too much. Wary of most of the world until he found his footing again. It was a long drop from confident bastard to wary victim. From being able to ignore Lucifer as just a gnat on the wall, to having him looming over him again, the nightmares hitting with a new force. He could have killed the ones he cared about, he could have hurt Dean- and here he was, laying on a damn bed, trying to adapt with yet another thing he’d done wrong.
He could adapt, he supposed, if he didn’t miss not caring. If he didn’t miss the cold ease that he had moved through life- the power he could have used, the knowledge he wouldn’t hesitate from using. And yet- he hadn’t missed this constant jangling noise inside him, that wariness that around the corner would either come Dean- or Lucifer, or even Michael. That his day might go from normal, to breaking that wall, and he didn’t know when, or where, he would find some stability again.
So he’d lay here until he could figure it out, trying to block out any ideas of rain outside- the way his gut clenched, ready for thunder to come at any time- even if they hadn’t said it would be a thunderstorm.
But they never knew for sure.
No one ever knew what was around the corner, and those who did, long stopped giving a damn to warn anyone.
