Fandoms: Supernatural/Harry Potter
Word Count: 4,980
Setting/Spoilers: A 7x03 episode fix-it of sorts.
Warnings: Spoilers for 7x03 of Supernatural. You probably want to be familiar with the demented'verse if you are going to read this. It requires you to be at least a little familiar with an OC introduced in Seers, Souls, and Scandinavians.
A/N: I wrote this back in November 2011. I didn't post it, because it didn't really have an ending. It still doesn't really have an ending, but I realized that if I just kept it in the one episode, then it didn't need one.
Summary: Till heals Sam, tricks Dean, and enjoys a fine cup of tea.
Till was eating lunch quietly in the break room while some of the other Aurors played a game of exploding snap, when Harry walked in.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Harry said, and then turned towards Till. “Till, we need to have a meeting about revisions to the Healer kits sometime soon.”
For a brief second, Till wondered why the Healer kits might need revising, and then he realized what Harry was trying to say – and he had to tamp down the urge to spring out of his seat immediately. ‘Sometime soon,’ Harry had said. This was a warning.
“Is there anything specific about them you would like to discuss?” Till asked calmly.
“I’m not sure yet,” Harry shrugged, “maybe you should bring a kit to the meeting, and perhaps some additional supplies – and we can discuss what severity of injury we might need to treat in the field, if, say, we couldn’t immediately evacuate to a hospital.”
“Yes, sir,” Till replied. “I may need to make a trip to St. Mungo’s, do you have a time in mind for the meeting.”
“I’m very busy,” Harry sighed, “but the paperwork on this needs to be done as soon as possible. How about you run off to St. Mungo’s now and get whatever you think appropriate, and I’ll just summon you whenever I find a good hour or two in my schedule. Keep your mirror on you, yeah? It might mean coming in at odd hours. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Till said. “I am available for such a meeting any time.”
Harry nodded, and then left. Till began packing up the remainder of his lunch, trying to think of all injuries that may befall Hunters and what Till would need to treat them.
“Poor Harry,” Smithson said at the exploding-snap table, “he’s been run off his feet since that eclipse. Seems an odd time to be doing paper work on Healer kits – I mean, couldn’t it wait until he’s not in meetings with the Department of Mysteries all day?”
The eclipse, Till paused briefly, considering, the eclipse and now a ‘meeting on revisions to the healer kits.’
“Maybe connected,” Till said aloud.
“What?” Smithson asked.
“We don’t know what that eclipse means,” Till said. “It might be dark magic. It might be the beginning of something.”
“You think?” Smithson asked, the other exploding-snap players were all looking at Till now.
“Or maybe just paperwork,” Till said, but he doubted it.
Till blinked his eyes open and managed to lift his sleep heavy arm enough to pick up the sleek silver compact-mirror from the bedside table. He flipped it open.
“Till, ja, hej,” Till said, then his brain caught up, and he blinked at the image in the mirror, “Harry.”
“Hey Till,” Harry said, “sorry to wake you, but I need you in the office in fifteen minutes.”
“Da,” Till nodded, and flipped the mirror closed, then realized he had hung up on his boss – and had forgotten to speak English. Till hated mornings – or, in this case, the pre-dawn hours.
The sun was finally peaking over the horizon when Till made it to the Ministry of Magic ten minutes later. He had his Healer kit with him, including the extra supplies that he had picked up the day before – so he just went directly to Harry’s office.
It was odd, seeing the department so empty. Harry’s secretary wasn’t even in the office yet, but Till could hear voices coming from Harry’s office, the door hanging slightly open.
“Muggle affairs, my arse,” Harry said. “People are dying.”
“I know, Harry,” Ron Weasley’s voice replied, “but it’s not our country, mate.”
Till knocked on the door, causing it to swing open slightly. Harry and Ron both tensed and looked over at him, then relaxed. They both looked as though they’d just been dragged out of bed as well.
“Good morning, sirs,” Till said.
“Till, excellent,” Harry said, picking a piece of lined paper off of his desk. A map was spread out across the desk, held down by a paperweight. Though, Till doubted that it was just a paperweight. Harry held out the piece of paper, “Read this.”
Boys are safe. We are in a cabin in Montana, coordinates and map attached. We could use that medic of Harry’s. Dean has a broken leg. Sam has severe head trauma. They did a brain scan at the hospital, but it’s not like we could stick around for the results. We barely made it out of there. Dean says he seized on the way to the hospital.
“And why are they not in the hospital?” Till asked.
“Apparently the hospital is infested with monsters that want to kill them,” Harry said. “Do you have what you need?”
“Yes,” Till answered.
“Good,” Harry said. “Same rules as last time. Let’s go.”
Harry gave a nod to Ron and picked the paperweight up off his desk. Till tightened his grip on his Healer kit and stepped forward, placing his hand on the paperweight as well.
They landed amidst trees. It was dark.
“Sorry, I bet the scenery is nice during the day,” Harry said.
“I did not come for the view,” Till shrugged.
There was a log cabin in the trees, a soft light coming from the windows. An old car was pulled as close as possible to the front door.
Till followed Harry up to the house. There was a pause and a shuffle behind the door after Harry knocked, and then it swung open to reveal Bobby Singer. He looked tired, but relieved.
“That was quick,” he said, stepping back to let them in. Till immediately saw Dean lying on the couch inside. White cast on his leg, his eyes blinking slowly awake – muggle pain killers, Till guessed, strong ones.
“What the bloody hell happened?” Harry asked Bobby.
As soon as Dean saw Till, he tried to sit up, then winced, and then settled for pointing. Till pushed past Harry as soon as he realized what Dean was pointing at. Stretched out on a mattress on the floor was Sam. He was unconscious, with an angry red mark on his forehead.
“Crowbar,” Dean said, by way of greeting.
“When?” Till said, dropping his healer kit and pulling out his wand.
“’bout 24 hours ago,” Bobby said. “I’d have called you sooner, but I couldn’t until I knew we hadn’t been followed – and it’s damn hard ditching an ambulance and cramming Sam into a backseat when he’s conked out, and it’s not like Dean could help.”
Harry started asking Bobby questions about monsters again, but Till stopped listening as he started muttering the diagnosing spells. Till despaired at the words and numbers that appeared in the air over Sam’s head. There was swelling and bleeding, and Sam should have been seen to immediately, not 24 hours later.
Till started the wand-work to repair the worst of the damage, speaking the spells soft and low. He would periodically repeat the diagnosing spell to check his progress.
“Is it bad?” Dean asked, and Till realized that he had an audience. Dean was watching with wide panicked eyes, and Harry and Bobby weren’t talking anymore, instead they were standing at Sam’s feet, watching Till work.
“It was bad. Now better. I’m good healer, don’t worry,” Till assured quickly, reaching into his kit to pull out the potions he needed. Brain-work was delicate.
“Will he be okay?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Till said, carefully measuring the potion he needed.
“Will he...” Dean trailed off. Till looked up. Dean was looking at Sam in sadness.
“You need more painkillers, son?” Bobby asked softly. Dean shook his head.
“Sam wasn’t uh... Sam wasn’t doing so well,” Dean said, uncomfortably. Till realized what the problem was.
“You must tell me, Dean,” Till said softly. “I am his healer now, and if there is something I should know-”
“The wall – Cas knocked the wall down, and Sammy...” Dean paused. “Sammy was having a hard time – before we got attacked, I found him... he’s been hallucinating and he couldn’t tell what was real.”
“Shit,” Harry muttered.
“Can you...fix that too?” Dean asked.
“No,” Till shook his head, “I do not have the training – and such a case would be too dangerous, even for a master Legilimens.”
“Oh,” Dean said.
“He is distressed?” Till asked.
“Yeah, I mean – sometimes,” Dean said. “I calmed him down, got the gun away from him. I think I helped a bit.”
“I am certain you did,” Till said, momentarily placing the potion he was going to use on the floor beside Sam’s makeshift bed. Till pulled a package of tea out of his kit. “Sir and Mr. Singer, you must go make a pot of this tea. Stay in the kitchen and do not approach unless I say. You must make sure the tea is brewed perfectly. You must stay in the kitchen and watch it. Do not get distracted.”
“What is it?” Harry asked, taking the tea and looking it over.
“It is very important,” Till said.
“Okay,” Harry nodded, “Bobby? Do you have a kettle?”
Harry and Bobby retreated to the other side of the small cabin, and began looking through cupboards. Till checked the immediate area around Sam for weapons, and then picked back up the potion he had measured out. He turned to Dean, who was looking at him with curiosity.
“Once I give him this potion, I will do a few more spells – and he will wake up,” Till explained. “It is important he not feel trapped by people, yes? If he is distressed, you must calm him.”
“Gotcha,” Dean smiled.
Till administered the potion, and said the necessary spells. He ran one last diagnosing spell and saw that Sam’s brain had healed nicely. And then he carefully moved back, out of Sam’s reach, before saying the final spell that would bring Sam to consciousness.
It was instantaneous. Sam was asleep, and then suddenly he was sitting up and moving backwards – curling into a defensive position with his back against the wall. It was the first time Till had seen Sam Winchester’s eyes – and they were wary, but kind, and unnecessarily tortured.
“Dean,” Sam said.
“Right here,” Dean said. “Leviathan knocked you out and broke my leg. We’re in a cabin with Bobby and Harry – and this is Harry’s field-medic. His name is Till. He just fixed your big dumb head.”
“Bobby?” Sam said, and his eyes immediately went to look across the room, where Bobby and Harry were dutifully still standing in the kitchen – a kettle rattling on the stove behind them. Then Sam’s eyes drifted to an empty corner of the room.
“Yeah, Bobby’s okay,” Dean said, and Sam’s eyes snapped back to him, and he nodded. “And it’s just you and the four of us.”
Sam nodded again, and Till realized he was cradling his left hand. Till had been so distracted by the brain haemorrhage that he hadn’t realized Sam’s hand was bandaged.
“Your hand is hurt,” Till said, “let me heal it.”
“No!” Sam said. He pulled further back from Till, and squeezed his hand harder. Till immediately shifted back a bit on his knees, to show Sam he would not approach if Sam did not want him to.
“Sam, it’s okay,” Dean said. “Till’s a good guy, and you probably busted your stitches anyway.”
Sam still looked panicked though, still clutched his hand to himself.
“I healed you before,” Till said. “Months ago, while you were sleeping, I healed your leg.”
Sam looked at him. Till waited.
“The axe,” Sam breathed. “I didn’t even have a mark... I wondered. I thought... he said it was proof that it hadn’t been real, that I was still-”
“No, Sammy,” Dean said softly. “It’s because you slept for so long, I asked Harry for help – and he brought Till, and... I didn’t tell you because you didn’t remember anyway.”
Sam nodded. He looked relieved, more relaxed, so Till tried again.
“I can heal your hand too,” Till said. “Just like before.”
“No,” Sam refused, tensing back up again.
“Okay,” Till said, he held up his hand so that Sam could see the wand. Then he placed the wand on the floor beside him, and raised his empty hand to show Sam again. “May I see your hand? Only see. To make sure it is not infected or a danger to you.”
Sam looked uncertain, but he nodded. Till still approached slowly, as Sam held out his hand.
“I will take the bandage off,” Till narrated his actions, already noticing that the bandage was dirty and bloodstained. Once he pulled the bandage off, he could see that the wound had only been allowed to partially heal, and then it had been ripped back open. The crude stitches were torn in places, no longer holding the skin together. Till had to bit his lip at the revulsion that swelled up inside of him. Muggle medicine was at times so barbaric.
“The stitches are broken,” Till said, though he knew Sam could see it for himself, “and the wound must be cleaned and tended to.”
Sam yanked back his arm. Till quickly held his hands up to show he would not touch without permission.
“Let me see,” Dean said from the couch.
Sam reached out his hand towards his brother immediately.
“Sam, broken leg, remember? You’re going to have to come to me,” Dean said.
Sam snapped his gaze off of watching Till, and moved quickly over to his brother. He then presented his hand to Dean again, once he was in reach.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, while Dean looked at his hand.
“I’ll be better once you stop hogging the medic,” Dean grumbled. “Till’s right though, we need to look after your hand. Your fingers still work?”
Till watched as Sam curled and uncurled his fingers. Dean nodded. He glanced over to the kitchen, where Bobby and Harry were carefully pouring boiling water into a tea pot, and arguing about the proper steeping times.
“You don’t need this, Sam,” Dean said softly. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” Sam said. “But I don’t want... just for a little longer?”
Till watched, with a little bit of confusion, as Sam and Dean shared a look for a long minute, and then Dean nodded.
“Till, do you have something to clean this with?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Till replied. He reached into his medical kit and finally approached Sam and Dean, with the cleaning potion and a sterile cloth. He felt a stab of disappointment when Sam tensed a bit, but he pretended he hadn’t noticed. Instead, he motioned towards Sam’s hand. “May I?”
Dean made the decision for Sam though, by moving Sam’s hand over to Till. Till took it gently, so that Sam knew he could pull it back at any time.
He gently poured the potion into Sam’s palm, and watched as it sank into the wound.
“Feels... nice,” Sam said, sounding surprised.
“Good,” Till replied.
“Is it done?” Sam asked.
“No,” Till replied, “we must wait until-“
He cut himself off as the wound welled with liquid, this time a little dirty. Till tilted Sam’s hand so that it would run off onto the cloth that Till had waiting. The old broken stitches were dissolved and carried away by the potion as well.
“The potion removes the bad things by picking them up and carrying them out,” Till explained. “The only thing left behind is your own flesh and blood.”
Sam stared at his hand until the wound was clean.
“Will you let me heal it now?” Till asked. Sam shook his head and pulled his hand back towards himself.
“I’m going to stitch it up again for him,” Dean answered for Sam.
“Sorry, I just-” Sam started. “It’s not that I don’t-”
“Do not apologize,” Till said. “There is no need. I just fixed your brain, I know you are capable of deciding what is best for yourself.”
Sam smiled at Till, and Till knew he had said the right thing.
“Till,” Harry’s voice called from the kitchen. “The tea is ready.”
“That is good,” Till said. “Please, bring me a cup with one spoon of sugar.” Harry nodded. Till turned back to Dean and Sam. “May I watch the sewing?”
“Yeah, sure man,” Dean said, then he called out towards the kitchen, “Bobby! You got a stocked first-aid kit?”
“Yeah,” Bobby replied. “In the car, I’ll be right back.”
As Bobby slipped out the door, Harry came over with the cup of tea. He handed it very carefully to Till.
“Thank you,” Till said, and he took a sip. It wasn’t too bad.
“Is it okay?” Harry asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Till replied. He took another sip. Harry looked confused.
“What does it do?” Harry asked.
“It is just regular tea,” Till replied. “You did not give me time this morning to make my own.”
Dean and Sam chuckled softly beside him. Harry only stared at him in shock. Till took another sip of the tea, and smiled.
Sam allowed Till to numb his hand while Dean did the stitches. Till sat back and tried to enjoy his tea while he watched Dean sew Sam’s skin together. Harry and Bobby had remained in the kitchen, talking about the monsters that had nearly killed the three of them. Every once in a while, they would overhear a sentence or two – and it was clear that some of it upset Dean. So, Till decided to use the opportunity to learn more about muggle medicine.
He asked about sewing people together and how long it took for such things to heal. Now that Till wasn’t threatening to heal him, Sam was quite friendly and happy to answer Till’s questions. Sam also asked a bit about wizard healing, and Till told him about the spells and potions that wizards relied on the most.
Till tried to take in everything about Sam. It was strange, to have the reality of sitting and talking to Sam, while in his head, he had the knowledge that Sam had died to save the world – that Sam had suffered in hell – that Sam was still suffering in his mind. For the most part, Sam mind seemed focused and clear, but sometimes he would look warily towards empty air, or seem annoyed as though someone had said something crude, yet no one had spoken.
Dean tied off the thread in Sam’s hand, and then patted Sam twice on the arm and declared him done.
“Go get Bobby to put a bandage on that,” Dean said, “and then make sure you eat something. You’ve been out for 24 hours man, you must be starving.”
Sam nodded, and got to his feet.
“Till,” Harry said from the kitchen, “see to Dean, and then we have to go.”
“Yes, sir,” Till said. He put down his empty cup, and moved to his kit to get everything he would need.
“’bout time,” Dean sighed. “My pain meds are wearing off.”
“Sorry,” Till said. “I should have seen to you directly after I stopped Sam dying – but I have never seen the sewing in person.”
Till smiled, but Dean did not return it. Instead, he had gone pale.
“Sam was dying?” Dean whispered.
“His brain was bleeding,” Till replied, realizing he had made a poor word choice. “He is better now though. There is no need to be concerned.” Till glanced over towards the kitchen, where Sam was sitting at the table beside Harry and Bobby – and staring vaguely into the middle distance, while Bobby bandaged his hand and continued talking to Harry.
“Right,” Dean said.
Till cast a spell on Dean’s injured leg. In the air above the limb, a smokey image of Dean’s leg bones appeared – Till could see the break in the tibia.
“Wow,” Dean said. “You guys must save a fortune on X-rays.”
“What are X-rays?” Till asked. Dean smiled and shook his head. Till vanished the image of Dean’s bones with a wave of his hand. He handed Dean a potion. “Drink this. Do not smell it first. I apologize for the taste.”
Dean drank the potion, while raising a sceptical eyebrow at Till, then his whole face scrunched up in disgust.
“Do not vomit,” Till said.
“Ugh! God! What the hell is that?!” Dean asked.
“It will fix you,” Till replied, and he began to perform the necessary follow-up spells.
From the kitchen, Till could hear Bobby and Sam discussing what they should do next. Dean yelled back that once he got the damn cast of his leg, he was going to go get his car and kill something. While Dean was distracted, Till cast another diagnosing spell – taking advantage of the fact that the spell only displayed words in Till’s native tongue.
He could read how his patient was doing – it was similar to Sam. Dean was tired, in need of rest, stimulants and depressants warring in his blood stream, more so than with Sam. Till chose his next potion carefully, thankful that Harry was distracted by talk of horrible monsters.
“Yeah, well as soon as we find a way to kill ‘em-“ Dean was saying, but Till interrupted.
“Drink this,” Till said softly. Dean looked at it warily. Till added, “It tastes only of sweet water.”
Dean drank it.
“Huh,” Dean said, “the pain’s gone. So, can I get this cast off now? Am I healed?”
“No,” Till said. “You must...you must leave the cast on,” Till spared a brief glance over at Sam, who was now drinking a cup of tea, his bandaged hand curled around a plate with bread and jam. “You can take off the cast in four weeks.” Till continued, “I have given you a potion that will take away all pain, but you will not be better for four weeks.”
“Really?” Dean asked. “You can’t just...heal it up?”
“No,” Till said, “one month.”
“Well, I guess that’s like half the time it usually takes,” Dean sighed. “Thanks, man.”
Till nodded and focused on packing up his kit.
“All set then,” Harry asked, walking over from the kitchen, giving Till a curious look.
“Yes, sir,” Till said, and he made sure to look Harry straight in the eye.
“Excellent,” Harry replied. He turned to Dean, and continued. “It was great to see you again, Dean. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Yeah, hey, thanks, Harry,” Dean said. “I really mean it – if you hadn’t brought Till, I don’t know what-”
“It is my honour to help you,” Till interrupted.
Dean huffed a laugh, and shook his head, rubbing a hand across his face.
“You must rest now,” Till said.
“Yeah, okay, Doc, thanks,” Dean nodded.
Sam and Bobby had come over doing the exchange, and Till reached out to shake Sam’s good hand.
“It was an honour to meet you,” Till said, “when you are awake, I mean.”
“You too, Till,” Sam said. “Thanks for... understanding.”
Till smiled, and stood back while Sam and Bobby said their goodbyes to Harry.
Harry activated the portkey, and they left straight from the cabin. Twisting and turning and being pulled at incredible speeds. Till wondered, once again, if he had done enough – if there was not more he could have done, or could still do. He wondered if they would ever be allowed to rest.
“Why did you lie to Dean?” Harry asked, once they had their feet back under them in Harry’s office. Till feared he had overstepped, but then, Harry had been the first to bend the rules for the two Hunters. “I’ve broken enough bones to know that Healers can mend them immediately,” Harry continued, as though perhaps Till was playing dumb, rather than trying to choose his words carefully. “Why was he still in the cast?”
“Sam would not allow me to heal his hand,” Till said.
“I didn’t ask about Sam,” Harry started. “I asked-”
“And I am answering,” Till continued. “Sam also sees things that are not there – his mind plays tricks. He needs time for his hand to heal, and also to... manage. Sam will not go anywhere without Dean, and Dean will not go anywhere if he believes his leg to be broken.”
Till waited to be yelled at. He waited for Harry to take him back to the cabin and expose his deceit. Instead, Harry stared at him, and then smiled.
“That’s brilliant,” Harry said.
“Sorry?” Till replied.
“I never...” Harry laughed. “I think you’re the first person who figured out how to get the Winchesters to take a vacation.”
“You are not angry?” Till asked.
“You’re still lying to my friends, and Dean is vulnerable if something comes after him and he thinks he can’t move,” Harry said, “but, on the other hand, he’s got Bobby and Sam there with him, and... Merlin knows, those two need to get some sleep. No, I’m not angry.”
“I also gave Dean a potion that would heal his body from the alcohol and muggle medicines,” Till replied. “I made him believe it was for the leg, as I did not want to anger him.”
“The... right, good,” Harry said. “Thank you, Till.”
“It is my job,” Till said.
Harry laughed. “It isn’t though really.” He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, and Till suddenly wished that had paid more attention to the conversations that Harry was having with Bobby Singer, because Harry looked more weary and troubled than before.
“It is my job,” Till repeated. “And I will always go when needed.”
Till thought that he should tell Harry that it was an honour to serve such men. It was an honour to shake Sam Winchester’s hand. It was terrifying to try to trick Dean. It was thrilling to be called on at all to sneak off to foreign countries and aid secret allies in the fight against the dark forces of the world. It was why he had left traditional Healing in the first place. It was why he had left his whole family behind in Eastern Europe and traveled to Britain on the slim possibility that the great Harry Potter might see what he was capable of. He wondered if he should tell Harry that all his dreams were coming true, and that it didn’t matter that no one would ever know, because he didn’t do it for the glory, he did it to be useful...and helping Sam and Dean Winchester was by far the most useful thing that anyone could do.
“I can’t believe you tricked me into brewing you a cup of tea,” Harry said, smiling, “I was convinced it was some sort of delicate potion that was a matter of life and death. And since when is tea standard issue for a Healer kit?”
“You said it was a meeting about revisions to the kits,” Till smiled. “It was my revision.”
The white of Dean’s cast really stood out against the dark red lake of blood that surrounded the couch. Lucifer lounged on the far armrest, smiling at Sam.
“I could drown him in it,” Lucifer said. “I bet you’d love to see that, Sammy.”
“Till seems like an interesting guy,” Sam said to Dean. “He’s kind of...different.”
“Well, he’s a wizard,” Dean said, without taking his eyes off the Spanish soap opera that he was watching. Below him, the lake of blood churned, lapping at the old upholstery. Sam’s stomach churned with it. He squeezed his hand under the table and reminded himself that it wasn’t there. Lucifer frowned at him, but then disappeared and took the lake with him.
“That’s not what I meant,” Sam rolled his eyes.
The soap-opera went to commercial, and Dean looked over at him.
“Yeah, he’s an interesting dude,” Dean said, his attention almost immediately snapped back to the TV, but he kept talking. “We chatted a bit the last time he was here. You were there, but sleeping. I wouldn’t bring up that voice of his to his face, guy gets defensive about it. It must have been tough growing up with a voice that soft. I think it worked out though. I mean, it’s fucking soothing, don’t you think? Dude told me you were dying and made it sound like good news.”
“What? No!” Dean laughed. “Sorry, man, oh god, your face. No... no, he fixed you, so no worries. We’re good.”
“Holy crap, Dean, don’t you ever think before you speak?”
“Mm, sometimes,” Dean nodded. Sam looked over and realized there was a particularly engaging commercial playing, if the girl holding the El Sol beer was anything to go by.
Sam frowned as he thought about what Dean had just said.
“I don’t get wizard medicine,” Sam said. “How come he could stop me from dying, but it’s still going to take your leg four weeks to heal?”
Dean shrugged, “Hell if I know, maybe bones are different than brains.”
There was a meat hook hanging to Sam’s left, slowly dripping blood onto the floor.
“But he, uh, couldn’t help with the um...the wall?” Sam asked, and Dean’s attention immediately went from the TV to Sam.
“No. I asked, but he said he couldn’t. Why? Are you okay?” Dean said in a rush, and made as if to push himself off the couch, before he scowled at his casted leg and his shoulders slumped.
“I’m fine,” Sam said. “I was just wondering.”
“You sure?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,” Sam smiled. “Sorry, uh, payback for the dying comment, I guess.”
“Yeah, well...okay,” Dean sighed and turned back to the TV. “Oh man, now I missed what happened to Jesus.”
Sam laughed and ignored the way Lucifer was smiling in the corner of the room.