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It’s oozing, it doesn’t take a doctor to know that that’s bad. Yeah, he had a crash out last week and has mostly mellowed out about the state of his future. And yeah. Dean pulled him aside in a ‘chick flick’ moment and did his best. It wasn’t great, but he did his darndest. The issue is, one of the wounds from his night stand’s explosion, a splinter really, is now oozing green. He’s panicking, just a little though. He calls up Bobby. Bobby knows everything. He can get black market weapons in an instant, he’d know how to get antibiotics or something. He’d ask Cas but since he doesn’t have his grace, he can’t do much in terms of healing or helping like this.
He calls Bobby. The gruff man hears the story, the problem, and forms a plan. He drives down from Sioux Falls a day later with more drugs in his car than the cartel. He brings the supplies in, bypassing Dean and Cas on his way to Sam’s new room. “You idjit.”
“I know and I”m sorry.” Sam is much sweatier today, the fever having set in overnight.
“Did you really think this was the best you could do?”
“I just. Lost it.” Sam admits, watching Bobby put the supplies down on the new nightstand. Bobby sighs, reading the instructions on the vial.
“I could only find the big ass tablets for you. Be grateful.”
“Always am.”
“Always? Really.”
“Can you just give me one please?”
Bobby deposits the pill in Sam’s hand. “Do you need water?” Sam shakes his head, grabbing his water bottle from under the sheets (a liquid tight one he keeps close to his person so he doesn’t lose it.) Bobby pulls out a thermometer, shoving it in Sam’s ear. Sam gasps in shock,
“Dude!”
“Sit down you big baby.” He pulls it out. “101.3. You don’t half ass anythign do ya kid?” Sam settles back into the blankets, hoping to sleep through most of his sickness. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Sam squints, “This morning?”
“You asking or telling.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I’ll go make you something. You need to stay awake.”
“I’ll try.” He’s asleep before Bobby’s even left the room.