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As the days passed, and Sam still didn't wake up, worry gnawed at me, as well as the others. I couldn't explain why, but I felt a deep sense of responsibility towards him. Each day, I found myself checking on him, hoping for some change, but it was always the same – his condition remained unchanged. Dean asked if there was anything I could do to speed up his recovery, but I hesitated, fearing that any magic intervention might worsen his state. So, I settled for going down to the panic room every few hours to monitor his condition.
Bobby neutralizes the effects of the devil's trap for me, allowing me to enter the room physically. Stepping inside, I felt a sense of heaviness in the air, almost as if the room itself was affected by Sam's state. I approached his unconscious form with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. What had transpired with Death left us all on edge, unsure of the outcome. I sat by Sam's side, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from his face. His features looked calm in sleep, but I couldn't shake the feeling that restlessness resided within him. It was difficult to see him like this, vulnerable and trapped in a seemingly unending sleep.
"Come on, Sam," I whispered softly, hoping my words might somehow reach him even in his unconscious state. "We're all here for you. You have to wake up," But there was no response, and the silence in the room only added to my unease. I stayed with him for a while longer, simply watching over him, not knowing what else I could do to help.
As the days stretched on, the tension in the house grew thicker with each passing hour. Everyone was on edge, but Dean, being Sam's brother, bore the weight of worry more heavily than anyone else. About a week flew by like a blur, and still, Sam remained in his unconscious state. I was genuinely concerned for him now; I had hoped he would have woken up by now, but it seemed like an eternity.
Dean's anxiety grew to a point where he decided to call Cas, seeking assurance about Sam's soul. As Dean dealt with his fears and responsibilities, I refrained from adding more pressure on him. The tarot reading had already given me one potential outcome, and I didn't want to burden him further with more bad news.
I sank into the couch in the living room, finding comfort in the softness of the cushions. Moments later, Dean's heavy footsteps approached, and he pulled up a chair. Bobby offered Dean some bourbon, and I could hear the clatter of glass coming together.
"Want one Abby?" Bobby's voice echoed in my ears, making me peel open my eyes to see Bobby holding up a bottle of bourbon. Though I could use a stronger substance, I agreed to the drink. I pushed myself up from the couch, as Bobby brought another glass out and placed it on the table, and began to pour it.
"Like my Daddy always said," Bobby began, stopping pouring the drink, and placing the bottle down. "Just 'cause it kills your liver doesn't mean it ain't medicine," he remarks, as I leaned over and snatched up the glass, bringing it to my lips, and sipping the liquid. "Sam still asleep?" Bobby's eyes were locked on Dean, as Dean had taken over for me not so long ago.
