"You really need to get some sleep."
"I can’t,” Adam snaps for what feels like the millionth time. “I fucking can’t, I’ve tried, I can’t. How many fucking times do I need to say it?”
Dean’s bristling. Sam’s coaxing. “You can’t go on like this, dude. You’ve gotta rest.”
"You think I don’t want—look. I’ve tried. I’m trying. It’s—I’m—I haven’t slept since…" Adam grinds his teeth, trying to think of a short way to say since I was in a coma for three days after you dug up my grave and dragged my soul out of the Cage kicking and screaming.
Sam’s ready to argue with him some more—he was gonna be a lawyer, Adam remembers, in another life where maybe Dean was a firefighter and maybe Adam was in medical school and maybe they weren’t all three violently orphaned in the war against hell—but suddenly Samandriel’s there, slipping between the two older Winchesters to get to Adam, and he’s standing stock still as Samandriel’s arms are wrapping around him, the angel pressing warm and close and soft against his body.
"I’ll help you," Samandriel says in his ear. "Let’s go lie down."
And Adam finds himself mellowing, as always, like Samandriel has some kind of magic over him, something that settles the itching under his skin and quiets the ringing in his ears.
"Yeah," he says in a voice that’s barely there, suddenly very tired. "Okay."