Sam smiled slightly as he was slowly lowered to the ground, nodding to his Master.  He was even more speechless than usual, but he wasn't going to complain about the red marks on his wrists, or the pain from his dislocated shoulder.  His cheek rubbed against Thorn as she held him, and he even managed a tiny smile.  ...Until he rolled over into the puddle of his own vomit.<br/><br/>His bodily humours had already grown cold, and the half chewed steak and mashed potatoes clung to his back, assaulting his senses as he cringed slightly, tying to fight off the waves of nausea assaulting him.  Half covered in the contents of his own stomach, Sam crawled over to the hose and turned it on himself, hosing himself down with a high pressure stream as he was used to.  With deliberate focus, he hosed down his vomit all the way to the drain, shivering from the cold.<br/><br/>Sam sighed and retired to the rubber mat in the corner of the room he slept in occasionally, sitting patiently with his eyes open, unable to get together the motivation to do anything but sit there.<br/><br/>He had never felt more loved.