Sorry if this is weird, but I’m a sucker (read: cryer) for Sam sleeping in the Impala instead of inside because he thinks he’s unworthy/not wanted etc… Thanks in advance :0

boykvngs:

This might not be 100% what you asked for, but I hope you like it anyway!

Warning for gory descriptions.

The ceiling fan twitches overhead, making its final slow circles in the dark. Everything is quiet, except for Dean’s soft snores and the occasional car passing by outside, a hush like waves as its tires scrape the asphalt. Sam focuses on these things, as well as the dull pain of his thumb bothering the scar on his palm. If he doesn’t, he’ll have to look to his left where Jess’s skin is blackened and flaking. He refuses to look, but he can feel her smile, made crooked by the incoming wisdom teeth which had bothered her in the months before she died.

Sam pulls the thin motel sheets up to his chin and rolls to the right. Dean is sweaty and sleep-warm, his arm dangling over the side of his bed. Sam wonders how he does it. How did he relearn to sleep after forty years in Hell? 

Sam isn’t sure when he last slept. Dreams and wakefulness are to difficult to tell apart these days.

Keep reading