Work Text:
you’ve noticed recently that sam seems to look increasingly tired. there are dark circles under his eyes that, yes, have been there for a while, but now they’re darker. more prominent.
it’s concerning.
and yet, when you come back to the motel room late at night, there’s never any movement. no mumbling, no shouting, no shaking. he’s as still as a statue - maybe even more so.
he doesn’t talk much nowadays, not that you blame him. he tends to keep to himself, a result of what you’re sure is lucifer convincing him that both you and dean hate him. you do your best to reassure him that you don’t, but there’s only so much you can say to combat his psyche.
it all kicks off one night. the hunt you’d been on was long, having stayed in the shitty little town far longer than dean had been comfortable doing.
‘kicks off’, as it turns out, is a rather strong phrase for what happens.
you enter the motel room late at night, after a ‘thank you’ meal that the victim of your case had insisted she take you to. dean is fast asleep, sprawled out across one of the beds with a leg hiked up above the covers and arms starfishing beside him. you sigh, knowing you’ll be sharing with sam tonight, which inevitably means an early wake-up call.
you change quickly in the bathroom but when you return, sam is sitting upright in bed, chest heaving. his eyes are wide, frantically looking around until they land on you.
“hey, sam,” you say softly, not entirely sure if he’s present. sam breathes out your name, almost like a plea, and you make your way over to the bed. you don’t sit down, just in case it spooks him.
“you okay?”
he looks at you with those wide, fear-filled eyes. “you’re real?”
you heart breaks for him, and you hold out a gentle hand, ignoring the slight shake in it. “yeah, i’m real.”
he grabs your hand like a lifeline. his entire body is shaking like a leaf, and his eyes snap to a corner of the dingy motel room. your heart sinks.
“is he here?”
sam nods in response, his eyes flicking briefly over to you before looking back at the corner. you bite your lip. usually, dean is able to pull him out of these episodes, but dean is fast asleep and hasn’t slept more than six hours total in the last four days, so waking him is out of the question.
you squeeze sam’s hand as you think for a moment.
“sammy?” you ask softly. “you with me?”
he glances up at you again, and you gently place a hand on his cheek to keep him facing you. “just look at me. not him.”
he nods, and you begin to pull him up from his position. he hesitates, but you meet his eyes and he stands. you turn, not letting go of his hand, to grab the impala’s keys from where they sit on the table between the two beds, writing out a quick note for dean.
taking sammy for a drive. be back soon
you sign your name, leave the note in place of the keys, and pull sam to the door. he’s so out of it that you have to pull his shoes on his socked feet for him, and you can feel the coldness that seeps through the fabric. you grab him a jacket, just in case, and pull him out the door. he looks confused, but neither of you interrupt the comfortable silence that has settled.
you pull him to the impala, getting him comfortable in the passenger seat before getting in yourself, and turning the car on. whatever tape dean was listening to earlier starts blasting, startling you both. you scramble to turn it off, or at least turn it down, and sam lets out a small, breathy laugh.
you haven’t heard him laugh in weeks.
a smile comes to your face.
still holding his hand, you begin to drive aimlessly. up and down the country roads on the outskirts of town, through the usually busy high streets. you glance over to sam as the clock on the town hall building reads four twenty-five am, and see him looking peaceful for the first time since stanford.
by the time the two of you reach the motel again, the sun has begun to rise, and sam is talking. it’s quiet, almost nervous, but you haven’t heard him ramble about things in what feels like forever. you sit quietly, listening to him, until you take the keys out of the ignition. he begins to clam up again, clearly anxious about going back to the motel room where lucifer was taunting him, but you squeeze his hand and gently pull him along.
you lead him to his bed, briefly registering dean’s eyes slipping closed and the note you’d left for him now finding a place on the floor beside his bed. you sit next to sam, still holding onto his hand as he slips under the covers.
miraculously, he sleeps until noon.