the motel room smells like burned coffee & old carpet, the kind that never really airs out no matter how long the window's cracked. the youngest winchester is sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, laptop propped open & the gentle blue glow lighting up sam's face.
sam doesn’t look up right away when dean moves around the room. just listens. the familiar clink of keys. the rustle of wrappers. all the noise his brother makes when he’s pretending not to worry. “ okay, ” he finally says, quiet but steady, shutting the laptop with a soft thump. “ either this thing’s not a vengeful spirit like ellen thinks… or it is, & it’s playing us. ”
there is a beat, gaze meeting his brother's. “ because the EMF spikes don’t line up. & the victims ? ” sam gestures vaguely, frustration leaking through the calm. “ they don’t fit. wrong locations. wrong timing. it’s like— ” an exhale, cutting himself off before the thought runs too far ahead of him.
“ i know you wanna salt & burn & call it a night, ” he says, softer now, more careful. “ i do too. i just— i really think we’re missing something. ” his jaw tightens, resolve settling in.
“ & if we rush it, ” comes his voice again, low, “ someone else gets hurt. ”
@saintslegion liked !