(no subject)

The light overwhelms, familiar though it may be.
 
Fingers soft on his forehead and—
 
(Being eight.) (Collapsing in the school gym.) (His body is a war zone.) (Big brother shaped hands with an old rag) (soaked with cold sink water.) (They don’t own a thermometer.) (There’s nothing that could heal Sam of what he is and what he’ll be.)
 
(Then there is the darkness.) (Then there is always the darkness.) 
 
(Sam has been falling into it his entire life.)

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(no subject)

She walks up to him shyly, almost innocently, and Sam wonders how a human soul twisted into a demon can retain any sort of innocence, but he looks over at her and she visibly flinches. He puts it down to fear and doesn't say anything as she glances at the various books he has open around him and the notes neatly written in a notebook he'd brought from Earth. It takes a few seconds before he sees her take a breath and then speak, her voice quiet and timid.
"What are those books?"
Sam gives her a kind smile, trying to reassure her that he may be ruthless at times, but he wasn't unfair or merciless. He still had a piece of humanity, a shard that he clung to in his worst times and which was all he needed to feel human at his best. She relaxes slightly, safe in the assumption that her King won't kill her then and there, and his voice is soft when he speaks. It reminds him of years past, when he would explain to Dean the lore he'd found, and it's times like these when he curses his humanity and the ache in his heart.

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