flourandflower

⊹ if you feel a rise of nausea, sam carefully hurries you towards the bathroom and sweeps a warm hand in circles over your back while you hurl into the toilet. he doesn't care about how gross it may be and sits with you for however long you need. when the sick passes, he wipes at your mouth with a damp washcloth.

"feel better now, honey? yeah?"

"d'you wanna get back in bed? i'll carry you."

⊹ when your fingers tangle through the fabric of his shirt to keep him in bed with you, he stays and acts as a big pillow for your aching, tired self. you'll doze off with a furrow to your brow, cheek squished on his chest, drooling. sam only smiles and tucks you closer.

"i've got you, don't worry. always got you."

⊹ he adores having you as his research partner. instead of being subject to dean's annoying comments and snarky remarks, the endless teasing, he gets to relax and enjoy his evening with you beside him. he reads interesting paragraphs aloud and smiles all soft when you bounce his ideas with your own, so relieved that you're just as intrigued by the lore.

⊹ when the sun has melted low past the horizon and the moon rises in place, sam will brew a late pot of tea for the both of you. you'll have slow, drifting conversations while he fixes your mug; he knows precisely how much cream and sugar you prefer.

"is it good? yeah? i'm glad, sweetheart."

"wanna take a walk outside? the stars are bright, tonight."

⊹ she likes taking you for early walks behind the roadhouse, when the air is crisp and bites gently at your cheeks, turning her nose a blooming pink. grass sways dull green in a hush. she'll tell you about the dreams she had last night and gives you a chance to greet the day at your own pace.

"we had a dog in my dream," she murmurs. "hm. we should really get a dog, i think."

when you head back inside, she brews you a thermos of tea and kisses light at your shoulder as you drink.

⊹ after a long, exhausting, anxiety-riddled day, she invites you readily across her body in bed, coaxing your face to her chest. she'll stroke down your hair and whisper reassurances in an attempt to ease your mind.

"we're okay," she says, fingers sweeping the length of your arm. "s'okay, and tomorrow will be a heck of a lot better, baby. i'll make sure of it."

⊹ patience is a trait she only ever displays with you. she never gets frustrated or snappy when you're having trouble articulating a reason for feeling anxious and doesn't invalidate you for not having one. she'll sit with you, rub tenderly up your spine as you breathe, and won't judge one bit.

"y'don't have to talk," she assures. "not unless you want to. okay?"

"don't need a reason to feel this way. i'm staying, angel."