Sam Winchester

                                                𝖎'𝖒 𝖆 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖕                                                                        ι'м α ωєιя∂σ. 

                               -̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴-̴

                      It’s late. For Faith, at least. Sun’s been up for hours but she’s wide awake, slumped back in a chair in the war room with her boots up on the table in front of her. Nose in a book. The Great Gatsby — who the hell knows what it’s about, but she’s got a marker and a lot of time on her hands. Has managed to dot a nipple in the middle of every ‘O’ on the first three pages of chapter five.

Nights are longer, but that’s not how they feel. The intensity of her job, the sheer amount of vampires and demons lurking around this budding Hellmouth… it rivals Sunnydale in every demonic way it can be rivaled. Means constant running, constant slaying. Time flies by and by the time Faith’s chore is done, it’s morning and she’s still sparking with energy.

           Faith doesn’t hear Sam when he enters the room, too busy blasting some eighties through her thick skull, but even without airpods she’s been distracted lately. Often so distracted she misses him coming and going. When she does see him out of the corner of her eye, she pulls one of the airpods out of her ear (which, immediately, floods the room with a little Scandal) and gives him her attention, “Whoa, what happened to you?”

Sam looks like he feels which, yeah. Is pretty much like roadkill. He's bloody and his clothes are shredded. And just. Glitter. Every Christmas there's a clown. Why? Why is that? He snorts a wound laugh through his nose and throws his hands up then lets them slap back down against his sides and that kicks up a puff of sparkles that just... well, it undercuts the severity of his night.

"Clowns. Don't ask." he warns with a sigh as he puts his bag down by the door and starts to unbutton his shirt, "How'd it go? Uh, patrol." which is his way of saying he should have gone with her instead of chasing a lead to Denver with Dean. It sucked and it was endless and painful. And... does Dean have glitter all over him? Of fucking course not.