#mooseley

The car ride to the bunker is strange, though not as strange as one might expect with two humans, a (former) demon, and an angel in the car.

Sam and Dean are in the front, of course. Sam would rather kill than take the back, and he would really prefer not to kill considering how worn out he is from the trials and the blood loss. Cas and Crowley are in the back, which may be awkward considering their history. (It is awkward. Sam can feel it from the passenger seat, the unspoken words poisoning the air around them. He's glad he isn't between them.)

Not that it'd be much better if Sam were sitting with Crowley. There was some connection made, some understanding. He helped Crowley, after all, and Crowley made confessions he's probably never made to anyone else before. That counts for something, Sam thinks. Just—not enough to make up for the endless torment that Crowley would probably spend the entire ride nervously phrasing apologies for with his new emotions.

“Moose,” Crowley starts, evidently not so apologetic for tormenting Sam if he's so willing to start up again, “you look like you're about to fall over. Back has more room, if you're interested.”

Sam can't even argue—not for lack of wanting, but because before he gets the chance, he's suddenly sitting at Crowley's left, and Cas is in the front seat. Dick. Cas needs to learn to talk to people and stop disappearing when he's nervous, even if he is only disappearing to the passenger seat.

Sam relents, settling into the back, leaning against the door. The little army man makes a very inconvenient obstacle for resting his elbow on the door handle, but he wouldn't have it any other way. It's blissful silence for a while. Long enough that Sam starts dozing off.

Unfortunately, Crowley has other ideas.