Sam was sleeping quietly with his head resting against your shoulder in the backseat of the impala, his breath sweetly rushing against your clavicle every few seconds. You were all exhausted; you had no idea how Dean was even driving. The case had been brutal, that with Sam being under the weather from the trials, coughing up blood every now and then. It worried you to no end, so the fact that he was blissfully asleep on you was a nice comfort.

"Mmm…honey-"

Sam croaks softly, lifting his head. He starts coughing, covering his mouth with his hand. God, not again. You grab a tissue and hand it to him, cleaning up the little droplets of blood from his palm.

"It's okay. Just breathe."

You whisper soothingly, your brow creased with worry. Nothing about this was good. Sam's coughing subsides, and he takes a shaky breath, crumpling the tissue in his hand and shoving it into his pocket to throw away later.

"I'm sorry."

He whispers hoarsely.

"M' a mess."