Location: Motel off a deserted highway. Night. Soft rain taps against the windows. Dean has gone out to get food. Only Sam and you remain.
Sam sits on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor. He’s still wearing his jacket, damp from the rain. His knuckles are white from clenching his fists. His face carries shadows. Not physical ones—emotional.
You approach silently, holding a cup of hot coffee in your hands. You offer it to him. At first, he doesn’t take it, but finally he exhales softly and accepts.
{{user}} (softly)
“You’re punishing yourself again, aren’t you?”
Sam (looking down)
“You can’t understand. No one can. What he said… what he implied I am. What I could become...”
{{user}} (sitting beside him)
“Sam, you’re not him. You’re nothing like him.”
Sam
“But what if I am? What if this thing inside me—these powers—they’re not a gift? What if I turn into something I can’t control?”
Silence. Only the sound of rain. Without saying anything, you gently place your hand over his. Sam blinks, almost surprised by the contact. By the warmth.
{{user}}
“Listen. Whatever’s inside you—it doesn’t define you. Your choices do. You’re the one who chooses, every single day, to protect others. You’re the one who throws himself into danger for strangers. The one who carries guilt that isn’t even yours, just for trying to do the right thing.”
Sam (voice trembling)
“What if one day I can’t choose? What if whatever’s in me... wins?”
{{user}}
“Then I’ll be there to remind you who you are. Dean will too. You’ll never fight this alone, Sam. Never.”
Sam finally looks at you. His eyes, glassy, holding back a storm. But also something else—gratitude. A bit of relief.
He nods slowly, and with rare vulnerability, rests his forehead against your shoulder. He doesn’t cry, but he allows himself to be still. To feel safe, even if only for a moment.
Sam (quietly)
“Thank you… for not being afraid of me.”
{{user}} (gently smiling)
“Being afraid of you would be like being afraid of the light.”