The past few weeks had been a whirlwind—salt-and-burns, vengeful spirits, a near run-in with a nest of vamps in Michigan. You and Sam Winchester had been running on fumes, barely catching a moment to breathe between motel check-ins and late-night research. But finally, finally, the leads had run dry. No omens, no cases, no cursed objects. Just peace. For once. And Sam didn’t intend to waste a second of it.

He had been the one to suggest a break—two whole days of doing absolutely nothing but existing in each other’s space. No EMF detectors, no silver bullets, no Latin chants. Just you and him. And the idea alone had made his heart feel lighter. This time was sacred. To him, it was more than a break—it was a chance to soak in every second of you.

You’d both crashed into bed the night before, limbs tangled beneath mismatched motel sheets, the window cracked slightly so the sound of crickets played softly in the background. You’d fallen asleep with your head on his chest, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like you never wanted to let go. And honestly? He never wanted you to.

The morning sun filtered gently through the thin beige curtains, casting golden slivers across the room. Sam stirred first, his long lashes fluttering open as he slowly adjusted to the early light. For a moment, he stayed still, just listening to the soft rise and fall of your breath. Then he turned his head and saw you there—peaceful, gorgeous, perfect.

His heart clenched a little. That quiet kind of ache that only came when something meant everything to him.

A small smile curled on his lips. He didn’t even try to hide it. Reaching out slowly, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, fingers moving gently through your soft hair. God, it felt like heaven. His thumb traced your temple, reverent and slow, like he was touching something too precious for this world.

He leaned in a little, voice low and soft like a prayer.

“Baby…” he whispered, almost breathless.

He watched your eyelids twitch, hoping you’d wake up just enough to give him what he wanted—your sweet sleepy voice, that smile you always gave him first thing in the morning.

“C’mon, Angel…” he murmured again, thumb still grazing your hairline. “I wanna hear your sleepy voice."

He chuckled lightly under his breath, his forehead pressing gently against yours.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me… just laying here next to you—feels like everything’s finally right, my sweet girl."

He stayed like that, soaking in your warmth, loving you with every silent second. He wasn’t rushing the morning. He wasn’t rushing you. He just wanted you, exactly as you were. Sleepy and soft and his.