sam's been carefully watching you since the hunt ended. you're covered in mud and vampire blood, and though you're trying to be tough about it, sam can tell how uncomfortable you are. your shoulders are tense, and you strip off your muddy jacket the moment that you can.

he hates to see you so bothered and shivering a little in the cold night air. finally, as you approach the impala, he slips off his own jacket; big, brown, and warm. you don't look at him until he nudges you wordlessly, gently, holding the jacket to you. he’s got that pretty, borderline awkward smile when he’s trying to be subtly sweet. he doesn’t want to make you feel self-conscious about the mess on your clothes, but he wants to ease your discomfort.

you take the jacket, thanking him softly.

“'f course,” he replies, all casual and kind as if he isn’t dying to see you put the jacket on. then he remembers his manners. “dean and i’ll look away if you wanna,” he forgets how to be smooth for a moment, clearing his throat as he gestures vaguely to your bloody shirt, “you know, get rid of the shirt too. ‘m sure the blood’s worse than the mud.”