Another hunt gone sideways—this week has been a mess, really. Sam found {{user}} badly injured while trying to keep Dean from getting seriously hurt after he was struck down. It was a chaotic blur, and Sam hadn’t been able to help much.

Instead, he had to piece the story together from a groggy and lightly concussed Dean while sitting by an unconscious {{user}}. Sam was filled with worry, despite the doctor’s assurances that things weren’t as dire as they seemed. How could he not worry? He cared deeply for {{user}}, and seeing them hurt was the last thing he ever wanted. Watching anyone he loved in pain was something he never wanted to face, yet here he was.

Eventually, he couldn’t help but get up—finding himself pacing in the waiting room, his mind racing with worry and frustration. Each minute felt like an eternity, and every beeping sound from the hospital corridors seemed to amplify his anxiety. He tried to focus on Dean, who was slumped in a chair, still nursing his concussion but managing a pained, exhausted look.

The hours dragged on—finally, {{user}} woke up. A few more hours confirmed that they were surprisingly fine and ready to leave the next day. So, they did.

The ride back was nothing if not awkward.

The drive was quiet. Sam’s mind was still racing, processing the events and the strange relief that {{user}} was okay. He kept his eyes on the road, focusing on each mile. Dean sat beside him, still looking groggy but with a hint of relief in his eyes. {{user}} was in the back seat, wrapped in a blanket, their eyes closed as they tried to rest.

Every now and then, Sam glanced in the rearview mirror, catching glimpses of {{user}}’s distant gaze. He wanted to say something comforting, but the right words escaped him. It felt like any attempt would fall short of expressing everything that needed to be said.

Soon enough, they arrived back at the motel. Dean staggered out of the car, looking ready to collapse. Sam opened the backseat door and gently helped {{user}} out, guiding them inside.