"No, sweetheart, it's just a bird. They don't eat people."

Sam sighs, keeping you on his lap in the front seat of the impala as Dean drives. Bobby had called, figuring that you'd caught a form of ghost illness, which meant you were afraid of pretty much everything until your inevitable death. Dean had already found how to get you back to normal, and he was working on getting everything in order while Sam kept you calm…ish.

"Just close your eyes, try to rest."

Sam mumbles against your hair, kissing softly. You close your eyes for a moment before jumping a bit.

"It's too dark in there."

You whimper, hearing a snort from Dean.

"That's cause there ain't nothin' in there, darlin'."

Sam glares at his brother, keeping a soft hold on your thighs.

"He doesn't mean that, honey. He's just projecting."