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3:30 am, Somewhere in Nebraska.

   Sam and Dean are driving an interstate, sat silently in the Impala. They are exhausted. Sam's dirty and sweaty, and Dean has got blood stained on his hands and clothes. They both smell just awful. Both of them just completely mute.
   Sam's shotgun and Dean has the look. The one that so loudly screams in pain but so disquietingly, quiet. Sam kept zoning outside the passenger window, staring at the dark, blurred, silhouettes of forest casted by the sympathetic moon and loyal stars. He anxiously tapped his finger on his thigh.
   Dean, maddened by the events that had occured in the past 72 hours, cryed a hushed sorrow. With tears struggling down his cheeks, his whole body felt like it was buzzing, shaking. A drop fell off his chin onto the car's seat, splashing Sam's arm. Sam felt the drop but wouldn't dare look at Dean. Dean was always there for Sam when he cried, it was time for Sam to repay that debt. With his head still facing towards the window, he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and swallowed the lump of remorse in his throat.

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⏰ Last updated: Aug 23, 2018 ⏰

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