WARNING: This chapter contains a graphic panic attack and the aftermath. It is emotionally gutting. Please tread carefully.
Author's Note: It appears that Stanford University has a habit of attracting people of a certain sort. For instance, you may recognize a particular wizard who has taken a position as nighttime barista at The Feckin' Bean. For the record, I also claim no ownership of BBC's Merlin.
Book Four
Of Art Supplies and Ungodly Obsessions
Chapter Four
When Sam woke up Tuesday morning, it was well before his alarm was due to go off.
He rolled over and stared at the eye-bleedingly bright numbers on the screen before burying his face back in his pillow with a groan. He'd had a restless night already filled with dreams of being late for his midterms. Dr. Roderick had lectured him in the slow, drawn-out monologue that seemed his preference, though Sam couldn't recall a word of it. Professor Drake, however, had turned into the dragon she was so often named and eaten him on the spot. Ultimately, the latter seemed less stressful but Sam would prefer not being late at all.
2:40 in the morning was too early even for him, though.
He pulled the covers back over his head and shut his eyes, trying to fall back asleep. His mind danced with possible topics for his midterm art assignment. That first day of class, after the rest of the students had arrived, the lights had been turned off and they had been handed paints and brushes and told to "draw something that you find inspiring."
Sam hadn't known what to paint. He hadn't considered having a topic in mind before coming to the class. In the end, the only thing he could think of was long nights sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, his brother behind the wheel and Metallica blaring just this side of too loud from the speakers. That had been home to Sam more than anything else in the world, and it was what he was here for, back for. It was what he was fighting for.
He'd ended up painting a road. It hadn't been well-done by any means. Sam had never bothered to paint artistically before in his life. The pavement was too black and the dotted line uneven and too orange, but the sands that blanketed either side of the road were easy, as was the brush and tumbleweeds, mere scribbles of a soaked paintbrush that they were. He'd set the scene during the night, coloring the sky a thick black mixed with purple and dotted it liberally with gleaming white stars, spending far too much time marking out the constellations he knew.
By the end of the class, he was utterly exhausted, but also felt so calm it was almost laughable. He'd felt more himself in that moment than he had since he arrived back in the past. It was as if painting that scene, putting that memory on the canvas, had taken him back in a way not even time travel had yet managed. He was there in the passenger seat, staring out at the road, his brother by his side, as it always should have been.
When Sam looked at his clock and saw that it was past four in the morning and he was still awake , he gave up and climbed out of bed. He was too wired already, too nervous for midterms and everything else.
He showered and dressed, pulling on a pair of faded jeans and one of his flannel shirts, aware that it was likely to get coated in paint at some point during class. He fussed around the apartment for a while, making his bed, sorting laundry and doing dishes, before he gave up and grabbed his bag. Much to his surprise, The Feckin' Bean was open 24 hours, to help desperate college students have a quiet place to work where they could also buy copious amounts of caffeine. It wasn't a long walk from his apartment even in the dark and Sam made the trek easily.
The bookstore, Sam noted as he walked by, was also open, though the clerk at the counter looked exhausted, head buried in a textbook. Sam hoped no one bothered him for a bit if he was actually taking a nap and not attempting to study via osmosis.
He slipped into the coffee shop with a sigh of relief as the smell of roasting beans welcomed him. He briefly expected to see Kathy and get a call of "Morning, Sweets!", but the barista was one he was unfamiliar with. Tall and slender, the man had an unruly mop of dark hair and wide blue eyes. His large ears were prominent but nowhere near as eye-catching as his grin.
"Good morning and welcome to The Friggin' Bean. What can I fill with espresso and chocolate for you today? Or caramel, if you prefer. Or… plain, though I don't suggest that. Ew."
"Isn't it The Feckin' Bean?" Sam asked, eyeing the apron the guy was wearing. It was purple, just like Kathy's, with the same coffee bean distributing the same finger. His eyes caught on the red kerchief around the boy's neck that sat in garish contrast to the rest of his uniform color scheme.
"Well, yeah, but if I say that, my mum'll hear me all the way from home and come here and twist my ears." He flapped his hands at them. "Look at them! She's already got them sticking straight out from my head. They can't take any more!"
Sam chuckled and shook his head. It was too early - far too early - in the morning to be dealing with the humor of someone so chipper. "I'm definitely going to need caffeine."
The boy laughed. "I gotcha covered. You know what you want?" He rubbed his hands together. "I can make anything you can think up. Just say the magic word!"
Sam frowned at him. "What's the magic word?"
" Please . Duh."
Sam grinned. "Please, then." He placed his order with the kerchief-wearing morning person and briefly considered flopping onto one of the beanbags. He thought once he lied down, though, he wouldn't get back up, and instead took a seat in one of the purple armchairs. His eyes roamed the room at leisure, taking in the dark purple walls and the numerous photos of coffee art that hung suspended in gold frames. The whole coffee shop was done up in hues of purple, gold, and brown, the countertops the color of butterscotch candy and the ceiling a soft lavender.
Sam eyed the floor, covered as it was in soft brown carpet, and wondered if he was less likely to sleep through his midterm if he laid down there and took a short nap. He was seriously regretting scheduling classes at eight in the morning. Hadn't he thought during his first run through Stanford that it was a terrible decision he would never make again?
There was a crash and the sound of breaking glass behind the counter that had Sam whipping around. He heard a muttered, "Oh, Gwen is gonna kill me for that," before a series of clatters ensued.
"You okay?"
"Oh, fine. Yes. Perhaps a little burnt but it wouldn't be the first time."
Sam stood up and headed over to the counter to check on the boy. The clatter of dishes continued and then he heard the kid mutter something, but it didn't sound English. His head popped up over the counter and for a moment his eyes reflected gold back at Sam, who blinked in surprise.
But then they were blue again and Sam wondered if maybe he should have laid down on one of the beanbags and tried for a nap after all.
"Oh. Hi. Coffee's almost done. I had a bit of a mixup with where the coffee goes but apparently the floor was thirsty, so… yes." He grinned at Sam. "I'll be done in a minute if you want to sit back down."
"O-kay," Sam said slowly, heading back over to his chair.
He settled down into the soft cushion, frowning as he heard the boy mutter something under his breath that was definitely in another language. A moment later, he came out with Sam's latte, looking no worse for wear.
"Thanks," Sam said, revelling in the warmth of the mug. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Well, depends on who you ask. Kathy calls me Sparks." He shrugged with a wide grin. "But my name's Merlin."
The door to the bookshop next to The Feckin' Bean had a bell that rang cheerily as he entered. He winced slightly at the groan the cashier let out as he sat up at gazed at Sam with a look he recognized.
"Midterms are murder," Sam said sympathetically.
"You a senior?" the kid asked, scratching a hand through dark hair and making it stand on end.
"Freshman."
"Oh, you poor bastard. You've no idea what's waiting for you. Abort. Fucking. Mission."
Sam thought about the four years he had already spent once getting his degree - or near enough, anyway - and how he was planning to do it all over again. He figured if he actually mentioned that, though, it wouldn't be the time travel that broke this poor kid's brain.
Instead, he set the second cup of coffee he'd bought on the counter and pushed it forward, made especially like Merlin the Nighttime Barista knew this kid tended to like it.
"Oh!" The kid grabbed the coffee like he was afraid Sam would change his mind. "Are you an actual god? Because I will change my religion if this is for me."
"Keep your religion," Sam said, struggling not to laugh, "but keep the coffee, too."
He left the boy to drink his coffee - hopefully he had the sense to wait until it cooled before chugging it - and wandered the store. He'd bought supplies for his classes before they began, notebooks and pens and folders, to stay organized, and a few other things to work on making up some plans. His Japanese class had involved considerably more writing than he had expected, however, and he had used up his spare notebooks. Most likely because of all the pages he had torn out and thrown away after messing up the kanji. His hands had grown steady over the years, writing out different alphabets for spells and sigils, but the steadiness and the skill he'd had wasn't something that had come back with him. The knowledge was there but muscle memory, it seemed, didn't transfer well across time.
Sam moved up and down the aisles, inspecting their selection. They were less expensive than he had anticipated and he wished now he would have purchased some of his supplies here rather than the store across town.
He picked out a few spiral notebooks and a new set of pens. He moved down the electronics aisle and lamented that iphones wouldn't be a thing for a few years. He considered a portable CD player, but the cost of CDs was too high for him to see the sense of wasting his money on it. Even buying cassette tapes seemed an unnecessary expense, so he resigned himself to the silence of poor technology and headed back toward the cashiering station. He was almost out of the aisle when a selection of journals caught his attention.
There was a dark red journal that made him think of burning coals in a banked fire. The color was eye-catching, but the journal could have been any color, as far as Sam was concerned. His eyes were drawn to the image emblazoned on the front. A massive tree with strong branches that stretched across the whole cover done in black, twisting lines like celtic knots. It seemed to call out to Sam and he had to take a moment to double-check that it wasn't actually something supernatural tugging on his senses, but no. Not even a tingle of his burgeoning powers.
He just wanted the journal.
It was only ten dollars and even though he really wanted to save as much money as he could, he had made $1500 from the jerk at the bar, even if he had spent some renting his apartment for another week. He grabbed the journal and made his way to the counter, setting the notebooks in a careful pile and laying the pens on top.
"Classes stealing your soul and your wallet, huh?"
"Seems that way," Sam said, watching as the kid reluctantly set down his coffee so he could ring Sam up. Coffee in one hand and bag of notebooks in the other, Sam headed out of the shop, wondering what he would be spending the next few hours doing before it was time for him to face Dr. Roderick and his algebra midterm. The door was swinging shut behind him when he heard the cashier call out, "Praise be, Coffee God!"
Sam rolled his eyes and headed back to school.
His algebra midterm involved a lot of internalized groaning, two instances of dropping his head to his desk in an exhausted sense of failure, and one brief moment of actually dozing off. By the end of it, he was not only more tired than he had been when he first woke up, but also frustrated, worried, and suffering a mild headache. He wandered down the sidewalk aimlessly for about a half hour, looking about as dead inside as every other student who had just crawled away from their 8am class. With a final sigh of defeat, he turned and headed back toward his apartment. He would risk oversleeping and the wrath of The Dragon if it meant he could just get a couple hours of sleep.
He was standing at a crosswalk, waiting for the walk signal with a bunch of other people and lamenting his lack of wings and flight ability, when a familiar voice caught his attention.
"Oh, Chessy, it's gonna be all right."
"No, you don't understand. She looked right at me…" The girl sounded like she was about to burst into tears. "I think she knows. "
Sam looked around the crowd of people, trying to locate the source.
"Knows what?"
"I was talking with Rey earlier and he was saying how Drake's like a nesting mother but she's got paintings 'stead of eggs and I just laughed like a fool an' I told 'im that I could take 'er. But I can't take 'er, Ma. I couldn't've ever taken 'er!"
Sam caught sight of the back of someone's head, long copper braid dragging at her hips, and saw the way an unfamiliar girl's hands were gripping her shoulders, face white with fear.
"I looked into the void and it looked into me and I am unworthy ." She buried her face in Kathy's shoulder and wailed, "I'll never deliver coffee again! I am a coffee failure!"
"There, there," Kathy said, patting the girl's back. "You're not a failure, Cheshire."
"But the dragon lady is scary ."
"Yes. Yes, she is."
There was a bit of a lull as the other girl sniffled into Kathy's shoulder, but then Kathy mumbled, "I really want to know who was foolish enough to ask for coffee to be delivered to Drake's class. Especially during Midterm week."
Sam made a noise in the back of his throat of agreement but it was enough to catch their attention. The girl lifted her head up and looked at him as Kathy turned around.
"Sweets!" she cried, delighted, then frowned at him. "Oh wow, you look terrible."
Sam snorted. "Thanks."
She didn't leave it at that, though, and trotted over to his side. Sam took a step back as she moved in close, her face mere inches away and her hands having no compunction about poking at him. "Kathy, what-"
"Look at those grocery bags. Did you sleep at all last night?"
"I got a few hours," he said defensively, trying to back away from her. She clung like an octopus, moving with him.
"Pfft! A few hours," she grumbled mockingly. "You need a nap. And coffee. In that order, mister!" She poked him in the side, making him yelp and twist away. "Now, young man. Move your tush."
She poked him in the side until he started moving in the direction she wanted. "Okay, okay, geez." He rubbed the spot she had been poking and sent her his best puppy dog pout.
She snorted at him. "Won't work, Sweets. I deal with Mer lin for half the day." She poked him again for good measure. "To The Feckin' Bean, and step on it. I'm gonna be late for my shift."
Sam didn't feel like facing her ire so he just decided to go along with it. She gravitated to his side and matched his step while the other girl trailed behind and he walked the increasingly-familiar path to the coffee shop.
Halfway through their walk, he heard a shout and the girl behind him gave a startled, "Oops! Gotta go!" before dashing off down the street.
Two campus security guards ran past them a moment later, hot on her tail but falling behind, and he heard Kathy sigh beside him. "Honestly, I'da thought they'd give it up by now. They'll never catch her." She slipped her arm through Sam's and pulled him forward. "Come along, Sweets. There's a feckin' couch with your name on it."
Kathy kept her word about both the couch and coffee. When they arrived at The Feckin' Bean, she led him quietly over to one of the couches and pushed him down onto it with a command of "Sleep. I will wake you for our midterm."
He was mollified by that, having forgotten that she would also be going to Drake's class for their midterm and so wouldn't be likely to forget. He still expected it to take him forever to fall asleep, if he managed at all. To his surprise, though, the sounds of cups clattering and the various scents of brewing coffee was relaxing. Sam found himself drifting in and out of a dream about a brightly-lit cafe and a plate of cherry scones, him smiling over the rim of his coffee cup at the person across the table. He couldn't see their face clearly, couldn't tell who it was, but their head was thrown back and their laughter was bright and wild.
There was a chuckled, "And what do you plan to do about it, hm?"
Sam woke up with an answer on his lips he didn't have the words for. He opened his eyes to find an unfamiliar scene and sat up quickly, a blanket tumbling off his shoulders. He glanced around, surprised.
The Feckin' Bean was quiet, though not empty. Students sat on tables on the far side, books spread out in front of them, reading or working on homework. There was someone sprawled across a nearby armchair, legs flung over one arm and head hanging off the other. A Midsummer Night's Dream was opened face-down on their chest and they were snoring away.
He lowered his legs off the couch and pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the clock. It was only half past twelve but he felt like he had slept for days. His limbs were heavy and sluggish and his brain felt a bit like a car that didn't want to start. He shook his head, trying to make the feeling of not being entirely there go away but it clung stubbornly to him, making him feel like he wasn't settled in his own body - a sensation he didn't have good experience with and he could feel himself beginning to shiver, a chill of cold air brushing over the back of his neck.
"Oh, Sam, did you really think jumping back through time was going to make me leave? Tsk tsk. You should be ashamed of yourself."
The couch cushions shifted and Sam felt the cold breeze flutter against his face and neck as Lucifer settled next to him. The archangel's vessel was still rotting around him, Nick's face all but unrecognizable beneath the cold expression that was pure Devil and the cruel gleam in his eyes.
"You really did think you were going to get away from me, didn't you?" He leaned in close, his cheek brushing Sam's shoulder, and his breath was like ice against his ear. "Didn't I already tell you, Sam? You're still in the Cage. You're still here with me. And I'm not about to let you leave."
Sam's entire body went icy cold. His vision actually blurred out for a moment, taking the view of the coffee shop with it as a floating sensation filled him. He felt himself list to the side and Lucifer reached out and snagged his arm.
His touch was like falling into a lake in January and bursting to the surface only to find it had already sealed over with ice. Sam's breath caught in his throat and he dug his thumb into his left palm until his vision wavered. Lucifer's face blurred like a camera lens splattered with rain, taking the blonde of Nick's hair and the scabbed and scarred face with it.
But the silhouette of a person remained and Sam felt his lips tremble despite his desperate desire to remain in control . He had begun to shiver again, his limbs shaking hard beneath the burning ice of Lucifer's hand and he struggled to pull away from him.
"Now, now, Sam," Lucifer said, but his voice was distorted, skewed. He saw the vague impression of a hand reach for him again and he staggered out of his seat, stumbling backward, his thumb still digging into his palm despite the fact that blood was dripping from his fingertips.
He hit a table and pain ricocheted across his lower back. His skin was freezing cold but his head felt hot, his breath coming in sharp pants as his mind tried to latch onto the truth within Lucifer's lies. He was not in the Cage. He couldn't be. If he was in the Cage, that would mean everything since then had been a lie. Everything up to and including his coming back in time, and that wasn't possible. There's no way that Lucifer could have made up everything that happened. The Leviathans, Kevin, Cain, and Dean taking the Mark. Crowley being an enemy and then a friend. Lucifer wasn't… he was creative, yes, but at being cruel. Lucifer knew how to torment, to torture. To build a world filled with terrible events but also hope?
No. No, Sam was not in the Cage.
"You're not real," he muttered, digging his fingernails into the back of his hand for leverage as his thumb tore into his palm. "You're not…"
"Aren't I, Sam?" Lucifer's eyes glowed red as he rose to his feet and stepped closer. "Are you sure you want to tempt me to prove myself? There's so many people here. What would it take, I wonder. A few hundred corpses lined up at your feet? Or I could just burn this place to ashes around you." He raised a hand and waved it negligently. Flames burst from every surface, rushing outward in trails of white-blue like the floor had been soaked in gasoline. "But you'll be okay, Sam. Don't worry. I won't let my favorite Winchester die. Not. Ever."
Sam felt the tears slip down his cheeks, hot against his icy skin, and his breath seemed to stutter in his chest. The back of his throat burned with smoke and his nostrils were filled with the putrid scent of burning flesh. He gagged against it, bracing himself against the table behind him as he struggled not to collapse. The roaring of flames filled his ears, the sound of glass shattering against heat, but no screams. There were no screams.
Sam lifted his head and tried to find people in the shop, squinting through the smoke and the searing heat of the flames. Everything blurred beneath his tears and he frantically scrubbed at his face, desperate to find these people who were dangerously close to becoming his friends.
"-supposed to have it done by five o'clock and we both know how ridiculous-"
Sam's head jerked back toward Lucifer, startled by the voice. It was too soft to be the Devil's, but as familiar as it was vague. He stared at the blur that was the archangel, frowning at him. He was standing back, away from Sam, arms slightly spread. Sam could still see the blonde of his hair, but something seemed… off, somehow, more than just his body language.
He dared to look away, his eyes scanning the coffee shop again. The flames were still there but they seemed frozen, like one picture overlaid against another. No movement.
"-you have Drake as a professor. Don't think I could handle her, but then I hate painting. I have to paint my parents' house this summer and I-"
The smell of smoke wasn't as prominent. Instead, the smell of coffee was back, almost too-strong to senses that seemed overpowered. The smell of chocolate was sickly sweet at the back of his throat and he felt his stomach churn. He grabbed the edge of the table with both hands and hissed at the stab of pain in his left palm. He glanced down at it to see he had torn the skin open, blood coating his palm and fingers, streaked down his forearm.
"-taking a French Literature class would be easy since I know the language. I have never been so bored in my-"
He frowned down at his hand, staring for a long moment at the wound, wondering when that had occurred. Then his eyes lifted and scanned the coffee shop again. The flames that had been painted across everything were gone. The coffee shop looked normal, though a few tables were cluttered with books and cups, and he could see a chair that had been knocked over and others that were pulled out from the tables. He frowned, scanning the scene.
"-think once this week is over with, everyone will feel a lot better. At least until Finals come around and we all start freaking out again. At least we have places like this where we can come and relax and drink far too much caffeine. I swear, if my dad knew how much coffee I drank in one week here, he would lock me in a tower. Although if Kathy's given you a nickname, I suppose you're well on your way to getting yourself a good caffeine addiction, if you don't have one already. Or just a Feckin' Bean addiction. I think there's actually a support group."
Sam swallowed, blinking his eyes and taking slow breaths as he listened. The words that hadn't really permeated his consciousness before were clearer now. The world seemed less muffled, though there was still an aura of distance around his own mind, like his body and the part of him he could recognize as his soul or his consciousness were overlapping but not fused. He felt as though he could float away if he moved too quickly. The sensation was unpleasant but also not new, though the familiarity didn't make him feel much better. He felt raw, inside and out, as though someone had wrung his limbs like dish rags and drained every emotion. He could feel his muscles twitching in what he recognized as an adrenaline crash, his heartbeat steady in his chest rather than the erratic, screaming jackhammer against the inside of his wrists.
He shivered as a breeze turned the sweat on his forehead into ice and he felt himself take a step back without planning to. His hip banged into the table and he stumbled against the legs of a chair.
"Lock the door, then," someone was saying, their voice pitched low and calm. "More people coming in here is not going to help. Give him a few minutes to come back to himself and for God's sake, stay back ."
Sam gripped the chair's back in his hand and forced himself to focus on the feeling of the metal pressed against his palm. He took deep breaths and brushed his sweaty bangs out of his face.
"So Kathy said you're a parapsychology major, which seems fake, but she promises she's telling the truth and I really need to know if you've taken the psychic card test. You know, the one from Ghostbusters . I've always wanted to know if that was real."
Lucifer was gone. Sam didn't even have to look to know. His voice and the overwhelming sense of him being there had vanished, drawn away to wherever the flames and smoke had gone. But someone kept talking and the voice was still familiar, even if Sam couldn't place it.
He lifted his head and forced himself to look at the couch where Lucifer had been sitting.
She was standing in the same place he had been but he body language was all different. She was relaxed but not arrogant, arms slightly held out to her side in a gesture meant to show she meant no harm and held no weapon. Backed against the arm of the couch, she was as far away from him as she could be without actually moving around the sofa. She was also standing between him and the crowd of people who were lingering by the door, and Sam flinched as he caught sight of Kathy and Rey. He noted there were only about three other people, but he would have felt better if no one had been here to witness this.
"Hey, look at me, okay? Don't worry about them. They're gonna stay back there and pretend they're churchmice."
Sam looked back at her and this time he actually took in her face. He felt his stomach drop down somewhere near his toes.
Her hair was shorter than it had been the last time he'd seen her, but still the same shade of light blonde he remembered. Her green eyes were steady on his, so open and gentle and concerned that Sam felt tears rush to his own. His mouth tried to whisper her name but he couldn't make any sounds escape his throat.
"Kathy said your name's Sam?"
He forced himself to nod even as he continued to stare at her. He hadn't forgotten about her. She'd been the first person outside of his family that he'd truly loved and once upon a time he had planned to spend his life with her. She wasn't someone he could ever have forgotten. Still, faces blurred over time and memories got foggy. In some ways, it was like he was taking her image into his mind for the first time. For her, of course, itwas the first time they were meeting. He would have liked it to occur under better circumstances.
"It's nice to meet you, Sam. My name's Jess."
"Hi," he croaked.
She smiled at him, a bright grin that lit up her eyes. "Hi, Sam. Do you want to sit down?" He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Is here okay?" She motioned at the couch.
Sam moved forward but stopped almost immediately. Despite knowing that Lucifer wasn't there, he couldn't make himself sit back down where the archangel had appeared to him. He swallowed and shook his head, looking away from her, furiously trying to shove down the clinging fear that was like a bog sucking at him, pulling him back down.
"All right. Is over here okay?" She moved away from the couch, closer to the coffee bar even while she kept herself between Sam and the others.
He nodded and followed her over to the couch that sat in the corner of the room. It was further away from the others and L-shaped. He sank quietly down into the cushions on one end, his hands curled into fists in his lap, and exhaled a long breath as Jess settled down on the far side of the couch, as far away from him as she could be without choosing a different piece of furniture.
"What's your favorite coffee from here?" she asked, and Sam looked over at her again. She was still watching him, attentive, interested in his answer. "Or does Kathy just make you whatever her special is as soon as you walk in?"
Sam's eyes drifted over to where Kathy was. She had opened the door and was ushering the remaining patrons out. He saw Rey glance back at him, a concerned look on his face, before he also slipped out of the coffee shop. Kathy closed the door behind him and then disappeared behind the counter.
"It varies," he mumbled. "Though I like the first one she made me."
"Oh? What was it?"
"Hazelnut," he said slowly, "and mocha."
"That sounds really good. With whipped cream?"
He nodded.
She kept asking him questions, each one spoken in a soft, calm voice. If it had been anyone else, he probably wouldn't have been able to open up enough to answer them, or let go of his nerves. But he knew Jess. He trusted her. Her voice washed over him, soothing, asking questions about his favorite foods or what he liked to do for fun. Always things that related to sensations - touch and taste and smell. It made him think about them. Made him focus on them enough to answer and it seemed to level him out, pull him back down inside himself, until he felt less like he was about to float away.
He found his eyes actually drooping and sat up abruptly. "I have to get to my midterm."
"You have time," Jess assured him, making a "lie back" motion with her hands but not touching him. "It's only a little after one."
"Are you sure?" he asked. Surely it had been longer than that. He felt like it had been hours.
She nodded and held her phone out to him. The backlit digital clock said 1:04 and he breathed out a long sigh. "Why don't you lay down for a few minutes and just relax. Close your eyes."
"Don't want to be late," he murmured, even as he shut his eyes, head leaning back against the arm of the couch.
"You won't be late," she said softly, "I promise."
Sam believed her.
