glasslogic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
glasslogic) wrote2010-09-30 01:57 pm
glasslogic) wrote2010-09-30 01:57 pm
Entry tags:
In Arcadia Ego - Section Two
Sam did manage to avoid Gordon, but true to
A highway in Virginia was the site of a series of horrific accidents. No matter how much work the county put into road improvements in the area, cars continued to go off the road and the body count was piling up. Sam knew apparitions were causing the accidents, but he had burned, salted, and warded every possible lead he could find. There weren’t any graves left and the accidents were still happening. It seemed that every person killed joined the roster of the restless dead despite his best effort. Sam was at a total impasse.
Then, right when he was so frustrated he was seriously considering actually trying to track his father down and see if he had any suggestions, the last person on the planet he wanted to hear from called.
“What!?” Sam snarled into the phone, the number was unrecognized and he almost hoped it was someone trying to sell him something.
“Who pissed in your Wheaties?” Dean’s lazy, mocking drawl answered him, causing Sam’s frustration to soar to entirely new heights.
“Not now,” Sam snapped. “I’m in the middle of something. People’s lives are at stake.”
The voice chilled. “Our agreement is pretty specific, and I don’t give a damn about anyone else’s life.”
“I do!”
“Like the nice people in the basement? Like those lives, Sam?”
Sam closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall. “I’ve been at this for three weeks now, and people are still dying. Please -- I can’t leave now; just a few more days.”
“Three weeks seems like a long time for a hunt. What’s going to change in the next couple of days that will make a difference?”
“I can find a way to stop it!”
“But you probably won’t. And then what? Another couple of days? A week? A month?”
Sam swallowed. “Maybe.”
There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ll give you five days. Because you’ve been pretty cooperative and I’m a nice guy. But you had better be on my doorstep when the sun sets on the fifth day, got it?”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll text you the address. I won’t be here by then, so I’ll have to figure out what my plans are first.”
“Okay.”
Dean waited, but Sam didn’t say anything else.
“I guess we’re all done then,” Dean finally said.
“Yeah, I guess…” Sam reached a decision. “Actually, wait a sec. Do you have a minute?”
“Maybe,” Dean answered warily. Conversations between them were generally limited to the usual ‘where’ and ‘when’.
“I’m out of ideas, and I know you’ve been around awhile. Have you ever heard of…”
Dean hadn’t been impressed by Sam’s problem, but he’d offered some suggestions Sam hadn’t considered and three days later, the accidents had stopped.
The vampire had the courtesy not to directly mock Sam for asking for his help with hunting business, though he did make a few cutting remarks about Sam’s alleged skills. But with his options limited and lives on the line, Sam reluctantly found himself periodically calling the vampire up and asking his advice anyway.
To his continual surprise, Dean never turned him away.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thoughts about his upcoming case. His fingers worked the buttons of his shirt by habit. He still insisted on keeping his t-shirt on, but there was no reason to have to soak the blood out of more than one layer if there was a mess.
Strong fingers wrapped around his own and squeezed briefly before letting go. Sam looked up, startled. Dean’s expression was unreadable. The vampire’s behavior had seemed off the last few visits, less... flirty, more business-like. No sexual suggestions and less touching, which Sam wanted to welcome as an improvement, but instead it made him feel unsettled, because even though the casual behavior was gone, he didn’t like the undercurrent that seemed to have taken its place. Something different, and whatever it was didn’t seem to be making Dean very happy.
“Don’t do that.”
Sam frowned but let his hands drop to his thighs. “You aren’t going to feed?”
The vampire shrugged. “You’ve got wrists.”
“We’ve been doing this nearly every month for over almost two years now. Every freaking time I’ve asked you to not bite my throat, and every time you’ve refused unless I was injured.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden change?”
“Maybe your whining is getting on my nerves. Roll up your sleeve and shut up. I can find more interesting places to bite you if you really want to pitch a fit.” The vampires gaze drifted pointedly to Sam’s crotch. The hunter glared and pulled his sleeve up.
“See?” Dean pulled a chair over near the bed and sat down, sliding one of his knees between Sam’s legs. “I knew you would see things my way.” The knee pressed warningly into Sam’s inner thigh when the hunter opened his mouth to retort.
When Sam stayed quiet, the vampire sank his fangs deeply through the thin skin of his wrist.
The feeding seemed unusually painful and Sam sat shivering in shock for a few minutes when Dean pulled back. Through the daze, he thought he felt a hand ghost gently over his hair, like a comforting gesture. But when his senses cleared, the vampire was leaning in his usual place against the wall, expression again impassive.
Sam cleaned his arm up and left.
It had been three months since Dean had demanded Sam’s attendance. Sam was finding, despite his general anger --and any logic whatsoever-- that he missed the vampire’s periodic company. It had to be his company, because he certainly didn’t miss the holes in his body or the nauseating pain. Probably because between the hunting community’s attitude towards him, and his father’s continuous absence or unwillingness to answer a phone, Sam didn’t have anyone else’s company to enjoy. Random flirting in bars and the people he lied to as he went about his business hardly counted as company, and humans were social creatures at their base. Knowing that didn’t make isolation easier for Sam to endure.
He knew it was getting bad when he found himself trying to complicate a case just so he could call Dean and get his perspective on it. Sam decided to go visit Bobby instead. The man had been like a second father to him his entire life, and a little human company would do him good. Certainly more good than a vampire who would drum his nails, listen impatiently, then toss off a glib reply and sink his fangs into Sam’s throat. A lot more good. Worlds more good.
But things at Bobby’s weren’t as smooth sailing as Sam had hoped. His father’s old friend had seemed more resigned to see him than pleased, which made his failure to return Sam’s calls less likely to be the result of a busy schedule and more likely deliberate avoidance. Sam hadn’t thought Bobby would be swayed by the business with Gordon, but short of confronting him, that was the only conclusion Sam could draw. He was stuck, though; the Impala needed maintenance work, which Sam was rather abysmal at, and resigned or not -- Bobby was human company he trusted.
Thankfully, after a few days, whatever tension was in the air seemed to ease up. Bobby watched him change the Impala’s oil, then forbade him from touching anything else under the hood. Apparently, whatever auto-mechanical sin he had committed was grave enough to get him a free pass on the rest of the work. Sam paid the favor back by dragging his notes of ‘things to look into when he had time’ out of the trunk and picking one to pursue to get himself out of Bobby’s hair faster.
He was getting ready to pack up and hit the road again when Bobby got a call about a problem in Oklahoma. There were idiots playing with demon summoning; needed to put a stop to things before they managed to conjure up a real problem.
“What’s so interesting about this job that they are calling you about it? Can’t they handle it?” Sam asked around a mouthful of cereal.
Bobby snorted and turned the page in the tome he was flipping through. “Someone’s been planting Strangler Vine out near the middle schools in Jackson County. Figure they have about half of it uprooted and burned, but if they stop now--”
“--it will all grow back,” Sam finished.
“And school comes back there in a few days. Dead kids or loose demons.”
Sam pushed the cereal bowl away and settled back in his chair. “It didn’t sound like your wannabe demon summoners are that close to actually getting anywhere. Some curdled milk and wilted plants seem pretty amateur hour. Why the crises call?”
Bobby visibly hesitated a moment. “Well, it’s not really the demon summoning that’s the problem. I mean, it is, but like you said -- these yahoos aren’t about to call ol’ Beelzebub out of the Pit anytime soon. The problem is the book they are using to do it.”
“What’s so special about it?” Sam rose and gathered the dishes to dump in the sink.
“The pattern the spells are progressing in, seems like they might have something unusual. Something some of us would like to get our hands on.”
Sam raised a brow. “You want to get your hands on a book of demon summoning? I thought we just burned those.”
Bobby looked uncomfortable. “Most of those books are about a third weird and twisted crap, a little of which might actually work, and two-thirds delusional rambling. But a few are true demonic texts, for their own use. Those can give us clues to what the monsters are angling for in their plans.”
“And you think this is one of these actual grimoires?”
“It’s suspicious.”
Sam rinsed out his bowl and dropped it in the rack. “I can do it.”
“What?”
“Go get the book. You said Oklahoma? I have business down there anyways. I think I can handle a couple of occult dabblers. Drop the book off in a couple of weeks. Your friends can keep up with their gardening project, and you can finish healing up instead of chasing crazies around the town.” Sam gave a meaningful look to the heavy bandages and walking cast that swathed Bobby’s right leg from something involving an abandoned house and a Brownie that he didn’t want to talk about.
“Ah, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Sam.”
“Why not? I’m leaving this afternoon; it’s on my way.”
“Well, I mean… you said you already have business. I can find someone else, I’m sure. No need to interrupt your schedule just to go pick up a book.”
Sam’s brows drew together in confusion. “I’m just going to look into the historical archives in Dallas to try and track down the history on a haunting that crops up every ten years or so. But it’s not due this year, so it’s not exactly a pressing problem. I can do that and get your book, Bobby; you don’t need to try and pull someone off a real hunt for this.”
When Bobby didn’t say anything Sam frowned. “Is there some reason you don’t want me to do this for you?”
Bobby stared at him for a moment as if weighing something, until Sam felt the urge to shift under his gaze, but then he sighed and was just Bobby again. “You’ll need the address.”
Sam wasn’t quite sure how things had gone so wrong, but he was up several gaping wounds and a probable concussion, and down one demonic grimoire and his pride. About the time one of his assailants negligently flipped a hand and sent Sam flying backwards into a bookshelf, it occurred to him he should have asked more questions. Finding the little demon summoning pricks had been easy, but it wasn’t until he had them at gunpoint and was demanding the book that he realized just how bad his information was. In a heartbeat, two terrified looking teenagers had become black-eyed Pit fiends and Sam was fighting for his life.
Everything had seemed over and the hands on his throat were choking out the last of his breath when there was some kind of harsh conversation he couldn’t make out over the ringing in his ears and then he was sprawled alone on the concrete, gasping for air. A hand tangled in his hair and slammed his head back against the floor, then blackness rolled in.
He roused briefly to rough hands tugging at him and a light burning into his eyes, then a harsh chemical smell and the darkness was back.
When he woke again, the situation wasn’t much improved. Heavy ropes cut into his skin where he was tied to a chair and dark spots swam in his vision when he turned his aching head too fast.
“Wha--”
“Where’s the book, Winchester?” The gravelly voice that cut him off was heated with anger and implacable resolve. It wasn’t the voice of someone prepared to be reasonable.
“Who the hell are you?!”
“Hunters.” This was a new voice, but the speaker was standing beyond the light of the naked bulb hanging over his head and Sam couldn’t make them out.
“Real hunters.” The first man again. “Not like the twisted charade you’ve been playing at. How long did you think you were going to get away with it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking ab--” was as far as Sam got before a blow came out of nowhere and rattled his senses. When he could focus again, a man was crouched by the side of the chair; he had a heavily lined face and the hardest eyes Sam had ever seen.
“We can make this fast, or we can make it very, very, slow. But you are going to tell us what we want to know. What are the demons’ plans?”
Sam licked bloody lips and watched him warily. “Look, I don’t know what you think is going on, but I was just here to recover a book for Bobby Singer. He can vouch for me. I don’t know anything about any demons, except the two that jumped me.”
The man stood and looked down on Sam. “I’ve already talked to Singer; how do you think we knew where you were? He thought you might need some… help.”
“Help with what?!”
“Doing the right thing.” He grabbed Sam by the hair and forced his face up so that the overhead light made his eyes water. “You look so human. So normal. What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Being a traitor to your entire race, serving Hell.”
“You’re insane,” Sam gasped.
The man released him and stepped back. He pulled a knife out and made a show of testing the edge on his thumb. “Where’s the book?”
“I don’t--” the knife arced out and a place on his arm went first numb, then hot with pain. His shirt darkened around the slash.
“I have a lot of patience and there isn’t anyone around to notice any screaming our conversation might require. We could have days for this discussion, won’t bother me at all. You, though, you might not enjoy it as much. Just tell me what I’m after, and I’ll make it quick.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you want; you’re crazy!” Sam hissed, flexing against the ropes. “If I was helping the demons, why did you find me beaten up and unconscious? That sound like something my allies would do?”
“It sounds like the kind of thing they would do to hide the traitor in our ranks. You think I’m impressed by a few bruises?” He leaned in until Sam could feel the heat of his breath. “I want that book. I want to know what the demons are planning with all the omens that are cropping up lately. I want to know where the next attack is going to come from, and I don’t want to worry about you waiting to stab us in the back.”
“I’m not working with demons,” Sam spat.
“I guess it’s the hard way, then.”
Sam had no way of knowing how long the ‘conversation’ went on; they only had one real question, and he could only give them the same answer. After enough abuse, he drifted in and out of awareness for awhile, until finally he sank into true unconsciousness with no freezing water or harsh smells to drag him back up.
Hard packed dirt was pressed into his cheek when he came to again. He was unbound and curled onto his side on the floor. His entire body throbbed with pain and he couldn’t open one eye at all for the swelling, but he didn’t get the sense there was anyone in the room with him. Sam rolled slowly onto his stomach and reached out with his good arm to push up to his knees -- but his fingertips brushed something suspiciously familiar and he scrambled up faster than he had intended, nearly falling headlong as his body protested, strongly. A very dim light showed a stairwell, and Sam stumbled towards it, fumbling at the wall for some kind of switch.
A harsh light blossomed in the basement, and Sam just stared. Handfuls of flesh were strewn across the dirt. Too much flesh for one person. Blood splashed the walls and stood in drying puddles. Everywhere was the stench of sulfur. He thought he should feel something, but he was fighting nausea and wondering about his own survival; the fate of his torturers was going to have to wait. The chair he had been bound to was sitting squarely against the wall, the ropes that had restrained him coiled neatly on the seat. His head swam and he turned to struggle up the stairs.
Too much to process. He had to get out.
The house itself was in better shape only in the sense that it wasn’t full of bodies. It was a wreck, obviously an abandoned property. Boards were nailed over the windows and other than a few sets of keys strewn on the table and a cooler by the door, there was nothing in the kitchen at the top of the stairs. Sam found a duffle bag in what had been a bedroom, the contents of the bag had been strewn across a decaying mattress and obviously searched. Sam recognized his things and repacked as best he was able. He used a clean shirt dipped in the melted ice in the cooler to wash as much blood as he could from his face, shouldered his bag and stumbled outside with the collection of keys to find a car.
Sam found the Impala pulled into a decrepit barn behind the property. He slid behind the wheel and passed out again.
When he woke up, the door was still open and flies and gnats were buzzing around his face and body, he was hot and sticky and ached everywhere, but he managed to get the door closed and the car started. There were bodies in the basement and he didn’t know what was going on, or even what day it was -- time to put some distance between himself and the house, see to his wounds, and try and figure out what the hell was happening.
“Bobby.”
“Sam.”
There was a silence on the line between them.
“I tried to get the book for you. Did you hear about that?”
“Some.” Bobby’s voice was guarded, and it made Sam’s heart ache underneath the anger. The hunters had been telling the truth when they said Bobby was involved.
“It wasn’t teenagers, Bobby. It was demons. And then it was hunters. Did you send hunters after me?”
Bobby sighed. “I got a call asking if the job had been picked up from another hunter in the area. I mentioned your name; he was concerned. He said he would stop by and make sure you had it handled.”
“Concerned? Concerned about what, Bobby? That I needed help with the job, or that I was the job?”
“Sam--”
“What the fuck is going on?” Sam hissed into the payphone.
“These are bad times, Sam. Hard to know who to trust.”
“You helped raise me, what the hell have I done to lose your trust?! Why do people think I’m in league with demons?”
“You were the last person to see Jim alive.”
“I didn’t have a damn thing to do with his death, and you know it!”
“I don’t know it, Sam! You were the last person there, and the next thing anyone knows, he’s dead and it was demons that did it.”
“Why does that mean I was involved?!”
“Because--” Bobby bit off whatever he was going to say next and heaved a frustrated sigh into the phone.
“Because what, Bobby?” Sam demanded. “Why does almost every freaking hunter on the entire goddamned planet practically cross themselves when I’m around? I’ve never done a damn thing to anyone, except Gordon -- and he had it coming!”
“No one’s saying he didn’t, Sam. But using your fists on him over a pack of damned vampires... that didn’t help your case any.”
“What case?! What makes me different?!”
“I’m not getting into this with you, Sam. And it’s a moot point anyways.”
“How can it be a m--”
Bobby cut him off curtly. “We found the basement.”
Sam fell silent.
“Even if every other thing could be explained away, there’s only a few reasons I can think of why a demon would slaughter everyone in a room, and leave only one alive. And most of them are bad. They rescued you, Sam. Demons rescued you. And I can’t ignore that. Not on top of everything else.”
“Bobby, I don’t-- I don’t have an explanation. I don’t know what the hell is going on, why the demons left me alive. Maybe they’re just trying to fuck things up for us, make us turn on our own so we’re too distracted to figure out what the hell they’re actually up to. But you need to call the hunters off; let me try and figure out what’s going on. They’ll listen to you; I just need some time.”
“I can’t do that, Sam. There’s too much at risk and too many strikes against you. I am sorry.”
The dial tone left Sam staring at the receiver, stunned, until the voice came on advising him how to place a call.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked sharply.
Sam just gave him a tired look. Sheets of rain washing out of the sky had turned his hair into a limp curtain around his ears and drenched him to the skin. His clothes always looked like they came off the rack of a discount store in a mountain town, but now they also looked worn and poorly-fitting. There was an emptiness to his eyes, still shadowed by healing bruises, that was a warning to the wary. Dean stepped out of the way in silent invitation and took the duffle bag from Sam’s hands as he walked in. For once, Sam didn’t protest or even give him a glance, just shuffled past Dean until he stood dripping and shivering on the edge of the tile before it turned to carpet, then stopped as if he was at a loss for what to do.
“How badly are you messed up?”
“I’m fine.”
The vampire didn’t comment on that. “Take a hot shower. It’s down the hall to the right. I’ll put some clothes on the counter; there are towels on the rack.”
The bathroom was clean and the water hot. It was a marked change from everywhere else he had holed up for the last three months. Sam spent a good twenty minutes just sitting on the edge of the tub inside the shower curtain letting the hot water rain down on his bowed head before he even thought about reaching for soap.
When he was clean enough and the water was starting to lose its heat, he twisted the handle off and stepped out to find a neat pile of clothing on the sink counter. Sam hadn’t even noticed when that happened.
After he was dry and dressed, he opened the door to find the vampire leaning against the opposite wall. Dean pointed silently down the hall towards an open door. It was a bedroom and Sam sank onto the edge of the mattress, exhausted and just wanting to sleep.
“You have two options here,” Dean said casually, pulling some things out of a battered cardboard box. “You can either tell me where the injuries are and let me treat them, or you can be a stubborn ass and I can strip you to find them myself.”
Sam was silent a moment. “Why do you care?”
“You’re a useful resource; I’m protecting my own interests.”
Sam slept restlessly in the bed for three days, only rising long enough to tend to personal matters and swallow some soup and water before collapsing again. He had been surprised that the vampire had been so interested in seeing his injuries, especially considering that it had been three months since he had last called. But Dean has been insistent and so Sam had tolerated having hands run over almost every inch of his body. Mostly because he was too tired to fight about it and the vampire had kept his touch impersonal. Any open wounds had already closed, but there were still signs of deep bruising and an ache where his ribs and arm had been fractured.
But after seventy-two hours of almost constant sleep, Sam was starting to feel human again, and there were things that needed to be addressed.
“You haven’t fed yet.”
“Is that a complaint?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow, pulling his attention away from the computer monitor on the bedroom’s small desk and turning to face Sam. “I didn’t think you enjoyed it that much.”
“It’s not a complaint. But… that’s what you called me for. I just wanted to know if you were still planning on it.”
“Because you’re sick? You think I might give you a pass?”
Sam gave a half shrug, then winced.
Dean turned back to the screen. “There’s nothing wrong with you that a few mouthfuls of blood will make a difference for. You shouldn’t be leaving for a few days; I’ll get around to it.”
“I’ll just lie around anticipating then.”
“I can go ahead and do it now if it’s weighing on you so much,” Dean responded to the sarcasm pointedly.
Sam took a deep breath. “Okay.”
The vampire actually showed some surprise at that, and Sam watched with nervously as Dean rose and walked towards him. He sat on the bed and reached out to push the hair away from Sam’s throat, fingers barely brushing against his skin. The hunter flinched. Dean let his hand fall back to his side and sighed. “What’s going on?”
“I just thought, you know… you could, if you wanted, while you fed.”
Dean blinked. “Could what?”
Sam glared. “You’ve been making sleazy suggestions to me for two years now. I finally say yes, and now you don’t know what I’m talking about?”
The vampire raked his gaze over the man in his bed. Sam squirmed inwardly under the attention, but forced himself to lay still.
“Do you even know what you are giving permission for?” Dean asked skeptically.
“You said you wanted to fuck me, so presumably it would involve more penetration than just your teeth,” Sam gritted out, finding anger a good cure for nerves.
“You’ve been turning me down for two years now,” Dean pointed out, “so unless you tell me you had a big homosexual crisis and took all this damage getting your ass handed to you propositioning bikers in a Georgia bar, I have to say I find your sudden willingness a little suspicious. You suddenly notice I’m a smokin’ hot example of the human form and decide to get some?”
The vampire’s expression darkened. “This isn’t some weird, misguided attempt at payment for patching you up and letting you stay here, is it? I already told you, this is strictly in my best interest. You don’t owe me anything for it.”
“It isn’t that,” Sam muttered.
“Then what is it?!” Dean demanded in exasperation. “What happened that makes now,” the vampire waved a hand that took in Sam’s bruises, “an ideal time for this? You have a list of things to do before you die somewhere that includes ‘awkward gay sex with a member of the undead,’ and you’ve decided to go ahead and get it crossed off?”
“You said it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Oh, I think any kind of sex at the moment is going to hurt plenty. Remember your ribs? I bet some of those under the boot prints look like cracked safety glass.”
Sam was glaring again, but if anything, his posture was even more defensive. “You said if I let you fuck me while you fed from me, the feeding wouldn’t hurt. I just…” His voice trailed off and he was focused very intently on the shape of his toes under the blankets.
“I don’t think you’re in a great place to be making that decision right now.”
There was a flash of genuine anger in Sam’s eyes. “I’m twenty-fucking-seven years old. That might not be impressive for a monster like you, but for humans, that’s plenty old to be making our own damn decisions about our sex lives. I don’t need a chaperone.”
The vampire narrowed his eyes. “It’s tempting to make you eat those words, but I think I’m going to just stick with No for the time being. If you were smart, you would drop it before this altruistic mood of mine passes.”
His gaze raked Sam’s body again with decidedly more interest and the hunter curled defensively despite the pain it caused.
“Yeah, that’s real enticing. Your enthusiasm is contagious.” Dean rolled his eyes and stood up. “Get some sleep, Sam. You still look like five miles of bad road.”
Sam’s anger melted into confusion. “You’re just going to go? What about…”
Dean snorted. “Ask me again when you don’t look someone who has to pay for it.”
A ripple of anger crossed the Sam’s face again, but it vanished almost immediately. “So you’re still going to do it, like usual?”
“Like we agreed on in the beginning; I’m the one doing the drinking, I’m the one calling the shots. You were warned about the pain when you made this deal.” Dean’s voice was hard, cutting off any more argument.
Sam nodded, resigned, and settled back on the mattress as comfortably as he could. The vampire turned off the monitor, then the lights, leaving the hunter alone in the quiet dark.
He stirred to the weight of another body pressed along his side. He started to pull away and a leg slid over his own as a powerful hand locked onto his shoulder, pinning him in place. Recognition calmed one kind of panic, but he felt another starting in the pit of his stomach. Sam swallowed uneasily, wide awake in the dark room. He lay still, waiting to see what the vampire did next, touched next, but there was nothing but the cool, familiar weight of him and eventually Sam relaxed back into the mattress. He’d made the offer; he would live with the consequences.
As soon as the tension bled out of his muscles, a strong hand took firm grip on his chin, holding his head in place. He felt the white sting of delicate teeth sliding into his skin, then lips sealed over the wound. He braced for the pain... but instead, a strange sense of euphoria seemed to be stirring in his body, like lazy pleasure, and an oddly disconnected awareness of sensation. The silky weight of the sheets against his skin, the distant and faint ticking of a clock, the gentle working of the mouth pressed tightly to his throat as it pulled the blood from his body, an occasional rasp of tongue. He felt aroused, but not urgently, everything was just… good. Warm, and sweet, and easy. Peaceful. He slipped deeper and deeper into the sensation until he slipped back over the precipice into sleep.
