Pillow Book

(Scribbled on a piece of motel notepaper, all ragged along the top. Sam found it rolled up inside his left shoe one morning.)





You should stand up straight, Sam.
I know Dad taught you better -
But you don't want to be seen.
(I'm sorry if I taught you that.)

Four goddamn inches. So yeah,
Sometimes I get a sore neck
When you stand real close to me.
(I'm not asking you to move.)

You don't need to hide, Sammy.
You got the Winchester genes too,
Except your damn hair, of course.
(I'm not asking you to cut it.)

Seriously, you should stand up straight, Sammy.
You know I'll shoot anyone looks at you wrong.


Here

(Written on the back of an empty pack of steristrips, tucked in with an otherwise fully-stocked first aid kit.)







Oh Dean, hustling pool. Why
Pick the meanest guy in the
Room? (I worry, you know.)

(Scribbled on the back of a receipt for two granola bars, a large box of matches, a local newspaper and a giant packet of M&Ms. Sam found it between the pages of the paper when he was looking for obits.)





So thing is, I have this... fantasy
About pinning you down on the bed
(I so could, and you know it, bitch:
You got the inches, but I got the skills).
...Oh yeah. And feeding you chocolate.

Not what you expected? Yeah, well.
Maybe I'd eat it off your skin instead,
Smear it across your collarbones, and
lick and suck and lap and... yeah.
You'd taste it on my tongue when we kissed.

And maybe then you'd actually eat it
'stead of all your frickin' granola crap.
I'm just sayin', Sam - no, seriously,
You really should eat more chocolate.
You know I'd let you share my M&Ms.

I read somewhere chocolate makes you happy, you know?
I'm just sayin', Sammy.


Here