Sam just sighs through his nose, quiet, and starts taking off his jacket, which ends up being a mistake; he lost his shirt giving it to Dean, though he forgot all about that in the flurry of things happening, so removing the jacket merely reveals mouth-sized scars on his arms, thick patches of scars from knife wounds, from nails and broken glass, from all the attempts on his life from Croats and a few people here and there. Ultimately, he quickly pulls the jacket back on, dragging the covers over his head.

It feels good to have a bed again, and not just his bag as a pillow. Maybe if he works hard enough tomorrow, he and the other campers will deem him worthy of a shower, something to rinse out his hair, clean off some of the gunk. Of course, it takes Lucifer all but thirty minutes to start invading Sam's dreams. Rolling in his bed, his brow furrows into that worried arch, eyes flickering in his head. Just say yes, Sam. I see your dreams. I see you've found Dean. I know he's hurt you; if you just let me, I can make things easier.

"No," he rasps, "I won't. I won't. Get the fuck away from me."

He turns back over, back to Dean.

"Get out -- won't say yes. M'not you. Le'me alone... Stop with their faces..."