♱ another me ♱

With your mouth full, you replied “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dean.”

Dean glanced at the nearly empty pie tin.

"...Seriously?" he said, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah, no. That's enough for you." Dean took the plate off you, frowning, clearly upset at the fact that you were eating almost all his breakfast. 

You wondered what was going on in Sam’s brain. Maybe he was just as confused as you were, or he regretted the whole thing. Whatever it was, you worried things would never be the same again.

True to his word, Sam buried himself in work. It didn't take him long to find a case. A honeymoon resort had become the site of a string of unexplained deaths. Over the past month, six newly married men had suffered fatal heart attacks during their first week there.

"Okay," Sam said, scrolling through the reports. "Dean and I will go as FBI. We can interview the wives."

Dean leaned over his shoulder, reading the article for himself.

"Local police already questioned the staff," he read aloud. "Found nothing."

Sam clicked through the victims and made an observation, "Every attack happened after the couples checked in."

Dean leaned back in his chair. "So we check in."

"As guests…" You finished.

"Yep, exactly"

Then Dean slowly pointed between you and Sam, "Congratulations. You're married."

You stared at him. "What? Why Sam and me?"

Dean frowned like the answer should've been obvious. "Because I don't plan on wearing a floral hawaiian shirt and pretending to be your husband."

"Besides," he continued, pointing at Sam, "he's tall, awkward, and looks like he'd honeymoon in a cabin with a book."

Sam blinked. "...What does that even mean?"

"It means people'll buy it."

What kind of sick joke is this? you thought. You glanced at Sam. He was staring blankly at Dean, nodding every few seconds as though he were listening, but you knew him well enough to recognize when his brain had completely checked out.

You were really about to spend the next few days pretending to be his wife. It shouldn't have been a problem; you'd hunted with Sam for over a decade. Slept beside him on motel floors. Patched each other's wounds and trusted him with your life more times than you could count. Pretending to be close should've been the easiest part of the job, but it wasn't anymore.

It wasn't just that you'd slept together. It was the way he'd looked at you afterward. The way he'd asked if you were okay. The way he'd hesitated before even walking into your room, like crossing that line, scared him as much as it scared you.

"Okay, guys, get your stuff together. I'll get Baby ready for the trip." 

Dean disappeared down the hallway, and the bunker fell quiet. You and Sam were alone. Neither of you seemed to know what to do with your hands, where to look, or how to fill the silence. It stretched on for nearly a minute before either of you dared to speak.

You forced a nervous chuckle: "Well... we're really doing this." Your eyes drifted everywhere except toward him; the floor, the ceiling, the walls, anywhere that wasn't Sam.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Y/N..." And you finally looked up. "Do you... want to talk about last night?"

Your stomach sank. You couldn’t explain it, but your head was spinning, going through every conversation you’d ever had with Sam. You'd talked about hunts, nightmares, your families, dying, coming back from the dead, but somehow, this was the hardest conversation the two of you had ever faced. 

"You don't have to," he said quietly. "I just... I didn't want to pretend it never happened."

“No, I know." You shook your head, searching for the right words. "I just... I don't want to ruin what we have."

Sam's expression softened immediately, as if the answer had been obvious to him all along. "You're not going to." He took a hesitant step closer, close enough that you could see the uncertainty in his eyes despite the reassurance in his voice. After a moment, he rubbed the back of his neck and let out a quiet breath. "And... thanks. For last night. I needed that."

You raised an eyebrow, "The sex?"

A breathy laugh escaped him as he looked down at the floor, shaking his head to himself. "No." When he looked back at you, a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "A friend."

You couldn't help but smile. "That's... probably the sappiest thing you've ever said to me."

Sam let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah."

"Don't worry," you teased. "I won't tell Dean."

"Please don't." The two of you laughed. It wasn't a long laugh, but it was just enough to break the tension that had settled between you since that morning.

The silence returned, but this time it didn't feel quite as heavy. 

You took a slow breath. "So..." Sam looked at you expectantly. "Fake married."

He groaned, "Fake married."

When the three of you arrived at the resort, you were surprised to find the lobby bustling with guests. Considering six men had died there in the last month, business seemed to be doing just fine. 

Dean peeled off toward the security office while you and Sam headed for the reception desk, dressed like a couple on their honeymoon. You glanced down at the light summer dress you were wearing and tugged self-consciously at the hem.

"I look ridiculous," you muttered.

Sam looked over. "...No, you don't."

You raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"I, uh..." He cleared his throat. "I think you look nice."

You blinked. "Really?"

He nodded once. ”Yeah."

Another awkward pause.

Suddenly, Sam broke the silence again, "...You should wear colors like that more often." 

What? Heat rushed to your face "Shut up."

"I was giving you a compliment."

"Well... You looked away. "...Don't do that."

As the two of you got closer to the reception desk, you glanced at the line of couples waiting ahead of you. Everyone seemed effortlessly affectionate; arms wrapped around waists, hands resting on shoulders, stolen kisses exchanged while they waited. For a second, you wondered if anyone would believe the two of you were newlyweds if you kept a careful foot of distance between yourselves.

Without allowing yourself enough time to overthink it, you reached for Sam's hand and intertwined your fingers with his.

He stopped for the briefest moment. His gaze dropped to your joined hands before slowly lifting to meet yours, surprise flickering across his face. Neither of you spoke. He didn't pull away, nor did he tighten his grip; he simply looked at you as if trying to understand whether this was part of the act or something else entirely.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth curled into a small smile. His fingers settled more comfortably around yours, and his thumb brushed over the back of your hand. It was such a small gesture that he probably didn't even realize he'd done it, but it sent a warmth through your chest that had nothing to do with the summer heat outside.

You looked away before he could notice the smile threatening to appear on your own face.

"Next!" the receptionist called, pulling both of you back to reality.

You checked in successfully, despite the anxiousness and how little trust you had in the stunt you were performing.

The suite was far nicer than either of you had expected. A king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, facing a stone fireplace, while a large jacuzzi occupied one corner beside a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the lake. Even the bathroom looked bigger than some of the motel rooms you'd spent entire weeks sharing.

You wandered through the suite at a slow pace, running your fingertips over polished wooden furniture you were almost afraid to touch. Everything looked immaculate, expensive, like the kind of place reserved for people who planned vacations instead of hunts. It felt strange standing there, knowing that in another life you might have enjoyed a place like this simply because you wanted to, not because you were chasing another monster.

While you took in the room, Sam stepped back into the hallway after hearing voices outside. A few minutes later, he returned carrying a brochure and wearing the polite, slightly awkward smile he always seemed to reserve for strangers.

"Apparently the resort has a welcome event tonight," he said, setting the brochure on the table. "Every couple gets assigned a number, then they pair you up with another couple for dinner."

You frowned, "Like... a double date?"

Sam grimaced, "Yeah, a blind double date." He paused for a moment and then started to unpack his bags. Then, he took out a gun and bullets. “The good thing is that the more interaction we have, the better, so we need to pay as much attention as possible.”

“We’ll have to be convincing as well,” you said quietly.

Sam looked up from the weapon in his hands. For a brief second, neither of you spoke. "...Yeah," he admitted. "We will."

By the time evening arrived, the two of you had "borrowed" something a little more appropriate for the occasion from a boutique a few miles away. 

Sam wore a tuxedo. It fit him almost too well, making it easy to forget he'd spent the afternoon cleaning guns on the hotel bed. You had chosen a blue velvet dress, which wasn't extravagant, but it hugged you in all the right places, and for the first time in a long while, you caught yourself lingering in front of the mirror. 

And you felt pretty, but at the same time, you were more uncomfortable than ever. It felt like you didn’t have the right to pose as someone else, let alone someone pretty or fancy; every time someone smiled at you in the hallway, you fought the ridiculous urge to apologize. As if they could somehow tell you didn't belong among polished marble floors and candlelit dinners. As if they knew you were just a hunter pretending to be someone worthy of wearing a dress like this. It was a mixture of shame and fear, not because you feared the case itself- you’d done many before- but because deep down you wanted to be the pretty, fancy lady in the blue velvet dress and nothing more, yet you knew with the lifestyle you held, you’d never be that.

You took one last look in the mirror before opening the bathroom door. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the cuff of his tuxedo. At the sound of the door, he looked up.

He completely froze at the mere sight of you. You didn’t know what to say, since the shame never left your body, and now, Sam’s gaze was also making you incredibly nervous. 

You almost opened your mouth to say something, but you had run out of ideas and simply let out a small chuckle. Then frowned, trying to guess what he thought when he saw you like that.

“I-” You smiled from only one corner of your mouth, seeming worried. “I look dumb.”

“No, no,” Sam corrected you quickly, “Not at all, Y/N, I think you look…” He paused again, remembering how awkward it had felt when he first complimented you, afraid to make the same mistake again. "The dress is..." He cleared his throat. "Beautiful."

"Yeah," you replied with a small smile. "It's a nice dre-"

He interrupted you before you could finish. His cheeks flushed almost immediately, as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud. "You're beautiful too."

“Thanks,” You simply replied, hiding the fact that your stomach sank a bit more each time you made eye contact with him. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, let’s do this.” 

The dining hall buzzed with conversation, every table occupied by couples laughing over candlelit dinners. It almost made you forget why you were there. 

As soon as you arrived, you saw the couple eagerly waving at you, holding their numbers, as if they’ve been expecting you for a while now. 

You and Sam sat at the table, facing them and smiling. “Hi, good evening,” Sam said politely.

“Good evening, sir, and Mrs.” The husband added. “My name is Martin, and this is my wife Caroline.

“Very nice to meet you,” you replied, then extended your hand and shook their hands, because you didn’t know better. It felt awkward.

“Do you want a drink?” Caroline asked you two in a warm tone.

“Oh no, no, thanks, I don’t drink on hun-” You realized the huge and stupid mistake you were about to make; you felt every muscle in your body tense,  so you quickly tried to escape from it with the first thing that came to your mind: “I’m pregnant”

Sam stared at you for a second. “You’re what?” He noticed his own slip, so he tried to correct it quickly too. “I mean-” He laughed it off. “I always forget she’s pregnant,” he rubbed the back of his neck. "Crazy, right?”

You laughed as well, trying to save the situation. “It´s fine, I always looked kind of bloated.” You heard yourself and died a little inside.

The couple nervously laughed along with you, and then an awkward silence followed to make everything worse. 

"So... no shots tonight!" you blurted out, immediately regretting opening your mouth again.

Thankfully, Sam cut in before you could make things any worse.

"So," he said with an apologetic smile, "where are you two from?"

Martin happily took over the conversation. "I'm from Florida, but Caroline's from Vancouver."

"We're moving to Canada next month," Caroline added, her face lighting up. "Everything's already planned. We bought a little house outside the city, and..." She looked at Martin with a smile so effortless it almost hurt to watch. "We're hoping to start a family pretty soon."

As she spoke, she slipped her arm around Martin's and rested her head against his shoulder without a second thought. It looked so natural, so practiced, like she'd done it a thousand times before.

As you watched this interaction, you thought of doing something similar so you would look natural like them but were hesitant about what to do. You glanced at Sam. He was listening politely, completely unaware that you were studying him. For a brief moment, you wondered if you should do something similar. Slip your hand into his, lean against his shoulder. The thought alone made your heart race.

After thinking about it for a while, you finally did it; you slipped your arm through his and gently held onto it. The movement was hesitant, as though you were silently asking if this was okay.

Sam looked down at your arm wrapped around his, then up at you. His surprise lasted only a second before his expression softened into the smallest smile. Without saying a word, he relaxed against your touch, just enough for you to know you hadn't overstepped.

“Aw, you look so sweet together,” Caroline exclaimed, placing a huge emphasis on the "aw." “I want to know how you two met.” 

“Do not fuck this up,” you told yourself before answering. 

“We met in college, actually.” You didn’t want to tell Sam, but this part you had actually practiced already. “We were friends for years; I always had a crush on him that I wasn’t even aware of.” You let go of the grip on his arm and looked at him as you kept going. “We also worked together for a while at his father’s company, and I guess that through time I slowly realized that what I thought was just friendship was actually much more than that.” You locked eyes while you said that and stared at each other for a few seconds without saying anything else.

“And??” Caroline interrupted your silence, excited to hear more. “Then what happened?”

"Honestly... nothing dramatic." He shrugged. “I was also having all these feelings, but I was too afraid to say something because of our friendship.” He looked down for a bit, almost as if he wanted to hide himself. “But then one day I gained courage and told her what really happens to me when I look at her.” His eyes found yours again, and this time the look made you shiver. “I told her that whenever I was with her... I felt like I was home.”

“Oh gosh, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! Look, you two made us tear up!” Caroline said eagerly as she searched for tissues. 

"M-my wife is overreacting," Martin said, rubbing at one eye. "I just... got something in it." He sniffed and gave up with a sheepish smile. "Ah, who am I kidding? You two are adorable."

The warm atmosphere had finally begun to put you at ease. For the first time since walking into the ballroom, you weren't constantly worried about saying the wrong thing or giving yourselves away. As the conversations flowed around you, you found yourself wondering how many more guests you'd have to charm before one of them unknowingly pointed you toward whatever had been killing those men.

The thought had seemed daunting when the evening began. Now, though, you were starting to feel surprisingly comfortable with the act.

All of a sudden, a woman walked towards your table, seemingly upset.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to cause any disturbance, but I’m the owner of this place.” Her presence alone was intimidating, and the way she dressed indicated an amount of elegance you could never match. She stared you up and down and then at your fake husband. “I noticed something bizarre about the payment you made with your credit card. I need you to come with me.” 

For the briefest moment, Sam's expression tightened. “Uh, okay, I’ll go.” He then looked back at you in slight panic, and you started thinking of all the things you could say to get him out of that situation.

“I’ll go with you,” you exclaimed, but then the woman put herself between you and Sam quickly.

"That's very kind," the woman said, her smile never wavering. "But I'm sure your husband won't be gone long. Please, have a splendid evening ahead." She guided Sam toward the hallway without waiting for another response. He glanced back over his shoulder only once before disappearing around the corner, leaving you alone at the table with Martin and Caroline and with a growing knot of unease in your stomach. 

The lady took Sam to the administration office of the resort. Unlocking the door, she stepped aside to let him enter first. As Sam crossed the threshold, he heard the soft pull of a hairpin behind him. He glanced back and saw how the woman was removing the last pin from the elegant bun she'd worn all evening. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, transforming her appearance almost instantly.

She closed the door with deliberate calm. "Please," she said, gesturing toward the chair in front of her desk.

Sam sat, still trying to figure out why a credit card issue required a private meeting. 

Instead of taking the chair behind the desk, the woman climbed onto its edge, crossing one leg over the other as she looked down at him with an unreadable smile.

"Look, Mr. Sheen." She let the fake surname linger for a moment before smiling to herself. "Or... may I call you Michael?"

Sam returned a polite smile, though something about the question made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "If you'd like."

“I’ve been watching you quite a lot tonight. I mean, it’s your first day here, aren’t you happy?” She pushed him, as if she couldn’t buy his excitement. 

“I am very happy; why are you asking me this?” Everything started to feel strange. Sam knew instantly that she was up to something and got up from his seat. 

“Oh, Michael, I have to be honest with you.” She too got up and started to wander the office, seemingly nervous and uncertain about what she was going to say. “I saw you sitting there and thought you were really handsome.” As soon as she said that, she started getting closer and closer to him. “I know men like you; you don’t actually want to be here, and I get that.” She started caressing his hair and cheeks. Sam stood still, trying to read the situation.

Then, Sam took the lady’s hand from his face and stared at her for a second. “What are you even talking about?”

“I saw you, Michael. I saw you sad and nervous; you could barely look your wife in the eyes.” She kept going, “She doesn’t have to know; it’ll be okay.” She then leaned in to kiss him, but he moved quickly. 

“Stop this. What do you think you’re doing?” Sam frowned, and his tone, despite being upset and judgmental, held a small amount of worry towards the woman. He noticed her sadness, almost as if she was hoping he would kiss her back to prove something. 

“You- You really don’t want me?” She asks him, honestly. 

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” He stops for a second. “I’m married.” 

“But you don’t love her.” She insists.

Sam's eyebrows knit together. “What makes you think I don't?” 

“You just looked so sad.” 

Meanwhile, Sam's absence was beginning to gnaw at you.

"I'm so sorry, you guys. We had a great time with you, but I should probably go check on my Sam-" You froze. "My husband," you corrected quickly. "I meant my husband."

Oblivious of your mistake, both Caroline and Martin politely wished you a good evening. You were unsure of where Sam had gone, and he wouldn’t answer your calls, so instead, you dialed Dean.

"Hey," he answered. "What's up?"

"Where are you?"

"I broke into the security office. I'm checking the cameras, but I haven't found anything yet."

You sighed. "Seriously? How'd you even get in? The security guard was huge."

Dean sounded almost offended by the question. "I chloroformed him."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "God, you're..."

"What?" he asked, clearly amused. "You were about to compliment me, weren't you?"

"...A jerk."

Dean laughed. “Sounded more like you were gonna say genius, but I’ll take that.”

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, I think something's wrong with Sam."

Dean's tone immediately changed. "What happened?"

"The owner said there was a problem with our credit card and took him to her office. That was... about half an hour ago."

A brief silence. Then Dean spoke again, all traces of humor gone. "I'm on my way."

Sam’s interaction with the resort owner had made him think that she was only an unstable woman who really believed his sadness meant that he was unhappy with his marriage. That was until he tried to leave that office. 

“Look, let’s just forget this happened, and it doesn’t have to be a big deal; I don’t mind it,” Sam tried to comfort her. He straightened his jacket, still slightly wrinkled from where she'd grabbed it. But something shifted inside one of the pockets. Frowning, he reached in and pulled out a small cloth pouch tied with black string. His expression hardened instantly; it was a hex bag.

Without another thought, he drew his pistol and aimed it squarely at her. “Don’t move.”

As soon as he did this, you and Dean showed up, and you followed Sam by drawing your guns at the witch as well.

“Don’t shoot, please,” She cried, then attempted to explain herself, “I thought he was unfaithful, okay?” 

Sam didn't lower his weapon. “You've been hexing married men who agree to sleep with you.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “My radar has never failed me before. It's incredibly easy to spot unfaithful men.”

Her gaze drifted back to Sam. “I just got this one wrong.”

You frowned. “When we looked up the resort, two owners came up. You and your husband.”

“Ex-husband,” she corrected quietly. “When I found out he was sleeping with someone else...” She looked away. “I took care of it.”

"Lemme guess. Permanent divorce?"  Dean added.

“Let me guess… hunters?” She cracked it as she stared at the three of you up and down. “You actually had me fooled for a second, with the regular civilian act, so cheers to you for that.” 

She gave a sarcastic clap and then grabbed a hex bag she had hidden in one of her pockets. 

Dean reacted first. "Sammy!"

Before any of you could fire, she muttered a rapid string of Latin under her breath. The lights exploded overhead, and darkness swallowed the room, broken only by the deep red glow of the emergency lights.

You all tried to shoot, but the bullets wouldn’t come off. 

"I won't let three mediocre hunters destroy everything I've built." She tightened her grip around the hex bag. "Or stop me from giving women like me the justice they deserve."

Without another word, she whispered another spell.

Sam gasped, and his knees buckled beneath him, and he crashed to the floor. One hand flew to his chest as his heartbeat turned violent, pounding so hard it felt as though it might burst right through his ribs. Each breath came shorter than the last.

“Sam!” You yelled, and instantly went to help him.

Dean reacted by trying to shoot her again and then going to grab her hex bag, but with a flick of her wrist, an invisible force hurled him across the office. His body slammed into the wall before collapsing to the floor, unconscious, leaving you as the only one who could do something about this.

“Stop this! Please,” You pleaded, as you saw Sam ache from the pain and his breath shortening. 

“Your boyfriend’s going to die, I’m sorry.” She got closer to you and gave you fake sympathy. You spat directly in her face. “Go to hell.” 

“Little bitch,” She slapped you hard, then grabbed you by your jaw, making eye contact. “I used to be just like you; pathetic and in love, thinking it would last forever.” Then she pouted, “Sadly it won't, and I’m just making it quicker for you, before he leaves you for a newer model.” 

“You have no idea who he is, or who I am, so you better let go.” You threatened her. Her grip was still on you. 

“Oh, I know exactly who he is, wanna see?” She then snapped her fingers, and Sam came back to normal. He composed himself, but then you fell to the ground, taking his place.

“Y/N!” Sam yelled, “No, no, no, don’t do this.” 

“Look, this is easy, Romeo. " She explains, “I give you two options, and you choose! Fun game, right?”

“What do you want?” He asks, out of breath.

“Tonight, one of you will die, so it’s either you or her; you choose.” She lets out a laugh. “Come on, choose quickly; you don’t want your hunting partner to wake up and see this.” 

“Me, I die, take me,” Sam replies, with not much hesitation.

“Are you sure?” The witch tried to push Sam towards the edge, and he wasn’t having any of it.

“I am; just leave her alone.” 

“Then, if you’re so brave, you’ll do it yourself.” She hands him a gun, smirking.

You cried on the floor and tried to move even though you were choking. 

“Come on, be quick, you don’t want her to die too, right?” 

Sam drew the gun to his head slowly, accepting his fate. 

Summoning what little strength you had left, your trembling hand searched blindly across the floor. Your fingers brushed against rough fabric: the hex bag. A few inches away lay your lighter, so you dragged yourself forward, every movement sending another wave of agony through your body.

“Look at your face; there it is, that sadness.” The witch kept torturing Sam, who had already made up his mind to save you. Then, she gazed at him for a while before concluding. “Maybe I was wrong; maybe what actually hurts you so much is that you really do want to keep her safe, isn’t it?”

She then snapped her fingers again, and you came back to normal. 

That’s when you quickly grabbed the hex bag and burned it. “Don’t!” She screamed. 

“Too late.” You proceeded to punch her and grabbed her other hex bag as well, burning it too. 

Behind you, Dean groaned as he pushed himself upright, rubbing the back of his head. “Man...” he muttered. “Witches suck.” 

He walked over to the witch, aimed his gun, and fired. The room instantly fell silent and for a long moment, none of you moved.

Sam slowly lowered the gun that was still in his hand. His eyes immediately found you.

"...You okay?"

You nodded, still trying to steady your breathing. "Yeah."

You looked him over from head to toe, almost making sure he was really standing there. "You?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah."

You three left the resort, beware of any cops nearby, trying your hardest to not be noticed by anyone in particular. 

“Mrs Sheen?” You heard as you were about to hop on the Impala. It was Martin.

He smiled as he approached, though confusion quickly replaced it when he noticed your luggage. "You two are leaving already?"

"Oh... yeah." You forced a small smile. "We're really sorry. We had a baby emergency."

His eyes widened. "Oh my God. Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you assured him quickly. "Everything's fine. It's just a precaution. We thought it'd be better to head home."

"That's a shame." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Caroline and I... we really liked you guys."

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "We were actually hoping you'd come visit us in Canada someday."

He handed it to you. "These are our numbers. Mine and Caroline's."

You unfolded it carefully.

"You're always welcome." He insisted.

A genuine smile spread across your face. "Thanks." You paused for a second. "For everything."

Martin smiled back. "Take care of each other." He gave a small wave before heading back toward the resort.

You got in the car and went back to the bunker. 

When you got there, you couldn’t help but notice Sam’s stiffness. He was still in shock about what happened, and you were as well.

It was clear to you both that the lifestyle you had meant to be close to losing each other every single day, at any moment. And that crushed you, because you knew that if he had pulled that trigger, a part of you would’ve died with him. 

You went to sleep that night cursing yourself for not being able to tell him any of this to his face, and replaying the night you spent together over and over, trying to find the true meaning behind every kiss, every touch, and stare. You couldn’t bat an eye.

The silence of the bunker made you feel lonely; even if Sam and Dean were in their respective rooms, you still felt like the place was way too big and held too many things within itself for you to feel safe. Then, in between thoughts, it hit you: the only time you were able to sleep there feeling safe was when you slept next to Sam.

A deafening crash shattered the silence, making you jump from the bed.

What the fuck was that? You thought. As you left your room with a weapon. 

Both Sam and Dean also did, guns in hand too.

In the dark, you spotted a figure. It was a blond woman, standing in the living room, covered in blood. You’ve never seen this woman before, and yet she had sneaked into your bunker at night. You aimed your gun at her.

"Don't move."

The woman didn't even look at you. Instead, her eyes locked onto Sam. "Sam?" She sounded like she was crying.

Sam’s face lost all color all of a sudden. “Jessica?” 

Sam didn't answer right away. He was slouched into the corner of the couch, one knee drawn up, bottle balanced against it. The blue light from the television flickered across his face as he watched Humphrey Bogart say something that neither of you was really listening to anymore. 

Sam's mouth twitched. “Are you jealous?”

“What?!” You barked out a laugh, “Ew, no, never”

Sam looked down and let out a small laugh. “I meant jealous that he got laid tonight.”

“Oh, please, like it was a skill issue of mine.” You replied, offended, “Shut up.” Then you rolled your eyes. "...Okay, maybe I'm a little jealous."  

“Knew it.” He grinned as he was about to take yet another sip of his beer.

“But c’mon, Winchester, you’ve seen me. I used to get laid all the time.” "It's just..." you admitted more quietly. "It's gotten harder to ignore everything that's going on." 

Sam finally looked away from the television. “Y/N, you know I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

You pointed your bottle at him.

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"No feelings tonight." You shook your head decisively, then immediately had to steady yourself because apparently that had been too much movement. "We're drinking beer. We're watching this boring-ass movie you insisted was a masterpiece."

Sam looked genuinely offended.  “I can’t believe you really are calling Casablanca boring”

“Are we watching the same movie?” 

Neither of you spoke for a while, and you tried to actually concentrate on the film. A character was saying something dramatic on-screen. Someone was probably sacrificing true love. You had absolutely no idea.

The bunker settled around you, all humming pipes and distant ventilation. Sam reached for another beer.

You watched him for a second longer than you meant to.

“How long has it been since you’ve gotten laid?”

The question had just slipped out. It had seemed innocent enough, but the moment the silence settled between you, you panicked.

Sam froze with the bottle halfway to his mouth. “You’re really asking me this?”

“Sorry, it came out of nowhere. Too personal?” 

“No, I mean…” He seemed embarrassed, and you felt a little guilty for asking. He stared at the label on his beer for a long moment. "I honestly don't know." Another pause. "...Eight months? Maybe?" 

“Eight?” You turned to look at him, letting out a small laugh in an attempt to ease the awkwardness. “Whoa, and I thought I was doing bad. No offense.”

You’d never talked to either of the brothers about things like this. There was plenty of teasing between the three of you, but there were also lines you never meant to cross.

“None taken.” He took another drink before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “I just find it difficult to pretend and not feel guilty afterward. Like I’m lying to them about who I am. I wish I could just have a real conversation with them.”

“I get it. It happens.” You paused for a moment, unable to keep track of the movie anymore. “And have you tried sleeping with another hunter?”

“Not much,” he shrugged. “There aren’t exactly many hunters.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. You could hear nothing but Sam’s steady breathing and the muffled dialogue from the television. Neither of you looked at the other. You both kept your eyes on the screen, though neither of you had any idea what was happening anymore. Suddenly, a thought entered your head, but maybe it was just the alcohol. But whatever crossed your mind, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud without risking your friendship with Sam. 

Sam and Dean were the two closest people in your life. You'd known them for over ten years, and even if you'd found one of them attractive at some point, crossing that line had never felt worth it. To you, it meant risking the bond you shared, and that was far more important than anything else. They were your best friends, and you weren't exactly the kind of person who made friends easily. 

The alcohol and the distress from the last hunt were making you feel impulsive. Like you needed to put a band-aid over your sadness right away before you completely crashed. And Sam was there. He always was. Somehow, even when you felt like the most miserable person in the world, Sam Winchester was there to remind you you’d always have a shoulder to cry on. 

And even if sometimes you could find him obnoxiously nice, you’d always be glad to have met him. But of course, you never told him any of this. 

Your hands trembled around the bottle. The whole situation felt ridiculous enough to laugh at, and maybe that was the alcohol talking. God, you were drunk. You wondered if he'd had the same thought that had just crossed your mind. Judging by the way he suddenly became very interested in his beer label, perhaps he had.

“You know, Sam...” You swallowed hard before continuing. “I think I’m going to bed.”

You got to your feet, mentally cursing yourself as you walked toward the bunker hallway. But halfway there, you stopped. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you turned around to face him. 

“Sam... you can join me if you want.”

Sam blinked, his brow furrowing as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “What?”

“We’re both alone,” you replied quickly.

He still looked like he didn't quite understand what you meant. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't know what to do with it. The confusion on his face only made your stomach twist tighter. He had gotten to his feet to head to his own room, but now he stood frozen, staring at you. 

“Y/N I…” 

“Look, you don't have to say anything right now, okay?” You tried not to let your nervousness show. “I'll be in my room, and you can come if you want. But it's okay if you don't. I get it.”

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked towards your bedroom, suddenly feeling strangely exposed. You'd never been the shy type, but for some reason, your heart was pounding harder than ever. Maybe Sam saw you the same way Dean did: as family. The thought made your stomach churn, and panic began creeping in with every step you took down the hallway. It was terrifying. 

You entered your room and exhaled. You felt heavy and also sort of dizzy. More than ten minutes passed, and you were pacing around the room, biting your nails, thinking whether you had fucked up, until you heard the door crack open and sat on your bed quickly, pretending as if you were calm and collected.

“Hey, Y/N…” Sam said calmly, then he rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. I kind of sat in my room for a while trying to figure out what to say." 

He chose each word carefully, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. It sounded less like a rejection and more like he was trying not to fuck up. He stood before you, and even if you were sitting in front of him, his big figure seemed to shrink at every sentence. His embarrassment was palpable, and you noticed how he even had trouble looking directly into your eyes.

“Did you really mean that?” He asked. It was almost like he still couldn’t understand what just happened. “We’ve been drinking a lot…”

“I know,” you said, your voice softer than before. “It just... occurred to me as a way to deal with everything that's been going on. Things haven't exactly been easy lately, and since we both said it'd been a while since either of us had been with someone, I thought maybe we could help each other… As friends.” You didn’t know how you could come up with that entire sentence. As your brain was incredibly foggy.

Sam stared at you for a bit and looked around the room as if he were analyzing the whole situation. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” He paused. “I do.”

 I’m just afraid it’d be weird in the morning if we actually do this.”

“I can promise it won’t,” You shifted over, making room for him beside you on the bed, and he sat beside you, looking directly at your eyes. “Let’s just enjoy this night as two very lonely drunk friends.” You smiled at him, which made him feel warm. 

You closed the distance between you and kissed him. As soon as you did, he kissed you back, with more intensity than you’d expected. Then, he grabbed your waist and pinned you to the bed.

“Is this okay?” He asked, to which you replied nodding, completely mesmerized.

The morning after, you woke to the sound of Dean's voice echoing through the bunker. 

"Sammy! Y/N! Rise and shine! I brought breakfast!" You heard how he opened Sam’s door and then closed it as soon as he didn’t find him there. 

Sam's eyes snapped open, and for half a second, he just looked at you. Then he remembered everything. 

"Oh, God.” 

“Morning.” You said awkwardly.

"Dean's back."

"Yeah, I heard."

“Y/N, Are you there?” Dean asks as he knocks. 

“Dean, wait, I’m changing!” Fuck, you mouthed, scrambling for your jeans as Sam reached for his shirt. 

“What do we do?” Sam hissed, already looking around the room like there had to be an escape route. 

“You know where Sam is?” Dean insists. Sam began gesturing wildly, pointing toward the window, then at his feet, then making an exaggerated running motion. 

“Uh, yeah, he’s out for a run,” You replied quickly.

“He left without his shoes?” 

"Uh..." You glanced at Sam, who looked one second away from having a heart attack. "...He got new ones?" 

There was a pause on the other side of the door. A pause that felt too long since you were sweating, and not the good kind of sweat.

“New ones??” Dean repeated.

“Yeah…?” 

"Uh, Okay." He still sounded unconvinced. "I'll be in the kitchen. Come eat before I finish everything."

His footsteps faded down the hallway. You and Sam exhaled with relief.

There was really not much time to think about what you two had done last night. Yes, it was insanely awkward. You'd liked it far more than you wanted to admit, and you didn’t know if he enjoyed it as much as you did.

"That bought us, what... two minutes?" you muttered.

Sam ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Maybe less."

You looked him up and down, trying to figure out what was going through his head. But then composed yourself and realized you needed to think fast.

"Okay. You need to leave the bunker and come back looking like you've been out for a run."

Sam blinked, "I'm not exactly dressed for a run."

You looked down, and he was still wearing yesterday's jeans.

"...Right." You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. "Okay then, new plan. I'll sneak into your room, grab your running clothes, bring them back here, and then I'll keep Dean distracted while you slip out the back entrance."

After getting Sam his running clothes, you went to the kitchen and tried to play it as cool as possible. You needed to keep Dean clueless and distract him so he wouldn’t leave the room. 

“Morning, Dean. Sorry, I took so long, I couldn’t find my shirt” 

“It’s fine, don’t wor-” He stopped mid-sentence. “Your shirt’s on backwards…”

“Oh shit, you’re right!” You felt your heart sink for a minute. You almost wanted to die, but fake laughed a bit instead. “I’m that stupid, yeah” 

You sat down and started eating your breakfast in front of Dean, who you felt was trying to read you somehow, like he knew something was off but couldn’t really put his finger on it. The sweat was impossible to ignore now.

Dean took a bite of his pancakes, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than usual.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." You forced a smile. "Just had a little too much to drink after you left."

He raised an eyebrow, "You two kept drinking?"

"A little."

"Huh."

"You look like somebody who either got about two hours of sleep..." He paused. "...or got lucky."

You nearly choked on your coffee. "What? Not at all,” The answer came out way too quickly. “We came back here and watched a movie together; that bar was awful”

“Well, it did have many hot chicks,” He leaned back in his chair, then a smug grin crossed his face. “Aaand I left with one of them, so I didn’t find it that awful” 

“Remind me now why she left with you?” You teased him, to which he replied by gesturing toward his face with both hands. 

"This, and years of practice."

You raised an eyebrow, "Practice doing what, exactly?” 

"Being irresistible."

“Humility is your number one trait, love it.”

Dean smirked, "It's one of many."

Before you could roll your eyes again, the bunker door slammed shut with enough force to make both of you jump, and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. A second later, Sam appeared in the kitchen, slightly out of breath, his running clothes damp with sweat.

 "Morning, Dean, Y/N," he said, nodding toward both of you as he headed for the fridge. Dean looked him up and down.

"You seriously went for a run after a night of drinking?"

Sam shrugged, "Couldn't sleep."

“Dude, do you ever sleep?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder, "Do you?"

"No, but at least I get better cardio." 

Five minutes later, Sam sat down beside Dean, directly across from you. Both of you tried your hardest not to look nervous. You even had to force your leg to stop bouncing beneath the table. Ironically, Dean's presence made things easier. As long as he was there, neither of you had to confront what had happened the night before. The worst part was knowing that eventually he'd leave, and then it would just be the two of you, with no more distractions.

Thank you so, so much for reading!! It's my first time writing here on tumblr. I used to write on ao3 but got into a bit of a hiatus and now decided to try it on here.

hope u liked it!!

lace dividers by @sugarish