*Juice Box* 21/ She/her

Sam knew he was spiraling because he'd reread the same sentence thirteen times– not fourteen, not fifteen. Thirteen. Because unfortunately, his brain had decided to start keeping count.

The motel was relatively quiet, save for the occasional page turning, Dean humming some old rock song from the kitchen and the muffled sounds of voices coming from other rooms. Across from him, you sat curled up in one of the armchairs with a book resting on your lap– you hadn't looked up once, which usually meant one of two things: either you were genuinely invested in your book or you were very much paying attention to him without having to look up at him at all.

"Stop thinking about it"

The hunter sighed tiredly– so it was the second option. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The psychic thing"

You turned a page, gaze still calmly focused on the letters on your lap. "It's not a psychic thing, it’s a girlfriend thing" A brief pause, closing the book and quietly setting it aside. "You've read that sentence thirteen times"

Sam froze– then frowned. That puppy-like full face frown, hazel eyes focused on yours and head tilting in confusion. "...No, I haven't"

The hunter meets your unamused glare and accepts his defeat, shoulders dropping. He glanced at the book, then back at you and finally he groaned. "How’d you know?"

You just shrugged. "You're loud today"

From the kitchen, Dean leaned around the doorway holding a sandwich. "Who's loud?" He speaks through a mouthful, glancing between y’all. You pointed at Sam to which his brother nodded. "Checks out" Then he disappeared again.

Sam dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples from the migraine already threatening to push through. "Jerk"

"He's not wrong"

He sighs, dropping the hands from his face. "I know"

You looked back down at your book and silence settled again, comfortable, easy. The kind Sam didn't always know how to deal with because he wasn't particularly good at being taken care of– he was good at taking care of other people, good at helping, good at protecting, good at worrying. God, he was excellent at worrying. You suddenly spoke again. "Take a break"

"Honey m’fine" He replies, dismissive in that way he always uses when trying to avoid people from worrying about him. His eyes barely even leave the pages when speaking.

"You've said that three times in the past hour"

"Do you count everything?"

You hummed, eyes softening upon finally meeting his. "Only with you"

That shouldn't have made him smile given the circumstances– unfortunately, it did. This boyish, gentle smile that carved dimples onto his tanned skin. Dean walked back into the library a few minutes later, carrying what seemed to be a whole new sandwich. He stopped in his tracks– looked at Sam, looked at you, then pointed between both of y’all. "Which one of you is sad today?" Without looking up from his book, Sam pointed at himself. (Obviously, you pointed at him too) The blonde nodded. "Got it" Then paused for a second and Sam pointed at you. "...Why are you sad?" The eldest Winchester asks, giving you a confused look.

You shrugged. "He's sad"

Dean sighed dramatically. "Right… empathy, Romeo and Juliet, yada yada" Then he walked away again– came, saw, conquered and went back to doing his own thing.

Sam laughed quietly despite himself. "Y’know most people would think that's weird, right?"

"What is?"

"The fact that you are able to do that" He gestured vaguely, big hands waving in your general direction. "Feel things"

You tilted your head in confusion. "We've talked about this"

He sighs, tired from thinking too much, leaning back into his seat and rubbing his hands over his face once more. "Yeah, no… I know" His puppy eyes finally meet yours once more. "No, I mean..." Sam hesitated. "The way it works with you"

You closed your book, giving him your full attention. "How does it work?"

Sam paused. Because for once, he wasn't entirely sure what he was asking about, not really. He just knew that somehow, you always knew– you knew when his head hurt, you knew when he was overwhelmed, you knew when he was trying to distract himself, you knew when he was pretending, you knew when he was pushing himself too hard… And honestly? Technically, that should've terrified him. Some days, it kind of did, when everything became too much and he started thinking it all over and over. Today though, he was just tired.

So unbelievably tired.

He leaned even further back in his chair, staring at the molding ceiling of the motel room. The thoughts immediately started again– the visions he couldn’t explain, what the future will look like, the fear that always followed them around. The endless, endless cycle of ‘what if’s.

You looked over, automatically sensing the shift in his overall demeanor. "Sammy, stop thinking about it"

Sam sighed. "I can't"

"I know"

He laughed quietly, humorless and exhausted. "It all just… gets too much"

The room went silent while you studied your boyfriend for a moment, then closed your book entirely. "Baby" He looked over immediately– your expression had melted into something even softer from the last time he’d looked at you. "I know what it's like to have a brain that doesn't know when to stop" His face automatically relaxed– not because you'd fixed anything. Nothing was fixed, nothing was different. The thoughts were still there, the worries were still there, the fear was still there. But suddenly they weren't just his burdens anymore– that mattered. Feeling understood in a hunter’s world (specially in a Winchester’s hunter’s world) was a privilege he was still getting used to, so it mattered a lot. You offered him a tiny, warm smile. "You don't always have to carry it by yourself"