#the wrong bed

He nodded, but his expression was a little doubtful. “Well, I figured you probably could use a huge coffee to clear up the post-whiskey haze you’re probably in,” he said, handing you one of the cups.

“Thanks, Sam.” You accepted it gratefully and took the lid off, breathing in the smoky, rich scent. Sam smiled as he watched you shut your eyes and inhale the steam. “This is heaven,” you said, smiling warmly at him. “Thank you. Um, did you manage to get a decent night’s sleep?” you asked him, your heart skipping again at the thought of him falling asleep beside you.

He sat down on the other bed across from you. “You know, I actually did. A whole night’s worth. I can’t even remember the last time—well, except for the pain killers,” he added with a laugh, lifting his casted hand slightly. “Anyway, I think I have you to thank for that,” he said. He felt suddenly a little bashful and stared down at the paper cup in his hands. The feeling of you running your hand through his hair had been… in a word, perfect. All thoughts had vanished, all his worries, all his anxiety. His mind had quieted and he wasn’t even sure when he slipped off to sleep. It had felt almost instantaneous. “So, thanks.”

“Don’t thank me for that,” you said, waving it off. “But I’m glad to hear it.”

“I should thank you for it,” he said. “And I also should warn you that now I’m going to expect to be pampered like that all the time,” he joked. “Anytime I can’t sleep I will be bothering you.”

You couldn’t help a smile from growing on your face. “Sounds like a pretty good gig actually…” Your cheeks grew warm with a blush and Sam let out a nervous laugh, feeling his heart skip a beat at your words.

“Well, the pay is crap,” he said, sipping at his coffee, and eliciting another laugh from you.

I disagree, you thought.

A comfortable silence stretched for a moment and Sam’s eyes stayed connected with yours until you glanced down at the gauze wrappings on your leg and the jagged cut in the denim of your jeans where Dean had slit through them with his knife so he could patch you up. “Another pair of pants completely ruined. Rule number one of hunting is don’t ever wear clothes you care about,” you commented, resting your hand on your leg. “I should probably put on a pair that has more than one and a half legs,” you said, climbing to your feet and getting ready to head next door for your duffel bag.

“Hey—Whoa. Are you crazy?” Sam said, quickly jumping up, discarding his coffee on the side table. “Sit down,” he laughed. “I’ll bring you your stuff.”

“Sam, it’s fine. I can walk—Look!” You hobbled a couple steps and tried to hide a grimace as you were met with some new pangs of discomfort in your leg.

He gave you a look. “Would you just let me help you? Please? I couldn’t be on the hunt to protect you so at least let me grab your bag, okay?”

Sam wanted to protect you. Well, of course he did. And you wanted to protect him… but it was the first time you could really remember him saying it so forwardly and clearly like that and it made you feel a bit lightheaded all of a sudden. “The reason you couldn’t be on the hunt was because you did protect me, Sam.”

But you conceded with a nod and sank back down onto the end of the bed. Sam disappeared into the adjoining room which had previously been yours and returned with your bag of clothes, dropping it next to you on the bed. “Before you change, we should take a look and make sure everything is all good with your stitches,” he said.

You gulped a little nervously because in all honesty, with the chaos and adrenaline of the previous night (followed by the whiskey), you weren’t exactly sure that you even knew how bad it had been. You propped your leg up on the bed and Sam came and knelt beside you, unwrapping the bandage, his hands steady and gentle. His brow furrowed when the stitched wound came into view and you winced a little at the sight of it too. “Huh. So, that’s worse than I thought,” you said with a wry laugh. Sam gave you a concerned glance.

“Yeah… Pretty good gash you have here. I’d imagine it hurts quite a bit today,” he said.

You shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

He gave you a doubtful look before turning back to check the wound more carefully. “It looks alright. No signs of infection or anything, and as much as I hate to say it Dean did a good job with the stitches.” His hazel eyes found yours again and you couldn’t tear yours away. He had that expression of sweet concern on his handsome face, the classic Winchester furrowed brow, and you could have spent a lifetime trying to count all the different hues in his eyes. Sam suddenly noticed the bruise along your jaw which you had seen in the bathroom mirror and without thinking he reached out and gently turned your face so he could look at it. His fingers were so light on your skin that it felt like a wisp of a breeze. His frown deepened as he looked at the bruise and then his eyes travelled over the various nicks and cuts on your arms and hands, the one along your collarbone he had cleaned the night before… “How is the rest of you? Really?” he asked. His fingers slipped from your face leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You only shrugged vaguely. “I’m alright,” you said softly.

He gave you that familiar skeptical look again and you avoided his eyes. “You said you got thrown into a pile of metal… So, I’m going to ask you again, how is the rest of you?” he said with a small, somewhat sad smile.

“Well, maybe I am a little banged up… My right side is a little sore,” you admitted. “But, honestly, my leg is really the only thing that’s bothering me right now.”

Sam hesitated for a moment before pointing at your side. “Do you—do you mind if I take a look?” he asked. His throat felt suddenly tight at the mere thought of studying your bare skin, the curve of your hip and waist, the outlines of your ribs… God, that’s all it took… This was a normal thing in the life. You patched each other up after hunts, took care of each other. But Sam knew that it was only with you that it ever felt so charged, so intimate, this suspended tension…

You swallowed at the nervous lump in your throat too, not knowing Sam was doing the same thing. “Sure,” you managed, thinking that you wished you had given yourself a more thorough once over in the bathroom. If it was bad, Sam would only worry even more, and you felt like he still had more than enough of his own stuff to worry about… principally his broken hand healing and getting back to normal strength and mobility, and dealing with being cheated on…

Sam took hold of the hem of your shirt and lifted it so he could look at your side. The worry lines in his forehead deepened immediately and his jaw tensed. “Y/N,” he said. “Why didn’t you say something about this last night?” he asked. “We could have at least gotten some ice on it. And you should take something for the swelling.” You whole side was blooming with a dark purple and black bruise. Sam wished more than anything he could just fix it instantly.

You turned so you could look down at your side and were a little startled by the range of dark colors there. Sam looked at the pout that settled on your lips. “Well… to be honest I didn’t notice it last night since my leg was split open but, yeah, that doesn’t look great,” you said. The way you twisted to try to get a better look sent a twinge of pain through you and you took in a sharp hiss of breath.

Just then, the adjoining door opened and Dean stepped in, but he froze halfway over the threshold when he saw Sam beside you, and apparently also saw your shirt partway lifted. He cleared his throat awkwardly and Sam let the fabric fall from his fingers, standing up a little suddenly and turning to look at Dean, who now had a tight but amused smile on his face.

“Am I, uhh, interrupting something?” he asked with a pointed raise of his eyebrows.

“What? No. What? No, just—Y/N’s side is all bruised up and—”

Dean only nodded, that obnoxious look on his face. Sam was quite sure he was goading him on purpose. “Uh huh. I see. Well, I was just coming to check in on you, Y/N,” Dean said, coming over to look at your leg. “But it seems you are already well taken care of,” he said. He flashed a knowing look at Sam who only grabbed his coffee cup again and cleared his throat a little awkwardly.

You avoided Dean’s gaze, knowing he was bound to give you some kind of meaningful look which was only going to further redden your cheeks. “I’m fine. But I would like to get out of these bloody clothes and this ¾ pair of pants, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Of course. No problem,” Dean said, standing back up. He grabbed Sam firmly by the arm and tugged him toward the other room. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s give Y/N some privacy.” He shot you a wide smile over his shoulder as he closed the door, and you tried to muster your best scolding expression.

Once inside the other room, Sam tugged his arm away from Dean. “Why the hell are you pulling on me? What the hell was that?” Sam asked, obviously a little annoyed.

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” Dean asked, laughing. “You playing doctor over there?”

Sam felt his face burn. “Dude, her entire side is bruised! I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were just nothing. Sam, when are you going to do it?”

“Dean!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, grow up. I don’t mean it. I mean, just do it!” Sam paced away from Dean and collapsed onto one of the beds. “Do what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What could I possibly be referring to? Umm, maybe tell her, or kiss her, or, actually, yeah, you know what, take her shirt off completely and—”

“Alright, enough!” Sam rubbed a hand over his face. “And shut up! She’s right there!” he said, pointing toward the door.

“Well, really, what are you waiting for??” Dean demanded. “Part of me thought you were going to spill it as soon as you found out about her sister cheating on you! What is the hold up? You’re single! She’s single! Come on, Sam! Buck up!”

“It’s still not that simple, Dean.”

“How? How exactly are you still making this more complicated in your head than it actually is?”

“I still dated her sister! Don’t you think if I start dating Y/N, especially this soon, and her sister finds out that might result in some unpleasantness?” “She cheated on you! She obviously didn’t want to be with you anymore!”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “Nice. That’s nice, Dean. Thanks.”

“Well, it’s true! And none of that is for you to worry about. Y/N’s relationship with her sister is her business to worry about and deal with.” Dean pulled the plastic lid off his coffee cup and chucked it at Sam. “The only thing that is holding you back now, is you. And you obviously need to hear that. I’ve seen the way you look at her, and guess what? I’ve also seen the way she looks at your dumb ass—I mean, not literally your ass, well… maybe that too, but you know what I mean. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” Dean again wanted to blurt out that you were absolutely in love with Sam in just the way he was absolutely in love with you, but he knew it wasn’t his place, even though it made him want to scream, so he held his tongue. He settled for prodding it along as best he could. “Go for it. I know that you’ll be so insanely happy you did that I will probably want to throw up.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just sipped at his coffee, but Dean could see that he was settling in to some deep train of thought.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Ah, home, sweet home,” Dean said, climbing out of the Impala and slamming his door. You climbed out of the back seat, still walking softly heel to toe to try and keep your leg as pain free as possible. In addition to the stitched-up gash a large, deep bruise had developed around it overnight.

“I’ll get your bags, Y/N,” Dean said, going around to open the trunk. Sam climbed out of the Impala and gave you a discerning look.

“You know what,” he said, coming around to the other side of the Impala beside you. “Come here.” Without warning he scooped you up into his arms and started carrying you across the garage. You couldn’t help but let out a surprised squeak as he lifted you off the ground.

“Sam! What—? I can walk!” you laughed nervously, knowing your face was bright red. “And—careful, your hand!”

“I know you can walk. That’s not the point. And my hand is fine,” he said, adjusting you in his arms. “I’m not carrying you in my hand. I’m carrying you in my arms.”

Yes, you are, you thought to yourself. You were amazed at how effortless it seemed to be for him, and you could feel the strong muscles through his cotton t-shirt which was causing that fluttery feeling in your chest. “Sam, this is so unnecessary,” you said quietly.

“It’s not though. I can tell walking on your leg hurts, and I don’t ever want anything to hurt you,” he said. His voice grew quieter toward the end of that statement and you found yourself looking right into his eyes with your own, and your faces were so close, lips just mere inches apart.

Sam carried you through the bunker to your room and set you down on the end of your bed. You laughed nervously as his arms slipped from you, feeling your cheeks growing pink again, which was annoyingly frequent. “Thanks,” you said, unable to meet his gaze.

“Don’t mention it.”

Dean poked his head into your room and dropped your duffel bag on the floor. He shot you a look that Sam couldn’t see and wiggled his eyebrows at you before disappearing again. You bit the inside of your cheek a little nervously, trying to think of something to say. But you couldn’t think of anything because at that moment you could feel that Sam’s eyes were still on your face and there was a buzzy, electric feeling in the room.

Sam was replaying his conversation with Dean from that morning in his head and—

Suddenly he crossed the space between the two of you and held out his hand. You looked up at him, your heart suddenly pounding now, knowing your eyes were probably a little wide. You placed your hand in his, a questioning expression on your face, and he gently pulled you to your feet.

His hand traced up your arm from your hand, over your shoulder, and came to rest against the side of your neck with his fingers in your hair and his thumb along your jaw, gently clasping your face. You couldn’t have looked away from him if you had wanted to. The gaze between you was so magnetic, addictive. Sam was amazed at the color of your eyes, the dim ceiling light somehow still setting them ablaze with sparks. Your heart was pounding. His heart was pounding.

Sam watched as your lips, full with a perfect cupid’s bow, parted slightly as you looked at him and that was it—that was all he needed. The next instant he was kissing you feverishly, urgently, his hand in your hair pulling you gently into him. You were on your tiptoes in a moment, not feeling any twinge of pain in your leg. Sam’s other hand settled on your lower back, his finger splayed out across your spine, and you arched into him, your arms flying around his neck. You forgot to breathe. There wasn’t a single thought in your mind, you were completely surrounded by, immersed in Sam.

That kiss was everything, more than everything. You felt like you had been waiting for it forever and it was a hundred times better than your highest hopes and expectations. It was like he had just fanned a spark you had hidden away in your chest into a blazing fire and you weren’t the least bit afraid of being consumed by it. There was heat but also tenderness, and you couldn’t remember ever feeling so completely surrounded by just sensations, bounding heart and blooming warmth and fluttering butterflies and electric sparks jumping up your back, causing tingles on your neck.

t was impossible to know how long you were kissing each other because it felt like nothing else existed, but when you finally broke apart slightly, Sam’s eyes were flitting between yours, searching your face, trying to read what he knew he had felt on your face. And it took only a split second before your face broke into a smile that Sam thought was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was just you and him. Just you in his arms and two hearts bounding with wild happiness.

You felt off-balance in the best way as you looked up at him, and he smiled back at you, sweet and fond and warm and the happiest you had seen him in a long time. He was still holding you, his hand on your lower back. “I just—I couldn’t not do that anymore,” he said quietly.

It took you a moment to catch you breath so you could even speak. “I’ve wanted that for—” you shook your head vaguely, “seems like forever,” you said.

Sam pushed a strand of hair away from your face and you closed your eyes as his fingers gently floated along you jaw and clasped your face again. He kissed you again, slow and sweet this time, but still sending a jolt of electric tingles through you. He gave you an amazed and warm look when you broke apart. “I’m going to say ‘goodnight,’ because honestly it can’t get any better and I think I need to—” he shook his head vaguely, “process that this really just happened,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “I’ve thought about it for so long.”

You nodded. “Me too.”

Sam let out another joyful laugh. “I’m afraid I’m going to wake up any second,” he said.

You stood on your tiptoes again and kissed him one more time. Seeing the starry look in his eyes when you pulled away sent you spinning. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t a dream,” you said, your voice a little breathy because you felt like it had been stolen.

Sam gave you a look that was unmistakably a mix of disbelief and desire and sighed through an amazed smile. “Then I really better go before I somehow ruin this moment for real.”

You laughed a little at his amazement, feeling your cheeks grow warm again. He took you hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he said.

“Goodnight, Sam.”

He slipped away from you and headed for the doorway, but he turned around again at the threshold to look at you once more, wanting to memorize everything about that moment, and the small, amazed smile on his face grew into a wildly happy one before he disappeared into the hallway.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean groaned at a light rapping on his bedroom door that pulled him from sleep. He barely stirred. “Hmm… what?” he called, hugging his pillow more tightly.

“Dean,” a harsh whisper on the other side of the door.

“What?” he said again, not opening his eyes.

“Can I come in?”

“Fine. Come in. Just be quiet,” he said sleepily, not even really listening to what he had agreed to. He was almost completely back to sleep instantly.

You cracked his door open and looked at him sprawled out in his bed, half the covers spilling off him onto the floor. You had an excited smile on your face that you couldn’t contain and tiptoed your way over to the side of the bed.

“Dean!” you said again, tentatively venturing to nudge his shoulder.

Another sleepy groan. “For fuck’s sake. What time is it?”

You cringed, not really wanting to answer that question. “Uhh… early,” you said. “I’m sorry to wake you up but I just—I really need to tell you something!” You sank down on the edge of the bed and looked at him flopped on his pillow. “Dean!” you said a little more loudly, shaking his shoulder now.

“What—?” His eyes finally opened this time. “Y/N? What the hell are you doing?” He propped himself up on one elbow and peered at you blearily.

You let out a sharp laugh. “Were you just asleep? You were talking to me like 30 seconds ago.”

“Yeah, I was asleep. Past tense.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Well, what exactly is the crisis that brought you in here? Hmm? Part of the bunker flooding? Partial lockdown tripped? What?”

You gave him a wide, awkward smile. “You know, now that I’m here… and I see you awake, I do recognize that waking you up was a bad idea…”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you and he was struck suddenly with a suspicion. “I’ll be damned.” He let out a gruff laugh and sank back down onto his pillow, shutting his green eyes. There was a smile on his face. “It’s about goddamn time,” he muttered, adjusting his arm under his pillow again.

You stared at him in disbelief. “…what?”

He cracked an eye open and peered at you again before settling back in and heaving a sigh, a smile still on his lips. “He finally made a move, didn’t he?”

You stared at him, completely perplexed. “How did you—?”

Dean rolled over on his back and tugged at the blanket. “Please, Y/N. First, you’re not bleeding and I don’t smell any smoke and the bunker alarm system isn’t going off, so what the hell else could possibly be important enough for you to wake me up so goddamn early? Second, you’re practically oozing happiness all over the place…”

You laughed and couldn’t stop grinning at him. “Right… Okay. Well, you’re correct.”

“I know I am,” he said, shutting his eyes again. “And I’m really happy for you, but I’m also really fucking tired, so I’m gonna go ahead and go back to sleep and we can talk about this when I’m fully conscious.”

“Right… okay. Sorry,” you whispered. You got up and headed for the door and were about to slip back through it when Dean called your name.

“Y/N.” You turned to face him, and instead of an annoyed look you were met with a smile (albeit sleepy) that went all the way to his eyes and crinkled the corners. “I’m really happy for you.”

You grinned back at him and slipped out into the hallway, shutting the door softly behind you. You headed back to bed to wait in quiet anticipation for whatever the day was going to bring.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The sound of a door creaking open and quiet footsteps. “Hey, Dean.” Nothing. A more urgent voice, close beside the bed. “Dean!”

A very surly, very annoyed, very tired-sounding groan. “You have got to be kidding me…”

“I know—it’s early, but I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Wake up! Listen to me!” Sam’s voice, rushed and excited. “I did it. I took your advice and—”

Dean sat up in his bed and glared at Sam, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah! I know! You know how I know?”

Confusion flashed across Sam’s face.

“Y/N was already in here, waking me up, to tell me the same thing. I don’t know how long ago.”

Sam let out an awed laugh, his face frozen in a smile. “You’re kidding.”

“You know, I really wish I was,” Dean said gruffly. He reached for his cell phone and turned it over so he could check the time, which only elicited a string of expletives under his breath. “Sammy, I’m gonna tell you what I told her: I’m really happy for you but you need to get the hell out of my room before I punch you in the face.”

“I really don’t think you threatened to punch Y/N in the face…”

“You’re correct. I did not. But this is the second time so you’ll have to excuse my completely legitimate exasperation.”

Sam stood up abruptly. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair. Sorry, Dean.”

“Shut the door on your way out,” Dean said, flopping back down on his bed. He sighed again. “And Sam—”

Sam glanced back at his brother who was still laying back with his eyes closed. “Hmm?”

“Don’t fuck it up,” he said, a smirk growing on his face.

“Your eyes will look amaaaazing with this. The color is going to pop. And wear it with those skinny jeans, and that little black motorcycle jacket you have—and these boots!” She grinned at you, nodding eagerly. “Seriously, the jeans show off your butt and this shirt which actually fits you properly is going to accentuate your waist. Trust me. It’s gonna be hot.”

You chewed your bottom lip. You did like that motorcycle jacket… and that shirt did bring out your eyes… but—“Can’t I just wear one of my—”

She interrupted you “—if the next word you say is flannels, I am going to smack you.” Your sister’s cell phone beeped and she hastily looked at the screen before clearing and locking it again. You thought you saw a vague smile on her face.

“Who’s that?” you asked, searching through your closet for your jacket.

“Oh, no one. Just a friend from back home,” she said, waving it off. “Alright. But really. No flannels.”

This only made you laugh and smile guiltily. “Okay! Okay, you win. God. Am I that predictable?” you asked, snatching the shirt from her hands.

“Uhh, yes. That’s why I’m helping you,” she called after you as you went into the bathroom. “Hurry up and get ready! I’m gonna go see what the boys are doing. I’ll see you out front!”

You fixed your hair and make-up and threw on the clothes your sister had suggested and took a look in the mirror. And you had to hand it to her—you liked the way you looked… But still, half of you was dreading going out because you knew it would mean you had to spend an entire evening feeling like your heart was ripped out every time Sam and your sister did something “couple-y.” The other half of you really needed a goddamn drink and a distraction… It seemed like every time you weren’t purposely distracting yourself, your mind wandered back to Sam’s fingers brushing yours as he handed you your coffee, or the way he had so sweetly jumped up to get it for you, sleep still in his eyes. Usually you could talk yourself out of thinking there was meaning in those little moments, but you couldn’t talk yourself out of the way he had been looking at you when you tumbled down on top of him, and how suddenly one of his hands had floated to your lower back and stayed there—you had both been frozen, suspended. God, why am I doing this to myself?! Turning it over and over in your mind wasn’t going to change the fact that he was with someone else. You forced out an exhale, checked your reflection one more time and headed out to the front of the bunker to see if everyone was ready to go.

You weren’t sure why, but you were a little nervous. There were so few occasions when you put on anything other than jeans and a t-shirt or a flannel, or your comfy clothes around the bunker. You stepped into the front room a little hesitantly and Dean was the first one to notice you.

“Y/N, holy shit,” he said, his face cracking into a boyish grin. His green eyes crinkled in a smile. “I mean, you always look good but damn.” You felt your cheeks turning red and covered your face with your hands, laughing at Dean.

“Stop! Shut up!” you protested through nervous laughter. “I don’t deal well with compliments!”

Your sister let out a wolf whistle at you and smiled excitedly. “You look awesome! Do you like it?”

You nodded a little shyly, your cheeks still burning. “I do, actually,” you said, looking down at your boots.

“I told you that you’d look hot. Babe, doesn’t she look hot?!” she said, nudging Sam with an elbow. He had simply been staring at you with a slightly peculiar expression on his face, but this jolted him out of his trance.

“Huh? Yeah. Y/N, you look… you look amazing,” he said. You caught his eyes and he managed to give you a small smile. Your cheeks burned hotter.

Dean could feel some shift in his brother’s mood and he worried that your sister would feel it too. He cleared his throat. “Well, shit. Can I call dibs on you tonight? Forget the hot bartender,” he joked, giving you a wink.

You rolled your eyes at him and shook your head. “In your dreams, Winchester,” you said playfully.

“Well, actually, sometimes yes...”

“Dean!” you scolded him, your face turning red again. He laughed heartily and your sister gave you a satisfied look. Sam simply looked on, unusually quiet.

Shortly thereafter, you all piled into the Impala and headed to the bar. It was a Friday night, so it was sure to be reasonably busy, and you weren’t surprised to see that the parking lot was almost full. To your sister’s disappointment, ‘the hot bartender’ wasn’t working, which you assured her was perfectly fine… you weren’t just going to throw yourself at someone because they were reasonably attractive and happened to be right in front of you.

You started with a few rounds of pool against Dean, trying to ignore your sister being all over Sam as they watched and sipped their drinks. “You lose again, Dean. Cough it up,” you said, holding your hand out for the $20 he had bet you. “Don’t worry. I’ll just use it to buy us all some drinks,” you said, grinning at him. You turned around to shoot a triumphant look at Sam, who always loved to see Dean lose, but your sister was just leaning in to kiss him, her arms around his neck, and your stomach lurched. You quickly looked away and handed your pool cue to Dean. “So, drinks,” you said, and you hurried away.

You came back with a tray of beers and some shots of whiskey and set it down on the table.

“Losers first,” you said cheekily, handing Dean a shot.

He shot you a half-serious glare. “Oh, I let you win. To make up for knocking you on your ass earlier today.” You flicked him off and grabbed a shot of whiskey.

“Alright. Everyone drink—”

You sister shook her head. “Hell no. You know I don’t drink whiskey,” she said, turning back to her beer.

“You party pooper,” you said playfully. “Fine. Me, Dean, and Sam then.” You held your shot glass up in a toast. “Here’s to those who wish us well, and all the rest can go to hell.”

“Cheers to that,” Dean agreed heartily, and you all drank. After you took your shot, you reached over and threw back the one meant for your sister. The action wasn’t lost on Sam… and Dean caught your eyes and raised his eyebrows at you as you also grabbed a beer off the tray.

“…What?” you asked in an undertone.

“You okay?” he asked hesitantly.

“Fine. Why?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and held up his free hand. “Nothin’. Nevermind!”

The music changed and your sister jumped up off her stool. “Oh, I love this song! Come on, babe!” and she pulled Sam out onto the dance floor.

Dean watched your gaze follow the two of them and then you turned back to the high-top table and focused on putting a serious dent in your beer. “Hey. Take it easy, hot rod,” he said. “What are you doing? Trying to get wasted? Slow it down,” he said with a gruff laugh, shaking his head at you.

“And what if I am?” you asked him.

Dean studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowed. “Y/N…”

You knew that tone and averted your eyes, looking down at the glass in your hands. “I’m not talking about this, especially not here, and not right now,” you said.

Dean sighed heavily. “Come on. Just—try and have some fun tonight, okay? Want to play darts?”

You chewed your bottom lip for a moment and then nodded. “Sure. Right after I grab another drink,” you said, and you downed what was left in your glass. Dean frowned at you, but only watched as you headed up to the bar.

You were waiting for the bartender to get to you when the guy next to you looked your way. You pretended not to notice.

“Hey,” he said. You turned and gave him a quick, tight smile. “Haven’t seen you in here before. I don’t think,” he said. You just raised your eyebrows at him but didn’t say anything. You could feel him checking you out but you again pretended not to notice. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“That’s alright,” you said. “I’m just here with some friends.”

He laughed lightly. “Well, come on. I can still buy you a drink,” he argued. “Please. It’s just one drink.”

“…Fine. Sure. Why not,” you said. “Thanks.” Mostly you just wanted to shut him up.

He smiled at you. “What are you drinking?” he asked, putting a finger up to catch the bartender’s attention.

“Whiskey and coke.”

“Sounds good. I’m Brian,” he said, holding out a hand. You accepted it and shook it briefly.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you. So, are you from around here?” he asked. You watched as the bartender poured your drinks and wished he would hurry up.

“Not exactly,” you said, trying to give him as little of a response as you could without being outrightly rude.

“What’s that mean?” he asked. Okay… this guy was not giving up.

Thankfully the bartender brought over your drink and you gratefully took it, giving Brian one last tight smile. “Well, thanks for this… my friend is waiting for me so—”

“Oh—well, let him wait,” he said, smiling at you, trying to lay on the charm.

You ignored it. “Thanks again,” you said, and you turned and headed back to Dean.

Dean had seen the whole interaction from across the bar. He and Sam had a tendency to keep a close eye on you and your sister when you were out at the townie bars. Some of the locals could be a little unsavory. “Did you make a new friend up there?”

You rolled your eyes. “He insisted on buying me a drink… so eventually I let him and then I bailed,” you said with a shrug. “Ready? Who’s going first?”

“Mmm. You can go first,” Dean said. He looked over your shoulder in the direction of the bar and could see that the guy was still watching you. Dean purposely stepped between his gaze and you as you lined up with the dart board. Note to self: Keep an eye on that guy, Dean thought.

You shot really well the first round and let out some loud cheers of enjoyment as you went and retrieved your darts, giving Dean a sassy look.

“Alright, don’t get too cocky,” Dean said. “I think in about 15 minutes those shots and that beer are gonna hit you and your aim is going out the window.”

You sipped at your drink. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Dean…”

Well—he was right. You were feeling pretty tipsy as you wrapped up the first game. Dean had beat you, but only barely. You pouted at him. “You’re a cheater,” you accused.

“No, I’m just mostly sober. Alright, why don’t we sit down and have some water,” Dean suggested.

“How about we don’t,” you said, giving him a sassy look and getting up, your empty drink glass in your hand. He gently touched your sleeve and gave you a long look.

“What?” you demanded. Dean sighed.

He shook his head at you. “What do you want? Wait here, and I’ll go up and get it.”

You grinned widely at him. “Two shots,” you said.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you. “Two shots? One for you and one for me?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Both for me. And a beer.”

“Y/N…”

You scoffed. “Oh, you’re one to talk, Dean! Fine, if you won’t get it, I’ll go get it myself—”

“Stop—God! Just wait here. I’ll go get your damn drinks. But you need to slow down. I am NOT gonna let you anywhere near Baby if you might puke,” he said vehemently. “And we do not want you drinking yourself into oblivion.” Actually, that’s kind of exactly what I want, you thought.

You watched him disappear into the crowd toward the bar again. A moment later, Sam and your sister reappeared. She fanned herself with her hand and sat down on the stool beside you.

“Sooooo,” she said.

You shrugged. “So?”

She laughed at you. “Any prospects?”

Sam’s eyes snapped over to your face. You shrugged. “Nope.”

“Well, have you actually talked to anyone?” she pressed.

“I talked to some guy at the bar who bought me a drink,” you said. Sam shifted his weight a little anxiously. “And then I ran away,” you said, giving your sister a wide satisfied smile. She laughed but shook her head at you.

“You might be hopeless, you know that?” she said. One song ended and another started with some familiar twanging chords. Her face lit up.

You shook your head fast. “No!”

“Pleeeeease,” she said, grabbing your arm. “Please, please, pleaaaaase. Come dance! One song!”

“You know I don’t dance,” you countered.

“You have to! It’s like an unwritten rule that we have to dance to this song.” She put on her best pleading puppy eyes and a laugh bubbled up from you.

“Oh my God… You’re the worst!” you said, laughing.

“Pleeeeease, sis! Come on! Live a little!”

“Oh my God… FINE!” you relented.

“YES!” she jumped up, gave Sam a peck on the cheek and grabbed your hand. “We’ll be back,” she said grinning.

“Just give me a second—here comes Dean with more drinks,” you said. “You’re lucky I’m half-drunk right now. Sober me never would have agreed to this,” you teased her. Sam felt his brow furrow reflexively, but neither you nor your sister noticed.

“You like it,” she retorted. “If it weren’t for me, you’d never have any fun.”

Dean was back and you grabbed a shot off the tray. “Oh, thank god. More courage juice,” you said downing it, and then you let your sister drag you out onto the dance floor. Sam and Dean watched the two of you head out, happily bouncing around and singing. Dean shook his head and laughed a low gruff laugh. Sam’s brow was wrinkled with concern. “Well, this is probably going to lead to trouble,” Dean said, sipping at his beer. Sam swallowed hard.

“Yeah… what’s up with Y/N?” Sam asked after a long moment.

Dean shrugged and pulled a face, the corners of his mouth pressed down.

“She just—she seems like she’s making a pretty good effort to get drunk,” Sam said.

“Seems like she is succeeding,” Dean replied. “Maybe you should ask her about it. That’s out of my jurisdiction.” He sipped his beer again and watched the turmoil in his brother’s eyes.

The song ended and you laughed as your sister threw an arm around you. She fanned herself with her hand again. “It’s hot. Let’s get some air,” she said, and the two of you headed outside and breathed in the cool night air. You looked up at the stars, innumerable, and sighed. You noticed it was a little difficult to keep them from looking like they were spinning. You sister was checking her phone, sitting on a concrete bollard, swinging her feet. She looked back at you and smiled.

“Thanks for dancing with me. That was fun.”

You nodded, leaning back against the wall to steady yourself, and staring out over the parking lot. “It was.” You heaved in a deep breath. A comfortable silence stretched between you for a long moment.

“So, uhh… Dean was being pretty flirty with you earlier,” she said. You snapped around to look at her and she raised her eyebrows at you.

“The definition of ‘Dean’ is flirty,” you said with a laugh.

She cocked her head at you. “Well… maybe. You ever think about—”

You busted out laughing. “You can’t be serious! Oh my God! Let me stop you right there. No! Absolutely not!"

“Why not?!” she exclaimed. “I mean, he’s hot, he’s funny, smart, and totally available—you two seem to have a good time together! And he obviously cares about you.”

You stared at her with your mouth hanging open and a queer expression on your face.

“And then someday I could get married to Sam and you could marry Dean,” she joked. “It’d be like a bad 90’s movie!” she laughed. “Two sisters marrying two brothers.”

You shook your head at her with another loud laugh. “You are so off base right now—I can’t even find the words. Look, I love Dean, but we’re just friends! I don’t feel that way about him.”

“Well, maybe you should,” she said wiggiling her eyebrows at you. You gave her a skeptical look and shook your head.

“Look, I don’t need to be dating someone,” you said. “I don’t understand this crusade you are on to attach me to someone. I’m totally fine.”

She sighed and stretched, a soft frown on her lips. “So you say. Well, I need another drink. You coming in?” she asked.

“I’ll be in soon. Still hot,” you said. You were enjoying the cool evening air on your face and the smell of green, summer grass. You leaned back against the wall, feeling a little unsteady, relishing the dreamy, slightly fuzzy feeling in your head of being buzzed.

“Alright. See you in there.”

You let your mind drift and inevitably it drifted back to Sam…

Your sister appeared back at the table with the Winchesters and grabbed an unclaimed beer Dean had bought.

“Hey, where’s Y/N?” Sam asked curiously.

“Oh, we stepped out front to get some fresh air. She said she’d be in soon.”

Sam’s brow contracted down low over his eyes. “You left her out there alone? What the hell were you thinking?” he asked forcefully.

You sister was taken aback by his tone and answered angrily. “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself,” she scoffed.

“She’s drunk,” Sam replied a little heatedly, immediately getting up and pushing through the crowd, heading through the front door. You looked over as the door opened up and straightened up when you saw it was Sam.

“Hey,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, relief washing over him as he saw you were okay.

“Hi,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Oh—just—you shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.

You gave him a half-smile and tilted your head. “I’m fine.”

“Well… you’ve been drinking kind of a lot tonight. Just—want to be sure you’re safe,” he said.

You considered his thoughtful expression and nodded. “I see.” Your eyes turned back out to gaze across the parking lot.

Sam clenched and unclenched his hand in his pocket. “…why are you drinking so much?” he asked. “I mean, you usually are more of a two-beer kind of person.”

You looked over at him and Sam thought your expression was a little sad. You shrugged. “No reason.” And you didn’t say anything more, though Sam wished you would. You stood and started back toward the front door of the bar, and Sam held it open for you, walking with your through the crowd of people toward your table.

“Thanks. I’ll be back. Just gonna go use the restroom,” you said, and you broke off from Sam toward the back of the bar.

Inside, Dean had been sitting in silence across from your sister, completely at a loss for what to say, simply staring into his beer. The awkward silence was interrupted when Sam arrived back at the table. Your sister looked up at him.

“She’s fine. She’s just going to use the restroom,” Sam said. “You really shouldn’t have left her alone out there,” he scolded your sister again. “You know how much she’s been drinking tonight.”

Dean tried to intervene. “Sammy—”

Your sister’s jaw clenched. “Funny—she seems to be just fine.” The tension stretched for some time and was almost unbearable. Dean was thinking about a way to escape when he suddenly felt a friendly hand on his back.

“What’s up?” Your voice from behind him, a little slurred but very much fine. You squeezed in between Dean and your sister at the high-top table and grabbed the last shot that was sitting unclaimed on the tray and downed it. You chased it with a deep drink from your beer. That’s when you noticed everyone was staring at you and that there was some tension you didn’t understand.

“What?”

Dean rubbed a hand awkwardly over the stubble on his chin. Your sister got up abruptly and rushed off in the direction of the bathroom. You watched her go in confusion and looked back at the Winchesters. Sam was staring at you with some unreadable expression, and Dean seemed to be avoiding your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“You should go check on her,” Dean said pointedly to you.

“What? Why?”

“Just—go check on her.” You shrugged and obliged, turning right back around and heading in the direction your sister had gone, putting a hand out to steady yourself as you reached the hallway to the restrooms. God, the booze was catching up with you.

Dean gave Sam a disappointed look and shook his head. “Dude. I mean, what the hell...”

“Well—she shouldn’t have left her out there alone,” Sam argued, leaning heavily on the table, rubbing a hand over his face. “Do you disagree?”

Dean just stared at him. “No, but Sam… You have to get this under control or do something about it. That was almost too obvious…”

Sam just tried to unclench his jaw.

In the bathroom you tried to coax your sister out of a stall and get her to tell you why there had been so much tension suddenly. You finally succeeded in the first, but not the second. When she came out, she checked her reflection in the mirror, washed her hands, and gave you a forced smile. “I’m fine,” she said.

You gave her a skeptical and incredulous look. “Will you please tell me what the fuck all that was about?”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Come on.” You followed her back out to your table and some of the tension seemed to have abated, although you noticed that Sam wouldn’t really look at her—or anyone. He was just staring down into the tawny liquid in his glass.

“Dean—” you pulled a quarter out of your pocket. “Wanna play?” you asked with a goofy, wide grin.

“Quarters? You want to play quarters,” he said. “…Now?”

“Why, what’s the problem? Are you scaaared?” you teased him.

“Y/N, you’re already drunk. This is a terrible idea,” he said.

Your face fell and your smile disappeared. “Alright, why doesn’t everyone just stop trying to babysit me and start treating me like I’m a fucking adult who can make their own decisions? Jesus…” you shoved your hand back into your pocket and went up to the bar to get another drink.

“I’ll go talk to her,” your sister said, giving Dean a grimace and sliding off her stool.

Dean watched her go after you. "Well, tonight is going fucking great, huh?" he said, looking to Sam. Sam was trying hard not to keep glancing up at you but was finding it difficult. “Hey,” Dean said, hitting him lightly on the arm. “Let’s play darts or something, hmm?”

“What?”

“Darts? Pool?” Sam didn’t say anything. “You can’t just sit here and stare all night, Sam. You’re just torturing yourself. Come on. I’ll bet you $20 I kick your ass at pool.” Sam cast one final look in your direction and nodded to Dean.

Your sister squeezed in next to you at the bar and you glanced over at her. “Are you going to lecture me about my drinking too?”

She laughed. “No. Honestly, I’m glad to see you let yourself go for once,” she said, bumping you with her elbow. You were waiting to order when the bartender came over and set two tequila shots down in front of you and your sister.

“We didn’t order this,” you said.

“I know. It’s from the guy over there,” the bartender said, indicating toward the end of the bar. You leaned forward and looked down to see the guy you had met earlier, Brian, staring in your direction.

You looked away and rolled your eyes. “That’s the guy who was hitting on me earlier,” you said to your sister. “Who bought me a drink.”

“Hmm.” Your sister leaned forward and seized him up. “Free booze though, so what the hell, right?” You both downed your shot. “Come on. I want to dance some more!” She grabbed your hand and tugged you back out on the dance floor. You gave in and tried to let go of your bad mood.

After dancing for a few more song you needed a break. The bar was starting to clear out a little; it was getting late. You hated to admit if but you were definitely drunk. Much to your dismay though, it was not distracting you from your feelings about Sam… You arrived back at the table and immediately reached for another beer, hoping that if you just kept drinking maybe you wouldn't think so much, or feel so much, or care so much. Sam and Dean were taking a break between games of pool and Dean gave you a look. “What?” you asked, dubious.

“I really don’t think you need anything more,” Dean said, giving you a classic Dean half-smirk.

“Since when do you get to boss me around, Winchester,” you said, poking him in the chest with a finger. Dean was at least relieved that you hadn't gotten mad this time...

“Since you have to ride home in my car, which I prefer vomit-free.”

You pouted at him. “I’m not gonna get sick! I’m not even that drunk…” you argued.

“Famous last words of a drunk person,” Dean said.

You looked over at Sam. “Sam, help me out here?”

He looked uneasy. “…maybe you should slow down,” Sam said gently, his brow knit with concern.

You leaned on the table, continuing to pout.

“I’ll get the table ready, Sammy,” Dean said, heading over to claim a free table, leaving the two of you alone a little strategically.

The silence stretched a moment before Sam gave you a tight smile. “Are you, uhh, having fun?”

“Yeah. Sort of,” you said, nodding and leaning more heavily on the table.

Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes. “Sort of?”

“Well—when my sister isn’t trying to set me up with people I have more fun…” you said, with a wry laugh.

Sam stomach twisted a little at the thought. One of these days you would find someone—it was inevitable. You were funny, smart, beautiful, fun to be around, easy to talk to… it was only a matter of time. “She does seem to be pretty bent on it, huh?” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah.” A grin spread across your face. “Get this. She even tried to suggest that I date Dean,” you laughed.

“Really?” Sam asked, forcing out a small laugh. Truthfully, he didn’t find the premise amusing at all. A jealous monster roared to life in his chest, just as it had when he watched you and Dean spar earlier in the day.

“How weird would that be? I mean, he’s like a brother to me,” you said. You paused thoughtfully. A tight lump formed in Sam’s throat. If you felt that way about Dean, didn’t it only make sense you felt that way about him? Had he imagined there was something in all those little moments? “Are—are you having fun?” you asked Sam, your voice and face suddenly a bit serious. You could read something in his mood and were already predisposed not to believe his answer, sensing that something was bothering him.

“Yeah,” he answered, a little too quickly, and it sounded forced even to his own ears.

You nodded, your eyes flickering over his face. His were drawn to yours magnetically and he nervously rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You know, umm… you really do look nice,” he said. A smile grew on your lips.

“Thanks,” you said. He thought he saw a spark return to your eyes.

“But, you know, I also agree with what Dean said earlier—I think you always look nice. Even when you’re just wearing those pajama pants with the hippos on them.” A small smile tugged on his lips and you noticed that it reached all the way to the corners of his eyes. You could have melted right then and there. You laughed a little bashfully, heat rising in your face, and your lips fell partially open. You were searching for something to say but you felt completely paralyzed and the only thing you could think about was how fast your heart was racing and how much you just wanted to grab him and kiss him and— “Sam! Table’s ready!” Sam gave you one last warm look and followed Dean over to the pool table. You watched him go feeling a little like your heart was alternating between soaring and dropping into your stomach, chewing your bottom lip.

You glanced back over your shoulder and saw your sister up at the bar still. “Hey,” you said, joining her. “You know, I really didn’t want to come out tonight. But for once I am glad you forced me to do something,” you joked.

“I know,” you sister said with a smile. She considered you a moment. “Your cheeks are all flushed,” she laughed. “What have you been up to?” She wiggled her eyebrows at you suggestively.

“What?” you felt yourself warming even more. Sam’s face flashed in your mind. “Nothing! I’m just warm—from—because we were dancing!”

“You sure?” She said, accepting her beer from the bartender. You shot her an annoyed look. The dance floor had cleared out pretty well and you were both in need of ice water and a break anyway, but the bar area was still crowded and you found yourself squeezing in between the other patrons. Your sister got impatient waiting for the bartender to get back around to you and was glancing alternately at her phone and toward the door to outside.

“Don’t do it,” you said, shaking your head at her and giving her a stern look.

She gave you a guilty smile. “But I reeeeally want one.”

“You always want a smoke when you drink,” you scolded her. “It’s disgusting and literally killing you.”

“I know, I know—but… I’m just gonna pop outside for one. I swear, just one,” she said. “Get me some water when he finally gets back to you? Thanks!”

“Do you even have one?!” you yelled after her, but she was already gone. You sighed and turned your attention back to the bar top, leaning heavily on it and realizing all of a sudden that you really were pretty damn drunk… You should not have done those last shots. You passed a hand over your eyes and tried to stop your vision from spinning, deciding that you really, actually should drink water for the rest of the night. You also realized you really had to pee. Screw this, you thought, and you left the bar behind to head for the bathroom.

You washed your hands and checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing your hair, wiping a smudge of eyeliner away. All of a sudden it was like all the alcohol hit you at once and you felt like everything around you was wavering. You stepped out into the hallway, one hand on the wall to steady yourself, and stopped to take a breath. Fuck. I should have listened to Sam and Dean. I hate when they’re right. It felt like the floor was moving beneath your feet. “Fancy meeting you here again.” You looked over to see the same guy from earlier again. Brian. Great…

“Imagine that…” you said, noncommittally, straightening up.

“You look like you need some air,” he said. “Too much to drink?” The hairs stood up on the back of your neck. Had he been watching you the whole night? Had he followed you back here and waited for you to come out of the bathroom? Your heart started to race a little faster. The bathrooms were in a narrow hallway at the back of the bar. It felt isolated, tacked on the end of the building. You couldn’t even see any of the other patrons due to the position of a nearby corner, but you could hear the dull, rolling sound of loud conversation loudly.

“Actually, I’m just heading back to my friends,” you said, turning to leave. Fuck, you were unsteady on your feet. But you knew well enough to trust your gut when that tingle ran up your spine, drunk or sober. You abruptly felt a strong hand on your arm and you whipped around to see him smirking at you. He was holding onto you tightly, so tight it hurt a little. Your heart rushed with rising panic.

“Actually, I think you should stay. I bought you a few drinks… The least you could do would be have a decent conversation with me. The least,” he repeated. He flashed you a grin that made your stomach turn. “I like the way you moved out there,” he said. “You should show me what else you’ve got.”

You tried to pull your arm from his grasp but he only held on more tightly. Your temper flared instantly. “Get the fuck off me,” you said dangerously. He didn’t like that response. He pushed you back into the wall behind you and pinned you there, grabbing tightly onto your upper arms. You were stunned for a couple seconds from the forcefulness of your head and back hitting the wall. The next thing you knew he was pressing himself into you, his hips against your body, trying to kiss your neck. You could feel his breath on your skin. “No! Get the fuck off!” You yelled it as loud as you could. You managed to use a knee to push him away from you and then ripped yourself loose from his grasp. You started to rush toward the main part of the bar but your momentum was stopped when he grabbed the back of your jacket, and you almost lost your balance. Thankfully, Sam and Dean had heard your yell clear as day and came rushing toward the sound of your voice.

You were again grappling with the guy, trying to get away and he was practically snarling in your face. “I’ll show you what I have a right to,” he said dangerously, through clenched teeth. Suddenly, Sam was right there and he pushed the guy off you, sending him back into the wall hard.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Sam was right up in the guy’s face. Dean reached you and wrapped an protectively arm around your shoulders, supporting you as your knees seemed to have gone a little shaky. Your chest was heaving in with scared breaths and your eyes were wide.

“Mind your own fucking business—” he snarled back, righting himself.

“I am,” Sam said forcefully. He cocked a fist back and punched the guy in the jaw. He crumpled to the side, swearing and came back up swinging but Sam hit him again and he slumped down onto the floor, holding his face.

Dean also looked ready to throttle the guy, but he wasn’t getting back up. You just wanted to get out of there.

Sam was standing over him, heaving in breaths, his fists clenched and shaking with anger. You gently said his name and it was like a switch flipped. “Sam.” His eyes snapped to your face. He stepped back, away from the guy, and turned to you, still blocking you protectively, a shield between you and him. “Are you alright?” he asked. All you could do was nod, but your eyes were still wide and wild-looking.

“Let’s go. Please, let’s just go,” you said softly. Sam nodded, shooting one last glance back at the guy who was still on his ass on the floor, and followed you and Dean down the hall back into the main room. Your sister was sitting at your table, apparently oblivious but she jumped up when she saw Dean leading you out with an arm around your shoulders and the stunned expression on your face.

“Oh my God. What happened?” she asked rushing over to you and the boys.

Sam’s jaw clenched. “I told you not to leave her alone,” he said through clenched teeth.

Your sister looked bewildered by his tone. “What? I went out for a smoke. She was at the bar when I went out—what happened?” she urged. Dean offered you his glass of ice water, which you accepted. “Do you want me to call the cops?” he asked you.

“The cops? Y/N—what happened?” your sister asked again desperately.

Sam bit his cheek. “If you’d been with her, you would know.”

Your eyes shot up to Sam’s face. “It’s not her fault, Sam,” you said, trying to mollify his anger. “I went back there on my own. And—I’m fine. It’s no one’s fault,” you added, though your voice was a little shaky.

“Except that douchebag,” Dean said, anger clear in his voice. He finally lifted his arm from around your shoulders.

You could tell your sister was extremely upset by Sam’s accusations, and from piecing together what had just transpired. The next second she bolted away from the table, hurrying to get outside. Dean gave Sam a disapproving and pointed look. Sam simply averted his eyes back onto your face. Dean sighed heavily. “I’ll—I’ll go check on her." He felt like that was the fiftieth time someone had said that tonight. Are you okay?” he asked you again. “Seriously, do you want me call the cops? You could press charges on that guy.”

You just shook your head. “No. I don’t want to deal with it being a whole thing. And hopefully Sam taught him enough of a lesson. I just want to go home.”

Dean nodded and gave your hand a light squeeze. “Thank God you’re okay,” he said. He headed for the exit. You sat there, staring down at the condensation dripping down on the outside of the ice water glass, but you could feel Sam’s eyes on you.

“How’s your hand?” you asked him.

“Huh?” Sam looked at his hand and there was definite swelling across the knuckles, but he flexed and squeezed his fingers a few times. “It’s totally fine.”

You swallowed, trying to rid your throat of the uncomfortable lump that had formed there. “Don’t be mad at her, Sam. None of this is her fault.”

His jaw clenched. “I already told her to keep an eye on your earlier tonight,” he said.

You shrugged. “It’s still not her fault.”

Sam rubbed a hand over his face. You had just been assaulted and you were worrying about his relationship? He sighed heavily. “I know. You’re right. I was out of line. I just—I’m… scared. And angry.”

You nodded. “I know.” Dean was striding back over to the table but without your sister.

“She said she just wants a little space. She’s smoking a cigarette out there,” he said. You nodded.

“Uhh,” Dean ran a hand through his hair a little anxiously. “I’m gonna go clear the pool table and I’ll get the tab,” Dean said, looking to you and Sam.

“I want to get out of here,” you muttered, your eyes subconsciously flickering back toward the hallway that led to the restrooms. You looked up at Sam and he nodded before turning to Dean.

“We’ll meet you out at the Impala.”

You exchanged a tight smile with your sister as you walked out into the parking lot. She blew a cloud of smoke from her cigarette and returned it, but her eyes left yours quickly and you noticed how she was anxiously bouncing a knee.

“You guys were right,” you said to Sam as you reached the Impala. You leaned up against the passenger side door, looking out over the nearly empty lot. “I shouldn’t have been drinking so much. That was...stupid,” you said.

His eyes snapped over to you. “Hey—you being drunk does not give that guy an excuse. If anything, it makes it worse. He was trying to take advantage of a situation that made you a little more vulnerable. Like you said, it’s no one’s fault, except his. That includes you.” You watched the muscle in his jaw tense. "I could have killed that guy." His voice was vehement and how he wanted you to meet his eyes so he could study the flecks of color in them and try to read what you were thinking. Every time he thought about the scene he and Dean had rushed into his heart plummeted. What if they hadn’t been able to hear you yell? The thought was just too horrible. He felt sick.

You shuffled a boot on the ground, kicking at a small rock and sending it skittering across the pavement. “Yeah. I know.” The silence stretched for a moment before you looked up at the stars. They were no longer wavering or shimmering—your fear and adrenaline had apparently sobered you up quickly.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The ride back to the bunker was tense, and even the classic rock wailing out from the speakers couldn’t deafen the anxious feeling hanging in the air. When you got home, although you were tired, you knew sleep wasn’t going to come, so you trudged into the library and flopped down on the couch, carelessly pulling off your boots. You leaned back and sighed, your eyes tracing the familiar architecture of the ceiling and the brick archways.

You heard some mumbled exchanges of ‘goodnight’ between Sam, Dean, and your sister, but soft footsteps behind you announced that someone else wasn’t planning on sleep either. You looked over your shoulder to see Sam standing a little awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hey,” you said. Then turning around to look at him more fully. “You okay?”

He let out a dry, sardonic laugh. “I should be asking you that,” he said, stepping more fully into the library and coming around the couch to sit in a nearby chair.

“I’m alright,” you said. “Just—a little too keyed up for sleep I think.”

He nodded. “That makes sense.” Sam’s heart was pounding again as he looked at you. Your eyes flickered down to a reddish-purple bruise forming on his hand, which was resting on his knee. You sat up abruptly and leaned forward.

“Sam,” you said sternly, gently pulling his hand closer to you so you could examine it. You gave him a disapproving look but all Sam could feel was your fingers on his skin.

“It’s fine. Really. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Mhm,” you replied skeptically. “Stay here. You need to ice that.” You climbed to your feet and headed into the kitchen. Dean was eating chips and drinking a glass of water, leaning casually back against the island, staring down at his phone. He looked up as you came in and opened the freezer.

“Hey,” he said. “You alright?” his brow drew down.

“For fuck’s sake, will you two stop asking me that? I’m fine,” you said, grabbing a cold pack out and wrapping it in a dish towel.

“Y/N. That was some seriously scary shit. It’s okay to not be okay,” Dean said. You looked at him seriously and after a moment smiled at him.

“I know,” you said. “But really, I’m okay. Thanks to you and Sam.”

Dean nodded, still a little uneasy.

“Sam, however, seems to have fucked up his hand,” you announced, brandishing the cold pack.

“Mmmm,” Dean said nodding, crunching on another chip. “That second hit was a hell of a punch.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly at you, but you only tore your eyes away, feeling a little rush of heat in the apples of your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “It was. Anyway. You going to bed soon?”

“I think so. After my midnight snack,” he said, a boyish grin on his face. He crunched loudly on another chip.

“Alright, well, goodnight,” you said, quickly grabbing him in a tight hug. You headed back out to the library. “Here,” you said, holding the ice pack out to Sam. “Twenty minutes with that. It’ll help.”

Sam thanked you and rested it across his hand before sighing heavily. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your face. He felt like he was on his tiptoes on the edge of a precipice, teetering and trying to keep his balance. “Hey,” he said. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and something about the tone sent his voice through you, like a shot to the heart. Your eyes lifted and met his, a questioning expression on you face. “You ever just wonder if—” he cut himself off abruptly, using his uninjured hand to anxiously rub across his forehead. He stalled out, biting his bottom lip anxiously.

Your heart was beating faster and you waited patiently for him to go on, but he couldn’t. “If…?” you prodded him.

He sighed heavily again and ripped his eyes from yours, looking back down at his hands. “Eh...nothing. Nevermind,” he said. He took a step back from the precipice, fear overwhelming him, bad timing overwhelming him.

You studied his expression, your eyebrows drawn down ever so slightly, trying to puzzle out what he had been about to say and why he had stopped, but you found no answers. Simply for something to do, Sam picked up a book from the side table and set it in his lap. He dutifully turned pages, his eyes scanning the text, reading, but he heard none of it.

At some point, your eyelids became heavy and you laid down on the couch, your knees slightly bent, hugging one of the throw pillows. Sam watched your breathing grow deeper and heavier and shut the book in his lap, replacing it silently on the side table, discarding the cold pack for his hand, and climbing to his feet. He grabbed the quilt off the back of the chair he had been sitting in and gently covered you up. Then he made the lonely walk back to his bedroom… hoping that your sister was already asleep, so he could simply drift off with that image of you safe and sound peacefully asleep on the couch, in his mind, uncontaminated by the reality that he was going to sleep in the wrong bed.

“Yeah, actually. I guess I was pretty exhausted.”

“You were,” you agreed. “Physical trauma on top of not sleeping will catch up with you.”

Sam sat down on the stool across from you and you could feel him studying your face. You gulped at the strained feeling in your throat, but it did nothing to diminish it.

“Have you, um… heard from my sister by chance?” you asked hesitantly. You grabbed your cell phone and pushed the side button to illuminate the screen. No new messages. Still. She had told you that she would “be back in 30 minutes” about 5 hours ago. If you weren’t already so pissed off you’d be sick with worry by now. But seeing as you knew what she actually had been doing all day, you had a feeling she was perfectly fine and had simply decided to stay out longer. Or… stay in longer. And who cares about notifying the people probably waiting on her at home, right? It was like your brain couldn’t decide if it should be signaling to make you nauseous or flush with anger. You were continuously oscillating between the two.

“Oh.” Sam felt that same familiar sinking feeling he always got in his chest when reality encroached on him suddenly as he was just enjoying being with you. “No, I don’t think so. I should probably double check my phone though. And look for those meds. My hand is… actually pretty sore.” You knew if Sam was saying it was sore, it was probably pretty fucking painful.

“You should. Definitely time for the pain meds,” you said.

He got up and started to head toward the doorway, but stopped and glanced back at you. “You’ll still be here when I get back? You’re not about to run off to bed, are you?”

Fuck me. You felt sick to your stomach suddenly. He was so sweet. How in the hell could your sister do this to him of all people? “Nope. Not running off anywhere,” you said.

“Good. Okay…”

As soon as Sam left, you sent another text to your sister. ”Where are you??? You said you would be back HOURS ago, and you still haven’t come home to check on your boyfriend and his fucked up hand???” You were past caring about how she would feel about your tone. You and Dean had come up with some semblance of a plan to deal with what you had discovered but you had no idea how it was going to shake out in execution.

You only knew two things: first, that you couldn’t participate in such an awful lie of omission to Sam and second, that she needed to be told exactly how shitty she was being. You were going to confront her, in a way, but what would happen after that you didn’t know…

Sam was back a moment later with his little prescription bottle, filling a glass with water from the tap. “Nothing from your sister. It’s kind of late... She must be out having fun still, huh?” he said. His tone was carefree, but you noticed a little tension around his eyes when he said it. Your stomach twisted again. God, this was a mess…

Sam took his pills and fixed his eyes on you for a long moment, leaning back against the counter in front of the sink. You were staring into your teacup and he got the sense that there was something weighing on you. “I wanted to thank you,” Sam said. Your eyes flitted back up to his now. “For today.”

You swallowed hard again at the strained feeling in your throat. “Oh, don’t thank me for that. It was nothing,” you said, managing a small smile. “Besides, I should be the one thanking you still. I’m the whole reason your hand is busted in the first place…”

“No. You’re not. That asshole is.” He sipped from his glass, holding it in his left hand since his cast prevented him from using his dominant one. “I, uhh… I hope I wasn’t too much trouble,” he said.

You didn’t have to force a smile this time. “You weren’t. Do you not remember it?” you asked him, wondering if he knew how he had held your hand or if he remembered telling you that you were beautiful… All those little moments were crystal clear in your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about them.

He ran a hand through his hair, which immediately fell back into place. “It’s a little foggy but… I think it’s all there,” he said with an awkward laugh. He thought he felt his cheeks growing a little red as he remembered some of the things he had done (Had he really held your hand for almost two hours?) and some of the things he had said (He had a vague recollection of telling you just how beautiful he thought you were… and teetering on the edge of almost telling you something more.)

You nodded. “The nurse commented that you were an excellent patient.”

Sam laughed. “Well, I think most people are probably fairly agreeable with the intravenous morphine,” he said. He sat down again on the stool across from you, spinning his water glass in his hand a little anxiously, his cast resting heavily on the granite countertop. “You know, it’s funny… that nurse—she thought we were a couple,” he said, immediately clearing his throat a bit nervously.

You stared down into your tea. “Yeah,” you laughed. “She may have said something to me about it.”

“She, uhh… she told me if I was smart that I would hold onto you for good,” Sam said. He wasn’t smiling this time. His expression was perfectly sincere, and his eyes were flitting between yours.

You heart started to race in your chest. “Oh… That’s—” A nice thought? Better than nice… “That’s a sweet compliment,” you finally managed.

“Yeah,” Sam said, still holding your eyes. “I just thought you should know that.”

Something in his tone and the way he was looking at you, you felt like he was telling you some truth he couldn’t say. In an instant the sick feeling and the ache in your chest were replaced with a fluttering. There was no worthy response for that which you could come up with. And then a moment later the fluttering diminished and the sick feeling returned. You couldn’t help but pass a hand over your face. Fuck.

“Are you alright?” Sam was instantly worried.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you said. “I think I’m just tired.”

Sam wasn’t buying it. “…you sure?”

“Uh huh,” you said. You swallowed the last couple sips of your tea and got up. You were having that feeling again… like you were lying to him, and you couldn’t stand it. It was impossible for you to imagine anyone doing what your sister was doing to him. “I—I think I’m just going to get ready for bed.”

Sam’s eyes followed your progress toward the door. “You’re sure you’re okay? You look a little pale all of a sudden.” There was that familiar worry line by his eyebrow, and the way his mouth was cocked to one side created that deep dimple in his cheek you found almost irresistible.

“I’m alright. I hope you can get some more rest tonight. You need it so that hand will heal up quickly,” you said, giving him the best smile you could muster. You almost stepped into the hallway right there, but Sam watched in curiosity as you froze at the threshold and turned back around to look at him. Another beat and you crossed the kitchen and grabbed him into a tight hug, surprising him and yourself. Sam’s un-casted hand pressed flat on your back.

He loved the feeling of the edge of your shoulder blades and how small your frame felt under his hand. “Goodnight,” he muttered.

You felt your cheeks warm at the feeling of his strong arm around you, his strong chest and stomach under his shirt. “Goodnight, Sam.” You practically ran from the kitchen after that, worried that the whole ugly truth really was about to burst out of you.

Despite your words and explanations to Sam, you weren’t planning on going to sleep. You had unfinished business with your sister, and you would wait for her to come home until the sun came up if you had to. As the time ticked by, you fumed more and more. The idea that she was maybe off fucking some guy, obviously not giving a shit about her boyfriend who had a bone in his hand shoved back into place that very day was unfathomable to you. Had she even texted him? Had she said anything to him at all? A phone call? Any explanation of her whereabouts? Finally, at almost midnight your heard footsteps coming up the hallway and passing your room, heading toward the kitchen and front of the bunker.

You grabbed the paper cup from the café, which was still sitting on your desk, though now emptied of its long-cold contents, and followed the sound of her footsteps into the kitchen.

Your sister looked over her shoulder as you came in. ”Hey.” She was filling up a glass with ice water and gave you a sheepish smile. You did not return it.

“Where have you been? Did you get my messages? You said you’d be back like 8 hours ago.” Your tone was icy and you watched something grow in her eyes. You read it as guilt.

“I know… I know. I’m sorry! Sarah talked me into going out and my phone battery died! I’m sorry! I know you were probably worried sick. And how is Sam? I hope he isn’t waiting up, too.”

“Sarah talked you into going out,” you repeated.

She took a deep drink from her glass. “Yeah.”

“Really?” you asked again, your tone growing skeptical.

She sensed something, some danger in your voice maybe, because her expression completely changed. “…what’s wrong?”

You placed the paper cup from The Ivy Café on the kitchen island and you watched as her eyes flickered down to it, landing on the distinctive logo, and then back up to your face. Despite its light and airy material, it felt like you had just set a lead weight out on the counter. You thought you saw her swallow hard.

“I don’t—What?” There was the slightest waver in her voice now.

“You tell me.”

She avoided your eyes and took another deep drink from her water glass. She shrugged and shook her head a little. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Bullshit,” you interrupted.

She met your eyes now and the two of your stared at each other for a long moment, the tension growing heavy and thick in the air, like humidity in the tropics. Your heart was pounding. It was like she was waiting for you to explicitly accuse her, to banish any thought she had left of hope that this was some weird coincidence that she was misreading, mistaken. And you were just waiting for her to speak.

“Y/N, I—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me. Don’t you dare. You’ve done enough lying just today to last a lifetime.”

She didn’t say anything. She set her water glass down with a sharp clack and leaned back against the counter. Her posture was guarded, her arms crossed over her chest.

“How could you?” you accused, and it came out in a raspy whisper from the tightness in your throat that you couldn’t seem to loosen. You felt angry tears welling in your eyes. “How could you do this?”

She cleared her throat. “Honestly, what are you—” her voice was a little sharp now, but you couldn’t have cared less.

“Why didn’t you just break it off? Hmm? How long exactly have you been cheating on him? This is just—I feel like I don’t even know you. Where is my sister?”

A muscle in her jaw tensed as she clenched her teeth. “I’m right here.”

You shook your head, anger giving way to another wave of emotions; betrayal, sadness, disbelief. “No. You’re not.”

You watched her jaw tense again, and her chin lifted stubbornly. “This is between me and Sam. It isn’t any of your business. You don’t even know what’s going on with us.” She was trying to sound forceful but you could hear hesitancy in her voice. It was forced. It was weak. It fell flat.

“I don’t need to know any more than what I already know. What you’re doing… it’s—I don’t even know what to call it. And if you don’t resolve this, one way or another, Dean and I will. I’m giving you a chance right now to do the right thing and in some small, miniscule way make up for what you’ve done.” And with that you walked out, leaving her staring at that empty paper cup, the simple symbol. You knew. Dean knew.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It had been three days since you had confronted your sister in the kitchen after her late night out, and still you were held in strenuous anticipation of the coming disaster. There was no sign that she had told Sam anything, though she certainly seemed to be avoiding everyone. Your disgust and anger was mounting. You sat with Dean in his room, breaking down and cleaning guns, organizing hunting gear, just for something to do.

You sighed heavily all of a sudden and Dean looked up to watch you set down the coil of rope you had just untangled and straightened before you fell back on his bed where you were sitting, your knees at the edge and feet dangling off. You stared up at the ceiling and listened to the metallic click of Dean shutting the slide on the pistol in his hands.

“What do we do?” you spoke into the still air. You laid there flat on your back for a long moment, your hands resting on your stomach, just staring up at the shadows on the ceiling.

Dean was sitting at his desk, but you heard the scrape of the wooden legs as he got up. In a moment he was standing over you, looking down at you with a shadow darkening his face. “We give her one more night, tonight, to do the right thing. If she doesn’t… I’ll take care of it.”

You leaned up on one elbow. “What does that mean?” you asked, apprehensive.

“I’m not gonna murder her,” Dean said with wry smile.

You sighed and flopped back down. “I’ve already thought about it,” you muttered.

Just then, Sam appeared in the doorway and was a little surprised to see you laying back on Dean’s bed. “Hey—sorry. I, umm… sorry. Am I interrupting… something?” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

You and Dean just peered at him with curiosity, clearly not getting what was going on in Sam’s brain… which was surprise and jealousy to see you laying on his brother’s bed, apparently at ease… even though he knew how stupid that was. What was the point of his envy? Wasn’t he the one with a significant other? Dean shrugged, the corners of his mouth pulled down. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“I was actually looking for Y/N,” Sam said. “Umm… could we talk for a sec?”

“Sure, of course,” you said, hopping up. You gave Dean an annoyed look in response to the way he raised his eyebrows at you as he caught your eyes. You followed Sam out into the hall and back toward his and your bedrooms, keeping pace with his long strides by taking at least two steps for each one of his. You were suddenly nervous and crammed your hands into your pockets.

Sam stopped just outside his bedroom and leaned on the doorframe, fidgeting a bit, also clearly a bit nervous.

Your brow drew down low over your eyes. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” you asked.

“I just—I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Sam said.

You shook your head, confused. “Sorry?”

“Uhh… yeah.” He bounced one knee nervously. “I know I mentioned I have some vague, fuzzy recollection of the doctor’s office the other day and—” he chanced a glance at your expression but found it unreadable beyond some confusion and perhaps a touch of concern. “—well, I just feel like things have been a little… weird since then, like… I don’t know… Maybe you were avoiding me or something?” He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at his feet. “I just—I’m sorry if I said or did anything that was out of line or… made you uncomfortable or—” He let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know. I just—I’m sorry.”

You fell a swell of something in your chest as you looked at him, an achy feeling rising up, ready to burst like a bubble. He was apologizing to you. You knew if you spoke your voice would be weak or would crack and break, matching how brittle you felt at that moment. The only thing you could do was meet his eyes for a moment and then throw your arms around his neck, stretched up on your tiptoes. Like always, he didn’t hesitate to wrap you up, and you didn’t know that an immense wave of relief was washing over him at that moment. He had sensed that something had changed since that day, and he had worried obsessively that he had done something wrong… something that had pushed you away… but he knew that hug was you telling him everything was fine.

After breaking apart, and stumbling back, feeling a little off-balance, with a steadying breath, you managed to reassure him. “Sam,” you said gently, “you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Nothing. Don’t think on that for a second more. Okay?”

Sam felt like his heart was soaring and he nodded, his hazel eyes still connected with yours.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve been a little more distant the last couple days,” you said. You wanted to give more of an explanation than that but you couldn’t, not without giving away too much or lying to him.

He shifted his weight a little anxiously, subconsciously cradling his casted arm in the other. “Are you okay?”

“I’m completely fine. Don’t worry about me. Okay?”

He nodded, feeling more encouraged. “Okay,” he said, giving you a small smile.

You pulled out your phone and checked the time. It was nearing dusk. Your sister still wasn’t home. Again. You glanced up at Sam. “Do you want to go for a walk? I could use some fresh air,” you said.

His face brightened. “Actually, that sounds just like what I need.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you outside?” Sam nodded, and you went away to grab your shoes, poking your head in Dean’s bedroom. He was laying on his bed, headphones on. He lifted when when he noticed you peeking in.

“What’s up?” he asked. The gravel in his voice was thick. You realized you had been so focused on how Sam was and how you were feeling that you hadn’t stopped to consider exactly what turmoil Dean was going through.

“Hey. Sam and I were gonna go for a walk. You wanna come with? Get some fresh air?”

He gave you a half-smile. “Accompany you and Sammy on a romantic, sunset walk? I think I’ll pass,” he laughed gruffly.

You gave him a scolding look. “Just a regular walk, Dean…”

“Really, I’m good. But thanks,” he said, giving you a warm smile.

You were about to leave but hesitated. “How are you doing with all this? I really should have asked you before… I think I’ve just been so focused on Sam and being angry.”

He shrugged. “Obviously, I’m pretty pissed off, too. And I want to see it dealt with. But I’m also not in love with one of them, so I’d wager better and less conflicted than you are,” he said pointedly.

You felt the apples of your cheeks grow warmer and averted your eyes to the floor. “I didn’t say that I’m—” Dean’s knowing look stopped you from arguing over his wording. “Well, if you ever need to talk—” Dean gave you another warm smile. “I know where you live.”

You smiled back at him. “See you in a bit.”

Sam was waiting outside in front of the bunker, leaning on the metal railing. He turned and gave you a smile when he heard the metal door open and shut behind him. “Hey,” you said. He was giving you a smile that was threatening to make you melt. You anxiously tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Ready?” he asked, straightening up. You nodded and fell into stride next to him, enjoying the sound of the gravel beneath your feet.

“How is your hand feeling?” you asked.

He looked down at his cast. “It twinges every now and then but nothing unmanageable. Almost done with those good painkillers though,” he laughed. “Too bad, too. Because I think they’ve been helping me sleep.”

“Well, I hope it is still manageable with just some Advil or something,” you said.

“Me too. It’s weird being out of commission. It’s been a while since any of us was out of hunting shape. Thank God,” he added. “But you don’t realize how much you need your dominant hand until you can’t use it,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” you agreed. “Remember when I broke my collarbone? I had to sleep sitting up. That sucked.” You shook your head, remembering all the inconveniences. Sam laughed and when you glanced up his eyes were already on your face. “What?”

He shook his head. “Just remembering you when that happened. The rant you went on about how hard it is to wash your hair one-handed,” he said. “I’ve since discovered the same thing. I got shampoo in my eye this morning.”

You laughed, feeling unburdened and carefree for the first time in days. “Ouch. That sounds awful.”

“It was. And not only did the cast create the situation, but it also made it way harder to remedy! I thought I was going to go blind,” he joked. You smiled up at him.

“Maybe next time you should just let me wash your hair for you in the kitchen sink,” you suggested, laughing lightly.

Sam thought about it for a moment, his heart fluttering in his chest a little as he remembered the feeling of you gently sliding your fingers into his hair at the doctor’s office. It gave him goosebumps all over again. He almost wondered if he had dreamed that. “My own personal spa? I’m in. Do I have to pay extra for a scalp massage or is that included?” You laughed again. “For my hero? It’s the least I could do,” you said.

Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Ah, come on. I’m no hero.” He looked up toward some birds wheeling in the sky. As he watched them drop into a particularly old, and spectacularly craggy oak tree he felt your hand on his arm suddenly and his eyes snapped down to see yours, vibrant even in the diminishing light of the setting sun, staring up at him. He stopped abruptly, involuntarily.

“You and Dean are both so stupid about that,” you said seriously. “You are completely, totally, and inarguably a hero. And not just for that night at the bar. And not for some huge, crucial action like—stopping the apocalypse. It’s just—who you are, the choices you make, big and small. Every day.”

Sam was almost overwhelmed at your words and if he had been a braver man, and… less ”taken”, he would have kissed you right then. Not for saying he was a hero, but for the forcefulness which showed that you truly believed it with every fiber of your being. You saw worth in him when he couldn’t see it in himself, consistently and unabashedly. Your hand slipped from his arm and you tore your eyes away, perhaps feeling something akin to what he was—that if you kept looking up at him and he kept looking down at you like that, there wouldn’t be any reason big enough to stop you from colliding.

You walked together in companionable silence for a while. Sam was thinking that your sister had been gone a lot more than usual lately, and he even considered asking you about it, but he was unwilling to burst that bubble of happiness you were sharing together right now, so he put it out of his mind. The colors faded from the warm oranges and reds of the setting sun to the cool purples and inky blues of a sun that had set, and finally the two of you turned back toward the bunker, again talking and laughing comfortably the whole way.

Dean was in the library on his laptop when you and Sam returned, the echoing of the heavy metal door slamming announcing that you were home. You came and scruffed a hand in his hair just to annoy him and laughed as he swatted at you.

“Whatcha doin’?” you asked, falling comfortably onto the long couch nearby, looking over your shoulder at Dean and Sam, who had just sat down at the table too and was pulling off his boots with one hand.

“Just trolling for cases,” he said. “I figured even down Sam we could still go kick some ass. I mean, he’s not that crucial anyway,” he said, casting a snarky look at his little brother.

“Fuck you,” Sam said through a laugh.

“Need some help there, Cinderella?” Dean asked him. Sam was struggling to pull off his left boot.

“Cinderella?” Sam repeated.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Shoe-related. I’ll admit, not my best work.” You and Sam both laughed. Sam climbed to his feet again. “Your sister is home,” Dean said, making sure it was loud enough for both you and Sam, who was heading toward the bedrooms, to hear.

You nodded. “Oh. Good. Where is she?”

“I think she headed to her and Sam’s room,” he said pointedly. Maybe this was it.

“I’ll be back,” Sam said over his shoulder to you and Dean. His good mood had immediately vanished. He was wondering how much longer he could keep this up. Something was going to have to give. He was fully aware that with how much his girlfriend had been gone lately that he should have been missing her, and probably also should have been wondering what she was up to. But instead he only felt relieved that he didn’t have to put on some act he felt was deceitful. The bottom line was he was dating someone while he was in love with an entirely different person…

The door to their bedroom was closed and when Sam cracked it open he saw it was dark inside. Your sister was seemingly already in bed, asleep, and even that was a relief to Sam… he crept in and set down his shoes before heading back out toward the library, ready for a stiff drink.

“Hey, pour me one of those,” Dean said as Sam was at the bar cart.

“Me too!” you yelled from the couch.

“Guys… you know I literally only have one hand. I can’t carry and deliver three drinks,” Sam laughed. You vaulted the back of the couch and were beside him in an instant.

“Gimme that,” you said, reaching for the whiskey bottle in his hand.

“I can still pour it!” Sam argued, holding the bottle in his left hand over his glass. You gave him a skeptical look.

“Fine. Don’t spill. If you spill a drop, you owe Dean $50. House rules. Right, Dean?”

“Damn straight,” he yelled from in front of his computer, not even looking over his shoulder.

Sam gave you a skeptical look and opened the bottle awkwardly with his casted hand, eliciting a giggle from you.

“What is so funny??” he demanded. You immediately pressed your lips together in a thin line to conceal your smile.

“Nothing.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. You couldn’t hold the smile in any longer. “It’s just… I just realized that because of the way they casted your pinky and ring finger on that hand too, it looks like you are always trying to be a fancy British person drinking tea,” you said. You grinned at him. “Pinky up!”

Dean turned around and grinned at his brother. “She is totally right. You’ve always been a fancy boy,” he drawled, turning back to his computer.

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “First, of all, I’ll say it again, fuck you, Dean. And second,” he looked at you, “You’re a goofball,” he said.

“Well, duh,” you said, grabbing the bottle from him and pouring some whiskey into a tumbler glass for yourself and one for Dean. You set Dean’s down beside him at the table and pulled out a chair across from him. Sam settled in on the couch by the fire, stretching his long legs out and propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Find anything good?” you asked Dean.

“Maybe a coven in Oklahoma, but I’m not really sure yet.”

You sipped at your drink and nodded. “Mmm. We could handle it.”

Sam turned and looked at you from over the back of the couch. “You can’t just automatically say ‘we could handle it,’” he said. “You don’t even know anything about it!”

“Sam, I don’t know if you have forgotten, but… I’m frickin’ awesome,” Dean said. “And last time I checked, so is Y/N. So. I think it IS safe to say we could handle it.”

Sam sighed but you could tell he was a little amused. “You still need to thoroughly check it out. You’re still down an entire hunter!”

“Well… maybe more like half a hunter,” Dean teased him, throwing back the rest of his whiskey in one go. He closed his laptop and got to his feet. “If you two will excuse me, I have a special screening of Beverly Hills Cop to attend happening,” he checked the time on his phone, “right now.” He smirked at the two of you. “Don’t stay up too late.”

You laughed and gave him a nod. “Goodnight, Dean.” His footsteps faded down the hall. You left the table behind and settled in the armchair across from Sam, swirling the whiskey in your glass absentmindedly.

Sam had already finished his drink and was watching the crystal fracture the light from the fire into colorful prisms. “I just realized that I’m probably not supposed to drink alcohol with that prescription,” he said suddenly.

You glanced up at him. “Oh. Right. Probably not. Hard on your liver. Don’t have anymore.”

He nodded. “Well. It’ll just make me a bit drowsier if anything.”

“What was my sister up to?” you asked him suddenly, unable to stop yourself.

“She was asleep already when I went in,” Sam said. His eyes studied your face as you stared into the flickering flames in the grate but your expression was impassive.

“Mmm,” you said. “Early bedtime.”

“Yeah…” Sam agreed. There seemed to be a lot of unspoken things suddenly hanging in the air. Not too long after, you excused yourself to get ready for bed and when you returned to say goodnight to Sam he was already asleep on the couch. You grabbed the nearby blanket and covered him up before making your way to Dean’s room. He paused his movie when he saw you in the doorway.

“Sam’s asleep in the library,” you said. “And my sister is asleep already too.”

You thought you saw a muscle in Dean’s jaw tense as he clenched his teeth. He nodded. “Okay.”

You anxiously chewed your bottom lip.

“Hey,” he said, drawing your eyes back to him. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

You swallowed hard at the strangled feeling in your throat, trying to clear it so you could get some air. You felt a little like you were reeling. Who the hell is that guy? What do I do? Do I confront her? Fuck! Sam was literally right outside waiting in the car… You started to head for the door and as you reached it, one hand on the handle to push it open, you glanced back over your shoulder across the café. You had a clear view of them now, and your stomach rolled as you watched her lean forward and kiss him, one of her hands sliding into his hair to pull him in, breaking away with a smile on her face. You turned away abruptly and pushed outside, glancing quickly over at the car. Sam was leaning back in the passenger seat, his eyes closed, faced turned toward his open window to feel the breeze.

I’m gonna be sick. The potential implications of what you had just seen were making you dizzy.

You rushed into the pharmacy, praying that Sam’s prescription was ready. All you wanted to do was put as much distance between where you and Sam were and what you had just seen. Maybe if you put physical distance between you and them you wouldn’t have to deal with what was happening, maybe it would become untrue. What the hell were you supposed to do with what you had just seen? You hastily grabbed Sam’s meds and rushed back out to the car, your latte still in your hand, completely forgotten. You slid into the driver seat and plopped it down in the cup holder. Sam looked over at you and straightened up. He immediately sensed that something was wrong.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

You couldn’t look at him. You just started the car and threw it into gear. “Mhm! Yep! Let’s just get you home,” you said. “I’m sure you’re ready to be home…”

He waited for you to look over at him, to meet his eyes, but you just stared straight ahead through the windshield. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Sam asked again. You could hear the sweet concern in his voice, but it also still had that vaguely dreamy quality.

You did your best to shove down the feelings of anger, shock, and disbelief that were threatening to overwhelm you and arrange your face into a small smile so you could turn and meet his eyes. “I’m fine, Sam. How are you?”

He gave you a small, somewhat crooked smile, his eyebrows lifting a little in relief from your words. “I’m great. But a bit tired.” He yawned again and leaned his head back against the headrest of his seat.

“I can imagine,” you said, turning onto the highway. “Let’s get back to the bunker so you can rest.” Your voice came out much softer than you meant it to, but luckily Sam seemed to have bought your forced smile. You were a little grateful that he was still a bit loopy, because sober Sam probably would have seen through you in a heartbeat. He always could tell when something was wrong. You bit your cheek to keep angry and disgusted tears from welling up in your eyes.

You raced the whole way back and the time had passed mostly in silence. Sam seemed to be dozing a little, in and out of being awake, the toll of the painkillers and probably the physical trauma as well. But you finally pulled into the underground garage and parked your car. Sam climbed out and said your name to grab your attention as you were shutting your door.

“Your coffee,” he said, holding the paper cup you had completely forgotten about in the cup holder. You stared at the printed logo on the side: The Ivy Café. “You didn’t drink any?” he said, giving you a questioning look. You were never one to leave undrunk coffee undrunk.

You nodded and forced another smile, shrugging. “Wasn’t as tired as I thought,” you said. “Plus, I probably already had too much coffee this morning. Here, I’ll take that,” you said, accepting the cup from him and falling into stride next to him. “You take this.” You handed him the little paper bag with his prescription. “You can’t take any until tonight, though, okay? Doctor’s orders.”

Sam thanked you and smiled. “Okay. Got it.” He turned and gave you a sleepy smile. “Thanks again for today. I know you wasted a whole afternoon on me at that doctor’s office...”

Wasted? On Sam? There was no such thing. You felt a bubble of emotion rising up in your throat again at his words and you tried to choke it down, tried to clear the tightness. “No need to thank me for that,” you said quietly.

“Well… I really appreciate it anyway.” Sam let out another yawn as you both reached Dean and the Impala, which seemed to be mostly back together as Dean was putting his tools away.

“So, are you bionic now or what?” he asked Sam, giving him a smirk and patting him hard on the back.

Sam held up his cast. “I don’t think so.”

“Still hopped up on the good stuff?” Dean asked. Sam let out a big yawn again and shrugged.

“Hand doesn’t hurt. I’m mostly just sleepy now,” he said.

Dean nodded. “Damn. Sounds like I missed the fun Painkiller Sam,” he laughed, giving you a knowing look. You returned the smile as best you could and put a gentle hand on Sam’s back, encouraging him to head in, your fingertips floating lightly over his shirt. Electricity shot up his spine and he actually jumped a little in response and looked down at you.

“Oh—sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” you apologized, misreading his reaction.

“That’s alright—It wasn’t—you didn’t—” Sam’s tongue suddenly felt twisted in his mouth. He couldn’t quite get the right words out. He avoided Dean’s perceptive gaze, ignoring the little smirk playing across his lips. “Umm… I’m gonna go get some food and then take a nap, I think…” he said awkwardly.

“Good idea. You coming in?” you asked Dean, trying to give him a meaningful look behind Sam’s back.

“Yep. I’ll be right in,” he said. His brow dropped low over his eyes at the expression on your face. It immediately created a hard pit in his stomach.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You hadn’t stopped pacing since you had made it to your room. And every other cross of the area rug you looked up at that little paper coffee cup, the familiar logo on the side, sitting in the middle of your desk, the liquid inside now completely cold.

Sam had let you make him a grilled cheese but he had also obviously noticed that you were much quieter than usual. You had to excuse yourself from the kitchen because you just couldn’t handle it anymore—you felt sick. And you felt like you were lying to him. You never wanted to lie to him. He deserved so much more than that. Another minute and you would have burst out with what you had seen and you really didn’t want him to hear it while he was exhausted and potentially still a bit fuzzy from the meds. So, you had run away and sequestered yourself in your bedroom, where all you could do was obsess over what you had seen and try to rationalize it. But there was no way to rationalize the way she had kissed him. Or the way she had ignored your call. Again. How many times was that today? While Sam was enduring the pain of a displaced and broken bone in his hand?

Almost as if on cue, your cell phone started to ring and you startled, looking down to see your sister’s name flashing on the screen. You shut your eyes and tried to steady yourself. “Fuck.” You answered, trying to sound normal. “Hello?”

“Hey, sis! Sorry, I missed your calls and texts! It was super loud at lunch and then I was in the movie. How is Sam?”

“How was the movie?” you asked her, hoping your voice didn’t sound as stiff as you felt.

“Oh, it was good! I mean, a little more jump scare than psychological thriller but—still good. So, how is Sam? How is his hand?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and shut your eyes tightly, sitting rigidly on the edge of your bed. “Well, it’s very broken. He has a cast. He has to wear it for 6 weeks at least.”

“Oh, no… My poor guy… God, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there today,” she said. “I can’t wait to get home and see how he is. Is he in a lot of pain?”

You gritted your teeth. “He’s on a lot of painkillers, but I’m sure it still hurts. I mean they had to force the bone back into the right place.”

“Ugh. Poor, Sam.”

“Yeah… well… How is—how’s Sarah?” You were gonna make her say it. You were going to make her lie to you over and over. There would be no way for her to say it was a mistake. And maybe it would be enough to force you to leap over the disbelief and spinning confusion and the sick feeling in your stomach and push you straight into whatever had to come next.

“She seems good. Yeah, seems fine. Still really busy with work like usual,” your sister said. Her tone was cheery and upbeat, but to you it just sounded disingenuous.

“Good. That’s good…” There was a beat of silence.

“Well, I’m just leaving the movie theater, so I should be home in like half an hour or so. Maybe a little more.”

“Mhm. Okay. See you later.” You didn’t even wait to say goodbye. You just hung up. You flopped backwards onto your back from the edge of the bed, rubbing both your hands over your face and heaving a heavy sigh. Fuck. Now what? Anger started to bubble again in your chest and you jumped up, casting one more look at The Ivy Café cup on your desk, and striding out into the hallway.

You could see that Sam’s bedroom door was open as you headed down the hall, so you stopped to check on him and you felt like your heart broke at the sight. He was collapsed on his bed, sleeping with his cast propped up on his stomach. You leaned against the doorframe for a moment, resting your head against the cool wood, and just looked at him fondly while your mind spun. He didn’t know. For now, he didn’t know. What would come next? You felt like it was up to you in some sick way… what to do?

Sam was sleeping with the blankets all crunched down at the end of the bed and you quietly tiptoed in and pulled them over him. He didn’t stir. You studied his peaceful expression for another moment and then stepped out to find Dean.

“Hey,” you said, finding him at his desk in his room, laptop open.

His face was serious, worried. “Hey. What’s going on?” He watched as your jaw tensed.

“Meet me in the garage in five minutes?”

He nodded. “Sure.” The flat tone of your voice only increased his anxiety.

Five minutes later, he was leaning up against the Impala, patiently waiting for the sound of the door from the bunker swinging open and the familiar cadence of your footsteps. He straightened up when the metallic echo of the slamming door announced your arrival. His face darkened when you finally came into view and he saw that you had your shotgun slung over one shoulder and were carrying a gun case in your other hand.

“Whoa—whoa. What’s going on? You’re freaking me out, Y/N,” Dean said. “Do I need to go get my guns?”

Your face was impassive as you met his eyes. “You can if you want. I just really need to shoot something right now.”

Dean looked uneasy. “…something. As long as it isn’t someone.”

Your jaw tensed again. “You coming?” You didn’t wait for his answer, but you could tell he was following you with long strides. You exited through a side door in the garage and started the walk on a well-beaten track into the open space and woods behind the bunker. You had a target range set up back there and goddammit, did you need to shoot something.

Dean watched you open up your gun case, leaning your unloaded shotgun against a nearby stump. You grabbed a pair of ear muffs and threw it at him. Dean caught them, pulling them on as he watched you expertly load the magazine into your pistol, pull on your own ear protection, and take aim at the target. You fired your entire magazine rapidly, 7 rounds, straight into the center of the paper target, and with cold indifference swapped in your spare magazine and fired 5 more.

Dean’s unease grew. He stepped up next to you as you let your pistol drop to your side, and your other hand pressed over your face. You shut your eyes for a moment and tried to take a stabilizing breath, smelling the cloud of gunpowder hazy in the air. You ejected the empty magazine from your handgun and replaced it in the gun case.

“Y/N…” Dean said hesitantly.

“No,” you said. You picked up your shotgun and loaded 5 shells. “Not yet.”

Dean gulped.

You stepped up to the firing line again and aimed for the targets hanging in the trees, blasting each one in quick succession, and even causing one to drop off its rope onto the ground. Dean stared at the empty shell casings smoking on the ground, but he just waited this time. You heaved a sigh and pulled your ear muffs off, letting them hang around your neck, and you set your shotgun back in its place against the stump.

Dean pulled off his ear protection too and waited for you to look up at him. His apprehension was growing by the moment. Finally, you sank down on a large round of cut wood and looked at him. Dean gulped and cleared his throat.

“This is about Sam?” he asked. He thought you had finally reached the point where you couldn’t stand it anymore—couldn’t handle Sam being with your sister and having to sit by and watch them be together. Maybe his idea that you spend some time with Sam that day was about to backfire—maybe you were going to leave.

But your answer wasn’t exactly what he expected. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” he repeated. He watched as you absently started reloading your pistol magazines. Your hands needed something to do—you felt frantic inside.

“It’s more about my sister than Sam but… obviously that means it is also about him.”

Dean’s face contracted in confusion and he shook his head vaguely in a question. “Okay…” His voice was deeper and had more gravel to it than usual.

You nervously chewed the inside of your cheek, forcing another bullet against the spring in the magazine. “We went to pick up Sam’s prescription after his appointment and they told me it would take them a little while to get it ready. So, I decided to grab a coffee while I waited.”

“Okay…” Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The wrinkles in his brow were heavy.

“I saw my sister when I went into the café.” Your hands ceased all anxious movement. “She was there with someone.”

Dean just stared at you, trying hard to read on your face what was coming.

“She was not with her friend Sarah today. And they were not having lunch and going to a movie. She was—she was with some guy. And—” you swallowed at the annoying tight lump in your throat that seemed to keep re-forming. “And she was holding his hand and I watched them kiss.” Your eyes finally raised to meet Dean’s.

Dean felt a swelling of confusion and disbelief in his chest, quickly followed by a wave of anger. “…You’re sure?” The gravel in his voice was even heavier now than before. Your answer was to give him a look that clearly said ’seriously?’.

You tilted your head as you stared at him. “You think I would mistake seeing that? I even called her phone while I was standing maybe 8 feet away and I watched her ignore the call. And just now, she finally called me back to see how Sam was and she told me the same lie—that she was with Sarah and they went to a movie and lunch. She couldn’t be there for him today because she was busy cheating on him. He was having a bone in his hand forced back into place, and she was cheating on him.”

Dean paced a tight circle, rubbing a hand over the shadow of stubble on his chin. “And Sammy, he didn’t, uhh—”

“No. No, he was in the car…” The blank look on your face morphed into anguish as Dean looked at you. “Dean, what the hell am I supposed to do here? I mean, he has to know… I can’t let him just go on knowing that—that it’s all a lie.”

Dean felt an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. Hadn’t Sam said the same thing about staying with your sister when he had since fallen hard for you? It was all a lie, that he was deceiving himself. Dean’s mind raced. Long-term he was thinking that maybe this would somehow work out for the best but in the short-term… goddamn, it was going to be a mess and it was going to hurt like a bitch…

“Okay… Okay,” Dean muttered to himself, pacing another couple of tight circles. “Well, I agree with you. He has to find out but—the question is how?”

“Exactly. Do I tell him? Do I confront her and make her tell him? Do we somehow help him find it out for himself? I mean—what the fuck do we do?”

Dean looked at you, his mouth hanging open a little, at a loss. He shook his head absently, his green eyes wide. “I can see why you needed to shoot something…” he said vaguely.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t know what to say even…”

“I don’t know. You probably could have started with ‘Sorry I didn’t say goodbye and just ran off’,” you said, your tone a little harsh. You thought your anger had abated somewhat over the last few weeks, but maybe not enough. “‘Sorry I lied to you and Dean and, worst of all, Sam’ for—for how long exactly?”

There was only silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. “Look, I was just calling to tell you that I’m going home for a while. So, if you were wondering where I am, that’s where I’ll be.”

“…what about this mystery man?” you asked her. “Is that over already?”

“No, but… I just need to sort through some things.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

Another pause on the other end. “I am really, really sorry that I lied to you.”

“Yeah, well… I hope you learned something from all this.” Dean and Sam came wandering out of the library, expressions of concern on their faces. “I gotta go.” And with that you hung up.

Dean’s eyebrows raised in an inquisitive expression. You shrugged. “My sister. She’s going home for a while. I mean, not home exactly, you know, but out hometown.”

The Winchesters nodded. “So, about that hunt, Dean…” you said.

Dean looked eager but Sam still looked uneasy. He didn’t like the thought of you hunting without him being there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you and Dean’s skills he just… the thought of sitting out helpless filled him with fear. It was just the what ifs.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam watched from the Impala as the door to the building busted open and you and Dean came rushing out. You were limping and Dean had your arm over his shoulder, taking some of your weight. Your left pant leg was soaked with blood below the knee. Sam threw open the door and was immediately on his feet, rushing over to you and Dean, his expression completely consumed by worry.

Dean had a shadow of what would certainly be a nasty bruise around one of his eyes soon, but he looked otherwise no worse for wear. When Sam got close he could see a large gash through your jeans on your calf. You gritted your teeth but gave him a smile through the grimace as he looked back up to you, his face clouded with unease. “Oops,” was all you said.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked urgently, moving to your other side to take more of your weight.

“Well, I may have gotten thrown into a pile of rusty metal. Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Coven was a little bigger than we anticipated,” Dean said gruffly from the other side. “They were hurling curses at us from all directions as soon as we walked in. God, I fuckin’ hate witches…”

“Dammit, Dean! I told you this was a bad idea!” Sam scolded him, his heart racing with his anxiety. “We should have waited!”

“Sam, I’m fine. It’s not that bad,” you said, doing your best to reassure him. You tried to hide how much pain you were in. The gash in your leg was deep. It would need stitching. “If we had waited, there would be more dead people and probably more witches. I’m okay, really.”

The muscle in Sam’s jaw tensed. “You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. Dean rushed to open the door to the Impala for you, giving Sam a moment to look you over more thoroughly. You had little cuts and nicks everywhere and he was sure that you’d be pretty banged up and bruised tomorrow. The furrows in his brow deepened.

“Well, I’m gonna need stitches for sure. But I’m fine,” you said. Sam slipped his arm from around you and immediately unbuttoned his flannel. He ripped off one of the sleeves easily and bent to tie it around your leg, which was difficult with his casted hand but he managed.

You breathed in a sharp hiss of air as he tightened the fabric over the gash.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. Thanks.” You gave him a tight smile, but Sam could see beads of sweat breaking out along your hairline. You were clearly doing your best to downplay the injury.

“Alright. Come on, hot rod,” Dean said, rushing back around the Impala to help you hobble over to the car and slide into the back seat. You leaned back against the headrest and shut your eyes as soon as you were inside. Sam slipped in next to you, his tall frame a little cramped in the back seat, but he wanted to keep a close eye on you for the drive back to the motel.

In no time the Winchesters were helping you back inside their room and Dean was pulling stuff out of the first aid kit. Sam helped you sit down on the edge of one of the beds, and you swung your legs onto it. You pressed your back up against the headboard and Sam sat down on the other bed, facing you.

You looked over at him. “Sam, would you mind pouring me a nice, big glass of whiskey?” you gave him a pleading smile. “I’d like to be a little bit intoxicated while Dean sews my calf muscle closed.”

Sam felt a pang of regret but he got up and grabbed a glass, pouring in a generous share of hunter’s helper. But he also grabbed a second glass and filled it with cold water from the tap. He brought them both over to you, handing you the whiskey and setting the water glass beside you on the nightstand. “Just make sure you drink some of the water too. Please,” he said, giving you a serious look.

“You got it,” you said, nodding. You immediately downed the entire tumbler of whiskey and Sam sighed heavily, giving you an anxious look.

Dean was ready with the first aid kit and he had filled up the ice bucket with warm water. “Sammy, would you go grab all the towels and washcloths from the bathroom?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Sure.” Sam came back with a stack of towels.

“Alright, boss,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself here,” he said, untying the scrap of Sam’s flannel from around the gash and shoving a towel underneath your leg.

You could already feel a warmth starting to grow in your chest and head from the whiskey. “Hey, I didn’t do anything to myself,” you retorted. “I didn’t put that pile of scrap metal there and I certainly didn’t throw myself into it.”

Dean laughed gruffly. “No, you did not.” He pulled out his knife.

“What the hell is that for?” Sam asked urgently.

“Well, I need to get into Y/N’s pants and quite frankly we don’t have time for my usual process, so—” he said, throwing a smirk specifically in Sam’s direction.

“Dean!” you scolded him, but you couldn’t help letting out a small laugh. You felt your cheeks growing a little pink. Sam threw a dirty look at his older brother.

Dean slipped the knife into the cut through your jeans and slid it around your leg, cutting away your lower pant leg so he could better see the wound. He tugged the scrap of fabric off and tossed it to the floor. “Yikes. Okay. Here we go.” Sam watched fixedly as Dean washed away the blood on your leg and poured some disinfectant over the area, eliciting a few expletives from you due to the burn. Sam watched you grit your teeth and clench a fist, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back against the headrest for a moment.

He came around Dean to your side and gently touched you on the shoulder. Your eyes shot open and met his kind, warm hazel ones. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think that whiskey is really starting to kick in,” you said. Your head was starting to feel a bit fuzzy and the warmth you felt in your chest was expanding outward.

Dean’s voice called your attention back to your leg. “Alright. I’m gonna start stitching you up. You ready?”

You gulped and nodded, bracingly yourself for the pinch of the needle and the uncomfortable sensation of the tug of the thread. Sam sat down next to you on the edge of the bed and held out his uninjured hand to you. You felt yourself blushing a little, and your heart responded in a nervous whir, but you placed your hand in his. Dean began.

“Son of a—!” you squeezed Sam’s hand in yours and shut your eyes, doing your best to take steadying breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. Sam watched Dean work carefully.

“Dean, you gotta make your stitches smaller—”

Dean shot an annoyed glance at his brother. “Really, Sam? You know this isn’t my first rodeo? You wanna get in here and do it? Oh, wait, that’s right, you’re a cripple. So, why don’t you just be quiet and let me work, okay?” He turned back to his work, working skillfully and quickly.

You gave Sam’s hand a squeeze and despite the sting of the needle couldn’t help from giving him a small smile. His worry was so sweet… You felt the effect of the whiskey growing and let out a sigh, drawing a look from Sam.

“You okay?” he asked, more anxiety on your behalf manifesting in a small worry line near one of his eyebrows. You heart was racing from the way he was looking at you and the feeling of your hand in his.

“Mmm. Mhm,” you managed, pointing to your head with your free hand. “Whiskey,” you said. You heard Dean let out a gruff laugh.

“You frickin’ lightweight,” his deep voice said.

You ignored him and shut your eyes against another pass of the needle, giving Sam’s hand another tight squeeze. You felt his thumb suddenly passing over the back of your hand so softly it was almost as if you were imagining it. Your heart skipped a beat and nervous butterflies appeared in your stomach.

“Almost done,” Dean said. Another minute and he tied off the stitches and wiped the blood from your leg again. He grabbed the antibiotic ointment, applied it to your leg, and wrapped the whole thing up with gauze. “Done,” he announced, giving you a crooked half-smile.

You stared down at your leg, all wrapped up. “I’m part mummy now,” you said. The Winchester brothers had a comically similar expression on their faces, eyebrows lifted at the slight slur in your voice. They exchanged an amused look.

Sam was relieved, and his face broke into a small smile, deep dimples appeared on his cheeks. You were fine. “…How about some water, Y/N?” Sam asked, picking up the glass from the nightstand and handing it to you. You accepted it obediently and took a sip. Sam moved down toward your feet and untied and pulled off your boots. He tugged off the sock from your injured leg, which was soaked with blood. Dean was gathering up the bloodstained towels and throwing them in the laundry bag by the bathroom.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said. The slur was even more obvious in your voice when you said his name.

He sat down on the other bed across from you, a little amused smile still on his face, elbows on his knees, hands interlaced a little awkwardly due to his cast. God, you loved those dimples. “ ‘Sammy’, huh?” he said.

You nodded, sipping some more water. “Sorry. Should I not call you that? Only Dean is allowed to call you that.” You were holding his eyes unabashedly. The whiskey was giving you a little more courage.

The smile on Sam’s face grew. “I’m okay with it. You’re the only other person I don’t mind calling me ‘Sammy’.” His face turned serious again though as he looked at the other little nicks and cuts on your hands and face. He grabbed a clean washcloth from the nearby stack and wet it with warm water from the ice bucket. He pressed it gently to a cut on the back of your hand, wiping away the dried blood. Your eyes stayed fixated on his face while he worked, drinking him in. There was another cut near your collarbone and Sam’s heart started to race.

“Um, do you mind if I—?” he asked, gesturing to the crimson mark.

Your eyes didn’t leave his face. He could have asked you for anything at that moment. You shook your head in answer to his question and Sam watched you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth for a moment, not knowing it was from nerves and that continued blooming feeling of warmth in your chest. He gulped at the nervous tightness in his own throat and wondered again at how intimate this felt with you, how the air seemed charged. He couldn’t even really remember a time when he had felt this with anyone else.

Sam gently pressed the washcloth to your skin, dabbing at the cut, wiping away the dried blood there. You shut your eyes at the sensation and leaned your head back against the headboard. Your leg was aching and burning, but you felt surprisingly relaxed even though your heart was racing in your chest with Sam so close to you. You worried he would hear it pounding.

“That’s better,” Sam said, drawing away from you again, feeling the space between you growing as if each inch were a mile. Your eyes flutter open again and you caught his.

“Thank you.”

Sam nodded, giving you a half-smile that had a flood of thoughts behind it. Just then Dean stepped back out of the bathroom and went to the small minifridge. He grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and a beer from the fridge. Sinking down into the armchair in the corner, he wrapped the ice pack in a towel and applied it to his cheek and eye. He popped the beer open with another hand and let out a loud sigh. “Well. That’s that,” he said. Dean gave Sam a knowing look, obviously sensing some mood in the room, and Sam was grateful that your eyes were closed again so you didn’t catch it.

You let out a yawn and Dean stood up, his hand still pressing the cold pack over his eye. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat. Y/N, you can take my bed tonight when you’re tired. I think I’ll just go crash in your room now…” Dean gave a pointed look to Sam whose eyes went a little wide. He gulped nervously and gave Dean a questioning and somewhat harried look. Dean only grinned at him. “Alright. Well, hope you can get some rest even with that leg, Y/N,” Dean said. “Night,” he added, opening and disappearing through the door to your adjoining room with his beer.

Those nervous butterflies flitted to life again as you glanced over at Sam. He gave you a small but bright smile, and it lit up the multifaceted hues in his eyes. “Are you tired?” he asked you.

You shrugged a little vaguely. “I can’t tell,” you said. “I just feel… warm.”

“Warm?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Whiskey.” Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was so relieved that you were alright, that your leg wasn’t worse. He smiled at the answer and slur in your voice.

“Yeah, you sound a little like whiskey,” he joked.

“Sorry about your flannel,” you said suddenly. Sam cocked his head in a question. “You ripped it. And then I bled all over it.” This elicited another laugh from Sam and he shook his head.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He looked thoughtful and glanced down at his cast, resting his other hand over it. “I hate this,” he said. “Not being able to be on the hunt. Being out of commission. Sucks,” he said, catching your eyes. “But I stand by what I said before. I’d still do it for you again.”

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth nervously again and Sam watched your eyelashes flutter as you looked away. God, that drove him crazy.

You managed to find your voice somehow. “You know, I’d do the same thing for you.”

Sam’s heart hammered harder in his chest. He wanted to kiss you so badly right then. The way you were looking at him went straight through him, straight to his heart. But your words were still a little slurred from the whiskey and it just wasn’t the time. He finally tore his eyes away and straightened up from where he was sitting. “You should rest. Now we need you to heal up fast, too.”

You nodded and watched fondly as Sam went over to his duffel bag and pulled out his book, settling in against the headboard of the other bed to read. Sometime shortly after, you fell asleep, still propped back against the headboard, your head lolled forward. Sam shut his book and got up as quietly as he could. He slipped his arms around you, one underneath your knees and one behind your back, and gently moved you farther down in the bed so your head was on the pillow. You stirred only a little as he slipped away from you again, his heart jumping at the feeling of you in his arms, no matter how brief. Sam grabbed the comforter and folded it over you, shutting off the light on the nightstand and laying down in his bed, even though he knew sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you… and whether he ever would find the right moment to tell you how he felt, or to show you.

You awoke to a cruel ache in your injured leg and glanced at the clock next to you, glowing in the darkness. It was just after 2 am. You realized you were covered over with the blanket and knew Sam must have done it, and you smiled at his sweet kindness, always so consistent. You started to slip out of bed but you immediately heard Sam’s quiet voice.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

You smiled. “I’m okay. I just have need some ibuprofen for my leg,” you said.

“I’ll get it for you,” he said, immediately climbing out of bed.

“You don’t have to get up, just go back to sleep. I’m fine,” you reassured him, but he was already refilling your water glass and digging the pill bottle out of the first aid kit.

“I was already awake. It’s okay,” he said, handing it to you.

Your brow drew down low over your eyes as you accepted it from him. “You were? Sam, you need sleep,” you said, and the worry was heavy in your voice.

“It’s alright. It’s not like I’m hunting right now. Sitting around at the bunker doesn’t require much sleep. I’m okay.”

You swallowed a few painkillers and looked at him for a long moment. “Come over here,” you said, patting the empty other side of the bed.

Sam felt a jolt of electricity up his spine. “What?”

You gave him a small smile, sweet and warm and kind. “Just come here,” you said, laying back down in your bed, stretching your injured leg out, turning to face toward the other side of the bed.

Sam swallowed hard at the nervous bundle in his throat. His heart was absolutely pounding. He worked up the courage and made his way around to the empty side of your bed, hesitating for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening.

“C’mere,” you said gently. “Lay down.”

Sam swallowed hard again and laid down beside you. As soon as his head settled on the pillow beside you, you slipped your fingers into his hair and ran them gently through the silky strands. Sam shut his eyes at the sensation. It was raising goosebumps on his skin and he felt his mind instantly quiet. He could have laid there forever, so close to you but not quite touching, your fingers running through his hair. He drifted off to a deep and peaceful sleep for the first time in a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean was up quite early, checking his black eye in the mirror and frowning at the dark purples and broken blood vessels ringing his eye like a halo. He wanted to shower and change, but he’d left all his clothes in the other room. He made his way to the door and listened carefully for a moment. He didn’t hear any movement and it was still pretty early, so he figured you and Sam must both still be asleep. He cracked the door open as quietly as he could and peeked inside. He was surprised to see you and Sam both asleep on the same bed. You were separated by half a foot but your bodies were clearly angled toward one another and Dean smiled even wider when he noticed that your hand and Sam’s were quite close, and perhaps had been intertwined at some point.

Dean tiptoed in and made his way over to his duffel bag, shouldering it as quietly as he could and trying to sneak back out of the room, but he heard movement behind him as he was nearing the door and glanced over his shoulder to see Sam was now awake, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He noticed Dean with a struck expression and rose from the bed.

Dean grinned widely at his little brother and wiggled his eyebrows at him, his hand on the doorknob to the other room. Sam looked nervous and glanced back down at you before crossing the space to Dean and pushing him into the other room, shutting the door behind them both.

Dean couldn’t suppress the smile on his face and Sam was shifting his weight a little anxiously from one foot to the other. “Did you have a good night, Sammy?” he asked through his grin.

Sam swallowed hard. “Nothing happened, Dean, so you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

“I’d say something happened. That’s the first time you’ve had a decent night’s sleep in how long? Aaaand you were in the same bed, sooo…”

Sam gave his brother an appraising look. “Nothing happened.”

Dean just laughed gruffly. “Come on, Sammy. Even just sleeping in the same bed… that’s—that’s something. That can be… intimate.”

Sam gulped at the tightness in his throat and swayed a little on his feet as Dean slapped him hard on the back and then departed for the bathroom.