The Curator, Et Al., 2026

The stress of the job usually helped him forget. He found solace in endless lore, interviews, and hunts. They gave him something else to focus on. They also gave Dean a reason to stay by his side. Oh, and they gave him the perfect excuse to keep you close.

Sam hated himself for it. You and Dean were the two most important people in his life, and he was dangerous. The things that wanted him were dangerous. Still, the need was stronger than his conscience. He loved you and he couldn't let go.

This afternoon, however, you and the boys had wrapped up the hunt much faster than expected. It had turned out to be nothing more than a simple salt-and-burn. So Sam found himself alone in the motel bathroom, unable to quiet his thoughts.

Back when he was a kid, the bathroom had been the only place where he could find privacy. The only place where he could escape John's critical stare, where he could feel clean after long, violent days. He would take long showers and let the warm water boil away the dirt and blood until it turned cold, the chill eventually soothing his mind. Dean would often tease him when he got out, making jokes about "taking care of his little problems" and using all the hot water. It had embarrassed him at the time, but it had also confirmed just how much comfort he found inside that room. So, even now, the bathroom remained one of the places where he felt safest.

Dean had gone to some bar you had passed on the way to an interview to “gift the woman of the town with his precious talents.” You, on the other hand, had gone for a walk, as you always did when you had free time.

Sam normally would have joined you. He liked how happy those simple walks made you. He liked the casual conversations you shared and he loved watching you walk. Loved the way you seemed to breathe differently when you weren't surrounded by creatures, weapons, and the constant threat of death. He loved your easy smile, the way you talked about nothing and everything, the way your hand sometimes brushed against his when you walked beside him. It was such a small thing. Such a normal thing. And somehow, it meant so much. It was a kind of domesticity he had never known. A life that felt almost within reach. It was torture, but a very precious one.

This time, however, he hadn't gone. He had wanted to with all his heart, and being away from you had tortured him. He was always worrying about you, and missed the opportunity to see what would make you smile today.

But the hunts and their cruel rhythm, the guilt and its constant pursuit… He was exhausted. Every muscle burned and every bone ached. His head throbbed like a bitch. Unlike the headaches he'd suffered when he was having visions, this one was less sharp and more consuming. He could feel the blood pounding behind his ears and across his forehead. He wondered if it still carried traces of demonic venom. If it was spreading silently through him. If, little by little, it was consuming him until there was nothing left but a monster-

The door opened and closed with an irritating sound. Sam felt his head threaten to split apart.

“Sam?” Your voice sounded worried. So even though he barely had the energy to raise his voice, he answered.

“Bathroom. You can come in.”

“Hi, Sam. What are you doing here?” You paused when you saw him. He looked pale, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Why are the lights off? Wait, let me turn them–”

“No.” The answer came so quickly that it startled you.

“Sam, are you okay?” The words were soft and low. He loved that about you. The affection and warmth. The pure, selfless care you gave to someone as tarnished as him. It made something inside him break. He looked at you with wide, hazel puppy eyes, almost as if he were silently begging for something.

You always seemed to know what to do, even when he didn't know what he was asking for. So you stepped closer, took his head, and pulled him against your stomach. The soft sounds it made were strangely soothing. When your fingers began tracing slow patterns along the nape of his neck, he almost started purring. He held you desperately, pressing his face against your shirt. It didn't really smell like you -he wished it did- but it smelled clean, like floral detergent.

“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He could barely focus on your questions. Your nails were drawing little circles against his skin, and it felt so good.

“My head.” The words finally came out, muffled against the fabric.

“Okay. It's okay. I know just the thing that can help.” You always do, he thought. “But we have to lie you down. You can't stay here; you'll only get more uncomfortable.” He didn't answer, he simply followed you into the main room and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Come on. Lie down on your back.” You placed a pillow across your crossed legs. Sam lay down and rested his head against it. Then you took his temples between your fingers and began massaging them. “You know, I think I might have mentioned this before, but my grandmother owned a hair salon. I loved spending time there.” Your fingers moved into his hair, gently tangling through his scalp as you applied more pressure. “My father hated it because it took time away from training and helping with lore research and everything else, but I loved it. I used to clean things, handle appointments, all kinds of stuff.” Your fingers slowly moved toward the nape of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. “Sometimes, when we were about to close, my grandmother would take me to the fancy chairs. She'd wash my hair and massage my scalp.” Sam's eyes drifted shut. “I always found it fascinating that such a simple thing could mean so much. Whenever she did it, I felt every ounce of hurt, pressure, and stress disappear.” Your voice softened. “It felt intimate. I used to be jealous of her hands. I wanted to be able to make someone feel as safe and cared for as she made me feel with such a simple gesture.” Your fingers continued their slow movements through his hair. “One day, I asked her to teach me. After that, I started practicing on my mom every day.” You weren't entirely sure why you were telling him all this. You simply felt comfortable with him, and it seemed like the right thing to say. Maybe all he needed was a few soft words and something to distract him from the pain. “It's been a while since I've done this, though. Tell me if the pressure is too much.”

“It's perfect.” He answered so quickly that you couldn't help but giggle. God, he loved that sound. A small smile tugged at his lips. If Dean saw me now, I would die of embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“It's the least I can do. You're always taking care of everyone else. Saving people. Saving me and Dean when we need help on hunts.” Your fingers continued moving gently through his hair. “Who takes care of you?”

Sam's breath caught. How could someone so precious exist? He was putting you in danger every day, and here you were, saying the most beautiful things while taking his pain away without asking for anything in return. That was it. The dam broke. A couple of tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, dying into his hair. You noticed immediately and stopped.

“Hey. Are you sure it's not too much?” That only made him cry harder. You were so gentle and loving. He didn't know what to do with it. He had never been treated like this before. Sure, Dean had always taken care of him. But this was different. This was soft. There was no screaming, no sacrifice. Just your hands in his hair and your voice in the dark of the room. Your body close enough for him to feel the warmth of you. You weren't even his. That was the problem. You were his best friend. And maybe best friends could be like this. Maybe best friends could hold each other and touch each other with this kind of care.

Sam sat up and turned away from you, embarrassed by his reaction. “Hey, Sammy. Please. Tell me what's wrong. You're scaring me.” The nickname was what finally shattered the last of his composure.

“Why are you like this?”

“What? What do you mean, why am I like this?”

He finally turned around. His cheeks were wet, his nose red, his lips slightly swollen. They looked beautiful. Your fingers ached to touch them. Your lips yearned to kiss them to taste the salt of his tears.

Focus.

“Why are you so nice?” His voice trembled. “Why do you stick around?” He swallowed hard, hoping the tight feeling on his throat dissapeared. “Look, I'm dangerous. I'm a monster. I have this disease inside me. In my blood. This venom that's destroying every ounce of humanity I've ever had.” You couldn't speak. Sam's voice broke. “I'm begging you. I can't get away from you and Dean. I can't. I need you.” His eyes were full of fear. “So you have to leave. Because if you don't, you're going to end up dead like everyone else who ever got too close to me. Like my mom and dad, like Jess.” You stood frozen. He was standing in the center of the room, his large frame usually taking up so much space. Now, somehow, he looked small like a child trying to hide from an angry beast. You understood why he believed what he was saying. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, you just didn't know how to make him believe you. So you tried.

“Sam, listen to me.” He looked at you reluctantly. “Monsters are scary. They're cruel... ugly things.” You struggled to find the right words. “Some might look good on the outside, but inside, they're rotten. They feed on fear and power.” You took a step closer slowly, as if you were trying to talk to a wild scared animal without making it run. “Sammy, how could you possibly think you're like them? You're brave. You care about people. You work every day to make the world safer for strangers who will never even know your name.” Your voice grew softer. “You try to do the right thing every day, even when the right choice is harder than the wrong one.” You smiled faintly. God, you loved him so much. “You're kind. You're stubborn, in the best way possible...and you're beautiful.” Sam's breath caught. “Your soul is beautiful. I've seen it every time you've saved someone. I've seen it in the way you care, in the way you fight, in the way you keep going even when you're exhausted and afraid, and I see it now. Even when you're sad and angry.” Your voice trembled from the emotion of such honesty. “It's still beautiful.” Sam's eyes filled with tears again. “You are loved.” You wanted to reach for his hand. “And I need you to let me show you that.” He didn't move. “Let me take care of you. Let me stay by your side. Let me help you see how perfectly human you are.”

For a moment, Sam was speechless. He looked into your eyes and found no hesitation there, no lies nor pity. Only care. So he let his body do what it wanted.

He closed the distance between you in a few quick steps, took your face between his large hands, and kissed you. The kiss was passionate, filled with raw want and love. It tasted like salt, just what you had thought. All the things he had spent years refusing to say poured into it. All his fear and need, all his lonliness and devotion. And he worshiped you with his lips.

When you finally separated, both of you were breathless. “I love you,” he said.

“I know.” You smiled, teasing. “I love you too.” He wanted to hear those words a million more times.

You took his hand and guided him back toward the bed. He lay down, and you gently pulled his head against your chest.

“Does your head feel better?” You stroked his hair.

“So much better. Thanks.”

“Anytime you need it, just ask.” Your fingers continued their gentle movements. “It's okay to ask, Sam. I'm here for you. Always.” Warm tingles spread beneath his skin like fluttering butterflies.

Then your voice grew lighter. “I also give incredible back rubs, if you're interested…”

And that was how Dean found the two of you.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, watching television while giving a very shirtless Sam, sitting on the floor in front of you, a back rub.

You shuffled towards him, just dropping your things and shucking your shoes on the way. You figured this was not the time to uphold your roommate agreement of minimal clutter.

Taking note of the trail you left behind you, Dean smirked. "Too excited for a stop at the coat closet, pretty?"

You flushed, feeling like you fucked this up before it even started. So you were supposed to uphold the roommate agreement right now.

"Shhh, just teasin'." He grabbed your hips, guiding you to sit on the couch next to him. You kept your eyes locked on his angry red tip the whole time, not sure where else you were supposed to could look.

"You can touch," he said easily, obviously anything but shy. "Wouldn't be jacking off in the living room if I didn't want you to."

You reached out tentatively, only now flicking your eyes up to his. He gave you an encouraging nod, and when your fingers wrapped around him he hissed. His cock made your hand look tiny, comedically so, and there was so much that it made you wonder how you were going to cover so much ground. The skin was warm and surprisingly soft, and the velvety texture only made you want to touch him more.

"Just like that, princess. Just want you to play. It's way more fun to watch you play with cock for the first time than get another fucking handjob."

You nodded, feeling totally entranced by the thing you were holding in your hand. Never was that a word you would think you'd use, but just like the rest of him it was fucking perfect. Or maybe it was perfect because it was attached to perfect thighs and a perfect tan stomach that was attached to a perfect tan neck which attached to his perfect fucking face. Your eyes followed your train of thoughts, and when you looked up at him with that wide, innocent gaze dean felt like all the air had been punched out of him.

You felt like you were groping him more than stroking him, but you had yet to hear a peep of a complaint. Your thumb traced the divot under his head, and you watched him flinch when you brushed the flat part. Then you gripped him, slipping all the way down to feel the textured skin of his sac.

Dean watched you with wonder, seeming to have been telling the truth when he said that he'd rather watch you explore than make him cum.

"Having fun?"

His words shocked you out of your trance, but you quickly nodded in affirmation.

"Yeah. You're so... pretty. Can I... um. Can I put you in my mouth?" Your words were quiet and unsure, the verbal equivalent to a fawn, but you felt like you were about to start drooling so you didn't really care.

"Course you can, baby. Wanna get on your knees or lay on your tummy?"

"My knees," you whispered back, your eyes still locked on where your hand was wrapped around his cock.

He whipped the cushion against the back of the couch onto the floor, positioning it so you could kneel on it.

"Are you excited? Little thing like you is gonna have cock in her mouth for the first time. Fuckin' adorable."

You scrambled to the floor in response, the tip of your tongue immediately finding the head. The look on dean's face was so blissed out that you could shove your insecurities aside, and just play. Your tongue darted out to lick him everywhere you were interested in, and once his whole shaft had been worked up to a shine you closed your lips around the head. You worked slow, taking him bit by bit and laving your tongue the whole time, and when you got to taste a bead of him you moaned excitedly.

"Jesus, you're fuckin' cute," dean panted, his hand gently petting your head. "Actin' like a little puppy. I fuckin' love it."

Your whole body buzzed with the praise, and his words spurred you on to take him a little deeper. You finally understood the term 'mouthfull of cock.' He rested heavy on your tongue, and your whole universe seemed to shrink to what you could fit in your mouth.

"Look at you. Didn't even have to ask and you're trying to take me down your throat. Would've fucked my hand in the living room sooner if I knew you were gonna react like an eager little whore."

⊹ if you feel a rise of nausea, sam carefully hurries you towards the bathroom and sweeps a warm hand in circles over your back while you hurl into the toilet. he doesn't care about how gross it may be and sits with you for however long you need. when the sick passes, he wipes at your mouth with a damp washcloth.

"feel better now, honey? yeah?"

"d'you wanna get back in bed? i'll carry you."

⊹ when your fingers tangle through the fabric of his shirt to keep him in bed with you, he stays and acts as a big pillow for your aching, tired self. you'll doze off with a furrow to your brow, cheek squished on his chest, drooling. sam only smiles and tucks you closer.

"i've got you, don't worry. always got you."

and it’s only been amplified the past few weeks, with how much they both have been struggling. dean, trying to be strong for you and his little brother. sam, wanting to keep you and dean happy, despite everything going wrong.

at first, it was easy to pretend not to notice your feelings for them—for god’s sakes, they looked like they walked out of a magazine. their good looks were more than perfect to hide behind as an excuse; until, you actually got to know them—and of course, they just had to have hearts of gold instead of being assholes like every other hunter on the planet.

so yes. this is your dilemma: you’re developing irrevocable feelings for the winchester brothers.

great.

you’re not sure which of the brothers got to you first. maybe it was sam. so respectful, considerate, kind—all wrapped in carhartt and flannel. he charmed you without meaning to, just by being nice. and of course, you never acted on that giddy feeling inside you whenever you talked to him—but you could see that he was holding back, too. stolen glances over old, wrinkled pages of lore and late-night talks when you both couldn’t sleep have captivated you—and sam, for that matter.

you used to be able to chalk it up to just being good friends, but that stopped one night when you both got a little too tipsy, just you two. something changed. you almost kissed. and now, something was now undeniably there, but you both were too stubborn, or too insecure, or too scared to act upon it. you’re not sure which one. in fact, maybe it’s all of them. but you know that a part of sam has to be lingering on the fact that you guys could be something more—

because you know a part of you is.

as you wrack your brain, searching your memories for how it got this far, dean seems to take over your thoughts. while sam’s his brother, he’s different than sam. dean’s the oldest, the decision maker—harder in most places, those places sacrificed for the greater good. sacrificed for his family. dean is a whirlwind—but he’s as sweet as a summer day, sometimes. you see the side so few get to see: the softer, quieter, less confident, more reserved side. it makes something in you sing, to know that he’s deemed you worthy enough to view it. and that is your downfall.

you also had a axis-tilting moment with dean—one too intense and raw to ignore. you’d been standing between his legs, patching up his face after a hunt. you’d almost kissed, too. it was so strange. you felt like a magnet, drawn to him. drawn to both of them. you’d never gelt that with one person, let alone two.

but dean wouldn’t let himself have an ounce of you. he’d seen sammy making puppy eyes at you when you weren’t looking, and he knew he couldn’t have you. he couldn’t do that to his brother.

yet sam felt the same way dean did. not just about you, but also the fact that dean had been pining after you, too. sam would be an idiot not to notice the way his brother looks at you when your back is turned. so he, too, will not let himself have you, and think he’s doing dean a favor. and dean will do the same for sam.

you felt insane. you felt like a pervert, for wanting them both. they’re not toys to play with, not yours to have. they’re absolutely the worst men you could possibly fall for: your jobs are deadly, and the people closest to them almost certainly end up dying. they’re probably broken beyond repair in terms of their mental health, and are ridiculously codependent on one another. yet you can’t bear to leave them. to leave them would be like leaving a piece of yourself behind.

it gets worse after a night that’s supposed to be about celebrating. you all teamed up reluctantly with a hunter: clayton, or clay. he could hold his own, and was somewhere around all your ages—so it wasn’t much so reluctant as it could’ve been.

by the end of the hunt, sam and dean really did take a liking to clay. you all went to harvelle’s to raise a glass to living to see another day, you play a game of pool with jo while sam, dean, and clay sat at the bar, waiting their turns to play jo, who has a bet going with everyone.

clay asks sam and dean for some advice when the conversation lulls. he says there’s this girl he’s had his eye on for a little bit now, and he’s wondering how to go about moving things forward with her. dean and sam both have an idea of who it is in their heads—clay and jo were pretty chummy this whole hunt. even ellen seemed to like the guy. if not jo, some dame from his hometown, maybe. whoever it was, he seems to go somewhere else in his mind when he describes her. both dean and sam know the feeling.

dean says to just go for it. just look her in the eyes, tell her how gorgeous she is and tell her how he feel about her. dean would probably never do that with you, or with anyone, for that matter—but this kid seems like he’d actually succeed with the method dean’s telling him to use, despite dean being too afraid to use it himself. clay nods, and appears to really consider dean’s guidance. it’s refreshing to see, when so many other hunters hate the winchester’s guts.

sam suggests for clay to ask her on a date first. classic sammy, always the gentleman. dean fights the urge to roll his eyes, instead wonders if that’s how sam and jess started off when he was at stanford. it’s very probable, since sam is giving this advice to someone else. clay nods once more, seems to really think over what both he and dean said. then, he gets up, says thank you to the brothers. says he’s gonna go do it now, then heads over to where you and jo are wracking up the balls.

and starts talking to you.

both dean and sam feel something vicious and hot stab at them when they realize who exactly clay was talking about. in their right mind, you were theirs, and they were yours. no one else’s. they didn’t even consider the possibility that someone else may want you—and for that, they pay the price. clay’s good-looking. nice. if sam and dean aren’t kidding themselves, he’s probably a perfect, more healthy and less broken blend of both of the brothers put together.

dean feels an uncontrollable urge to march over there and yank clay away from you, but he resists it somehow. maybe it’s because dean knows deep down, that he is not good for you, and certainly not good enough for you, either. clay would treat you better, probably get you out of this life. but dean wants that, too, or some variation. as long as you’re there with him.

sam, too, feels that unreasonable deep pull to pound clay into the ground for having the guts to go up to you in front of him and his brother. he’s been told by bobby and ellen that he is not fooling anyone with pretending he doesn’t have a crush on you—but apparently, he is. or clay just doesn’t care. whichever it is, both he and dean are getting angry. upset.

jealous.

neither dean nor sam can make out what clay says to you—his back is facing them, and his shoulders hide most of your mouth. you don’t slap him, or shove him away, despite sam and dean secretly hoping you would. clay walks away from you after a few lines of dialogue between the two of you, joins jo to play her next. you head over to what sam and dean believe to be your rightful place: next to them.

you don’t say anything to the brothers about your exchange with clay. and clay doesn’t look at you again for a while, and you’re not looking at him, either. for a split-second, both dean and sam wonder to themselves if clay said anything substantial to you at all.

dean, ever impatient, is the first to ask what clay said to you.

“oh, nothing worth repeating” is your response.

dean can’t really work with that. neither can sam. but there’s a reason you’re sitting between sam and dean and not standing over by clay instead—a reason that has nothing to do with the fact that you finished a round with jo.

clay doesn’t seem too butthurt about whatever the hell you said back to him—and somehow, both dean and sam know that you will not see clay again. he’s still smiling, still having a good time—so you don’t feel too guilty about it, either.

you suggest watching a movie together tonight after you take a sip of your drink, looking between the brothers. like nothing’s different. like clay didn’t just either ask you out or tell you how he felt.

a part of dean and sam want to feel bad for the dude—he put his ass out on the line, just to get kicked to the curb—but a part of both of them rear with warm, unyielding pride at the fact that you stayed loyal to them.

it’s a real alpha-bro thing to think. it makes sam sick to his stomach and makes dean want to hit himself in the head with a bat if they each think about it for too long. sam and dean know damn well that you are your own person, and you can very much live without them. you don’t belong to anyone, despite the fact that they want you all to themselves. but sam and dean believe that they belong to you, too. the winchester brothers are fiercely loyal, and that is something that cannot be denied from you. you have their trust, and therefore, their allegiance. only to you.

and it’s selfish to think and certainly sets women back a few decades, but when you consider it, you wouldn’t mind belonging to them, either. despite your whole life, not needing anyone besides yourself, it weasels into your mind, that patriarchal thought. because they’d keep you safe. they’d love you. they wouldn’t hurt you. they’d protect you. they already do.

but you don’t act on that urge, or any of your others. and dean and sam don’t act on their own, either.

so it is here that you’ll stay—until one of you finally cracks. or dies. whichever arrives first.

📨 @pumpkinfriend this was for you. hope you liked it, thanks for inspiring me <3

“‘welcome to morrow creek. population 1,206.’” you squinted out the window, voice flat with disdain. “cute.”

dean snorted from the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel with a finger. he was already bored. “bet they sell nasty homemade jam.”

“three women,” sam muttered from the passenger seat, flipping through the thick folder of clippings in his lap. “all under twenty-five. found dead in bed, no forced entry, no signs of struggle, uh, local cops think it’s a carbon monoxide leak. but each of ‘em..” he paused, glancing back at you. “they were all virgins.”

the word dropped heavy between the seats, even though dean chuckled like it was just another day at the office. “so.. we’ve got a purity-sucking monster. awesome. what’s next, a ghost nun with mommy issues?”

you leaned your head against the cold window, lips quirking into a smirk that felt a little too tight. “well, good thing none of us fit the bill, right?..”

dean laughed under his breath, but you felt sam’s eyes flick back to you, too quick to mean nothing. you didn’t meet his gaze. instead, you stared hard at the road and let your smile fade.

the motel was standard horror-flick material, though. the three of you tossed your bags into one of the two-bed rooms and you immediately claimed the lumpy couch in the corner before the brothers could bicker about it.

“i’ll take the death trap,” you said, dropping your bag with a thud. “i’ve had worse.”

dean smirked, eyeing the couch like it owed him money. “suit yourself, sweetheart. hope you like springs in your spine.”

sam didn’t say anything, just watched you with an unreadable expression he got when he was thinking too hard. “you sure?” he asked after a beat. his voice wasn’t pushy, it was gentle, as if he wasn’t asking about the couch at all.

you raised an eyebrow, already pulling out the iron blade you kept tucked beneath your jacket. “don’t worry about me, sammy. i’m not exactly delicate.”

that earned the tiniest smile from him, but his eyes didn’t let go of yours right away. you turned your back before it could linger.

the three of you spent the afternoon digging through the town’s pathetic excuse for a library. sam and dean did their usual tag-team, sam sweet-talking the clerk for access to records, dean bitching about how much dust was on the damn files. you tucked yourself into a quiet corner and started scribbling connections, your fingers stained with ink and that familiar buzz of adrenaline humming under your skin.

you were good at this. better than good. you’d learned from the best, but you had your own rhythm now, your own gut instincts that whispered before the lore caught up.

you leaned over the table and tapped your notebook with the back of your pen. “look at the dates. all three deaths were on the waxing crescent. always between midnight and 3 a.m., always in their homes. no signs of entry. that means it’s either incorporeal, or it’s being let in.”

dean leaned over your shoulder, and you caught the faint scent of his cologne. “damn,” he muttered, lips close enough to your ear to make your skin prickle. “you’re getting scary good at this.”

“i’ve been scary good,” you replied coolly, not looking at him.

you could feel sam watching you again, from behind the half-wall of old encyclopedias. you could feel he was trying to peel something back. you didn’t give him the chance.

by the time night crawled in, the motel felt colder than it should’ve. dean was lounging on his bed with a beer, flipping channels, while sam meticulously salted the windows and doors, making sure every corner was sealed. you added your own touch, drawing sigils on the mirror with charcoal, tucking your blade under your pillow, double checking the line of salt at the threshold until it looked right. you told yourself it was just muscle memory. that you weren’t nervous.

but you were. not because of the hunt.

because of you.

because the second Sam said the v-word earlier, your body went cold. not because you were ashamed, or insecure, or anything stupid like that. you just hadn’t wanted them to know. you hadn’t wanted them to realize you were the kind of girl this monster wanted. pure, untouched. you’d spent years building yourself into something sharp and untouchable. and now, something out there could sniff it out like blood in the water.

you cracked open a beer and forced yourself to take a long sip, masking the shake in your hands with practiced ease. then you stood. “i’m beat. gonna crash early.”

dean waved you off with a lazy salute. “sweet dreams, killer.”

sam said nothing. just watched you walk out like he already knew something you didn’t want him to.

your motel room was just a few doors down, but it felt like another planet once you locked yourself inside. you did what you always did. you locked the door, salted the windows, tested your knife grip, triple-checked the lines on the floor. but your chest still felt tight. your palms were damp. your skin felt… exposed.

you weren’t scared of dying. that had stopped being your biggest fear a long time ago. what made your stomach twist was the idea that you might get chosen. that this thing might sniff you out, and suddenly sam and dean would know. they’d look at you differently. pity you, protect you.

and you didn’t want to be protected. you wanted to be seen as dangerous.

but right now? sitting alone in a dark motel room, knees pulled up to your chest as you stared at the door like it might explode inward, you felt like prey.

a knock broke the silence. your head snapped up.

“hey… it’s me.” sam’s voice was low through the door, almost gentle. he already knew not to scare you more than you were.

you hesitated, heart hammering. “what the hell, sam?”

“i saw that expression when you left,” he said. “you okay?”

the words caught in your throat. you didn’t know how to lie to him right now. there was a long pause. thank fuck he didn’t push.

you stood slowly, crossed the room on quiet feet, and undid the lock. your hand trembled just slightly on the doorknob before you opened it.

“…come in.”

sam stepped inside slowly. honestly, he wasn’t sure you’d actually let him. his eyes scanned the room, your over-prepared salt lines, the open blade on the nightstand, the half-drunk beer. then they found you again. that same look.

and that, somehow, felt even worse.

he stood in the middle of your motel room like he didn’t want to make the first move.

“you gonna say something?” you asked, voice quiet but sharp. defensive. if he touched the wrong nerve, you might shatter or explode. you weren’t sure which.

sam’s gaze softened a little, but it didn’t lose focus. “did you really come in here just to sleep?”

you turned away, busying yourself by pretending to adjust the salt line by the window. “what the hell does that mean?”

“you’re scared,” he said, blunt now. “not of the hunt, or the monster. of being its target. and I think you already know why.”

you felt your pulse in your throat, your fingers twitching at your sides. “so what? you gonna tell dean? put me on some kinda leash? lock me in the car like a liability?”

he was behind you before you even heard his steps, his voice brushed close to your neck. “no. i’m not gonna tell him anything. i’m not here to judge you. i’m here because…” he paused, like he needed to find the exact words. “because if you are what this thing’s looking for, that means you’re in danger. and i’m not letting anything happen to you.”

you turned to face him, and suddenly he was close, his chest nearly brushing yours, his hand ghosting over the air between you. “you don’t get it,” you said quietly. “you don’t know what it’s like… walking around with this stupid secret. being the only one in the room who hasn’t-.. who is-..”

“a fuckin’ virgin?” sam finished for you, gently but without hesitation. “yeah, i got that part.”

your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. “…you think it makes me weak, don’t you?”

“no,” he said, voice low and certain. “i think it makes you brave as hell for coming out here and hunting with us anyway. for pretending like it doesn’t matter when i can tell it’s tearing you apart inside.”

you felt something split wide open in your chest. a dam cracking. you were so tired of holding it in. of hiding behind sharp jokes and harder walls.

“i didn’t plan on staying that way forever,” you murmured. “it just… didn’t happen. didn’t feel right. not yet.”

sam’s thumb brushed your jaw. “and now?”

you swallowed. looked up at him through your lashes. “now i feel like a goddamn target. like it’s this thing hanging over me and, sam, i hate it. i hate being afraid.”

his lips hovered close to yours, voice a whisper against your skin. “then let me help.”

you stared at him. “you don’t have to-”

“i want to.”

there was no hesitation in his eyes. no lust-fueled pressure. he leaned in, mouth catching yours in a kiss that was patient but deep, like he’d been holding it back for too long. you melted against him before you could even think, hands grabbing the front of his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you.

his tongue brushed yours and the groan he let out was filthy, like the taste of you knocked the breath out of him. “you taste so fucking sweet,” he muttered against your lips. “been wondering what it’d feel like to kiss that mouth since you first mouthed off at me.”

you pulled back slightly, breathless. “that was, like… day three.”

sam smiled, hand sliding down to the curve of your hip. “yeah. i’m patient.”

you tugged his shirt off, finally getting your hands on all that muscle he kept hidden under layers. his stomach taut under your fingers as he stepped you back toward the bed.

“you sure about this?” he asked one last time, voice rough but gentle.

you nodded. “i don’t want it to be fear that takes it away from me. i want you.”

that did something to him. suddenly he was all over you, mouth on your neck, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. he kissed down your body like a promise. every touch was careful and intentional, but so hungry. and when he finally pushed your thighs apart and knelt between them, he looked up at you like he was about to ruin you.

“i’m gonna make this good for you,” he murmured, voice so deep it made your toes curl. “so good you forget why you were scared at all. so good it won’t matter that you waited this long.”

you barely managed to gasp before his mouth was on you. hot, skilled, tongue licking long deliberate strokes on your pussy. he was memorizing every single sound you made. you clawed at the sheets, moaning his name like a prayer, and he just held you open with those strong hands, eating you out. he’d literally die if you pulled away.

and when you finally came, shaking and gasping, he kissed back up your body, slow and sweet. “i’ve got you,” he whispered, brushing his lips over your jaw. “let me take care of the rest.”

sam moved over you like he’d been dreaming about it. until now, until your back was arched against the bed and his body was finally settled between your thighs, all warmth with pressure and want. the motel room around you felt like it didn’t matter. the only thing real was him.

“you good?” he asked again, voice wrecked and whisper-rough, his fingers brushing your cheek while his other hand slowly guided his cock along your folds, teasing. not out of cruelty, but to give you time to breathe.

you nodded, but your voice cracked a little when you said, “yeah. i want it.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to calm your heartbeat with his mouth. “gonna go real slow,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “you tell me if you want me to stop. you say the word, and i back off. no questions.”

“i won’t,” you whispered, hips already lifting to meet him. “i want you, sam. just you.”

the first push was gentle. he went slow, careful, watching your face the entire time, not even trying to hide how hard he was breathing. you were tight, hot, the stretch just on the edge of too much, and the feeling of him filling you had your eyes rolling back almost instantly.

“oh my god,” you gasped, fingers gripping his shoulders. “sam..”

“i know, baby. i know.” his voice was tight, controlled, but he was barely holding back a growl. “you feel-fuck-you feel perfect.”

he paused once he was buried inside, letting you adjust, kissing your neck and running one hand slowly up your thigh like it would help you relax. “breathe,” he whispered. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good.”

you were trembling, half from nerves, half from the feeling of him, all of him, seated so deep inside you, stretching you open in a way that felt devastating and intimate all at once. you didn’t even realize tears were brimming at your lashes until sam kissed one off your cheek. “you okay?” he murmured, thumb brushing under your eye again.

“i’m perfect,” you whispered. “just, holy fuck, don’t stop.”

his hips pulled back slowly, and when he pushed in again, it was smoother. still deliberate, but deeper, more rhythmic, trying to find his pace with you, tuning his body to yours. you wrapped your legs around his waist and let your head fall back, moaning shamelessly as he started fucking you in deep, slow strokes that made your breath hitch every time he bottomed out.

“that’s it,” he grunted, forehead still pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “taking me so fuckin’ well, baby… i’ve got you. just let go.”

you couldn’t think. couldn’t speak. the way he was moving slow, his name kept falling from your lips in a quiet chant, the only word you could seem to remember.

sam’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb pressing soft circles into your clit. you gasped, body jolting, and he smiled against your neck. “that feel good, sweetheart?” he whispered. “you like when i touch you like this?”

“yesyes, please, don’t stop-” your voice broke again as pleasure started coiling hot and heavy in your belly. “i’m gonna, sam..”

“i’ve got you,” he said again, voice so loving it hurt. “you can let go. you’re safe.”

you came around him hard, clenching so tightly around his cock that he had to bite his lip to keep it together. your whole body tensed, then collapsed under him as you shook and gasped through it, and he held you like you were something precious, whispering through every twitch.

“that’s it, that’s my girl… fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful like this…”

he kept moving, chasing his own high now, breath stuttering as he fucked into you deeper, a little faster, but never rough. his face was buried in your neck, hand gripping your thigh, and when he came, it was with a full-body groan. he buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

and then… silence.

heavy breathing. the weight of him on top of you, solid and real and safe. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he let out the softest sound, content, like he didn’t want to move.

he stayed draped over you, his hand still curled around your waist like he needed to keep you close in case you disappeared. you felt wrecked, in the best way.

after a while, sam leaned up on his elbow, pushing the sweaty hair off your forehead, looking down at you like you were made of fucking starlight. “you still okay?” he whispered, and his voice was so gentle, so low and fond, it made your throat get tight.

“mhm,” you mumbled, already half-asleep, still spread out and naked beneath him. “i think you fixed me.”

sam chuckled, brushing his lips over your temple. “i’m a healer now?”

“literally,” you sighed. “virginity demon who?”

he kissed your jaw. “oh, the spirit is banished, alright. world saved.”

you rolled into him, lazy grin pulling at your lips. “one orgasm at a time.”

“…one?”

you blinked up at him, then immediately burst out laughing as he smirked like the smug bastard he was. “okay, chill, sam,” you groaned. “my body’s not even functioning yet.”

“i’ll give you thirty minutes,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest, tucking the blanket around both of you like you weren’t still sticky and sweaty and fucked dumb.

“i’m gonna fall asleep like this,” you whispered, fingers drawing little shapes on his bare chest.

“good. you should.” his voice was all honey again. “you’re safe with me.”

and that was the last thing you heard before you drifted off, wrapped in sam’s arms, thoroughly wrecked and absolutely ruined for anyone who wasn’t a 6’4” soft-spoken demon hunter who fucked like he was trying to put your soul back together.

it felt nice finally falling asleep. your legs were tangled with sam’s, your head tucked under his chin, and his hand was still splayed across your ass like it belonged there. which, to be fair, it did. the room was still warm with sex and body heat and whatever leftover cologne he wore that now lived in your hair.

until the door slammed open like it was kicked by a cop.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

you screamed. sam jolted awake with military precision, reaching for the knife on the nightstand in one motion while covering you with his body in the next.

and standing in the doorway, framed by shitty motel light and holding a crumpled paper bag full of snacks, was dean winchester.

mouth open. face full of regret.

you just stared at each other.

“…dude,” sam said groggily, arm still around you like he didn’t have his whole ass out under the sheet. “what the fuck.”

dean blinked again. “nah.”

he turned around immediately. stared at the wall. took a deep breath.

“oh, no, no no no, this is not happening. this is not how I start my fuckin’ morning. i got beef jerky and a coke and now I have to go pour bleach in my brain because my little brother decided to go all lust in the dust with you.”

you groaned, flopping onto your back and dragging the sheet over your head like a corpse. “please kill me. please kill me now.”

“don’t tempt me.” dean yelled, still facing the wall with his arms out like he was trying to keep a crime scene untouched. “i trusted you! you were the normal one! you sat next to me during stakeouts! you made fun of him with me! what the hell?!”

“i don’t think I’ve ever made fun of sam with you-” you started to say, but dean spun around dramatically, index finger raised like a furious little league coach.

“don’t lie to me now, sex goblin! i saw what i saw, and i can’t ever go back from that!”

sam had the audacity to rub his eyes and mumble, “you could’ve knocked, dude.”

“oh, don’t you start,” dean snapped, pacing now. “i’ve heard you. i knew you were in here. i was trying to be respectful. i thought, ‘hey, they probably just fell asleep watching TV, maybe they’re sharing the room, maybe sam’s just being weird and overprotective, maybe she had a nightmare..’ BUT NO.”

he spun to face you both again, looking personally betrayed.

“y’all were out here doing the monster mash and i walked in ten seconds too late to stop my retinas from dissolving.”

you peeked out from under the covers. “we didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“oh really?” dean scoffed. “how were you planning to tell me? group text? powerpoint? smoke signals from your fucking bedroom?!”

sam sighed. “dean-”

“no. no ‘dean.’ i need castiel to erase the last ten minutes of my life.”

he turned back toward the door, paused dramatically, and looked over his shoulder with the most betrayed face known to man.

“i hope you know,” he said solemnly, “that i will never sit on that bed again.”

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