Sam was the sweeter one out of the three Winchesters, always the gentleman and never the boozed up flirt.

On this particular morning, you were standing at the window, watching the sun rise in the little motel room you were sharing with Sam and Dean.

Arms wrapped around your middle, and a chin landed on your shoulder. He breathed in deeply. He usually did that, regardless of whether it was a hug or something naughtier. He loved your scent.

"Morning." He murmured.