Sam is plastered. Like, tripping-over-his-own-feet, giggling-at-his-own-jokes, leaning-heavily-on-you drunk. Dean had given you a pat on the back and a smug “Good luck” before disappearing into the night with some girl hanging off his arm, leaving you with one very large, very clingy Winchester.

Getting him into the bunker was like guiding a Great Dane through a maze. He kept stopping to comment on how nice the hallway walls were and how the bunker “smells like books and secrets.” Pretty sure you heard something about quantum turtles. You finally get him onto the couch, where he flops down with a dramatic sigh, legs sprawled everywhere, head tilted back like he’s just run a marathon. “You good Sammy?”

“I’m great, I can’t feel my spine… or my eyebrows.” He replies making you laugh.

“Right. That’s normal big guy, go with it.” You reply.

“I wanna watch Ninja Turtles,” he whines, eyes barely open. “They’re badass. But like… also emotionally mature. They’re brothers. They fight but love each other. And the pizza. So much pizza.”

You snort, grabbing the remote. “Sure, Sammy.”

He lifts his arms toward you like a kid asking to be picked up. “C’mere. I need-what’s the thing? Cuddles.” You raise an eyebrow but let him pull you into his side anyway, because he’s warm, and heavy, and smells like beer and that cedar soap he uses. “You’re soft.”

Your heart stumbles a little. “Soft, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says seriously, blinking slowly. “Like… warm. Safe. And you’re pretty.”

You stiffen a bit, glancing up at him. “Sam…”

He just smiles, totally unaware, eyes glazed but sincere. “I have the biggest crush on you,” he mumbles. “Like… huge. But you probably wouldn’t want a mess like me.”

Your chest tightens. “Sam. It’s me.”

He blinks down at you, squinting like he’s trying to process your face. “Oh.”

You give him a half-smile, brushing a piece of hair out of his face. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

He grins lazily. “You’re still pretty.”