you don’t realize until it’s too late. sam hands you the knife from his trunk, and without thinking, you grab it. then the knife clatters onto the asphalt and you hiss in sharp pain, tugging your hand to your chest. his gaze whips up from where he’s bent over the trunk, expression surprised, confused, and hurt all at once. you stare back with wide eyes, so shocked you forget about the burn of the silver.

sam hadn’t even done it on purpose. sure, he’d felt something was slightly off about you as you continued to work this hunt together, but he hadn’t imagined it’d be this. the pieces click in place during the split second of silence where you both just stare at the other in shock.

your job at the butcher shop; access to animal hearts. your hesitance to get closer with him. your deep knowledge of werewolves, but general lack thereof in terms of other supernatural creatures. you’re the werewolf he’s hunting, and you’ve been tricking him all along. that’s his immediate assumption when you’re burned by the silver of his knife.

he jumps into action, pulling another knife from the trunk and holding it out.

“wait,” you plead immediately, snapped out of your shock by his movement. “let me explain. it’s not me, i swear.”

he ticks his head to the side, frowning deeply. his jaw clenches; he’s so conflicted. he likes you, a lot. he was willing to trust you. and he thought he was a better judge of character than this. nothing about you says killer.

“you’d better talk fast,” he decides. “and you have to be able to prove it.”