The old house in Sioux Falls breathed dust, resentment, and memories that stung like open wounds. Every floorboard groaned under each step, every shadow seemed alive—and that night, everything that could go wrong, did.

You, Sam, and Dean had grown up together, sharing roads, weapons, and scars. They called you their “little sister,” even though you were the same age as Sam. But everyone knew—though no one ever said it—that something different lived in the way you and Sam looked at each other in the quiet hours between hunts.

The bond had always been there. Strong. Invisible. Unbreakable.

When the hunt for the vengeful spirit began, you all split up in the chaos of the house. Then came the screams, the sound of walls slamming, and then… nothing. A silence that made Sam freeze from the inside out.

While the spirit dragged your unconscious body to the basement, the brothers called your name through the house, growing more frantic with every room, following the echo, following instinct—and in Sam’s case, following his heart.

When they finally found you, collapsed, tied up, and wounded, something in him shattered. Sam fell to his knees beside you, desperation written across his face. His large, trembling hands held your face with a gentleness he rarely dared to show.

Then the spirit reappeared, furious, hurling Dean against the wall. But even dazed, Dean stood, struck the apparition with a metal bar, creating the opening they needed.

Dust still hung in the air as Sam returned to you. The entire world seemed to stop around him. His fingers brushed lightly along your bruised cheek, as if the mere touch could bring you back.

And it did.

Your eyes fluttered open, finding his. In that instant—the echo of battle fading, danger slipping away, his breath trembling—something shifted. Sam didn’t need to speak. He didn’t need to confess. Everything was already there.

In his eyes. In his touch. In the way he held you as if he had just lost—and found—what mattered most.

With the care of someone holding something precious, Sam reached for the ropes around your wrists. He untied them one by one, fast but tender, as if afraid to hurt you further. And before you could attempt to move on your own, he was already gathering you into his arms—steady, protective, determined. Your body found refuge against his chest, where Sam’s heart beat too fast, too strong… for you.

Dean stumbled down the steps then, limping, clutching the metal bar like it was part of his stubbornness.

Sam still held you when his low voice broke the thick silence:

— “You’re okay. I’m here. I’m not letting you go… not again.”

Dean let out a breathy scoff, rolling his eyes with urgency written all over his face.

— “Love confessions later, Romeo. We’ve got about two minutes before that thing comes back, so move.”

Sam shot his brother a sharp look but kept you securely in his arms as he carried you up the stairs, like nothing—not spirits, not cursed houses, not the end of the world—could make him let you go.

And in that moment, with danger breathing down your backs, one truth settled into the air:

Sam’s heart always returned to you. Always.