Working with the Winchesters, it was no secret that both of them were gorgeous friggin’ men. Killer genes. Wasn’t fair.

A blessing but possibly a curse, you managed to get both Winchesters particularly fond of you.

Now you must make a choice.

Sam or Dean?

God help you, you can’t have both.

Both brothers are charming as hell, one with big doll eyes and many unsettling things to say, the other whose entire personality may be a trauma response.

Two of the most unstable men you could possibly conjure up—and they’ve charmed you.

It’s getting increasingly close to decision time. It’s starting to cause a rift between the brothers. Hunts going awry because you can’t focus on the issue at hand, it was all just messy.

You’re sitting on the edge of the couch after a real shitty hunt, kicking your boots off so you can watch tv and forget about the ordeal all together. You got a gnarly scrape on your face and you need to get out of your head.

The couch dips with the weight of Dean sitting beside you and taking prerogative by grabbing the remote and turning on the show the two of you have been binging the last few nights. “How’s your face?” He asks, trying to dial back the concern he felt.

Before you can answer the large hands of Sam engulf the back of the couch where your seated, “Need me to get the first aid kit? That looks bad-…” He wants to depart to get the kit from the car, but that would mean leaving you with his brother, and—

“Don’t baby them dude.” Dean mutters, “I’m not I’m just—” Sam snaps his mouth shut mid-retort, he’s too tired to argue right now. “Forget it.” Sam huffs and sits himself on the other side of you, sliding his arm (not so smoothly) over the back of the couch, hovering over your shoulders, yet not quite touching.