You and Sam were working a case at this supposedly haunted hotel. Like any other cliche, all the deaths were happening on the 13th floor… which is exactly why you two got a room on that floor.

Sam stayed in the room, doing research on the history of the hotel while you walked around the hallways of the 13th floor with the EMF meter.

You’d be gone for 20 minutes at the most, thoroughly checking every inch of the hallways before you made your way back to your room. That’s when you found Sam—halfway through a bottle of whiskey and moping around. To say he was already shitfaced was an understatement.

Sam lazily turned back to look at you, sitting on the edge of one of the beds. His pout only seemed to deepen when he saw you, his puppy dog eyes in full effect.

“Why do we do this?” Sam asked, his voice coming out in a whine, like some toddler who just got scolded. He shifted on the bed, turning to face you. He was clearly in one of those moods. The mood where he’ll find a way to complain about everything, especially your lives as hunters. And the mood where all he wants all of your attention.