as dean’s best friend and sam’s elder of four years, you sometimes wonder if it’s weird that you have the hugest crush on sam. he was just like a little brother for years, a sweet one at that, but after reuniting with him and dean in 2005, you’ve been falling maddeningly in love with him. crush is probably too teenage of a word for how deeply you feel about him.

you really can’t help it. love doesn’t work like that, and how could you not fall for someone like him? he’s kind and caring and funny and tall and gorgeous. of course you want him. but you also don’t want dean to kill you for dating his little brother.

it’s just that right now, dean’s gone, along with the impala and some guy he was flirting with, and you’re stranded at the bar with a very drunk, very adorable sam. and he is really toeing the line between friendly flirting and not-so-friendly flirting. he’s not doing a very good job of hiding the way that he stares at your lips. he stares at your eyes too, like he can’t get enough, like he’d get more drunk on the sight of you than the plentiful alcohol he’s consumed.

“it’s cold,” he grumbles, huddling even closer as you walk a few blocks to the main road to catch a taxi back to the motel. he stumbles a bit, his hand landing on your shoulder to steady himself. you tug gently at his hand so that his arm wraps completely around your shoulders. your own arm wraps around his waist. you can’t have him falling, or you’ll go toppling over too.

“aren’t you cold? do you want my jacket? i can give you my jacket,” he says insistently, a pout literally audible in his words, like he really wants to give you his jacket.