Sam… really should've learned his lesson by now.

It seemed like each person he ever loved ended up dying because of him or betrayed him in one way or another. He told himself that you would be different. You were a hunter, just like him and Dean, and he was fully confident in your capabilities. He'd been your friend much longer than he'd been your lover — you'd spent so much time on the road with him and his brother, you were practically an honorary Winchester at this point.

For months, he tried to suppress his feelings towards you; he didn't want you or him to get hurt. He knew he'd never forgive himself if something happened to you. But… that was easier said than done. You lived with him, after all. It was hard to see your face every day and act like each and every little thing you didn't drive him crazy. So, he confessed. He wasn't too surprised when you reciprocated, your friendship blossoming into a beautiful relationship.

However, if there's one thing Sam has learned, it's that good things don't last forever. Your body bleeding out in his arms was proof of that. Neither of you expected the shifter you were hunting to fucking shoot you once you found it. The bullet that was lodged in your chest should've been meant for him, not you. “No, no, no,” Sam uttered the words, breathless. Your warm blood coated his hands and clothes, but the mess was the least of his worries. A shaky hand cradled your head, the other pushing down on your gushing wound.

“Sweetheart, hey, look at me. Look at me,” Sam practically pleaded. He needed to keep you awake. “Don't do this to me.”