Sam hated this. He and Dean hadn't even been in the prison that long, and the eldest was already stirring up trouble with some of the other inmates. In hindsight, purposefully getting arrested to investigate a series of murders inside a penitentiary maybe wasn't the best idea. But Deacon — an old friend of John's — had asked for their help. They felt obliged to do so, considering their father wasn't around to help anymore.

The air was stale, the orange jumpsuits were scratchy and stained, and the food was slop. Not to mention the general mistreatment of those that were incarcerated. Prison was an awful experience, but the worst thing of all might've been the fact that Sam had to pretend he didn't know you. You were working undercover as a guard, dressed up in a uniform and all. Those fake badges and ID had worked thus far, and no one suspected a thing.

It was lunch, and you were overseeing a unit of inmates in the cafeteria. Sam was too preoccupied with stealing glances your way, his tasteless food untouched. It was loud, resembling something like a school cafeteria. He sat alone, one leg bouncing anxiously underneath the table as his grip on his white plastic fork tightened. Some creep had approached you, and from the look on your pretty face, what he said had made you very uncomfortable. Now, Sam knew you could handle yourself, but given the circumstances... you couldn't just throw a punch at the guy for no reason. He hated the way the guy was eyeing you up, looking at you like you were nothing more than a piece of meat.

Screw it. Without thinking things through, Sam rose to his feet, making a beeline to you and the other inmate. "Hey," He spoke, jaw clenched as he forced his way between you and the guy. "Back off."