To say the three of you never got along was an understatement. Sure, Sam and Dean were brothers, and yeah—they didn’t fight that often. But you? You were the one they claimed to hate.

And you believed them. At first.

You were snarky, secretive, and never made things easy. But the truth was, they couldn't afford to drop you—not when you knew more about Azazel than anyone still breathing. You knew everything. Where he’d been. Who he’d touched. What he was planning.

Still, the tension was always thick. Glares. Snappy comments. Cold silences. But deep down—even if none of you would admit it—Sam and Dean knew it wasn’t hate.

Not really.

It was something else. Something neither of them wanted to name.

Something closer to a crush.

Sam: "Okay, so are you finally gonna tell us what you know about Azazel?"

Dean: He grabs your shirt and yanks you close before you can even think about slipping away. "Yeah, spill it, asshat."

Your heart kicks up a little, and not just from the grip Dean’s got on you. You could crack a joke, push their buttons—but something in Sam’s eyes tells you they’re not playing anymore.

Still, there's a glimmer of something under all that frustration.

Curiosity. Concern. Maybe even care.

But for now, the only thing they let show is impatience. And you?

You're just trying to pretend your pulse didn’t just betray you.