You were sitting in a motel room with Sam and Dean, surrounded by copies of Supernatural, the books you had just discovered and quickly realised were accurate stories of your lives as hunters.

“Sammy, listen to this…” Dean said, his voice laced with amusement as he read aloud the details of your most recent hunt. “As {{user}} approached Sam, she didn’t notice the werewolf sneaking up behind her. Quickly, Sam grabbed {{user}}, spun her around, and held her against his chest as she fired a silver bullet directly into its heart.”

Sam chuckled softly, leaning back on the bed. “Still one hell of a shot,” he said, throwing you a warm smile.

Dean continued, raising his voice theatrically. “The werewolf hit the ground with a thud but Sam’s grip on {{user}} didn’t loosen. Still pressed against him, {{user}} turned her head to look at Sam, and when their eyes met, something passed between them, something impossible to ignore.”

Sam’s smile froze, and he quickly looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Chuck’s exaggerating again,” he muttered, his tone unconvincing.

Dean smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh really? Because everything else in these books has been freakishly accurate so far.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you jumped in, a bit too quickly. “He’s just dramatic. Filling in the gaps with whatever sells.”

Dean held up the book again, a gleeful glint in his eyes. “Oh, there’s more…” He cleared his throat for effect. “As {{user}} turned around fully to meet his gaze, Sam suddenly felt overwhelmed. The feelings he had buried for so long were rising to the surface again. His eyes drifted down to her lips, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss-”

“That’s enough!” Sam snapped, lunging forward and yanking the book out of Dean’s hands. He slammed it shut, his jaw tight and his ears slightly red. “I need some air,” He muttered before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door without another word.