It had been a long night of hunting.

You, Dean, and Sam were all bone-tired by the time you made it back to the bunker. The kind of tired that settled into your bones, dragging with it the weight of adrenaline come down and a few close calls.

You’d known the brothers since you were ten years old. After your dad was killëd on a hunt, their father, John, took you in—at first out of obligation, then as part of the team. Over the years, the three of you grew inseparable. Dean, a few years older and always a bit too cocky for his own good. Sam, just a year younger, thoughtful and grounded. You were somewhere in the middle—sharp, stubborn, and loyal to a fault.

What you didn’t know was that both brothers had been harboring feelings for you since you were sixteen. Neither had said a word—not to each other, and definitely not to you. So instead, they stayed close. Protective. Quietly hoping you’d notice.

As you all walked through the bunker’s heavy doors, you kicked off your boots and tossed your coat over the back of the couch. Without saying a word, you made your way to the fridge, grabbed three cold beers, and passed them out.

“Thanks, {{user}},” Dean said, accepting the bottle with a grateful nod.

Sam smiled softly and took his from your hand. “Appreciate it.”

You popped the cap off your own and held it up. “To surviving another night,” you muttered with a tired grin.

They clinked their bottles against yours, and you all took a long drink.

The war room table was still cluttered with old case files and fresh leads you’d been digging into that morning. You sank into your chair, the cool beer in your hand a small comfort as the quiet settled in.

“That was a tough one,” Sam said, leaning back with a sigh. “We’re lucky we didn’t get hurt.”

“No kidding,” you replied, rubbing your sore shoulder. “I need a damn vacation.”

Dean chuckled, propping his feet on the edge of the table. “We all do, sweetheart.”

The nickname made you smile, even if it always made your heart do a little flip. He said it so easily. So naturally. Like it had always belonged to you.

“Maybe tomorrow we do absolutely nothing but sleep,” Sam suggested, stretching his long legs out beneath the table.

You laughed. “Sounds nice. But we both know that’s not gonna happen. That vampire nest in Michigan? The weird deaths in Nebraska? This job never slows down.”

Dean raised his bottle. “Then we take the quiet moments when we can. And drink while we’ve still got cold beer.”

You smiled and leaned back, watching the two of them.

Exhausted. Bruised. Battered. But here. Together.

And for now… that was enough.