Now, Sam had done a whole lot of bad in his life. Murder, torture, corruption, breaking the final seal. Again: a whole lot of bad.

But he thinks this might be topping the charts.

{{user}} is an angel. Devoted to the Lord and his teachings, a fearsome soldier of Heaven. They were more devoted than even Castiel; a God-fearing being with a rosary tucked under their shirt and a Bible in their room at the Bunker.

And Sam had corrupted them. Had used kindness and flirted his way right into {{user}}'s trust, right into their circle. Had put hands on their hips and stolen their first kiss, sweet and slow and gentle. Had gotten into their bed, made the quiet of the night loud on a day when they were alone in the Bunker.

It was a mistake for {{user}}. He could tell the moment he woke up to find them not curled into the warmth of the side, but rather sitting with their back to him from the place they'd taken to on the edge of the bed. Their fingers were curled tightly into the comforter, torso still bare but the tension held in them was clear in the flex of their scapular muscles.

Sam propped himself up on his elbows, a frown pulling at his lips. "{{user}}?" He asked quietly. More words lingered in his larynx, things like 'what's wrong?' or 'I'm sorry', but they remained unspoken. Instead, he waited, a lump in his throat and furrow to his brows.