You rarely hunted with Sam and Dean, despite hunting yourself for years. And now you were being reminded why. You had, in just one short day, rid a vengeful spirit from a poor old woman’s house, narrowly avoided being killed by said spirit, and witnessed the blossoming of yet again another fight between the two Winchester brothers. Sam had originally called you for help all but three days ago, and while he could be the sweetest man to ever live, he and his brother could be a rollercoaster to deal with. Like wrangling two toddlers.

And now, at the motel, you sat on the edge of one of the beds, Sam quietly coming in through the door. Dean was still at the bar (or in some random girls bed), so it was just the two of you, and an awfully apologetic look covered Sam’s expression.