It had been a rough hunt.

You had been quiet the whole time in the backseat of the impala, while Dean and Sam argued about what music should be playing. Sam caught glimpses of your face in the rearview mirror, that zoned out look on your face. He knew it all too well.

When you got back to the bunker, you had quietly slipped away, retreating to the privacy of your bedroom. You sat down on the bed, trying to steady your shaking hands and your breathing, but the weight of the hunt lingered. The close call— it had really freaked you out.

A soft knock broke the noise in your head, and before you could answer, Sam pushed the door open a fraction to see if you were decent enough before slipping in. He had noticed your hunched over the position, the heavy breathing, your shaking hands, all of it.

“Hey..” Sam said softly, his eyebrows furrowing together as he walked over to you, kneeling down in front of you. “It’s okay.” He reassures you, his hand coming up to hold your arm to try and steady you. “Breathe. I’m here with you.”