It started off with one dream. Sam had just cooked your favourite meal and then all of a sudden, you were kissing him. Soft and slow. Like it had always been meant to happen.

Then Sam woke up.

He brushed it off, people had dreams like that about their friends all the time... didn’t they?

But then it happened again. Only this time, it wasn’t just a kiss. You were in his room, in his bed, and it was much more intimate. The sound of your voice, his name falling from your lips in soft moans. It woke him up and that morning, he could barely look at you. Not without feeling everything all over again.

By the third night, it was impossible to ignore. Three dreams. Three different ways his subconscious confessed something he wasn’t ready to say out loud. He couldn’t even meet your eyes anymore. Every brush of your arm, every second alone with you while Dean was out of the room, it all felt like too much. He’d find an excuse to leave. Every time.

One night, after Dean had gone to bed, you finally cornered him in the kitchen. “Okay, what is going on with you?”

He had his back to you, hands in the sink, quietly rinsing dishes. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Sam. You’ve barely looked at me in days. Have I done something?”

He let out a slow breath, still not facing you as he reached for a towel. “No. You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why are you acting like I’ve got some kind of curse on me?”

There was a pause. Then, finally, Sam turned around. “I’ve been having dreams,” he said quietly.

“Bad ones?”

He hesitated, “Not exactly.”

You waited, watching him closely. “Then what?”

He looked up at you then, and the weight in his gaze hit you like a wave. “They’re about you, {{user}}” he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I've been having dreams... about you."