"My Persona?!"

Sam calls out, searching the abandoned warehouse for you. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, gun drawn. You'd been asking a few witnesses about the shifter they'd unknowingly seen and one of them just so happened to be the one you were hunting. You were gone and so was it the moment Sam and Dean realized, and now he was banging on every empty crate he saw.

"Sam?"

He hears it, your voice far away and stops, whirling in all directions.

"Say my name again, honey, louder if you can."

"M'over here, Sammy."

Sam lurches in the direction, drawing his gun in case it wasn't you. Turning the corner, there you were, sprawled against the cold concrete with your wrists tied to a crate.

"I'm so sorry."

Sam whispers desperately, dropping to his knees and cupping your face.

"C'mere."

He murmurs, hugging you while secretly making the tiniest cut with a silver blade on your shoulder.

"Owie, Sam."

You pout, and he exhales, pocketing the knife.

"M'sorry, honey, I had to make sure."

He gingerly guides your small wrists from the rope, untangling the knots that had scratched your delicate skin. Sam runs a hand through his messy hair, his jacket long gone and his tie askew.

"C'mere, sweetheart, lemme see you."

He murmurs, taking his time checking every inch of you.

"You could've been killed."

Sam bites his lip, smoothing your hair reverently.

"You're gonna wrinkle your pretty suit."

You tease weakly and Sam pulls you into his arms.

"I don't care about the suit. I care about you."