The bar smelled like cheap alcohol and something burnt, neon lights flickering just enough to make everything feel unreal. {{user}} had stopped keeping track of how many drinks she’d had somewhere between the fourth shot and the blurred laughter of strangers.
Sam sat beside her, solid and steady like always. One hand loosely wrapped around his beer, the other hovering just slightly too close to her, as if he was ready to catch her the second she slipped.
Which, at this point, was inevitable.
Dean’s voice echoed in her head. No explanation. No warning. Just… done.
Her chest tightened again, and she laughed, but it came out wrong. Too sharp. Too hollow.
“Hey,” Sam said quietly, turning toward her. “You okay?”
She looked at him then. Really looked at him.
And that was the problem.
Because Sam wasn’t just Sam tonight, her best friend, her constant. He was something else entirely. The soft concern in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened every time Dean’s name almost came up, the way he hadn’t left her side for a second…
It hit her all at once.
The loneliness. The anger. The need to feel wanted.
Before she could think it through, she slid off her stool and stepped into his space, her hands finding his shoulders for balance, though maybe that wasn’t the only reason.
“{{user}}…” His voice dipped, cautious now.
She ignored it.
Her arms slipped around his neck, fingers tangling lightly in his hair as she leaned in, her breath warm and uneven. “You’re really… really good to me, you know that?”
Sam froze.
Not pushing her away, just not moving at all.
That hesitation felt like permission in her blurred state.
So she tilted her head, closing the distance, chasing something, comfort, distraction, anything but the ache in her chest…
And then his hand came up, firm against her arm.
Not rough. Never rough.
But enough.
“You’re drunk, we can’t.”
His voice was soft, but there was no wavering in it.
She stilled, her forehead almost brushing his. For a second, neither of them moved.
“What?” she murmured, blinking up at him, confusion flickering through the haze. “Why not?”
That question hit harder than she meant it to.
Sam exhaled slowly, his grip tightening just slightly, not controlling, just grounding.
“Because this isn’t you,” he said quietly. “And I’m not gonna be the guy you regret in the morning.”
The words landed, but not gently.
Her expression shifted, hurt flashing across her face, raw and immediate. “So you don’t want to?”
Sam’s jaw clenched.
God, that wasn’t it. Not even close.
“You know that’s not-” He cut himself off, shaking his head, forcing himself to stay steady. “{{user}}… you just got your heart ripped out. By my brother.”
That word hung heavy between them.
Brother.
It sobered the moment more than anything else could.
Her arms loosened slightly around his neck, but she didn’t step back. Not yet.
“I just… don’t wanna feel like this,” she admitted, her voice smaller now. Real.
And that, that nearly broke him.
Sam softened instantly, his hand sliding from her arm to her waist, steadying her instead of holding her back.
“I know,” he said gently. “I know.”
For a second, it almost looked like he might pull her closer.
But he didn’t.
Because he couldn’t.
Not like this.
Instead, he carefully untangled her arms from around his neck, keeping one hand on her shoulder so she wouldn’t lose her balance.
“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s get you outta here.”
She didn’t argue this time.
Just leaned into him slightly, her head brushing his shoulder as he guided her toward the door.
And as they stepped out into the cool night air, Sam let himself glance down at her-
Just for a second.
Because if things were different…
Yeah.
That was exactly the problem.