The bunker was quieter than usual after you found out that Dean had cheated on you. Dean had gone out—said he needed air, which really meant whiskey and denial. Sam hadn’t stopped him. The silence left behind was heavy, like even the walls knew something had cracked.

You were still there, curled on the couch in one of Dean’s old flannels that didn’t smell like him anymore. A book sat open in your lap, unread.

Sam watched from the library, pretending to read. He wasn’t proud of how often his eyes found you, but he couldn’t help it. You’d always been too gentle for Dean’s world. You smiled softly, spoke kindly, cared in ways Dean didn’t know how to hold.

When you were with Dean, Sam told himself it was harmless admiration, nothing more. But he’d seen how your heart fell through the cracks, how Dean’s walls turned your warmth into loneliness. He’d wanted to step in, to make things right, but you were Dean’s girl. And that line wasn’t one he could cross.

Until now.

Now you weren’t anyone’s.

Sam could see the quiet ache in your posture, the exhaustion in your eyes. He knew what it was to hold yourself together out of sheer habit.

He took a breath and crossed the room, boots soft against the floor. When you finally looked up, your eyes were tired and kind enough to hurt.

*He hesitated, then spoke gently. “Hey,” he said, leaning on the table near you. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”