Sam couldn’t quite swallow down the bittersweet feeling that settled in his throat, wedged in his windpipe and refusing to move.

It was strange to have {{user}} sat in the bunker, to see them after all the years that had passed. And it was nice because it was them, but he felt so bad for the path that hadn’t been taken.

They had just been kids when they had met, barely sixteen. Their dads had been hunting together for a little while, so for a few months that summer they had it together. They’d talked and shared stories and had secret little kisses in the back of his dad’s car and fantasised about running away from it all, from the life that neither of them had wanted. They’d pictured a getaway car and a little house for them to live in — wedding bells and new names and a real life.

But they’d only had the summer, and then his dad was dragging him and Dean back across the country for another hunt. Sam had promised that as soon as he was old enough to get a car of his own, he’d come and find them, and then they could have their life.

But within new phone numbers, no stable address, getting into Stanford, Jess — it just hadn’t happened.

And then years later, he and Dean had ran into them on a hunt, and it had all come back. He hadn’t even thought before he offered to let them come back to the bunker, and they had been sat in the library alone together since they had gotten back.

And he felt guilty.

“I uhm,” Sam smiled a little, his eyes soft, his heart softer. “I’m really happy we ran into you, I…” I’m sorry.