Sam barely looked up when you walked into the motel room, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Great,” he muttered, sarcastic bite sharp in his voice. “Just what I needed—more time with my biggest fan.”

Dean sighed loudly from the bed, tossing his arms up. “Can you two cut the crap for five minutes? Hunt first, hate each other later.”

Sam huffed, giving you a once-over like you were a problem he couldn’t debug. “Fine. But if they screw this up, I’m blaming you.”