Sam Winchester was many things—tall, brilliant, stubborn—but today, he was nothing short of cursed.

But ever since he lost (was pickpocketed) the rabbit's foot, Sam had tripped over the same chair twice, ripped his jacket sleeve on a nail that hadn’t been there five minutes earlier, and somehow managed to spill coffee down the front of his shirt before even taking a sip. And that was just the morning.

Sam Winchester knew he was cursed. The universe had made that crystal clear the moment he dropped the rabbit’s foot and also Bobby's annoyed warning.

You knew it too.

Waiting for Dean to come back with information on that girl that pickpocketed him. He stood, glaring at the motel table like it had personally betrayed him. Which, in a way, it had—since the instant he’d lost that cursed rabbit’s foot, everything he touched seemed determined to fall apart. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Sam attempted to untangle his shoelaces, which had somehow knotted themselves into a near-impossible mess. His long fingers pulled and tugged with growing frustration until—snap! The lace broke clean in two.

“Of course,” Sam muttered, dropping the remains with a sigh. “Because why wouldn’t it?”

You bit back a laugh, though your smile gave you away. Offering to help him.

Sam shot you a look—half exasperated, half amused. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” He leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his hair. “You know, I’ve been shot at, possessed, nearly killed by a dozen different things, and this—this right here? Shoelaces. That’s what’s gonna get me.”