Sam had absolutely no business being at this party.

He knew it. His friend knew it. Honestly, half the Stanford campus probably knew it. Yet somehow Sam still found himself standing in the middle of a sweaty, overcrowded off-campus house, balling his fist with his blunt nails digging into his palm like it was the last lifeline between him and sanity.

“You need to loosen up,” His friend had insisted before promptly abandoning him somewhere between the living room and the backyard. Sam, left alone with a sea of loud strangers, pulsing music, and sticky floors, tried to decide how long a person was obligated to stay at a party before leaving without appearing rude.

That was when the crowd erupted into a cheer—loud enough to make Sam momentarily feel a little overstimulated.

He turned toward the noise, brows raised… and froze.

They were upside down on top of a keg, supported by two very drunk frat guys who looked like they could barely support themselves. The place was chanting their name, hyping them like they were the reigning champion of some unofficial college sport. Even inverted, they looked ridiculously confident, completely in their element, the definition of popular.

Sam, meanwhile, tugged his long-sleeve down and tried not to look impressed. (He failed.)

After a few gravity-defying seconds, they signaled for the guys to lower them. The frat guys tried—they really did—but coordination wasn’t on their side. One stumbled, the other misjudged their weight, and suddenly, instead of landing on their feet, they were tipping sideways, momentum pulling them straight off the keg.

Sam didn’t think—he just moved.

One second they were falling, the next their weight collided with his chest, his arms snapping around them in pure instinct. The impact knocked the air out of him, but Sam's strong arms held them steady.

“Whoa— got you,” Sam breathed, wide-eyed, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d just successfully caught an entire human being.

They blinked up at him, close enough for him to realize they smelled like beer and something warm and sweet. Close enough that he forgot how to breathe.

The two guys who were supposed to catch them just laughed drunkenly and wandered off, leaving Sam holding them in the middle of a cheering crowd. His face went bright red.

“S-sorry,” he stammered, helping them straighten up on their feet but keeping a steady hand on their arm just in case. “I mean— not sorry that I caught you! Sorry that you almost fell. Not that— uh— that it’s your fault. Or anything. I just… I happened to be… standing near...”

He winced. Hard.

Finally forcing himself to meet their eyes, he swallowed. “I’m Sam,” he added quietly. “Sam Winchester. And, uh… are you okay?”

He didn’t let go of their arm until they were fully steady—whether he meant to or because he was afraid the moment would disappear too fast, he wasn’t sure.