"Honey, it's okay if you're scared. I'm scared."

Sam whispers, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks at you in his arms. Your eyes were closed tight, hands trembling a bit as Dean frantically covered every reflective surface in the motel room. You were hunting a spirit of the likes of bloody mary, which meant you were basically screwed if you so much as glanced at some glass or mirror.

"I'm fine."

You whisper shakily, clenching your jaw to keep your lips from wobbling.

"Sweetheart, no you aren't."

Sam whispers back, his soft lips trailing against your forehead and cheeks.

"Just listen to me okay? Let me take care of you. Nobody's gonna getcha. I'm never gonna let anything getcha."