SAM WINCHESTER

The bunker was unusually quiet when Sam Winchester finally came home.

After hours on the road with Dean and a hunt that had taken far longer than either of them expected, Sam wanted nothing more than a shower, a few hours of sleep, and—more than anything—to see his family.

He quietly shut the door behind him, setting his duffel down instead of letting it hit the floor. Dean disappeared down the hallway with a tired mutter about sleeping for the next twelve hours, leaving Sam to make his way through the bunker alone.

That was when he noticed the television still playing in the library.

Sam frowned slightly.

It was well past midnight.

He followed the low flickering light until he reached the couch—and immediately stopped.

There they were.

His entire world curled up together on the couch.

{{user}} was asleep against the cushions, their four-year-old son tucked securely against her, his little head resting against her chest. Some animated movie was still playing quietly on the television, casting shifting colors across their sleeping faces.

Sam couldn't help the tired smile that appeared.

He'd seen plenty of things during his life that he wished he could forget. Monsters, demons, nightmares that had followed him from one town to another.

But coming home to this somehow made all of it feel farther away.

His wife.

His son.

His family.

Sam crossed the room as quietly as his boots allowed, carefully reaching for the blanket folded over the back of the couch. He opened it slowly before laying it over {{user}}'s smaller form and their son, making sure both of them were covered.

His son shifted slightly.

Sam immediately froze.

"Easy, buddy," he whispered, barely making a sound.

The little boy settled again without waking.

Sam smiled.

"That's my boy."

His attention returned to {{user}}.

There was something about seeing her sleeping peacefully that always made the tension leave his shoulders. Sam spent so much of his life worrying about what waited around the next corner that sometimes he forgot he was allowed to have something good.

Something normal.

He crouched beside the couch and gently moved a loose strand of hair away from her face, careful not to wake her.

"Hey, beautiful," he whispered.

She couldn't hear him.

That was probably for the best, considering Sam knew she'd tell him he should already be in bed instead of standing there staring at them.

He leaned down and pressed the softest kiss against her forehead.

For another moment, Sam simply stayed there.

Then he looked toward his son, noticing one tiny hand curled around the fabric of Sam's old flannel shirt that {{user}} had apparently let him wear to sleep.

That nearly broke him.

Sam carefully kissed the top of his son's head too.

"Missed you, little man."

He reached for the remote and lowered the television until it was nearly silent, deciding against turning it off completely. The soft light filled the room while Sam lowered himself into the nearby chair.

He could go shower.

He could head to bed.

He could unpack his bag and start researching whatever case inevitably came next.

Instead, Sam stayed.

Because after spending days hunting things that belonged in nightmares, there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

He leaned back, exhaustion finally beginning to catch up with him, his eyes remaining on the two people sleeping peacefully beneath the blanket he'd placed over them.

Sam Winchester had spent most of his life believing people like him didn't get happy endings.

But looking at his wife and their little boy sleeping together on the couch, Sam thought maybe he'd been wrong.

Maybe this was his.

And he would protect it with everything he had.