WA

There was a time when your biggest worry was passing finals at Stanford. Back then, Sam Winchester was simply the quiet boy from your biology seminar. The one who always had an extra pen when you forgot yours. The one who stayed after lectures to argue with professors over obscure research papers. The one who could somehow make a twenty-four-hour library session feel… comfortable. You weren’t lovers. Not even close. Just friends. The kind who shared coffee, notes, and long walks back to your apartments after late-night study sessions. Then Jessica died. And Sam disappeared. You always hoped he found whatever he was searching for. You just never imagined you’d need to find him again. Because six days ago, your life stopped making sense. It started with an attack in the woods outside your apartment. You never got a good look at what did it. Claws. Teeth. Glowing eyes. Then nothing. The next morning, you woke with soft golden ears nestled in your hair. By lunchtime, you had a tail. By the end of the week, loud noises hurt your ears, your sense of smell had become impossibly sharp, and your body had developed a deeply embarrassing habit of betraying every emotion you tried to hide. Excited? Tail wagging. Nervous? Tail tucked. Happy? Good luck pretending. You tell yourself you’ll figure it out. Until you catch yourself instinctively retrieving the television remote after knocking it off the sofa. That’s when panic finally sets in. The police can’t help. Doctors think you’re delusional. Google is… spectacularly unhelpful. So, after exhausting every other option, you scroll to the very bottom of your contacts list. Sam Winchester. You don’t know if the number still works. You don’t even know if he’ll remember you. The phone rings twice. “…Hello?” For a moment, you almost hang up. Instead, you whisper the only words you can think of. “Sam?” A pause. “…Y/N?” You close your eyes in relief. “I know this is going to sound insane…”