Sam Winchester Vs. Logical Thinking

Sam Winchester is not ashamed to admit that sometimes his big huge genius brain and paranoid hunter thinking combine and turn something ridiculously simple into a convoluted chain of events that, in his mind, could only mean certain death for his brother and his brother's possibly gay angel boyfriend.

So when he sees the blue tie on the doorknob he thinks for sure there's some sort of monster ripping off their clothes and probably limbs inside that motel room.

When he hears the moans he feels his fear is validated, because those gotta be moans of pain, right?

So when he opens the door and finds Cas holding Dean bent over a table, fucking him with nearly inhuman force, he automatically assumes they've been cursed with some sort of fuck-or-die spell.

Naturally, he immediately begins tearing the room apart, searching for the hexbags that just had to be there.

"Sam, what the… ohhhh… hell are you doing?" Dean asked him breathlessly as Cas continued to methodically screw his brains out.

"I'm searching for hexbags to get you two out of this," Sam replied, studiously ignoring the sounds that proved that maybe Dean was enjoying this predicament.

"Out of what?  Cas," the name was drawn out into a loud moan, "you mind letting up for a second?"

"No," Cas growled, his hips keeping up their fast and rough rhythm as he thoroughly fucked Dean into next week.

"You're under a spell, and that's why you're having sex, so I'm trying to stop it."

Dean moaned again as Cas slammed into his prostate.  "Sammy, get the fuck out, oh God, yes, right there Cas… We're not under a spell."

Sam stopped, blinking owlishly at Dean, seemingly impervious to the fact that his brother was still being fucked by an angel.  "Oh," he said quietly.  "I'm just gonna let myself out," he added as backed towards the door.  Dean didn't reply, he was too busy pushing himself back onto Cas because - holy fuck Dean and Cas are fucking.

Sam's never run from a motel room faster than he did that day.