˖⁺‧☽perpetually writing something excessive

Your head lifts off his shoulder but your arms stay tight around his. He’s waiting with bated breath for your response, tension slipping back into his musculature. Your arms gently tug him a little closer and lower. He bows his head and then your soft lips press into his cheek. He puts all his energy into not revealing that this makes him want to swoon. You pull back and the skin of his face immediately misses your warmth— misses you blocking him from the wind.

“I… I think I… wish you could look at me now, too.” You mutter, clearly unsure of whether or not that was an okay thing to admit.

He lifts the hand from your knee. Just barely skimming his fingertips against various points of you, he uses touch to find your face. With all this tenderness you’re sure he shouldn’t have, his fingers curl and his knuckles brush against your cheek. It’s just a brief pass across your skin but you almost feel like you’re glowing off of the ghostly touch.

In the corner of your eye you see movement. Glancing in the direction of the motel makes you inadvertently bump into Sam’s hand, which was still hovering near your face. He doesn’t move away from you, instead letting his knuckles rest on the swell of your cheek. Your eyes narrow when you see Dean looking out the open door for his brother. The expression he has is less angry but his brow is still furrowed in suspicion.

To Dean, his brother looks very odd right now— eyes closed, head turned towards an empty spot, and his fingers curled to rest against seemingly nothing. Deciding to swallow the urge to poke fun at Sam, Dean just closes the door behind him.

You turn to whisper to Sam. “Dean’s coming over here, I think.”

Sam sighs with exhaustion and nods. When he doesn’t open his eyes immediately you somehow know it’s because he doesn’t want you to get shoved away from him. Reluctantly, you pull away, a lingering squeeze left on his forearm as you fully withdraw. Sighing, he opens his eyes to see Dean walking towards you both. You hover beside Sam with a guarded expression. He doesn’t stand to greet his brother, just lifts his head.

Dean’s boots shuffle to a halt in front of Sam’s. “So are you gonna sleep out here or come back inside?”

Sam takes a breath and glances away briefly. The silence makes Dean shift his weight.

“How do you feel?”

Sam frowns up at Dean. “About what?”

“After the Trial, dipshit.”

“Oh.” Sam’s face in blank, “Okay, I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam shrugs, “I dunno. I feel okay.”

Dean shifts in place, “Sam, you were flat on your ass back there. Are you sure you’re okay? You were unconscious for at least three hours.”

Sam turns to you for confirmation. You shrug a shoulder, “It was probably much longer. That’s just how long you were asleep after we found you—”

“—Sammy.” Dean cuts you off without knowing, garnering Sam’s focus again. He raises his eyebrows expectantly at his younger brother.

“Dean, I’m fine—”

“—My ass.”

Sam opens his mouth to reply then closes it with an annoyed hum through pursed lips. Dean clears his throat and you can tell he’s posturing.

“Is, uh… she here?”

Sam’s eye flicker to their corners to scowl lightly at Dean as he nods. You think Sam’s got every right to be more outwardly angry than that. Despite this, you hold your tongue.

“So you believe me?” Sam asks.

Dean’s eyes are shifty, not really meeting Sam’s for long. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t know man, what you’re telling me is crazy.” Dean replies then heaves a sigh, “But… if you say she’s real then… sure.”

He finishes that with a lame shrug. It’s clear he’s just trying to pacify someone he thinks is losing their mind.

Your head cocks to the side as you give Dean a disbelieving look. A comment slips out before you consider it carefully, “It’s like he’s allergic to just saying sorry.”

Sam snorts a little at that, shooting you a brief look, his eyes softening significantly as they focus on you.

“What?” Dean asks impatiently.

“Nothin’.” Sam replies, face falling as he sits forwards again.

“No, go on,” You say, “tell him what I said.”

Sam hazards a glance over at you. You’re staring up at Dean with your head still tilted, eyes narrowed and dark like tinted glass. Sighing, Sam’s feet scoot further out onto the asphalt and he rubs his stubbly chin with one hand.

“She said: ‘it’s like he’s allergic to just saying sorry.’” Sam peers up through his lashes at Dean.

A muscle on Dean’s jaw juts out as he clenches his teeth. “Well why don’t you tell Casper to mind her own fuckin’ business, how about that.”

You can’t help a dismissive snort, “I will when I get something better to do.”

“Don’t be a dick.” Sam addresses his brother.

Dean rolls his eyes dramatically, “Sammy, are you sure this isn’t some kind of side-effect of the Trials?”

Sam’s face wrinkles incredulously. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know!” Dean raises and drops his hands, “You didn’t start acting weird until after the second one and now you’re insisting that there’s a person here that only you can see. You gotta understand how that looks.”

“What I understand is you not trusting me.”

“Well excuse me for trying to be a bit delicate with you!” Dean snaps, “And if she is real, then why don’t you tell her we’ve got bigger things to worry about than whatever dumbass shit she did to get herself cursed!”

You open your mouth to reply when Sam stands up to his full height. You watch Dean’s chin lift so he can keep glowering right into Sam’s eyes.

“She can hear you perfectly fine. You just can’t hear her.”

Dean lets out a huff through his nose. “Alright fine, and what’s she saying?”

“Nothing right this second.”

“You’re a dick, Dean.” You interject.

“Now she just called you a dick.” Sam repeats to his brother.

“Sure.” Dean rolls his eyes a little and turns on his heel, “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

Sam’s fists clench at either side of him. He marches a few steps to catch up with Dean.

“What is your goddamn problem, huh?” Sam demands angrily.

In their wake you slowly stand up from the curb, hands clasped in front of your chest a bit anxiously.

“I am not the one with the problem, Sam!” Dean snaps, immediately turning to face his brother with an accusatory finger pointed at his chest. “I just drove five hours here with no stops, dragged your giant limp ass out of a blown-up church and I still can’t get a straight answer outta you to save my life! Sorry if I’m not in the mood to indulge your crazy shit right now!”

“No you’re not! You’re not sorry!” Sam swipes a definitive hand through the air between them, “You’ve been riding my ass for months now! First it was because I didn’t look for you, then it was about me not hunting for the last year, then it was me taking on the Trials instead of you! Are you noticing a pattern here? It’s like everything I do is fucking wrong to you!”

Dean’s face is stoney but he doesn’t answer.

“It doesn’t matter what I do, or what I say! You always would’a done it different— you would’a done it better! Why don’t you believe in me anymore, huh?”

“Well maybe because you’ve started actin’ like Molly Jensen and expected me to just go along with it!”

Both you and Sam frown and utter: “What?”

Dean raises and drops his hands, “My god, dude! C’mon! Ghost! The movie! Molly Jensen’s the— you know what never mind! You comin’ or what?!”

Sam takes a single step closer to Dean, staring deep into his brother’s eyes with a dark tint to them.

“She’s not a ghost. She’s real. And she’s a person who needs our help.”

Dean swallows but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Sam’s intense gaze either as he continues.

“You know what, Dean? I’m sick of dealing with your extended hissy-fit about Cas.” Sam menaces, “It’s not any of our faults that he ran off! You don’t get to take it out on everyone just because he’s not here for you to get angry with, alright? No one’s gonna put up with your bitching just because you’re hurting! You change your goddamn tone when you talk about her and when you talk to Kevin.”

“What about how I talk to Kevin?”

“You keep ordering him around like a sergeant! He’s a kid, Dean!” Sam exclaims, “Who just lost his mom! Don’t you remember what that feels like?!”

“Don’t.”

“Or what?!” Sam snaps, “You think it’s okay for you to be, uh, uh, unsympathetic to a kid just because you’re mad about your friend running off?! You don’t just get to throw your emotions at everyone else when you can’t be upset with the one person you’re actually mad at!”

“Sammy, enough!”

“I’ll tell you when it’s been enough!” Sam raises his voice louder, “And when we find Cas— which we will —you can be as angry with him as you want! But stop taking it out on everyone else who’s still sticking around!”

Dean’s nose wrinkles and he glances away. He wants to say “it’s not about Cas” but he can’t make himself do it. Because he knows that it is in large part about the angel. Everything has been annoying and anger-inducing recently and Dean secretly does know why. Where’s the dorky guy in the trench coat that’s supposed to be following him around? Maybe if he were here Dean would have some backup against Sam’s hallucination-talk. As things stand, though, he’s got no reply left in him.

A few feet behind Sam, you cock your head to the side, eyeing Dean in a new light.

“Who’s Cas?” You ask.

Sam glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice but doesn’t fully meet your gaze. He replies with a gentler tone than the one he’s been using for his brother.

“Cas is our friend.”

You frown harder but Sam’s not really looking at you anymore. He’s turned back to Dean.

“Cas is an angel.” Dean adds with the intonation of a correction. “A stupid, reckless, idiotic one who dropped out on us. So sorry if I don’t have a lotta patience when it seems like you’re about to do it too!”

Sam raises his hands to either side of him, “Dean, I would never do that to you!”

“You literally did! Earlier this year!” Dean snaps, “And what, I’m just supposed to forgive and forget while you were off with some girl? And not hunting?!”

“’Cause I gotta do everything exactly the way you would, right?!” Sam shouts, “I told you— you either move on or I will! I don’t have to put up with this! You’re not a teenager anymore, Dean, you’re an adult! So start acting like one! You always act like you’re so much more advanced than me when in reality you’re still just a scared little boy afraid of everyone abandoning him all the time! Do you never stop to consider why people might not wanna put up with your shit after a while?!”

A dead silence fills the air. You shiver at the tension, watching Dean’s nostrils flare. He shakes his head softly, a humorless snort puffing past his lips. For a moment he glances to the side and swipes his thumb over the crease of his mouth, almost casual— almost unbothered. Without warning or preamble, Dean snaps back around to punch Sam in the jaw.

You screech in surprise as Sam stumbles to the side a little. “What the hell—!?”

Sam straightens with a mean glare.

“Did that make you feel better?!” Sam can’t help taunting, wiping the blood off his lip.

“Yeah, it did.” Dean lunges towards Sam again.

The two of them crash into the sedan parked to the side. They tangle and wrestle with each other, both grunting and shouting non-verbal noises. Your heart gallops uncontrollably, mouth agape and unsure of what you ought to do. Dean gets the upper-hand on Sam, shoving him down onto the hood of the car with a forearm to the throat.

“Dean—!” Sam grits out, voice strained.

Dean’s nose wrinkles like an animal, fury burning in his green eyes. There are no words now, just blinding fury and the desire for the simplicity of Purgatory. The rules of engagement were clear-cut back there— kill anything that’s standing between him and the angel, then anything standing between him and the portal. For months Dean bled and sweat and slashed his way through that wasteland in search of Cas, never sleeping, barely ever even resting except to wet his dry mouth with some water. All Cas seems to have done recently is run away from him. Is Dean really so bad? Why is it that Cas won’t just—

Smash! The splintering noise of wood shattering interrupts everything. A searing wave of pressure-pain blooms between Dean’s thighs.

“Agh!” He doubles over immediately, releasing Sam.

Sam shoots upright with a gasp, hands going to touch his own throat. Much to his confusion and surprise, Dean stoops forwards with a hand over his crotch. Bewildered and still catching his breath, Sam looks around only to find you holding a big branch, now broken in two pieces. The second his eyes process the sight you’re dropping the stick. Flushed and panting hard you look up at Sam with watery eyes.

“I— I’m s— sorry, I didn’t know—” You’re trembling now, “—I didn’t know what to do— I’m— I’m sorry!”

Sam takes a step towards you and you shift back instinctively— is he angry with you? That sight pains him to see more than he could ever admit. He knows rationally that there are many people who are afraid of him just purely based on his physical size, but seeing you almost cower away from him makes his skin crawl— it makes him wish he could slip out of his skin for a moment, if only to show you he is no threat to you.

He squeezes his eyes shut and holds out a hand to you. Over the sounds of Dean groaning in pain Sam hears you release a relieved breath. Your smaller hand slips into his and Sam finally feels like his lungs inhale a full breath. He’s not sure what to do. He’s still reeling from Dean’s attack and struggling to catch his breath. He wants to double-check that Dean won’t make another move but he can’t. If Sam opens his eyes right now your pressure and the weight of your hand will leave him. He doesn’t think he can endure that right now but what’s more important is getting the two of you to safety.

Sam gives your hand a squeeze before releasing it then opening his eyes to look at his attacker. Dean has slumped from all fours onto just his knees, leaning a shoulder against the sedan as the dizziness slowly subsides. He won’t meet Sam’s gaze out of obvious shame.

“Sleep somewhere else tonight.” Sam says, voice scratchy and still unsteady.

He opens his mouth to add more but there’s nothing else he can say. Swallowing his guilt over this decision, he jerks his head towards the motel in silent request that you go ahead of him. Dean doesn’t look up or speak, just stays close to the ground, shaken by himself and the situation he’s found that self in.

When Sam’s finally got the door closed behind you both, he slips the chain into place, too.

“What’s going on?” Kevin pipes up from the far bed. He’s tucked in below the waist, some headphones on over his head but one out of the way so he can hear.

“Uh,” Sam swallows, still somewhat out of breath, “Dean’s gonna, uh, sleep somewhere else tonight.”

Kevin blinks, clearly surprised and confused. “Why?”

Sam shakes his head slightly, “Not right now, Kevin. I can’t explain right now. Let’s just all go to sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”

Kevin frowns, “Is your imaginary friend here?”

Sam’s expression melts into one of reserved annoyance. “She’s not imaginary. She’s invisible.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Kevin nods slowly, clearly unsure.

Sam’s shoulders slump with exhaustion. “We can talk about everything in the morning, okay? You, uh, should get some sleep.”

Kevin’s expression shifts to one more tinged with concern. “You too, right?”

“Huh?”

“You need sleep, Sam.” Kevin says, the worry clear in his young features. “The Trials are no joke. You need to rest.”

Sam exhales and nods, “I will. Go on. I’ll turn the lights off in a bit, okay?”

Hesitantly, Kevin nods and then with one last long look at Sam, settles down onto his back, slipping the headphone back over his ears. A heavy silence falls over the room as the boy turns onto his side, facing away from them.

Sam faces you. There’s this lost expression in his eyes, like he’s unsure what exactly he needs in this moment. Swallowing thickly, you barely extend one hand out near your hip, letting it hover there in an offer. Sam immediately squeezes his eyes shut and takes you by the wrist, tugging you to his chest without hesitation.

You bump face-first into his t-shirt, which is still riddled with holes from the broken glass. His arms envelop you and one hand cradles the back of your head close to his heart. You think at first this is for your benefit but then you feel him trembling beneath his clothes. Your brows pinch together— he’s never seemed so fragile before.

Your arms loop around his middle and tug him close to you, too. It’s as if you’re trying to silently communicate: I can comfort you, too. I can hold you, too.

A shudder releases from his exhausted body and he begins to lean on you like he just can’t help it. Your hands creep up higher under his arms, taking ahold of his shoulders to encourage this. He doesn’t go so far as to crush you, but you stay there for a long few minutes just breathing together, chest-to-chest. Even after all of his last 24 hours of messy work, the smell of him— the unique Sam-musk —comforts you.

After some time, the two of you agree it’s time for bed. You insist on Sam going to the bathroom first. He does, washing his face clean of blood. You ask him several iterations of questions about whether or not his nose is broken. He assures you finally that it’s been broken twice before— he knows the feeling well. You’re hovering at the sink beside him, and something shadows your face when he says that.

He catches the expression in the corner of his eye and glances over to you. With your brows knit together with a sorrow he doesn’t know how to discern, you tell him “it’s nothing” when he asks what’s wrong. After he brushes his teeth he leaves you to do what you need to do in there.

Sam doesn’t get under the covers, waiting until you come out of the bathroom sometime later. He’s sitting with his feet on the floor, hands between his knees while slowly rubbing his palms together. His eyes flicker up to find you as soon as you return. They follow you as you round the foot of Kevin’s bed and come to stand beside Sam.

“Are you gonna get in?” You ask, quiet even though the kid can’t hear you.

Sam nods slowly, a distant look in his eye.

You’re not sure what comes over you but you reach out to brush some hair off his forehead. You freeze inches from his face, not close enough to feel the magnetic repulsion that keeps you from contact with objects. He glances up at your hand. Without a word, he closes his eyes. Your heart melts and you finish the movement, fingertips skating across his forehead, very carefully tracing some of the hair off his tacky skin. When you reach his ear, he cranes his neck just a tiny bit, like he’s seeking out more contact. You hesitate for a split second then card your fingers through the front of his hair. Instantly, he melts under the touch, a long weary exhale squeezing out of him like an air mattress deflating. You have to swallow a lump in your throat.

When your hand lifts off of him at the crown of his head, he lets out a low, barely audible noise. You’re not sure what it implies until he murmurs to you.

“Again?”

His voice is so soft, so vulnerable, so shy— it seems like a man his size shouldn’t be able to sound so small and delicate. It makes you want to slip into his lap and run your fingers through his hair repeatedly until he drifts off into the most peaceful sleep. But you don’t. Because you hardly know the man and you don’t know what he wants. You grant him his wish though, performing the action again, a little slower this time.

He shivers in a way that seems quite pleasant. His chin raises, making his face parallel to yours. If his eyes could open he’d stare right up into your face as you repeat the movement again for a third time.

Before Sam knows what he’s doing his lips are moving. “Can you… hold me tonight?”

Your brows pinch together heartbrokenly. “Yeah. Of course I can do that.”

He nods softly, a little childlike in his manner but not in an off-putting way. Maybe childlike isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s simply… vulnerable. He’s just sitting there, eyes closed and letting you touch him without being able to watch.

“Is… is it hard for you to do this?” You find yourself asking.

His face scrunches a little in confusion. Goddamn it he’s cute. “What d’you mean?”

You slip onto the bed beside him, using just your index finger to curl a lock of hair over his ear. “I dunno. Ask for… this, I guess. I just… I can’t imagine touch has been overly abundant or… very kind in your lifetime.”

He snorts humorlessly. “Understatement.”

Your features scrunch in misery, heart clenching on his behalf. You crawl across the bed and slip under the covers. He picks up a tie he’d packed in his duffle, tying it around his eyes before tucking himself in beside you. He turns to face you and you’re not sure how he wants you to hold him. He doesn’t see your hesitation, just slides his hands through the covers in search of you. Gently, he tugs you closer. You catch on quickly and wrap your arms around his middle.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur.

He shakes his head slightly, a soft scratch on his pillow. “S’not your fault.”

Your brows furrow harder. “It doesn’t have to be my fault for me to be sad about it. To feel sorry you have to deal with… that.”

His face cracks into a little smirk but you can’t quite tell what it means. “You’re a softie.”

“Pfft!” You roll your eyes but can’t completely subdue the smile his teasing caused. You sober up after, not letting him get away from your attention to his difficult life. “It’s… it’s not fair.”

He releases a long, weary sigh. The sound makes you more sad. It’s so resigned— no fight left in him tonight. Your eyes flicker down to his throat, where some purple bruises are forming.

Without thinking you scoot closer to him, your knees bumping into his. You see his brows twitch a little above the tie at the contact. You wish he could look at you— it’s so painfully clear now how much he wants to see when you’re this close. Your fingertips graze over his Adam’s apple making him shudder softly. One of his tree-trunk arms slips across your middle. Despite the disparity, you take in every bit of him this close as you can— the strong nose that comes to a gentle point; the eyebrows that are only relaxed now, in the dark without anything to perplex them; the weariness in his every breath.

After a moment you softly ask, “Has Dean ever done something like that to you before?”

Sam sighs and the breath causes goosebumps on the exposed flesh above your shirt collar. “Yeah. A few times.”

“That’s awful. Why would he do that?”

Sam doesn’t answer you for a long moment. “Unlike tonight I… think I might’a deserved it the other times he tried ‘knocking some sense into me’.”

You immediately make a hum of disagreement. “I sincerely doubt that.”

Sam shrugs a little in your embrace but doesn’t push the conversation any further. He doesn’t want to get into it— he doesn’t want to tell you about the demon blood. He doesn’t want you to know about Ruby.

Is he a coward? Maybe. But also… is it so wrong for him to want to preserve the way you look at him? His eyes are open behind the blindfold, straining like he might be able to see through it— to see you staring at him so close. You look upon the world with concern and distrust, but he can see the way you soften for him. He yearns for your gaze every time it’s not on him.

You see him and he’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean but he feels what it means in the silence.

“Get some rest.” You say, though your eyes are nowhere near drooping.

He nods, “Is it… okay if I stay here for a bit?”

You swallow with some effort and nod. “Of course. Stay as long as you need.”

* * *

It’s not something Dean thinks through fully. There’s not much to it— it’s nothing he hasn’t done before —but it’s still different. It’s new.

The bartender comes back to refill his glass over and over, pausing for longer each time to chat with him. The truths that slip past his lips, loosened by liquor, are never even close to the full ones. He’s returned from somewhere rough after a long while of being there. He doesn’t get specific. He doesn’t need to. Despite his best efforts, the feelings swirling around in Dean are easy to discern on his pretty features. For someone intuitive enough, there’s no need for intense interrogation to read them loud and clear.

The lights are getting turned off overhead. Last call was a half-hour ago. He’s still sitting on the stool at the bar, dawdling with his last finger of whiskey, still sipping from the glass that’s held more drinks than he’s kept count of tonight. People move around him but they’re shadows in his periphery. The only person outside of him that’s real is the bartender. The music overhead is a low droning thrum, a constant undercurrent of noise that he doesn’t process.

Dean doesn’t feel real right now. In truth, he hasn’t felt real in a long time. He doesn’t know when it started. He doesn’t know if he ever felt real. He tries to think of a time when he did.

The first thing that comes to mind is the memory of a mouthful of dirt; hands clawing at oppressive darkness trapping him inside the Earth; splinters from pine wood in his knuckles and palms.; the prickling ghost of claws tearing his guts out slipping away from his skin’s memory in place of a sharp stinging on the swell of his shoulder. A first gulp of fresh air that burned his lungs and a burst of soil between parted lips made him feel alive for the first time in years.

How can a man feel like his skin is brand new? If he’s worn his body ragged for over 25 years, how can he feel like the breeze tickling his flesh is new or different at the age of 29?

Walking down a road so desolate there wasn’t even a line demarcating the two lanes, he knew he was born again somehow. His body looked like he remembered— by all accounts he was once again the man he’d become on Earth —but the flesh tingled with every sensation like the world birthed him anew.

There was one thing about existence that began then and had not been present before: the feeling of being watched. Despite that, he could spin around in circles looking for the eyes following him only to find nothing. At first it was nerve-wracking because he didn’t know who was watching. But then he got used to it. He became reliant on the ability to look upwards and speak to empty air and know someone heard him.

When he thinks back on it now, Dean knows when that feeling left him. It was that first night in Purgatory, when all the woods were dark and not quiet. When he hissed out into the shadows for the angel that had played a large hand in getting him to this place and only ominous noises of other creatures responded. He was supposed to feel like there was someone watching him— someone watching out for him when all he’d ever done was watch out for others. But there was no one.

So is it so unreasonable of Dean to be angry? Is he so broken and incomprehensible that even his own brother can’t relate to that feeling of abandonment? What’s he saying— he knows that Sam’s abandoned him many times over. And if he were in more of a charitable mood he would consider how many times he’d done the same thing to Sam. All the times that he’d gotten John so mad that he’d sent Dean packing on the road with nothing but a rucksack and whatever money he’d recently hustled from pool, barely legal-looking enough to get into bars without too many questions thrown his way. All the times when Dean had done the same thing to Sam upon being faced with disappointment in his brother’s behaviors.

There’s a part of Dean that still remains logical, even after Purgatory where the term “logical” became a moving target. He knows that he and Sam have tangled each other up in this mess over and over— both of them contributing new knots to a giant ball of twine that only the two of them know about.

“What’s your name, stranger?” The bartender asked some hours ago.

“Dean.” He swallowed his gulp of bourbon. “Yours?”

“Alex.” The bartender smirked. “Let me know if you need anything else, Dean.”

Dean’s name is spoken like it’s dreamy somehow— like his name alone holds some kind of beauty Dean has never heard in it himself.

When the bartender comes to lean on the counter in front of Dean for the last time that evening, there’s no one else in the bar. Dean’s in a daze— not drunk, just buzzed enough to let himself hide in the persona of the “stranger”. The bartender doesn’t know him, doesn’t know what he’s done or who he’s become in the last year. Dean doesn’t know who he’s become either.

The back room is made of brick, the overhead light dim from needing a new bulb. Dean offers to change it as soon as they walk in— he’s tall enough to reach without much effort. Alex shushes him with a seductive smile.

“Have you ever done this before?”

Dean scoffs lightly, “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you mean.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Alex’s lips brush against Dean’s with each syllable.

Dean’s breath hitches and he thinks that makes him sound like a girl. He doesn’t answer, just grabs the bartender and smashes their mouths together. He thinks maybe he’ll imagine it’s a girl he’s kissing. When his eyes are closed and their lips begin moving together, though, he doesn’t disappear into a fantasy. He’s perfectly aware the whole time that he’s letting a man card his fingers through his hair. There’s a cock in the dark pants pressing into the front of Dean’s dirty jeans, making a bulge grow in Dean’s boxers.

It’s rough from Dean’s side— demanding and impatient. Alex is slow and careful, hands strong and sure enough to make Dean match his pace. Dean thinks he might’ve been convincing enough that Alex believes he’s not nervous. Just to be safe, he keeps his hands busy so Alex can’t see the tremor in them.

Dean wants his brain to turn off. He wants to be lost in this like how he used to lose himself in sex. It’s not working. He’s painfully aware of the lower register in the soft sighs and moans he’s eliciting from his partner. He wants to go into a fugue state— the kind where he leaves everything about himself behind to please someone who will never see him again. Still, if he does his job just right, she’ll always remember him as one of the best lays of her life. A one-night wonder, he’s often thought smugly as he comes after arduous effort.

Alex’s hands go to Dean’s belt. Instinctively, Dean grabs his wrists to stop him. Alex pulls back to look him in the eye, panting softly and flushed from Dean’s kisses. There’s no words out of Dean, just his back to a wall and his eyes flickering to the ajar door over Alex’s shoulder.

▪ What if someone catches me?

It’s not the first time that thought has paralyzed Dean. It’s a thought he’s encountered many times over— one he’s shoved away easily sometimes. It doesn’t leave easily this time.

“It’s just you an’ me, sweetie.” Alex whispers.

Dean scoffs a little— how many times has a girl said something like that to him? Doesn’t Alex feel pathetic talking like that? It doesn’t seem that way. Alex is perfectly in his element, totally within the headspace Dean wishes he could disappear into. Alex’s hand covers Dean’s hard-on through his jeans, giving his cock a firm, tempting squeeze. Dean just barely manages to choke down a moan that makes him sound like a bitch in heat.

▪ No one’s watching you now. ▪ No one knows what you’re going to do.

“We gotta make it quick.” Dean manages to grit out.

Alex smirks, “That’ll be up to you, baby.”

His hands are big on Dean’s cock. It’s not like Dean’s only been with women who he could break in half— he’s been the one begging for a big lady before —but Alex’s touch is different. He’s methodical, un-bothered, and completely in his element. The rasp of day-old stubble against the sensitive skin of Dean’s thighs is new. It tickles, makes him flinch a little. Alex hums happily around his cock and Dean can’t help a choked moan slipping past his lips. It’s not like him— this isn’t like him at all.

Or is it?

Fuck, the man has got skill, though, there’s no doubt about it. He’s thorough and builds up to a pace that has Dean holding back whimpers. When he gags around Dean’s cock he doesn’t retreat, he forces it deeper down his throat. It’s like he’s—

“You’re a greedy thing, huh?” Dean can’t help mumbling, fisting a hand into Alex’s curls.

The man on his knees hums affirmatively, eyes closed in bliss. He takes Dean into his mouth over and over, his hands picking up the slack. In the past Dean’s had no qualms asking for what finishes him off every time— if a girl’s finding his prostate, it’s not wrong, right? He’s sure it’s a loophole he’s been lying to himself about for years when Alex finds it without his guidance or asking.

Dean comes down the man’s throat with a knee-jerking wave of pleasure so strong it borders on nausea. His knuckles are white in Alex’s dark hair, gripping too hard because he’s not in full control of himself right now. His head falls back against the brick wall and his lungs burn with gasping breaths. The overhead bulb flickers and dims even further as he calms his heart rate.

Alex is too tender to him. He tucks Dean’s limp cock away with slow, practiced movements, too kind to the man who can’t admit what he’s just done. Dean’s lucky that his gruffness after the act isn’t taken personally. Alex knows Dean’s type— the lost man who’s too cowardly to act on or ask for the kind of intimacy he wants. Alex might not know Dean’s past but he knows Dean is a man who has never felt this kind of closeness to another man— at least not without the threat of violence hanging over him. That’s familiar.

He kisses Dean one last time and Dean tastes the last residue of his spendings on the tip of Alex’s tongue. He’s not unfamiliar with that flavor, nor has he ever turned down a kiss from a girl good enough to swallow all of his cum down without complaint. His eyes are closed and he returns the kiss somewhat, but he’s caught on the idea of what this looks like from the outside. If someone were to walk past that ajar door, they’d think Dean’s a queer— a fag, a fairy, a queen, a pussy. It doesn’t stop him, but he thinks about it until the very moment Alex pulls away.

“Well then.” Alex straightens Dean’s coat with a smug smirk. “I guess this is goodbye.”

Dean’s brows twitch together a little in confusion. “You don’t… you don’t want me to…?”

He can’t even finish the question— he can’t even get out a simple “return the favor” kind of line. Alex smiles wistfully.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that yet, honey.” He pats Dean on the cheek and then turns towards the door. “I’m gonna finish cleaning up.” He pauses with one hand on the door and gives Dean a once-over, “I hope you had fun. I sure did. Let me know if… you want more.”

Alex winks and then slips out of sight.

Dean swallows thickly, a burning behind his eyes. He feels his throat contracting and he wonders silently if he’s going to be a real bitch and cry after coming.

▪ What a fuckin’ pussy.

Dean slips out the back door of the bar a few minutes later— anything to avoid seeing Alex again. The Impala’s wheels kick up gravel as he speeds off, tears blurring his vision and no feeling of eyes on his back to comfort or shame him. He disappears into the night, down a road so desolate there’s no yellow lines on the asphalt.

Whistling to himself, Alex goes to put crates of recently-cleaned glasses into that back room. When he flicks on the light, it comes on brighter than he expects. This only startles him a little. He glances into the small trash bin near the door and sees an old lightbulb laying on top of other random trash. Alex knows he’ll never see Dean again— he knows he’s just changed the man’s life and that’s more than enough of a rush for him. Still, he softens at the sight of the overhead light, wondering how a man so repressed could be so concerned with paying someone back for the simple safety of intimacy with a stranger.

Dean sleeps in the Impala tonight, arms crossed and cheeks repeatedly wiped clean with a scowl. He wishes he had a blanket— something to cover him from the unfamiliar eyes of the outside world peeking in through his car’s windows. He makes do, though. When has Dean ever had enough comfort? He oughta be used to this by now. Still, there in the silence, he realizes that he might never be okay with how much he still longs for the things he lacks.

“I know how much you like the way I look in them!” You put your hands on your hips, “And you’re the only person whose attention I care about!”

His eyes flash, the muscles of his jaw jutting out as he clenches his teeth. “I’m not the only one who was looking.”

You narrow your eyes in disbelief. “Are you really so insecure that you think I’d leave you for one of them?”

“No—”

“—For Chase and Lewis?” You gape, “One of those two fucking bozos? I mean they’re hot but—”

“—Shut up.”

Something is different about Sam’s voice then. Whatever it is you said that set him off turns him stoney and rigid. You were being nasty by bringing up insecurity but now you’re starting to wonder if that didn’t just hit home because it was mean— maybe also because it was somewhat right.

“I don’t want to fucking talk about them any more.” His voice is low and dark. “And I don’t want you hunting with them again.”

You scoff in genuine disbelief. “Seriously? Sam, do you really expect me to listen to your ‘marching orders’ like that? How about you try asking a little nicer and we’ll see what—”

You cut yourself off when you seen the muscle on his jaw jutting out again. By the look of it he’s clenching his teeth as hard as he can. He only does that when he’s holding something back. And it’s also unfairly hot.

“Careful there,” You cross your arms, “you’re gonna chip a tooth.”

His jaw relaxes and he takes a moment to roll his eyes. You watch him settle a bit then turn back to you, his eyebrows raised expectantly. This makes you scoff again.

“I’m sorry, are you asking me to promise you that?”

“Yes.” He replies immediately.

Your features narrow in incredulity. “Sam that is absolutely ridiculous!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Sam, in what universe is it reasonable to ask your girlfriend to not interface with certain other people just because you don’t like ‘em? You know how that sounds objectively! You’re too smart not to!”

“Yeah well maybe I can’t be smart about this, alright?! You almost died!” He snaps, “Sorry if I can’t be rational about the woman I love almost getting torn to shreds by a monster because some dipshit idiot can’t stick to a fucking plan! I can’t believe I’m having this argument with you!”

“Well I can’t believe you thought I’d just roll over and do as you say because you love me!” You plant your hands on your hips, “What, because you love me you’re entitled to my agency?! Grow up!”

He inhales sharply through his nose and glances away. You can see on his face that he’s trying to regain any semblance of his calm. It’s not like him to get this worked up about other people, especially hunters whom he usually gives a bit more moral-leeway to than you do.

There’s some real concern underneath this, you know it, something Sam’s holding back for some reason. Whatever it is, it’s worrisome enough to him that it’s coming out in anger, not plain concern. Unfortunately for him, your sympathy only extends to the point before a man starts telling you what to do like you’re a robot capable of being programmed.

“I don’t want you hunting with them again.” He repeats steadily, meeting your gaze again. “And you also know that objectively, they handled this hunt like morons. I don’t know how the two of them are still alive.”

You roll your eyes animatedly and finally shake his hand off of you with force. “I knew them before I knew you. I’ve worked with them on-and-off for years.”

You start walking again and you can hear him following close behind.

“They’re good hunters, they’ve saved my ass a few times, just like you—”

“—Don’t compare me to them!” Sam’s nose wrinkles with repugnance, “Don’t compare what we have to some half-assed alliance you had to make before you actually had competent people around to watch your back!”

That surprises you a bit. You spin on your heel with eyes narrowed, about to challenge that when he keeps going.

“Neither of them— neither of them! —watched your back when you told them to! They both left you open to attack while raiding a vamp’s nest!”

“That’s not—”

“—Where the hell were they, huh? I had to come running across the damn building because when that fucking idiot Chase full-body tackled a vamp on top of you, your scream—” He cuts himself off and it’s almost a little shaky.

His chest rises and falls noticeably with his next deep breath. The worry is seeping through and he can see it softening you. He doesn’t want your sympathy, though, he wants to be angry. He wants to get some kind of rise out of you that he hasn’t gotten yet.

“And they were both drunk.”

“No they weren’t.” You scoff, immediately back to defensiveness and no sympathy.

“Yes, sweetheart, they were. Their breath reeked.” He takes a firmer tone, “I’m really baffled by this being an argument! I thought we’d both come away from that hunt with the same feeling, but instead I had to sit through a whole night out with those two fucking idiots drinking and listening to you all reminisce when I know for a fact that those two stopped caring about you the moment you showed up with a boyfriend!”

Your jaw drops and your brows shoot up to your hairline. “Presumptuous, much?!”

He shifts a little in place, clearly uncomfortable, “You know I’m right.”

“No, what I know is that you are fucking paranoid.”

“You might think they’re just idiots— and you’re definitely right —but the two of them thought they had a chance with you, at least at one time, and the second they knew you weren’t going to sleep with them, they stopped caring about keeping you safe. Because the whole time, all they wanted was you to be alive and not scuffed up too bad, so then maybe you might have the energy to put out for them after the job’s done.”

You’re stunned for a moment, staring agape at your boyfriend. “That’s disgusting, Sam! Why would you say something like that?!”

“You know they want you, I refuse to believe you don’t.”

“I don’t know why it matters!” You cry, “I love you! It’s not like they’re ever gonna get anything from me!”

“Well, you should try telling them that. I don’t think they’ll believe you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means that they’re the kind of guys who play nice just to get what they want!”

“You barely know them!”

“So do you!”

“I don’t need to know their whole life’s story and their fucking social security number to hunt with them, Samuel!”

“Stop it!” He menaces while you keep going.

“You always act like such a know-it-all about everything! Why do you think you can assess their character better than me, huh?”

“Because I know how men work! Especially those kind of men.”

Your eyes narrow a little. “Oh, and I don’t know?”

He shrugs forcefully, “I can’t tell at this point! You’re acting so oblivious I don’t know what you do or don’t understand! All I’m asking is that the next time they say ‘we’re hunting nearby and need some backup’ you say that you’re busy!”

You stare at him for a long moment in taut silence. His chest rises and falls with his intense breathing but he tries to maintain an emotionless expression. You know him too well at this point for that face to be believable.

Your voice grows dark like tinted glass. “I know how to handle men, Sam.”

His next breath in is a little shaky. You take note. Was your statement meant to be a hint at your shared sex life? No. Will you happily take his physical response to it as proof that he seems to be having the same reaction to this fight as you are? Absolutely.

“I heard them.” He says softly. “Talking. About you. About… us.”

Your brows furrow and you shift your stance, now more curious than combative. “What d’you mean?”

He swallows, the bobbing movement of his throat catching your eye for a split second. You immediately look back up to his face but he saw you look, you know it.

“What did they say?” There’s a new wariness to your voice.

Sam runs his tongue across his lower row of teeth, trying to settle himself. “Chase… said that Lewis should’ve… ‘taken his chance when he could in Atlantic City’. When you were ‘drunk and heartbroken’ because… then you might’ve… ‘just finally put out already.’”

Your skin crawls at those words and the tone Sam imitates. It’s not the grossest thing anyone’s ever said about you, but it’s by no means flattering. You were heartbroken three years ago while drunk in a casino with Chase and Lewis (their idea). Lewis had been attentive all night, caring for you in the kind of gruff, noncommittal way hunters can sometimes be. You were indeed considering kissing Lewis at one point but when you noticed that he was treating you nicer than usual, you thought: this must be what it feels like to be the ‘civilian’. For some reason that thought was repellent so you didn’t act on any drunk impulses and went to bed alone that night.

Crossing your arms stubbornly you respond, “Well, he’s not wrong. I was drunk and heartbroken and I did almost kiss Lewis—”

You’ve barely finished your sentence when he raises his voice over yours.

“—What?!” He gapes, “And hold on, wait a second! Wasn’t the Atlantic City hunt you went on the one where you got that big scar on your ribs?! That was them not taking care of you back then, either!”

Goddamn it he’s so fucking hot.

You shouldn’t be thinking about that. Is it strange for you to be horny over how well Sam knows your body? When you first got together you were stunned by how much he wanted to look at you. After the first time you had sex you went to put clothes back on and he softly asked you to stay.

“I’ll be right back.” You giggled at him, a little bemused.

He gave you this gooey look of pleading. “But then you’ll be all covered up. And I don’t want that just yet.”

“What do you want then?”

He tugged you close under the sheets, getting as close to you as possible for a moment. “I wanna look at you laying in our bed.”

And who were you to deny him when he asked so sweetly?

During those first few weeks of lovemaking there would always be about 20 minutes afterward where Sam would just hold you and caress your skin, all of this wonder in his gaze. When he found a new mark, or cut, or scar he’d ask you about it. What he just said now proves without a doubt that he was actually listening when you answered.

“Lewis actually did like me. He asked me out the next time we saw each other, alright?” You say, “I’m not thrilled by the language Chase used either but you know better than me how guys talk to each other about vulnerable stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like, evasively! Like you’re making it kinda into a joke so you can pretend it’s not meaningful or whatever, I don’t know!”

He’s kind of pouting now. “I don’t know how telling me that one of them used to have a thing for you is supposed to make me more okay with you hunting with them again.”

“Oh, come off it, Sam!” You cry, “Just because not everyone who hunts is as good as you or Dean doesn’t mean they aren’t worth helping!”

Muttering your name like it’s a curse he says, “What does it take for you to give up on someone unworthy, huh?”

“For fuck’s—!” You raise and drop your hands, “—I’ve never really given it much thought!”

“Well maybe you should!”

“Maybe you should stop riding my ass!”

“I just don’t think you should help them anymore, that’s all I’m saying!”

“Well I guess I’ll take that opinion into consideration.”

He grits your name out through his teeth, “I don’t wanna keep going around in circles with you like this!”

“Then stop talking!”

The both of you go dead silent. You could swear the Bunker is so quiet now that even this deep into the place you’d be able to clearly hear something fall off a shelf in the library. Somewhat to your surprise, Sam actually doesn’t keep talking. You two stand at a stalemate for a long moment.

His breathing gets more intense the longer you just study him in silence. His chest rises and falls dramatically again and you finally break. Without a word you lean up, grab his cheek and yank him down for a kiss. A noise of surprise and almost dissent escapes his throat but his hands immediately drag you closer— it’s all just muscle memory at this point, reflexes triggered by your proximity that he cannot control.

“Don’t think you can— mm! —make me forget—!” He mumbles in protest against your lips.

“—Fuckin’ watch me, Lawboy.” You grumble back, shoving him into the tiled wall.

All of your plush warmth comes flush with him. Between you both and through his jeans you feel his cock already reacting to your proximity. Fuck you’ve missed this. It’s only been five days while you were assisting the guys since you’ve gotten your fix of Sam’s body and carnal affection but it’s long enough that you’re craving his closeness badly. Your hands fumble with the buttons on his flannel.

He grabs your waist with both deliciously large hands, pulling back enough to speak but not enough to push you away. “You don’t just get to shut me up with your—”

You cut him off again with a searing kiss, hand fisting into the hair on the nape of his neck. He groans against you, both hands moving to palm your butt.

“So— mm— goddamn impatient!” He fumbles with the doorknob closest to him before he crowds you into the room.

It’s one of the spare rooms that Dean’s been slowly converting into an armory. You’re clinging onto Sam like a barnacle, nipping and kissing at his throat while your fingers tangle into his hair. Trying to handle all of you makes turning the lights on a bit of a challenge but he manages to smack them on eventually. You press all of your body up against his front again, knowing from both empirical data and the current state of him that he can’t resist your body— you’re too enticing to him, just the way he is to you. His jaw clenches in frustration at his inability to overcome desire and remain mad. His foot kicks the door closed behind him with a bit more force than he might’ve used otherwise, the sound sharp and loud enough to make you flinch a little. You don’t pull away an inch, though, pushing up to kiss him more.

Both of his hands grab the sides of your head, fiercely returning the kiss as he guides you backwards. Your eyes are closed while you stand on your tiptoes and loop your arms around his neck. A low sound, almost like a growl, rumbles up out of him and into your mouth as his strong hands hoist you up by your thighs. You squeal against his lips, knowing that he’s not got a very solid hold on you. Luckily, he’s only going to the table a few feet behind you.

He deposits you onto the metal surface with a dull thunk and shoves things out of the way around you. They clang to the floor raucously and you giggle a little against his lips— he’s never this loud when it comes to sex with you. He only ever wants you and him alone in a bubble of intimacy that no one can disturb. So him being this careless about drawing attention is exciting. His need is intoxicating.

Your hands immediately go back to the buttons of his shirt. Were you kissing a different man, you might’ve just ripped the thing open but you know that isn’t so appealing to Sam. He pulls back from your lips to catch his breath. As you fumble with the bottom ones, he grins a little at your impatient fingers, his palms running up and down your thighs.

“I thought you’d have just yanked the thing open by now.” He pants.

You lean up to kiss him as you get the final two. Pulling away just slightly you smirk up at him through your lashes. “I know you like this shirt. I’m not tryin’ta break the things you care about just because I’m impatient.”

With an emphatic flurry you shove the two ends of the now open shirt aside. One of his big hands lifts off your thigh to cup your cheek tenderly. You look up into his face as he bows closer, an expression of all-consuming adoration on his beautiful face.

“I love you.” He murmurs, forehead bumping into yours so gently.

You bite down on a wicked grin. “I thought you said I couldn’t make you forget about the argument—”

He cuts you off with a deep kiss, the force of it sending you backwards a little. Both of your hands fly back to brace yourself against the table.

“You can’t.” He affirms in a brief break between your mouths. “I still don— want you to see ‘em.”

“See them?” You gape, “What, I can’t have friends that you disapprove of?”

He kisses down your throat, tugging the collar of your shirt aside to keep going along your shoulder. “They’re not your friends.”

“Yes—”

One of his arms slipped around your waist at some point and now he tugs you sharply forwards to press the ridge of his cock into the heat of your core.

“Friends don’t act like that.” He mutters, yanking your shirt over your head, “Friends don’t dislike someone who makes you happy.”

You snort as he unhooks your bra, “Oh, so that’s why you’re really mad? Because they don’t approve of you?”

He grunts in annoyance as he tears the bra off your chest, you doing the work to shrug out of the straps. “I don’t give a shit what they think of me.”

“Is that really true, Spaceman?” You continue taunting him, watching it rile him up further and further.

“Yes!” He reaches behind him to tug his hands free from the flannel sleeves. “They’re two-bit douchebags who treat you like a piece’a meat.”

You help him pull his t-shirt off over his head, biting your lip. “You’re sure you’re not mad at them for how they look at you?”

He gives you a flat, displeased look. “How do they look at me?”

You hook both index fingers into the waistband of his jeans and yank him close. His hands thump heavily down onto the table on either side of you. Your chin tips up so you can run your nose along the line of his jaw. All the sudden your touches are soft and fleeting, teasing him with all the love you have for him.

“Like they wanna obliterate you.” You nip at his earlobe, one hand raking into his hair.

“That’s supposed to be a good thing?”

Your grip tightens to a fist in his locks. “They’re jealous of you, honey. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Shut up.” He scoffs half-heartedly, heat rushing to his cheeks.

“Who wouldn’t be, hm?” You pull back to look at him, your head cocking to the side, “The second you walk into a room their chances of anyone noticing them are diminished to zero.”

He rolls his eyes a bit, “I don’t care.”

“Oh, you don’t, huh?”

“No, I don’t.” He replies firmly, “Because it’s not about me, it’s about you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s about you being kept safe.” He swoops down, massaging both breasts and kissing along your jaw, “You should have nothing less than the best watching your back, always.”

You whine listlessly as he ducks down to suck a nipple into his mouth. Your hands cradle his head just for something to hold onto. When he pulls off of that one he kisses across your chest to your other peak, still talking.

“You shouldn’t lose value to them because you’re not available anymore,” He growls, sinking his teeth into the meat of your breast for a fleeting moment, “I’ll kill them if they try that shit again.”

“Sam!” You gasp sharply at that, shoving him back to make him meet your gaze.

He sees your horror at that statement plain as day on your face. He digs his heels in.

“I will. I’ll do it.” He pulls you up to his lips briefly, then murmurs against them, “I don’t care what it says about me— I don’t care what it does.”

You shake your head slowly at him, “Weren’t you just saying you think they’re gonna get themselves killed anyhow?”

“Yeah. And potentially it’ll be by me. If they pull some shit like that again—”

Your nails bite into the swells of his shoulders, “—Sam! You can’t just kill people you don’t like!”

“If those two fuckers got you killed then I’d be dead too!” He raises his voice all the sudden.

When that comes out he swallows thickly, gaze dropping as shame finally slips into his expression. His hands slow on you, moving to rub cautiously up and down your thighs again, a layer of denim separating him from the skin he adores. He can’t look you in the eye then, just stares at the ground.

“It wouldn’t matter any more.” He mumbles, “What reason is there to keep my conscience if I’m already dead inside?”

Your brows knit together, and you reach up to cup his cheek. “Sam.”

Hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to yours, looking like a scolded puppy.

“Your conscience is what makes you special.” You trace some hair behind his ear, “It’s what keeps you human in a job like this. Don’t let someone take that from you— including you.”

He tilts his head into your palm. His eyes follow his hands as they glide carefully up to your waist then to your ribs. They pause there, his thumbs brushing across your flesh tenderly.

“I’m sorry I scared you just now.” He murmurs, “I didn’t… mean to get so intense.”

You smirk adoringly, a sympathetically sad look in your eyes for the man you love with all your heart. So much pain is held in that beautiful sinewy body of his. On the outside he seems like a well-oiled machine but you know the truth; Sam Winchester is a tight knot of sadness and pain, always striving to breathe goodness into the world.

“Well, that’s kinda what makes you special, too.” You say, “Well, there’s a lot of things that make you special, but that’s definitely a big one.”

His eyes flicker up to yours, a hopeful glint in them.

“The same way you said I shouldn’t only be worth something to the two of them if I’m on the market or whatever,” You take a deep breath, “you can’t tie all of your worth to me, honey.”

He nods, face tilting down again. “I know.”

You wrap your legs around his and guide him closer again. “I love you, Samuel.”

He rolls his eyes but can’t subdue all of his smile. “It’s Sam.”

“Well, Sam,” You emphasize the correct name, “promise me something?”

He nods gently, eyes lost in yours.

“Even if I do go before you—”

He makes a small noise in protest at the back of his throat, barely audible with his brows pinching together. You shush him sweetly and press one fingertip to his chest.

“Even if I go before you, promise me you won’t let that be an excuse to give up.”

He blinks a few times, honestly stunned by that.

“You’re stronger than loss, Spaceman.” You reinforce, “I know you are. I’ve seen it.”

“It’s different with you.”

“I know.” You nod, both hands smoothing down his front, his chest hair tickling your palms, “I’m not saying it would be easy. But… even if I never hunt with those two again, there’s still… the possibility of either of us dying.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. His eyes are so miserable, you wish you could make it better, but this is the reality. You need him to say it. You need to hear it.

“Promise me?” Your voice drops to a tentative whisper, “Promise me that you won’t kill Sam Winchester on the off chance I get killed first?”

His eyes flit back and forth between yours, a deep sadness in them. He doesn’t protest though, because he knows that you’re right— both of you are at risk a lot of the time. And Sam’s made promises before that have been more painful than this. He’s sworn oaths to untrustworthy people, he’s made bargains with unsavory characters, and he’s been able to keep the ones that mattered, whether they were easy or not. Nothing matters more than this, though— what you two have.

He nods, his stubble brushing the palm you’re still using to hold his cheek. “Okay. I can promise you that.”

You beam up at him, eyes just a little glassy with relief. “I love you so damn much, Sam, it’s ridiculous.”

He chuckles, “Me too. I love you so much.”

You crane up to kiss his lips. He returns the contact, one of his hands cupping the side of your face.

“Even when you’re as stubborn as a mule.” He grins against your lips.

A noise of indignation puffs out of you, your head pulling back to look him more directly in the eye. The playful spark is back between you two, his face all fondness and mischief.

“I’ll show you stubborn—”

He smushes his lips to yours and wraps both his arms around you. Kissing you until your breathless, he lays you back on the table, bracing one of his hands over your head to keep himself somewhat upright. When you settle, your breasts heave with a deep breath, the both of them sitting so pretty on your chest. He hums a groan, cupping them again and beginning a gentle massage.

“I can’t blame ‘em, honestly.” He murmurs, ghosting a kiss between your collarbones, “If I were them? I’d be kicking myself for missing my chance with you, too.”

You laugh, fingers carding through his hair as he kisses lower down your front. “You’re too sweet on me, Sam.”

That makes him smirk, his head lifting back up. His lips peck your throat and then sweetly on your chin. You can’t help a warm giggle at him, watching his features melt in adoration at the sound.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, falling to his elbow so that hand can trace patterns into your scalp, “I’m so damn lucky I found you.”

You bite down on a big smile, cheeks flushing under his gaze. With his eyes boring deep into yours, his hand glides down the swell of your stomach to the button of your jeans. You squirm a little in anticipation, eyes going from gooey adoration to hesitantly needy. You want him to touch you but you don’t want to have to ask too much— not this time.

He kisses under your jaw again, his warm hand slipping under your clothes right to your bare skin. You shiver from both sensations, a little whine escaping your parted lips. Both of your hands tangle up into his hair again. His fingers part your folds and find them just as wet as he hoped they would be.

“Mm…” He hums, nipping lightly a few times at the column of your throat, “…you’re soaked f’me, sweetheart.”

You release a full-throated whine, unable to stem it.

He groans as he begins slowly circling your clit with two fingers. “The noises you make… s’damn pretty…”

Your throat hiccups with another high-pitched sound that makes him shiver with want. His fingers speed up just a touch, the other hand running up and down the length of your torso, pausing intermittently to kneed your breasts.

“Honey,” You breathe, back arching, “need you.”

“You’ve got me.”

You emit a petulant noise of impatience, “I need you, Sam. Inside baby, need you to fuck me.”

He can’t help a growl as he peppers kisses all over your chest. Inside your jeans he switches his hand’s position to start teasing your entrance too. You writhe under him, back arching in a sensuous roll that presses all of you to him. He pushes back with all his weight, pressing you flat down again.

“Not yet.” He growls, “I’m not ready yet.”

You shudder, feeling one of his fingers breach your hole, then joined by a second one to sink all the way inside. A choked noise of almost disbelief at the pleasure comes out of you instantly. His skilled fingers work quick, pulling you up in a spiral of building pleasure.

“C’mon baby,” He whispers into your skin between kisses laid on your chest, “c’mon sweetheart, come for me. I know you can… you’re so good f’r me, right baby?”

You nod listlessly with a loud keen, eyes squeezed shut. The coil inside of you snaps and waves of bliss wash over your body. It’s so intense that you lurch a few times with the aftershocks, almost feeling a little dizzy off him. Your body deflates with a long exhale of ecstasy, eyes fluttering shut agains the force of it.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty, baby, you’ve got no idea.” He groans, pulling back for a moment, “S’perfect. All for me, huh?”

You nod again, eyes still closed as the world’s spinning slows down. You hear the rasp of a zipper and then the soft sound of his jeans dropping to the floor. Then his careful hands are tugging yours down with your panties, tender and reverent.

“Sam…” You mumble, a hand reaching out for him while your eyes stay shut.

“I’m comin’ baby,” His heat returns to you, making your eyes open. One of his big hands cups your cheek while he gazes down at you with so much adoration it almost makes you shiver. “Hi, sweetheart,” He brushes his knuckles across your cheek, “You ready for me?”

You nod again, movements sluggish and loopy. He beams down at you, one hand braced by your head again and the other disappearing out of your sight. The blunt crown of his cock drags up your folds, slow enough as to almost be torturous. You whine impatiently for the umpteenth time and he shushes you softly. The tip of him catches on your opening and then he presses forwards.

Your jaw drops with a deep gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he slides home. Your hands scramble up his arms, nails scratching at his skin desperately. He lets out a long, content groan, like he’s laying down in his bed after a long, hard day. The hand near your head tangles fingers into your hair and he bows down to kiss your lips. He’s so soft against your mouth even while he’s hard as steel and hilted inside of you. It’s a contradiction that almost feels unfair due to it’s power over your heart.

“So perfect,” He mumbles, grinding into you with rolls of his hips, not yet thrusting, “s’ warm… so wet… nowhere else I’d rather be…”

You can’t help a breathless giggle at that, despite knowing he’s being completely honest. He doesn’t get butthurt though, he presses a kiss to your lips with a smile. Limply, you throw your arms around his neck, kissing him back and meeting his next roll into you with a grind of your own. He grunts into your kiss as your walls pulse around him.

“More,” You pant between kisses, “more, Sam, please…”

He groans like your words make him weak. As if he can’t resist your command due to it being wrapped up in your sweetness. He pulls out a little then pushes back in. The friction is perfect— a delicious drag that sends sparks outwards into your muscles. Your hands fumble down to his hips, pulling him back in again on the next thrust, encouraging him to move faster.

“Mm…!” You release a long moan and it spurs him on further.

His rhythm picks up. Your nails dig into the meat of his ass, feeling all the muscles working under his skin with every movement. He drops lower onto his forearm beside your head, bathing that side of your face in messy kisses. You reach up to grip his hair with one hand, the other adjusting your hold on his butt. He keeps mumbling and muttering to you between kisses, like he’s delirious. He very well might be.

The pace picks up steadily over some amount of time you don’t bother even trying to count. His panting breaths tickle the sensitive skin of your throat and ear. You feel yourself beginning to get swept away by the pleasure. Your fingers fist in his hair, your other hand slipping weakly off his ass towards the place where you’re connected, searching for your nub of nerves. He grunts and bats your hand aside, using his unoccupied one instead.

You keen loudly as his fingers restart steady circles on your clit. Your arm draws his head closer to you, your face turning to blindly search for his lips since your eyes won’t stay open. He groans your name with the most pleasure anyone’s ever said it.

The thrusts reach a crescendo. You’re getting lost in the bliss, spiraling up and up to your peak with dizzying speed. Vaguely, you catch on to his voice, still rumbling low just for your ears.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he mutters under his breath like an incantation— like a seal of protection he could place over you. “My girl— my beautiful fuckin’ girl. So perfect, just for me.”

You manage a little nod before your body shatters into your orgasm. As you come, your voice calls shrilly, “Always…!”

The noise he makes at that is akin to the sound of when he gets punched really hard, except this time it’s all pleasure in his rich moan. Your walls pulse around him, milking his cock for everything he’s worth. His fingers press and pinch at your clit as you both ride out your highs. Your body twitches and lurches and writhes under his. He’s not much better, shuddering and choking on whiny noises as he pushes himself a little further into overstimulation. Your fist tightens in his hair until your knuckles pale. Very gradually, both of your movements slow to a halt. Then all that’s left is proximity and panted breaths against sweaty flesh.

“I love you.” He slurs at a mumble, kissing the first bit of you he can reach which ends up being your cheek.

You beam, cheeks burning from exertion and adoration, your arms looping around his neck to hold him close. “I love you, too.”

He hugs you back as best he can, staying inside of you for a few minutes as he softens. Eventually his back starts getting stiff and he reluctantly pulls away from your embrace. Your hands slide down his arms as he goes, not wanting to cease touching him yet. He catches one to kiss the seam of your palm, sweet and fleeting. With his hands gentle on your hips he pulls his cock out of you. He can’t help bending a little to watch the pearly white cum bead at your entrance. His fingers massage the insides of your thighs as a low, content rumble escapes him at the sight.

“Yours.” You whisper without thinking.

His gaze flickers up to meet yours.

“Only yours.” You reaffirm.

The words seem to overwhelm him. His next inhale makes him shudder a bit. Before you can say anything else, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Halfway there you tease him about someone coming home to see you both butt-naked in the hallway. He smudges a kiss to your chin and tells you he couldn’t care any less about a single other person in the whole world right now.

A few weeks pass before Chase texts you again. He and Lewis are “in the area” on a hunt and “could use the extra hands”. Sam’s sitting in bed beside you reading, completely absorbed in his book. Biting down on a self-satisfied smirk you text back a simple reply: