3 – Every man likes a home cooked meal.

Lily wasn’t much of a cook, but she still felt optimistic as she walked up from the kitchens with a fresh batch of homemade chocolate fudge. Everyone liked chocolate fudge.

“Oi, Evans!”

She turned and smiled as James approached her. Perfect. “Hi. I made some fudge.”

“Oh!” James’ eyes widened before his face broke into a wide smile. “You’re the best.” Lily frowned at his comment. Not exactly the romantic declaration she’d been thinking of but- “How did you know nothing cheers Remus up more after a full moon than fudge?”

“Oh. Well, everyone likes fudge.”

4 – Admiration is key.

Lily wasn’t sure if she should feel offended or not as James kept misunderstanding her attempts of seducing him, but she felt the forth advice on the list held some merit. James had always enjoyed admiration and there was no reason why he couldn’t appreciate it from her. With that in mind she leaned towards him, peering down at his Transfiguration essay. “Another O.” She said, smiling. “I’ve always been envious of how brilliant you are at Transfiguration.”

A loud silence followed her words as James looked at her, stunned.

“Are you sick, Evans?” Sirius interjected, pocking his head out from behind James’ shoulders.

“I feel perfectly fine, thank you.”

“You look flushed.”

“Ugh. You are such an obnoxious prat!” She said and turned back to her own essay. Bloody Sirius Black.

“Now I recognize you.”

5 – Touch can convey your interest like nothing else.

Potion was the one class where they shared a desk, no obnoxious mates of his to interrupt them.

“You should stir more gently.” She said, reaching out to hold and guide his hand.

“Oh, you can-” James reached awkwardly for her other hand and wrapped it around the wooded stick, taking his hand away as soon as she got hold of it.

Lily frowned, but didn’t say anything. As the class drew to an end with James carefully keeping his distance from her Lily was starting to feel more and more confused so, when Slughorn praised their work, she moved to grab his hand, thinking if he didn’t respond she could play it off as a friendly gesture, but as soon as her fingers grazed his wrist he jumped away from her, promptly pouring their potion all over the floor. “Fuck.”

“MR POTTER!”

+1 – Be yourself?

“Lily, I’m really worried about you.”

She turned to see James stare at her. There was genuine concern in his eyes and she sighed, he had to be that nice. No consideration for her silly crush at all.

“Why?”

“You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“I feel fine, James.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He looked so earnest Lily couldn’t help but laugh. “Here.” She dropped the article in his lap and watched as his eyes widened behind his glasses.

“This- you-”

“The jam? Yes. Asking you to hold me during patrol? Yes, again. And guess what? Admiring your Transfiguration skills? Done that too! Touching? You can blame our first D in Potion on that.”

James spluttered. “But you don’t fancy me!”

“Why would you say that?”

“Bullying toerag? Would rather date the Giant Squid?”

“James, that was almost two years ago.”

“Oh.” He said, a smirk slowly taking over his face. “And what does the article suggest if all moves fail?”

Creativity was dead to the world, curled in a ball on the stained stone floor of his bedroom, his heavy chains both imprisonment and comfort as they lay draped over his chest and back like a lover’s embrace. He’d howled all night with night terrors, rattling the picture frames lining the hallway until Self Preservation’s teeth ached and his empathetic tears ran dry. He’d finally settled into a mumbling, twitchy sleep just over an hour ago, and Self Preservation was grateful the youngest of them might get bit of rest now before Kids Bop Creativity roused him for a new day.

He knocked twice on the heavy wooden door, reinforced and guarded at the seams with iron plates so nothing could seep out. There was no response, so Self Preservation slipped through, closing the door behind him with a relieved sigh. 

With any luck, even Logic was still asleep at this early hour, and certainly Heart was. Whatever bit of His essence that leaked out into the Mindscape would diffuse into a surface irritability, easily excused as the morning grumpiness of a night owl, and just as easily soothed by a few kind words and maybe a cookie from Heart.

The room was dark and hot, warmed by a young lifetime of repressed rage. Indignation had hardened the floor and the walls into galvanized steel, slippery, the only friction granted by thick, spiky bolts driven into the floor at irregular intervals. It was littered with ripped papers, the shredded remains of his clothing. The walls were cracked cinder block, insulating Him from Creativity on one side and Anxiety on the other.

The room was otherwise empty of furniture or decoration. Orange light flashed from one corner and Self Preservation moved closer, hands down at his sides and breathing evenly, fighting the defensive anger swirling through his veins at the sight of his dear friend.

He was awake.

“Deceit,” He growled from his seat on the floor.

“You don’t need to call me that. My name is—“

“I don’t fucking care what your name is!”

His shout cut Self Preservation’s skin to ribbons for a microsecond before the Mindscape healed him. When it was over and He seethed from his corner, the wet rattle of his breaths the loudest sound in the room, he dusted off his sleeves and straightened his capelet. “Feeling better?”

“Fuck you,” He growled.

Self Preservation took that as a ‘yes.’ “Your clothes… “ He picked up a scrap of orange flannel. “Your clothes have seen better days.” He tilted his head, then snapped his fingers, dressing Him in a fresh outfit, a thick orange and blue plaid flannel over a ripped The Clash tee shirt, black Carhartt’s, and steel-toe construction boots.

He kicked the wall, and dust and crumbled cement rained down onto the floor. “Nice,” He muttered.

“Leave it to me to find a way to protect you even as you insist on throwing your body at the walls,” he purred, fingering the rusty red stain on a shredded sock. “Are you hungry?” he asked, snapping his fingers again. A bright yellow plate appeared, laden with grilled cheese sandwiches cut in triangles and two steaming mugs of tomato soup. He nudged the plate closer and watched the faint orange glow of His eyes consider the offering.

“Whatever,” He shrugged, gaze lingering on the soup. “We don’t actually have to eat, you know. We just want to.”

“And who am I to say what you want doesn’t matter?” Self Preservation asked, picking up a mug and dipping a cheesy, toasty wedge into the soup. 

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to feed your anger?” He quipped, devouring half a wedge with one bite.

Self Preservation smirked up at Him over his mug. “Do they really?”

~~~

Self Preservation set down his lantern and hefted the iron key ring, the heavy loop large enough to slide half-way up to his elbow. Lock after lock, he turned the key, jiggling the last one just right to fit through the rusted keyhole. He’d stopped bothering to treat it with metal lubricant, it never worked anyway. He pulled with both hands and the door to His room creaked open with a grating screech. Creativity’s nattering in the room next door grew louder. His room was next, but that wasn’t where the urgency lay.

There was no need to rush. Self Preservation had only two Sides to care for now.

Lantern in hand, he secured the keys to his belt and started down the dripping stone stairs. They spiraled in a wide curve and every step echoed against the ancient-looking stone walls. There were sconces installed every few feet, but they remained dark when Self Preservation tried to light them off his lantern. He even tried to conjure a light in its place, but each time, the torches fizzled, lasting only seconds.

The darkness swallowed up the light he carried and he looked back, the heavy door still propped open. It seemed to swallow up all the energy in the staircase, even His Rage and Self Preservation’s conjuring abilities.

The small lantern would have to suffice.

If he needed to, he could open the door again, but he’d be little use to Creativity until he’d rested for the night after that effort. He’d learned that the hard way the first time the door slammed had shut behind him. Despite his fatigue after summoning the power to force open the door that kept Him locked up, he’d gone straight to Creativity’s room. Once inside, he’d gotten caught up in his own intrusive thoughts, unable to determine fears from reality. He still wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been trapped there before Creativity realized what had happened. It might have been days. 

Judging by the state of Thomas’ apartment when he'd next checked on him, and the dozens of empty Monster drink cans littered around his computer, it might have been weeks.

After several minutes of walking, Self Preservation heard His voice. “Come to rub it in, too?”

“Of course not,” Self Preservation murmured, keeping the irritation from his voice as he touched the keys hanging off his belt. There was only one other Side in the Mindscape who could unlock that door.

Despite the suppression, His eyes shone brighter, the sickly, somehow cold orange glow casting sharp shadows over the crumbled cinder blocks at their feet. For whatever reason, when Virgil was accepted and the Mindscape shifted and twisted, boring this tunnel thirty feet underground, the broken remains of His old walls remained. Each day, He pummeled them to dust with whatever tool he’d conjured that day. Sometimes a chainsaw. Yesterday had been a sledgehammer.

And each night, the Mindscape healed them back to the broken bits they’d started as, permitting neither a complete renewal nor an obliteration of his old walls. It only made Him angrier.

“What did Patton say when he was here?” Self Preservation said with some difficulty. Patton was his friend, his oldest friend. For the longest time, it seemed, it had just been them. But then Rage happened and…

No amount of friendship could span the divide between them on this topic. He’d spent years attempting to convince the Heart that the darkened corners of Thomas’ psyche were meant to stay dark only long enough for him to mature and fully internalize his morality. Until he could learn to accept and love all of himself, even the parts that weren’t bubbly and cuddly, even the dark parts of the so-called ‘Core’ Sides they so desperately hid from him and from each other.

Accepting Virgil, really and truly accepting him, making him feel safe enough to reveal his name, giving him their trust and love, that was all meant to be the first step.

It appeared, though, that instead of reaching back with a hand to help the Others up into the Light, he’d shared enough information, directly to the other three and indirectly through Thomas’ self doubt, to make him slam the door and push his Rage and Creativity further away. 

“What did he say?” he asked again, snapping and spreading out a thick orange wool blanket. He snapped again, and a plate of grilled cheese and tomato soup appeared before Him.

He ate an entire piece before answering, finishing in three bites. Self Preservation snapped again and a tall, sweaty glass of iced sweet tea appeared before each of them and He grunted His thanks.

Self Preservation took small bites of his sandwich, holding it with a napkin to prevent marring his new gloves. He waited quietly while He guzzled the sweet tea, then wiped His mouth with the back of His hand. With another snap, the glass was refilled and He slowly sipped His second serving, tapping at the drops of condensation on the outside of the glass.

“The Heart tried some bullshit about Anxiety just being scared and needing his ‘famILY’ close,” He gagged.  “ hat’s why Thomas accepted him before me and Creativity.” 

There was a flash of a muted orange in His eyes and He rubbed bloodied knuckles from where He’d punched the cracks in the stone floor. It occurred to Self Preservation that He had probably expected a very different reason for Patton’s first visit in over five years.

“You thought he’d come to invite you to meet Thomas,” his voice was low, with a trace of empathetic pain.

“No,” He insisted, eyes darting away from him. “Fuck the Heart, fuck the Light Sides!” He stood up and started slamming his fists against the wall. “Fuck! All! That! Noise!” With a roar, He pulled and one of the stones came loose. He threw it across the room—Self Preservation did not miss how He’d thrown it away from him.

“Gimme your lantern!” He snapped. Something shone through the hole He’d just created, a flickering glow that seemed to match His eyes. “Maybe it’s glass! How’s that for some symbolism, huh?” He waved his hand as though he could push away the dust hanging in the hot, stagnant air. 

Finally, the air grew clear enough that the lantern did more than illuminate a thick cloud. He reached through and tapped. 

It was steel. Polished, shiny steel.

He Raged. He threw chunks of cinder block at the walls and Self Preservation ducked, covering his face and letting the shrapnel his against his head and back. Red splatters bloomed at the edges of his gloves and at his collar. His hair grew dark patches when his bowler hat was knocked off by a larger piece, leaving his head vulnerable.

But Self Preservation stayed. He lost track of how long this episode lasted, but finally, it was over. He sat, panting in the corner, His own hands bloody and smeared with a dark, muddy paste.

Self Preservation approached slowly. “Lu—“

“Just fucking go,” He interrupted, voice flat. Defeated. Even His eyes were faded. “Go away.”

He stopped in his tracks and gave Him a hard look. He wouldn’t look back. After a while, Self Preservation snapped away the mess, but left behind a soft orange blanket and a pillow. He patted them gently when he set them in easy reach. “In case it gets cold down here.”

“You know it won’t,” He muttered, angry, frustrated, useless Rage pouring off of Him.

“I know,” he whispered, then turned to leave.

~~~

“You let him out and not me?” Hands in fists at His sides, He stood and stared up at him from the bottom step, as far as the Mindscape would let Him go now. He once was able to get all the way to the top step and bang and howl against the door. Now, an invisible wire held Him back, keeping Him within the strict bounds of His room.

Self Preservation stepped inside, tugging off his gloves before snapping, a thick orange blanket appearing in the cleanest part of the room. “Extraordinary problems require extraordinary solutions,” he said, curt, as he sat on it.

“I’m not fucking stupid enough to believe Remus suffered more than me down here! He wasn’t even locked up anymore after Logic and the Prince rescued his sorry ass.” He sat down in a huff, arms crossed over his chest before he picked up a piece of grilled cheese. “Something you were too chickenshit to do.”

“‘Logic and the Prince’ were at risk of being sent down here themselves,” he said quietly before sipping his soup. He stared back, eyes narrowed in skepticism until He noticed the bare skin and scales on Self Preservation’s hands.

“You’re not bullshitting me,” he finally said, wiping crumbs from his mouth and taking a long draw of his sweet tea. “What the fuck is going on up there?”

“Thomas doesn’t have You,” he growled, then sat further back from his friend. Self Preservation’s gloves allowed him greater freedom to sit closer to Him. Without them—and the ability to deny even his own anger at His imprisonment—He too easily fed his rage. “There was… an incident. Thomas had a decision to make and…” He shook his head. Roman was meant to use him as the foil, the bad guy, to use him as an excuse to decide the case in favor of satisfying Thomas’ true desire to go to the callback.

He didn’t do it. Perhaps he was already feeling the strain of his tenuous position. It was an open secret in the Mindscape that Logan and Roman had worked together to free Remus from his shackles. Each gathering of the 'Core' Sides left the air thick and heavy, waiting waiting waiting waiting for the other shoe to drop. Self Preservation couldn't blame Roman for making what felt like the safest decision.

Even if it had been the wrong one.

No-one took the bait to pull Logan into the debate, either. Despite all of Self Preservation’s taunts, despite literally impersonating him, they allowed him to sideline fucking Logic from a major decision about scheduling. Self Preservation looked up when He nodded. Clearly He’d heard plenty of Logan’s thoughts on the matter. Likely Roman’s, as well. Self hatred was still a form of anger, just twisted against the person it was meant to defend.

“By revealing Remus, we were able to demonstrate the necessity of both Logic's and ‘Safe’ Creativity’s roles,” he said, fidgeting with a loose scale.

“Was it worth it?”

Self Preservation looked up. Now that his vision had adjusted to the light, the tear streaks trailing down His cheeks were obvious. He snapped his fingers, conjuring another iced tea, the one bit of physical comfort he could provide his friend and not put the entire Mindscape in jeopardy.

“I hope so.”

~~~

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His shout was loud enough to rouse Janus from his stupor. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon and the entire night with Thomas. After checking in on Him, Janus had crawled into bed and let exhaustion take him. He blinked blearily at the clock. It was lunchtime. The others would all be in the Core Mindscape. Even Remus would be there now, guzzling pickle brine and pretending to eat deodorant sticks.

“You are aware it’s the perfume in soap you’re allergic to, don’t you?” Janus had asked him one morning when he’d come down to visit, a triumphant grin splitting his face. "The same perfume in actual deodorant?"

“Yeah, I know that, Jannie,” he cackled, sprawled on Janus' bed with his head hanging off the edge.

Janus set down his tea and stared at the Creative Side. “And aren’t you afraid they’ll notice you aren’t breaking out in hives from eating that?”

“Lo Lo’s already noticed and he doesn’t give a fuck, so…” he laughed and bit off another huge chunk of marshmallow fondant, swallowing loudly just as Janus took another sip of his bergamot tea.

Remus hadn't been down to see him in weeks.

With a groan, he shoved away the covers and pulled on his gloves and capelet, donning his hat just as the door closed behind him. Across the hall, His dingy orange door hung open and Janus felt quickly at his belt for the keys. They were gone.

“That’s not what I asked you!” His shout echoed up the stone stairs. He sounded even further away than He usually did. The wedding had been terrible for everyone, but most especially Him. Janus had returned to find him bound and gagged. He’d managed to loosen his ropes a bit, but his fingers burned when he tried to remove them completely. Dammit, Thomas!

Janus raced down the stairs, making no effort to quiet his approach. There was another voice, quieter, broken with tears. Janus had expected to find Patton, sobbingly explaining why He had to be locked away. Instead, orange light glinted off a tall, slouched form dressed in a bright white tunic. In the dim light, the sash cut diagonally across his back looked like dried blood.

Roman.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. Janus straightened, surprised at the acid in his own voice. Yes. Yes, he was still hurt by Roman’s comment. The shame in the Prince’s eyes told him his wound still stung, to. Fuck, he'd been lucky Remus had thought it was funny.

“I’m here,” Roman huffed, pulling himself up straight and hiding his eyes as though that would be enough for Janus to miss his tears. “To demand that L—”

Janus only had to raise his hand, fist loosely closed to halt the Prince’s words.

“I’m here to tell Him to leave me alone,” he finished, stamping his foot. “That!” He pointed to his polished boots. “That’s why!” Roman turned to Him, pointing with a shaking hand. “I did not give you permission to influence me this way! We have no connection and I want no part of your games!” He lowered his hand and folding his arms across his chest, shoulders squared, then took several slow breaths before continuing in a moderately calmer voice.

“I am Thomas’ hero and heroes don’t behave like schoolyard bullies.” He glared at Him. “Stay out of my head.”

“I would not be able to influence you without your permission, Princey, you know this…” His voice was low and smooth. Seductive.

“Stop it,” Janus snapped, drawing both of their attention. “Roman,” he offered an ungloved hand and waited for him to take it. The last of Roman’s walls crumbled on contact and Janus pulled him close and held him like a child as he cried. Rocking him gently, Janus turned them so Roman wouldn’t see Him glaring as he soothed the crying Prince.

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbled against Janus’ shoulder. “I shouldn’t’ve lashed out at you.” He sniffled and Janus conjured a soft yellow handkerchief and offered it with a soothing little coo. “You were trying to help Thomas and I—”

“You were trying to help Thomas, as well. Just like the rest of us.” Janus finished quietly, meeting His eyes, implicitly including him in ‘us.’ “That’s what we’re all doing.”

~~~

Janus had been crouched in front of Him for nearly twenty minutes before His bright orange eyes finally focused on him. “I see you’ve found your window of opportunity,” he said, holding out a glass of iced tea with a long straw for Him to sip.

“And what else have I got, exactly?” He smiled ghoulishly with the straw between His teeth. “Roman’s got a new man in Thomas' life to romance. Remus, too, if we’re all gonna be fucking adults about it. Virgil’s got something else to worry about, and Patton’s just trying to hold it all together.” He finished the glass and Janus snapped, refilling it. He drank like it had been a week since his last sip.

“You’ve got me.”

He spat out the straw and leaned as far forward as His ropes would allow, eyes boring into Janus’. “Don’t fuck with me and say things you don’t mean in here.”

Janus waggled his bare fingers. “Does it look like I can lie?”

Tears sizzled at the corners of His eyes. “When?” He asked, almost a whisper. It was the quietest Janus had ever heard Him.

“Right now,” he nodded. “Hang on,” he murmured and retrieved a small golden switchblade from his pocket. A two-headed snake glinted at one end as he sliced through His ropes, then offered his hands.

“Are you sure?” He hesitated before touching Janus’ bare skin. “I’ve never…”

“I’m sure,” Janus nodded, grunting with the force of His unfiltered power when their hands touched. Rage sizzled through his veins. “Fuck! ”

“I can—” He started to loosen His grip but Janus held firm.

“No. No, I need to feel this for what we’re going to do next.” Janus closed his eyes. Thomas had returned home, and had just set down his phone. Good. “Thomas!” He called, pulling him down into a dream state and into the lower Mindscape. “Thomas you’re needed here.”

Upstairs in his living room, Thomas slumped over, head pillowed on the armrest, snoring. He awoke in His room, curled on the dirty stone floor. “What? Where am I?” He leapt to his feet and finally noticed the two Sides with him. “Janus, where—” He stumbled back, saved only by Janus’ arm snaking out to catch him. “Who’s this?” he whispered, staring at Him. Bright orange eyes stared back.

"Don't you dare give me that 'it's too dangerous' crap," He growled. "Our whole lives are dangerous. So, why not enjoy yourself with someone who--inexplicably--wants to enjoy yourself with you?"

"Just shut up and leave it alone, Dean. If anything happen--" 

"No, YOU shut up and listen!  They're making a choice to be here with you and they know the risks all too well. Their death would not be on your hands anymore than mine would ever be." 

He closed his eyes tightly and swallowed an agonized groan at the memory.

You didn't notice him at first, standing with your back toward the door while you hunt through a sea of fabric in the basket in front of you for the match to the sock you're holding. After a few moments of futile searching you wonder if maybe the match wasn't one of the loners in your top draw, so you turned to check.

"Christ!" You yelped at the sight of a dark figure in your doorway. A relieved breath escaped you as you relaxed, realizing it was just him. 

You’d been trying to keep your distance from Sam. The ex-boyfriend who broke your heart into a million pieces six months prior by breaking up with and with whom you are still painfully in love. The day it happened, you thought you were going to die, which was ironic considering he claimed preventing your death was his reasoning in the first place. But you’d had no place else to go and you’d had Dean, Cas, and Jack to comfort you and shovel manure pile after manure pile over Sam for his decision. 

Once you’d made the decision to stay at the bunker, despite how painful it was, for the sake of overall peace you swallowed your anger and had been able to build a tense, yet agreeable working/living relationship. It was still difficult for you whenever you found yourself alone with him though.

His presence in your doorway was surprising; the boys were obviously back from their trip. You opened your mouth to smart off at him about not texting a heads up when you realized something was very wrong.

“Sam?” Something about the way he moved--or didn’t move--caused your stomach to begin a slow descent. There was a cold heaviness in your chest and all the hairs on your entire body stood on end. You began to eliminate the distance between you quickly, asking, "Sam, what is i--SAM!!" 

When you got close he collapsed to his knees and sobbed. 

"Sam, oh my god! What?! Sam, what!! What is it?!!!" You squatted down and grabbed his shoulders, shaking hard. You had never seen him this way and you knew the amount of things that would cause Sam to be in this state were very few. They were also awful and unthinkable. A black hole of terror began forming in the pit of your stomach.

No! Though, in the back of your mind, you knew. 

In response, Sam tossed his head back with an agonized grimace, tears pouring down his face. He opened his mouth to speak but sobbed instead, dropping his head again. 

"No," You choked, grabbing either side of his face and forcing him to look at you. There was an ache in your chest, as though your heart was vibrating at hyper speed. Every fiber of your being fought against the knowledge beginning to creep into your consciousness. But the moment you met his cloudy, bloodshot eyes filled with despair, you knew. 

In an instant you were crying but you fought hard against it, begging, "Sam, no! Please, please, please, nononono! NO!" 

The agonizing moan he gave in response was all the confirmation you needed. Your rapid heartbeat ceased with a painful jerk as your heart broke. 

Dean was dead. 

Breaking eye contact, you shot back upright in front of him, tears flowing like flood water. Your mind raced and you were taking large, gulping breaths. You couldn't believe it. You knew, fine, OK, yes, you knew, but you didn't fucking want to! Your eyes squeezed shut tight. Holding both hands over your mouth, you suddenly let out a muffled scream of pain that makes the ache in your chest grow stronger. 

Sam grabbed tightly onto your hips and pulled you to him. The action startled you and with a gasp, you were jarringly reminded of his presence. Your hands dropped and you wrapped your arms around his head, squeezing him as you both cried. His arms moved then to your back, clinging to you desperately. Burying his face into your abdomen he began screaming against you while you squeezed him tighter. It took all your willpower not to break down and scream again along with him.

Everything hurt, yet you felt so numb you were shivering. 

"Sam!" Came a desperate gasp as your whole body jerked with a sudden thought. Gripping his arms and trying to pry him off, you shouted this time, "SAM!" He stopped screaming, pulling away from you and groaning in pain. Your tears built up again and you shook him determinedly, "Sam! We can bring him back! You can bring him back! I know you can, there has to be a way--I can--I’ll help you and we can bring him--we can bring Dean back!! We can--”

“No!” Sam responded to your sorrowful begging with a fierce tone, grabbing your arms tightly and shaking his head. "We can't! We have to… let him... rest," he barely made it out before falling forward and placing his forehead on the ground, scream sobbing once more. Your legs gave out and you dropped onto your ass ungracefully. Leaning forward you flung yourself across his back, holding him tightly, alternating between attempts to calm him and getting lost in your own painful sobbing. He was so raw with emotion, it overwhelmed you. 

When it seemed as though Sam was at risk of hyperventilating, you pulled yourself together and began to rub his back and shush him gently. With all your might you pulled his weighted body to you and laid his head in your lap. He grabbed onto your thigh tightly and kept sobbing. 

Through tears, you began to beg in a murmur, "Shhhh, Sam. Shhhh! Breathe, please breathe. It's ok! It's--" The consolation had escaped your lips without thinking and caused you both to sob painfully. 

It wasn't ok. 

Hours later, the two of you were still in a crumpled heap on the floor and had barely moved. Miracle had joined you, too, though neither of you could identify when exactly he’d showed up. Sam was laying on his side between your outstretched legs, head resting and arms wrapped around your left thigh. Miracle was stretched out along your left leg with his chin up on Sam’s arm. The crying had eventually died down and you’d all been quiet, save for sniffling, ever since. 

Just as you were about to pass out, draped forward over his shoulder, Sam finally shifted. Though sunken with exhaustion, you recognized the look of resolve on his red, splotchy face. You supposed he was right; no point in putting it off any longer. It took you both a long time to peel yourselves up off the floor. Then, as if on auto pilot, you shuffled to the garage. 

At the sight of Dean’s lifeless body, you'd had a somewhat violent outburst as your grief twisted painfully around your muscles. Again, you begged Sam to let you try to find a way to revive him, clawing at his chest desperately in your grief. He comforted you this time. Wrapping his large, strong arms around you and squeezing tight, he tried to still you; to force you to stop dodging your emotions and just feel them. It took a while but eventually it worked. 

Surprisingly, you and Sam made it through the rest of the process with only two and a half more breakdowns between you. Otherwise, you’d set about your tasks in mostly silence, following Sam's lead as you prepared Dean’s body for a hunter's funeral. 

When it was done, you helped Sam load the shrouded body into the backseat of the car. You knew he needed to do this alone, so when he walked away to collect his tools you leaned forward and placed your forehead gently on Dean’s cloth covered one. 

So many thoughts flooded you in that moment; many of them unproductive and unhelpful at stopping your tears. You felt a long nonsensical, angry, grief filled diatribe bubbling up in your throat, preparing to rain down on him. As you clenched your fists tightly, you had the urge to punch him. How could he do this? How could he leave Sam?! Leave you? You hated him so much! 

“I love you.” You whispered slowly through your quiet sobs. Ultimately, it was the only thing that made sense. 

Swallowing everything else down, you stood up and took a deep breath. Gently closing the door, you squeezed your eyes shut and wiped away the tears that fell. You were fairly certain you’d never stop crying and it filled you with a ridiculous amount of rage. 

Sam, who’d been waiting patiently for you at the trunk with Miracle, walked up and placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing tightly. You reached up to touch his wrist and adjust the watch--Dean's watch--he was now wearing. You made the mistake of looking into his eyes and almost dissolved again. You realized in that moment that the thing making you the most angry was the fear that you’d never see Sam happy again. The sorrow in his beautiful hazel eyes might just be permanent after a loss this terrible. 

You hugged yourself tightly, watching as Sam drove off to give Dean a proper goodbye. You prayed he would have the strength to make it back. You couldn’t lose them both.

________________

When Sam returned, he found you in the rotunda, leaning over the map table next to a mug of cold coffee, snoring. With a concerned brow furrow, he walked over and lifted you up out of the chair carefully. His overtired, abused muscles screamed at him but he couldn’t have cared less. Without thinking, he took you to his room and tucked you into his bed softly. Sitting on the edge next to your resting figure, he watched you for a moment.

Every day you're out there and you're li… And you're living and you're fighting, 'cause you… You always keep fighting. You hear me? I'll be there every step. I love you so much. My baby brother.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, tears streaming once again. 

________________

You woke with a start a short while later, realizing you weren’t where you left yourself at the map table. Sitting up in bed slowly, you realize the room is familiar but not your current setup. 

“Sam?” You say into the empty air and listen. No response comes, so you get up and start searching. 

You didn’t have to walk the bunker halls long, finding Sam sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed. He was crying and petting Miracle, who--bless his heart--was trying to comfort the poor, grieving man. 

When he finally notices you in the doorway, he gives you a quick, guilty, joyless smirk through his tears. You can tell he feels awkward that you caught him, even though you would never judge him, so you gave him a kind smile back and came over. He hangs his head as you approach, which makes you walk faster and hug him fiercely, wanting to comfort him. He falls into you and holds on tight, more tears--mostly of guilt--stream down his face and into your shoulder. 

You’re both startled by a buzzing noise from the desk to your left. After sharing curious expressions, Sam stands up slowly and walks over to it, opening the top drawer and searching through the pile of old phones to find the ringing one. He gives you another strange look, then answers it slowly. 

“Hello?” You watch as he listens and then stutters, “Uh, this is… Agent Bon Jovi?” You closed your eyes as a painful twinge shot through your heart at the reminder of Dean. 

As the man on the phone spoke, Sam realized it was a hunt and suddenly the wind knocked out of him. Dean’s dying words had been echoing in his head on a loop for hours. He wanted to keep fighting but not them, not the monsters. He wanted to fight for you, for your relationship. If he didn’t have his brother, then the world could go fuck itself while he f--was with you. He’d been arguing with himself about when was an appropriate amount of time before telling you. He’d hurt you a lot already and knew he had some things to atone for; he also didn’t want to rob you of your time to grieve by confusing you with his change of heart. But the call, the prospect of a hunt, had startled him into the realization that he didn't want to wait another fucking second to tell you how he felt.

You watched him curiously during the long silence until he turned his head and made eye contact. The look in his eyes startled you into taking a step back and you heard him say, “Uh… Sorry, I… I can’t help you.” 

Blinking in confusion, you watch him snap the phone closed and toss it back into the drawer definitively. Then, he turned on his heel and marched toward you. In an instant, his arms have you wrapped up in a tight hug, his lips crashing down onto yours passionately. Your poor shattered heart starts beating painfully hard and you don’t know if you’re crying from pain or joy, but it doesn’t matter. As long as Sam is in your arms, nothing else matters, so you allow yourself to plunge headfirst into him without a second thought.

“Sam,” You gasp when his lips finally disappear from yours. You look into his eyes and something unspoken passes between the two of you. With a gulp, you beg, “Make love to me.” 

The next thing you know, he’s swept your legs up into his arms and is carrying you back to his room. He kicks the door out of habit and just before it closes, you think maybe it could be OK. 

“Peaches?”  Dean asked with a chuckle.  “That seriously your stage name?”

“Embarrassingly enough it’s true,”  You smile at the green-eyed man.  You weren’t really sure why you were bringing him back to your apartment, it wasn’t really your style, but he was tall dark and handsome.

“So I got the creme,”  He joked as you closed the door.

“God, you have no idea how often I hear that one,”  You laughed as you took your jacket off.

“How did you get your name?”  He asked as he looked around the modest room.  “And why aren’t you living it up in the penthouse?”

“I’m a nursing student,”  You sighed revealing your secret to the stranger.  “As for the name, it was actually a really rude stunt the choreographer pulled on my first day.  My stage name was gonna be Glitter I think, but as I got on the stage they introduced me as Peaches then poured white goop all over me for my dance,”  You grimace.

“Your kidding,”  Dean said.  He had the decency to actually look bothered by the story.  “I wouldn’t stand for that if I were you.”

“I said the same thing to my boss, he told me that was fine and I could work in VIP lying down,”  You rolled your eyes remembering the jackass.  “I quit on the spot.”

“Good for you,”  Dean said pulling you onto your couch next to him.  “Wanna order a pizza and watch a movie?”  He asked.  You turned and stared at him wide-eyed.  It was a one night stand, this was not what you had been expecting.  He was looking at you so sincerely that you just broke out laughing.

“Actually I have to study,”  You said embarrassed, and holding up the anatomy book.

“No problem, I’ll help you.  He pulled off his shirt and grabbed your hand, placing it on his chest.  “Can you tell me what your touching?”

“Pectoral ab,”  You breathed, feeling the muscle underneath his skin.  You dragged your hand down his chest to his stomach.  “Abdominal wall and stomach,”  You said tickling his belly button.  He sucked in a breath and pushed your hand down to the impressive bulge below his belt.

“How about here?”  He grinned as he leaned in and kissed you.