#samxreader fluff

“Sorry,” you mumbled, sure that your cheeks were bright red. Somehow, you managed to gather enough courage to look up at him again. “Sorry. I just had a long week of tests and my friend dragged me out here, but then he got all tangled up with that dude over there so instead of watching him make out with someone all night, I’m stuck here at the bar. He’s had a hell of a month and I’m the responsible friend tonight to make sure he doesn’t do anything phenomenally stupid and I have absolutely no idea why I’m telling you all of this. But, I can’t seem to shut up.”

Another drink. That got you to stop talking for a moment, at least. The Greek god of a stranger took a seat on the barstool next to you and you quickly finished your drink, knowing you’d need some liquid courage if you were going to be less embarrassed by your complete and utter lack of social intelligence and manners.

“You seem to have told me everything but your name.”

“Y/N.” Right. Names. Introductions. Those usually came before an in depth look into one’s life.

“Sam. Nice to meet you, Y/N.” As if his voice wasn’t addictive enough, he had to go and say your name. Geez. “Can I buy you a drink, Y/N?”

This had to be a dream, right? Guys never just walked over and offered to buy you a drink. Your friends? Sure. Your little sister when she was visiting? Yes. But you? Never. “I, uh, sure. Yeah.”

“Conner!” Sam called to the bartender.

He grinned and walked over, slinging a hand towel over his shoulder. “Sam! Man, it’s been too long. You finally decided to come up for some air?”

“Library doesn’t have alcohol,” Sam smiled. “I’ll get my usual, and whatever Y/N wants.”

You liked that he didn’t try to order for you. Of course, your brain was kind of short circuiting, so you couldn’t really think of any other comparisons to draw between Sam and your meager dating experiences. You were sure that once you were at home, you’d draw dozens of comparisons and Sam would come out on top every single time.

And you’d just met the guy.

“Uh, an old fashioned, please.”

“Classic. I like you, Y/N.” Conner winked and pointed at you before starting on your drinks. It wasn’t long before he was setting your glass down in front of you. “I’ll like you even more if you can manage to keep this guy out of the library for longer than three hours.”

Library. You could do this. Talk about libraries. Nerd stuff. You practically lived in a library too. Common ground. Bring Hottie McHotness down to your level and maybe become less awkward. Right. Less awkward. You. Ha. What a joke.

“Library mole, huh?” You asked, proud that your voice was normal. Almost conversational. “What’s your address? I live in the 540s.”

“540s?” His brow furrowed and you panicked. Maybe that was too nerdy? Most people didn’t spend their time memorizing the Dewey Decimal System when they were younger. That was weird. Right? But then his face cleared and a bright smile on his lips took your breath away. “Oh! I don’t know what the 540s is, but you can find me in the 340s most days.”

“Future lawyer. Impressive.”

And then he did that adorable thing where he had a small, genuine smile on his face and he looked down at the table, chuckling softly. That sealed the deal for you. You had to get to know this man. And you never had the urge to push for a friendship or relationship with people. You weren’t a… how to put this… people person.

“Probably not as impressive as whatever section 540 is,” Sam said, looking up into your eyes again.

Alcohol. You took a sip of your old fashioned, hoping it would help relax your hyperactive neurons and nerves. “Chemistry.”

“540s is chemistry, huh?” He tilted his head and regarded you carefully, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. “And where would I go to find a book on how to ask a beautiful woman out on a date?”

And it was like sodium hydride mixed with water in your brain and made it explode because you were pretty sure he had just asked you out on a date, but you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the correct response would be because some super-hot guy just asked you on a date after buying you a drink and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy and what do you do with that? How do you react? All your time in the chemistry lab hadn’t prepared you for this part of life.

“Uh, probably the 300s. 302, 304. Those are about social interaction and behavior and… stuff.” 

Stuff? 

Seriously, Y/N? 

You took another drink of your old fashioned and mentally berated yourself. Why hadn’t you ever learned how to flirt? Your best friend was over on the other side of the bar with his tongue down some guy’s throat and here you were, educating some future lawyer on the Dewey Decimal System.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

But Sam just chuckled and leaned forward. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you go out with me on Friday?

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The staring contest lasted a moment longer. Just before you were about to lose, you closed the rest of the distance and pecked him on the lips.

“C’mon. Let’s go find something to get you high. I can’t believe you’re thirty years old and you’ve never gotten high before. It’s tragic.”

“You don’t really strike me as the druggie type. More like the hacky type.”

“I was in an improv class in college too,” you mentioned, flashing him a grin as you pulled him out of his chair and led him out of the beach cottage in search of drugs. It was Bali. There had to be something somewhere, right? “And I am a hacky person. I have layers. Like an onion. I know my way around the dark web, and there’s a reason it’s not dot-com on the dark web. It’s dot-onion.”

“That sounds fake.”

“Google it, genius. It’s real.”

Okay. So getting high with Braxton in Bali wasn’t really serving a means to an end. It wasn’t like this was going to help you get your father out of prison. But you were actually enjoying this vacation with him. It felt like, for the first time since you’d met him, neither of you were fishing for information. You were just… normal. He was just your boyfriend. You were just his girlfriend. He wasn’t a mark. There was no agenda.

It was nice.

*****

*****

You weren’t the last person to have stepped foot in your father’s lab. It was obvious that someone else had come through, looking for something. Probably George’s people. Or Victoria’s. Or Braxton’s. They hadn’t found what they were looking for, though. Anything of value was locked away in your storage locker.

Still though, even as ransacked as the place was, it was achingly familiar.

Memories of make-believe danced around on the floor. Late nights when your father got so caught up in his research that he forgot to enforce your bedtime floated from wall to wall. This used to be your happy place. Your Land of Hollen. A place for you and your father only.

But he was dead now. And Hollen had been invaded.

“What did you find?” You asked, striding towards where Dean was crouched on the floor. It was best not to dwell on what could have beens and memories that would never happen.

“You said three feet in, six feet left, two feet down, right? Then your dad said to switch the numbers. Well, six feet in, three feet left, and two feet down, I found this.” He handed over a lockbox and reached back into the hole he’d dug. When he brought his hand out, it held three vials of liquid “And these.”

“What are they?” Sam asked, coming up beside you and placing his hand on your back for support.

This wasn’t your Hollen anymore. The only man who could answer that question right away was dead. And the person who killed him was most likely on her way here right now. So you handed the lock box to Sam and started whirling around the lab, grabbing various paraphernalia. “We’ll figure it out a few hundred miles from here. Dean, can you grab that bag over there? I need to put some of this equipment in it if we’re going to figure out what’s in the vials. We have to test them.”

Your father had died protecting this secret. His last words led you to these items. You could mourn later. But for now? Dean was right. You needed to finish what he had started.

So you ordered the Winchesters around until you had everything you thought you needed, then they led the way back to the Impala. Before you left the lab, you took one last look at the sacred space. It was as if you could see the ghost of your father standing at his table, bent over a microscope. There was a wisp of a young Y/N sitting at his feet, playing with some old wires that Kemuny had deemed probably not prone to electrocution, and definitely an acceptable toy for a small child.

“Thank you,” you whispered into the space. “And best of luck to the inhabitants of Hollen.”

It was the last time you would recite your standard parting remarks. Somehow, you knew that you would never again lay eyes upon your Land of Hollen again. This would be the last time you ever came home. The only reason you’d kept up on the payments to keep the house from foreclosing was your hope that one day you and your father would once again live there together.

You never imagined it would all end like this.

“You okay?” Sam asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern when you joined them at the Impala.

You just shook your head, dumped your armload of equipment into the backseat, and climbed over Sam so you sat between the brothers in the front seat. “Let’s get out of here.”

For the first hour, there was silence between you three. The ever present classic rock crooned softly in the background, but you were content to stay safe under Sam’s arm with Dean’s hand squeezing your fingers comfortingly every so often.

After an hour, Dean cleared his throat. “You know, that stuff wasn’t the only thing I found.”

“What?”

“Look in the backseat on top of the hot plate thing.”

After eyeing him curiously for a moment, you twisted around and saw a plain black binder lying atop the mound of scientific crap. It was bursting with pages of… whatever it had inside. You grabbed it and sat back down. “What is this?”

“Look inside.”

Slowly, you opened the front cover to reveal a simple white paper with your name written in marker in your father’s handwriting.

Y/N Entropy Y/L/N

There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots, the other, wings. ~Hodding Carter

Already, you were holding back tears. Sam’s arm wrapped around you again, giving you the strength to turn the page. Inside a plastic sleeve was an ultrasound.

June 24 – Victoria and I are expecting. The doctor told us it is a girl. You’re going to be the most precious baby ever, Y/N. We’ve already picked out your name. I wanted Entropy to be your first name, but Victoria threatened to dump water into my solution I’ve been working on for three months. You should probably thank her for that. Either way, you’re going to be quite the pistol. With parents like us, who wouldn’t be?

A picture of your nursery followed, along with another handwritten note from your father explaining how they chose the decorations. It was no surprise that the walls were adorned with beakers and colorful pictures of solutions, a rainbow of vials, and all other kinds of science décor. You supposed there was never any hope that you would turn out as anything other than a geek.

Picture after picture of the day of your birth, the first month of your life, all of the landmarks of growing up. The first step. First tooth. First word. Carefully documented by your father with the precision of a scientist. Each and every drawing you brought home from school. Handwritten documentation of the new tales that emerged from the Land of Hollen. The ribbon for winning the spelling bee in eighth grade. Your acceptance letter from MIT.

“He loved you, Y/N,” Dean whispered after half an hour of you poring over the scrapbook. “He was so fucking proud of you.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks without abandon. “I loved him too. Still do.”

Sam pulled you closer, kissing the side of your head. “And now you’ll always have a piece of him.”

Quickly, you shook your head. Sam was wrong. “No. I’ll always have all of him with me.” You tapped your chest, just above your heart. “Right here.”

Part 41 of Avenging Angel

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Sam glanced back for the fifth time in the last hour. She was curled up in the backseat, eyes drinking in the empty scenery of Southern Wyoming with a small, happy smile on her face.

“So, you grew up here?”

“Born and raised.” She finally looked away from the sagebrush and looked at Sam. “Used to hate it. It was too small, too ugly… Nothing to do. It took moving away for me to realize that there’s nowhere quite like home.”

Her eyes flickered out the windshield and she scooted forward in her seat until her head was between the Winchesters’. “See that exit right there? If you take it and head out for about forty miles, there’s a dirt road to the right that you can take for another thirty and you’ll hit some of the best four wheeling trails in the state. Take some friends, some firewood, make some smores, and watch the stars… Y’ain’t ever seen a night so perfect.”

Sam thought back to the night he first met her and thought he had a pretty good contender.

It wasn’t long before she was guiding Dean through the streets to a small diner on the outskirts of town. The parking lot was nearly full and Sam raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said we’d hit it at the lull.”

“This is the lull, honey. ‘Sides, the lot’s pretty small, so it’s mostly an illusion. We’ll be able to get a booth, most likely. But we’ll definitely want seats at the counter.” Her voice had dropped into a naturally slow, western drawl. Sam had noticed it on the edges of a few conversations she’d had with other people, but he hadn’t heard it out in full swing until now.

As soon as they entered the small building, an older woman in an apron hustled over with a wide grin. “There’s my sweet little Rye-Girl!”

“Marva, it’s been too damn long!”

“And whose fault is that?” The waitress eyed her with a pointed look, but she just smiled and pulled the woman into a hug. “Alright, sweetie, you’re forgiven, but only if you introduce me to your two handsome friends.”

After the introductions, Marva led the group over to the counter and sat them down. They stayed at that counter for hours, laughing and chatting with everyone. Literally, everyone. Conversations flowed from tables to booths to counters to the kitchen in the back. There were no private conversations here. Everyone seemed to know who everyone else was, including Y/N. And she hadn’t lived here in years. Yet she was still a familiar name and face.

Sam always thought the hunter’s life was a long, lonely, dusty road.

But she was showing him a different kind of desolate, dirt road. One with friendly faces, familiar stop signs, and simple love.

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Por supuesto, cuando volvió a nuestras vidas justo después de que Dean supuestamente se enamorara y le entregara el Black Grimoire a su alma gemela, supe que ella nos iba a joder al menos un poco. Así que no fue una gran sorpresa. Lo que fue una sorpresa es que estuviera dispuesta a renunciar al Black Grimoire para dárselo a Sam y hacerlo sin fanfarrias.

Bueno, hasta que más tarde Dean descubriera la página que faltaba del libro.

¿Aun así, una sola página? No era demasiado malo, teniendo en cuenta que nos estaba jodiendo Rowena.

“Dean, no tenemos un plan. No sabemos qué hacer, así-así que… ¿cómo?” insistió Sam.

“No lo sé,” dijo Sam. “Pero lo conseguiremos. Los tres.”

Sam asintió, pero me daba cuenta de que era sólo un movimiento. No se lo creía. Su voz y su postura desesperanzada coincidían cuando se separó del mostrador y se alejó. “Sí.”

Me dolía el corazón sólo con escuchar lo desesperanzado que se sentía Sam. Esta caza había traído de vuelta algo muy oscuro dentro de él, y yo no sabía lo que era o cómo ayudarle, o si ni siquiera si era asunto mío.

Veras, Sam y yo… como que teníamos algo. Algo que iba y venía, pero nunca se hacía oficial. Cuando piensas en una relación errática, supongo que tu mente siempre piensa en Dean. Él es más del tipo de mantener algo casual. Eso es lo que yo pensaba cuando empecé a cazar con ellos. Asumí que Sam sería más bien directo en las relaciones. Pero supongo que no.

No me importaba. En absoluto.

Sin embargo, cuando se trataba de cosas como esta… no estaba segura de si preguntarle si necesitaba ayuda con lo que fuera por lo que estuviera pasando era algo que un amigo haría. ¿A lo mejor era más de territorio novia? Porque yo era su amiga, eso seguro. Pero no sabía si era su novia.

Y Dean no estaba pillando los pequeños detalles que yo estaba viendo, así que él no iba a empezar a indagar en la cabeza de Sam.

¿Pero que podía hacer yo? No sabía cómo empezar esa conversación con Sam. No tenía ni la más ligera idea de lo que estaba preocupándole. Sí, aquello con Jack y Mary que había contado, por supuesto que le estaba preocupando.

Pero tenía que haber algo más. Algo por lo que yo no podía simplemente acercarme y decirle, “Eh, Sammy. ¿Por qué estás tan decaído?”

Nadie responde bien a ser expuesto de esa forma.

Así que me dirigí a mi habitación para pasar la noche. Estaba casi preparada para meterme en la cama cuando mi teléfono sonó y un número desconocido asomó en mi pantalla. “¿Hola?”

“T/N,” la voz de Rowena me trajo a la mente un montón de preguntas. ¿Qué había ocurrido entre Sam y ella en el coche, cuando Dean y yo nos fuimos a interrogar a la cajera? ¿qué hechizo había necesitado del Black Grimoire? ¿Por qué Sam estaba de repente portándose tan bien con ella?

Pero no le hice ninguna de las preguntas.

“¿Esperas que te de las gracias por salvarnos la vida?”

“En absoluto. Pero he pensado que debería llamarte y hacerte saber que puede que quieras preguntarle a Sam que le mantiene despierto por la noche.”

“¿Por qué?”

Sonó un gran suspiro al otro lado de la línea. “Querida, confía en mí esta vez. Sam me ha ayudado, y esta es mi forma de devolverle el favor. Ahora estamos en paz.”

Colgó y yo me quedé mirando al teléfono. ¿Qué mantenía a Sam despierto por las noches? Éramos cazadores. Había millones de pesadillas encerradas en nuestras cabezas. ¿Y que sabía Rowena sobre lo que mantenía a Sam despierto por la noche?

Tal vez esto era todo lo que necesitaba para que comenzara a hablar sobre lo que fuera que estuviera revolviendo esos pensamientos oscuros en su mente. Era posible que Rowena me hubiera dado la información que necesitaba para hacer que se abriera a mí. O a lo mejor sólo estaba confundiéndome, pero estaba demasiado preocupada por Sam como para no aprovechar la oportunidad.

Así que agarré la manta grande y esponjosa que siempre me hacía sentir cálida y a salvo y me dirigí por el pasillo hacia la habitación de Sam. Tres golpecitos anunciaron mi presencia y la voz suave de Sam me dio permiso para entrar. Pero no entré hasta dentro. No aún. No estaba segura de esta conversación, así que me detuve cerca de la puerta.

“¿Qué pasa?” Sam pareció darse cuenta de mi aprensión, y esto despertó su curiosidad.

“Yo, eh…” No quería que Dean nos escuchara, así que eché un vistazo al pasillo para asegurarme de que no andaba por allí antes de cerrar la puerta y dar un paso hacia adentro. Ahora Sam definitivamente sentía curiosidad.

Ladeó la cabeza. “¿T/N?”

“Me ha llamado Rowena.” Asintió con cautela, pero no dijo nada más. Así que cogí aire y continué. “Me ha dicho que debería preguntarte que es lo que te mantiene despierto por las noches?”

Los preciosos ojos de Sam se hicieron más grandes antes de que soltara un bufido y apartara la mirada. “Por supuesto que te lo ha dicho.”

Era una mala idea. No era cosa mía. Si Sam quería hablar de esto, iría a hablar con Dean. No con su amiga con la que de vez en cuando se acostaba. Había cruzado una línea y era tiempo de volverme a mi lugar.

Di un paso atrás en dirección a la puerta. “De hecho, olvídalo. No es cosa mía. Lo que hayas hablado con ella es privado y no debería haber compartido nada conmigo. Lo siento, es solo que—“

“T/N, espera.” Se estaba pasando la mano por el pelo y evitando mirarme. Una señal segura de que estaba pensando en algo que le hacía sentir incómodo. “¿Por qué te ha llamado?”

“No lo sé. Me dijo que tú la habías ayudado, y que era el momento de que ella te devolviera el favor. Pero no es asunto suyo, y no es asunto mío y siento haberlo mencionado, y me voy a ir.”

Ya casi había girado el picaporte cuando Sam habló en voz baja. “Lucifer.”

“¿Qué?”

Me giré y miré a Sam a los ojos. “Rowena te dijo que me preguntaras que me mantenía despierto por la noche, ¿verdad? Lucifer.”

Habían pasado ocho años desde que había estado en la Jaula con Lucifer. Ocho años. Solté el picaporte y di un paso hacia la cama. Esto era algo muy fuerte. No estaba segura de cómo manejarlo, para ser honesta. Tenía una broma para aligerar la tensión en la punta de la lengua, pero sabía que no era el momento.

“¿Has hablado con Rowena de esto?” ni siquiera le gustaba Rowena.

Sam se echó hacia atrás en la cama, una invitación silenciosa para que me uniera a él. En cuanto me instalé, agarró mi manta y la colocó cubriendo nuestros hombros, rodeándome con un brazo. “Sí, cuando lucifer la mató, él… le mostro su rostro. Su verdadero rostro. Ella tenía miedo, T/N.”

“Y tú también lo tienes.” ¿Cómo había tardado tanto tiempo en darme cuenta? Cuando estábamos cazando a Lucifer, unos meses antes, ¿Cómo no había visto que Sam tenía miedo? “Pero no has dicho nada.”

Se encogió de hombros y sus labios se tensaron. “Sí, bueno. Simplemente seguimos adelante. Tenemos que hacerlo.”

Y cuando pienso en cuál de los Winchesters pasaría ocho años suprimiendo un miedo tan oscuro, mi mente salta a Dean. Pero Sam me estaba enseñando que en realidad no soy nada buena juzgando a las personas.

“No esta noche,” susurré. El me miró con gesto confundido, así que lo elaboré un poco más. “No vamos a seguir adelante esta noche. Nos vamos a parar. No vamos a pensar en el mañana. Y si quieres hablar de ello, estoy aquí. Y si no, aun así estoy aquí.”

Soltó un largo suspiro y parte de la tensión de su cuerpo escapó con él. “Gracias, T/N,”

Hubo un momento en el que ninguno de los dos hablamos, así que me imaginé que probablemente Sam no estaba aún preparado para abrirse y contármelo todo. Estaba bien. Me estiré lo justo para agarrar su portátil de la mesilla de noche antes de volver a descansar entre sus brazos. “Me estoy muriendo por saber si averiguamos quien mató a Lila.”

 Mientras navegaba por su portátil, Sam permaneció callado. Entré en Netflix y pulsé en Como Defender A Un Asesino, la serie que estábamos actualmente viendo juntos. Había descubierto que era mucho más divertido ver Netflix con Sam que cualquier otra cosa a solas. Honestamente, hacer cosas con Sam era siempre mucho más divertido que hacerlo a solas. Cocinar, conducir, cazar, ver series, limpiar…

Tres episodios después, Sam finalmente habló. “Ha empeorado desde que salió de la Jaula.”

El ruido de fondo siempre me ha ayudado a abrirme y contar cosas, así que implemente bajé el volumen del portátil antes que pausar el episodio. Siempre podíamos volver a ver este episodio más tarde. No estaba segura de si podría lograr que Sam me hablara de su lucha con el Desorden Postraumático inducido por Lucifer más tarde.

“Supongo que es de esperar.” Imité su suspiro.

“Sí.” Y más silencio. Si ya había acabado de hablar por esa noche, podría el mismo subir de nuevo el volumen del portátil. Pero no yo iba a cerrar esa puerta. Le estaba dando a Sam todo el control esa noche. Dejando que el llevara el paso, el tono y toda la conversación.

“¿Tienes… tienes pesadillas de cosas que ocurrieron de verdad, o de otras cosas?” Vale, a lo mejor no iba a darle todo el control. Pero lo peor que podía pasar con mi insistencia es que se cerrara aún más. Lo mejor que podía hacer era darle una dirección desde la que empezara a hablar.

“Ambas. Eh, es, eh… ambas.” Sam se aclaró la garganta y bajó el volumen un poco más. “Es que… sé de lo que es capaz. Dean y tú y todos los demás… sólo os lo imagináis. Y ni siquiera ha alcanzado una fracción de todo lo que es capaz.

“¿Qué quieres decir?”

Tensó los brazos sobre mis hombros. Yo le pase el mío por la cintura, esperando poderle ofrecer algo de confort mientras decía en voz alta de las cosas que mantenía ocultas.

“Lucifer no ha, realmente… no ha dejado ver sus verdaderos colores. Podría fácilmente convertirse en el peor monstruo al que nos hemos enfrentado, pero se está conteniendo.”

Justo como Sam lo estaba haciendo ahora. Vale, estaba finalmente hablando, pero sabía que no me lo iba a contar todo. No ahora. No aún, al menos. “Y si trata de llegar a lo más profundo de su interior…”

Sam hablaba acortando las palabras. “No sabemos cómo matarle.”

Esa era la cruz de la cuestión. Sam no podía superar al monstruo al que no podía matar. ¿Cómo empiezas a recuperarte de la tortura infligida por alguien sabiendo que va a estar siempre allí? ¿Aivo? ¿Siempre ahí fuera, en un sitio u otro?

¿Y qué podía yo decir ante eso? No tenía ni idea de por lo que él estaba pasando.

Así que, en lugar de decir algo que probablemente sería erróneo, le abracé con más fuerza por la cintura y giré la cabeza para besarle el cuello, justo por encima de donde se notaba su pulso. “Lo siento mucho, Sam.”

Sus fuertes manos se cerraron en mi cintura y tiró de mi hasta que acabé sentada en su regazo, con las rodillas sobre el colchón a ambos lados de su cintura. Después me rodeó con los brazos con fuerza, clavándome los dedos y manteniéndome cerca. Su pelo era increíblemente suave entre mis dedos mientras le acariciaba la cabeza que tenía apoyada en mi hombro, esperando que la penumbra y mi olor ya familiar le calmaran, como constantemente él me calmaba a mí.

“Es más fácil contigo,” murmuró, su aliento rozando mi piel.

“Estoy aquí,” susurré. Dios, no tenía ni idea de lo que realmente quería decir con eso. Pero esperaba no estropearlo con mis siguientes palabras. “Siempre estoy aquí, Sam. Soy tuya. Toda tuya.”

Levantó la cabeza de donde la tenía apoyada en mi hombro. “¿Lo dices de verdad?”

Al menos no parecía decepcionado o algo. De hecho, parecía un poco… ¿esperanzado? Bajé las manos de su pelo a sus mejillas, la barbita que empezaba a crecerle rascándome la palma. “Por supuesto que lo digo en serio. Soy tuya. Al cien por cien. Cuando me necesites. No me voy a ir a ninguna parte.”

Puesto que ya le había entregado todo mi corazón, decidí que no me haría daño dar un paso más y sellar mi juramento con un beso.

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You'd never admit it to Vanessa's face (she had way too big of a head already) but she was right. It was because she snuck backstage that you had one of the most memorable nights of your life. "At least the band was gracious about it and didn't kick us out. They were actually really cool and invited us to have a few drinks with them."

"You got drunk with Slightly Embroidered?"

Vanessa leaned over to Lily and stage-whispered, "Y/N totally made out with Alex Fischel."

"I did not!"

"Oh, honey. I saw tongue."

"I—" Your jaw worked for a few seconds while no sound came out before you finally gave up and pouted. "It was totally G-rated."

Wrinkling her nose, Vanessa tilted her head. "Let's be honest here, and agree it was at least PG-13."

"Whatever, V. I'm noticing that you're not telling anyone what you did when you snuck away with the lead singer from the pre-show band." Lips pursed and a challenging glint in your eye, you didn't let her get away so easily.

But Vanessa had absolutely no sense of shame. She just grinned. "She was hot. I'm hot. Do you want more details?"

"Ugh, please no. I've heard more about your sex life than I've heard about anyone else's." Lily waved her hand and downed the last of her margarita. "When you nail Scarlett Johansson, then you can tell me all about it. But until then, I'm cool if you keep some secrets."

"Y/N?" A familiar voice called from behind you, and you turned to see who it was. The halo of sunlight behind him made it difficult to focus on his face, but slowly your eyes adjusted. "It is you. I wasn't sure."

"Oh, hi! Yeah, we met at the cemetery." You ran through the heavy conversation you'd had with this man, but couldn't put a name to his face. "I don't think I ever got your name."

"Sam. It's Sam. I'm sure I'm interrupting lunch," he motioned at your friends at the table, who were watching this encounter with very interested eyes. "But I promised myself that if I ever saw you again, I would thank you."

He looked so much better than he had a few months ago. He stood straighter and didn't have as many worry lines on his face. It filled you with so much relief to know that he wasn't suffering as badly as he had been the last time you'd seen him.

"Yeah, um." You turned back to your friends briefly as you stood up. "I'll be right back, guys."

"Take your time, honey," Vanessa drawled, not even bothering to hide the way her eyes were devouring Sam. "Take your time."

After grabbing your purse—you'd learned long ago to never leave your phone unattended anywhere near your friends—you led Sam down the street towards a park bench.

"So how are you doing?" You asked, sincerely wanting to know. In the few months since your brief encounter, you'd found your mind wandering to the stranger at the cemetery quite often.

"Really good, actually. Thanks to you." The grateful gleam in his eyes touched your heart. "Our conversation gave me the push I needed to move on from the depression stage of grief and into acceptance."

"It's—" You cut yourself off before you could finish that statement. It's nothing, was your first response, but it was the wrong one. It wasn't nothing. You'd changed this man's life. "I'm glad I could give you that push."

"Yeah, actually," Sam rubbed at the back of his neck and looked away for a moment. "Uh, I've never had the best relationship with my family. I kinda cut off all ties when I left for college. But after what you said about feeling alone and hiding under the covers... I just couldn't get it out of my head. Especially because I saw that painting you gave me every day. It was like Jess was yelling at me to get my head out of my ass," he laughed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So I did. I called my brother and it's been good." By the small smile playing at his lips, you knew that he wasn't lying for your benefit. "So thank you for that."

"You're welcome, Sam. I'm glad you interrupted my lunch. I've been wondering how you've been."

"Really?"

Why was that such a big surprise? "We cried together in a cemetery. Of course I've wondered about you."

He laughed softly. "I guess that does create a bit of a weird bond."

"And I, well, what I shared with you was so personal to me. I've only told my parents and Hayden's parents what he told me that day." Your heart constricted at the reminder, but it wasn't the heart-wrenching grief that had filled you for so long. "So of course I've wondered about the stranger at a cemetery that made me feel comfortable enough to share one of my most private memories."

"I—I didn't realize. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," you hurried to reassure him, not realizing that you'd reached out and laid your hand on his arm. "It helped you. That's what Hayden would have wanted. It's a better way to honor his memory than keeping it to myself."

"Like the painting?"

"Like the painting," you agreed. "You're taking good care of it, right?"

Sam nodded, locks of long brown hair falling into his eyes. "I framed it and hung it in my living room. Whenever anyone asks me who painted it, I just tell them that a beautiful angel gave it to me at the cemetery."

The unexpected compliment flooded your cheeks with blush and you bit back a smile. "Glad to know I gave it to a good home."

Now Sam turned to face you more fully and took both of your hands in his. The air between you shifted into something heavier and deeper. Sam's hazel eyes drilled into yours with a depth and sincerity that you weren't used to. "Y/N, I really, really want you to know just how thankful I am for what you did for me that day. You don't know me, but somehow you knew exactly what to say to me. If there's ever anything I can do for you, please let me know."

It was as if someone was sitting behind you, giving you a push. "Actually... if you wanted to, you could take me out to dinner this weekend." There was a flicker of surprise across Sam's eyes and you rushed to clarify. "That is, if you're ready. I don't want to push you into something you're not ready for. I know it's only been a year, but—"

"Friday at six?" Sam interrupted your rambling.

There was a beat of silence while you second guessed yourself. Making out with someone you would never see again and going on a date with someone that you obviously had a connection with were two completely separate things. You hadn’t gone out with anyone since Hayden died. What if you weren’t ready?

But then there was a whisper on the wind that nudged you forward.

“Friday at six sounds great.”

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