Chapter Text
You were curled up on the motel room's armchair, its stale, dusty odour wading into your nostrils each time you sniffed. Wiping your wet eyes with the back of your hand, you let out a choked sob. Before long, a fresh wave of tears spilt down your cheeks, staining them once more. The TV remote lay discarded on the small coffee table beside you, where'd you dropped it after switching off the movie that had so unpleasantly reminded you of your situation with Dean. With a heart-wrenching whimper, you tucked your knees up to your chest and lay your forehead against them, wrapping your arms around your shins.
Oblivious to the motel door being opened, you stayed curled up in your little ball of sorrow, shaking with sobs every once in a while. That was until you heard your name being called softly, and the rustling of a plastic carrier bag as it's bulky contents were set down.
"[Y/N]? Hey, what's up?" Sam's voice was gentle. Looking up at him, he saw your watery, red eyes and rushed forward, crouching down in front of you. "[Y/N], what happened? Where's Dean gone?" He added, glancing briefly around the room.
"I was stupid, Sam, I was watching sappy, romantic tragedy while you went off to pick up some food. Dean took off for a drink at the bar, said not to 'wait up' for him," you explained, through your tears.
"Did something...happen between you two?" Sam held your hands, still wet with tears and mascara smudges. You shook your head, pressing your lips together to stop them quivering.
"Uh-uh, nope...I just...watching that movie- this is gonna sound so freaking pathetic....reminded me of what's going on. Y'know, with Dean-" You stared down Sam's large hands encompassing yours, almost too ashamed to look him in the eye, despite being aware those eyes of his would be full only of sympathy rather than judgement.
"[Y/N], I'm so sorry you're feeling this way," Sam offered his sincerest apologies.
"Nah, Sam, I'm sorry for using you as a sounding board about trivial crap like this," you swept your thumb lightly across his knuckles, an affectionate gesture for a dear friend.
"Your feelings aren't trivial, [Y/N]. They matter," Sam assured you wisely. You smiled tearfully at him, and he smiled back with a comforting warmth.
"And they say guys aren't comfortable with emotions," you commented ironically, making Sam's smile split into an amused grin.
"Ah, well, y'know, we're acclimating to the concept," he joked, drawing a soft giggle from you, "Some of us just aren't as good with feelings as others."
"That sounded like a pointed remark, Sam," you said.
"Dean. He's not so...good with his own feelings," Sam replied awkwardly.
"Is this some convoluted way of telling me Dean's just struggling to admit he feels the same way I do? 'Cause if it is, as sweet as it is of you to try and make me feel better, Sam, raising my hopes isn't the best thing to do," you said plaintively.
"I'm not gonna feed you crap just to make you feel better, [Y/N], I wouldn't do that to you. I genuinely think my brother loves you...it's just his...alarmingly low self-esteem gets in the way," Sam sighed, shaking his head at his brother's troubled psyche.
"If you say so," you muttered, unconvinced.
"Sounds like Dean's not the only one with self-esteem issues," Sam pointed out, casting you a disappointed look. Flashing a rueful smile at him, you looked away.
"I have a decent self-esteem, but lately it's been getting stamped on," you answered vaguely, feeling like a petulant teenager all over again.
"Don't let anyone bring you down, [Y/N], you're incredible. As much as I love him, Dean would be nuts to turn you away and I'd never fail to tell him that. He should consider himself lucky," Sam ruffled your hair amiably.
"Thank you, Sammy," you said demurely, squeezing his hands.
"Anytime," he told you, with the heart warming sincerity of a true friend, "C'mon, you look exhausted, let's get you into bed." He rose to his feet, urging you get up from the armchair.
"Trying to get me in bed already? For shame, Sam, taking advantage of an emotional wreck like me," You teased impishly. Sam snorted, throwing an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.
"My hidden agenda all along. I have some flavoured lube and whipped cream in the takeout bag," he played along, pulling back the duvet of your bed and encouraging you to slide in.
"Sweet! Sounds like my kinda night," you rallied back with a giggle, "Sam, I don't think I can sleep. I mean, I'm not even ready for bed."
"You don't have to sleep. Just relax and settle down," he told you as you nestled up beneath the quilt.
"Don't think I can do that still," you admitted sadly.
"Do you want me to hug you for a while?"
"Please," you nodded eagerly. There was nothing sexual or romantic about your relationship with Sam, it was a purely platonic love. He would often hold you if you felt distressed or upset by something, the gesture being no different to a brother consoling his sister.
"Sure thing, just-" Sam removed his jacket and pulled off his boots, casting them aside before climbing into the bed. Pulling the quilt up around you both, he then pressed himself against your back, wrapped an arm around your waist and began gently combing his fingers through your hair. It was guaranteed to soothe you. As expected, mere minutes later, you felt considerably better; the grief drained away as solace took its place.
"Sammy, thank you..." You whispered tiredly, eyes fluttering closed.
"Get some sleep, [Y/N]," he whispered back, placing another kiss on the top of your head. He felt warm and safe, his gentle touch distracting you from the discomfort of what you believed to be unreciprocated love. For a few moments, you didn't have anything to fret over or stress about; the security of Sam holding you keeping the monsters at bay. It was precious moments such as these that you cherished, those fleeting sensations of complete safety and sanctuary; rarely occuring since having taken up the mantle of 'hunter'. Letting yourself finally relax , it took little time for you to drift off.
Dean pulled up to the motel parking lot, stopping in front of the room he shared with [Y/N] and Sam. Switching off the ignition, he remained in the Impala, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He was terrified of finally telling her how he felt, even though he'd spent the past two hours, staring at a beer, gearing himself up for the occasion. The bartender had even offered a few sage words of advice-
"Quite bein' a wuss and tell her, for Christ's sake, or you'll regret never sayin' anything! "
But the mere thought of speaking the words twisted his insides up, filled his head with doubts and self-criticisms...
To tell somebody that your mind is consumed by thoughts of them, your heart aches for their presence, that their love is some kind of cure to a beautiful, horrible sickness...well, he wouldn't phrase it quite so poetically (or melodramatically)- it was terrifying. He'd would rather have tackled an entire nest of vampires by himself than step into that motel room and finally confess how he felt for [Y/N].
Would she feel the same way? Or would he be too damaged for her? Not quite what she needed in a lover? Not good enough ?
She was especially close to Sam, the two of them were always deep in discussion about something or other. Maybe she was in love with Sam ? Dean couldn't count the number of times he'd see them together, hugging or cosied up on the couch making fun of whatever lousy TV show they'd decided to watch. Hell, they even ate and researched together, practically glued at the hip.
Did he have a chance ? Dean had glimpsed the odd looks [Y/N] threw his way and noticed how she'd become more distant in recent months- though not to say he hadn't become distant himself. Was it possible she felt the same way but was just as uncertain as he was?
He had to take the risk. If she rejected him, so be it. Dean knew, at least, [Y/N] would let him down gently; she was fundamentally a kind-hearted woman. She wouldn't humiliate him, that was completely out of her nature.
He had to try. He had to tell her.
Taking a deep breath, Dean stepped out of Baby and retrieved his room key from the depth of his jeans' pocket. Fumbling around getting the key in the lock, he felt his nerves begin to take a hold on him, so he paused and leant his forehead against the door. Breathing in slowly, he turned the key in the lock, heart hammering and stomach flipping like he'd downed too many shots. When finally heard the click of the lock, he eased the door open and expected to see [Y/N] and Sam eating takeout food or watching TV together. Staring into the room, he did not expect to see them snuggled up together in bed, fast asleep.
Sam was holding [Y/N] from behind, his arms around her waist, lips almost brushing her shoulder by the way his head was bent forward. [Y/N] was deep in a blissful slumber, eyelashes fluttering every so often, one hand draped over Sam's while the other lay- palm facing up- on the pillow.
Dean puckered his lips into a contemplative pout before pressing them together, a distinctly unpleasant stirring in his chest. He tried to look elsewhere in the room; the corner of the ceiling, the carpet, the chipped paint on the walls, but his eyes kept shifting their gaze back to Sam and [Y/N]. They appeared fully dressed, like they'd not prepared for sleep or to hold each other the way they were- but that hurt just as much. It was more tender, the spontaneity of it more passionate and heart-wrenching than finding them laying in one another's arms, sweat soaked and naked.
Sucking down a breath to try and alleviate the painful ache in his chest, Dean removed his jacket and hung it up. While dropping his car keys and the motel room key on the desk, he heard the rustle of sheets from behind him and turned to look. In her sleep, [Y/N] had rolled onto her other side so her face was mere inches from Sam's, their noses almost touching. Though he was asleep, Sam- on some subconcious whim- shuffled upward, repositioning his arms so he appeared to be hugging [Y/N] and rested his chin on top of her head, leaving her face close to the crook of his neck.
There was a lump in Dean's throat, as an immense sadness and bitterness welled inside of him.
Well, don't they look so goddamn good together? He thought...jealously .
Of course she'd pick Sammy. They're two of a frickin' kind, he ruminated, heading towards the bathroom to prepare for sleep.
Dean thought how calm she looked, her beautiful face so much more peaceful than he'd ever seen it. Christ, he was sure he'd spotted her smiling sweetly for a few seconds. He was pleased that she was finally looking happier than she'd done for the past few months; it just burned on the inside that Sam was the one making her feel that way and not him . Yet he was glad Sam had found someone, especially someone as incredible as [Y/N].
But there it was: that sour, underlying envy, the question which was cutting deep into his heart-
Wasn't I good enough for her?
Sleep and Sam's comforting presence brought you the sweetest of dreams...
You and Dean were sat together on the couch, watching some movie that was entirely indistinguishable, and his arm was casually slung around your shoulders. Nervously, you lay your head on his shoulder and glanced up at him fondly. He looked at you, a handsome smile spreading across his face. In response, you beamed up at him, giggling softly. His free hand moved to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing your bottom lip lightly.
"I love you, [Y/N] " he told you softly.
"I love you too, Dean," you replied, a small yet tender smile on your face.
For a moment, you were vaguely aware you were smiling in real life....