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It’s far from ideal, asking Rowena for help with removing the Mark from Dean.
Sam sits at the restaurant, waiting for the witch he’s never actually met but he’s only heard disastrous things about, eyes peeled for red hair. He’s got the Book of the Damned on the table before him, and anxiety pounds in his chest the longer he waits.
“Hm, they weren’t exaggerating about the height,” an accented, amused voice drifts from behind him, and Sam turns sharply- takes in the short redhead that’s a few feet away from him, slim body encased in a shimmering navy blue dress and crimson curls piled atop her head.
Their eyes meet, and something in Sam’s gut tugs before he blinks, and visions flash before his eyes.
Rowena in a white dress, staring up at someone before her neck is snapped by them. Rowena, elegant eyebrow arched as she looked down at someone, lips curled in an amused smirk and dressed in a reddish coat, hair loose around her shoulders. Rowena, tilting a kneeling Lucifer’s head back as grace poured out of his throat and into a bowl, a snarl of an expression curling her lips.
He blinks again, startled.
Rowena, wrapped in nothing but sheets, smiles at him from his bed in the bunker. Rowena, straddling his hips and grinning down at him in nothing but a red lace bra, her hair a halo of sunlight. Rowena, perched on a stool with her fingers curled around the stem of a wineglass, laughing. Rowena, clad in a plush robe, crooking her fingers at him from the doorway leading to a hotel balcony.
He hears Rowena’s sharp inhale and instinctively knows she’s experiencing the same barrage of images he is, just from her perspective.
Rowena, chin propped on his chest as she peered up at him with curls ruffled with bedhead, eyes mere slits as she yawned. Rowena, standing on the front porch of an unfamiliar house, smiling at him fondly as he snapped a picture. Rowena, giggling tipsily in his ear from her position perched on his back, her thighs warm under his hands.
Then-
Rowena, in a stark white hospital bed, a small, redheaded bundle ensconced in her arms as she smoothed a finger over the baby’s cheek. Rowena on a soft-looking gray couch, a baby in her arms and a toddler with crimson curls cuddled close, peering at the baby curiously. Rowena, belly curved, watches two little redheaded girls play in a sprinkler from a lawn chair on a grassy yard. A snapshot of a Christmas photo, cheesy matching pajamas and a brand-new kitten curled up in the eldest girl’s arms.
Sam blinks hard, and finally the visions stop. He stares at Rowena, lips parted, and finds the witch staring right back at him, unblinking. She’s pale- paler than she usually is, he suspects- and her freckles stand out, a flush crawling over her cheeks.
Soulmates were far from rare, but Sam had never truly believed in the supposed phenomena that meeting your soulmate meant seeing slips of their future. It seemed so far-fetched, so impossible. The only soulmates he’d heard of were Bobby and Karen, and Ellen and Bill- and neither of those unions had had happy endings.
“Well. This complicates things, doesn’t it?” Rowena’s eyebrow arches, lips purse, and she settles in the chair across from him, eyes drifting briefly to the spellbook before him before returning to his face. Her expression is unreadable, and she brings a hand beneath her chin as she sat forward, and something akin to interest skims across her face. “So, giant. Shall we discuss terms?”
Sam leans forward, fingers curling around the edges of the spellbook, and meets his soulmate in the eye.