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Dean Winchester is going to kill his little brother.
Sam knows it. But right now, with the Impala's windows down and you, tanned legs folded over the seat, leaning out, half your head sticking out of the car, he doesn't care.
It was a hot day, so hot that Dean had locked himself in the room Bobby had assigned him, windows open, and gone to just lay. That's why he hadn't seen her, the way Sam had seen her, down in the kitchen in her shorts and old Stanford t-shirt as a top while he read from his computer. A potential case, whatever.
Dean hadn't seen her lean towards him, tucking her hair behind her neck with a tired smile.
"I have to get out of here, Sammy."
"Too hot?" Sam's blood had boiled at that moment, so nothing else mattered.
"Damn right."
And so they left.
Your laughter sounds like silk against the air of the road. And Sam thinks he could do this for the rest of his life. Yes, exactly this. You, by his side, close, with a lightness that purifies all things.
An oasis, that possibility. A hazy vision on the horizon, receding with every step he takes toward it.
The journey to the village isn't long, but the boy savors every second. When he doesn't need to shift gears, his hand ends up at your ankle, his fingers encircling it. There, next to your skin, is where it belongs.
You are his best friend, the smartest girl he knows. The brightest light. With an expression designed to stun all his senses, as if he had imagined you. As if before meeting you he had made an absurd, adolescent wish, materialized before him in a smile capable of blinding. That's why he knew he was safe, that Dean wouldn't care, because all you'd have to do is pout at his brother for him to forget what happened.
Your charm knows no bounds. He is sure of it.
Sam parks inside the town almost against his will, wanting to prolong every second. Watching you get out of the car, sticking your legs out in front of you and moving away from his hands feels like a betrayal. But two seconds later he's by your side.
"Do you want to go to Linda's?"
Your eyes sparkle at the question. Linda is an adorable older woman who still keeps her small bookstore open for the few interested customers who pass by. Most of the time you and Sam go, she doesn't charge you for the books. Sometimes she lets you take one as long as you return it. For you, having something like this has been like breathing fresh air. Something separate from readings stuff linked to lore, folklore, and hunting.
"The day I say no to that—” You automatically cling to his arm. “That day I'm possessed."
It's too hot to be so close, but Sam doesn't seem to mind. In fact, as you walk toward the small shop, he's aware of the smell coming from your hair. The sweat has mixed with your shampoo in an essence that unnerves him. Enough to cloud his judgment for a few seconds.
Until you pull away from him to push open the door, and Linda runs out to hug you.
“Oh, my favorite couple!” The way she swings you in her tiny arms makes you giggle.
Sam, ready to receive his allotted squeeze, smiles too. “Oh, how many times do I have to tell you we’re frie-…”
The lady plants a sticky kiss on his cheek with a dry smack before muttering, “Hold your horses, cowboy.”
That makes Sam blush to the point of embarrassment, but you’re not there to see it , your nose already buried between the bookshelves.
“Gonna help a girl find a book or what?”
You sound amused, standing on tiptoe to reach the titles on the top shelf. Linda keeps the classics there, and she has everything. You like it. You really like to read. You write little stories now and then. But what you like most…
Sam’s hand reaches for the book before you can even try to grab it.
“How did you know I was gonna choose that one?!”
When you turn to face him, Sam is there. Pressed against you. Your backside bumps against the books on the shelf.
The smile he gives you is bright. “You told me.”
You snatch it from his hands, but Sam doesn’t move. There, in front of him, you sharing his smile, makes his heart races. It pounds in his chest. Thump, thump, thump. Your head lifts to look at him, as if you can hear his ribcage rumble.
Sam wonders if you actually can, if behind that satisfied expression lies the certainty that he would do anything for you. Take his brother's car, go to your favorite place, help you choose the next book you want to read, and put an end to anything that might be bothering you.
I would, Sam thinks as he takes a step back. I would do anything she asked me to.
"You two! What are you doing back there?" Linda's voice comes from the shop entrance, more amused than threatening, and you give Sam a squeeze on the bicep and a wink.
Then you've disappeared with the book in your hands.
"Oh, dear. What a good pick!" Linda is snatching the book from your hands. "What a lovely love story..."
"Linda, it's the devil arriving in Moscow."
The old woman shakes her head and hands the book back to you. "Don't get confused, it's Margarita making deals with him to save the Master."
Sam is taking a couple of bills out of his back pocket when Linda raises her hand toward him.
"Don't even think about it, boy."
You open your mouth to protest, but she interrupts you again.
"You'll give it back to me. When you've read it..." Looking at both of you over the tops of her glasses, she snarls. "Let's see if you learn a thing or two."
Sam lets out a little laugh, almost ironic. "To negotiate with the devil?"
You've pressed the book to your chest, and you shrink back when Sam reaches your side and puts an arm around your shoulder. Because of the height difference, being comfortable means that his hand rests at the nape of your neck, gently supporting you from there.
"You'll do anything for love, right?"
That almost makes you choke, because what a world you live in. If that woman only knew that the devil is closer than she thinks, in all those creatures that Dean and Sam chase every day, outside the salt-covered windows that surround your houses... A shiver runs through you, but the way Sam's hand grips your neck from behind, burning there; extinguishes it.
You murmur several thanks before leaving the shop.
Out on the street, Sam allows himself to raise his eyebrows with a sarcastic smile.
"If she only knew, huh..."
You cut him off quickly. Maybe too quick.
"I don't want to talk about it. Don't want to talk about hunt—" You bite your lip, almost embarrassed. You feel selfish. But it's warm, the sun is shining, the breeze is gentle... and you're so young. So young to be able to enjoy all of this for a day without thinking the world will end tomorrow. Even if it's true. "I'm sorry, maybe it's selfish, I don't know, but I'd like to... I'd like to enjoy this afternoon. Without monsters, just... you and me. Even though I know it's all ther—, and we can go home and keep reading if that's what you..."
"Hey." Sam's arm wraps around you. He's wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, which is strange. You're so used to seeing him in flannel or thin shirts. When he wraps his arm around you, his skin rubs against your skin. That makes you snap your mouth shut, the book clutched to your chest.
"We can take the afternoon off, love."
Love, the heat rises up your neck. Sam rarely calls you that. He should do it more often. All the time.
"Yes?"
"Sure"
He pulls you close, a smirk on his face. "How about we stop for supplies and head to the river?"
Oh, yes. You like that. And Sam knows you like it. That makes your heart flutter. One of your arms wraps around his waist too, pulling him toward the car.
"It's a stream, Sam, I wouldn't even call it a river."
"Whatever. We'll grab a bag of chips and you can tell me why on earth you want to read about some woman negotiating with the devil."
Once in the car, you lean against him in the front seat, shoulder to shoulder.
"The Master and Margarita is a Russian classic, Sam. And Russians always have some kind of thing going on with the devil."
Now you're moving, Sam wrinkles his nose in that characteristic way, before leaning towards you.
"I thought those were the British. You know, Shakespeare." You feel him pinch your thigh with a smile, making you let out a stifled groan. "Hell is empty, all the devils are here."
You can allow yourself to turn, one arm dangling back on the seat, your body curled up in a fetal position toward him. With the breeze coming in through the window, the strands of hair on his forehead are subtly tousled.
The smile on Sam's lips, after perfectly quoting a work from the 1600s, makes your stomach leap. You know he's proud of being a brainiac, able to connect every concept and idea and arrive at all sorts of conclusions. His mind amazes you, inspires you to reach his level every day.
"You're a nerd."
Then it's your turn to dig your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, gently tugging it back. Sam lets out a growl, and the sound makes you smile.
"Oh, you love hearing that, don't you? The way you're so smart."
"Shut up."
But he says it is gentle, giving way to your side so you don't stop petting him.
For Sam, having to stop the car in front of the gas station convenience store again is a punishment. He wants to stay like this, with your hand on him, longer. All the time. He doesn't even turn off the car engine before opening the door.
"Stay here, I'll get it."
It turns out Sam also knows you hate having to choose snacks.
He's back with you in minutes, the driver's door slamming shut. Clutching a huge bag of chips—those sour treats you love—two cans of beer, some peanuts... he sets them down beside you, between you on the leather seat.
"Had you started reading yet?" Sam starts the car, nodding at the book in your lap as he maneuvers to back out.
"Oh no, no. Was waiting for you."
That somehow softens his heart a little.
The drive to the stream isn't long, and you reach it in about fifteen minutes, far enough from town to take a dirt road and know you're the only two people there.
Bobby showed you the place the first time the Winchester brothers left you alone in their house, when you thought the roof was going to swallow you whole.
Later, you showed it to Sam, that night when a meteor shower was supposed to be visible, but it never materialized because it was all a side effect of a spell cast by a witch a few states away. Dean and Cas had dealt with her before you both could see anything.
There were no stars, but you showed Sam the stream, and it was the first time you thought it was worth trying to kiss your best friend. You didn't dare, though. As if breaking the spell had affected you too.
Now, Sam parks the car as close to the water as possible. This is two meters from the shore, where the trees have left enough space for the light to pass through.
When you both get out, the earth under Sam's boots feels heavy, like it's being pulled downwards. It always happens to him when you go to that place. As if it were somehow sacred, a place you share intimately.
You follow the usual pattern. He takes an old blanket from the trunk, lays it on the grass so you can sit down. You take care of catching the beers between two stones in the water, to ensure they're cold when you decide to drink them.
"Wanna read me something then?"
Once you're seated, you realize you brought the book Linda lent you with you.
Uh. You lean towards him as he opens the sweets to grab the first one he sees. Sam's hand hangs suspended in the air, looking at you with a smile.
"Only if you’re gonna feed me, pretty boy."
You're turning to grab the book when Sam's hand encircles your waist, from there, he pulls you back. On top of him.
You're propped up on your elbows right next to his side, about to rest your head in his lap.
Looking at him like this is funny, because your faces are practically reversed.
"Pretty, huh?" Sam's hand goes straight to gently pinch the bridge of your nose.
You try to bite his finger.
That's enough. He thinks, I can't take any more.
You end up with your head in his lap because Sam bends over just enough to crash his lips against yours. The impact pushes you back, preventing you from kissing him. Purely for balance.
"Oh, God! I'm sorry—I, uh. I shouldn't..."
Your laughter, clear as the water before you, cuts him off. Now it's your turn to rise, awkwardly grasping his neck with one arm to kiss him. Chastely. A dry kiss that prompts Sam to lift you from between his arms so you don't have to strain.
"I feel like a teenager." Sam's murmur against your lips makes you relax. He's just as nervous as you are.
"It'll be okay." You pull away slowly, after brushing against him one last time.
Somehow, you want to preserve that pure line that you are, that line that binds you like a ribbon and doesn't need to be named.
"Right." Although Sam lets you pull away, and you settle back down with your head in his lap, your hair spread out on the blanket and grass, book in hand; his right arm still holds your waist, encircling you from there. "Now explain to me how the devil gets to Moscow, baby."
The smile you give him from your position makes his heart leap, and for Sam, it shines brighter than the sun still beating down on you from the west.
You start reading, and that's how you spend at least the first hour and a half. While your voice breaks the silence of the place, Sam starts placing sweets on your lips every time your fingers turn a couple of pages. You talk with your mouth full, chewing gum. He doesn't mind.
When the sun begins to set, his hand on your waist has moved to caress the strands of hair that fall beside you. That makes your eyes close, making it harder and harder to read. You stop narrating the moment the Master finishes telling his story with Margarita.
"The guy was down bad."
Sam's voice sounds deep, as if not making a sound since the kiss has taken its toll on his throat.
"U think?" Your question comes out with a specific tone, and you notice your eyelashes flutter when you look at him. Oh, he's talking about...
"Oh, could bet."
That makes you smile, feeling the heat rise from your neck to your face. Oh, he was right, like fucking teenagers.
"Let's get that beer."
It's still warm, even though the sun has gone down, so you go straight into the water to get the bottles.
You both end up on the hood of the car, Sam leaning against it and you sitting with your knees bent. The cold beer moistens your throat.
You don't need to talk much. You end up leaning over his shoulder, and Sam turns his head just enough to kiss your forehead, right at your hairline.
You wish your life could be like this. Maybe that way you'd be braver. Maybe that way you'd kiss more, everything would be more outwardly visible. But without knowing if tomorrow he'll be miles away, drilling a bullet into some creature's skull, it seems that all that whirlwind of emotions building in your chest is enough. That the silence, shared with Sam, is enough.
A few minutes later, the sunset bathes the stream. What was once green has turned into a soft peach color, shimmering against the stones in the water. It's perfect, you think, as Sam moves just enough to slip his arm behind you, pulling you close.
"Oh, look at that." Your hand points directly at a pair of birds perched on a rock, about to dive into the water. “Only if Dean wasn't going to kill us if we got the leather seats wet, I would bathe with them."
Sam looks at you, the way your nose wrinkles in that way he likes so much. You're fucking adorable. Capable of putting up with all his crap, this life, and moved by the simplest things in nature.
"And what about me?" He moves away from the hood, lifting one leg to take off his cowboy boot. “Would you bathe with me?”
You let out a laugh, looking at him incredulously. Dean's going to kill you if you get the car dirty. Although, well, he'll probably kill you just for taking it without asking him.
"Wanna bet?" Your voice comes out funny, as if you still can't quite believe what you're seeing.
Sam raises his eyebrows from his position, reaching for his shirt from behind before pulling it off. The vision of it dries your mouth.
"I'm not the one who's still dressed, pretty girl." It's his challenging tone, somewhere between teasing and affectionate, that makes you jump for joy.
You'll remember the water, the laughter, and Sam's lips hours later;
when Dean is yelling at his brother from the second you park the car in the driveway until the moment you lock yourselves in Bobby's bathroom. Together.