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Sam and Dean had taken you in a few weeks ago after a group of men with fangs had kidnapped you and told you they wanted nothing more than to be with you for eternity. It was horrendous and completely traumatising, and you were forever grateful that two men had shown up just in time to stop them from doing all the awful things you were certain they were planning to do with you.
Half of your attackers had been killed at the time, but some escaped, and once you had come to terms with what had really happened, these two hunters had told you that it wasn’t safe to go back home to your family while there were still some vampires out there.
It was all extremely overwhelming, and was compounded by the fact that, not only did you have a gang of mythical monsters obsessed with turning you into one of them, but that you then had to leave your entire life behind until they had all been killed.
You had stayed with these hunter brothers in their motel that night, not knowing what else to do, choosing to believe that they couldn’t be worse than the awful monsters they had just saved you from — despite their size and the way you had just seen them decapitate multiple people with machetes.
They had seemed nice enough, and you trusted them to a point. Enough to let them drive you back to where they lived to keep you somewhere safe, just while they hunted down the vampires that they were sure would still be after you. You didn’t want to go with them. You didn’t want any of this. But you also didn’t want to die — and you definitely didn’t want to lead these vampires back to any of your loved ones.
So you agreed.
What you didn’t know you were agreeing to, however, was that these brothers didn’t live in a house or an apartment or even in a cabin in the woods. They lived in some kind of World War II underground panic shelter.
The place was intimidating and isolating, but Sam and Dean had made it feel welcoming — at least while they were with you.
It had taken a lot of getting used to, as the bunker was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Although it was technically quite magnificent, it felt utterly lifeless when nobody was around. It stood there unmoving, uncaring, as if it had the ingrained knowledge that it had been built to stand the test of time — and had every intention of doing just that.
The unfamiliarity of your new home didn’t mesh well with all the awful events you were still trying to reconcile with, only really adding to the trauma of it all. When you’d wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where you were right back in that room surrounded by vampires, you would never find any comfort in the concrete it offered in the place where your old home’s bedroom window should have been.
You did your best to ignore the bleakness of the bunker, focusing on, well… the library of books that didn’t make any sense to you, or exploring the empty halls which led you to rooms filled only with filing cabinets.
Alright, so maybe the bunker wasn’t your favourite, but at least it was safe. You hoped. Sturdy and strong, built to keep everything out.
But it was also built to keep everything in, and you had found yourself testing the limits of that — much to Sam and Dean’s dismay.
When the brothers had kindly brought you with them to a place where you’d be safe from harm, they had warned you that it wasn’t safe outside of the bunker. They couldn’t protect you if you went out there. You’d thought nothing of it at the time, happy to oblige if it meant you weren’t going to be mutilated by a damn vampire.
But as the days dragged on without even so much as natural light shining through a window to wake you up, or the sounds of an actual outside world around you, that task quickly became more difficult than you had expected.
And so you had taken a brief walk outside, sticking to the areas with tall trees and loud birds, taking in everything that the real world had to offer before going back to the lifelessness of the bunker. But your return wasn’t just met with austere walls and ruthless silence. It was met with a perturbed face from Sam, and a hardened, frustrated one from his brother — and you had to stand there receiving a lecture from both.
They were right, of course. You weren’t safe outside the bunker. You had left without telling either of them.
You promised not to do it again; and Sam had half-heartedly offered to maybe go on a walk with you or take you to a small coffee shop nearby once things felt safer, but nothing ever came of it. Part of you could feel that he wasn’t very comfortable with the idea — as both he and Dean were dead set on protecting you from any danger — and so you didn’t ask after it.
You stayed inside after that. In your new home. Away from everyone you had ever loved with evil monsters hunting you down with the only hope that the hunters you now lived with would get to them first. You did your best to make the bedroom they gave you feel warmer, and to do whatever you could to keep your mind busy so that you didn’t have to think about how terrifying everything about your situation really was. You’d talk to Sam and Dean, try to be around them as much as you could without seeming like a lost puppy — which you definitely were failing at.
And over time, you had grown quite close to Sam — closer than you were to Dean. Not because there was anything wrong with Dean, not at all. He was the one who was often going out there to ‘gank those evil sons-of-bitches’ or whatever it was he always said to reassure you, getting closer one vampire at a time to you returning to your normal life.
Which left you in the bunker with Sam, who you supposed had nominated himself to be your babysitter.
You didn’t mind, though. You were actually extremely glad that he was going to stay in the bunker with you until it was safe enough to go back home. And Sam was great. He was always there to listen to whatever worries you had, helping you through everything you had just experienced. He made sure to check in on you often, even when you assured him you were feeling better. He was always available, even when your presence was a clear inconvenience to whatever hunter task he was working on. He never pushed you away or shoved you aside. He did everything he could to help you adjust to life in the bunker, and the hunter's life in general — and it worked.
Mostly.
But things would still go eerily silent when you were in your room alone sometimes, which would cause your fearful thoughts to only grow louder.
And today was one of those times.
Usually, you could block it out with some music or maybe a podcast of people talking so that you could pretend you still had people around you, but nothing worked this time. The coldness of the concrete walls around you seemed to seep into your bones, only serving to eat away at you bit by bit until you felt completely exposed to all that the deepest parts of your mind had to offer.
You knew this meant that you should get some air — at least from your room — especially as your fortitude wore down and you could feel yourself becoming more fragile, ready to break. These past weeks had been plagued by tearful moments and nights that ended in silent sobbing into a pillow, and you couldn’t take any more of it. It felt almost embarrassing, although Sam and Dean never acted like it was.
They had never made you feel like you were less-than or a burden, but you knew you kind of were. Living rent free in their home, having them cook for you, provide for you, clothe you — all after they saved your life. They were really such kind people, and it hurt all the more that there was simply nothing you could give back except your gratitude.
It was around midday, and you were yet to leave your room. This wasn’t unusual for you, as you had always had a bit of a funky sleep schedule which was only amplified by the nightmares you now got ever since you had been kidnapped. But you weren’t leaving your room looking for a snack or a book about terrifying monsters to read this time — you were leaving because everything was simply too much where you were.
You wished that you could just step outside the large bunker door and be hit with the wave of open air that you often fantasised about feeling on your skin, but you knew better than to put yourself in harm’s way like that. And with the dreadful thoughts of vampires swirling behind your tired eyes, you definitely didn’t want to.
You opened your door slowly, still not accustomed to the harshness of the empty hallways that made up much of the bunker you now called home. You weren’t hungry. In fact, your thoughts spinning around your head had made you nauseous. You weren’t quite sure what you were hoping to find, unsure if you even wanted to come across Sam, worrying that the sight of another human would be enough to tip you over that edge into bawling your eyes out at the fears that constantly ate at your mind.
Your socked feet padded quietly down the hallway, craving the openness of the war room and library as opposed to the claustrophobia that rose in you when you lingered in the dark halls for too long. You made it into the war room and took in the space, grateful to be away from the confines of your room and into the… larger confines of yet another underground, windowless room. Still, it was better.
As you stepped carefully further into the room, you surveyed the library, wondering if you would find Sam where he usually sat at one of the wooden tables in the middle surrounded by books and pens. But he wasn’t today.
You walked into the library now — which you supposed was your favourite room, given the size of it and that at least you found familiarity in books, even if the titles sounded like names of Scooby-Doo episodes — and hoped the anxieties that had bubbled up inside of you might subside at the change of scenery. But they didn’t. In fact, they only grew stronger, especially when it seemed that Sam wasn’t following his usual routine.
Until you walked further into the room and finally saw where he was.
Sam was sitting in one of the large cushioned armchairs to the side of the room, nestled between shelves. Despite his large stature, he fitted just fine with plenty of room, without having to sit with his knees up to his chin or his long legs sprawling far out in front of him. Perhaps that was why he opted for that chair over sitting at the large wooden desk today — or maybe it was to give the impression that he wasn’t interested in being bothered and should be left to his studies.
There was a large book on his lap that kept his full attention, with an empty mug on the small table next to him and a notebook open to a page of scribbles. It created a cosy image in front of you, which was a rare sight in the bunker. A warm lamp illuminated the pages he was reading, and cast his face with an inviting glow that made him look even gentler than usual. He sat relaxed, as if he had melded with the chair over the hours he must have been sitting there researching. He was leaned to one side, elbow on the armrest closest to the side table. It was almost harmonious the way he so perfectly fitted into the scene, and you didn’t want to disturb it — especially when you could feel that you were a few kind words away from crumbling into nothing more than a puddle of tears, which Sam would then be forced to mop up.
You thought about just turning back, or perhaps walking past quietly, leaving him too engrossed in his book to notice. But you couldn’t make up your mind quick enough, and you stood there just a second too long. Sam lifted his head, eyes finding you across from him.
“Hey, you’re up,” he greeted, his voice slightly scratchy from hours of disuse.
“Oh, hi, sorry I didn’t mean to…” you stumbled, caught off-guard when Sam initiated a chat that you weren’t sure you were quite ready to engage in, a lump still sitting in your throat. Your arms folded over your chest instinctively, though you weren’t sure what they were bracing for.
Sam paused just for a second when you didn’t finish your sentence, as if he was listening to all the words you never said. His face opened up and he spoke softly. “You know, you live here too. You’re allowed to be here.”
His assurances were perhaps a little disproportionate to the situation, but they were also exactly what you needed to hear. Sometimes it almost felt like Sam was a mind reader with the way he was able to say just the right thing. You nodded, your shoulders loosening just a little as you felt more confident to approach him. His eyes stayed glued to you, despite being totally focused on something different only seconds ago.
“What are you reading?” you asked, struggling to think of what to say when your thoughts only wanted to spiral. Though you could feel just a small hope in the back of your mind that wondered if Sam might be just the thing to pull you out of your clattering mind.
“Oh, this?” He looked down at the book that still lay open in his hands as if he had forgotten it was ever there. “It’s, uh… a ‘History of Lycanthropy in the Americas’, dating back to Aztec times. Thrilling, right?” he joked, despite him being the book’s exact target audience who would be thrilled by it.
“Sounds interesting…” you replied, and instantly cursed yourself for not finding anything better to say — although you weren’t sure what else you could have really said when you were still struggling to come to terms with the fact that not only did monsters exist, but that there were giant archives dedicated to them.
You honestly just wished that there could be a reason to be in his presence that didn’t come with embarrassing small talk — not that talking about anything deeper would feel better either. Really, you didn’t want to talk at all, but you also couldn’t just keep staring at him. “I, uh… I—” You looked around for anything else to talk about so that you wouldn’t have to trudge off to any other cold and empty part of the bunker. But you found nothing; and instead just stood there like a fool.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked at that, his voice lower and eyebrows now pinching together the way they always did, and you felt your face flush. He asked you that a lot and every time he meant it with sincerity. But you didn’t want to answer it anymore.
You didn’t really want to talk about any of it anymore.
“Fine,” you replied a little too hastily. You then shook your head, correcting yourself. “I’m fine, really. Thanks…”
But Sam wasn’t buying it. Especially as you just stood there, arms folded, lingering in front of him like a deer in headlights. “If there’s anything you need, I’m always here to—”
“No,” you cut him off without thinking, and instant regret pinched at your sides as you realised just how rude you had been to someone who was always nothing but nice to you. “Shit, I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I…” You could feel a renewed wave of emotion building up within you, threatening to turn yet another conversation with Sam into a display of your own self-pity. “I’ll just go,” you said, turning your back, unsure which exact direction you were actually going in, simply desperate to hide your quivering chin from the man in the armchair.
“Wait,” he called, though his voice sounded softer than ever. You stopped, but didn’t turn all the way back to look at him, grief bubbling up as you struggled more and more with every second that passed to push everything down. “Is something wrong? You know I’d help with anything.”
Despite your resistance, your body willed itself to turn to look at Sam, your sunken eyes once again taking in Sam’s inviting visage. All you could see now was the solace that Sam had managed to forge despite the austere walls and grand stone archways around him.
You could feel yourself wanting nothing more than to fit right into that perfect scene. To enmesh yourself into the soft fabric of Sam’s flannel shirt like it could wrap you up and block out everything around you; to hide between the insulating cushions and golden light as if you never existed at all — far away from your problems, and the rest of the cold world.
And a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder whether that fanciful armchair might have room enough for two…
Your body gave you completely mixed signals, taking a subconscious step forward despite you shaking your head. It was as if Sam was a light in the dark, beckoning you to a place where nothing else could get you — not even your own thoughts. And your body was drawn to it like a magnet, uncaring of how inappropriate it would be to close the distance between you two with absolutely no good reason.
You continued stepping closer until you stood only a few feet away from him, and part of you was grateful, as it meant you wouldn’t have to project your voice so loudly out of your ever-constricting throat.
You paused for too long once you stopped moving, and perhaps scanned your eyes across too much of Sam, and quickly felt your face heat up even more than before. But his face didn’t change — even though he definitely had just seen the way you had looked at him.
When you opened your mouth to reply, nothing came out but a tiny squeak that you hoped he didn’t hear. And now all you could do was shake your head as you stared down at the floor, wishing it would break open and swallow you whole.
“Is it about everything that happened…?” Sam tried again, pushing slightly this time, not backing down when your answer didn’t match your face. “It’s okay, you can talk to me. These old books can wait.”
He closed the ‘History of Lycantism in the Whatevers’ and sat it on the table beside him, somehow managing to place even more of his attention on you. His kind eyes gazed assuringly into your own — which currently wanted nothing more than to well up with tears and stain all your emotions onto your face.
Your thoughts searched his words, repeating them back over as he sat patiently waiting for you. You knew the exact thing you needed from him. It had formed before he had even offered. Really, you wanted to fit as perfectly into him as he fitted into the chair; or the book had fitted into his hands. To curl into the warmth that you knew emanated from him that was only enhanced by the warm glow of the lamp.
But of course, you couldn’t ask for that. Sam was offering a listening ear and sympathetic words — not to be used as an oversized teddy bear.
“Thank you,” you managed to choke out quietly, “But I don’t wanna talk…” You couldn’t get your eyes to meet his as you felt them start watering.
“Of course. I understand…” Sam assured, giving a sympathetic look that only made you feel even smaller than you already did. “I know this all must be really difficult for you, so if there’s anything else I can do, all you have to do is ask, okay?”
You nodded after you had considered what he said, and then considered it some more. Sam really was one of the kindest people you had ever met, not only because he and Dean had saved your life, but also because of his endless patience and willingness to help no matter what. He had been there for you after everything that had happened in a way you weren’t sure even your closest friends would have been — though you still missed them and wanted nothing more than to return to that life.
And you couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps his offers really were genuine. Sam wasn’t one to exaggerate, and part of you wanted to believe that when he offered ‘anything’, he meant it. Maybe he would be okay for you to sit with him just for a little while if you were to ask. But your insides twisted as you immediately cringed at the idea, knowing you would be the most awkward and annoying person in the world if you were to pressure Sam into letting you sit on his lap like a damn creep.
But your legs didn’t care for your mindfulness, and took yet another step towards the man in the armchair, who now had a curious look on his face that proved that you were already taking things too far. Although, hidden within his expression was almost a faint… knowing. And that was probably due to the fact that, even though your eyes couldn’t meet his face, they still had roamed around the rest of him unconsciously.
Through all this, Sam just sat there, slightly unreadable but keeping his face pleasant. He didn’t protest as you got closer, now standing about two feet in front of him. As if he was comfortable no matter what you did, truly meaning his words from earlier when he said that you were allowed to be here — even if ‘here’ was hovering silently like a ghost right in front of his face.
“Would you…” you spoke quietly, almost by accident as if your lips had moved without permission.
Sam tilted his head, tentatively listening to you despite how weird you had been this whole time. He really was unshakable; good to his very core.
“I just, uh…” you actually tried, now almost feeling the warmth and comfort radiating off of him now that your face was close enough to glow in the amber light of the lamp too. “No, it’s stupid, sorry… I don’t want to bother you.”
It was stupid.
But then why did it feel so right? You could practically picture how you would fit right against his side completely unnoticed while Sam would just be reading his book like nothing had ever happened. The way you would then be sheltered from the world in the one warm pocket that sat within the frigidity of the bunker — truly safe in a way that the thick walls and bolted doors had never been able to reassure you.
“You’re okay,” Sam said coaxingly, almost as if he knew what was coming and wanted to hear it anyway. “You’re not a bother to anyone, I promise.” There was something new in his voice this time though, as if he had a better understanding after all the strange looks you had given him over the course of your conversation.
It was clear he was unafraid and would be completely unflinching towards anything you could throw at him after what you could only assume to be a shocking life of hunting where he had already experienced everything under the sun. And you would have backed out completely, finally taking control of your meddlesome legs — if it weren’t for that look in his eye.
It was almost daring, despite the great kindness that poured out around it. You had seen this look from him a few times before in the past weeks — when conversations died down as you two were eating breakfast together; or when he would come to check on you in your room and linger in the doorway just a second longer than he needed to.
Those fleeting images were enough to eat away at the last of your self-control, and you struggled now more than ever to hold yourself back as your mind had become so resolute.
“Just…” you said, taking yet another step closer, brushing your leg against Sam’s. Your eyes pleaded into his, desperate to not receive a rejection when the solace you craved was right at your fingertips. “Please just…” You made your way over to the more empty side of the chair as you could feel the tears start to form, your body staying strong to its clear goal when your mind grew fuzzy and scary.
Sam watched you move around him, and still, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He didn’t jump up when it was clear as day that he was your target; or shout out in protest about what the hell you were doing.
And you took that as a sign to continue, now squeezing yourself to stand in the spot between his left knee and the front of the chair. You then spoke ever so quietly through a cracking voice, “…Just, pretend I’m not here. Please. Keep reading…” as you lifted your knee up onto the small empty space on the cushion beside him and shifted your weight so that you slowly lowered yourself into a quite awkward position beside him, trying not to bear too much weight down on him but also finding nowhere else to put it.
And still, Sam didn’t move. It was like he knew. He didn’t move away, and he didn’t move closer. He didn’t even move just to give you more room. Somehow, he knew that you needed to slot yourself into the scene, unbothered and unseen, with no response from anything else about what you were doing.
All he offered was an almost silent, “Okay,” under his breath, and reached for his book just as you had hoped he would. He opened it, and then sat completely still while you still struggled to find your place.
Because, you didn’t want to sit next to him facing out, no, you didn’t want to see the world — you wanted to bury yourself in it all. To merge between Sam and the cushions and the rays of light from the lamp. To embed yourself between the pages of his book and in the folds of his shirt. To be nothing but everything around him, so that you didn’t have to be you. Just for a moment.
Which meant that, despite your efforts, there was no other option than to sit meagrely on his thigh, and only hold your breath in the hopes that you wouldn’t be immediately shoved off onto the cold hard floor — though Sam had every reason to do so. Your knees were pulled up into you, shins pressing into the back corner of the armchair cushions as you sat on Sam’s lap. Your left shoulder pressed into his front as you leaned into him as much as you hoped he would allow, gingerly resting your head against his strong shoulder.
In the movement, Sam had raised his arm slightly so as to hold the large book with both hands, and so his arm was now across your front, bending around you almost in a completely contradicting inadvertent effort to ignore you the way you had asked. He didn’t hold tight, he didn’t make a deal of it, and there was nothing deeper behind the act. His arm simply rested around you, falling right back into the place it had been in back when you had been watching him read from the doorway.
You could now feel the soft fabric of his flannel shirt under you just as you had imagined; as well as the heat that emanated from him, warming you up in a way you hadn’t been able to since you had first entered the bunker. His body was steady and grounding below you, his chest gently rising and falling in a way that gave you something to hold onto. Sam’s size was comforting, shielding, making you feel like nothing could harm you as long as you were in his arms.
When things between you grew silent as you stopped shuffling, you could feel your fearsome thoughts pipe up again now that there was nothing to drown them out. But they were weaker this time, and as you pushed your head instinctively further into Sam’s shoulder, they sounded much further away. You reached out for his arm — as if wanting every part of you to be connected to him — and your two arms wrapped around his left one, gripping onto the fabric of his sleeve with cold fingertips.
It was with this that you settled properly, finding where you fitted in more now that your arms felt like they were in the spot they always wanted to be. You turned ever so slightly more into him, your knees behind his arm as if you were cradling it with everything you had — as if letting go meant that it would be gone forever.
Minutes passed and you melded into him the way you had imagined, sharing his heat, his air, his light. A few tears had left your eyes and found a home in the fabric of Sam’s flannel as you worked through the turbulence within you now that you had found a safe enough place to do so.
You stayed there and listened as a page would turn every once in a while; felt the way his arm would move around you as he readjusted the book in his hands; or the way his body would jostle just slightly as he wrote something down in his notebook on the table. You could feel it all happening around you, and it was a peaceful respite from what you had been constantly feeling within you. It was grounding in a way you had never experienced before, and you almost craved more of it, despite the fact that there weren't really many ways you could physically get any closer to him.
But as you calmed, you also grew more aware of just how weird you were truly being towards this poor man. He was polite, and so he was putting up with it, but there was no way he was actually comfortable with what was happening right now. After all, pretty much your entire weight was on top of him as he was desperately trying to just read in peace. And your face quickly started prickling with renewed heat as you became more and more embarrassed at what you had allowed yourself to do during your moment of weakness.
How were you supposed to be normal around the bunker with Sam after doing this? You had made everything so awkward, and just lost the one person that you could rely on in your current predicament.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be doing this,” you said quickly as your heart pounded in your chest from just how mortified you were. “I’ll just go.” You shuffled away, failing at finding an easy way out of the position you were currently in.
“You can stay,” Sam said quietly, and you almost missed it when all you could hear was the rustling of fabric and your thoughts screaming at you about how pathetic you were.
“...What?” you questioned, hesitating for a moment, knowing you definitely didn’t hear him right. There was a slight pause where you felt your heart catch in your throat.
“Stay.”
You had heard him right. And even if you missed it that time too, Sam reassured you one more time by placing a large, warm hand on your right shoulder, almost holding you where you were so that you couldn’t continue your weak attempt at dismounting him.
This act of kindness instantly made your eyes well up with renewed fervour, closing your throat and weakening your bones until your only possible reaction was to sink right back into Sam’s embrace, and stay there. You fell right back where you were, as if your spot had stayed perfectly open waiting for your return. You rested your cheek back against his shoulder like it had never left, and snaked your arms right back around his bicep, pulling it close to your chest.
Sam’s hand stayed on your shoulder, grounding, and you felt the way his left arm cinched around you just a little tighter than before. Your chest spasmed as tiny cries left you, letting it all out now that you had felt such true acceptance from Sam, assuring you that — no matter what — he really was there for you. You were safe to go through whatever you needed to, without judgement; without witness; without the world knowing.
When your sobbing died down, and you had finally let go of much of the negativity that had been plaguing you all day, you felt the way gratitude took its place. And almost as an automatic response, your body turned, fingers releasing Sam’s sleeve so that your arms could reach around his shoulders. You hesitated when you realised what you were doing, and slowed your movements down as you shakily pulled Sam into a hug. Or, really you pulled yourself into Sam for a hug, as he remained steady, unmoving, as he had the entire time.
Your legs now straddled his left thigh, but you didn’t care, and you didn’t think Sam did either. All you wanted was for Sam to feel the ‘thank you’ that wasn’t able to make its way out of your mouth right now. Your chest pressed forward into his, your arms holding each other in place at the back of Sam’s neck as you put your weight — and soul — into the embrace.
You heard a book shut behind you and squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation for whatever he was about to do.
And then Sam’s arms wrapped around your back, pulling you even further into him, and you immediately relaxed. You even noticed the way his face found its place in the crook of your neck the way yours had in his, and a deep sigh left your lungs when Sam made no attempt at stopping any time soon. This was better than anything you had imagined, and you quickly became even more grateful that Sam had chosen to reciprocate despite your initial desire to be ignored.
The two of you sat like that for minutes, Sam’s body molding around yours as if he needed this almost as much as you did. He traced his fingers across your back slowly, and you rubbed your thumb against the back of his neck in return.
At one point, he released an arm and used it to readjust your leg, and you let him, willing to sit in any way if it meant you didn’t have to peel yourself off of him just yet. He shifted under you, clearly trying to find the most comfortable position for you both, and you smiled to yourself into his shoulder, hoping it meant that he wasn’t planning on getting up any time soon.
As you got more comfortable with what was happening, and knew that he was too, you moved the leg that he had been readjusting a few times to sit on the other side of his legs, now straddling his lap, doing what you assumed he actually wanted (for the sake of your knee not digging into him) but was too much of a gentleman to do for you.
You didn’t move after, you didn’t apply pressure — that wasn’t what this was, and there was a mutual understanding of that between you by now.
You were just two people who needed to silence the world for a little bit. Two people who had found the one sunny spot in an otherwise cold and inhospitable room.
Your hips inched down, sitting on him more comfortably, as you collapsed the rest of your weight into his chest and shoulders when every drop of tension left your body. He was soft, and he was warm, and grounding, and steady; not going anywhere, and not making a big deal of any of it. And you couldn’t get enough. You had sunk into him completely and he made sure you felt no shame.
The two of you shuffled over time, moving small parts and realigning others, but half an hour passed by and you were both relatively in the same place. You had moved to the side and folded in on yourself slightly, now leaning your head against his chest instead of his shoulder. And he had reclined further down in the armchair and reclaimed the book he had been reading before all of this, his arms wrapped around you to meet the pages he was holding.
It didn’t matter that half an hour seemed to be all Sam needed from your embrace when you had remained fragile and in need of the respite he offered just a little longer. You stayed as he returned to what he was doing, happy to have a sunny rock to perch on even if that rock was busy with anything else. You sat against his chest through it all. When he tilted to jot down notes, you moved with him; when he squeezed you tighter to turn a page, you welcomed it completely; and when he would absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair when he had a free hand, you leaned into it like it was the only thing you’d ever known.
There were no more terrible voices in your head — in fact, there were barely any voices at all, as you quickly grew tired from the overwhelming discord within you that had now been replaced by soothing harmony. Sam’s presence worked like a lullaby, easing you into closing your eyes, blurring the lines as to where you ended and where everything around you began.
The last position you were in before you lost consciousness completely was with your arms squeezed between Sam’s lower back and the cushions of the chair, pressing your face into the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing him in to the exclusion of all else. The sounds of pages turning and Sam’s heart beating under you slowly faded from you, until there was only heat, peace, and gratitude.
Gratitude for Sam, and Dean, and the bunker, and the ‘History of Lytalics in Wherever’.