𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛[𝙳.𝚆]

063

Sam is amazing.

I mean, I don't remember the last time it was just us together. Sam and Jennifer. No Dean. While Dean went to make things right with Cassie, Sam and I got to spend some much needed alone time. We sat in the library, just like we used to every Wednesday and Friday back at Stanford, going over the murders that took place around here in the sixties. We joked and talked, and even reminisced about Jess and our old lives for a little while. It was nice—nostalgic.

It helped keep my mind off things, like, Dean. Though, at some points, when one of us wasn't taking the other's ear off, my mind would drift to him, wondering what he was doing right now. I could only ever think the worst.

Sam was a great guy, and honestly, way back when, I could admit that I had a small crush on him. When John gave me the order to watch Sam, I saw him as a job—a way to pay off my debt to some old stooge. But, all I needed was a month with the kid and I was putty in his hands. A full on fan girl.

He was sweet, caring, smart, and incredibly cute. I had to do a double take when I first met him because I thought I would be looking for someone completely different, someone like Dean. Rugged, cold, and would stand out like a sore thumb. A hunter. Maybe that's what Sam was, but he still had hope in eyes, a sign of humanity. Dean had it to, you just had to really look at him.

It wasn't until the year Sam met Jessica that I realized what I felt for Sam wasn't what they had. I loved him, sure, but I figured out it wasn't in the way I thought. I didn't have any sexual urges with Sam, hell, know that I think about it, I didn't even want to kiss him. I wasn't jealous when Jessica came into the picture—I was happy, ecstatic even.

What I felt was pure sisterly love. I wanted to protect him like I would have to my own brothers, I wanted to be there for him whenever something got to him, and I wanted to have someone that means something to me—something to hold onto. When I say that Sam is my rock, I sure as hell meant it.

I step out of my bathroom, scrunching up the wet blonde hair with one of the small bathroom towels when I hear a knock on my door. I furrow my brows, and walk over to the door. Sam told me he would be clocking in for the night, so I wasn't sure who would be at the door. Just to be safe, I toss my wet towel on the desk chair and slowly grab my gun that's still in my denim jacket, hanging on the chair.

There's another knock on the door so I switch the safety off the pistol and press the muzzle of it against the door. In one swift motion, I unlock the deadbolt, then slide the chain lock off before swinging the door open enough so that the visitor can only see my face. The tight grip on on my gun immediately loosens at the sight before me.

"Dean?" He smiles a bit in response. I give him a once over. He looked just how I left him. No disheveled hair, swollen lips, or crinkled clothes. 

"There's not a gun against the door is there?" He raises a brow. I chuckle, backing away from the door to open it widely. I unclip the gun in front of him.

"Not anymore." I wiggle the ammo clip in my hand with a smirk. He smirks back, walking inside the door and closing it behind him.

"Good." Before I even realize it's happening, Dean grabs a hold of my face and places his lips over mine. I slowly kiss back, almost like under some kind of spell, and both the gun and clip slip out of my hands. I close my eyes and savor every second of it, moving my hands to rest against his firm arms. The kiss was warm and soft, but had the right amount of pressure to say he meant business. I feel him pull away slowly and I pant, trying to catch my breath with my eyes still closed.