Falling Stars

Prologue

We're alone in some off-road clearing with the Impala, awaiting Dean's return from the gas station a mile back where he's getting supplies. I'm sitting on the hood of the car, rereading my favorite book, Wuthering Heights.

Sam leans out the drivers side window, turning the music down. So he wants to have a conversation, huh? Well, no. I won't have it.

"What, uhm," Sam clears his throat when I don't acknowledge him.

"What're you reading?" "None of your business," I turn the page.

Sam gets out of the Impala and sits up on the hood next to me. I glare at the beer in his outstretched hand, but take it because I'm thirsty as hell.

"Look, I-"

"Don't even start, Winchester." I cut him off, smacking him in the chest with my book as I transfer my glare to him. "I don't wanna hear it."

He sighs.

"Don't you throw a bitch fit on me, Sam." I snarl. "You drag me away to god knows where, without telling me anything, and you're treating me like I'm the president, minus the social standings. I'm not a DOLL, I can take care of myself!"

Now that I've finally started up, I can't stop. "What is WITH you guys? Just because you've been through hell and heaven and purgatory and who knows what fucking else, does NOT mean that my backyard is the next frontier! If you're gonna whisk me off to Neverland fine but how DARE you think I can't help? That I can't DO anything?!" I huff a breath, gulp some beer.

Sam opens his mouth and I smack him again, this time with my hand. "DAMN YOU, Sam! And Dean too!!"

I hop off the car and lock myself into it, blasting Dean's music and dusting off Wuthering Heights. Dean is the only one with decent taste around here. I smile down at my Led Zeppelin band tee. It was my uncle's when he was a lanky teenager, so it fits me just fine.

Only a few moments pass before I hear a jiggle and the locks click. I react too late. The door screeches open and Sam drags me out of the Impala.

I rid myself of his grip, bending down to pick up the book. lost my fucking page, too. I straighten up and turn to face him, rage building.

"What the HELL, Winch-mmf!" Sam slams me into the side of the car, his arm cradling my head. My fingers lose their hold on my book in shock as his lips crash down onto mine, stealing the breath required for a protest.

He breaks the seal between us at the last second possible to breathe. We both gasp. My knees give out. Sam's weight pinning me to the Impala is the only thing that keeps me from collapsing.

"S-Sam.." I gasp, trying to calm my racing heart. Sam's only response is a soft, unrecognizable sound of wanting, and he ducks down to attack my lips again. Against it's better judgement, my brain decides to kiss him back.

This chases more noises from Sam, and his kisses become hungrier, needier. His hands are on either side of my face, nearly enveloping it, pushing my hair back almost painfully. My hands find the buttons of his plaid shirt. Only a few of them are done, and quickly undone. I tug on the collar of the shirt, making my own weird gasping noises. His hands release my face and the air that comes whooshing back to kiss it in his place makes me shiver.

Sam wriggles his arms out of the plaid, tossing it in the still open front seat. I lose my cropped leather jacket. When he breaks the kiss again, we both tug our shirts off. Sam pulls me to him and away from the car. My fingers fumble blindly with his belt. His arm reaches behind me and yanks open the door of the car, pushing me onto the back seat and climbing in on top of me. I kick off my boots and he does the same, working off my pants at the same time. I finally get his belt to slide out of the loops. Small pleasured giggly sounds erupt from my mouth at the groans that escape him when I tighten it around his forearm.

His pants are gone before I even notice. "Oh my god," Sam stops to look down at me, breathing heavily.

He kisses my navel and lightly traces my tattoo of birds in flight all the way up my side with his tongue. it makes me laugh breathily and shiver beneath him. I pull him down for another kiss.

He gives just a peck, and then a flutter of kisses on my freckles, as though trying to count them. he kisses my neck too, and my collarbone, and sucks on the dagger necklace that rests in the hollow of my throat.

"Sam," I moan. All his teasing playfulness is almost enough to put me over the edge right there. He moans into my neck, sucking at the skin there for a bit before returning to my lips. I can feel them bruising but of course I don't really care.

It lasts for what seems like hours. Afterwards, I put on his plaid shirt and my jeans but ditch my boots, and he puts his t shirt back on over his pants. We climb up on the hood together and we take turns reading Wuthering Heights aloud from the beginning until nightfall, when Dean finally returns.

He gives me and Sam both a look, for the shirt I'm now wearing and the distance between us- there isn't any.

But Dean doesn't say a word, only mutters something to himself that sounds a lot like "And here I thought I'd be the one to tap that." Sam frowns, then shrugs and grins.

"I still hate both of you," I mumble halfheartedly. I'm so tired all of the sudden. Sam laughs, sliding off the Impala and gathering my body into his arms easily. I must give him a real funny look when he gets us into the backseat again, because he just laughs and shakes his head.

Dean catches this exchange. He looks at Sam in the rearview mirror with a mix of amusement, irritation, horror, and maybe even jealousy. "You didn't," he says seriously.

Sam grins.

"My poor baby..." Dean coos to the dash.

Sam gets situated, then lays me out next to him on the seat. I wriggle back to him and curl up half in his lap. He picks up his jacket from the floor and drapes it over my shoulders with a fond expression.

"Goodnight, Star," Sam whispers to me.

The last thing I hear is the soft mumbles of Bon Jovi drifting from the car's stereo and the quiet laughter of the Winchester brothers as I hum a few bars before drifting off to sleep.

I dream of Sam and Dean dressed as cowboys in the whatever- hundreds, of old fashioned showdowns with polished, glistening guns. And corsets that make my boobs throb and puff out like popcorn from a kernel.

~