#sighing loudly and wondering how he'll have to face another day with being unable to have Thor the way he wants siiiiiigh

[thisdorkyblogthing]

currently can't stop thinking about Thor being so completely in denial about his feelings for Loki that it makes him just... kinda insane. like, the mental gymnastics he goes through to keep convincing himself that all his thoughts and feelings are Totally Platonic and Absolutely Normal. the longer it goes on and the more he tries to fight it the more feral he becomes. He can't stop himself from getting jealous and possessive and hovering around Loki every chance he gets. it starts seeping out of him against his will in comments to Loki and other people and his obsession with Loki becomes impossible to miss.

and Loki's l o v i n g it.

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 12

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George was lounging in the warm bath water, trying to use breathing exercises to clear her mind and calm herself. It had been a long day, capping off a long almost-month inside the Supernatural Universe. There were so many questions she couldn't answer and she wished she could turn her brain off; focus on anything else.

"George?" She heard Dean's muffled call from the other side of the bathroom door. "You OK in there?"

"Yea," She answered quietly. "Just humiliated," She added with an eye roll.

"Don't sweat it," Came his unusually sympathetic reply. "We've all been there, or somewhere similar… or somewhere worse," He added off handedly, taking another bite of pie. It occurred to him suddenly that the two of them were alone and Dean had a thought. After a moment's hesitation, he swallowed his bite of pie and called timidly, "George?"

"Yea?" She responded curiously, her voice raised slightly to compensate for the sound barrier. There was such a long pause with no answer that she wondered if it had just been her imagination. As she was about to call out again, she heard him finally.

"Can I ask you something?" Came an inquiry so quiet she almost didn't hear it. He sounded uncharacteristically troubled and… nervous?

"Yea, sure," She answered gently.

"What do you know about Michael?"

"Michael who?" Came her quick, confused reply.

"The archangel? Asshole that's been wearing me as a suit the last few weeks?" She was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was living inside of a TV show and it stunned her into silence. "That Michael? Has he not been on the show or...?" The nervous huff in his reply shook her out of her stupor. She realized this must be a hard topic for him. Unfortunately, though, she didn't have any insight to give.

"Oh fuck, right, Michael," She swallowed and gathered her thoughts before replying with a sigh, "I'm sorry, Dean, I don't really know much. I hadn't started this season yet," She finished apologetically.

"Thanks," Came a sarcastic reply.

She frowned and defended, "Look, I have a life, dude! I get behind, I can't always tune in every Thursday! Trust me, no one is more sorry about that than me right now. Maybe if I had, I could have done something to prevent this insane situation." A heavy sigh dotted the end of her sentence pointedly. Then she had a strange, disconcerting thought:

Would you really have prevented this from happening if you had a choice?

The thought startled her and she guiltily refused to answer herself.

A welcome distraction for her was noticing the silence that followed her answer to Dean; George could tell he was still concerned. Reaching over and grabbing the door handle, she cracked it just enough to spy Dean sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding a take out box. He glanced at her almost imperceptibly and she could tell her eyes weren't exactly welcome, so she turned her head away but left the door open.

"Here's what I've heard/seen on accident," She started, pausing to think and then saying carefully, "He comes back somehow," She heard him bristle but kept going, "And you do something to trap him. Some kind of box… or maybe a walk-in freezer?" She was trying to organize the spoilers she'd seen and identify what was related to Michael and what wasn't. "I know that doesn't make a lot of sense and I'm sorry, but that's all I've got."

Dean sighed and shrugged, "It's alright, George. I'm just… feeling lost. Was hoping for some clues, but it's not on you to save my bacon." George gave a wry smile to the bath water and sat quietly for a moment.

Finally she turned her head to look at him and asked, "You want to know what I do know, Dean?"

Slowly, he turned to look at her with an intrigued eyebrow, "I don't know, do I?"

With an amused eye roll she spoke, "I know this--right now--this story line with alternate Michael? It's two seasons behind where you and your brother end up in my reality. And--at least as far as I remember--this alternate Michael isn't a starring role for very long."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her in consideration, "Meaning?"

She shrugged and offered, "Meaning, you figure this out. Like you always do. You will figure this out and you will beat Michael and be onto the next big bad, whomever that is. Which, don't even ask because I really have no idea. Haven't watched those seasons at all yet… I think there's one episode where you meet Scooby Doo?"

Dean smirked and rolled his eyes, telling her matter-of-factly, "We already did that."

"No shit?! That already happened?" When he nodded in confirmation George 'ughed' loudly, rolling her eyes, "Damnit, that must have been one of the ones I just watched. What was it like?! Was Shaggy really high? Was Daphne really hot? Was Scooby just adorable?!"

Dean chuckled and answered, "Uh, yes, hell yes, and duh! It's Scooby Doo! Of course he's adorable!"

"Was it weird to be animated?"

He shrugged a little, "Eh, kin-"

She cut him off with a gasp, "Wait! Was all of you animated, like.. did you have all your-"

He shook his head and proclaimed, "That's none of your business!"

"Sorry!" George apologized defensively, then begged, "Tell me you and Daphne-"

"George!" Dean admonished with feigned offense, "I don't kiss and tell."

She scoffed and guessed, "Struck out, huh?"

Dean frowned and simply said, "Her and Fred are an item. I didn't want to break that up," to which George laughed in disbelief.

"Yea, I got it. I think things are starting to come back to me now," George teased him and he shrugged in defeat, unable to deny the fact that he definitely struck out with Daphne. When her laughter died away, she looked at him again and said, "I'm sorry I can't be more of a help. I know, I know, it's not my job to save you but that doesn't mean I enjoy not being able to." They were quiet again for a minute and she sighed, "If I could just call Ryan."

"Who's he?"

"She is my Winchester Wiki," She explained very matter of factly and Dean stared at her with an annoyed expression. With a smile she continued, "She's my friend and she's also a fan of the show; Got me back into it later in life and, well lets just say, she pays closer attention than I do. She'd be able to help you with this whole Michael problem without breaking a sweat. Oh and she's gorgeous," George tossed on and Dean raised a curious eyebrow. She caught his curious expression and asked, "You don't happen to have a phone with trans-universal long distance coverage by chance?"

Dean snorted and shook his head in bemused defeat, "Not on me." He was frustrated that she didn't have more insight on Michael, though somewhat comforted by the fact that-at least in her reality-he wasn't dead yet. That was something, he guessed.

"So," George smirked at him, glee in her eyes, "American's Next Top Model, hmm?"

"What, are you surprised? A house full of attractive models?" Dean gave her an obvious expression.

She shark-mouthed understandably and nodded, "Fair point. Allison cycle 12? Ooof. Hello!"

Dean considered her assessment for a moment, then nodded agreeably but offered, "Mercedes, cycle 2."

George had to remember who that was for a minute but then nodded emphatically, "Yes! Gorgeous and she was good. She ended up top three, right?"

They compared notes for a few minutes, until he finished the last bite of pie in the container he was holding. Then he whipped out his phone and muttered in her direction, "Finish your bath. I'm gonna text Sam for more towels."

When Sam got the text he snagged a pile from a housekeeping cart on their way back to George's room. They had also stopped by the car and brought up a few bags, per his request. Dean carefully handed George the towels through the bathroom door, so as to not accidentally see any bits, and then turned to Sam for a room update.

"Bad news: no adjoining rooms. The best I could do was five doors down. Even more bad news: only one queen bed." Sam held up the room key with a feigned wince. "But listen, I don't think we should leave George alone, so I'll just crash on the floor in here and you can take the room."

"Wow, what a sacrifice," Dean chuckled knowingly at his brother and snatched the key from him. "Shouldn't we have Cas handle it, though?"

"No, why?" Sam protested a little too fast.

"Because he doesn't need sleep. He can keep an eye on the little deserter. Make sure she doesn't do it again?"

Sam frowned, "She's not going to. And if she does, I think I can handle it. How is she supposed to get any sleep with Cas staring at her all night?"

"I don't stare at people when they sleep," Cas interrupted. With a huff he clarified, "I stare at the wall."

Dean looked at the offended angel and shrugged, "It's not that bad. He's quiet. Honestly, it's kind of comforting when you think about it." There was an awkward pause and Dean added, "Sometimes he'll sing for you if you ask nice-"

"Dean," Castiel admonished him for sharing something so intimate. Cas only did that for him.

Sam looked between the two of their sheepish faces and then assured sarcastically, "Yea, a singing angel staring at the wall in the dark. Totally not creepy."

George came out of the bathroom wrapped in the clean towels from Dean. She was now looking a little sheepish as well, "Hey, sorry about earlier. All of it. I jus-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Dean held up a hand to her. "Save it for the morning. You can spill your guts over breakfast. We couldn't get adjoining rooms, so Cas and I will be just down the hall; Sam will stay with you tonight. On the floor," He said pointedly with a 'behave' look toward Sam, who rolled his eyes in irritation. George nodded, barely listening, and let out a tired sigh.

Then she had a startling thought and groaned, "Shit. I'm going to have to put those crusty clothes back on."

Dean grinned proudly, "You're not the only one with surprise gifts." He took the bags that Sam and Cas had retrieved from the car and set them down on the wooden table.

"What's this?" She asked, grabbing one of the handles and peeking into the bag where she spotted the Friends logo hoodie she'd picked out at Target. "My clothes? My deodorant?! Oh Dean! Thank you so much! I would kiss you but you have pie like… all over your face, but thank you!" As she dug into the bags to search for the PJs, Dean looked questioningly at Sam and Cas who nodded in confirmation.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Dean grumbled, moving over to the sink to wipe his face. Sam shrugged in feigned innocence, laughing internally at his idiot brother.

"How did you get all the clothes I picked?" She asked, impressed.

"We got lucky; Sam happened to hear one of the employees complaining about a nutty woman who'd run from the store like a bat outta hell and abandoned all her stuff," Dean gave her a pointed stare.

She looked first at Sam, and then Cas and Dean, with immense gratitude, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her spirits had been lifted a little. The fresh underwear alone was going to make her feel a thousand times better.

"They mentioned they'd already put back one or two items when we asked about it, so hopefully we got the right replacements." Sam warned her.

"I don't care! I can apply deodorant and brush my teeth; I'm sure I can put together at least one clean outfit with what's here! So I'm hap-" She suddenly stopped and froze, having discovered a strange item in one of the bags. "Wha?" In one swift motion she pulled out a pale pink lace bodysuit and held it up for them to see. With an annoyed, yet curious expression she looked at Dean and asked, "Someone care to explain this?"

Dean held his hands up in innocence and Sam inspected the garment in confusion.

"It looked nice on the mannequin and the Target associate who helped me pick it out said it was bold, yet feminine. Perfect for the new woman in my life," Castiel happily explained, sounding as though he was reciting someone else's words.

George blushed a bit, looking at Sam and Dean like 'is he for real?', unsure how to respond. Both men shrugged unhelpfully, avoiding eye contact with the item she was still holding, and remained quiet. Cas seemed so proud, she didn't want to ruin it.

Finally, she stuttered out, "Wow. OK, well… thanks. Very thoughtful of you, Castiel…"

"If you wanted to provide me with your exact measurements, the sales associate offered to help me pick out a 'matching bra and panty se'-"

"OK, why don't we quit while we're ahead, eh Buddy?" Dean grabbed up four of the remaining takeout boxes and motioned for Cas to do the same. He then reached for the pink, lacey material in George's hand, jokingly trying to take it from her.

She swatted him with it and held it out of his reach, "Hey! You're the old woman in his life."

He couldn't help but laugh in response, though he shook his head in annoyance, and then headed out the door with the angel in tow, "See you crazy kids in the morning!"

When they left George looked at Sam curiously, "Is it wrong that I kind of want to give Cas 'my measurements' and then watch him try to pick out lingerie?"

Sam smirked in amusement but nodded, "Yes."

"Oh, you're no fun," George chuckled and tossed the teddy back into the bag.

"Perhaps the wrong audience?" He suggested with a chuckle.

"Yea, that's fair," She agreed. While she rifled through the bags and grabbed out some black PJ pants, a light blue, short sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of underwear, Sam watched her quietly. To say he was relieved to find her safe and unharmed was an understatement. He'd also been thrilled by her admission that she liked it here, but, like Cas, he was curious what it meant. And what it could mean for him.

Does she like it enough to stay maybe? He cursed at himself for even thinking it.

"Uh, George?" He finally pushed through the nerves and forced himself to speak.

"Hmm?" She responded curiously, not looking up from her bags just yet.

He tried to adopt a nonchalant, yet comforting tone and asked, "When you were saying earlier that you felt… comfortable here? Like you belong? What did you mean?"

Pausing her rummaging, she glanced over at him, caught off guard by the question. Truthfully, she didn't know if she could answer it. She was quiet for a long time, trying to decide how deep she wanted to get into this.

Finally, she turned to him and said, "Back home I… I've always had this strange, out of place feeling. Major dysphoria my whole life and kinda irritatingly painful too, like... full body restless leg syndrome. I've always imagined it similar to how a trans individual might experience feeling like they were born in the wrong body, ya know?" Sam made a noise of confirmation and she continued, "Except, my body is fine--well, it's not the cause of this problem anyway," they chuckled together.

"It's more… my whole being was wrong somehow, like I didn't belong. Anywhere. I had trouble connecting with people and making friends; even my own family seemed so different from me. I felt like I was on a different wavelength than other people, and not in a snooty, I'm-better-than-anybody way but like a sad, I-have-hardly-any-friends-because-I-can't-relate way, so it sucked. Hard. My family wasn't much help; though they tried to help by testing me for every 'disorder' you could think of. Nada. I was just… inexplicably different and no one could explain why. I could barely explain what I was feeling. They--my parents--were surprisingly relieved when I came out after college. For them, my 'struggle with the fact that I liked boys and girls throughout my childhood' explained everything away so perfectly, that they wrote it off right then and there. But it never had to do with that; my sexuality was nothing I ever struggled with, I just didn't feel like I needed to tell them. And since I'm still queer in this reality..." She trailed off her point, allowing him to fill in the blanks, with a chuckle.

Sam nodded with a sympathetic smile, clearly reading on her face how painful her experience had been. Gently he asked, "And now, being here, i-in this reality, you feel...?"

Her head tilted to the side and, looking at him wide-eyed, she sighed deeply, "Now? God, now, I feel… normal? Or, at least what I can only assume normal people feel like." Suddenly her voice was heavy with deep emotional relief, "I don't know how to explain it… and I don't know why, maybe I don't even care why, but I feel so good for the first time in forever. Emotionally, spiritually, physically... The constant restless buzzing is mercifully just gone. Sometimes I think I feel it again--that terrible, agonizing discomfort--and my heart skips a beat. But then my brain registers that it really is gone and I still feel good! And that feeling is almost better than the best sex I've ever had."

Sam shark-mouthed in surprised appreciation and teased kindly, "So, I guess you did know how to explain it?"

George let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding with a chuckle and nodded, "Yea, I guess so. Honestly, I'm a little scared to go back," A few tears that had welled up as she was proselytizing spilled down her cheeks uncontrollably and she reached up to wipe them away, blushing lightly.

As George contemplated her admission in the silence, the guilt she felt over leaving them earlier was back. Why the hell did she leave if she'd felt so damn good here? She also felt like a stupid, impulsive child running away from the only people who seemed to care about her, at least insofar as they didn't want her to die. She felt especially guilty that Sam had stuck his neck out for her with Dean and she'd basically stomped on it.

Sam stood awkwardly, watching her with an empathetic grimace. He nearly leapt over to comfort her but… Christ, was this situation complicated. Maybe if things were different, maybe if she wasn't safer in her old reality, maybe if they hadn't handcuffed her to a chair and interrogated her, maybe if she hadn't spent the last few hours crying through an existential crisis, maybe if he wasn't terrified she would push him away in disgust? Maybe if she wasn't practically naked right now... maybe then he wouldn't feel so torn about walking over and wrapping her up into a bear hug.

After a moment of nervously wringing her fingers, George met his eyes and took a deep breath, apologizing, "I'm sorry I ran, Sam. I don't even really know why I-"

"Hey, you don't have to explain anything to me," Sam shook his head definitively, taking a few small steps toward her, now within arms reach. "I understand what you're going through-sort of, and you know, in reverse but still-I get it. Don't worry about it," He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it, "I'm just happy I found you."

At his touch, her heart skipped a beat and she felt her whole body flush, goosebumps forming on her skin. The sincerity in his voice and the look in his eyes nearly made her physically swoon. Was that an admission of something or just a subtextless statement of forgiveness? Staring into his eyes made her feel like she was on the downswing of the world's tallest roller coaster. She had to force herself to break eye contact before she could breathe again. He squeezed her hand once more before slowly letting go and as he did she had a realization.

"Thank you." Mustering up a smile through her butterflies, she clumsily grabbed the clothing she needed. "Anyway, I'm suddenly very, very aware of the fact that I'm naked-oh and have been since the three of you got here," She realized, blushing again. Jesus, I took a bath with Dean Winchester in the next room. Her legs felt like jelly as she tried to remain cool, calm, collect, walking toward the bathroom, "Uh, so, I should probably go put some clothes on, now."

Sam nodded understandingly and said with an earnest expression, "Hopefully not on my account." When George froze mid step and jerked her head towards him, burning red from head to toe, he faltered, "Er-uh-I just meant, you don't need to feel uncomfortable naaak-err-without-I mean you aren't making me uncomfortable while-without… clothes." George was relaxed by his shy, adorable stuttering, although at this point 'shy' surprised her. He'd been just as bold back at the bunker, more than once. He sighed and gave her a meek smile, "Uh, somehow this sounded less creepy in my head."

With a chuckle she put him out of his misery, "Relax, Ravenclaw, I understand. It's not on your account, it's on mine," She assured him, to which he nodded thankfully, a relieved expression on his face. She turned back to the door of the bathroom, pushing it open and stepping in.

When she exited the bathroom again, now fully clothed, the only light in the room was now the small, soft light above the bed. At first, the room seemed empty and George wondered if she'd scared Sam away with all her emotions. She was about to call out for him when she finally noticed a pair of big old feet sticking out from along the side of the bed near the window.

"Sam? What are you doing?" She walked over and found him lying on the ground on top of one solitary blanket.

"Just relaxing." He shrugged boyishly.

"On the floor?"

He clarified, "On my bed."

"Sorry, this tissue paper is supposed to be your bed?" She asked for clarification.

"Standard issue motel comforter. And, yea, it's perfect," He reached down on his side and pulled the right side of the blanket over himself. "See, you just fold the top over and it becomes a mattress and a blanket in one!" He seemed genuinely pleased about his makeshift accommodations, as though he was sharing a trade secret with her.

"Wow," she tried to sound impressed, "clever." She hopped onto the bed above him complimenting a bit sarcastically, "Quite the boy scout, aren't you?"

His head jerked up to look at her. There it was again. Another line direct from his dream falling familiarly from her lips. Hearing the pet name conjured images in his mind of the dream woman saying it. It felt identical.

But, how? That dream wasn't real. It was just Gabriel. George is a different woman, it's just a coin-

"Hey, can I ask you something?" George cut into his internal panicking with a soft voice suddenly.

"Yep?" He tried to seem nonchalant.

"Well… OK, I'm just going to say this because fuck it, I have nothing to lose at this point," She wasn't looking at him but sensed his nervous curiosity right away. Ignoring her own butterflies, she said, "Seems to me that the Sam I met at the bunker would have committed to that earlier 'unintended' innuendo." She raised a sideways brow at him, checking out of the corner of her eye to make sure he understood what she was referencing. When she could tell he did, she finally turned her head to meet his eyes and with a shy smile asked, "So, what gives?"

Sam considered her question for a minute; he wasn't sure where to start. Finally he folded his hands in his lap and shrugged sadly, "Actually, uh-about that, I feel like I owe you an apology."

Oooh, that doesn't sound good, George tried to hide her grimace. Her stomach started twisting in painful knots. What's that you were saying about nothing to lose?

"Por que?" She was trying to stave off a cold sweat.

"For… Well, I guess, how about handcuffing you to a chair and interrogating you for starters? For allowing you to be sexually assaulted by a demon? For letting you risk your life to come with us on this hunt? For hitting on you when you were obviously going through a difficult time? Take your pick."

She let out a breath of surprised relief and smiled curiously, "Oh… well in that case, let me just say: one, your brother was the one who handcuffed me to the chair--and it was understandable. Two, it's not your responsibility to protect me from the likes of Tim. He wasn't the first creep and he won't be the last." He seemed thoroughly unsatisfied by that response, so she tried to lighten it up by continuing, "And three, you didn't let me come on the hunt. Clearly I strong armed you." A tiny snort of amusement emitted from him and she smirked, then added curiously, "And, lastly, just to be clear… you were hitting on me?"

He huffed in humiliation, running his hand over his face, unable to look at her, "God, I feel like a real jackass." A blackhole was growing in the pit of his stomach. "Your world was literally turned upside down and you needed help not--not some weird, bunker dwelling asshole making advances."

"Uh, Sam," At first George laughed; the absurdity of the hottest man on television apologizing for hitting on her struck her funny bone. However, when it registered just how sober the tone of his voice was, the reality of the situation hit her again like a ton of bricks. She realized that part of her was still anticipating Jared to break at some point and reveal all of this had been an elaborate set up. It hadn't occurred to her yet that, for Sam, this was all real. His sincerity touched her.

She swallowed down the rest of her laughter, along with her typical smartass response, and smiled kindly, "Thank you for the apology and I appreciate the thought, I really do, but it's not necessary. You had no idea, considering I lied to you--which I'm also sorry about if I haven't already said that." That last part came out quickly upon realizing she might not have apologized yet. He gave her a kind smile and waved her off gently, so she continued, "So, please don't feel guilty. And I'll let you know if your advances are ever unwanted. Promise."

The deja vu hit him again so hard it knocked the wind out of him. His eyes snapped up to meet hers from his spot on the floor. A blush creeped across her cheeks as he stared curiously. She was back on the roller coaster, butterflies tumbling in her gut, but forced herself to keep eye contact, allowing him to conduct his search. She wasn't sure what he was so determinedly looking for but she hoped he was finding it.

A mix of emotions wrestled within him at the moment. Though he knew logically it made no sense, he was having a harder and harder time denying that he knew this woman, intimately--in every sense of the word. But, how?! And, holy shit, was she saying what he hoped she was saying? He could feel his hopes skyrocketing while he struggled to hold them down in self-preservation.

A huge yawn broke out on her face, ruining the moment and snapping Sam out of his stupor.

"Whoa, Jesus," She laughed a bit, surprised by the force of the yawn.

"Time for bed?" Sam tried to mask his disappointment at the disruption. She nodded agreeably.

"Listen, could you at least take a pillow, please? One pillow? For me?" Pulling the sheets back, so she could climb in, she yanked a pillow out and tossed it over the edge of the bed. She heard it land with an audible POOMPF right on his face. "Oops," she said with a snicker, reaching over to turn off the lamp on the table while he adjusted the pillow behind his head.

Sliding up under the covers, she settled down on her back. The deafening silence in the room allowed her mind to wander freely while she stared up at the ceiling. After a moment she rolled onto her side and peeked over the edge of the bed, surprised to find Sam's beautiful hazel eyes staring intensely back at her in the dark.

She whispered, "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Came a soft, low rumble, as he continued to stare back.

"How did you find me?" She wondered.

"Uh…" He turned away from her quickly and shifted nervously. He felt compelled to be honest with her; luckily the shroud of darkness made him bolder than he would have been in the harsh light of day. "We tracked you through the cab company mostly. Lost your trail at the diner and then… I'm not really sure. We were driving around and when I saw the sign for the motel I… uh, just had a strong feeling that you were here?"

"...uh huh." His answer surprised her. So much so, that she had to break eye contact and lay back down. She stared at the ceiling in shock.

What did that mean?

Though even as she asked herself the question, she had a feeling that she already knew. It was a feeling that didn't exactly put her at ease; raising more questions than it answered. She mulled it over for a few moments, before deciding she was too tired to pull at that thread.

She finally shrugged a little and said, "Good instincts?"

"Yeah… that must be it," He trailed off, having a nearly identical conversation with himself, and they fell silent again.

"Sam?" She said, choking back a nervous laughter. When she heard him respond with a curious grunt she hesitated. Finally, she blurted in a quiet, definitive whisper, "Samgirl. No question." When she could hear the smile behind another, practically silent--as though he was trying to hide it--grunt of confirmation she smiled wide, adding quickly, "And just so you know, that is the first and last time you will ever hear me utter that silly term of my own volition."

"Understood," He murmured in a teasingly serious tone, making her laugh quietly.

With another big yawn, she forced herself to stop engaging. Before rolling over, she tossed over her shoulder, "And don't tell Dean. He'll be devastated and we have a job to do." The sound of his joyful chuckling was the last thing she heard before sleep overtook her.