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burntsecrets · 2 months ago

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Dodging Cupid's Arrows

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2630

Prompt: Cupid's Got A Shotgun by Carrie Underwoods

Summary: An encounter with Cupid forces you to face your feelings for the Winchester Brothers.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, unresolved romantic tension, fear of emotional vulnerability, self-doubt, internal conflict, unrequited love, intense emotional introspection, defensive behavior, discussion of emotional scars, mentions of past relationship trauma, slow burn, protective behavior, Cupid intervention, romantic frustration.

The bar’s dim, sputtering light casts a weak glow overhead, barely illuminating the worn wooden tables and the scuffed floor beneath your boots. Shadows cling to the walls like old memories, and you sink deeper into your chair, swirling the last of your whiskey in the glass before taking a slow sip. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat, spreading a fleeting warmth through your chest, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging in your head. It never does.

It’s the same pattern every time, isn’t it? Men with honeyed words slip into your life, leaving behind promises as thin as smoke, promises they never intend to fulfill. Before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage of something that wasn’t even real, just a mirage of what could have been. All those "almosts" stack up like bricks, weighing heavy on your heart, and even though you’ve never had a real relationship, it feels like you've been left shattered more times than you can count.

The scars are there, even if no one else can see them. They linger in every moment a guy brushes you off, in the hollow smile you force when you know it's not real. You feel the sting in every glance that sizes you up like you’re a prize to be won rather than a person to know. So you’ve built your walls, layering them high and thick until nothing, no one, can break through. Not even him.

Or them.

Sam and Dean Winchester—they didn’t just walk into your life. No, they crashed into it, two forces of nature that bulldozed right through your carefully constructed defenses, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way you swore you’d never be again. At first, you tried to play it cool, act like they were just hunters, comrades in arms. But the months blurred together, and now you can’t even tell how long it’s been. And that scares you because losing track means losing control and losing control means letting them in.

And letting them in? That’s not an option.

Even now, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their presence lingering in the air like a storm cloud ready to break. Sam’s by the pool table, his lean, tall frame moving with practiced ease as he lines up shot after shot. There’s a calm to him, but it’s the kind that keeps you on edge, like he could switch in an instant and suddenly be dangerous. Then there’s Dean, perched at the bar with a half-empty beer in hand, his eyes flicking between the room and you, constantly scanning for threats, always watching.

Always watching you.

They’re protective. It should comfort you, but it drives you insane. Because the truth is, no matter how many monsters they face, no matter how many battles they fight, they can’t protect you from what matters most. They can’t protect you from yourself.

You think back to the last hunt, to the ridiculousness of it all—a damn Cupid, of all things. The little winged freak zeroed in on you from the moment you stepped into that abandoned church, those bright, beady eyes tracking you with unnerving precision. He wasn’t cute, not like the Valentine's Day cards would have you believe. No, this thing was more like a demented cherub, armed with arrows dipped in cosmic mischief, and he had you in his crosshairs. You could feel it in the air—the tug, the weight, as though Cupid himself was hell-bent on forcing you to confront feelings you’d buried so deep even you were beginning to forget they existed. Each arrow he loosed sent your heart racing, as if you could sense the emotional mess he was trying to weave. But you dodged them all, every last one, determined not to let some glorified matchmaker unravel everything you’d worked so hard to lock away.

You're not stupid. You know precisely what the little bastard was aiming for. It’s not like you’ve been blind to the way Sam’s gaze lingers on you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, soft and curious, like he’s trying to piece you together. Or the way Dean’s jaw tightens, a flicker of possessiveness in his green eyes, whenever some random guy at a bar edges too close, his whole demeanor shifting to silent warning. You’ve been dodging these unspoken glances for months now, sidestepping their care, their questions, like someone dancing around a minefield. Because you know that once you stop moving, it’ll all explode in your face.

And you’ve had enough explosions in your life.

But there’s only so much running you can do before the inevitable catches up.

“Hey.”

Dean’s gravelly voice slices through the whirlwind of your thoughts, rough but steady, anchoring you as he slides into the seat beside you. His presence is a weight that presses into the air, solid, almost suffocating in its certainty. The chair creaks beneath him, but all you hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, thundering in your chest.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking, but it’s more than that. It’s the question beneath the question, the one you’ve been dodging for longer than you can remember.

Your heart skips a beat—a betraying thud that echoes in the hollowness you’ve tried to keep locked down. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but he makes it impossible to pretend. You glance at him, careful to keep your face neutral, masking the fluttering in your chest with a look you’ve perfected over years of pretending. It’s almost second nature by now—the practiced nonchalance. But with Dean, it’s always been different.

There’s something in the way his green eyes bore into yours, piercing through the walls you’ve built brick by brick, layer by layer. It’s as though he sees right past your armor, straight into that small, fragile part of you that still aches for something real. Something more. But you can’t let him see that. You won’t. So you shove it down, hard, pushing that flicker of vulnerability back into the shadows as you lean casually into your chair. Your body language distant, closed off.

“Yeah,” you shrug, the lie slipping from your lips as easily as breathing. “Just tired. Long day.”

Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just watches you with that familiar intensity, and you know—you know—he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. He’s seen you fight, seen you bleed, seen you crawl out of the wreckage of hunts that should’ve killed you. He’s seen you at your worst, and somehow, he still sticks around. He and Sam both do, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’ve gotten too close, wedged themselves into your life in ways that make it impossible for you to keep pretending.

Pretending that you don’t care.

Pretending that the way Dean looks at you doesn’t unravel something deep inside.

From across the room, you feel Sam’s eyes on you. His quiet gaze tracks the shift in the atmosphere as he casually leans his pool cue against the table and makes his way over, long strides slow but purposeful. His expression is calm and unreadable, but you see the concern in the tightness of his jaw and the subtle way his brow furrows as he joins Dean at your side.

“You’ve been quiet,” Sam says softly, folding his arms across his broad chest. There’s no judgment in his tone, just that frustrating gentleness, the kind that makes you feel seen when you’d rather stay hidden. “Is it… about earlier? With Cupid?”

The mention of Cupid sends a sharp twist through your stomach. You swallow, forcing down the surge of emotions that threatens to rise, burying it beneath layers of practiced indifference. You won’t let some stupid angel with a bow and arrow undo everything you’ve worked so hard to keep locked away. You won’t.

“I’m fine,” you snap, the words slipping out too fast, too harsh. The crack in your voice betrays you. “That was nothing. Just another hunt.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the weight of Sam’s stare, too, both of them pinning you with that all-too-familiar look. The one that says they’re not buying your crap, the one that makes your pulse quicken, and your chest tighten. You hate that look because it leaves you nowhere to hide.

“Bullshit.” Dean’s voice is low, steady, cutting through the silence with calm certainty. He takes a long sip from his beer, but his eyes never leave yours, and it feels like he’s peeling back every layer you’ve carefully put up to protect yourself. “You’ve been dodging that thing like it was the plague, and don’t think we didn’t notice.”

You clench your hands into fists in your lap, frustration bubbling up like a rising tide. “Look,” you say, your voice sharp, defensive. “I don’t need some magical arrow telling me how I’m supposed to feel. I’m fine the way I am.”

Sam shifts beside Dean, his arms still crossed, but you see the way the muscle in his jaw tenses, the way his hazel eyes soften as they search yours. “It’s not about what you’re supposed to feel,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s about what you do feel.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, it’s all too much. The weight of their concern, the intensity of their gaze, the truth that they’re trying to force you to admit—it presses down on you until you can’t breathe. You stand up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as you push it back. The sound is harsh, jarring in the quiet of the bar, but you barely notice.

“I don’t feel anything, okay?” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Not for you, not for him, not for anyone. And I won’t let some winged freak tell me otherwise.”

The tension in the air thickens, suffocating, hanging between the three of you like a storm cloud ready to break. Dean stands up slowly, his movements deliberate, his face carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something raw, something that cuts deeper than you want to admit. Hurt, maybe. Disappointment. You can’t think about it. You won’t.

“Y’know,” Dean says quietly, taking a step toward you, his voice low and steady, “you keep saying that, but you don’t believe it. Not really.” He’s close now, too close, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves, and it makes your pulse spike. “You’re just scared.”

Your heart slams against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. Fear coils tightly around your chest, but not the fear of them. No, it’s the fear of what they’re asking you to do. To let them in. To trust them. To stop running.

And running is all you know how to do.

“I’m not scared,” you whisper, but the words feel weak and empty, even to you.

Dean’s lips twitch into a small, humorless smile, his eyes softening just a fraction as he watches you. “Yeah, you are,” he says, his voice gentler now but no less intense. “And that’s okay. But maybe it’s time you stopped running from it.”

Sam steps closer, his presence steady and calm, grounding you in a way that you don’t want to admit you need. His voice is soft, full of quiet understanding, but there’s an unshakable strength beneath it. “You don’t have to do this alone, y’know,” he says. “We’re here. We always have been.”

The words sink into you, settling deep into the cracks of your carefully guarded heart, and something inside you shifts. Just a little. It’s terrifying, the idea of trusting them, of letting yourself hope, but there’s also something achingly beautiful about it. About the possibility that maybe, for once, you don’t have to be the one to leave first. That maybe, you don’t have to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.

But still, the fear—the bone-deep, soul-crushing fear of opening up, of letting someone in only to be left behind again—is overwhelming and paralyzing.

“I can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper now, trembling under the weight of the truth you’re too afraid to admit. “I can’t risk it.”

Dean’s hand reaches out slowly, cautiously, like he knows one wrong move could send you running. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers, calloused from years of hunting, gently find yours, and instead of just holding your wrist, he entwines his fingers with yours, locking them together with a quiet but unspoken promise. The touch is soft yet firm, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, soothing strokes, as if he’s trying to reassure you with every heartbeat. The warmth of his skin against yours sends a shiver up your spine, igniting something deep inside you, something you’ve kept buried for so long you almost forgot it was there.

You feel the weight of his presence settle over you like a blanket, heavy with meaning, but there’s nothing suffocating about it. It’s grounding, steady—safe. And yet, that safety terrifies you because it’s the kind you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve. But Dean, he isn’t giving you a choice. Not this time.

His other hand comes up slowly, his movements deliberate and gentle, as if he’s afraid you might bolt at any second. His palm cups your cheek, warm and rough, but his touch is tender, almost reverent. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. The simple motion cracks something inside you, and for a moment, it feels like the walls you’ve built so carefully over the years are crumbling under the weight of his touch.

"Maybe you’re not the only one taking a risk here," Dean murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. His words hang between you, heavy and raw, filled with all the things he’s never said but has always felt. His eyes search yours, and in them, you see it—the longing, the fear, the desperate hope that you’ll stay, that you’ll finally let them in. That you’ll choose them.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, anchoring you to the moment. His thumb continues its slow, tender sweep across your cheek, and the tenderness in his gaze is enough to break your heart. This man, this infuriating, stubborn, protective man, who has fought demons and monsters and everything in between, is standing here with his heart wide open, asking you to stop running. Asking you to be with him and his brother in a way that terrifies you more than any hunt ever could.

For the first time, you feel the weight of what’s at stake—not just for you, but for him, for Sam. This isn’t just about you being afraid of getting hurt. It’s about them too, about the risk they’re taking by loving you, by wanting you to be a part of their lives. And it hits you with such force that you almost can’t breathe. They aren’t asking for your walls to come down—they’re asking to stand beside them. To hold you through the fear, through the pain, through whatever comes next.

You stare up at Dean, his hand still cradling your face like you’re something precious, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder—really wonder—if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one with something to lose.

Because you can feel it now—the risk they’re taking, the way they’re holding their breath, waiting for your answer, waiting for you to finally say yes. And in that moment, you realize that they’ve already decided. They’ve already chosen you.

It’s your turn to choose them.

taglist // @spnfanficpond @spnfans

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hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog · 7 years ago

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I am not me without you

Hey everyone so here is my first ever one shot request! This request was sent in by @waywardwboys she was looking for a sam x reader where they are on a hunt and the reader gets hurt and Sam takes her back to the motel and takes care of her. Their relationship isn’t define as a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship but of one where they need each other, that their lives wouldn’t be the same without the other. I hope I did @waywardwboys justice.

warnings: angst, violence, a standard Supernatural episode where a hut is involved, language for good measure. Word count is at 3,176 (sorry, not sorry).

Like and reblog if your so inclined, feedback is always welcome and welcome. If you would like your own one shot send me an ask or message, if you would be like to tag in my writing just send me a message or comment to the post.

As always the photos are not mine, found on Google, but the story is so PLEASE NOT POST AS YOUR OWN.

Love!

You don't want to make the call, you wanted to handle this case on your own, prove to yourself and the boys that you could handle your shit, that you were just as capable as them to hunt on your own. Granted you don’t have the years of experience like they do, or the vast collection of weapons or research materials, but still, when you saw the article pop up about the recent disappearances in your home state of Michigan, and the suspected haunted orphanage. I mean come on it’s a simple salt and burn job, a day work at the most…boy were you wrong.

Pacing back and forth in your motel room, your phone in your hand, Sam’s name on the screen with the phone icon just teasing you to press it, to call him. What started out as a one day hunt has now turn into three days, and three more disappearances. Shit you had screwed up royally on this one, taking a seat at then end of the unmade and hard as a rock bed, you finally swallow your pride and hit the send button.

After the second ring, “Y/N, what the hell, where have you been?” Sam’s voice on the other line comes through clear, as if he was sitting right next to you. You can tell he’s worried, and that he’s holding back his anger of not knowing where your at. Running your hands through your hair, you feel your nerves start to flood back.

“Sam, look, I am sorry, I know your mad that I left and didn’t tell you, but I thought…I just screwed up, okay…can you please just come,” just spilling everything, the words just keep coming and you start to feel the tears come. Shit get it together, you think, “I am just outside of Marquette…I will text you the address…please Sam I…” Your cut off by Sam.

“I will be there soon, just stay put” Sam’s voice shifts from anger to concern, he can hear your desperation and is just happy that your alive. “I am leaving now, just send me the address,” he says then hangs up the phone.

four hour later

You hear the roar of the Impala pulling up to the motel parking lot, that sound you could pick it up anywhere. Your head snaps up, from the laptop screen, hearing the door quickly open and shut from the car and of hearing the fast pace of Sam as he walks across the parking lot. You get up a make it halfway across the room to the door, when he walks right in, not even knocking, or waiting for an invite. He closes the short distance between you and wraps his arms around you tight.

“I was so worried” he says, holding you close, your head in the center of his chest, you take in his sent of sandlewood, old classic leather bond books, and just the smallest hint of vanilla, you feel at home. Your hands wrap around him, and you let your body relax, and you start to cry.

Sam just holds you, not saying anything, the sound of your muffle tears, him rubbing your back and the sound of the cars driving on the street from the open motel door are the only things that fills the room.

Finally after a while you compose yourself to look up at him. You can see the concern on his face, his hazel eyes, filled with wanting to hold you forever and also yell at you for leaving. He has dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping and the growth of a few days on his face tells you that he hasn’t been taking care of himself.

“I am sorry I thought…I just wanted to prove to you…” you lean back from him, still with your hands lock behind his back, he wasn’t letting you go that easy.

“Prove what to me? That leaving in the middle of the night with no note would drive me crazy” he closes his eyes, trying to shake the past few days from his mind. Not wanting to go back to that morning, “Please Y/N…don’t do that ever again” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead, taking in your sent of shampoo, God he has miss that smell.

“Sam I am sorry, I just wanted to prove that I could hunt just as well as you and Dean on my own, I thought this was going to be a simple salt and burn job, be back in a night” You say, loosing your grip around his waist, taking a step back, you walk over and take a seat at the small table. Sam follows you taking a seat next to you.

“Y/N…you are good enough, you don’t have to prove anything to me or Dean” he says, reaching for your hand and taking it, lacing his fingers with yours.

It’s this simple gesture that he always does with you, either at the bunker doing research, at a diner for a meal, or just watching tv if he is in close proximity to you, your hand is in his. Its the reassurance that you need, the thing that keeps you grounded to him. Sam and your relationship was a unique one, not together as a couple, but more then just friends, a bond a bit stronger then what you have with Dean. Trying to explain it to anyone was a lost of words, something that both Sam and you didn’t feel the need to define or defend.

“I know…ugh…I am just glad your here now” you say, absently running your thumb over his knuckles, “I could really use your help on this one” giving him a half smile, he returns the smile back, seeing the light come back into his eyes, the worrying disappearing.

“Okay, what do you got?”

***************

After explaining the whole case to him, how you suspect that source of the disappearances is the abandoned orphanage. The history that you found out about some of the staff abusing some of the kids and how a fire broke out, killing them before they could be brought to justice.

“At first I thought maybe their bodies weren’t completely destroy in the fire, but no remains were found,” you say, getting up from the table with takeout containers in hand from dinner, you throw them in the trash and lean up against the counter.

“Okay so…” sam says letting the statement hang there, he wants you to take the lead on this, since its your case and all. leaning back in his chair, he watches you, enjoying seeing you work through the process.

“Turns out the abuse was actually killings, and that the kids bodies were never recovered” you say, Sam keeps silent, “were dealing with Myling’s, six from what I can tell.”

“Myling’s and six of them, okay yeah this a two person job for sure,” he says, grabbing the laptop and turning it towards him, after a few minutes, “oh wow” he says, turning the computer screen towards you, “serious Y/N, this place is huge,” a floor plan of the building on his screen.

“I know but here, right here, is where they have to be” you say, walking over to the screen and pointing to a section in the upper right corner.

“Why this section?” he asks, wondering how many times you have been in this place by yourself, how many run-in and barely making it you have survived that you haven’t hasn’t told him. Myling’s are dangerous, all monsters are but Myling’s can mess with your mind. Vengeful spirits of children, focus on luring adults to their death with cries and pleads.

“Look its marked on the plans as a staff only section, and here” you say pointing to walls, “those are thick concrete walls, perfect place where no one would hear the cries of kids”

“Alright, this is definitely a two person job…” Sam starts to say, but your already up and moving towards the bed.

“Well lets get this over with,” you say, getting up from the chair, walking over to pack your bag, ready to get out of this damm motel and back to your very comfortable bed. Sam doesn’t make a move, just watching you for a bit, you can tell he wants to say something. You turn to see concern on his face, “What?” you ask, throwing a t-shirt in the bag.

“Look, I just think…” he runs his hands through his hair, stalling for time, he gets up and makes his way to you. “I just think, I should call Dean, loop him in and see if he can make it hear.”

“Ugh…Sam are you serious…come on, your sidelining me” you say, feeling the disappointment and anger start to seep to the surface, it was true, your doubts that you had, he didn’t think you could hunt.

“No it’s not like that I just think…ugh…Y/N I don’t want you to get hurt thats all” he says, reaching for your hand, but you pull back slightly.

“Sam I can handle this, with you with me, we will be able to find the bodies in no time,” you say trying to be a calm as you can, “besides its my case, you can’t kick me off it” you say, crossing your arms in a define stance.

He knows that he won’t get you to change your mind, the one of the many things that he loves about you, is your stubbornness. Although he sure he could catch you off guard and tie you to the bed until the case was over, he also knows that you would somehow break lose.

“Fine, let’s go, but I am taking lead on this” he says, trying to have the last word. You give him a nod of understanding, and then a smile.

“Okay just give me a second to finish packing and we can go” you say, turning from him and towards the bathroom to pack up the rest of your stuff.

***********

The drive to the orphanage was a quick one, just about twenty minutes out of town, Sam parks the car in the empty parking lot near the front doors. The building a large brick building with most of the windows either broken or boarded up, over grown grass and weeds in the front, with only the moon to provide some light this was a scene out of a horror movie for sure. The sound of the doors of the Impala opening and closing were the only noise to break through the silence.

The front doors to the building were padlock, but with a bit of luck and a bobby pin, you were in within two minutes. walking down the halls to the room in the far back, your heart starts to race, this was the part about hunting you hated. The fear that would build up, from the silence and the unknown of what could come out from around the corner.

Approaching the room, the air tempter drop like a ton of bricks, causing you to pull your jacket close to your body. looking over to Sam he nods in reassurances as you reach for the door handle and pull it open.

The door opens with a horrifying screech, the room itself a 10 by 10 room bare wooden floors, a table off to one side with a few chairs knocked over. Looking around the room, you see a wall of wood paneling that look like a good of place to start.

Walking over with crowbar in hand, you start to peal back the wood. Sam follows suit and just as your about to break the last piece of wood the sounds of a baby crying causes you to stop.

“You hear that?” you ask Sam, turning to him, he looks back at you with concern, the cry comes again, this time closer.

“Lets keep going we have to get this done” he says, pulling another piece of paneling off the wall. “Oh shit.” You pop off the last piece of paneling as well and see what Sam must see, staring back at you a skeleton of a child, holding onto a ratty teddy bear.

“What the fuck” is all you get out, before your pushed back by an unseen force. Flying across the room you hit the wall hard, your head snapping back on the chair molding, and you slide down the wall.

“Y/N!” Sam yells, rushing towards you.

“Sam, I am fine, just start burning the bodies” you say, catching your breath, the cries are getting louder, and you look to the door to see a little girl and boy appear. struggling to your feet, you rush them with your crowbar, causing them to disappear.

Sam works on getting the rest of the paneling off, you work at playing defense on the reappearing ghosts that keep coming at you. “Sam you almost good?” you ask wondering how much more you can take of this. Your vision a bit blurry now and the feeling of blood trickling down your neck, makes you think that you’ve cut your head open.

“Almost” Sam responds with a grunt, pulling the last paneling off, you take a quick look to see six skeletons line up in a row, ranging from different heights and ages. Jesus those people did deserve to burn you think.

“Y/N watch out!” Sam yells pulling your focus from the wall to the little boy coming rushing towards you, laughing. Your not quick enough and you just miss hitting him with iron. knocking you down his icy cold hands wrap around your neck. You start to struggle for breath, you can hear Sam yell at you to just hold on, the sound of the salt and the smell of the lighter fluid being poured.

Your vision starts to blur even more, dark spots forming, you hear the match being lit. You try to hold on, but the light gets dimmer and the darkness starts creeping in, all you can see is that child, the little boy laughing at you.

*******

The feeling of someone brushing your hair back, so lightly that you think your dreaming it. Also softness and hardness underneath you, where are you? You open your eyes, to see Sam looking back at you. His hazel eyes staring back at you, a sight much better then the creepy kid.

“What…” you start to speak, but your throat hurts, like a raw burning sensation.

“Hey, save your voice” Sam says, giving you a reassuring smile, relief that your awake rushes over his face. “your safe, we got them all” he says, running his finger tips through your hair again. “hows your vision?” he asks, holding up two fingers, “how many you see?” he asks.

“Two” your voice cracks. You look down to see that your back in the motel room, on the uncomfortable bed, better then the wooden floor of the orphanage you think. Your head resting on four pillows with Sam holding onto you.

“Good, now no more talking, you want some water?” he asks, then handling you a bottle before you can respond. You nods a thanks and take a long drink, the water is cold and feels good on your throat. Handling the bottle back to him, he places it on the side table without looking. “Okay, now get some sleep, I will tell you everything you miss later.” Giving you a kiss on the head, you decide now was not the time to put up fight.

********

You reach for Sam but only find an empty bed. Your eyes shot open and you sit up, the quick rush of movement causes you to grab your head in pain. “Ouch!” you say, you hear the bathroom door open quickly and you see Sam look over to you, in his sleep bottom pants and grey t-shirt, a toothbrush in hand.

“What is it?” he asks concern in his voice.

“Sorry, just got up too fast” you say, embarrassed now that you cause him panic. Looking to the clock you see its 4am. “How long have I’ve been out?” you ask, knowing that you guys got to the orphanage around 11pm.

“A few hours, didn’t think it was a good idea to drive home with your injuries. How are you feeling?” He asks, setting the toothbrush on the night table and sitting on the bed next to you. You take a moment to assess your vision was fine, reaching around to the base of your neck, you feel the bandage that Sam has applied. Beside the few bruises that you could feel on your back you were fine.

“I am fine, just moved too fast, you?” you ask, looking him over he seemed fine.

“I am good, you did most of the heavy lifting” he says, taking your hands in his lacing his fingers with yours. “God I was so scared” he says quietly, almost a whisper.

“I know…but I am fine” you say, looking down at your hands in his, the warmth and weight of them, grounding you again, “you saved me” You feel a tear fall down your cheek.

“God if anything happen to you though…” he stops, not able to bring himself to finish the thought, releasing one of your hands, he brings his thumb up to wipe the tear from your cheek.

“I know…I feel the same way when you go out….my stomach is in knots until you walk back in the door.”

“I should have never brought you into this life…it was stupid of me.”

“I still would have came…Sam my life was shades of gray until I met you” you say, leaning into his hand that is still on your cheek. tilting just slightly, you place a light kiss on his palm.

“I don’t think I could have walked away from you” he says, with a smile, causing his dimples to pop out, and you smile back at him. “You should get some sleep, we will leave for the bunker in a few hours, get you back to a comfortable bed” he says, getting up, you stop him, holding onto his hand.

“Will you hold me, sleep next to me?” you ask, not wanting to go back to sleep without him, not sure if you could.

“Sure” he says, setting back down on the bed, resting his head on one of the pillows, he opens his arms for you to place your head on his chest. wrapping your arms around him, the warmth of him, his sent, calms you. You hear the click of the side light go out, and you just hear him say, “Night Y/N” before you drift back to sleep.

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