#to mean and shit thag has nothing to do with the fucking short story

[unkownknowledge]

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Softie

This story was written from @aiaranradnay’s 100 follower writing challenge. I picked prompt number 1, and it’s bolded in the text.

Being tired of pining after Sam, you decide to cash in a favour from Crowley.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. <3 (Please let me know if you want on or off my tag list).

Word count: 5.314

It was your favourite thing in the whole world to do. Sleeping next to Sam in a warm and cosy bundle, your nose squished into his arm, and his other arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. His steady breathing combined with the rain tapping on the window pulled you into a pleasant cocoon of bliss and happiness. Outside the wind howled and the rain drummed increasingly harder on the glass. Somewhere a lightning struck, and thunder rolled through the darkness. And again. Thunder and rain booming made it impossible to sleep anymore.

You squeezed your eyes together and wiggled closer to Sam. Something was wrong; you frowned in your half-sleep. Sam was much softer than he was supposed to be. Slowly tightening your grasp on reality, you recognised that the arm you were smushed into wasn’t an arm at all, but a pillow, and the rain and thunder was someone banging on the door.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Dean’s voice drifted through the locked door. “Come eat breakfast. Sammy’s already done his douchebag running thing, but he brought back pancakes, so I think I can forgive him. If you don’t get your ass in gear, I won’t leave any for you.”

That got you on your feet. That threat was not an empty one. But once you’d pried your eyes open and put on some clothes, and you shuffled into Sam and Dean’s room, still disappointed by the dream that was just a dream and not reality, a stack of golden pancakes waited for you.

“Sam wouldn’t let me eat them all,” Dean pouted.

“Thag-u,” you mumbled with your mouth full. Sam gifted you a glorious smile that released a cascade of butterflies in your stomach.

Luckily no one noticed the twitch. Dean got to his feet and grabbed his suit jacket. “Eat up, Y/N. We roll in ten. With or without you.”

The day went pretty much as planned. The sheriff’s office finally provided the last piece you needed to find the right grave and put the angry spirit to rest. As per usual Dean suggested beer and burger to celebrate, and a couple of beers quickly escalated to whiskey, and soon Dean had found a bed warmer for the night. Not long after, a woman you’d forgotten the name of as soon as she said it, had commandeered Sam, and was practically drooling down his shirt.

It was more than you could handle. You downed the rest of your drink with a shudder and toppled off your stool, stumbling across the floor and making your way back to the motel.

The walk was short, but the chilly air cleared your mind, and you started thinking. Sam’s face swam in front of your eyes, and the pain of him being with someone else stabbed you like a poisonous dagger. The more you thought, the more it hurt. Was it even possible to go on like this? The answer came pretty fast, and once you’d closed the door behind you, you fished your phone out of your pocket.

The phone rang twice before he picked up. “Hello, poppet. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Evening, Crowley. I…” You hesitated for a second. Were you really going to go through with his? Yes. You had to – it was becoming unbearable to live like this, and now… “I’m gonna have to cash in that favour,” you said, sounding confident in your own ears, but feeling queasy like you’d eaten four dozen pancakes.

There was a brief pause on the other end, then you practically heard the smile spreading over his face. “Well, that was unexpected. I’d almost come to think you’d never cash in.” Crowley fell silent again, then appeared behind you with a pop, causing you to jump and drop your phone in surprise. “Now. What can I do for you?” he asked, inclining his head ever so slightly.

You thought about your decision, and almost told him to forget it, but really you saw no way around it. “I want to forget,” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the lapels of Crowley’s immaculate jacket.

“Forget?” He looked genuinely surprised at your request. “I would have thought you would want something … more substantial,” he replied after a moment’s consideration. “Concert tickets, a free pass… a solved case…”

That rang through your core. Your wish was a lot more personal, and truly selfish; not saving the world, or even a person, unless you counted yourself as the person that was being saved. “I need to forget,” you confirmed, feeling your insides trying to wiggle their way up your oesophagus.

“Alright, darling. What do you need me to erase? Did you accidentally walk in on Dean in the shower?”

You mumbled your answer, wincing from the warmth spreading over your face.

“What was that?” Crowley asked politely. “I’m afraid the contract requires you to speak clearly.”

“I… uh, I need to forget about Sam.” Having finally said it out loud, you took a deep breath and sighed.

“Sam? As in Sasquatch Winchester?” Crowley frowned. You were just full of surprises today. He was under the impression that you got on well with both Winchesters.

“That’s the one,” you nodded.

“Nothing would delight me more,” he replied, trying to come up with a way of weaselling himself out of this. Nothing good ever came from anything involving the Winchesters. “But…” he added, tilting his head, “may I inquire as to why you wish to forget about that denim clad nightmare? I mean, who wouldn’t, but…”

“That’s none of your business,” you snapped, embarrassment creeping up your spine. You were supposed to be strong, goddamnit, and here you were: asking the King of Hell to erase the guy you were crushing on.

“True,” Crowley said, arching an eyebrow. “But such details may influence the nature of my spell, you see, and I only want the best for you, darling,” he added in a sickly sweet voice. Also, he found his curiosity demanding answers.

Sitting down, you motioned for him to do the same. “Fine,” you huffed, grabbing the bottle of rum from the table. It was emptier than it should have been, considering the last hunt had ended well too. After swallowing a mouthful, you grimaced and offered the bottle to the demon. He took it and conjured up a pair of glasses and poured himself a generous drink.

“That’s a neat trick,” you muttered, not yet ready to confess your deepest secret to him.

“Thank you.” Crowley smiled. He looked almost harmless when he smiled. “Now, if you please.” Sliding the other glass across the table, he motioned for you to continue.

“Right. Well… it’s like this.” You took a big gulp and winced. “I’m so stupid.” Muttering and dragging a hand over your eyes, you hardly dared looking at Crowley.

Chuckling, he crossed his legs and studied you through his perceptive demon eyes. Something was definitely eating you. “I’m sure your intelligence has nothing to do with this.”

Shaking your head, you blew softly through your nose. “It has everything to do with this,” you countered, picking at a mark on the edge of the table. “I’ve… you see… I’m… Oh crap. Fuck it! I’ve gone and fallen in love with him.”

Crowley almost choked on the rum, drawing a very undignified expression. “Who? Sam?” It was a ridiculous thought.

“Yes,” you replied indignantly. “But he doesn’t feel that way for me, and it’s… too painful to endure. So… remove him from my brain. Please.” You felt ashamed. Here you were, cashing in a priceless favour on lessening the pain in your heart, when you’d suffered so much worse: broken bones, burns, curses, and yet this hurt worse than anything you’d ever felt before. To see him every day knowing he would never love you back… it was pure agony.

“And you are absolutely sure you want to remove him? Permanently? Why not make him fall for you?”

To be honest, you’d considered it, but then you had remembered the incident with Becky Rosen a few years back… “No. That wouldn’t be real. And it wouldn’t be fair to Sam. I’m not gonna force him into something he’s not.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley said, considering your argument. “But you realise this means erasing his annoying brother too? Because those two… they come as a set.”

You had thought of that, and you were prepared to lose your entire adopted family if it meant not having to deal with the heartbreak. “Yes.”

“Very well,” he said and got to his feet. He was cursing silently: the Winchesters were going to have his head for this. Never mind that it wasn’t his fault this time, they would find a way to blame him anyway. “If that is truly what you wish. You’re going to fall asleep now, and when you wake up tomorrow, all memories of the two of them will be gone.” He tapped the side of your head with three fingers, then disappeared, leaving you feeling dizzy and sleepy. You barely made it to the bed before you started snoring.

“Morning, boys.”

Sam whirled around, pointing his gun in the direction of the voice. Dean rolled his eyes and swore under his breath. “What do you want, Crowley? It’s too early for your shit. And I’ve got a massive headache.”

The demon feigned a look of deep hurt, and helped himself to a coke from the fridge. “After some consideration, I come with news,” he said, solemnly as he sat down on the bed closest to the door.

“Really? And what do you want for these… news?” Sam asked, still pointing his gun at Crowley.

“Simply to be considered guiltfree,” Crowley replied with a shrug. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Well? Get on with it. I’m tired after sleeping in a too hard bed, and cranky as hell, since I haven’t eaten anything yet. And I’m thinking Sammy is too.” Sam glared at Dean, but said nothing.

Clearing his throat, Crowley rolled the bottle in his hand, for once unsure how to start. “In there,” he began, pointing to the wall between theirs and your room, “lies a sleeping beauty who asked me for a very curious and specific favour a few hours ago.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other and sat up straighter. “Go on…”

“She asked me to remove a part of her memory. More specifically the part that concerns you.” Turning dramatically to look at Sam, he was delighted to see that his words had the intended effect.

Sam was gaping, and Dean was frowning, and both looked like the morons Crowley always claimed they were, but knew they weren’t.

“What did you do?” Sam groaned. “Tell me you didn’t…”

Lifting a hand, effectively silencing him, Crowley put on his most professional face. “First, let me just start by saying that this is under no circumstance my fault. Second: that is how this works. I’m not at liberty to deny someone something if they are owed a favour. Third: I came here to warn you, didn’t I? I know you’re fond of that female nightmare, so I thought I’d lend you a hand.” He thought for a second. “For a price.”

“Of course,” Dean replied acidly. “Nothing you ever do is for free, is it?”

“Come now. I’m a demon, remember? I’m one of the bad guys. Surely you know what –“

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam interrupted. He was on the verge of a breakdown, and Crowley was having way too much fun with this. “You said she asked you to remove her memory? Of us? Why?”

“Specifically you,” Crowley answered, dragging the word. “And that’s really none of your business, is it?”

Sam started to nod, but something in Crowley’s sly grin made him suspicious. Squinting, he looked the demon straight in the eyes. “But you know, don’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Naturally. It’s my job to know all the details concerning a deal.”

“And…?” Dean motioned for him to go on, becoming increasingly angrier with every evasive word.

“You want the juicy gossip, Squirrel? Okay, you asked for it,” Crowley finally said, revelling in the uncomfortable confusion. “Y/N happens to be, ah, in love with a certain moron who’s too tall for his own good –“

Dean looked at Sam, who slumped over on the bed and bounced a couple of times before sitting still again.

“ – and decided she no longer wanted to deal with the unrequited… it is unrequited, right? You’re not so stupid you never told her -?” The pain rolling over Sam’s face confirmed Crowley’s hunch, and he bit back a laugh. “My god! You imbecile!”

“Shit,” said Dean and pulled his hand over his face.

“Anyway, she asked me to make it permanent,” Crowley continued with a poorly disguised smirk.

Sam jumped to his feet and swore so violently that Dean blushed.

“However –“ Crowley emphasised the word, deciding he’d tormented the idiot enough for now. “However, you do have a twenty four, well, eighteen hour window to reverse the spell. If you want to. After that it will be too late. Forever,” he added dramatically, giggling internally at the horrified expressions.

“Gimme the counterspell!” Sam said, sounding like a grumpy teenager whose favourite videogame had been confiscated.

“Gladly,” Crowley replied.

“Wait a minute,” Dean said, longing for the demon knife in his bag. “How come you’re helping us? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but I don’t trust you. No offence.”

“You would be a fool if you did,” Crowley replied truthfully. “And self preservation, honey. Knowing you, you’d find some way to pin this on me and make my existence even more pitiful than it already is. Besides, when have I ever been known to give up the chance for a deal?”

Sam sighed. “Fine. What’s your price?”

“Nothing much. A favour. To be cashed in whenever I see it fit.”

Dean groaned. No doubt Crowley would find the worst possible moment to demand his payment, but what choice did they have? In twenty-something hours you’d be gone, and Sam would never forgive himself.

“I promise to be reasonable,” said Crowley. He heard the hesitation.

“Uh-huh. Sure. Do we really have a choice?” Sam held out his hand.

“Ah-hah. That’s not the proper way to seal a deal, Moose…”

“I’m not kissing you!” He shook his head, and Dean let out a grunt of disgust.

“No kiss, no deal.” Crowley grinned. “Pucker up, princess.”

Sam shuddered and closed his eyes, placing a quick and clinical kiss on Crowley’s lips.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” the demon pouted. “But I kinda knew that already. All you need to know is on this paper.” He snapped his fingers and a yellowed piece of paper sailed down into Dean’s hands. “Good luck. Toodles.” With that, he was gone.

Dean lifted the paper and read out loud: “To reverse this spell of mind, there are certain things you need to find – oh great! It’s in rhyme.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam grabbed it and continued reading. “Water is a given, as is ice, the rest of the list is not so nice. Though frog’s breath and witch’s eyes are not where this cure lies, you still need nightshade and a chicken’s liver; just enough to make the recipient’s stomach shiver…”

Dean snorted. “This is ridiculous! We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere – where are we going to find all this?”

“Wait, there’s more,” Sam replied, shaking the paper as if he hoped the ingredients would fall out of it. “Last, but not least, you need blood of a unicorn, and its hair to rescue the damsel so fair. Join the ingredients as listed in a jar and shake until the consistency of tar.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Oh wait, there’s a P.S. The potion should be consumed at once, and within twenty four hours of the initial spell. Make sure to drink every drop. Remember: sugar makes it useless.”

“Okay, let’s see… Wait, did it really say unicorns? There’s no such thing as unicorns. We’re screwed.”

“Wait,” Sam muttered, grasping at straws. “Rhinos are basically unicorns, aren’t they?”

“What?”

“Yeah, they share a common ancestor with horses, don’t they, so…”

“Wow. You really are a walking encyclopaedia of weirdness. But no. I don’t think rhino hair is a suitable substitute.”

Sam buried his face in his hands. “Argh! Where do we even begin?”

“No idea.” Dean patted his brother’s shoulder. He was starting to freak out too, but right now, Sam needed him to be calm. “Why don’t I make some calls while you go book the rooms for a couple of more nights?”

When Sam got back in, Dean was in deep conversation with someone, scribbling notes and nodding. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Wow, you’re kidding! Really? Yeah, thanks, you’ve been real helpful. Just call if you need something. And, uh, give my love to the, uh, the missus.”

He hung up and studied his note pad. A tiny smile lurked in the corner of his eyes. “Would you believe it, Sammy? Garth put me in contact with a dude who knows a dude who owns an occult shop. Turns out they know what they’re doing too, and they got every ingredient on the list in stock.”

“What, even the –“

“Yup! Turns out they do exist. But they only appear during the full moon, and only for virgins – and won’t let anyone but innocents handle them.”

Relief coursed through Sam’s body, and he sniggered. “That explains why you’ve never seen one.”

“Hey! Joke’s on you, you’ve never seen one either.”

Shrugging, Sam didn’t say anything. He thought he’d spotted one, long ago, when he was stuck in a motel room while Dean and their Dad had been out on a hunt. Instead he moved towards the door that linked their room with yours.

“What are you doing?”

“Just gonna check up on her. Make sure she’s comfortable.”

“Creep.”

“Whatever. I’m not gonna leave her without knowing she’s okay.”

Dean considered for a moment, then he picked up the paper and got to his feet. “The shop is a good few hours drive from here, so I gotta get going. Why don’t you stay here while I go shopping?”

Shaking his head, Sam let go of the door handle and gestured. “Nah. I’d go mad just waiting. Besides, I don’t think I can handle her not knowing me – you know, if she wakes up while you’re away.”

The drive was filled with Sam’s nervous bouncing leg, and Dean’s horrible off-key singing to try to get Sam’s thoughts over onto something else, but every song seemed to remind him of you.

“Ugh, I can’t believe we crossed state lines to buy unicorn parts.” Sam shook his head and stared out the window. They had arrived at the occult shop, and it seemed inconspicuous enough. But the sun had climbed high into the sky, and he was starting to fear they wouldn’t get back in time.

Snorting, Dean opened the door and got out. Then he leaned down and asked: “And why is there unicorn blood on our shopping list?”

“And hair…”

“Right, and unicorn hair. Why are there unicorn body parts on our shopping list?”

Sam sighed. “Because I’m an idiot who kept my mouth shut when I should have spoken.”

“Exactly. Now let’s go. Don’t wanna be late and find her gone when we get back.”

Sam took a step back when Dean opened the door. The place had looked dodgy up close from the outside, but inside?

The door let loose a trill of harps – that could be forgiven. But the store… it looked like it had been dipped in glue and rolled in glitter. Every single inch of the walls was covered in crystals and baubles and figurines.

And the smell… it was just like diving head first into an old woman’s purse. The air was warm and stuffy, laden with the thick smell of roses and herbs mixed with mint and with just a hint of anise.

Dean shook his head and ducked through the door. Sam followed suit, making sure to breathe as little as possible. In fact, he wasn’t even sure there was enough oxygen left in the air to breathe at all.

“Be with you in a minute,” the man behind the counter yelled over his shoulder while hauling a wooden crate over to a group of bored-looking girls in the corner.

In the other end of the room stood a small cluster of tables and chairs, all occupied by ancient men and women, excitedly discussing a set of cards and crystals that were laid out on one of the tables.

“What the hell?” Sam muttered. “What is this place?”

The employee appeared before them with a wary smile. “Hunters, right? I, uh, just wanna remind you that this is, uh, neutral territory –“

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean interrupted, eyeing the girls in the corner. They were obviously witches, and thus he didn’t trust them. “We’ve got a few things we’re looking for.”

“Ah, yes, you called earlier. I remember your voice. If you would follow me, I’ll show you where we keep the good stuff. I’m Karl, by the way.” He took them to a small refrigerated pantry, filled with flasks and vials and jars. Shelf upon shelf of brightly coloured powders and sinister looking liquids filled the small room.

Sam stood gaping in the doorway, while Dean excitedly went in to examine the room. “What’s that stuff? Ew, it’s gross!”

“Dean! Don’t…” Sam began, but Karl didn’t seem to mind. He picked up the vial Dean had pointed to and held it to the light. Its contents shimmered and moved, like oil on water.

“This here is fairy blood,” he said happily. “Willingly given, of course. Cost me an arm and a leg too, but it was worth it. One drop alone is enough to cure almost any curse. And it’s pretty to look at.”

Sam snorted, poorly disguised as a cough, and Dean openly rolled his eyes. Karl didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t care.

“Right. Uh, here’s what we need,” Sam said eventually, pulling the list from his pocket, and Karl got to work, picking stuff from the shelves with impressive speed.

Back at the counter, he wrapped the ingredients in colourful paper, closed the package with a deft, little twist, and tied a glittering bow around it. “Gentlemen,” he nodded, giving them both a genuine smile. “I wish you luck on your travels.”

The car ride back to the motel was a tense affair. Sam worried that you’d woken up and gone, and returned to bouncing his knee in a never-ending display of nerves. Dean worried about Sam’s sanity. And they both secretly worried that the spell Crowley had left behind was fake. So when they got back, after Dean had checked in on you – you were still snoring in bed – they got right to it.

Brewing the damn thing was easy enough, but it looked disgusting, like a bubbling collection of dog shit. Until Sam dropped the unicorn bits into the potion and shook the jar. At once it swirled up, dissolving the hair and releasing a rainbow coloured puff that smelled of candyfloss and apples. Once the cloud disappeared, the liquid had turned glossy black with swirly patches of pink and glitter.

“Huh…” Sam hummed under his breath, watching the spell settle.

“Unicorns. Who’d’a thought…” Dean agreed, mesmerised by the pretty spell.

After a few minutes, Sam blinked and looked at Dean. “How do we get Y/N to drink it?”

“What do you mean? We give it to her.”

“Don’t be stupid. She won’t even know who we are. You really think she’ll drink something given to her by two strange men who just show up at her door?”

“Point.” Dean thought for a moment. “Hang on. I got an idea. Get your suit.”

A vague feeling of a presence in the room permeated your brain, and you groaned as you stretched. Your back was stiff after sleeping for too long, and it creaked like an old barn door. “Dammit! How much did I drink last night?” It was more of an exasperated statement than a question. You were never one to spit in the glass, but even you had your limits. It felt like you’d been out for days.

Smacking your tongue and wincing from the rank taste of morning breath, you arched your back again and rubbed your eyes.

“Ahem…” A low voice coughed in the corner, and you spun around in bed, almost giving yourself a neck injury. Two men in suits were standing by the door, watching you intently.

Bouncing up on your knees, you grabbed the gun from the bedside table and pointed it at them. “What the hell? Who are you and why are you in my room?”

Dean held up his arms and smiled awkwardly. “Relax, Y/N. We mean you no harm.”

“How do you know my name?” You cocked the gun, ready to defend yourself and what dignity you had left.

Sam took a step forward, thinking as hard as he could. “Uh, we’re with the, uh, government,” he began, silently cursing his uncertain voice, but covered it by pretending to be intimidated by the gun. “Please. Those things make me nervous…”

You lowered the gun, but only just. Something about them made you want to trust them, and that made you uneasy.

“Yeah,” Dean continued, easily continuing the lie. “I’m agent Taylor,” he said, fishing out his fake FBI badge. “And this is doctor May. We’re sorry to say there’s been a toxic leak in the area, and an evacuation has been ordered. The toxins causes fatigue and loss of consciousness, and when you didn’t answer the door, we figured…”

Your eyes went wide, and inside your heart was pounding: you’ just slept for almost a day. And when you thought about it, your mouth felt dry, and you were dizzy and even a little bit queasy.

Sam quickly picked up where his brother paused. “Don’t worry. It looks like you haven’t been affected yet, but we have an antidote, just in case. It requires you to drink it all, but it should protect you from further harm.” He felt bad for deceiving you, but it was for a good cause. Right?

You looked between them. Agent Taylor was definitely an agent. That much was clear. Authority radiated from every pore on him. But the doctor… He didn’t look like a doctor, though he had plenty of compassion and empathy in his eyes. But then again; how was he supposed to look? Deciding to trust them, you put down the gun and went over to the small kitchen corner. “Alright. Let’s do this. Where’s the medicine?”

It felt like drinking melted candy, and the sensation stuck to your throat like glue. You wanted to gag and throw up, but not wanting to disappoint the pretty doctor, you closed your eyes and kept going.

As you slowly swallowed the concoction, it brought on memories of long forgotten times. Like the one time you’d pranked your best friend’s brother with a batch of cookies baked with salt instead of sugar. That had to be ages ago – the memory was coated in fuzzy cotton – you couldn’t remember properly. Sometimes the memories emerged slowly, bobbing right under the surface, other times it was as if they flashed through the room.

The last drop from the glass hit your tongue, and the nausea disappeared at once. But the dizziness did not, and you closed your eyes. Wobbling on your feet, you were vaguely aware that someone lowered you onto a chair, and a voice called your name from far away.

When the dizziness finally faded away, you rubbed your face and inhaled deeply. What the hell had just happened? This had to be the mother of all hangovers. You groaned and opened your eyes – and looked straight into Sam’s worried face. Seeing him – and knowing who he was – was a punch in the gut. Behind him, Dean stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “Aw shit!” You couldn’t stop yourself. “What are you guys doing in my room? And what is this shit?” You pointed to the empty glass. And why do I know you? That last question remained unspoken, but Sam answered it anyway.

“We needed you back.”

Dean nodded. “You won’t get rid of us that easy, Y/N.”

Okay, so they had clearly found out what you’d asked Crowley. How? And how much did they really know? “I asked Crowley for that particular favour for a reason,” you said, torn between anger and sadness.

“I know,” Sam replied, patting the mattress beside him. “Crowley kinda ratted you out. You understand why we had to reverse it, don’t you?”

Staying where you were, you studied your hands and shook your head once.

Dean put his harm around your shoulder. “You’re family, Y/N. It just wouldn’t be the same without you and your horrible jokes – ”

“You decided to stop me for my jokes?” Nothing made sense in your befuddled mind.

“ – and I’d never get a moment’s peace from Sammy’s whining. The boy’s –“

“Thank you, Dean.”

“ – so in love with you he’d combust if you weren’t there…”

“THANK YOU, DEAN!” Sam repeated with force, watching you with pink cheeks and mussed hair, like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly.

You didn’t quite know what to say or do.

“It’s true, though,” Sam continued, holding out his hand for you, which you took without hesitation, despite not being entirely sure what was going on.

“What?”

Sam didn’t answer, but the shy smile on his face told you plenty.

Things finally clicked in place in your head. “You…? But… And you waited, because…?”

“Listen,” Dean said with the shittiest grin you’d ever seen the man wear, “my brother’s smart, okay? But he’s not smart.”

“Clearly,” you said with a bitchface that rivalled Sam’s. “What were you thinking, Sam?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Told ya,” Dean sniggered before leaving the two of you alone.

Once the door slammed shut, Sam pulled you closer and pressed a light kiss to your hair. “Forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, grinning into his shirt. “You put me through a lot, Sam.”

His nod shook his whole body, and you had to laugh. He was nervous!

“You’re forgiven,” you said. “If…” you added with a wink, “if you shut up and kiss me!”

No more words were spoken for an hour, until Dean banged on your door and demanded you pay attention to him.

Five months later, you ran into Crowley on a hunt. One of his demons was wrecking havoc in a small town not far from the Canadian border, and he’d decided to call in a favour to get you to do the dirty work for him. As he so nicely put it; he hated to get his suits dirty, and anyway it was much more fun watching others work.

When the job was done, and you were celebrating another successful case closed, he appeared to drink with you.

Seeing him in such an informal setting, you got an idea. “You!”

Crowley frowned and took a small step back, confused by the ferociousness in your voice.

You let go of Sam’s hand to follow the demon, giggling when you saw the worry in his eyes. Kissing his scruffy cheek gently, you whispered in his ear: “Who knew you were such a softie? Thank you.” He huffed, and you continued: “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. And by the way? You still owe me a favour.” Patting his shoulder, you laughed at the outrage in his face and returned to the warmth of Sam’s arms.

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