This was supposed to be a drabble. Oops?
It's dark outside, late, and Sam's used to doing things in the dark
"The freaks come out at night."
being one of the things that goes bump in the night. You have to be, in order to catch them. He's come along way from that stubborn little boy who refused to be afraid of the dark and if he saw him now, he'd shake him, try and knock some sense into him about taking things like safety and family for granted. He can't, though. He can't go back in time. He can't change the past.
Looks like he's the only freak out tonight; only one on the roads, only one in the diner. For a moment he feels like he might as well be on a burger run for Dean again and if that's not the most overly ascriptive, emotionally incestuous thing he's thought of in awhile...He slaps his money on the dirty counter that looks like so many other dirty counters; blinks, nearly blinded by the over-bright phosphorescent lights that look like so many others in so many diners. He grabs the order with a curt nod and a 'thanks' and a look of indifference from the woman behind the register.
He makes the return drive with his prize in the passenger's seat. A little token of his appreciation. He'd been restless, as their sessions tended to leave him, she'd remained inanimate on the bed, though whether she actually needs to sleep, he still doubts. Goes limp from boredom, most likely. Her trademark indifference dissipates when they jump into bed together but he's not kidding himself that this is all love on her part...nothing more than lust, probably. She's stuck around long enough, put enough effort in that this is more than just a con, more than just scam and mirrors. There's a con here, sure, if he knows anything about her for sure it's that she's self-interested as the day is long. But it's more than that, she's using him for whatever remains of her emotional and physical needs, she's filling a void and, yeah, so what, he's filling a void too.
He wonders if she noticed him leave- claims her own side of the bed when they're done, won't touch him at all. Not that he minds. Her meat- her body's got no feeling to it, none of Jess' warmth and he thought he was done comparing girls to Jess, he thought...
The sound of the door and the smell of the food alert her to his presence. He's not hungry after their sessions, never is
"Better than mother's milk…"
He can still taste her in his mouth; coppery, warm, the only thing about her that's warm...
She looks up, white-white teeth flashing out of the olive skin that isn't hers. Dark-not black, not right now-eyes widening, glittering in anticipation. She's put her shirt back on but not her bra, only ever just a hint of tease.
"Brought you something." He drops the bag in front of her, sits on his side of the bed like it's what he meant to do, feet planted on the ground watching her face.
"French fries!" Her face lights up as she starts to dig in.
She's beautiful, sure, sexy and gorgeous and everything in between. But he can see the demon under her bones, not literally, the way Dean could in his last few hours but she's vague and dangerous, and there's so much he doesn't want to ask. He'd want to know, if they were going to make a life together but she and him both know that's not what they're doing and he couldn't do it even if he tried. He doesn't make lives; he ends them.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," she catches him staring, "thanks and all, but if you think we're going again, your 'little Sammy' will tell you otherwise."
"I don't want anything from you."
She slinks across the bed, placing her small, long-fingered hands on his shoulders, starting to rub, working deep into the muscles.
"Now, now, Sammy, don't pout."
"Don't call me that."
"You're too uptight tonight, sweetie," her voice dripping sardonicism all over the term of endearment, she grins wide and mocking as she holds out the bag, "Have a French fry?"
He takes one, not because he's hungry, because he's not and not because he wants to placate her, because he doesn't, but because Sam Winchester knows when he's defeated and he's learned better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.