Disclaimer: why do we feel the need to do these? It's a fan fiction site... of course the authors don't own the majority of the world or characters they are writing... anyway, you know the rest, Dean and Sam and others not mine, yada yards.
Sharp, piercing pain shoots through my whole body as fangs puncture my neck. In my head I am screaming, but my weakened body is too frail to actually carry the act out. I shutter involuntarily and my vision starts to get spotty around the edges.
"Enough, Sal!" Julia's voice is sharp. "If we bleed her dry Darren will know. Only a taste each." Sal grunts, his mouth still closed on my neck, but with a final pull, he releases me. His angular face comes into view as he moves directly in front of me. He grabs my chin roughly and kisses me viciously, the taste of my own blood strong in his mouth. I try to muster the strength to bite him, but don't manage it before Julia wrenches him away and sinks her own fangs into my neck right where Sal had. My vision goes black and—
I wake up.
A scream freezes in my throat as I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding in my ears. The room is not black; barely even dark, the lamp on the desk in the corner left on. Slowly the details of the room come into focus. I am in the bunker; not the lair. The Winchester brothers are in the rooms next door, not Sal and Julia and Darren and Blain and Carl and all the others. The coven is gone; all of them dead. Killed by the very two men whose home I now shared.
It should comfort me.
I should feel safe.
But there is one thing that I cannot seem to forget.
Anyone who could take down an entire coven with a single machete each was the farthest from safe you could get.
Dreams such as those plagued me for months after Dean and Sam rescued me from the coven that had kidnapped and used me as a human slurpy machine for over a year. Loss of blood and bruises had been my only physical ailments, and because of my relation (admittedly somewhat distant) to their pseudo-father Bobby, the boys had taken me back to their home at the bunker instead of leaving me at a hospital. When they thought I was asleep, I heard them argue over it a lot, but in the end, I stayed.
The Winchester brothers with their corded muscles and dozens of blades and shotguns and intense frowns all paired with swoon inducing good looks made them far from comfortable to be around. After several weeks of tense awkwardness though, I managed to get Sam to take me grocery shopping and I put my culinary skills back to use, making us all a massive meal, complete with fresh pie. We sat around and talked about Bobby and the few other things we had in common and won each other over. I began to see more in them than vampire heads rolling and blood baths and they began to see more than a damaged post-victim whom happened to be related.
From there followed endless hours of reading on my part, making my way through as much as the Men of Letter's libraries as I could. Dean and Sam never even mentioned the thought of me joining them on a hunt and I never asked, but I became the contact who stayed in reach of all the info at the bunker and they could call for help during a hunt. When they were at the bunker we marathoned seasons at a time of many TV shows, correcting the lore of any with supernatural themes.
I got a part-time job to pay for at least our food legally, and finally convinced the boys to teach me to fight and use a gun (I wasn't any more for the idea of me being a hunter than they were, but I also never wanted to be caught unable to defend myself again, a point they couldn't argue).
By the time a year from my rescue had past, Dean and Sam were just as close, if not closer, than any of my family had ever been, and I was completely content to live life in this way. I played house-wife at the bunker with all the cleaning and cooking (the latter of which I loved anyway), and then tech-side hunter with all the research and hunting lore.
I'd come to the point where I knew when I was dreaming, but that didn't do a thing to help me wake myself.
Darren, the coven leader, is in the middle of drinking from me when Dean and Sam had come crashing in the front doors. Darren leaves me laying in the bed I am chained to in order to 'see to these bothersome hunters'. My neck is still bleeding slowly and I bunch up a handful of sheet to hold to it, knowing from experience that it will be enough because Darren is very particular about the placements of his bites.
The scene blurs, not uncommon when I'd been drunk from, and then shifts to something so different I become aware again that I am dreaming, but then just as quickly am caught up in the fear of the situation.
The room I am in is ornately furnished and the windows and doors are all shrouded in floor to ceiling velvet drapes. It looks much more like the setting of an old vamp movie than the type of places the coven I am with usually holes up in. I am tied to one of six pillars, two men who I know to be Dean and Sam though dream-me doesn't know them, tied to others. They are both bloodied and battered, and Darren is standing in front of them with a glass vile that he is filling with his own blood from a cut on his hand.
'Tonight, you will join us.' He says. 'Tonight, you will feast upon my succulent little Tara.'
"Tara. Tara, wake up." I do so with a start and a yelp. "Whoa, whoa, it's okay, you're safe." Sam is leaning over me, his hair falling to partially shadow his face. I stare at his eyes, trying to decipher a singular color in the darkness while I wait for my breathing and heart rate to slow.
"You okay?" Sam asks. I nod, but he gives me a look that clearly states he doesn't believe me.
"Just a dream." I elaborate. "I'm okay now that I am awake." I push myself into a sitting position, bringing me very close to Sam's face for a moment before he stands up. I am on a couch in the east library, several open books around me.
"What are you doing home?" I ask Sam as he sits next to me on the couch with a sigh.
"Found out that an unmarked grave belonged to this Jim Hatcher guy. His old sweetheart broke down in tears and told us this whole story of his death and the cover up and where he had been buried. A little salt and gasoline and ghostie is gone." He sinks further on the couch, his head coming to rest on the back while his legs stretch completely under the coffee table and to the other side. "I shouldn't have sat down. I don't want to get up now." He mumbles, his eyes closing.
"No need too." I say with a small grin. "I have spent many a night on this couch. It's more comfortable than it looks." He cracks a small smile, but doesn't say anything. "Where's Dean?" I ask.
"Said he was going to bed. We decided to make the drive instead of stay at that hotel again." His words are quite, but the room is silent, so I hear him just fine. "It was Dean's idea. I still haven't gotten used to the idea of having a place to come back to." I study his drawn face for a moment, taking in all the worry lines and faint scars. Though he is several years older than me, I still look at him and think 'He's too young to have such a face'. The grumble of Sam's stomach breaks the silence. He cracks one eye open and looks sideways at me.
"We didn't stop for food." He explains. "Got anything?" I grin.
"I bet I can scrounge up something." I stand and stretch, realizing my own hunger; I too had skipped dinner. "Come on." I say, noting that his eyes are closed again. He mumbles ascent but doesn't move. I grab his hand in both of mine and tug. "Come on, Sam." I tug again. Nothing. "Look, are you hungry or—ah!" I yelp in surprise as he suddenly tugs back, sending me toppling onto his chest. "Sam!"
"I have a question first." He says, his eyes now open and not a bit sleepy looking.
"What?" I ask, trying to move off of him but finding his arms holding me in place. My heart rate is faster than it was during the nightmare.
"Are you wearing my shirt?" He asks. I feel my face blush instantly, though I am not totally sure why.
"It's comfortable." I mumble, looking away from him.
"Mmm hmm." He sounds sarcastic. He stands smoothly, bringing me up right with him, one arm still around me. I gasp as my bare feet hit the cool floor. Sam cups his hand around my jaw, his thumb on my cheek but his fingers reaching all the way to the back of my neck. Over time I had gotten use to his height, but suddenly I feel tiny in his arms. He tilts my face up to his. I feel frozen, unable to even process what is happening. There is no denying that he is planning to kiss me, and there is no denying that I want him to; want him to possibly more than I have ever wanted anything. And that's what surprises me.
I mean, yes , I have noticed how incredibly good looking Sam and Dean both are. I mean how couldn't I? Months of living with people gives plenty of time to observe.
And yes, I have noticed how through everything, they are both such good men (a seemingly strange conclusion considering all they have done, but a conclusion I am firm on).
But I have never allowed myself to think of them personally in such ways. I live with them. They have become the only family I have left. I wasn't going to start mooning over one of them because of a great smile and incredible muscles and ruin everything.
As Sam's gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips though, and his arm tightens around me and his fingers dig into the back of my neck just slightly, I realized that though I hadn't 'allowed' myself to go there with the either of the Winchester brothers, my mind and my heart and good heavens my body had ignored that and fallen hard for Sam.
I slide my hand from where it was lying in a state of frozen confusion on Sam's chest to his neck, my fingers gripping at strands of hair. I close my eyes and feel his breath on my lips.
"Dude, Tara made her pot roast and there is plenty left!" Dean's voice is like an electric jolt sent between Sam and I; we jump apart so violently that when Dean enters the room a half a second later we are standing several feet apart. "And there's pie. Peach pie. Like seriously, she didn't know when we would be home so how—" Dean cuts off abruptly, a forkful of pie halfway to his mouth. He looks at Sam for a moment and then at me. I turn my back to him quickly, starting to gather the books I had been reading earlier.
"Did I, uh, interrupt something?" Dean asks, the smirk obvious in his tone, even though I can't see him.
"Yeah, Tara had just told me about the pot roast and we were headed to the kitchen." Sam says too quickly.
"Wow, Sammy, I didn't know pot roast could make you so excited." Dean said. I blush even harder, the innuendo in Dean's comment clear. "Or is it that it's Tara's pot roast?" He asks.
"Enough, Dean." Sam says through gritted teeth as he brushes out the door past his brother. Dean's laughter follows Sam down the hall and the comment of 'It's the peaches isn't?' comes through the open door. I roll my eyes but breathe a sigh of relief. I am sorry that Sam has to deal with Dean's torment, but glad that I don't.
My stomach makes a rumble of its own, but I decided the privacy and hunger of my own room is better than the food and teasing that is waiting in the kitchen.
Breakfast the next morning (it was almost noon, but the first meal of the day is always breakfast in my book) is weird. I am first to the kitchen, followed by Sam. We give nods of acknowledgement, but neither of us can manage more than that. I am working up to commenting on the weather when Dean walks in.
"Morning you two." He gives me a wink.
"Morning Dean, how was the hunt?" I ask quickly, trying to snag his attention. It works. Dean launches into story mode, embellishing the tale of intrigue and ghost hunting far beyond what could possibly be true. Sam joins in, unable to let Dean ramble on in his tall tales. I keep the eggs and coffee coming, just enjoying the banter of the brothers. This is why I never let myself go there with either of them; I don't want to lose this.
"Ah, well, yeah, maybe that's a bit more how it was." Dean finally concedes. "But enough hunting tales. I want to hear a library tale." He waggles his eyebrows at me. "So what happened last night?"
"You know there's a snowstorm headed right our way." Sam says over the sound of me choking on my toast. "We should stock up on food just in case we get stuck here for a while. Tara you—"
"Should go for sure." Dean interjects. "You know, since you're the one cooking and all. Sammy you rest up. I'll go get the car." He hops off his chair and is out the door before Sam can say anything and before I am even breathing right.
"You okay?" Sam asks. I nod and take a careful sip of water, clearing my throat out.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." I say. "I should get a list written up real fast." I duck into the pantry to get away from Sam's penetrating stare. The privacy doesn't last long. I turn to leave and Sam is standing in the doorway, completely blocking it.
"Tara." Damn it just the way he says my name makes my knees go a little weak. Gentle, almost like he's talking to a scared animal. Firm, I won't be able to chat my way out of whatever he has to say. Seductively, he wants Dean to take a nice long time getting the car.
"We need to talk about this." He says. I nod, forcing myself with great effort to look up into his eyes. He holds my stare for a long moment. "I was going to kiss you last night." My breath hitches in my throat. I mean, I knew that, but hearing him say it is—wow. "I know you wanted me to." Okay, enough with the statements of truth. "But what I need to know is this: now, in the light of morning, knowing how bad it will be with Dean, knowing that it would change stuff around here a lot. Having thought all that through, 'cause I am assuming that you thought about it as much as I did last night, do you still want this?" He continues to gaze intently at me.
"Tara, you coming?" Dean's voice calls.
"Yeah, finishing up a list, meet you in the car!" I call back. "Sam, I gotta go." I turn to slip past him but he stops me, putting his hands on my shoulders.
"Tara—" His hand slides up to cup my face. My pulse quickens.
"Sam, I have to go." I say breathily. "If Dean—"
"Yeah, I know." He drops his forehead to mine and he closes his eyes. "Just figure out what you want, kay?" He lets go of me and leaves me standing in the pantry, breathing hard and trying to control my blush before I join Dean at the car.
I should have argued with Dean more about going shopping with him. He blares 80s love songs the whole way to the store, and then pushes the cart beside me as I shop for the list, making comments like 'oh, how about we get the long spaghetti noodles and you and Sam can go all Lady and the Tramp on us'. The comments get raunchier as we go, probably due to my completely ignoring him. Grabbing a box of XXL condoms and tossing them in the cart with a wink is what finally breaks me.
"Alright Dean, if you have something to say just come out and say it." I glare at him in the middle of the pharmacy department, seeing too late the little old lady shopping for Depends.
"Something to say?" Dean grins at me. "Nah, I'm totally cool with my brother and our best friend going at it like rabbits." The old lady looks up at him in horror. He winks at her. She glares and wanders off mumbling about 'kids these days' and 'the indecency'.
"Yes, Dean, you did interrupt something last night." I say in a furious whisper. "Yes, Sam was about to kiss me and it was going to be wonderful, so thanks for that! No, that doesn't mean we're going to start screwing each other's lights out at every turn. Sam has been through hell, literally!, and so much more. I was chew toy to a coven for over a year! Let us find some comfort in each other if we can!" Dean's teasing expression has softened and it cuts me off from making an uncalled for comment about his 'love' life. "I didn't expect this to happen, but I am sure as hell not going to kill it without giving it a chance. "
"Wait, what?" He asks with a scoff. "You didn't expect this?" He actually laughs, really laughs, not sarcastically or bitterly, but a laugh of honest humor. "Sam has been making cow eyes at you for months now. And you've been getting all blushy around him and wearing his clothes when he's gone for almost just as long."
"I don't wear—" I cut off at the look Dean gives me. "They're comfortable—"
"You don't wear mine." He snaps with a smug look.
"I—well fine, then, if you knew this was going to happen and don't seem to care, why are you giving us both such a hard time already?"
"Oh, I care." He says. "I care a lot. I think you will be great for Sammy and I know he'll be great for you." He throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a half hug. "I'm just disappointed that I didn't get to lock you guys in a closet and leave you there until you figured it out." I roll my eyes but smile, wrapping my arm around Dean as well and making our way to the register as such.
The snow storm we were stocking up for was indeed a whopper and before the night was up the bunker was pretty well snowed in.
"Good thing we prepared!" I say, holding up several seasons worth of DVDs of a show we had just gotten hooked on. Both men cheer.
"I didn't even see you grab those!" Dean says.
"I was wondering when we were going to have a chance to watch more." Sam says. "Being snowed in seams like a bad thing, but truth be told, I could do with a forced break from hunting; that way I don't feel bad about it."
We pop in the first DVD and settle onto the couch with popcorn and beers. We've completed several episodes when I notice that Dean is slowly scooting himself closer to me.
"Hey man, stop infringing on my cushion." I tell him. He ignores me and slouches down more, propping his feet up on the coffee table which only puts him into my space more. I glare at him, but let it pass. An episode later and Dean is so spread out that I am practically touching Sam on my other side.
"Dean." I say through gritted teeth, poking him in the side. "Scoot back over."
"Nah, you're fine." He says through a yawn. "Growing boys need room to stretch. You on the other hand are so small you need barely any space at all."
"I'll have you know that I am of perfectly average height; you both are just giants." I cross my arms and huff at him. I can now see what he's trying to do. I can feel the heat of Sam's body to my left I am so close and if I try to move away at all I will be on top of Dean.
"Ah, don't be a grump." Dean says, poking me in the side. I yelp and squirm away from him; I can't help it. He grins and pokes me again.
"Dean, cut it out." Sam says with a barely restrained smile. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his side. Dean grins more; I glare at him. Stupid dunce got what he wanted. I am focusing on being peeved with Dean so much that I don't focus on being tucked tightly under Sam's arm when Dean pokes me again.
"Dean!" I say, my voice regrettably rising in octaves more than volume. And then I see the look passed between the brothers, a look that does not bode well for the ticklish girl trapped between them. "No. No, don't you da—" Sam turns in his seat and Dean sits up quickly, towering them above me on the couch and their fingers attack my sides, tickling for all they are worth. I shriek and flail, I cry and beg, I punch and bite and scratch and kick, finally landing a few good blows and getting them to back off.
"Damn, Tara." Dean says, wiping blood off the scratches on his arm. "I am suddenly a little bit less concerned for your safety. But only a little bit because that did take you a while and you didn't really inflict major harm."
"Wasn't . . . really . . . trying . . . all that . . . hard." I say between gasps for air.
"Well we should do some practice where you really do try." Sam says, pulling his shirt collar over to look at a bite mark on his shoulder.
"Oh, kinky." Dean remarks. Sam and I roll our eyes in sync.
"Because if this is what you manage when you're not trying," Sam continues. "I want to see how you would be in true attack mode." He grins at me. "You've got a vicious side you've been hiding, huh?" I shrug.
"I'm gonna go make more popcorn before we start this next stint." Dean says, motioning to the TV. "Beers?" Sam and I nod. "Alright, well, I'll, uh, be a bit." He arches his brows at us. "You know, popping corn, it, uh, takes a while." Dean grins one last leer and leaves. Sam leans back on couch and smiles at me.
"You recovered?" He asks. I roll my eyes, but smile. He just stares at me; both of us slouched on the couch, not touching at all, but very close.
"Dean told me you guys talked while you were out." He says after a moment.
"Oh, yeah?" I ask quietly.
"Yeah." He repeats. We're both silent. "So?"
"'So?' what?" I ask. He rolls his eyes and then rolls his body, putting him over me on the couch. I suck in a breath; he is not actually on top of me, but over me, his feet on the floor and his forearms on the couch on either side of me; his whole body hovering just inches above mine.
"So?" He repeats. "I asked you to figure out what you want. Dean's harassment was part of that equation, and still is in a way, but we now know he 'approves'." He drops his head down so that his face is like an inch from mine; his hair tickling my ears. "So?"
"Kiss me, you moose." I say, throwing my arms around his neck and crashing our lips together. Sam responds in kind, melding his lips against mine and closing the distance between our bodies, though still not allowing his weight on me. We part our lips at the same time and our tongues meet. He tastes like salt and butter. I quickly use up my air but can't bring myself to break the magnificent kiss for such a silly thing as breathing. Sam does break it though and kisses across my jaw to my neck.
Lips gentle on my neck, as sweet as a lover's kiss. Darren's voice croons in my ear.
"My succulent little lamb." He kisses my earlobe. "One day, I may have you join me, but for now you smell much too wonderful and I can't waste you." He trails his tongue down to my neck and kisses me softly there, but then I feel teeth brush across my skin and—I let out a scream as fangs sink into my flesh for the first time.
I flinch so violently that Sam quickly pulls away, lifting himself off of me.
"What happened? Are you okay?" He asks quickly, searching my face.
"I—I, um . . ." I trail off. I can feel myself shrinking in on myself. I trust Sam, I feel safe with him, and yet suddenly my body's only reaction is sheer terror. This man is large and strong and dangerous and on top of me and his mouth was at my throat. "Can you just—um." Sam gets off me completely and moves to my side.
"What's wrong Tara?" He asks. I sit up on the couch and pull my knees up to my chest without thinking. I notice Sam frown but I can't help it. "Tara, please, tell me. I can't help if I don't know."
"I'm sorry." I whisper. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. "Damn it, everything was wonderful and then—" Sam keeps me fixed in his questioning gaze. I let out a shaky breath. "Throat. Darren." It's all I can manage to get out, but comprehension dawns on Sam's face.
"Oh balls." He whispers. "Tara I am so sorry. I didn't even think, oh f—"
"You love birds decent?" Dean's loud call makes me jump. "No, seriously, I'm afraid to come in without an answer."
"Yes, Dean." Sam says. "Come in."
"Well, truthfully, I was hoping for—what the hell?" Dean stops dead in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. I'm curled into a tight ball in the middle of the couch; Sam is beside me, looking rather helpless.
"The coven." Sam says. Dean's eyes widen and he comes to sit beside me, his motions wary. By this point both of them have gotten used to my flashbacks and breakdowns, but for the last several months it has only been a problem in dreams and therefore I have not been around them during the breakdowns. "I was, er, kissing her neck and . . ." Sam trails off.
"Hey, Tara." Dean's voice is surprisingly gentle. "Tara look at me." It takes me a moment, but he gives me the moment. I look up into Dean's vividly green eyes. He stares at me intently for a moment, his expression serious, but calm and . . . caring? "Now look at Sam." He says. I do so, switching my gaze to Sam's hazel eyes, which look grey in the lighting. His gaze is full of sorrow and apology.
"Are we any of those vamps?" Dean asks. I shake my head while keeping my eyes locked on Sam.
"You are not with that coven anymore and you never will be again." Sam says. "Dean and I will do everything to keep you safe. I'm not going to hurt you; Dean's not going to hurt you. Can you let yourself believe that?" The tears slip from my eyes as I nod.
"I know that, I really do." I say. "It just—it just took me by surprise. I mean I still have dreams a lot, but not waking flashbacks." Sam nods, probably thinking of barely 24 hours ago when he woke me from such a dream. He tentatively puts his hand on my arm, giving me time to pull back before he actually touches me.
"We're here, Tara." He says. "I'm here." I choke back a sob and fall forward, leaning myself into his chest. I feel his arms wrap around me pull me tightly into his side. Dean pats my back awkwardly and I think I feel Sam shake his head. The mental image of all this: me half crying into Sam's chest and Dean feeling super awkward as he tries to do his part to comfort me and Sam letting him know he's not doing a very good job; it almost makes me want to giggle, but I know that if I start laughing now it will probably turn manic which will only concern them both more. So instead I focus on the solid muscle under me which is a great distraction; I mean good heavens, how is he this fit? After a few minutes I pull myself away just enough to be able to look at them.
"Can we start the next episode? And weren't you bringing more beer?" Sam cracks a soft smile and while Dean switches DVDs and opens the beers, Sam and I adjust so that we can both see the TV well, but I am not any further away from him. Dean hands us both beers, a genuine smile on his face as he does so.
"Oh, gosh, sorry!" I exclaim, slamming into Sam as I round the corner from the laundry room. The basket slips from my hands and tumbles to the floor, spilling clothes onto the tile.
"No, I'm sorry." Sam says, bending to help me pick up the clothes. "Totally my fault; wasn't looking where I was going."
"More my fault since you could easily claim that I am below your line of vision." I joke. Sam's chuckle breaks off abruptly and I hear a strange, choked gasp. I look up in confusion to find him with a pair of my panties in his hand; a pair of red, lacey panties. I freeze, my face instantly heating.
"Uhhh- " Is all I can manage. Sam takes a steadying breath.
"I'm assuming these aren't Dean's."
"Eh, no." I crack a smile, though I know I am still blushing like mad.
"Yeah. Well." He drops them into the basket and stands. "I uh, better go, you know, research. Look for a case. So . . . yeah." He does an about face and strides quickly away. I stand as well, the basket at my feet.
"Well that wasn't awkward at all." I whirl around at Dean's sarcastic voice. He's standing in the doorway behind me, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed and a shit eating grin on his face. My blush flames up again. "I mean really, you two are doing so great at the whole relationship thing. I mean I know I don't have the greatest experiences to give advice from, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be able to see each other's underwear without having meltdowns."
"Shut up, Dean." I mumble, crossing my arms as well and looking away from him. I don't want to have this conversation with him, but I really need to talk to someone about it and my options are super limited: him or no one. "It's not like there even is a relationship, is there? So yeah, we can be awkward about—" Dean strides over to the basket and plucks the red panties from the top. "Dean!" I snatch for them but he steps away.
"These are nice." He says. "It's the silky lace, not the weird stuff. The red is sexy, but there is enough material here to be classy not trashy."
"What are you doing?" I demand.
"Showing you what an interaction of a roommate and your underwear should go like." He tosses me the panties.
"That is not—"
"You and Sam wouldn't dream of being with anyone else at this point, so yeah, there's a relationship. It's a weird one, I'll grant you but—"
"Weird?" I ask. "He hasn't touched me since the movie night. Like at all. Not even casually. Our hands brushed when I handed him a book the other day and he left room within 60 seconds. We still talk like normal, but nothing is normal. I don't know what to do Dean, I'm losing my mind here and you're all I have so you better have some advice that doesn't consist of locking us in a closet together until we 'figure it out'." I glared at him as I put air quotations around the last words.
"Hey, I still think that would be an effective plan." Dean says with a grin. I glare some more. "Alright, alright." He puts his hands up as if in defeat. "Here's the thing Tara: he hasn't said anything to me, so I don't know. Honest." He shrugs. My shoulders sag. "My best guess though is that he's worried he's gonna freak you out again. I mean it was pretty bad that night and you sure as hell aren't just a fling to him so he's not going to want to do anything to hurt you or scare you or push you or whatever else."
"I— yeah, it was bad." I whisper. "And I can't guarantee it won't happen again, but I trust Sam and I'm not scared of him."
"Show him that then." Dean said with a shrug. "You might have to make the first move here, Tara." I nod, an idea shaping in my head. A crazy, totally uncomfortable idea, but an idea.
"How does dinner in your room sound?" I ask him. He frowns.
"Wha—"
"You. Have dinner in your room." I clarify. "Stay there for the evening. Shut the door." I nod firmly, more to myself than to Dean. Yeah. I can do this.
"I could do that." Dean says with a grin spreading across his face.
"Okay." I pick up the laundry basket and head to my room to plan, but then turn back around. "Thanks Dean." He smiles at me, an honest, pleasant smile, not a grin or a smirk. His eyes are soft and hold some unfathomable, but I think good, emotion.
"Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit." I have been chanting this under my breath for at least twenty minutes now, pacing back and forth in my room. Panic mode has been induced. One look at myself in the mirror wearing red lace panties and bra and I freaked. "What am I thinking?" I ask myself. "I can't seduce Sam. This is stupid, so stupid. I have never done something like this, much less become well practiced. This is so stupid. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit." And so the chant begins again.
"No." I stop suddenly, looking in the mirror again. "You can do this." I say to myself. "You don't have to actually seduce him, you just have to let him know that you want to, and then he'll pick it up from there. Hopefully." I stare for into the mirror for a long moment more. "Okay, yeah." I grab a t-shirt and start to pull it on, but then see one of Sam's shirts draped at the foot of my bed.
"Are you wearing my shirt?"
The memory of him asking and the way he was holding me when he did so makes me feel flushed. I discard the t-shirt and grab the flannel. It's nearly to my knees and unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of cleavage. I leave the room before I can second guess myself and chicken out.
In the kitchen I grab two cold beers and then head back towards Sam's room. Dean's door down the hall and across is closed and there are the muffled sounds of classic rock coming from it. I smile in appreciation and knock on Sam's door before I can think it through too much.
"Yeah?" He asks through the door. I crack it open and poke my head in, holding the beers out for him to see.
"Company?" I ask.
"Uh, yeah, sure." He says, sitting up and scooting over on his bed. I come in the door and close it behind me. I turn around in time to see his eyes fly back up to my face. Ha. He was checking me out.
"Is that my—"
"Shirt? Yes." I finish for him, coming over to the bed and handing him a beer. "It's—"
"Comfortable." He finishes with a half grin, taking the beer. I use the edge of my (his, whatever) shirt to grip the bottle cap and twist it off. I watch his eyes out of my peripheral as I do so, giving me the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen at the momentary exposure of my thigh and the hard bob of his adam's apple as he swallows. He takes a long swig of his beer.
"Where's Dean?" He asks.
"Sequestered in his room." I answer, sitting on the bed beside him and leaning against the headboard. "I heard Kansas I think." Sam nods and takes another swig of beer.
"Movie?" I suggest.
"What are you doing Tara?" He asks sharply. I freeze. His voice isn't all that friendly.
"What do you mean?" I ask carefully.
"Dean's off in his own room and you're here with beer and wearing who knows what under my shirt. You're up to something." He states. "And I don't want to play games."
"Games?" I ask. "This isn't meant to be a game, it's meant to be a clear message." I turn to face him, putting my beer on the desk. "It's meant to show you that I like you and I want you. Yes, I'm scared because I've known this for awhile and I still freaked out when you kissed me but I don't want that to be the end of it. I want to try this Sam, I want to be with you and even if I have freak out moments, it's not because I am scared of you, and I need you to believe that I will get past whatever crap Darren left me with because I need to believe that I can get past it. The only part of you I am scared of is how you are going to respond so for the love of all tell me one way or another."
Sam's eyebrow quirks and a small scoff escapes his parted lips. He slowly and obviously rakes his gaze down my body and then back up to my face.
"So what are you wearing under my shirt?" He asks; a smirk on his face. I breathe a sigh of relief, followed quickly by a gasp of excitement when Sam's hand brushes up my thigh, pushing the shirt out of the way until his fingers brush along the lace at my hip. "Lace. Do they happen to be red?"
I smile at him, suddenly so at ease and calm, despite the fear and nerves from moments ago and the accelerated rate my heart has taken up. I put my hands on his shoulders and throw a leg over his lap, putting me face to face with him, for once his height not making a difference.
"Why don't you find out?" I ask him. He grins hugely and kisses me, both hands going to my back, pulling me close to him. My own hands move from his shoulders to his head, melding into his hair and acting as leverage to press my mouth firmly to his. Good heavens Sam is a fabulous kisser. He sucks my lower lip in between his and runs his tongue along it, then releases it with a grazing of teeth. Our lips meet again instantly, both of us parting them and inviting each other in. His hands move from my back to my stomach, brushing over every inch of me. I gasp and flinch.
"Tara?" Sam asks immediately, his tone full of concern and his expression wrinkled with worry.
"No, no." I say with a laugh. "It tickled." He shifts from frown to grin in a heartbeat.
"Well as fun as that is, it's not what I was going for." He says. His hands leave my stomach and pull out from under the shirt, going to the buttons, which he starts undoing quickly. "This is more my intention." He undoes the last one and wrenches it over my shoulders, a groan escaping him.
"They are red." He says, staring at my lace covered chest. I shrug the shirt off my arms and reach for the hem of his. "Wait, give me just a moment to soak this in." He says, putting his hands over mine.
"Can't I soak in a view of my own at the same time?" I ask with a pout. He flashes a grin but then shrugs. I yank his t-shirt up and over his head, Sam putting his arms up to assist me. My breath hitches for a half a second. Dear goodness he is perfection. Every contour and pane of his chest and abdomen is sculpted. We stare at each other for a long moment, not touching, just looking.
"Tara you are stunning." He says with an exhale. I breathe out as well and smile. He gently runs his hands down my sides and grips my hips, making 'gentle' be forgotten by both of us.
Sam is everywhere, his hands and his lips exploring every inch of my skin within his reach. It's all I can do to hold onto his shoulders and keep myself from collapsing.
"Sam—Sam." I gasp out. He comes back to my mouth, kissing me thoroughly. My mind is feeling all sorts of fuzzy with sexual bliss, where as my body is feeling all sorts of electrified with sexual bliss. It's heaven. I can't believe it took us this long to get to this.
The pounding on the door doesn't divert me, but the sound of Dean's voice does.
"SAM. TARA." He shouts. "HOW CAN YOU BE THAT DISTRACTED?" Sam and I pull away from each other and look to the door. Only then do I notice the red light flashing from the ceiling and the sound of an alarm coming from the hall.
"What the hell, Dean?" Sam shouts back.
"GET YOUR ASSES OUT HERE. CLOTHED." I hear Dean stomp away.
"What the hell is going on?" I ask, getting off Sam and start grabbing clothes.
"No idea, but it better be damn important." Sam says gruffly, putting his shirt back on and grabbing the gun from his nightstand. I finish buttoning up my (Sam's) shirt and he hands me the gun.
"Where am I supposed to put this?" I ask.
"In your hands." Sam says. "Stay ready."
"Do you really think Dean would have banged on the door and then left if we were under attack?" I ask as we exit the room, Sam going first with his demon blade in hand. We cross to my room where I quickly pull on a pair of jeans and shove my feet into some boots, the alarm coming to an abrupt stop as we head back to the hall. "I mean clearly something is wrong, yes—"
"There better be something wrong or I'm going to—"
"Kill Dean. Yes." I finish for him. "I'll be helping you." We stop talking as we round the corner to find—
"Garth?" Sam asks.
"Garth?" I echo. "This is Garth?"
"Tara, Garth." Dean introduces sharply. "Garth, Tara. There that's done, now why is there a pack of werewolves right outside my door?"
"What?" Sam and I ask in unison.
"I'd appreciate it if you would all put your weapons down." Garth says with bit of a twang. I look to Sam and Dean, who exchange a look and then stow their weapons. I engage the safety on the gun in my hand and stick it through my belt at my back. "Thank you." Garth says. "Now as I told you, Dean, the family is still in town—"
"The family?" Asks Dean.
"In town?" Asks Sam.
"Let him finish." I say at the same time that Garth sighs and says "You've got to let me finish." He tips his head at me and smiles. I purse my lips and don't respond. Just because I want to hear him out doesn't mean I have decided to like him. His interruption has set him back in my opinion.
"The family is in town, at a motel. I came here alone." Garth continues. "I know you want to keep this place secret and I respect that. Fact of the matter though is, we need you. I need you." He looks imploringly at Dean and then at Sam. Neither responds. "There was a time that we were friends, brothers in arms. Is that all gone now for you? 'Cause it's not for me." Dean shifts uncomfortably and glances at Sam, whose posture has softened. I start packing in my head for what they will need for this trip.
"What's the trouble?" Sam asks. Garth sighs with relief, clearly seeing what I saw in the boys.
"We caught wind of a pact forming down south, not a family like us, but a traditional pact." Garth explains.
"Killers." I say, with a nod. Garth gives me a curious look, but goes on.
"Yes. We pulled up a team and went to check around. Wasn't too many of them yet, so it wasn't difficult. Joe and Frank are taking our new members home, the newer ones who didn't want the lifestyle of a killer; we try to help all we can. The others . . . well, we did what had to be done. That pack isn't a problem anymore."
"So where do we come into this then?" Dean asks.
"Well the pack isn't a problem, but they had two people with them that they hadn't turned or killed. Now the girl wouldn't let us near the boy and—"
"Kids?" Sam asks.
"Not really." Garth says. "Point is we had to knock them out to get them away. They weren't much hurt, but they both saw us, uh—"
"Wolfy?" I suggest.
"Yeah, sure." Garth shrugs. "She won't trust us or listen to us or let us get close to either of them at all. Vicious little thing. So we can't help them and I thought of you guys and wondered if—"
"Why didn't you just take them to a hospital?" Dean asks.
"And let them get locked up as crazies?" Garth asks. "They need to be helped by someone who knows; by hunters. Now it doesn't have to be you guys, but if you could just get us in contact-"
"We'll do it." I blurt. Dean and Sam both turn to stare at me, disbelief, anger and surprise all written on their faces. "Garth, give us a minute." I grab each man by the sleeve and lead them from the room.
"Tara, what are you think—"
"Hear me out, Dean." I cut him off. "Listen, there are two young people who have been victimized by monsters and now need help recovering from that so that they can keep going on with as normal a life as possible. Sound familiar? 'Cause it sure sounds familiar to me." I cross my arms and stare them down. Surprisingly, they both refuse to meet my stare and even squirm a little.
"We're helping. Now go pack. I'm gonna tell Garth." And with that I march past them. Just before I am out of hearing range, I catch Dean's voice say 'She's your girlfriend, man.'
A/N:
So while this is a one shot, there will be an companion one shot that is about the kids Garth and family found. So check that out if you're interested!