"If I kiss you where it's sore, if I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better, better, better, will you feel better, better, better, will you feel anything at all?"

There's a lot in here that talks about The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. If you'd rather not talk about it (or, better yet, have it spoiled) then please skip this chapter until you have come to terms with it (or have read the book) (and you have to read the book) (it's a whole different level of pain and tears) (it's so good I can't wait to re-read it)(I'm going to read it to my children and they're going to be sobbing and going 'why Mom why') (it'll be like a rite of passage)

Cuddling Somewhere

It started out as a prickling in her eyes, causing her to blink upwards and force them away. But it kept coming. She sniffed and inhaled deeply and rubbed at her eyes before the tears started. They started slowly, drop after drop, but soon she was sobbing, elbows on knees, face buried in her arms, wrists loose as her fingers rested somewhere in her hair. She gave loud, guttural sobs, a crack making itself known in her heart.

He was gone. He was gone and he wasn't coming back and she couldn't fix it.

There was a knock at her door. Shit, someone actually heard her. She sucked in her sob and quickly wiped at her face as someone opened her door and blinked at her state before shutting the door behind him and moving to sit on her bed next to her, rubbing her back as she tried to keep more tears from coming.

"Hermione," he began, calmly and quietly, "What's wrong?"

"I just – and he can't – I couldn't…." This is why she hated crying. She could never explain what was wrong to the extent of her thoughts and feelings in her head. She could never convey how much something hurt her, although those few that knew her well enough knew it had to be extremely bad to make her shed even one tear. She took several deep breaths and he ran his fingers through her hair.

"Hermione," Sam smiled a little, "Why are you crying over a book? Is everything okay?"

That last word caused her to cry again, hiding her face in her hands, Sam wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair, "Augustus Waters! He – he wrote – he wrote to him a-and then he wrote the eulogy f-for her and h-he just loved her so-oh much, Sam, a-and she loved him ba-ack and they had Anne Frank's house a-and they were – she – and dying but you didn't know when and you didn't know who and it was him!"

"I don't understand what you just said, but I understand that it must have been a very good book to have you literally sobbing over it," Sam chuckled as Hermione buried her face into him and attempted to calm herself down.

"Very good. You need to read it. And if you tell me you didn't cry, I won't believe you," she insisted as he laid down on her bed, keeping her pulled against his chest, sighing happily before he pecked her head. She wiped away more tears, breathing deeply, wrapping her arms around him before settling her chin on his chest and looking up at him. "So. What's up?"

"Nothing," he hummed, closing his eyes, letting whatever her shampoo smelled like to settle into his clothes. "Just felt like seeing you."

"So you drove how many miles to see me, just because you 'felt' like it?" she questioned.

Sam grinned a little, kissing her head, "I had Dean drop me off."

She shifted a little, looking up at him worriedly, "What's going on?"

He smiled and kissed her, bringing her in closer, lowering his forehead to hers, "Nothing." He kissed her again, "I love you."

She watched him carefully for a few moments before smiling back, "Love you too." She dropped the smile and edged away a little, making Sam look at her curiously as they both sat up, "Sam, honestly, what's going on?"

Sam looked her over. She'd cried over a book character dying. He hated to see how hard she would cry if she discovered that he was dying and they didn't know when. So instead he smiled, shook his head, and rolled his eyes, "Honestly, Hermione, stop being so paranoid. Nothing's wrong, everything's fine." And in that moment, it really was. Because he was there, with her, and everything was fine when he was with her.

Hermione frowned at him for a few more moments before sighing, moving forward and sitting in his lap, burying her face in his chest, loving the earthy smell he always had. "Honestly, can you blame me for being paranoid? I always worry about you."

"I'll be fine, Hermione," he murmured, smoothing back her hair, pressing his lips to the top of her head, trying to push away his anxiety of leaving her alone. "I promise."

Wow, that quickly became sad. Hmm. I'll try to steer clear of that from now on.