June wondered how it could be that she had never felt as comfortable and at peace as when travelling with the Winchester brothers.

Alright, so maybe peace was a little exaggerated.

The skeezy motel rooms, she could deal with. The weapon training and lore lectures, she could deal with, too. The long drives and bad food, she could deal with.

But working a damn case with Sam?

"Why are we here again?" June grumbled, studying the menu of the expensive restaurant she and Sam were at. Never had she liked these awfully formal establishments with the overpriced food and blasé waiters.

Sam smiled to himself as he closed his menu, not particularly interested. He'd seen June's face falling when Dean told them that the Ruguru they were after probably worked in this four-star restaurant and they had to get in undercover to make him out, follow him home and capture him. Most inconspicuous way to do so was act as just another rich couple on their weekly night out.

And if one looked only superficially, they did fit in, though they were a lot younger than the average clientele. Only on a closer look one would notice the rough edges on Sam's face, the cold look in the eyes of both of them and the threatening air Sam radiated.

Nobody bothered to look closely, though, so all people saw was a handsome young couple having dinner on a Saturday night.

"Well, we have to watch out for any of the waiters showing signs of approaching cannibalism, then we have to wait until his shift is over and take him out."

"Sam," June closed her menu with a decisive clap. "Waiters in places like this don't work in shifts, they work the whole night, which, considering that they only offer five-course menus, could be up til three in the morning. And nobody waits around this long; we'd look suspicious and might as well stamp 'hunter' on our foreheads. So what do we say we just find this guy quickly, get out of here and have dinner in a place where they sell a decent bloody steak instead of this entrecote crap?"

"You just want to get out of those clothes," Sam remarked and shot her an amused look. He'd seen exactly how she tugged at her lilac silk dress every time she thought he wasn't looking, how she hated the confinement of it and how it limited her movements to small steps and definitely no bending down.

"Indeed I do, but not for you."

"Never say never. It wouldn't be the first time you give in."

"No, because last time I did, it really was the last time. I'll just file it under 'I was young and foolish' and never look at it again."

"Cute attempt, June, but you know you'll never hold that up," Sam grinned roguishly. "Truth is, now that you've had a taste of it, you want more."

"I'm very tempted to say 'bite me' right now, but I don't want to get your hopes up, so I'll just stick to: 'Go to hell.'"

"Already there, sweetheart."

"Sadly, not all the way. Men and their incapability to ask for directions."

Sam shook his head smilingly. "You should be glad I don't have a soul."

"Oh, is that so?" June arched an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Yeah, because no man with a soul could possibly bear your attitude. You'd have died a virgin."

"Don't flatter yourself, Sam. Despite your low opinion of me, there are indeed men with souls more than willing to 'bear my attitude'."

"Who are after your money, not you," Sam stated.

June narrowed her eyes; he was right. Nobody had ever truly liked her for herself; no man had ever loved her for the sake of her inner values, but rather her bank account's. "Are you saying you're any different than them?"

Sam wondered whether to admit that she intrigued him, and that he couldn't care less about her wealth. He decided against it; he wouldn't admit feelings he didn't truly feel. "Well. I neither care about your money nor about you, so I suppose I am different than them, yes."

June shrugged, unaffected by his uncaring words. "In as much as that you're honest about it."

Sam's analytical brain tried figuring out what had numbed June so much that she wasn't even able to care or feel about anything. How could someone with a soul be so dead inside?

June, meanwhile, was wondering how it could be she was sharing more of herself with Sam than she ever had with her brother or father. She knew Sam wouldn't care, couldn't even care, yet she was as honest with him as she had seldom been. More still, she felt comfortable around him.

Since jabbing was part of their routine, though, she asked: "Tell me again why I had to go with you and not Dean?"

Sadly the waiter that now approached their table cheated June out of Sam's answer. "May I take your order, Ma'am?"

'I'm dying for a steak, rare, and a heap of French fries,' June was tempted to say, but having been raised into this kind of lifestyle, the usual came out of her mouth: "I would like the seafood five-course menu and a glass of Pinot Grigio."

"Very well, Ma'am. And for you, sir?"

Sam smiled at June, never taking his eyes off her as he said: "I'll take whatever my lovely but sadly complicated and expensive wife is having. Just make that a beer for me, would you?"

The waiter didn't even flinch. "Certainly, sir."

"You know, on second thought, make that a whole bottle of Pinot Grigio." June smiled sweetly at him. "God knows I need it to endure my husband."

The waiter nodded, wished he'd let someone else have taken their table and left before he would have to witness a marital argument.

"Expensive wife?" June had trouble to keep her voice down. "We're here on my money, Sam!"

"Your father's money, which you have so far prided yourself of never using or calling your own, so why bitch about it now? Oh, and don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't complain about 'lovely' and 'complicated'."

"I am not complicated, you just rob me of my last nerve!"

"Fair enough. You're an easy girl. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The waiter approached them again, and they fell silent for the time it took him to put Sam's beer in front of him and to pour June her wine. "Ah, thank God." She beamed at him. "Makes him at least a bit more bearable, you know."

June crossed her legs underneath the table and was sure to kick Sam's shin in doing so.

"What the hell was that for?" He hissed when they were alone again.

"What was what for?" June pouted her lips and took a sip of her wine.

"Very mature," Sam narrowed his eyes.

"I can afford it, seeing as I'm only eighteen years old."

"True," Sam arched an eyebrow that told June nothing good would come her way; it made her tingly from perverse excitement, "And in this state, you happen to be too young to drink alcohol." Sam leaned forwards and took the glass of wine from her hand. "As a loving husband it is my duty to take care of you, sweetheart, and that includes sparing you from getting in trouble with the law."

June swallowed hard on that acid anger, and bit out through clenched teeth: "Oh, sure, by all means, go ahead and tell them I'm a minor, it'll make our marriage story so much more believable."

"Trust me, sweetheart, it will." Sam beckoned to the waiter, who immediately appeared at their side.

"Yes, sir?"

"Excuse us for the inconvenience, but my wife is still not quite accustomed to being pregnant and ordered wine on mistake. If you could just take it away again. We'll pay the whole bottle, of course."

"Certainly, sir, and congratulations." The waiter wondered just how these two had found each other and whether they got their kicks out of humiliating each other publicly; he just wished they wouldn't include him. But he nodded and took the glass and bottle away.

June nearly bit her tongue off to keep from yelling, and had to clench her hands into tight fists as to not smash the place to the ground. New score: June 1, Sam 1.

"Alright, that's it, first chance I get, I'll murder you, and I'll do so with a smile on my lips."

"Awww, you wouldn't want to make our child a half-orphan, now, would you?"

"Better half-orphan than having a father like you."

"Wonder what that says about the mother's choice."

June was about to retort when she felt a snowball punch her in the gut.

"June?" Sam's voice was rid of all taunt, it sounded almost concerned. It wasn't like June to step back from a witty rejoinder.

"Yeah, um…" She stifled a cry as the snowball squeezed around her solar plexus and she bent over in anguish. "He's, ah."

"June, what?"

She forced herself to look up and around, to look for changes, new people in the room… and caught the chef who'd stepped out of the kitchen to talk to one of the waiters standing at the very far end of the room. "Sam, uh, it's the… ow, crap. It's the chef."

"What?"

"Ruguru. It's the chef."

"How do you know?"

"You think I'm cringing because it's fun? I can feel it, damnit."

"I thought it only worked on Alphas."

"Well, apparently, it doesn't exclusively." June forced herself to sit up as that the other guests wouldn't get suspicious. The icy squeeze loosened when the chef stepped back into the kitchen, and June took a relieved breath.

"You okay?"

"Peachy." June grunted and reached for Sam's beer. "I could have really used that wine now, you know."

"You'll get a bottle of whiskey later." Sam motioned to the waiter again, who began to wonder what he'd done wrong to deserve having to serve this couple tonight.

"Could you bring us the check? My wife's not feeling well."

June vowed that if he said it was because of her alleged pregnancy, she would use her last remaining strength to lunge across the table and throttle him. Sam surprisingly didn't add anything to that, though.

June handed the waiter her black American Express and gave a generous tip, then she struggled to stand up. The queasy feeling still turmoiled inside of her, and she could feel it robbing her of her strength.

"How attentive," June growled under her breath as Sam helped her into her coat, "And how very fake."

"The thing about appearances is that they don't have to be real to work."

"I wonder what's next on your act 'caring husband'," June hissed as they left the restaurant. She staggered at the stairs, hating how weak her body was and hating the fact she wasn't able to do anything about it even more.

Sam noticed June's weakness, of course; nothing escaped his notice, really. Even though he wasn't capable of caring, he didn't want to see her suffer, either.

June let out a sound of protest when Sam swept her up wordlessly, carrying her down the street bridal style. "What the hell? Let me down, Sam! I'm well capable of walking!"

"No, you're not."

"Damn straight I am, so let! Me! Down!"

"June, stop acting like a stubborn three year old." Sam said evenly. "For once, swallow your pride and accept help, alright?"

That was so unlike their usual bickering that June stopped flailing her arms around in an attempt to make him set her down and let him carry her to her Impala. Sam shifted her weight so that he could open the passenger's door and gently set her down.

"You're not seriously implying that you're driving my baby?"

"You sound exactly like Dean. What is with Impalas and their owners?"

"We know what we have and we cherish it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hand over the keys already."

"No way."

"June. I don't plan on going out in a car crash, and you're in no condition to drive, so hand over the damn keys before I take them."

"I can't believe this," June growled and pulled out the keys from her handbag, reluctantly dropping them in Sam's outstretched hand. "I'm so sorry, baby." She caressed the dashboard.

Sam shook his head, probably rolled his eyes – June was too occupied with grieving over her car to see – and walked around the Impala to get in behind the wheel.

"Sam, uh…" Her tongue knotted in her mouth, refusing to say the following words: "Er, um, well, thank you. For… you know."

"You're welcome." No dwelling in her discomfort, no tease, no taunt. Just a simple 'you're welcome'.

"Alright, can we please switch back to the bickering, 'cause this just creeps me out."

"You mean you're uncomfortable with anything that doesn't jab at you and keeps you from thinking about your family."

"Yes, thanks for pointing that out. Exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Well, I was wondering whether to comment on that, or rather the fact your dress slipped."

June looked down at herself and really, the silk had moved in all the wrong places, revealing most of her thin-laced bra and leaving her thighs wholly bare.

"That so wouldn't have happened had I walked myself."

"Don't act the prude we both know you're not."

"It ain't so much about prudery as rather preserving these precious sights for those worthy."

"There isn't really anything I haven't seen, princess."

"Or so you thought. See, I got this fancy little tattoo the other day, which I thought best placed somewhere no demon would see it, or anyone, for that matter, really…"

Sam tightened his hands around the steering wheel.

"It hurt quite a bit, seeing as the skin there's really sensitive, but I'd say it's definitely worth it. It's a nice little pattern, just for me to see…Oh, and the tattoer, of course, he seemed very pleased by my decision where to place it. See, I was debating what would be best; first, I thought shoulder blade, then I considered ribcage, just underneath my breast, but then I thought my groin might work better. So that it would show should I ever decide to wear low-rise jeans in combination with a short little top. However, I did also like the location of my inner thigh. Of course, it would have to be very far up so that it wouldn't be revealed by the hotpants I always wear in summer… "

"Damn you, Hallberg." Sam cursed between clenched teeth. He inevitably had to think of the softness of June's skin, how she had felt under his hands and how some tattoo guy had been allowed to see such an intimate spot of his June.

"What's the matter, Winchester?" June smiled and let her hand wander up Sam's thigh provocatively slowly. "Curious about that one part you haven't seen about me, after all?"

"I'll find it sooner than later, don't you worry." Sam forced himself to take June's hand away; he couldn't let himself be distracted, not now. They had to close this case first. "And you better hope you didn't get it on your thigh."

"Why's that, Sam?" June revelled in having the upper hand again.

Apparently, jealousy and possessiveness still worked without a soul. Sam didn't particularly like the thought of a tattoo blemishing June's perfect, pale and well-shaped thighs.

"Judging from your promiscuous, horny streak shining through all too vividly, I take it you've recovered."

"That's not the answer to my question." June leaned back and looked out the window smilingly. "But rather the more or less discreet attempt of averting the topic and putting the focus on me again instead of you not wanting to admit that despite how annoying you may find me, you can't resist me, either."

"Charm yourself all you want, June. It doesn't change that you came to me first."

"You're going to hold that over me forever, aren't you?"

"Definitely."

"Fine. Won't make that mistake again." June took a deep breath as that her breasts rose temptingly in the revealing dress, and her words had set the new bet: Who would waver and give in first to the devouring attraction they both felt?

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