Don't Pull This Thread - Part 2

Summary: Sam and Dean take care of Lexie while she heals; Sam learns more about her habits than he likes.

Warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn, infidelity mentioned, Dean flirting.

W/C: 4k.

Notes: switches between Sam and OC POV. Canon divergent.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OFC, other needed OC's..

Pairing: they are getting closer buuuuut….

Lexie POV

A week later.

I had been going stir crazy. I spent three days in the hospital before being allowed home, with a promise to the doctor from Sam that he would take care of me. Sam has kept his promise and has had me on house arrest.

I'm not complaining; having the undivided attention of the youngest Winchester isn't exactly a hardship. He cooked, cocooned me in blankets on the couch when I fell asleep, and carried me to my bed when I was too sleepy and worn out to walk the short distance. But staring at the same four walls and barely being able to walk from the living room to the bathroom without Sam hovering over me was wearing thin.

I have broken ribs; I'm not an invalid. I stopped taking my prescribed painkillers yesterday and convinced Sam to go to Mike's Bar after a lot of pouting and fluttering eyelashes.

I work at Mike's, and I haven't seen him or the other two waitresses I had become fast friends with since I had left the hospital. I wanted to catch up with friends and have a drink with Sam and Dean outside the stifling confines of my apartment.

Mike enveloped me in a tight hug before I even made it three steps into the bar and kissed both my cheeks. I choked down the whimper that Mike's crushing embrace caused, not wanting Sam to see I was in pain and insisting on taking me home to rest.

I introduced Mike to Sam and Dean as we walked to sit at a table near the bar. "Drinks are on me tonight, boys," I tell them with a broad smile, "it's the least I can do for taking care of me."

"In that case." Dean grins, rubbing his hands together looking at Mike, who's waiting to take our order. "I'll have a bottle of Johnny Walker, and Sam here will take a glass of milk."

Sam sneers at his brother while ordering a beer, and I ask for my usual vodka and coke.

Mike returns with our drinks and joins us. "So when are you coming back, Lex?" Mike asks with an exaggerated sad face. "I miss you."

"Hopefully at the end of next week."

Sam adds, "Doc said light duties only. No heavy lifting."

"Don't worry; I'll look after her. But in the meantime, Lex," Mike's eyes sparkle mischievously, "if you want to make a little extra cash. The guy at the pool table with the expensive Rolex has been here for almost three hours and is up by about eight hundred bucks. But I think you can take him."

"You hustle people at pool?" Dean asks, his voice full of surprise.

Mike scoffs loudly, "it's how I met her."

I point a warning finger at Mike, "do not tell that story!"

"Oh no, you gotta tell us now," Sam says, shuffling forward in his chair to be closer to the conversation.

Mike looks at me with pleading eyes, "come on; it's my favorite story to tell."

Mike turns to Sam and opens his mouth to speak, but I jump at him, clasping a hand over his mouth. "Mike," I warn, "remember I saved your life; you owe me."

Mike mumbles against my hand and rolls his eyes, "fine."

Sam POV

Dean, Mike, and I sit talking while Lexie plays pool with Mr. Rolex. I have a perfect view of her over Mike's shoulder, and I'm trying my hardest not to keep staring at her. I know I've been overprotective and overbearing the past few days, but I haven't been able to stop. Having Lexie back in my life on what is shaping up to be a permanent basis and knowing her secret has changed something between us.

Maybe it's the relief she is okay, the close quarters of living together, or that nothing is holding us back anymore. No secrets we have to keep from one another.

I feel the shift, the difference in her eyes when she looks at me when she thinks I'm not looking. The way she lingers when she kisses my cheek in greeting or the way her body relaxes when I kiss her goodnight. The way she fits herself into my body every night we share a bed. There's definitely been a change in our relationship, and I like it.

Lexie is flirting with Mr. Rolex, touching his arm when she talks to him, allowing him to bend over her to help her with her shot. I know it's all part of the hustle, but it doesn't help stifle my jealousy.

They finish their second game, and Lexie comes back to the table to pour herself a glass of Dean's Johnny Walker. "How's it going over there?" Dean asks.

"Best of three, we're one apiece so far."

"What are the stakes?"

Lexie shoots back the burning alcohol, "I win, I get a thousand bucks. He wins, he gets me for the night."

Dean laughs through his nose and sits back in his chair so he can get a better view of her, "just when you think you know a person," he grins stupidly at her.

Lexie chuckles, shrugging her shoulders unfazed. "He's a man, give him the promise of sex, and he stops using his brain and starts thinking with other parts of his body. I'm playing the man," she winks at Dean.

Mike looks over his shoulder at Lexie's opponent. He's six feet, athletically built, with large hands. Mike turns his attention back to Lexie, high-fiving her as he croons, "though if you lose, it's still a win, honey."

"How about you play me after?" Dean asks, wetting his lips, "same stakes?"

Lexie rolls her eyes enough for both of us as she pours herself another drink from the half-empty bottle. "Sorry, Winchester, you're not my type."

"Please, I'm everyone's type!"

Lexie shakes her head. She's not into his cock-sure attitude. She's always hated cocky, egotistical, over-confident men. She's told me she finds it to be a total turn-off. She shrugs again, "I prefer my men less…"

"Manly," Dean interrupts.

"Promiscuous."

"Ouch," Dean feigns offense, clutching his heart dramatically. "Low blow, sweetheart."

Lexie pinches his cheek like an over-zealous Aunt at thanksgiving. "Truth hurts, sweetie." She skips away back toward her handsome adversary before Dean can respond.

I slap Dean's arm to get his attention from Lexie's ass. "Dude, stop hitting on her."

It's not the first time Dean has hit on her, and I've had enough. Partly because I'm tired of Lexie having to politely reject him and partly because maybe I am a little worried Lexie would cave and fall for my brother's charm.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean grins, slapping a hand on my shoulder. "Didn't know I was stepping on your toes."

I roll my eyes hoping it's enough to convince him that's not the reason. "It's not even like that," I deny. "It's getting a little embarrassing seeing her reject you over and over again."

"Okay, baby brother," Dean agrees, a telling smirk on his mouth while taking a sip of his drink.

"I wouldn't worry too much, sweetie," Mike interrupts us, "you're both a little too available for her anyway."

My brow creases at Mike's vague comment, and Dean's expression asks for further explanation.

"She prefers her men attached," Mike says, nodding over his shoulder at Mr. Rolex.

We both understand as soon as we each clock Mr. Rolex's shiny wedding band. Mike elaborates anyway, "I don't know what happened to that girl, but whatever it is, she only goes with guys who are attached or unavailable somehow. I guess it's her way of ensuring it's just about the sex."

Mike closes the bar at midnight, chucking out the last of the drunk customers, leaving me, Dean, Lexie, Rachel, and himself to drink and catch up.

Lexie counts two hundred dollars from her earlier winnings and hands it off to Mike, who accepts it with a thankful smile.

Rachel, a new team member at Mike's, watches the transaction with young, innocent eyes. "You let her hustle people in your bar for a cut of the winnings?"

It's not an accusation, just a simple observation.

Mike smirks, shrugging, "It pays for damages."

Lexie protests loudly, "Hey, I still stand by my story that that guy broke his own arm!"

"You broke his arm because he was a sore loser," Mike concludes, earning a laugh from the crowd.

I smirk, thinking about that poor guy. I've seen Lexie lose her temper; our road trip was pretty much a tour of America's bars. I know she can handle herself against the unwanted affections of a drunk, and I would never like to be on that side of her.

Dean wonders aloud, "where did you learn to hustle anyway?"

Lexie pats me on the back, winking, "Sam taught me everything I know."

I shrug my shoulders at Dean taking a swig of my beer. He huffs out a breath smiling wickedly at me, and I know he's going to embarrass me before he speaks. Dean gives me his shit-eating grin. "So you'll let my brother bend you over a table but not me?"

"If you're giving me the choice of Winchesters," Lexie says, looking at Dean with a raise of her eyebrows, and runs her hands over my shoulders as she leans against me, "I'd pick Sam, every time."

I mask my happy chuckle with a swig of my beer but can't fight off the small, proud, smug tug on my lips as they curl into a grin. Dean pouts and sneers comically at us both.

"Ah, don't worry, baby, I'd pick you." Mike retorts, leaning closer to Dean.

Lexie POV

Dean's awkward throat-clearing makes us all crack into fits of laughter. This is just what I needed.

Rachel seems to be a bit in awe of me like I'm some kind of a role model. If only she knew. "Have you ever lost and had to go home with someone?" Rachel asks, young and a little naive; she seems excited and yet fearful at the prospect.

I feel the blush heat my cheeks and sip my drink, so Mike answers for me, sighing dreamily, "ah, Wyatt."

"Who's Wyatt?" Sam asks.

I swallow my drink and can't keep the satisfied grin from my mouth at the memory. "He hustled me the third or fourth night I started working here. He'd watched me play other people and played me at my own game."

Rachel's excitement lights her eyes. "So you went home with him?"

"I may have lost the bet, but I won multiple times that night," I quip, clinking my glass against Mike's in an appreciative toast.

Rachel's curiosity gets the better of her, and she wants to know more. She asks me questions about Wyatt. Where had he taken me? Had I seen him again?

I answer all the eager girl's questions. Wyatt had rolled into Mike's bar two days after I arrived in town. It was my first night waitressing there, and I had fended off a lot of unwanted attention. Wyatt hadn't tried groping me the first time he spoke to me, and we exchanged a few friendly words, then I went off to hustle some college kids.

Wyatt came to Mike's three consecutive nights, and on the third, he challenged me to a game of pool, claiming to be rusty from his time overseas. Wyatt was a soldier; I assumed special operations though he had never specifically told me that. He was home visiting his family until his next deployment.

He was nice, charming, and gorgeous. Short brown hair, trimmed and sculpted beard, broad shoulders, and an ass that marble sculptures could never replicate. I had not been bothered about losing to him one bit.

"We spent a week and a half together, six dates and forty-eight consecutive hours in bed." I finish with a dreamy exhale. "We text each other and talk on the phone sometimes, but I haven't seen him since."

I'm smiling broadly; Wyatt is a good memory in an ever-expanding ocean of bad ones. I catch Sam smiling at me, and I ask what he's looking at.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head without breaking eye contact, "it's just nice to see you smiling."

I'm lying in my bed with my head on Sam's chest. He's shared my bed every night since he heroically charged into my room to save me from my nightmare. Sam's flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and I know from his breathing he's not asleep. His hand strokes up and down my shoulder blade a few times, and I draw myself closer to him.

I've known him long enough to know he has something on his mind, and he's not going to sleep until he gets it out. I say his name, and even though I whisper, he jumps a little in surprise. "I can practically hear you thinking. What's on your mind?"

His mouth is resting against my forehead and curls into a smile; he knows I know him too well. But then maybe I don't know him all that well as his question surprises me. "Would you really have left with that guy tonight if you had lost?"

I sound robotic and devoid of emotion when I reply. "Yes. A bet is a bet." I don't make bets I can't cash.

"But he was married." He sounds almost disgusted; he's disappointed in me. My body stiffens, and he must know he's struck a nerve because he quickly adds his reasoning. "You could have your pick of guys, so why?"

I roll onto my back, and the cold absence of my body against his goes deeper than my skin. "It's easier. No risk of emotions, no complications."

Sam corrects my answer. "You mean no risk of them sticking around."

"I'm not exactly the safest person to be around," I whisper sadly. "Zak makes a point of hurting anyone I get close to."

I have never felt guilt or remorse for sleeping with any of the men I have slept with, married or otherwise. But Sam's disappointment in me is palpable, and I despise the thought of him thinking less of me, judging me if only for a fleeting second.

Sam finds my hand on the bed and interlocks our fingers. "What if you met someone who wanted to stick around?"

He phrases it like a question, but it isn't. He's telling me he wants to be the one to stick around. So now I know he feels the change in us too. We both want to be more than friends; we want to share a bed and lose the clothes we wear every night. We both want the kisses that have been exchanged a thousand times between our eyes but never reached our lips.

I won't put Sam in harm's way because of how I feel about him. I gently take my hand back, it's a rejection, but I solidify it by saying, "I'd run as far and as fast as I could."

"Lex," tries Sam.

I present my back to him, effectively ending the conversation. "I think you should go sleep in your bed."

"Lexie, I'm…"

I raise my voice, "please, Sam!"

I feel the bed spring back up after his weight leaves it, and I manage to hold off the tears until he closes the door with a soft click after exiting.

I sleepily shuffle my feet from the bathroom down the small corridor and into the kitchen. The clock on the wall reads two fifteen a.m. I'd like to believe it was just my aching ribs that woke me, but it's more than that. The vacant Sam-shaped spot in my bed, missing his warmth, the deafening silence without the sound of Sam's light snoring had woken me too.

I took some aspirin in the bathroom, which are nowhere near as strong as the prescribed painkillers I was on, so they will be slow to take effect. I won't be able to find sleep again until the pain ebbs.

I take an ice pack from the freezer and gently hold it against my ribs under the loose-fitting t-shirt, trying not to wince or jolt as the cold touches my skin. I lean against the countertop savoring the almost immediate relief the cold provides.

I hear the boy's bedroom door open and listen to ascertain if they are going to the bathroom or if I've woken them even though I made every effort to be as silent as possible. Bare feet pad across the tiled floor, and know from the sound of the footsteps it's Dean. It's funny how quickly I've become accustomed to having the boys living with me.

A shirtless Dean enters the kitchen rubbing the remnants of sleep from his pretty hazel eyes. "Hey," he greets in a sleepy voice squinting at the attack of light after walking through the darkened apartment. "You okay?"

I clear my throat and wet my lips subconsciously, taking in his chiseled physique, running my eyes over his scars and the tattoo on his chest, before meeting his eyes. I smile widely. "I'm fine, just needed some aspirin," I explain, hoping he missed my ogling. "Did I wake you?"

Dean smiles cockily, leaning against the doorframe, telling me, "Sam's snoring woke me."

Sam has slept in my bed every night since he woke me from my nightmare. Dean has got used to sleeping in the room alone. I tell myself to focus on his face and not his shirtless body or let my eyes roam further down to assess his package in the thin sweatpants he wears as pajamas.

Dean isn't my type, but it doesn't mean I can't appreciate him.

His eyes roam my body, and I'm suddenly acutely aware I'm wearing a pair of black cotton shorts and a loose-fitting light grey t-shirt. I know the t-shirt shows the shape of my braless breasts, and I'm a little self-conscious that the way I'm holding the ice pack to my ribs means my shirt had ridden up to reveal my stomach.

I cough to get Dean's attention, fighting off the urge to readjust my shirt to cover up as his eyes travel from my toes up. We both laugh somewhat awkwardly, knowing each other's thoughts and seeing the appreciation of each other's bodies.

"Well, I'm not going to sleep again anytime soon. You're welcome to take my snoring-free bed," I tell him to break the moment.

Dean raises his eyebrows enticingly, walking to stand in front of me. "That an invitation?"

I giggle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his advance. "Keep it in your pants, Winchester."

He holds his hands in the air, surrendering. "Understood, Walker."

I offer to make coffee, and he accepts but tells me to sit while he makes it because I should be resting. I stop my roll eye and sit down. He makes us both coffee and then sits across the table from me, and I scan his scars.

"How'd you get this one?" I ask curiously, running a finger down the three-centimeter scar just below his collar bone.

"Knife wound, courtesy of a poltergeist."

"And this one?" I feel a rounded scar that is obviously a bite mark from something with an excess number of sharp teeth.

"Wendigo took a chunk out of me before I put it down."

"Wendigo?"

Dean smiles, amused. "I keep forgetting you're new to all this."

I nod my head laughing. "I can handle a suck-head and a vengeful spirit or two, but anything other than that, I'm out of my league."

"If there were only vampires and vengeful spirits out there, I could have a day job."

I chuckle, "what would Dean Winchester do as a day job?"

Dean smirks cheekily. "Oh, I'd totally be a model." He sits up straight and puffs out his chest. "With these rugged good looks, I'd be rich and famous."

We share a whole-hearted laugh.

"The tattoo, does it mean something?"

"Anti-possession symbol."

I contemplate Dean's scars and wonder how many Sam has. I've never seen Sam's body long enough to examine it closely. I try to imagine all the things they have faced, the sheer amount of times their lives have been in peril, the occasions they have put themselves in harm's way to help other people, strangers they don't know.

They are in harm's way now. I put them on Zak's radar by simply being in their presence. I pick at a chip on my coffee mug, thinking about how they have been lucky so far. Zak hasn't made his feelings on the Winchester's known yet, but it's only a matter of time. Zak will send a message soon enough. I'm sure of it.

Dean touches my hand, and it brings me out of my head. I smile up at him, but it's not convincing enough, and he asks, "where'd you go just now?"

"I was just thinking I'm kind of in awe of you and Sam," I admit, a genuine proud smile on my lips. "All the things you must have seen, all the people you have saved. You're kind of amazing; you know that."

Dean grins bashfully. "Just kind of amazing?" he questions with a wink.

"Well, if you were humble as well, then you'd be totally amazing," I joke, laughing with him. "Seriously, it scares me to think of all the things out there that I don't know about. You and Sam fight them all the time while I'm hellbent on revenge, selfishly focusing on my own mission."

"It's not selfish to want revenge," Dean assures me. "Hell, me and Sam have done the same thing."

"Only you're not," I point out. Here's my chance, maybe I can convince Dean to leave me, get Sam to go before anything serious happens. "You're here with me; you've stopped."

"Don't do that!" Dean warns.

I feel like my big brother is telling me off, but I don't stop. "Don't what?" I ask, frustration seeping from my voice. "You know as well as I do you're going to have to leave me alone at some point. Sam won't listen to me, but he might listen to you. You could convince him to go."

He raises his voice, pissed that I'm trying to talk him out of helping me. "Don't bat your eyelashes and try to manipulate me."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you unless it's working," I test with a quick grin. "But I'm not some quick fix case, Dean. This isn't something that's going to be resolved in a few days so that you can move on to the next one."

"It takes as long as it takes," he tells me calmly.

"Oh, come on," I groan, "when was the last time you spent this long in any one place? You've both put your life on hold for me, and it isn't fair to either of you."

Dean stands, taking his half-empty coffee cup to the sink, and pours the remaining liquid down the drain. I'm right, and he can't deny it.

"You ever consider we like being here?" he asks without turning. "That it's nice to know we can go do a job and we have somewhere to come back to? That it's nice to see Sam smile, genuinely smile, not fake it for my benefit?"

My breath catches in my throat. I had never thought that being around me was good for them too. Take Zak out of the equation, and we could be a small hunting family.

Dean likes to have the option of having somewhere to come home to, a reason to return to a town he normally would have put in his rear-view mirror and forgotten about. He likes that Sam is happy, and he is when he's around me.

I cross the kitchen and wrap my arms around his waist, hugging myself to his back. I can let it go for now. The prospect of having the Winchester's around to help me while I heal, and maybe after, isn't so terrible.

"You wanna try and get some sleep?" I offer, unwrapping myself from him.

Dean huffs a laugh turning to face me. "With Sam's snoring, not likely."

"The offer of my bed is still valid."

"With you in it?"

I roll my eyes. Sensitive, vulnerable Dean's appearance had been sweet but short. "Go to bed, Winchester," I grin, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek.

"Worth a shot," he smirks with a wink walking out of the kitchen.

Part 3 - Friday 20th August 2021