Don't Pull This Thread - Part 4 of 8

Summary: Promises are made. Lexie makes some bad decisions, can Sam stop her before it's too late?

Warnings: hurt/comfort, canon type violence, angst, stalking mentioned, lots and lots of angst, slow burn,

W/C: 5.5k.

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

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

Pairing: fluffy friendships (for now)

Sam POV

I pull Lexie into my lap and rock back and forth gently for a few minutes. I need her to stop crying; I can't handle seeing her in the depths of a panic attack again. I won't be able to keep my head if it happens again.

I make my tone light and joking, "Hey nerd; you're soaking my shirt again."

My comment works, and she laughs lightly against my chest before taking a deep breath and composing herself. She sits up straighter but doesn't move from my lap.

Dean excuses himself, "I'm gonna leave you two alone." He retreats to the bedroom.

"You wanna do the same?" I ask her, "try and get some sleep?"

She shakes her head slowly, "no, I just want you to talk to me."

"Talk about what?"

"Anything, so I know you're real."

"Okay, let me tell you about the time Dean screamed like a big girl when a cat jumped out at him."

Lexie POV

Sam is my human radio; his voice soothes me. I didn't think I would, but I fell asleep in his lap. I wake up, and my butt is numb; his legs must be numb too. I've been sitting on him for a few hours now. I raise my head to look at him. His head is on the back of the couch, eyes closed, lips slightly parted.

He's never looked so handsome and peaceful. That's when I decide I have to leave, sooner rather than later.

If that video had ended any differently, if it had ended with Sam's dying scream, or Dean's for that matter, instead of Wyatt's, it would have broken me. I wouldn't have been able to carry on. I have to walk away.

I stand up, and Sam is immediately awake. "You okay?"

I try to smile, but I can't make it believable. "Yeah, you just don't make for a comfortable bed. You're all hard lines and muscle."

He chuckles with an agreeing nod. "I'll make sure we're all locked up tight, and we can get into an actual bed."

"I think tonight," the hurt flickers onto his face before I even finish my sentence, "I should sleep alone."

I hope he just thinks I feel guilty because of Wyatt that I need to feel the pain to get past it. I bend and kiss his temple. "Goodnight, Sam."

Even to my ears, it sounds like a goodbye.

I sit on my bed and listen to Sam walk through the apartment checking that the windows and door are secure before using the bathroom. The soft click of him closing the bedroom door is just loud enough for me to hear. I check the time on my phone then wait ten minutes before I move.

Sam rarely has trouble falling asleep; it typically takes him about seven minutes. It's sleeping through the nightmares he has trouble with, so I wait the extra three minutes just to be sure.

The clock moves painfully slow. So slow, I start to wonder if my cell phone is frozen and not that time isn't moving because I'm checking every three seconds.

Ten minutes is up. It's now or never. I pick up my now damp jeans from the floor and fish my car keys out of the pocket. I put on a fresh pair and tuck Sam's shirt into the waistband haphazardly so it won't get caught on anything when I climb out of the window.

I climb out as quietly as possible and slide to the edge of the fire escape. I position myself to dangle off and then let go, bending my knees to take the hit and stay upright.

I slide behind the wheel of my car and take one last look up at my apartment. I keep a go-bag in the trunk of my car with the essentials; everything else is replaceable, except the Winchesters. I will miss this place, the place I have called home for the last few months, and the people I have met.

I turn the key in the ignition and nothing—no tick of the engine, no spluttering, nothing.

Sam!

I throw my head back onto the headrest and blink back tears as I slam my hands repeatedly on the steering wheel. My palms are throbbing by the time I'm finished, and as my gaze filters up, I see Sam haloed in light standing in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.

He waits until he has my full attention and then waves my spark plugs at me. He knew I was going to run and took them to stop me.

I slowly get out of the car and walk determinedly toward him. "Give them to me," I order, holding my hand out.

He shakes his head, seemingly too pissed to speak. I try to snatch them, and he makes full use of his height, holding his arm high as it will go so I would have to get a ladder to reach.

"Sam!" I growl. Knowing he's never going to give in, I stand my ground, staring up at him. Trying to think of a plan to snatch the much-needed car part from him.

"You can sucker punch me," he reads my mind, "but there's no way you'll be able to fit them back in before I recover and drag you back in here kicking and screaming."

I glare at him through slitted eyes. He's right, but I contemplate his words. I could sucker punch him and then knee him in the face, that would keep him down long enough, but I don't want to do that.

He can see my mind working overtime. "Try me," he dares.

"I hate you," I spit, shoving past him like a moody teenager.

I lie fully clothed on top of the covers on my bed, my back to the door—anger radiating off me. Sam had no right to stop me, no right to decide for me. Wyatt is dead because of me, and Sam will be next. The only thing I can do to protect him is to leave him.

Sam enters the room. I know he's never going to leave me alone again. He will keep me hostage to stop me from running away from him because he thinks he's helping me.

I feel the bed dip under his weight as he climbs hesitantly next to me.

I whisper, "I don't hate you."

"I know," Sam says, tugging on my hip asking for permission to comfort me.

I snuggle back into him, and the tension drains from my body when he leans over and places a small kiss on my cheek. We're not mad at each other, even though we probably should be. He should be mad at me for trying to run, and I should be mad at him for stopping me.

We lay in the darkness for a while. Then Sam breaks the silence, "Lex?"

I hum a reply. Sam continues, "were you going to leave wearing my favorite shirt?"

I feel the smile tug at my lips. "Absolutely. It's mine now, dork."

"I'll make you a deal," he whispers. "You can keep it if you promise not to leave me."

"Sam," I begin with a sigh. I can't make him that promise, and he knows it. I don't break my promises to him, and I'm not about to start now. I roll onto my back, and he props himself up on his elbow to look down on me. "Counteroffer. Can I promise not to run off without saying goodbye first?"

He nods. "Okay, but you can't say 'goodnight Sam', then run off. You have to tell me you're leaving, an actual goodbye, promise?"

He makes it sound like a good deal. Like I could just go to him and say I'm leaving him and Dean, going out on my own, but we both know he won't let me. But for now, I guess it will have to do.

"I promise." I sigh wearily.

Sam brushes the hair off my face, and even in the moonlit room, I can see his eyes roam from my eyes to my lips. He inclines his head until he's a hair's breadth from touching my lips; our noses graze as he tilts his head to a better position.

I put my hand on his shoulder to stop his advance and push my head into my pillow to try and give myself some room to talk without brushing his lips. "You have to promise me something too."

Sam sighs, sadly hanging his head, his chin resting on his chest; he knows what I'm about to ask. "Not to kiss you, right?"

"Yes."

He lays flat on his back, his arm over his eyes. "What if that's a promise I'm not willing to make?"

"Then my window is right there, and I can feel the spark plugs in your pocket."

He removes his arm from his face, and without missing a beat, "that isn't your spark plugs; I'm just happy to see you."

I slap his arm playfully, "you can always go back to bunking with your brother." We both laugh, and the remaining tension between us eases.

"Counteroffer," he starts when the laughter stops. "I promise not to kiss you for a month. Then we revisit the conversation."

"Three months?"

"Two?"

I can live with that promise. I will be long gone in two months. Far away from Sam and Dean. "Fine. But you have to say it out loud."

He props himself up on his elbow again, "Fine. Lexie Walker, I promise not to kiss you for two months." He leans down and kisses my forehead.

"We should just burn it!" I hear Sam's raised voice as I walk from my bedroom.

"Sam, she has a right to know." Dean disagrees, "I don't like it any more than you do, but we can't keep it from her."

Sam's voice is pleading and irritated, "what good will it do?"

"We have to tell her."

"Why Dean? Why do we have to tell her?" Sam questions impatiently. "You saw her after she got that video! What good will come of us telling her? "

"Tell me what?" I ask, entering the kitchen.

Dean's sitting at the table as Sam agitatedly paces, a thunderous look filling his eyes.

Sam speaks quietly, a sympathetic smile on his long face. "This was put under the door a couple of hours ago." He pulls a red envelope from his back pocket.

It's the size of a greeting card, with my name elegantly handwritten across the front.

I hold my breath, and the boys watch helplessly as a silent tear falls. Sam looks guilty for being the messenger. "I didn't open it," he assures me, holding it out to me so I can take it.

I angrily swipe at the fallen tears on my cheek, staring at the unopened card as if it were about to sprout teeth and bite me. I've been living in fear the last week or so since Wyatt. I have been terrified about Zak retaliating against the brothers living with me, waiting for him to make a move.

I wanted to leave town the day after I tried to run, but Sam convinced me we had to stay. It would be too suspicious if I left town the same day Wyatt disappeared. His body has never been found, and all they know is that he didn't make his flight.

The police followed protocol and interviewed me; Wyatt had told his brother about me, but I was of no use. I had simply been on a few dates with him; I barely knew Wyatt. I convinced them I didn't know Wyatt was his last name until they told me.

Staying in town was a mistake. I feel as if I have been teetering on the edge of a cliff, and that red envelope is the gust of wind that will send me sailing over the edge.

"Is it from him?" Dean asks, trying to keep his voice level.

"Yes," I answer, taking the envelope from Sam. I want to run to my room, open it in private, away from the prying eyes of the boys, but I know neither would allow it.

I rip open the paper envelope, and in the same motion, Sam is by my side. A chocolate labrador puppy wearing a sign around its neck smiles at me, which reads, "Happy Anniversary."

Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back down before opening the card to see a photo of Sam, Dean, and I eating dinner at Mike's the same night he took Wyatt. The message inside reads: 'Happy anniversary, my love. See you soon. Love Zak x'

I explain without being asked that it wouldn't have been Zak who took the photo, probably not even a vampire. He has people on his payroll, or he threatened someone to watch us.

Sam snatches the card and photo from my hand and takes them to the sink. Finding matches in the drawer, he sets them alight, and we all watch in silence until they are reduced to ash.

"I need a drink," Dean announces before he storms from the room.

The front door slamming startles me. I physically jump as the sound reverberates around the apartment. Sam walks to me and pulls me into a tight hug.

Sam and I sit in the lounge, neither one of us paying any attention to the nature documentary playing on the television. I absentmindedly sip the vodka and coke from my glass. If Sam weren't here, I'd be drinking vodka straight from the bottle.

I can feel Sam's eyes on me from his seat on the couch. I purposely sat in Dean's favorite armchair because I can't be close to Sam right now.

I know better than this. I'm smarter than this. The happy and contented bubble I let myself live in with the Winchesters was never going to last.

It's time for us to leave. It's the only way I can keep them safe. But that's always been the inevitable ending to our story, right? We would always have to go our separate ways at some point. Whatever the reason may be, protecting each other, doing what was best for the other, or because I could finally metaphorically stamp 'closed' on the Zak revenge case, the end was always the same; I would end up being alone.

"Talk to me, please." Sam's tone is almost pleading.

I meet his eyes and sigh, "will you tell me another story."

"About?"

"Smart people, making stupid and selfish decisions," I tell him sorrowfully, "worse than me letting you convince me to stay."

He knows better than to argue with me right now. He humors me with a small smile. "Ever heard of a crossroads demon?"

Sam POV

I drive the Impala back to Lexie's apartment. Dean's head is resting against the window, mouth agape, already close to falling asleep from the aftereffects of all the whiskey and beer he's consumed in the last couple of hours.

Mike called Lexie half an hour ago to tell her Dean was there and refusing to leave, so I had to go pick him up.

I pull the car to a halt at the curb, putting a little too much pressure on the brakes, making Dean jolt forward and have to brace himself against the dashboard. "Bitch," Dean comments, seeing the amused smirk on my lips.

"Jerk."

"Where's Lexie's car?" Dean asks, passing the empty parking space her car usually occupies as he walks toward the apartment.

"It was there when I left," I tell him as we both run inside.

I burst into the apartment, hoping beyond hope Lexie is there, that she hasn't been taken, that me leaving her alone for less than thirty minutes hasn't given Zak an opportunity to hurt her. There are no signs of disturbance in the apartment; everything in its rightful place, except Lexie's car keys aren't on the table in the hallway where she usually leaves them.

"Where is she, Sammy?" Dean growls.

"She took the keys, so she went willingly," I begin, thinking logically.

"But where did she go, Sam? It's the middle of the night," Dean asks, beginning to search the apartment for any clues as to where she might have gone.

I join the search, worrying Lexie has gone off to find Zak. Rage blinding her judgment, going off half-cocked on some suicide mission to put an end to her ordeal.

Dean watches as I open Lexie's laptop, "Did she say anything to you?"

"Oh crap," I mutter and look up to see Dean's face morph into determination as he sobers up completely. I race through the apartment without explanation, Dean hot on my heels.

Dean has the accelerator pushed to the floor. If he pushes any harder, it's going to break through the floor. The early hour means traffic is all but nonexistent and driving recklessly is only putting us in danger.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean grunts smacking the steering wheel after I've explained. "You told her about crossroad demons?" his voice bellows in the small space.

I exhale harshly; I'm more pissed off with myself than he is. When Lexie had asked questions, I thought she was making small talk to occupy the time. I hadn't considered that she was gathering information for more than conversation's sake. When I checked her search history on her laptop, I found a search for the nearest crossroads to her apartment.

"I know Dean, okay. I screwed up."

"Damn right you screwed up. How could you be so stupid," Dean rages, "to tell the girl who's lost everything she can get it all back with a few words and a kiss?"

"DEAN!" I yell, not needing to hear his lecture right now.

Dean takes a deep calming breath, focusing on the road as we speed toward Lexie's location, "you better pray we get there in time."

Dean and Lexie have become close in our time together; she's become his adopted sister. I know he's as worried about her as I am.

I grip the door handle, and my knuckles turn white. I have an uneasy feeling Lexie planted the search on her computer, knowing I would find it and to try to throw us off her scent. She's smart enough to think of it, planting a false lead for us to follow, but this isn't a very Lexie thing to do, maybe she's not in her right mind; the anniversary card from Zak has made her thought process wild enough not to think her plan through.

Or maybe she left the clue because she wants to be stopped; maybe she wants us to find her even if it were only a subconscious thought.

Lexie POV

I shove the earth over the shoebox I have buried containing everything Sam said I would need to summon a Crossroad Demon. Even as I push the last fistful of dirt to fill the hole, I'm still not sure if I'm doing the right thing.

I slowly stand up, dusting off my jeans as I look around, trying to find the demon. How long should it take? Did I do something wrong?

I spin a full three hundred and sixty degrees before I spot him. The immaculately dressed, handsome man walks toward me, having appeared in front of my car. His red eyes glow with lustful anticipation as he creeps toward me. "Ah, Lexie Walker!" His tone implies he knows me like we're old friends.

He's attractive, has kind of a Ryan Reynolds vibe to him, sweet and unassuming features. If it weren't for the circumstances and his red eyes, I wouldn't suspect him to be anything other than a good-looking, well-dressed man.

"We've been wondering how long it would be before you summoned one of us." Red eyes, explains.

I take it back; he is not sweet and unassuming, his grin is creepy, and I fight the urge to shudder as my skin crawls. I'm thankful when he stops a few feet from my position.

His eyes set back to a soft blue, but it doesn't ease my disgust as he tells me, "we even had a little wager going."

I shrug my shoulders feigning disinterest, although I'm intrigued that I'm on the radar of a demon. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, and I try to push down the wave of panic that washes through me. I'm surprised how even my voice sounds, "who won? It's been two years."

"I had you pegged for three."

I smile sarcastically. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Not your fault," he smiles appreciatively, putting his hands in his pockets. "I should have changed the terms once you hooked up with the Winchesters."

I clench my jaw; this has nothing to do with the Winchesters. Yet, it almost has everything to do with the youngest Winchester. Sam will be safe if I can make a deal and get rid of Zak from my life. That's all I want.

"Where are my manners?" he scolds himself, stepping closer and offers his hand. "I'm Danny. Nice to meet you."

I hesitantly reach out to take his hand, completely baffled by my sense of decency in not wanting to be impolite, even toward a demon. Although this is a business transaction, it would be wise of me to keep on his good side.

Danny takes my hesitation as fear. "Don't worry," he tells me, smiling, "all deals are sealed with a kiss, not a handshake."

I take his offered hand, shaking it rapidly before releasing it and stopping the urge to wipe my hand down my jeans. If I feel dirty shaking his hand, how will I kiss him to finalize a deal?

I hear the unmistakable rumble of the Impala before it comes into view over Danny's shoulder. I take a deep breath and hang my head ashamed that they caught up to me so quickly.

I hesitated when I arrived. I sat in the car for at least ten minutes, working up the courage to follow through with my last-minute plan.

This wasn't the plan until Sam told me about Crossroad Demons. After Sam left to pick Dean up, I went to the kitchen to get a refill of vodka and saw the charred remains of the greeting card in the sink, and something in me snapped. I saw a way out. I saw an end, a way to make everyone safe, a way that maybe Sam and I could revisit that kissing conversation sooner. I hadn't quite realized I had decided to go through with it until I was in my car driving away from my apartment.

Sam is running toward us before the car has come to a complete stop. Dean follows; he has the demon knife Sam's shown me in his hand and puts it to Danny's throat.

"Ah, here comes the fun police." Danny groans, holding his hands up in defence and taking a step back, so the blade isn't touching his skin.

"Go to hell!" Dean spits at Danny.

"Lexie, don't do this," Sam begs, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes piercing mine, desperately trying to reason with me.

"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist, Winchester," the red-eyed demon remarks with a self-satisfied smirk. "No deals have been made yet."

"Good, now fuck off!" Dean growls deeply in his throat, stepping threateningly toward the demon.

"No," I command Danny before I even know I'm talking, "no, please don't leave."

Dean spins on his heels, twisting to look at me. "No? Are you freaking kidding me?"

Sam keeps his voice level; he knows I don't respond well to screaming and shouting. "You have no idea what you're doing, none. Your way out of your depth here."

"Leave me alone, Sam," I say, shrugging his hands off my shoulders.

"You don't want to do this," he decides. How does he know what I want? He continues before I can ask him. "I'm begging you don't do this."

"It's my decision to make."

Sam's jaw flexes, and he bites down when he talks, biting his rage down. "I'm not going to let you do it!"

Sam POV

"I'm not going to let you do it!"

I wince at the choice of my words as soon as I finish saying it. Lexie is stubborn; she won't like the implied ownership over her actions. I have no say in what she does or doesn't do. I know she won't appreciate me giving her an order.

She stares daggers at me. "Let me?" she snarls. "What gives you the right to have any say in what I do?"

I hold her icy gaze, wondering if she is actually serious right now, that she is honestly arguing with me over my use of a verb. The deep stubbornness and determination are evident even behind the angry tears that pool in her eyes. "Fine, I guess we do this the hard way." I bend at the waist and throw her over my shoulder, carrying her back toward the car.

"Sam put me down," she screams like a banshee wriggling in my arms.

I keep a tight grip on her, imprisoning her legs against my chest even as she pounds her fists repeatedly in my back, screeching at me to let her go.

Once we're next to the Impala, I set her on her feet and allow her to continue her assault. She pounds her fists into my chest the way a silverback gorilla shows dominance. Only she's not showing her dominance; she's pissed and hitting me, not herself.

Every punch hurts more than the last. She's managing to hit the same spot over and over again; she's going to leave bruises. I can deal with the bruises. I'm fine with it because as long as she's fighting me, she's not making a deal.

"Stop," Dean pleads, standing over my shoulder. "Lexie, stop!" he demands, watching her attack me.

Dean's words go unnoticed, Lexie too deep in her own mind to hear him. She's infuriated with me. All her frustrations and anger are coming out through her fists. She tells me to fight back; it's making her angry because I'm not hitting her, that I'm allowing her to beat me.

"Sorry, love, this is way too much drama for me," Danny calls out, "give me a call when you have all your ducks in a row!" he advises before disappearing abruptly the way demons do.

"You have no goddamn right!" Lexie shrieks looking at the space Danny occupied seconds ago.

She strikes me in my jaw, and I'm caught off guard. I stumble back a step. I've had enough, my chest is throbbing, and her tears are too much for me to take. She pulls her fist back again to strike, and I launch myself at her. I grab her arms, pinning them to her sides, and shove her back until she hits the Impala. Her back slams into the metal, and a small cry escapes her mouth with a whoosh of air.

"Stop fighting, please," I beg, using my body to pin hers against the car. I hold her arms at the wrists and pin them to the car to stop her assault.

Lexie pushes back against me; if the circumstances had been different, it would be an instant turn-on. I press myself firmly against her, and I know my weight pushing her against the car must be painful, but I'm not letting go until she stops fighting. I hold her in place, feeling the fight drain from her body. She relaxes, and her head falls to her chest; she realizes the battle is over, I've won this round. Though, my jaw doesn't feel like a win.

I want to hug her, comfort her, but she forcibly pushes me away as soon as I release her wrists. I'm momentarily hurt at the rejection before I find my anger.

She marches toward her car, running her hands down her face and through her hair.

"I know you don't see it now," Dean speaks to her back as he follows her, "but we just saved your life. A little gratitude would be nice."

Dean's demand receives no response. Lexie continues to her car, and his fury gets the better of him after seeing her total disregard for herself and her beating me. He grabs her arm, spinning her around. "Don't walk away from me."

The unadulterated ferocity in her eyes startles Dean. We have both fought monsters and seen our fair share of terrible things, but at this moment, I'm petrified at the fire burning behind Lexie's eyes.

Lexie snatches her arm back, making Dean flinch at the notion of her striking him. "Leave me alone."

Dean, never one to back down from a fight, grabs her car keys from her hand, and before Lexie's shock subsides, he advises, "you can ride with me in your car, or you can ride with Sam in the Impala, those are your choices."

He doesn't trust her to drive anywhere alone. Probably a smart idea.

Lexie's death glare is enough to make Dean take a step back from her. "Oh, I have choices now?" She hisses, "sure you two don't want to decide for me?"

Dean exhales loudly through his nose and does decide for her. Stepping around her to get into the driver's seat, he pulls a reverse one-eighty and speeds away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

Lexie POV

I lay staring at my bedroom ceiling. I can hear the faint sounds of the television in the lounge; Sam is still in there. I haven't heard him go to Dean's room. I haven't even attempted to close my eyes since climbing into bed.

We returned from the crossroads about three hours ago. Dean went directly to bed; it had been a long night, and he needed to sleep off the residual alcohol. Sam and I sat alone in the living room, the television the only noise. I sat on the end of the couch, and Sam took Dean's armchair, as far away from me as possible.

We were both furious with each other, neither of us willing to back down or apologize, each too stubborn to admit we both crossed a line tonight. The easiest people to blame are the people right in front of you. I know my rage should be directed at Zak.

I tolerated forty minutes of heavy silence before I couldn't take it anymore, and I took myself to bed, half hoping Sam would follow. I know tonight of all nights, I need Sam's warmth and security to find sleep. I've been in bed for two hours, and the space beside me remains vacant.

I silently cry in the darkened room. The tears roll down the side of my face and tickle my ears before dropping onto the pillow, creating small wet patches under my head. I turn to lie on my side, caressing the cold empty space beside me.

There's an almost undetectable knock at the door. I'm debating whether I imagined it or not, then the door opens, and Sam is silhouetted in the light from the hallway. He enters slowly, closing the door silently behind him, and stands for a minute staring at me in the dark.

I close my eyes and hold my breath to stop the tears. I haven't told him to leave, so he moves further into the room. The jingle of loose change in his pockets as he undresses and throws his clothes over the chair in the corner is the only sound. He climbs gently under the sheets, leaning over and placing a tender kiss on my cheek.

I open my eyes, his tenderness breaking my self-control and my need to be angry with him. He stops halfway, shuffling down the bed seeing my sorrowful blue eyes staring up at him.

Neither of us knows what to say. What is the appropriate thing to say in this situation? One of us should probably apologize, but I don't feel like I should say sorry for anything other than punching him in the face; he didn't deserve that.

I place a hand gently on his cheek and cautiously search his face for any form of hesitation at my touch. He wets his lips, hovers for a second, then slowly lowers himself to lie on his back. I scoot closer to him and place a tender, feather-light kiss to his jaw where I struck him earlier, then bury myself into his side.

Just because we are angry with one another doesn't mean we don't need the other one; it doesn't change the fact we crave each other, that we need the closeness and calm the other one provides.

Part 5 - Wednesday 25th August 2021