Don't Pull This Thread - Part 5 of 8

Summary: Sam reveals a detail about how he and Lexie first met that she never knew. Dean's bedroom shenanigans make for a fun drinking game.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, slow burn, subtle confessions, unintentional voyeurism (kind of).

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

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

Pairing: more than a friend, not quite a relationship Sam x OFC.

Sam POV

My head is fuzzy as I slowly wake up, the start of a headache forming as the stress from the night before catches up with me. Lexie is no longer in bed with me; her side is cold, indicating she's been gone a while. I can hear her and Dean talking in the kitchen and smell bacon cooking. I lay on my back and run my hands over my tired face and wince as I feel the bruise on my jaw from Lexie's blow.

I need aspirin, coffee, and food. I reluctantly pull myself from the bed and put on a fresh pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Dean sits at the table, digging into a stack of freshly made pancakes and bacon drizzled with maple syrup. He smiles up at me with a mouthful of food, "morning."

Lexie stands across the kitchen, leaning against the countertop blowing on a steaming cup of coffee. She scans my face, seeing the mark she has left on me, and averts her gaze to her feet.

"Smells good in here," I remark, subtly trying to show her the bruises don't faze me. I approach her, wondering if kissing her cheek in my usual morning greeting would be acceptable in the cold, harsh light of the new day.

Lexie continues staring at her feet, and when my bare feet enter her view, she stands up straight, handing me her coffee mug.

"It's fresh." She smiles, avoiding my eyes, taking a step to the side away from me.

So I surmise that it's a no; kissing her is not acceptable. She feels guilty for physically hurting me, but she hasn't forgiven me for stopping her. I guess our fight isn't as over as I thought. I take the coffee she offers me and join Dean at the table but make no attempt to eat the food Lexie has prepared.

"Dude, why are you not eating?" Dean asks, shocked that I haven't dug into the fresh fruit salad Lexie has made, my favorite breakfast. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I tell him, keeping my eyes on Lexie's downcast face. "Jaw hurts a little but nothing I can't deal with. Unlike this non-apology breakfast."

Lexie's eyes shoot up to meet mine, "I have nothing to apologize for!"

"So, what is all this?" I question, motioning to the food on the table. "If you're not sorry, why bother at all?"

"It was an attempt at peacemaking," Lexie explains, pouring herself a fresh mug of coffee. "At burying the hatchet. None of us are going to apologize because we all think we're right."

"We are right," I huff a humorless laugh. "What you were going to do was suicide."

"Stop!" Dean warns before Lexie can respond, "fighting isn't helping anyone."

"I'm not fighting," I tell him firmly, not taking my eyes off Lexie. "I'm explaining why I'm right."

"Yeah, okay, it was suicide," Lexie admits, "but you had no place making another decision for me!"

"Clearly, I did because you're suicidal!"

She turns her back on me, slamming her mug down and making the liquid slosh out onto the surface. "I'm not suicidal!" Her hands grip the counter edge, and her knuckles turn white. "I'm being realistic. We've been fooling ourselves that this was anything but temporary."

"What are you saying?"

Lexie turns slowly, taking a heavy breath, "I'm saying it's time we go our separate ways."

I stand up, too pissed to stay seated. "NO! I'm not leaving you to do this on your own; I won't. I'm not going to leave and wait for the phone call to tell me you're dead, no."

Lexie looks to Dean, pleading with her eyes, asking him to help her out.

"Sorry, but he's right." Dean raises his eyebrows smugly, "It's two against one, sweetheart."

She spits, "I don't care if it's a thousand to one, douchebag."

Lexie backs down first, breaking the stubborn gaze she holds with Dean. "Okay, here's my offer then." She looks back and forth between us to make sure she has our undivided attention. "I'm in this, one hundred percent I'm in it. No shortcuts, no deals; I'm seeing this through to the end. I want to be the one to slice off Zak's head. I'm under no illusion that that end might mean the end of me too, and I'm okay with that."

Lexie pauses, allowing her words to register, wanting to make sure we understand that she's promising in her own way not to make a deal with any demons.

"So, my offer is this," Lexie explains. "I'll allow you to help me, but there are terms to that help. One, you start taking cases again and not just the ones close to town. Two, no more making decisions for me."

Dean and I share a look, silently debating the conditions of Lexie's offer. "Okay, I can live with those terms. We won't make any decisions for you," Dean agrees. "IF you agree to talk through any plans with us first."

Lexie nods her head, reluctantly agreeing. I blow a pissed-off breath out of my nose but don't respond.

"Dude," Dean prompts, "this is the best we're going to get. She's never going to apologize; she's basically me with boobs!"

Dean knows she is just as stubborn as he is.

"Fine!" I growl low in my throat, "but you come on the road with us. I'm not leaving you alone. I don't trust you to not sneak off in the night."

Lexie heaves a defeated sigh, "fine. But I get my own motel rooms."

"Done," I agree with a smile, deciding to dig into my breakfast.

A Few days later

Lexie POV
I lie on the roof of an old rusted Jeep in Bobby's salvage yard. With less light pollution around, the stars are brighter out here in the wilderness. Bobby's house is great but crowded; it's a little cramped with Sam and Dean back from a hunt.

They did give me the choice of going with them. Yeah, I get choices now… with conditions.

Choice 1 - go on the hunt with them and be handcuffed to Baby's steering wheel to keep me out of harm's way.

They seem to forget that I've been hunting and killing vampires alone for a while now. Yet I'm suddenly incapable of handling myself with a vengeful spirit—cue eye roll.

Choice 2 - They lock me in Bobby's evil-proof panic room for the duration of the hunt. They will come get me when they are done.

Choice 3 - help Bobby man the phones, read some of his incredible books, and bake away my anxiety.

I'm a prisoner; I'm under no illusion to the contrary. Bobby probably has a taser on him at all times to subdue me should I try to leave.

I found the Jeep on my first day being here and climbed onto the roof to have some time to myself, gather my thoughts. I've come to think of it as my Jeep now—my little piece of solace.

I hear gravel crunch underfoot, and I know it's Sam before he enters my line of sight. "Room for one more?" he asks.

"There's room for one more, but you're more like two," I joke, earning a whole-hearted laugh from him as I move over to make room for him.

He climbs up and lays beside me. We lie in comfortable silence, our legs resting against the other; he copies my pose and interlocks his hands over his stomach. I gaze at the stars; the vastness of the universe always makes me feel small and puts things into perspective for me. I'm a tiny light burning in the huge ocean of stars.

Sam takes a deep breath and asks, "can I ask you something?"

I gasp dramatically, "Oh god, Sam; I think Dean is the better person to have the birds and the bees talk with."

Sam cackles an appreciative laugh. "Wow, you're on fire tonight. Two insults in five minutes."

I laugh with him. "Ask me," I coach after the laughter peters out.

"The crossroads thing," he starts his question.

I roll my eyes irritably and sit up straight. "Please don't, Sam."

We've just got past it. We're back in a good place. Why is he bringing it up? I promised I wouldn't do it again, so why is he asking about it now? I don't want to fight with him. He stopped me, isn't that enough?

I scoot on my butt to the front of the car and use the windshield as a slide. Sam quickly follows, tugging on my shoulder as I hit the hood, asking me to wait.

I look at his restricting hand on my shoulder and then meet his eyes. He holds his hands up in surrender like he would if I were pointing a gun at him. He appeases me, "I'm not trying to pick a fight."

He waits a beat to see if I'm still going to walk away. I turn my head away from him but stay in place. He slides, so he's sitting next to me. "I just want to know what deal you were going to make. I'm genuinely curious."

I don't want to talk about it. I'm not sure I can explain without giving too much away. I twist so I can see his face and it's in his eyes that he is just curious; he doesn't want to argue. I shuffle until my back hits the windscreen and wait until Sam is settled next to me.

I speak quietly, almost as if I'm afraid of someone overhearing me, but it's just us out here.

Sam takes my hand and interlocks our fingers, resting them against his stomach; his other hand idly traces invisible patterns on the back of my hand. It's soothing. He attentively listens as I explain I had three deals in mind. Yet, it wasn't a simple decision to decide which one was the best.

The honest answer was I didn't know which deal I would have gone for; I had gone there on a whim. That had been the reason for my hesitation when I arrived.

I had heeded Sam's warning about the grey area of any deals and how you had to be very specific about what you were asking for. For example, asking to be the best singer in the world didn't mean fame and fortune were included.

The most obvious deal I had thought of was to bring my family back, undo what Zak had done. However, if my family returned, what was to stop Zak from killing them all over again? I also considered the fact that my family might remember what had happened and blame me.

The second deal - the end of Zak's miserable existence, but that one was swiftly disregarded. I knew that wouldn't have satisfied my need for vengeance. Not being the one to slice the blade across his neck would have haunted me for the ten years I would have had left.

"Or my last idea was that I had never met Zak, never dated him, I thought that was the solution to it all. I was about to say it; I was about to ask for it, and I then heard the roar of the Impala, and my heart stopped." I pause. I need to be careful how I phrase this next part. I need to explain it to Sam in a way that does not reveal my true feelings.

I continue slowly, giving myself time to think through the words before I say them. "Not because I knew you were coming to stop me but because it occurred to me that if I made that deal—if I had never met Zak, if I hadn't been through what I have been through, I wouldn't ever have known the hunter's life… I wouldn't be here with you."

Never having met Zak would have put me on a completely different path, a path that may never have crossed with Sam's. The thought of not knowing Sam and not having Sam in my life scared me more than the battle I'm currently fighting to kill Zak.

Sam's invisible pattern drawing stops, and I feel his whole body tense. Panic courses through me, I've said the wrong thing, and he's read between the lines. I haven't been as careful with my words as I intended.

Sam POV

"I wouldn't be here with you."

Her words echo in my head, and my mind reels. Did she just inadvertently confess to being in love with me? I think she did. Otherwise, why wouldn't she have made the deal that meant she wouldn't know a hunter's life? We could still have met at Stanford, but perhaps we wouldn't have been as close as we are now. Either way, she's saying she wouldn't change that part of her life because of me.

I need to hear her say the actual words. I want to see the shape of her lips when she says the words to me. "Lex, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

We're finally going to have the conversation that's been the elephant in the room since I saw her in the hospital.

I hear her hold her breath, and when she doesn't release it, I sit up so I can look at her. She's staring at her lap, so I place a gentle finger under her chin and slowly coax her head up. She meets my eyes for less than ten seconds before she shies away from my piercing stare.

"Hey, kids," Dean's voice bellows from a distance away, "grubs up."

Lexie uses the distraction and jumps off the rusted Jeep, hastily walking back toward the house.

I exit the Impala looking up at the small, quaint chapel as I open the back door for Lexie.

The small town had shown up on my radar after reports of miracles; dead crops springing to life; the church that was on the brink of closing finding an anonymous millionaire donor, the terminally ill suddenly being cured or claiming misdiagnosis. For each miracle, there was a death down to the exact second.

Lexie and I had spent days researching fueled by caffeine, little sleep, and the excuse not to talk about us. My gut told me the church was the center of the miracles, so we started there.

"Give me as much time as you can," Dean reminds us before driving away.

The plan was simple, keep the pastor busy so that Dean could scope out the place. Look for the altar of worship that was being used to the church's benefit and destroy the crystal that bound the witch's power.

I smile happily at Lexie, reminding myself to focus on her face and not keep dropping my gaze to drink in her curves in the white summer dress she's wearing. "Ready?" I ask, offering her my arm.

She takes it with a happy smile, and we walk up the few steps to the front of the church. The pastor is putting out pamphlets on the pews when we enter. The grey but balding, skinny man greets us with a welcoming smile, introducing himself, "welcome, I'm Pastor Adams."

I extend my hand, "I'm Sam Walker, and this is my fiance, Lexie."

"How can I help you?" Pastor Adams enquires, shaking Lexie's hand.

"We're new to the area and are checking out some places to hold our wedding," Lexie explains, putting an arm around my waist and tugging me closer to her.

Pastor Adams was more than happy to welcome new blood to his church but advised that he would need to speak to us about our relationship and our commitment to one another before agreeing to marry us.

We settle in the Pastor's office while he makes coffee. I send Dean a message to tell him the coast is clear. It's early evening on a Wednesday; I know the pastor is alone in the church. Dean should have a free run of the place for as long as we can keep the pastor talking.

I put my arm around the back of Lexie's chair and run my fingers lightly up and down the exposed skin on the back of her arm. She leans into me, putting her hand on my knee, and I pray one of the church's miracles works on me, and she doesn't notice how distracting it is. I put my free hand over hers so I can stop her from moving her hand any higher; otherwise, the distraction will be abundantly evident.

"So, I like to start with how you met," Pastor Adams smiles from behind his desk.

We speak at the same time, our words trampling each other, "we met in college."

We share a comical look and chuckle at the others' enthusiasm.

The Pastor mistakes it for nervousness. "There are no right or wrong answers; I just like to get a sense of your relationship. So, was it love at first sight? Did you hate one another? Were you friends first?"

Lexie looks at me, giving me the floor. "We hit it off straight away. I liked her immediately," I begin with an adoring smile but shies away. "I remember she was wearing dark denim jeans, ripped just above her left knee and a black shirt tucked in one side. Her make-up was light, and the first words she ever said to me were, "that's because it's not a line."

Lexie hides her gasp by clearing her throat. She knows I'm not making this up. I'm telling the true story of how we met.

Lexie stands at a table in the middle of O'Malley's with who I will come to know as Jess. O'Malley's is heaving; every freshman at Stanford is there. I'm at the bar a few feet away, and I can hear her conversation with Jess.

She tells Jess that if one more guy used her hips as a guide to pass behind her, she would break their hand. I really believed she would too.

"Jess, can we move?" Lexie groans to Jess.

I immediately liked this girl; she wasn't afraid to voice her opinion, she was confident enough in herself to know what she wanted.

"Jess, come on," Lexie whines, "I would feel so much better with my back against a wall so no sexed-up jock can use my ass to get off!"

Jess has her back to me, so I can't see her eye roll, but I hear it in her tone, "just relax, please."

Shawn, my new roommate, appears from the throngs of the crowded bar and hands me a beer. I take a sip, and before I've swallowed, my feet are carrying me toward her.

Lexie looks right at me as I make a beeline for her, Shawn close behind me. Her smile is friendly, and I find myself mimicking her as I get to the table.

"You look like you want to be here just as much as I do," I say, keeping my eyes on her.

It's Jess who speaks first, rolling her eyes as she turns to face me. "That's one of the lamest lines in the book," she sighs.

I barely glance at her as Lexie speaks. "That's because it's not a line," Lexie tells her friend, gazing into my eyes. "He's telling the truth."

That's all it took. I knew Lexie was something different, someone, special. She could see right through me, and she wouldn't be afraid to call me out on any bullshit.

"I'm Sam; this is Shawn."

"Lexie, and this is Jess."

As a foursome, we spent the night talking and getting to know one another. I sat close to Lexie, and we had to lean in to talk to one another over the bar's noise. I inhaled as deeply as I could every time she brushed her hair behind her ear, breathing in the lavender and eucalyptus scent of her shampoo.

The conversation flowed easily. I told my usual lies about my family, and Lexie never pried for further information. When Shawn or Jess asked a question I wasn't comfortable answering, Lexie seemed to sense it and steered the conversation elsewhere without making it obvious or making me feel awkward or weird. She made me feel like I fit in, and I did when she was around. I fit in perfectly because she made sure I did.

I called Lexie a dork when she decided I would be in House Ravenclaw if I were ever at Hogwarts. Lexie called me a nerd when I asked if the Force was with her as her birthday was May Fourth - Star Wars Day. Thus our pet names for one another were set.

Later at the bar. "Dude, I am not flipping a coin for a girl!" I shake my head at Shawn's request.

"Come on," Shawn whines, looking back at the girls at the table. "Jess is clearly so much more into you. She keeps trying to interrupt you and Lexie."

I shake my head in defiance, "I like Lexie."

"Bros before hoes, man. Come on. Okay, we'll flip a coin; I win, you switch seats with me when we go back."

I roll my eyes which Shawn takes as an agreement, and flips the coin.

"I lost the coin toss!" I laugh, apologetically squeezing Lexie's arm. "And we lost touch for a while. But we found our way together again, call it fate or whatever."

The pastor smiles affectionately.

Lexie POV

Sam continues his loving ramble. "I have a pretty intense job. Sometimes it feels like life and death, and on my worst days, I want to give up, but I don't because of her. She's always in the back of my mind, fighting beside me. She's my rock, my anchor. It doesn't matter what is going on in my life, how crazy everything gets; she keeps me grounded. When I feel like breaking down, she's where I run to. She's always been the one I run to, my solace in my insane, messed-up world. I know I'm safe with her. I can take on the world if she's by my side."

Tears fill my eyes listening to Sam's words. Words that are supposed to be a good cover story, but Sam's voice is too telling. His words ring too true to be part of the fake life we are supposed to be portraying.

My tears mix my emotions. Happy tears at getting to relive one of the most joyful moments I have shared with Sam; there hadn't been many of them lately. Then there's a sting to my fresh tears; the potential of what could have been and what could never be. It's too dangerous. Wyatt is proof of that.

"Did you feel the same?" Pastor Adams asks me.

I readjust myself in my seat and clear my throat, hoping I can keep my voice level. "He's always been my best friend. I never intended to fall for him. It just kind of happened, I guess." I let out a nervous burst of energy in the way of a laugh.

Sam and I are saying everything we shouldn't be saying under the pretense of our fake engagement, but our words are too real, our voices too honest.

"I lost my family a while ago, and I find it hard to be close to anyone. For fear of losing them, I guess. I have nightmares about losing him, waking up to find him gone, but he's always there, by my side; he's always got my back. He keeps the nightmares away. When I can't face my fears, he's right there fighting them for me."

Pastor Adams beams at us. He believes us because it's all true. Sam's phone chimes and he apologizes before reading the text message from Dean. He tilts the phone toward me, and I read it too.

Dean: Got it!

We wrap it up as politely and quickly as we can then leave the office.

I stand in Sam's arms on the church steps waiting for Dean to pick us up. The Pastor says his goodbyes and that he looks forward to seeing us at his Sunday Service.

I wait until he is out of earshot and then jab my elbow into Sam's side. "Ow! What was that for?" he asks, looking down at me.

I never knew about the coin toss conversation. When Sam and Shawn returned from the bar, I figured Sam saw me as more of a friend than anything, so tried his luck with Jess. I was crestfallen at first, but after he and Jess made it official, I saw how good they were together, and I got over my Sam Winchester crush, or so I thought.

"Maybe we should flip a coin to figure it out," I joke walking down the stairs as Dean pulls up to the curb.

Sam laughs, following me. "I call heads, nerd!"

Dean dropped Sam and me off at the motel and then left for the nearest bar. He got the crystal, and we know the ritual we need to perform to destroy it, but we need one final ingredient, lamb's blood. Ugh, witches! The butcher's shop in town but it was closed by the time we finished at the church and doesn't open until the morning, so we don't have a choice but to wait.

Sam and I eat Chinese food in relative silence. I want to ask Sam about what he had said, ask him how he truly feels about me but I bite my tongue. I know it will only end up hurting us both more than it already does. We discuss the case, and decide that Sam and I will go to the Pastor's home in the morning and interview his wife under the pretence of doing a story on her husband. Dean found the evidence, and we know she's the witch, so we need to occupy her while Dean performs the ritual.

After dinner and going over the plan one more time, I retreat to my room next door to take a shower and watch some trashy tv.

I sit on the queen-sized bed with my back against the headboard watching Real Housewives of some place or another, completely engrossed and dismayed at the screeching, backstabbing shenanigans of the women.

"This is so bad," I chuckle at the television, "but still so good!"

The sound of the Impala reverberates through my room, and I check the clock on the nightstand, 09:45. Dean's early, he's usually never back before midnight or the following morning. He must have struck out, or there weren't any women worth his talents tonight. I listen to raised muffled voices and then focus back on the television when the slamming of their door shakes the walls of my room.

A few seconds pass, and then the unmistakable giggle of a woman filters through the walls. Dean hadn't been subtle about picking up girls during our time on the road, flirting shamelessly and leaving with them telling us not to wait up for him, making us have to take a cab from whatever bar we were in back to the motel. This time, for whatever reason, he's brought his conquest back to their room.

I wait for Sam's knock on the door before getting off the bed and opening it a crack, a playful smirk on my lips. I point a finger at him. "No moaning about my choice of programming!"

Sam holds his hands up, surrendering, "no promises."

I return to my spot on the bed as Sam throws his toiletries bag in the bathroom and his bag on the table under the window beside mine. He climbs on the bed and sits beside me, raising his brow astounded at my choice of television. "Seriously?"

I shrug with a chuckle, "it's a guilty pleasure."

"It's headache-inducing screaming and shouting," Sam laughs, focusing on the screen watching two adult women practically stand nose to nose while they yell incoherently.

"Remote's there," I point out, giving him permission to turn it up.

Sam immediately reaches for the remote and pushes the volume button until the bar on the screen won't allow it to go any further. A not very subtle attempt at drowning out the giggles and groans of pleasure emanating from the next room.

"So who's who?" Sam asks, pointing at the tv.

Sam POV

I'm all too familiar with Dean's stamina, having heard him with plenty of women before. After almost thirty minutes of listening to erotic moaning and the occasional bang of the headboard hitting the wall we are leaning against, I'm almost at a breaking point knowing Dean is just getting started. It's making sitting beside Lexie unbearable.

I focus on the tv, willing myself not to think about those kinds of noises emitting from her mouth from my touch.

The headboard bashes the wall again, and Lexie closes her eyes, chewing the inside of her cheek to stop herself from banging on the wall and yelling at them to shut up. She's unmistakably as frustrated as I am, but I made a promise, and I can't break it.

I keep my eyes forward, trying not to side glance at Lexie. Now isn't the time. I don't know if there will ever be a right time to confess my feelings, plus I'm still within the no-kiss promise time frame. Timing always seems to be off with us, but right now, listening to my brother fuck some stranger is not the time to dive into deep and meaningful confessions.

"That's it," I say, jumping off the bed.

"What are you doing?" Lexie asks as I cross the room to use the phone next to the television.

"Calling management. Our neighbors are a little noisy."

"Sam, don't!" Lexie demands. I watch in the mirror as she jumps to her feet on the bed and bounces herself off as I lift the receiver.

She lands on my back, her arms around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist, piggyback style. I manage to steady myself before I fall forward from the impact of the hundred- and fifty-pound woman on my back.

"Put the phone down," she commands.

"We shouldn't have to listen to that!" I express, pushing the button to call the reception desk.

"Let him have his fun."

I sigh, defeated but comply and put down the phone. She's right; it makes me uncomfortable because of the girl that's currently wrapped around me because I want her to be the one making those noises underneath me. It isn't Dean's fault we're both denying it.

Lexie kisses my cheek firmly, "Thank you."

"How did you even jump so high?" I glance over my shoulder as she slides back down to her feet.

"I got good leverage off the bed, plus you're a climbing tree."

"I am Groot!" I quip monotone.

Lexie laughs gruffly, "I have an idea." I know that tone; that tone involves alcohol and something stupid. She takes the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and two glasses.

"Pick a phrase?" Lexie throws our a list as she sits at the table, "oh my god, fuck, Jesus Christ, oh yes."

I sit and stretch my long legs out to the side. I frown, amused and confused at Lexie's request but play along, "Jesus Christ."

Lexie smiles appreciatively. "I pick 'oh my god'." Every time your phrase comes from that room, you take a shot."

I throw my head back, laughing hysterically. "Let's do it!"

Part 6 - Friday 27th August 2021