Samnesia - Chapter 3 - Girls' Night

Warnings: slow burn, fluff, angst.

Then

Sam pulled on his jacket as he hurried through the corridors of the bunker, propelled by thoughts of Brooke. It had been over a week since he had seen her, and he couldn't wait to be near her again. Eager as he was, he couldn't deny his nervousness. He had decided that whatever happened, he was going to kiss her. Properly this time, not on the cheek. A full-blown, make-her-knees-weak kiss. At least, that was the plan.

They had communicated almost constantly over the past week, texting and calling whenever they could. Sam was captivated by every chat and wanted to talk to her again as soon they bid each other good night.

They talked about everything under the sun, asking probing, curious questions about everything from religion to snack preferences. Sam had been as honest as he could be without endangering his secrets.

He learned so much about her, and the more he discovered, the more he wanted to know. Everything he learned about her only intensified his hunger for her, emotionally and physically. So he had promised himself that, despite any interruptions, he would make a move regardless of what happened that night.

That was, if he could escape the bunker and the inquisition Dean was sure to subject him to. Sam groaned silently, seeing Dean nursing a beer, feet up on the map table, watching something apparently hilarious on his laptop. Though Dean's eyes never left the screen, Sam knew he'd been seen and wouldn't be able to avoid him.

"Going to see your girlfriend?" Dean asked, still without lifting his eyes.

"I'm just going for a drive."

Dean chuckled, looking up long enough to throw Sam a skeptical smile. "Dude, we just drove nine straight hours to get home."

"I just want to get out for a while." Sam's shrug did nothing to placate Dean.

"Uh-huh," he hummed, unconvinced. "So you're not going to go see the reason you've been smiling at your phone all week?"

There was no way Sam could deny it. He had taken private calls, texted furtively like a high school kid, and walked around smiling seemingly without reason.

Sam decided he'd be better off not answering and walked away rather than stand there any longer and allow Dean to interrogate him. He didn't want to lie, but he wasn't ready to tell Dean about Brooke. He didn't want to hear Dean's you're-playing-a-dangerous-game-Sammy speech. And in some small way, Sam wasn't ready for Brooke to be anyone else's but his own happy little secret.

"What's her name?" Dean called after Sam as he ascended the stairs, jogging slightly faster with each step.

"Don't wait up," Sam shouted back.

"I think I've met her," chuckled Dean, "she's trouble."

Emily, Cara, and Nikki had been Brooke's best friends since first grade. The foursome had been inseparable and remained close even when they all went off to separate colleges. Nikki and Cara married each other a year after graduating. Emily and Brooke served as both maids of honor and best women for the couple.

Work commitments, families, and just being fully functioning adults took up a lot of their time, but they all made an effort to get together at least once a month. Tonight was Brooke's turn to host. A mild summer's evening meant the friends could sit comfortably on the back patio as the evening turned to night. They consumed too many burgers and hotdogs, barely touched the salad, drank too much wine, and laughed louder and harder than they had for a long while.

Brooke loved nights like this; cherished them because it was rare in their busy lives that they got to spend time together. She giggled along with her three closest girlfriends at Emily's latest hookup story. She'd literally fallen asleep partway through sex.

"I think he was more embarrassed than me," Emilly chuckled, her cheeks a deep red.

"Maybe next time, lay off the white wine. You know it makes you sleepy," Nikki suggested.

The melody of the doorbell chimed through the house, cutting off Emily's snarky response. "Who the hell is at your door after ten on a Friday night?" Cara asked Brooke, her perfectly sculpted brows cocked suspiciously.

"It's probably Old Man Simms," Brooke guessed, rising to her feet, "asking us to keep the noise down." She took the last sip of her wine and motioned for Emily to refill her glass before entering the house. Through the frosted glass of her front door, she could see the unmistakable silhouette of Sam's large frame.

"Oh crap," she muttered. She paused in the kitchen and checked her distorted reflection in the gloss-black sheen of her refrigerator. Her cheeks were a little flushed from the alcohol, but there was no ketchup on her shirt or food in her teeth.

She pulled open the door, an almost giddy smile on her lips.

Sam wore a similar grin. "Hey." Laughter from the backyard filtered through before Brooke could offer a greeting of her own. His smile faltered, and his gaze followed the direction of the noise. "Ah, you've got company."

"I do." Brooke wrinkled her nose apologetically. She stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. "It's our monthly girls' night. I thought you were the strippers."

Sam lifted a brow. "Oh, it's that kind of girls' night?"

She smirked. "I wouldn't put it past Emily to actually hire strippers." She laughed with him, but she'd only been half joking. Brooke looked up at Sam from under her lashes with a mischievous grin. "Although, I'm sure they'd pay you a pretty penny to get naked."

Sam's shoulders shook with laughter. "And what about you?"

Brooke liked the confidence Sam seemed to gain as time passed, and they became more comfortable with one another. He flirted more and grew bolder. She liked how she was around him, too, the person she could be, completely herself. She could shamelessly flirt and was never afraid to say something embarrassing. Sam wasn't the type to judge or tease her unkindly.

She took a step closer to him and used the buttons of his shirt as stepping stones to walk her fingers up his chest. "Something tells me I could see it for free."

Sam dipped down at the same time Brooke rose to her tiptoes. They inched closer. He went left; she went right. She inhaled his aroma: coconut shampoo and peppermint gum he must have been chewing on the drive over. She closed her eyes, eager to finally feel his lips against hers. Sam's large hands encased her hips and drew her into him…

The door burst open behind them with a whoosh of air, and all three women sang a triumphant, "BUSTED!"

Sam and Brooke were startled but didn't separate much. With her hands still resting on his chest and his on her hips, Brooke giggled as she walked him backward, whispering loudly, "Run, Sam! Run! Save yourself!"

He chuckled, leaning around her to address their audience. "Hi, ladies." He waved awkwardly at the women crowding the doorway to get a better look at him.

"He does not look like Old Man Simms," Emily teased, strolling to stand beside Brooke.

"Ladies, Sam. Sam, meet Emily, Cara, and Nikki," she told him, pointing at each woman in turn.

"Key Thief Emily?" Sam asked, shaking her outstretched hand.

"The one and only," Emily grinned. "So, you know about me, so why don't I know about you?"

Brooke noticed the slight hurt in Sam's eyes and the knit of his brow. He recovered quickly, cleared his throat, and flashed a dazzling smile.

"There's not much to know," he shrugged. "We haven't known each other long."

"Oh, there must be something," Emilly disagreed, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes roamed his body.

Brook sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at Emily's flirting. She wasn't sure why she hadn't mentioned Sam to them yet. It wasn't as if she sounded the alarm every time she went on a date with someone new, but she already knew Sam was different. He made her happy. She often found herself smiling whenever she thought about him. Her stomach fluttered excitedly whenever his name popped up on her phone. He seemed too good to be true, almost like a fairy tale prince, and telling her friends about him would have plucked him out of the storybook and dropped him into the real world. Maybe he'd lose his magic here. Maybe she'd realize she'd been dreaming. She hadn't been ready to wake up just yet.

"He's not a secret or anything. I was just- "

Emily interrupted her, eyes still locked on Sam. "Keeping you all to herself… and I can see why." She ran her gaze hungrily up and down Sam's body, and he awkwardly pulled his hand from her grasp. "So," Emily said, turning so she could see them both, "is this just a booty call?"

"Oh my god, Emily!" Brooke groaned. She'd heard enough. Emily and her shameless flirting were done. Emily knew Brooke wasn't the booty-call type. Sometimes she wished she was, but being with someone on a purely physical level had never appealed to her. She didn't like that Emily's question could make Sam believe otherwise.

"Brooke, don't tell me you haven't got all up on that because if you won't," said Emily, stepping closer to him, "I most certainly will."

Brooke laughed and mouthed a silent 'sorry' to Sam, who looked past Emily to her as if pleading for help.

"Y'know, I've been telling her for months that she needs to get under someone to get over Chris."

"Emily!" chastised Nikki.

"And you're done," said Brooke, gently clasping Emily's shoulders to guide her back up the step and toward the house. Nikki took over, escorting the overzealous woman back inside.

"We'll give you two a minute," she assured Brooke with a not so subtle wink.

Cara eyed Sam appreciatively, making no move to follow her wife and friend back inside.

"Cara, honey," Nikki coaxed.

Cara held her hand up for a high-five from Brooke, an obvious gesture of approval. "I'm proud of you." Brooke chuckled bashfully but obliged her friend, slapping her hand loudly. "You go, girl!" Cara called over her shoulder before disappearing into the house.

Sam waited for the door to be closed before he released a long breath. "I should let you get back," he said when Brooke's apologetic eyes found his again, "before they come back to interrogate me."

Brooke agreed with a fond chuckle. "They really will."

"Goodnight, Brooke," he said softly as he backed away.

"'Night, Sam."

He gave her his megawatt smile and turned his back to her to walk to his car. Her brow furrowed as she watched him go. His stride wasn't as sure as it usually was, and his head hung down a little lower. Maybe the disappointment of not finding her alone, the almost kiss, or the fact that she'd been keeping him from her friends had hurt him. She couldn't be sure, but whatever the reason, she didn't like to see him that way. Sam had never had a cocky strut, but he'd always carried himself confidently.

Perhaps it was the fault of too much wine, being so close to kissing him moments earlier or seeing his almost dejected amble, but Brooke found her feet carrying her forward before she realized it.

As her wine-soaked brain finally caught up with the steps that carried her rapidly down the path after Sam, a smile crept to her lips; then lust and passion drove her forward.

Sam spun around at the sound of his name. Reading her intentions correctly, Sam planted his feet a second before she pushed off the ground and leaped into his arms. Her mouth found his as her legs wrapped around him, and he used a firm grip under her thighs to hoist her up so she could lock them tightly around his waist. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she pulled back to look at him.

Sam didn't allow her to stare for long before he dove back in to kiss her again. Brooke felt his initial shock dissipate as he released a satisfied sigh into her mouth. She teased his mouth open with her tongue against his bottom lip, desperate to taste him. She moaned when he parted his lips for her, and their tongues found an eager rhythm. His lips were plush and soft, his tongue firm, and it danced with hers slowly and sensually.

Too caught up in the taste of him, it wasn't until his hands squeezed her curves that she realized that they cupped her ass, helping to hold her in place but also taking advantage of the necessary placement. The sensation evoked another moan from her.

Air became an issue, and she prepared to pull away, but Sam must not have been ready for it to end because he ran a hand up her back, his long fingers finding the nape of her neck to hold her against him for a moment longer. When they eventually parted, they were gasping for breath. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the moment, committing the sensations to memory. When she opened them, Sam's lust-blown pupils held her gaze. The emotion he clearly felt had made the pretty hazel of his irises all but disappear.

He exhaled slowly. "Wow."

Breathlessly, she agreed, "I meet your wow and raise you a holy shit."

Muffled hooting and hollering could be heard from the house, and they laughed.

"They're all in the window, right?"

Sam reluctantly pulled his eyes from Brooke, and she turned her head to check her own suspicion. Sure enough, the three women stood in the large bay window of Brooke's living room. Their thumbs up, clapping, and excited little dances made them both chuckle. She shooed them away with a wave of her hand as she untangled herself from Sam, and he helped lower her to the ground. His hands slipped from her butt to her hips to steady her. When her attention returned to him, he guided her into him and dipped to claim her kiss-swollen lips once again.

She grinned against his mouth before she broke the connection and began walking backward. "Night, Sam," she winked as she turned.

"Really?" he scoffed in disbelief. "You're going to kiss me like that, and then it's just 'Night, Sam'?"

"Yeah," she called back without stopping. The smirk she wore was more than apparent in her tone. "I have to go tell my girls about this tall, handsome man I met who just so happens to be an incredible kisser."

"Old Man Simms, really that good a kisser? Should I be jealous?"

"Immensely," she laughed, twisting to look when she reached the top of the porch steps. "If you see him around here, let him know I'm free for breakfast tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to pass the message on."

She bit her lip to stifle a grin. "Night, Sam."

"Sweet dreams, Brooke."

Sam couldn't wipe the grin from his face the whole drive home. He hadn't even bothered to try. He had been disappointed to find she had company and that it meant he couldn't spend the night with his head in her lap while she stroked his hair - which could have led to so much more - but that kiss had unquestionably made up for it.

He had been disheartened to learn Brooke hadn't told her friends about him. Had their dates not been worth mentioning? Was she not as into him as he was into her? It stung more than he liked. Maybe Brooke hadn't spoken about him because of his sporadic visits. He'd had to cancel plans with her twice that week and had given her less than twenty-four hours notice each time. He hadn't wanted to, but duty called.

Granted, he hadn't told anyone about Brooke, either. Keeping Brooke a secret was to delay the inevitable. Dean, and maybe Mary, would more than likely try to talk him into ending it with her. Dean would be the voice of reason, the one to make Sam see sense, to make him understand what he already knew deep down: that what he was doing was dangerous, playing a game they rarely got to win.

But that kiss…

After that kiss, he wouldn't stop seeing her. Couldn't. Already yearning to do it again, he would have driven back over there in a heartbeat if she were to call and ask him to.

Striding happily into the bunker, the knowing smiles of the war room occupants went unnoticed. His attention was focused on writing Brooke a text, his smile wide and boyish.

Sam: I didn't see the old man. Sorry. I'll have to take you to breakfast instead. x

Brooke: I'm disappointed, but I guess you'll do. X

He chuckled at her response, jogging happily down the stairs. The joyful spring in his step faltered when he noticed Mary and Dean gazing expectantly at him.

"Your boyfriend not home?" joked Dean.

Sam tried to wipe the jubilant grin from his lips but was unable to do so. The sight of Brooke leaping into his arms replayed in his mind, and his mouth responded by twitching up and down a couple of times as he tried to suppress the smile. Once he realized it was a losing battle, he let it stay and opted to tell Dean, "Shut up." A heated blush crept to his cheeks, and he lied, "I told you I was just going for a drive."

"Yeah, but these 'drives' you keep going on are normally a lot longer than just an hour or two." Mary pointed out, grinning at her youngest son.

"What happened to 'don't wait up'?" Dean aimed his shit-eating grin at Sam. "You strike out?"

Sam had known they would question him about his absences sooner rather than later. Dean had held back from teasing him for far too long already.

Neither Dean nor Mary was dumb enough to believe Sam was merely enjoying late-night 'drives', but they must have understood it was something he wasn't ready to tell them. Or else, they wanted to give him time to enjoy whatever it was for as long as he could. The curiosity must have been eating them up, though.

"Leave him alone, Dean," Mary reprimanded lightly. "Let him be happy."

Sam smiled thankfully at her, taking a seat to join them at the map table. Mary twisted the cap off a beer. As she offered it to him, she pointed toward the side of her mouth, "You've got a little lipstick…"

Sam's face fell with embarrassment, and he wiped at his lips. Mary and Dean burst into fits of laughter.

"I KNEW IT!" Dean yelled, pointing an accusing finger at his brother.

Sam shook his head at himself. How could he fall for something so simple? He knew Brooke hadn't been wearing lipstick when she kissed him. He stood abruptly, told them good night, and started retreating.

Dean was still chuckling when he called after Sam. "What's her name?"

"None of your business!" Sam yelled over his shoulder, leaving his laughing family in the war room.

Now

Brooke covered her mouth to stifle a yawn as she readjusted her butt on the wooden seat. The library chairs weren't the comfiest. She had been so lost in the timbre of Sam's voice as he recounted asking for her number and their first kiss, so wrapped up in his storytelling and how much emotion shone in his eyes, that she barely moved a muscle for fear of disrupting his flow or inadvertently doing something that caused his adorably shy, dimpled grin to disappear.

She swirled the remaining whiskey in the tumbler before knocking it back and giving Sam a tight smile. Tears swam in her eyes, and she was unsure if the burning liquor or something he'd said had caused them.

Sam seemed to wonder the same and hastily apologized. "Brooke, I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," she assured him, tipping her head back to blink the tears away. She took a deep breath to compose herself and steadied her voice before she looked back at him. "It just… it's all a little overwhelming. It seems like we had fun, but it's all still kind of hard to believe. They're amazing stories, but they aren't my memories. I wish I didn't have to sit here not knowing for sure whether you aren't just good at making up fairy tales. I wish I could remember you. Us."

"You will," he promised, his arm extending toward her out of habit.

She watched his hand, and panic widened her eyes. She didn't fear him anymore, but she wasn't ready for him to touch her. He was still, after all, a stranger. She didn't know him, not in the way he knew her.

Sam seemed to understand her reaction, and he stopped his advance, his hand hovering above hers. He stared at it as if he hated his own hesitation to touch her, even in the casual, comforting way it was probably intended, but he must have known she felt it would be crossing a line she wasn't ready to have crossed yet.

He withdrew his hand to his lap and spoke to his fidgeting fingers. "I promise you, Brooke, I'm going to make this right," he told her with a resolute nod. "I'm going to fix it because I don't know how long I can go without-"

He broke off and looked away. She waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she prompted, "How long you can go without what, Sam?"

He shot her a tight-lipped smile. "It's late. Or early, I guess. It's been a really long day. I've bombarded you with information. We should get some rest," he suggested, getting to his feet.

Brooke followed him as he walked out of the library toward the bedrooms without a word. He seemed to take measured steps to avoid getting too far ahead of her, or maybe he wanted to spend those extra few moments with her. Regardless, it allowed Brooke to focus on the side of his face she could see.

He seemed in such pain. To hear Sam tell it, they'd been happy, in the 'honeymoon' period of a new relationship, the fun stages of getting to know each other. To have that taken from him without explanation, he must have been confused and hurt, even without the added pressure of trying to fix it.

Brooke held a deep breath as she reached out and cautiously slipped her hand into his. Sam froze, keeping his eyes on the floor, and waited for her fingers to delicately hook around his. She sighed, somewhat relieved when he showed no sign of resistance and tugged to coax him to turn to her. He twisted to face her but hesitated to bring his eyes to hers.

"I guess this is what you meant, right?" she asked, holding out her other hand, requesting his. "You don't know how long you can go without touching me?"

He watched as she wove her fingers with his. Her smaller, softer hand was a contrast to his large calloused one, but somehow they just seemed to fit. Her stomach fluttered, and she had a strange sense of familiarity.

Sam found the courage to meet her eyes, and she wore a small, encouraging smile for him. "Yeah," he admitted, "that's what I meant." The admission proved too much, and he dropped his eyes again. "You don't know how hard it is for me to have you right here and not be able to touch you, even just to comfort you."

"Can this be enough for now?"

He brought their interlaced hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers lightly. "It's enough. For as long as you need it to be."

Her smile widened in gratitude. Hope ignited his eyes, and she figured even if he couldn't fix whatever made her forget him, she'd probably end up falling for him all over again.

The urge to kiss him overwhelmed her, so she reluctantly pulled her gaze from his and let him lead her by the hand to the bedroom across from his.

"I'm right in here if you need anything."

Now

Brooke slept better than expected. The stress of the day and the whiskey with Sam caused her eyes to close as soon as her head hit the pillow. She woke just after ten thirty. She'd have rolled over and gone back to sleep if she hadn't felt guilty. After all, she hadn't gotten to bed until after six, but it was a Thursday. She should have been two hours into the day's work by now. She didn't, however, feel guilty about missing her five a.m. morning run. She was sure the stress she'd endured in the last twelve hours had burned just as many calories, if not more.

She dressed in the same clothes from yesterday and made a mental note to ask Sam if she could go back to her place and grab some stuff as she made her way to the kitchen seeking coffee.

Her phone's text tone immediately chimed when she turned it on as she slid onto a stool at the kitchen table. She had sixteen messages and three voicemails from Tommy, two texts from her personal assistant, and three WhatsApp messages from her BFF group. She opted to read the ones from her friends first. Emily (who worked for Brooke as the Operations Manager) would have covered for her at work. Nikki, Cara, and Emily's messages were all supportive - concerned but understanding her need to escape. She felt a pang of guilt for lying to her friends, but maybe she would be able to explain soon enough, if Sam kept his promise.

Tommy wasn't so understanding. His messages got progressively angrier, asking where she was so he could join her, demanding she answer the phone.

Where are you?

Why is your phone off

tell me where you are I'll come join you

you're pissing me off, answer your phone

answer your fucking phone!

She stopped scrolling after reading the first six.

Dean entered, scrubbing his hands down his tired face. Brooke welcomed the distraction. "Morning," she smiled brightly.

He grumbled something that resembled a greeting, and she laughed to herself, wondering if Sam was more of a morning person than his brother. The anticipation of seeing him made her stomach do a happy flip.

Dean's butt had barely made contact with his seat before she asked, "Sam not up yet?"

He scoffed. "Please. That fitness freak is probably running his tenth mile."

"He's a runner?"

Dean sighed. "I forgot you don't know him." He gave her a small, sympathetic smile. "Yeah. Sam runs." Dean rolled his eyes. "Every morning. Bit much, if you ask me."

Brooke chuckled. "You're not a fan?"

"The only time this Winchester runs is if something is chasing him."

Brooke laughed, but she felt like running back to her temporary bedroom and googling Sam Winchester. He'd been careful not to tell her his last name, and she hadn't pried. Apparently, Dean hadn't gotten that memo.

"You get chased often?" she asked, but the second the question left her lips, she knew she'd made Dean realize his own mistake. She had only meant that he must be chased often to be in such good shape, but that was not how Dean interpreted it. Being in his own environment and still half asleep, he had slipped up, and the realization was written all over his face.

"Look," he began, setting his features into an unreadable mask, "if we're gonna help you, then you should-"

Sam's voice called for them from nearby, and Dean smiled tightly, almost as if he regretted his brother's interruption. "In here!" he called back.

Sam grinned broadly when he saw Brooke and greeted them both, heaving a grocery bag onto the countertop.

"You went on a supply run already?" Dean asked. "I thought you'd be jogging with your woodland creature friends."

Sam ignored the latter part of his comment, unpacked the loot from his early morning trip, and explained to Brooke rather than Dean, "I went to the grocery store. Thought you'd want your favorites." He held up a jar of Brooke's preferred coffee, and she smiled her thanks. "And I, um…I went by your place. Figured you'd be more comfortable in your own clothes."

Brooke was taken aback. It was a sweet gesture, she'd had the same thought, but it also seemed like an invasion of her privacy. He'd gone through her things, no doubt her underwear drawer. He may already have seen most of its contents, but the thought made her a little angry. He didn't have the right nor the permission.

She sighed heavily. She couldn't keep going around in circles. She'd agreed to stay for four days to give Sam time to fix whatever he thought was wrong. She had never been one to do things by halves, so she needed to fully commit to it, embrace the doubts but push past them.

"Um, thanks," she grinned as genuinely as she could muster. "I guess I can use it as a test to see how well you know me."

Sam chuckled, and his returning grin made it easier to find the sincerity in her own. "I grabbed the essentials and all your favorites: gray Nike sweats, purple hoodie, white sneakers, and your work laptop. I know the guilt of taking a day off is probably eating you up."

Brooke laughed authentically – he does know me, after all – and her ears pricked up at the mention of her computer. She could work remotely, ease some of her guilt, and google the man she couldn't stop smiling at.

"I left it all in the library. Feel free to go change or hop on your computer. I'll bring you some breakfast."

Now

Sam brought Brooke a plate of food, and the two of them sat quietly in the library. While she ate and caught up on emails, he stared into his own laptop, occasionally lifting his eyes to her. He'd already started working on the mystery surrounding Brooke's amnesia. His mind was filled with weather reports and her social media feed, and he almost didn't notice Dean setting a fresh cup of coffee in front of him.

Dean's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He dropped a steaming mug in front of Brooke and took a seat across from her, kicking his boots up onto the table.

"So…" He cleared his throat, giving Sam a look. "I think it'd be best if Sam and I get a full rundown of everything you remember so we can start filling in the gaps."

Brooke nodded and closed her laptop, and Sam gave her a tense smile. "Have you been anywhere new?"

She shook her head. "Other than here, no."

"Meet anyone new?" Dean chimed in. "Someone that maybe offered you something that seemed kind of weird, and you just brushed it off as them being quirky?"

She eyed him suspiciously, "You mean like to grant me three wishes?"

"Not exactly," Dean shrugged, "but something similar."

"No."

"Have you noticed any weird smells or powders?" Sam asked quickly after. "Found any small bags lying around? Any electrical interferences like flickering lights?"

"…No," she said carefully, giving them both a sideways look, and Sam worried he might have lost some ground in gaining her trust. She seemed to be rethinking her decision to stay.

"I…need to make a couple of calls," she said, excusing herself from the table.

Sam winced as she passed. Those questions almost always elicited the same mixture of confusion and reservation, but there wasn't really a better way to put them. Sam watched her walk away and waited until she'd disappeared around the corner before turning to Dean. "Well, that rules out a few things."

"Did you check out her place while you were out sniffing her panties?"

Sam shook his head at his brother, but not in answer to his question. "I did a quick search, EMF, sulfur, hex bags. Came up empty. I tried calling Rowena, but she didn't answer, so I left a message. If it's a spell, she'll know how to fix it."

"I tried Cas while you were making googly eyes at your girlfriend over breakfast, but he didn't answer, either."

Sam nodded. It was a small step in the right direction, at least. He just hoped that one of them would return their calls soon.