"You're not fooling me, you know that? With this sympathy-for-the-devil crap. I know what you are."

Dean was standing in two-thousand-fourteen, and had just watched Lucifer, wearing Sam, kill the future version of himself. And he had watched Chrys watch.

She was probably the worst part of this little… Vision. Chrys was spirited and tough, she had a sharp mouth and a sharper wit. She would never let Sam get away with treating her like Lucifer was treating her.

The woman in front of him was broken. Bruises ringed around her neck, she had a black eye, and one of her arms was in a sling. She stood quietly, just to the left and right behind Lucifer, like a dog. Her eyes were glued to the floor. This wasn't the woman who had gut-punched him and told Sam to go fuck himself, she would call him whatever she wanted.

This woman was broken.

"What am I?" Lucifer asked, casting an amused glance back to Chrys. He lifted a hand and brushed a knuckle across her cheek, chuckling when she flinched away from him.

Dean saw red. "You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural motherfucker. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego, and you're a rapist."

Lucifer's eyebrows raised. "Oh, is that what you think? No, Dean, Chrys asked for every little mark she has." He smiled. "I like you, Dean. I get what the other angels see in you. Goodbye. We'll meet again soon."

"You'd better kill me now," Dean growled. "Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won't stop."

Another cold smile. "I know you won't. I know you won't say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won't kill Sam. Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up here. Sam will always say yes, you will always lose him, and Chrysanthemum will always be mine. I win."

"You're wrong." Dean tried to get Chrys to look at him. "He's wrong, Chrys, we won't let this happen to you. Sam will save you."

Lucifer laughed. "See you in five years, Dean." He turned, then stopped, and turned back around. "Oh, and Dean. Tell Sam to tell them he's her husband when she's in the hospital. They'll let him in."


Chrys was in the passenger seat of the stolen sedan Sam had picked up to take them back to Dean. She was glad they had finally pulled their heads out of their asses about being together, and was eager to find out what had changed Dean's mind.

"All right over there?" Sam asked, meeting her eyes.

She smiled. "Just glad we're back on the road. I don't think I'm meant for the domestic life."

His lips tilted upward. "Chrys, it was hardly domestic. You shot someone."

She rolled her eyes. "In the knee. He'll be fine."

He laughed, and his hand came to rest on her thigh. Warmth spiralled up through her from the contact. "Chrys," he said softly, "I, uh… I'm glad you're around."

Am I blushing? Am I actually blushing? "Don't get mushy on me, Sammy," she said with a smile.

He was quiet for a second, and she worried that she had upset him. "I dunno," he said mildly, squeezing her thigh gently. "I think you like it when I get mushy."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised. He didn't look at her, but he was smiling that devastating, sexy smile, and she felt all her insides turn squishy. Dammit.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Winchester," she said, but when he flipped his hand over, she threaded her fingers through his.


Sam's stomach was in knots when they pulled onto the side road that Dean was waiting on. The sight of the Impala, and his brother leaning against her, didn't help.

Chrys's hand gently squeezing his did, though. "Hey," she said softly. He looked over into her blue eyes. "It's gonna be all right. Let's go."

He nodded. When he let go of her hand to open the door, he felt cold.

They came around the front and stood in front of Dean.

"Sam," Dean said evenly, pulling out the demon-killing knife. He handed it to Sam, handle first. "If you're serious, and you want back in, you should hang on to this. I'm sure you're rusty." He looked over at Chrys. "Chrysanthemum."

She narrowed her eyes. "You want to get punched, Dean?"

He grinned and stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug. Sam's eyebrows raised, and he saw Chrys hesitate, but she slowly wrapped her arms around Dean's neck and hugged him back.

Dean stepped back and cleared his throat, then turned to Sam. "Look, man. I'm sorry. I don't know, I'm… Whatever I need to be. But I was, uh, wrong."

The words were like a balm to Sam's soul. "What made you change your mind?"

Dean shrugged. "Long story. The point is… Maybe we are each other's Achilles heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human."

Sam swallowed hard against the emotions rising in him. "Thank you. Really, thank you. I won't let you down."

"Oh, I know it," Dean scoffed, "I mean, you are the second-best hunter on the planet."


They finally stopped around eleven, pulling over and checking into a shitty motel. They attempted to settle in, but Chrys was too tense to sleep, and she knew they were, too. Dean finally announced he was going out, to which the other two gratefully agreed.

Too keyed up to sleep, Chrys thought as they entered the smoky bar. Music thudded through her ears, and she grinned, her hips already starting to sway. Music had always spoken to Chrys, and this music, with its heavy bass and it's steady beat, was talking dirty to her.

Big hands landed on her waist, and Sammy's voice was at her ear, also talking dirty to her. She moaned and tilted her head back, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck to hold him in place as he swayed with her in his hands.

Chrys didn't know how long they danced, but she knew by the end of it, she was quite literally panting with arousal, and his dark eyes and knowing smirk said he was right there with her.

He finally, finally, dragged her off of the dance floor by her hand. She waved at Dean, who was talking up a blonde at the bar. He shot her a wink as they left, and turned back to his blonde.

The cold air hit Chrys like a ton of bricks when they got outside, and brought her down just a little. She huddled close to Sam for his warmth. He looked down at her and grinned. "Do you even own a coat?" he asked, shrugging out of his and draping it over her shoulders as they walked.

She wrapped it around her tightly, but still stayed close to him. "Nope, I lived on the coasts. Sand, the sea, warm air, we didn't really need coats."

He grinned and pulled her close, cupping her face with his hand to kiss her gently. She whimpered and pressed herself against him. "Beaches, hm?" he asked huskily. "So, does that mean you were running around in a bikini, and I missed it?"

She smirked up into his heated brown eyes. "Oh, Sammy, I was running around in nothing."

The possessive growl in the back of his throat made her weak at the knees, so she came up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. He nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and she whispered, "Maybe we should take a vacation."

The second possessive growl sent shivers through her as he came up and caught her mouth with his, kissing her hard. His hand came to the back of her head, threading through her long hair, and she gave control over to him.

"Chrys!" A familiar voice rang out, cutting through her lust-filled haze like a knife.

Chrys turned around slowly to see a slip of a girl with bright orange hair standing in front of them. "Hannah?"

A wave of memories hit Chrys. She and Tom, holding hands shyly, and his little sister Hannah poking loving fun at them. Chrys and Hannah going for a 'girls day' when Tom was having a rough withdrawal. Chrys and Tom, curling up and sleeping on the couch together, waking up with Hannah cuddled between them.

Hannah.

"Surprised, Chrys?" The gun in Hannah's hand was wavering a little.

Chrys held her hands up and immediately moved to stand in front of Sam, who was shocked and also holding his hands up. "Hannah, what are you doing here?" Chrys asked softly. "What happened?" Her mind was working overtime, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"What happened?" Hannah shrieked. "Tom! You killed Tommy!"

Pain sliced through Chrys, and she winced. "Hannah, I-"

"He was getting better!" Hannah cried, the gun getting steadier and steadier in her hands. "He was finally going to NA! He was in recovery, you bitch!"

Chrys nodded, her hands held wide. "He was, and then he wasn't, Hannah. That's how recovery works, you know that."

"No!" Hannah screamed. "No, he was fine until you left him! I looked for you for a long time, Chrys, so I could see your face when you realize you fucking killed Tom."

Chrys winced again. "Hannah-"

"He killed himself because of you!" Hannah screamed.

The gun went off.

Then Hannah pointed the gun at herself.

"No!" Chrys lunged forward and batted the gun out of the younger woman's hands. She grabbed Hannah's shoulders. "That is never an option, Hannah! Never! What the hell would Tom say?" She shook the younger girl. "God dammit, Hannah, what the fuck are you thinking?"

"Chrys!"

Sam's shout seemed to awaken the pain. Agony exploded through Chrys. She looked down at her stomach, where blood was pouring out. She placed her hand over the wound and felt light-headed. She looked up at Hannah's horrified face.

"Sam?"


"Sam?"

Chrys's soft question nearly killed Sam as he raced forward to catch her before she fell. She fell gracefully back into his arms, and he gently lowered her to the ground, putting pressure on her stomach.

"Sam?!" Dean's shout cut through his panic. "Sam? Chrys?!"

"Oh, God," Hannah moaned, her hands at her mouth.

Sam ignored her. "She got shot, Dean, call 911!" Sam was kneeling, holding Chrys's face with one hand and holding her stomach with the other. "Come on, beautiful, stay with me."

Her eyes were fluttering closed, and more incoherent panic flushed through him. "Sam," she said softly, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth. "Sam, don't be mad at Hannah, okay? She's too young, don't be mad, okay? You have to take care of her, Sammy." Dean was shouting at a 911 operator over the phone.

Sam nodded. "Okay, shh, okay, I will, we will, just don't talk, beautiful, just shh, okay?"

In true Chrys fashion, she ignored him. She put a hand on his face, and Sam felt her blood smear on his cheek, and a part of him died. "Sam, this is okay," she said, her eyes still fluttering. "Sam, it's all right, I can go, I'm not scared."

He shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes. "I am, I'm scared, don't leave, Chrys, baby, stay with me."

She shook her head. "Don't think I have a choice, handsome," before she lost consciousness.

The sound of the sirens was the sweetest thing Sam had ever heard.


Dean sprinted into the ER after Sam, trying to catch his brother. Sam ran to the front desk, slamming his hands down. "Chrys Summers. Chrysanthemum Summers. Where is she?"

The nurse behind the desk cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed with Sam's sense of urgency. "Relation?"

Lucifer's words ran through Dean's head. "Husband. This is Sam Summers, her husband. She was shot, I'm sorry, he's in shock." He said shortly, slapping a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, she's my… She's my wife. Please, where is she?"

The nurse's expression had softened. She sat and started typing on the computer. "Okay, Mrs. Summers is in surgery. Fifth floor, elevator on the left."


Sam sat with his head in his hands, staring at the linoleum. His mind was blank, his emotions were blank, everything was blank.

Chrys.

He didn't know why she was so important to him, he really barely knew her. Hell, he hadn't even known she'd lived on a beach.

But what he did know was that his world had come to a screeching halt when her blood had started spilling on the ground. And now, he was frozen, and would be until he knew she would live. Because she had to live… Right?

"Hey, man, any word?"

Sam looked up to see Dean holding two cups of coffee. He accepted one and stared at it as Dean settled into the seat next to him. "No."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, it's been two hours. What the hell, we could have done a faster job getting a bullet out of her."

Sam didn't respond, he was too blank.

Chrys.


Two hours later, a surgeon finally came out. The blood on his sleeves made Sam's stomach shrivel.

Sam stood and ran his hands through his hair. "How is she?"

The doctor eyed him up and down. "You're Mr. Summers?" Sam nodded. "She made it through surgery. The bullet nicked her lung. It was close, and we had to revive her once. But she made it through surgery."

Relief and pain warred in Sam's heart. "Is she going to make it?"

The doctor gave him a long look. "Right now? I give her fifty-fifty. If she makes it through the night, I'm going to up it to seventy-thirty." The doctor took a breath. "I'm very sorry about this, but she's fighting hard to come back. If you need anything, let the reception desk know." The doctor walked away.

Sam felt rooted to the spot. Fifty-fifty. Fifty-fifty. Fifty-fifty. The words wouldn't stop chasing themselves around his head.


"Sir? Do you want to go in to see her?"

Sam looked up at the nurse who had spoken. She looked kind. "Can I? Y-yeah, yeah, I do. Please."

She led him into Chrys's room. Sam felt his palms start to sweat, and he wiped them on his jeans as he walked through the door.

His heart stopped again. How many times is that going to happen before I just up and die?

She looked pale, really pale. Is she always that pale? Her dark hair lay against her skin, they had swept it over her shoulder, and it looked tangled. It would never look like that, she's always running her fingers through it. She looked exhausted, there were bags under her eyes, and she looked almost skeletally thin.

She looks awful.

He approached the bed slowly, in shock. He sank down slowly into the chair next to the bed. "Can I… Can I touch her?"

The nurse had a knowing smile on her face. "You can hold her hand, if you like, Mr. Summers."

He gingerly took her hand into both of his, bringing her cold knuckles to press his lips against them. "Come on, Chrys," he whispered into her hand. "Come on, baby, wake up for me."

He didn't hear the nurse leave.


Chrys woke up in a dark, lavish bedroom done in maroons and deep navy blues. She sat up, wondering where the hell Sammy was, and why she wasn't in pain, and why she thought she should be in pain.

Hannah. Gunshot. I got shot. Sam. I told Sam to let me go. Am I dead? Is this hell? Hell is nice.

A blonde man walked in, and everything in Chrys clenched recognition and, to her dismay, arousal. "Lucifer."

He smiled. "Chrysanthemum." He came and sat on the end of the bed she was laying in. "How are you feeling, dearest?"

She glared. "Don't call me dearest."

His smile didn't falter. "What would you prefer?"

"To be anywhere but here."

He chuckled. "Oh, Chrysanthemum, you know this is a dream."

Chrys sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "What do you want, Luci?"

He cocked an eyebrow at the nickname, but said nothing. "I want you, Chrys, you know that." He placed a hand on her shin. "Always you, Chrysanthemum."

She frowned again. "Don't call me Chrys. And you can't have me."

"Yes, I can, Chrysanthemum. And once I have you, you will be begging me to take you."

The feeling in her heart told her that his words were true. And the feeling pooling in her belly at his touch was telling her that, too. "No, I won't. You won't win, Luci. You'll never win."

His cold smile, unfortunately, didn't dampen the heat pooling between her thighs. "What are you doing to me?" She snapped.

"You're drawn to me, Chrysanthemum," he said softly. "You'll always be drawn to me."

She winced, then shook her head. "Doesn't matter. You won't win. We'll save the world."

He gave her an even look. "Chrysanthemum, Sam will say yes to me."

The mention of Sam bolstered her. His kind eyes, his hand wrapped around hers. His laugh, the way he curled his hair behind his ear, the heat in his eyes when he looked at her. Sam.

It didn't matter that she was attracted to Lucifer. That wasn't her. That was a surface thing, and it was a result of Lucifer's meddling in her fucking life. Bastard.

But Sam. Sam was real. Sam was real, and amazing, and she loved him with everything in her. Sam.

So she leaned forward and met the devil's eyes. "Oh, I'm sure he will say yes. You're very good. If you talk long enough, even I will think you're in the right. It's part of what makes you terrifying."

She smiled. "But you won't win. Sam will say yes, and he will beat you. You're good, you're very good, but my Sammy is better. I wouldn't go up against Sam Winchester, Luci, and neither should you."

He frowned, irritated. "Your faith is misplaced, Chrysanthemum."

She kept her smile. "If it was misplaced, you wouldn't feel the need to say that."

He scowled at her, and she quivered in fear. It took everything she had not to flinch when he reached up and put two fingers against her forehead.

Everything went black.


Beep... Beep... Beep...

Chrys came awake slowly. She was in pain, and every part of her except her hand was cold.

"Fucking ow," she groaned, without opening her eyes.

"Chrys?"

Sam's reverent voice made her open her eyes and turn to look at him. She smiled. "Wow, you look like shit, Samuel."

He chuckled. "Well, you're feeling better."

She shook her head and winced. "Uh, no, I'm not. What the fuck happened to me?"

He examined her closely, and she found herself wishing that she had a mirror to make sure she looked all right. "Uh, that woman, I guess Tom's sister? She shot you."

Memories trickled through her. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Hey, is she all right?"

He examined her silently again. "What?" she asked defensively. "I know I look like shit, I got shot, leave me alone."

He shook his head and brought her hand to his lips again. "No, it's not that. It's just… You're kind of amazing."

That… Was not what I was expecting. "What?"

He smiled. "Chrys, she shot you. She quite literally tried to kill you. And you're worried about her?"

She frowned. "She's, like, seventeen. She's grieving. Tom was her whole world, they were on their own for a long time. So yeah, I'm worried about her. Is she okay?" She narrowed her eyes. "God dammit, Sam, did you have her arrested?"

He was still smiling, and it was making her heart flutter. "No, no, uh, Dean took her. He took her to Bobby's, he'll help her figure something out. Where to go from here."

Chrys relaxed back against her pillows. "Good." She looked at his tired, but insanely handsome face. "You look tired," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How long have you been here, Sam?"

He ran a hand down his face. "Um, what time is it?" He pulled his phone out and checked it. "Ah. Like, eighteen hours?"

She blinked. "Sam, tell me you haven't been sitting by my bedside for eighteen hours."

He blinked back. "Of course I did." He gave her a tired smile. "Where else would I be?"

He stayed the whole time. Chrys had never had expected in a million years that Sam Winchester would stay by her bedside. Oh, Sam.

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. She suddenly craved his closeness. She scooted over on the bed as much as she could and patted the place next to her hip. "Come here, Sam," she said softly.

She expected a fight, but he crawled into bed without a word. He slipped an arm beneath her head and pulled her as close as possible. He pressed a tender kiss to her head, and the tears slid down her cheek. "Jesus, Chrys," he whispered against her hair, "You scared the fuck out of me, beautiful."

She buried her face into his chest and said nothing, just let the tears come.


**Feedback gives me the warm fuzzies and keeps me going.