Chrys woke up to Sam's stubble scraping against her inner thighs, her first breath coming out a gasp when she felt his hands on her knees, pinning her legs against the bed. She whimpered and reached down to run her fingers through his hair, whimpering when he sucked a dark mark onto her inner thigh. "Fuck, Sam!"

She felt him smile against her skin. "Morning, beautiful," he rasped, leaning forward to swipe his tongue across her folds quickly. It was over before she'd realized he'd done it.

"Oh, Sam, please," she whispered, trying to move her hips up to close the distance between his mouth and her core again.

"Hmm, good girl, tell me you want me," he purred against her leg. She looked down to see his darkly sparkling brown eyes looking up at her, and it sent another rush of heat through her.

She let go of his hair to prop herself up on her elbows to get a better view of him, the sight of him settled between her legs making her breathe harder. She pitched her voice low, "I want you, Sam."

He growled softly and attacked her with his mouth, causing her to cry out and drop back down, covering her mouth with her hands. She was helpless to stop her hips pressing into his face as he took her clit into his mouth, sucking gently.

He moved one hand away from her knee to put that leg on his shoulder, then teased her entrance with his fingers. "Sam! Oh, Sam, please," she whimpered, pressing her hips closer to him.

He gave in and sank a finger into her, making her back arch as she reached down to thread her fingers through his hair again. He moved his finger slowly, adding a second, then a third at a leisurely pace.

The pressure inside her was building fast, and she couldn't stop the way her hips bucked, or the way her legs clenched. "Oh, fuck, Sam!" she cried out as she came, fisting her hands in his hair and holding him against her as he gently licked her clean as she came down.

She kept her eyes closed as he shifted and came up to lean over her, settling again between her legs, the tip of his cock pressed against her. She cracked one eye open and turned to look up at him, automatically wrapping her legs around his slim waist, her hands coming to rest on his biceps. "Morning," she murmured leaning up to lick her juices from his lips and chin.

He captured her mouth with hers and sank into her slowly, and she relished the feel of him stretching her. He set a slow, gentle pace, leaving her just as breathless and desperate for him.

She leaned up to press her lips against his warm neck, running her teeth against the skin there. When he grunted, she smiled and sucked hard, leaving her own mark on him. Take that.

He started moving faster, making her gasp. He let his weight rest on one elbow and drifted his other hand down her body, his callouses sending shivers through her. He moved his fingers in hard, fast circles on her clit, leaning down to brush his lips against her ear. "Come for me, Chrys," he growled softly.

"Fuck!" she cried out, coming apart at the seams and trembling hard. He sank into her hard one, two, three more times before shuddering above her in his own orgasm.

He hooked an arm around her and rolled, settling her on his chest. She lay her head down, ear pressed to his sweaty skin, listening to his thundering heartbeat slow. He gently threaded his fingers through her hair, combing it all the way to the ends before starting again at her scalp.

It was extremely relaxing, and she was almost asleep again when his chuckle made her crack an eye open. "We have to get up, beautiful," he said softly, not moving an inch despite his words. "We have a case."

"Let Dean work the case," she muttered, nestling into him. "Let's sleep all day."

"Tempting," he said wistfully, still playing with her hair. "But any second, he's going to start banging on that door, trying to get us out of bed.

As if summoned by magic, the front door started pounding. "Hey, could you guys stop fucking for a second so we can go to work? Thank you!"


"One more time, the FBI is here why, exactly?"

Chrys resisted the urge to roll her eyes, barely. Dealing with local authorities was one more arena in which Sam was a much nicer person than she was. Not even the pleasant humming in her veins could keep her mood up.

Dean seemed to be on her side, though. "Might have something to do with one of your locals getting his head ripped off," he snapped. Chrys cheered internally.

The officer looked at them like they were dim, which made her want to strangle the man. "Bill Randolph died from a bear attack," he said slowly.

"How sure are you that it was a bear?" Chrys asked, trying to be polite. She was guessing that she'd failed, because Sam put a subtle, warning hand on the small of her back.

The officer looked confused. "What else would it be?"

"Well, whatever it was, it chased Mr. Randolph through the woods, smashed through his front door, followed him up the stairs, and killed him in his bedroom," Dean snapped again. "Is that common, a bear doing all that?"

The officer looked at them evenly again. "Depends on how pissed off it is."


"Welp," Chrys said evenly. "That looks to be a Hulk-sized hole, Sammy."

They were looking at the Randolph's home, which was in a nice, suburban area. Cul-de-sac and little plastic tricycles included. The lawn was neatly manicured, the hedges trimmed, the newspaper tossed oh-so-perfectly on the front porch.

It was perfect, except for the Hulk-sized hole in the side, of course.

Sam's eyes were wide. "What the fuck?"

The wife of the victim had claimed that Lou Ferrigno, in Hulk costume, had come in to kill her husband. Dean had opted to go back to the motel while Sam and Chrys went to the crime scene. Where there was a Hulk-sized hole in the side of the house.

Sam put his hand on the small of Chrys' back and started to guide her toward the house, and she started chuckling. "What the fuck, indeed," she said, amused.

He shot her a smile. "Just look around, Chrys, let's see if we can find anything that can help us figure out what's going on."

She started up the stairs, intending to look for the bedroom. Instead, she was distracted by the small bathroom on the way there.

She walked in, awareness sending tingles up and down her spine. There was the tiniest of cracks in the bathroom mirror. Chrys stared at it for a long time, her humor long gone. She opened the medicine cabinet, examining the contents. "Sam! Found something!"

He came up the stairs to join her in the cramped bathroom. "Me, too," he said, "But you first."

She pointed to the mirror. "There's a crack in the mirror," she pointed to the medicine cabinet, "and about eight different anti-depressants and painkillers in here." She looked up at him. "Someone was being abused, and I'm willing to bet it wasn't Mr. Randolph."

Sam nodded somberly. "Well, that sounds about right. I think I know what we're dealing with."

His handful of candy wrappers just confused her.


They were on their way to respond to a call that had come through on the police scanner, and Chrys was nervous. Sam wanted to talk to the trickster, try to get it to help them. He'd said it was powerful, more powerful than anything they'd ever come across. He'd told her about the Mystery Spot, and she was planning on having a few words with this bastard about that.

But really, she was just very, very nervous for some reason.

They pulled into the parking lot of the warehouse the call had come from, but it was empty. Chrys frowned, her unease growing by the second. "Where the hell is everyone?"

Dean nodded. "There was a murder here, and there's no police cars. There's nobody. How's that look to you?" he asked Sam.

Sam winced. "Crappy."

Dean handed a stake to each of them, then started toward the door of the warehouse. Chrys was on high alert, every nerve tingling with awareness.

Which didn't end up mattering, because as soon as they stepped through the warehouse door, the Winchesters disappeared, and pain so devastating and bright shot through Chrys that she almost immediately lost consciousness.


Sam looked around at the hospital they were in, his mind reeling. He looked at Dean, who looked just as confused, and was muttering.

Two women wearing scrubs walked by, eyeing them. Dean straightened up, preening a little, and Sam was just irritated. "What the fuck?"

The blonde woman winked at him. "Doctor."

"Doctor?"

Dean turned and opened the door they'd just come through. It was a supply closet, and housed two people making out a little obnoxiously. "Chrys, we're not that gross, are we?" Sam asked with a wince, turning to look at her.

She wasn't there. "Chrys?"

Dean looked around, too. "Where the hell is she?"

A brunette walked up and stood in front of Sam. He looked down, irritated.

"Doctor," she said sharply, before she slapped him.

"Ow!"

"Seriously," she said severely.

He looked back at her, confused. "What?"

She looked up at him, weirdly intense passion on her face. "Seriously? You're brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You're a brilliant coward."

Sam blinked. "Um, what the fuck are you talking about?"

She slapped him again. "As if you didn't know!" She stalked away.

Sam turned to Dean, panic starting to thrum in his veins the longer he didn't know where Chrys was, or more importantly, how far away she was.

Dean, however, looked like a kid at Christmas. "I don't believe it."

"Believe what?"

Dean pointed at the woman. "That's Dr. Piccolo. Dr. Ellen Piccolo, the sexy yet earnest doctor at-" he gestured at the sign over the reception desk. "Seattle Mercy Hospital."

Sam stared at his brother for a minute. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The doctor getups. The, the sexy interns. The 'seriously's. It all makes sense."

Sam shook his head. "What makes sense? What's going on?"

"We're in Dr. Sexy, MD."


"I thought you said you weren't a fan," Sam snapped, beyond irritated now. Dean was going on and on about this stupid show, and Chrys wasn't with them. Sam was panicking. How long could she be away from him before she died? Or at least sustained some serious permanent damage?

"I'm not. I'm not," Dean said, waving his hand. Suddenly, he stopped, staring across the hall they were in. "Oh, boy."

Sam turned. "What?"

"It's him."

"Who?"

"It's him, it's Dr. Sexy."

A man stopped in front of them. He nodded to Dean. "Doctor."

Dean grinned. "Doctor."

The man turned to Sam. "Doctor."

Sam just glared until Dean hit him on the arm. "Doctor," he said begrudgingly.

The doctor turned to Dean. "You want to give me one good reason why you defied my direct order to do the experimental face transplant on Mrs. Biehl?"

Dean looked confused. "One reason? Sure."

Dean looked down, clearly trying to think, when Sam watched his brother tense. Dean grabbed Dr. Sexy and slammed him back against the wall. "You're not Dr. Sexy. Part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots. Not tennis shoes."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're not a fan."

Dean glared. "It's a guilty pleasure."

The doctor against the wall was squirming. "Call security!"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, go ahead, pal. See, we know who you are."

Suddenly, everything around them froze. Sam tried to concentrate on what was happening through his panic and fury.

The doctor grinned and turned into the trickster. "You guys are getting better!"

Sam was beyond angry. He pushed Dean away and slammed the trickster harder into the wall. "Where the fuck is Chrys?"

For the first time since Sam had met him, the trickster looked confused. "Chrys?"

"The woman who was with us," Dean snapped. "Chrys Summers."

The trickster paled. "Chrys Summers?"

Sam glared. "You know her."

The trickster stared evenly back at them. "Survive the next twenty-four hours, and maybe I'll tell you."

Dean blinked. "Survive what?"

"The game!" The trickster disappeared.

"Fuck!"


Chrys woke up in a truly obnoxious room. Bright green and blue Hawaiian flowers decorated the walls. She winced, dull pain still pulsing through her head. "Where the fuck am I?"

"How ya feelin', sweetness?"

Chrys swivelled and stared at the man in front of her. Shaggy brown hair fell over his sparkling, mischievous hazel eyes. He was wearing a doctor's coat over scrubs, and he was leaning in the doorway of the bedroom she'd woken up in. "Who the fuck are you?"

The power radiating off of him was intense, just as intense as Jesse's had been. She backed up on the bed, trying to figure out how she was going to get around him and get out of here before he squashed her like a bug.

"Trickster," he said cheerfully, "My friends call me Loki."

Chrys glared, her natural prickliness winning over her nerves. "Where are Sam and Dean?"

He shook his head. "They have a lesson to learn. You just sit tight while they learn it."

Her eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

He chuckled. "They'll catch on eventually. They're not bright, but hit them over the head enough times, the idea starts to sink in."

"Where are they?" Chrys asked again, irritated.

"Not here."

She blinked. "That's impossible. Sam's got to be close." She flipped the blankets off of her legs and stood. "I'm going to find him."

He shook his head, holding a hand up. She was pinned where she was, her heart thudding with realization. "You're really not."

"Holy fuck. You're an archangel."

He blinked. "No, sweetheart," he spoke slowly, as if to a child, "I'm a trickster. You see, I'm a-"

"You're an archangel." She shook her head. "Holy shit." Then she resumed glaring at him. "What did you do to Sam?"

He was staring at her. "Why would you think I'm an angel?"

She rolled her eyes. "You obviously know who I am, or I would have gone with Sam and Dean to wherever the hell you took them. Which is where, again?"

He was still staring at her. "How did you know?"

She sighed. "The power coming off of you is intense, fly boy. And angel powers don't work on me to date, with the exception of Lucifer… So it stands to reason that only other archangels would be able to mojo me."

He examined her closely for a few long moments, and then she could suddenly move again. She stayed still, though, trying to gauge his reaction. Archangels scared the piss out of her.

"So," he said conversationally. "You're Lucifer's meant to be."

Chrys shook her head. "No, I'm Sam's meant to be, and Lucifer corrupted me." The distinction had become very important to her.

"Well, you're… Meaner than I thought you would be."

She frowned. "Fuck you."

He laughed. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet my future sister-in-law."

Fear shot through her, and she covered it with more anger. "Look, I don't really care who you are. Honestly. Just take me to Sam, I know he's close by."

He shook his head. "He's not, I'm telling you. He and Dean are… Indisposed."

"Well, then why am I not in crippling pain?"

He blinked. "Because I blocked it."

Chrys blinked back, completely shocked. In less than two weeks, two separate beings had done what she hadn't been able to accomplish for years. "What do you mean, you blocked it?"

He shrugged. "I had to concentrate, but I blocked it." He winked. "Can't have Luci's little missus dying on me, now, can I?"

"You call him Luci, too?"


Sam got out of the car that he had just been, feeling disconcerted and angry beyond belief. Where the fuck is Chrys?

"Happy?" The trickster asked cheerfully.

Dean was staring at him evenly. Sam came to stand next to his brother. "Tell me one thing," Dean said crossly. "Why didn't the stake kill you?"

The trickster shrugged. "I am the trickster."

Dean shook his head. "Or maybe you're not."

Sam held up the lighter and tossed it onto the ring of holy fire around where the 'trickster' had been standing. "Maybe you've always been an angel."

The trickster laughed. "A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?"

Dean smirked coldly. "I'll tell you what. You just jump out of the holy fire and we'll call it our mistake."

The trickster chuckled, then clapped. They were back in the warehouse. "Well played, boys. Well played. Where'd you get the holy oil?"

"Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass."

Sam didn't hear anything after that. Chrys was crumpled on the floor in the corner. "Chrys!"

He ran to her, falling to his knees and gathering her up in his arms. "Oh, God, Chrys, are you all right?"

She moaned and pressed her face into his chest. "Sam?"

He laughed softly, cupping her face in his hand. "Jesus, are you all right, beautiful? What did he do to you?"

She groaned. "Um, nothing. He made sure I wasn't in pain, and put me in a room until you guys… Did whatever you did?" She looked around. "What did you do? Is this the warehouse?"

Sam nodded, trying to swallow down the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, even as he didn't really understand them. "Yeah," he said huskily. "Yeah, it is."

She looked up at him, surprised. Her eyes softened and she ran a hand along his jaw. "Hey, Sam, I'm all right. He didn't hurt me."

He nodded and pulled her up to press his lips against her forehead. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

He helped her to her feet, arm wrapped protectively around her waist. They approached Dean, who was still talking to the angel.

"Shut your cakehole," the angel snapped. "You don't know anything about my family. I love my father, my brothers. Love them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it! Okay? So I left. And now it's happening all over again."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Chrys grumbled loudly. All three men looked at her. She glared at the angel. "Just shut up, Gabriel. Everyone's got family issues. Get over it. Quit pulling the Winchester's strings."

Gabriel gave her an even look. "I'm not Cass, Chrysanthemum. You aren't protected from me."

She stood and strode forward, pausing at the holy fire, then stepping deliberately over it. "Bring it, asshole," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm not scared of you." She stepped until they were almost nose to nose. Sam felt panic grip his heart. God dammit, woman. And he still couldn't help but admire her bravery.

She was glaring into the archangel's hazel eyes. "You can either help us, or don't. I don't give a fuck about your little family spat. I don't care if it was Sam and Dean's 'destiny' to do this. I don't care that you're tired of your brothers fighting. Join the fucking club, man up, and pick a goddamn side, Gabe."

Sam frowned. "Destiny?"

"Not now, Samuel," she said softly, not looking away from Gabriel. "I am so tired of angels fucking with the Winchester family, and I'm not even part of the Winchester family." That pinged at Sam's heart. "Are you going to help us, or aren't you?"

His silence was all the answer they needed. Sam had to restrain himself from dragging Chrys out of the circle of fire, instead wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close as soon as she got close to him. She buried her face in his chest and sighed. "I tried, I'm sorry, Sammy."

"It's all right, Chrys, don't be," he murmured, wrapping his other hand around the back of her head and pressing her into him.

Gabriel was watching all of this dispassionately. "So, as much fun as watching the two of you hold hands and declare your undying love for one another, now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"


Chrys was in the bed of the motel room next to Sam, her head on his bare chest. She listened to his heartbeat, willing it to lull her to sleep. It wasn't working, but it gave her something to think about besides the way Sam had reacted upon seeing her again.

He'd acted like… Someone who cared about her.

Stop it, she told herself harshly. He doesn't love you now, and he's not going to love you later. You're just some woman he was saddled with, and he doesn't want you to die because he's a good person. And don't forget, you've kind of become an easy lay. So stop it.

Her heart, however, wasn't listening, and was lighter than it had been in weeks.


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