Sam watched Chrys push the very small amount of food she had around on her plate while he, Dean, and Bobby ate dinner. They had decided to go back to Bobby's to regroup, since no cases had popped up after the body-switching incident. They had arrived in the early evening, just in time for dinner.

"I'm just pissed the Colt didn't work," Dean said, for probably the thirtieth time.

Bobby nodded. "Well, we just gotta get back to it. We'll find a way to kill him."

Chrys was silent, and Sam smiled a little when he realized she was starting to nod off. He put an arm around the back of her chair and leaned close. "Do you want to go to bed, beautiful?"

She turned and smiled softly at him, and it did things to him. God, she's gorgeous. She stared at him for a long moment. "Yeah, I think I do." She looked at him for another moment, then turned back to the other men. "Sorry, gentlemen, I think I'm going to call it a night." She stood and walked away, running a hand down her face.

Sam watched her go until she shut the door to the bedroom they were sharing. When he turned back around, Bobby was looking at him with an unreadable expression, and Dean looked downright irritated.

Sam frowned. "What?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothin'."

Dean just stared at him evenly. "How's Chrys?"

Sam blinked. "Uh, I don't know. Fine?"

Dean rolled his eyes and stood. "Yeah, okay." He snorted and looked at Bobby. "He's the 'sensitive' one, and he says she's fine."

Sam stared. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam, every second you don't go up there makes you a bigger fuckface."

Sam frowned. "She's fine, Dean. She would tell me if something was wrong."

Bobby snorted, and Sam turned to him. "She's not a real touchy-feely gal, Sam."

Sam thought for a second, trying to tamp down his anger. She did seem quiet, and she hadn't fought him at all all day on the way here. Which wasn't like her, but still.

He shook his head stubbornly. "Yeah, she would."

Dean drained the last of his beer, anger radiating off of him. "Whatever you say, Sammy," he snapped. "I'm going to bed." He stalked away, slamming his door shut behind him.

Sam turned to Bobby, bewildered. "What the hell was that?"

Bobby met his gaze. "Dean likes Chrys, and so do I. She's good people, and she's been through a lot, from what you boys have told me. Maybe she needs a little more from you, Sam."

Irritated, Sam stood. "Fine, then I guess I'm going to bed, too."

He walked up the stairs, anger burning beneath the surface. What did they think he did, just ignore Chrys? He knew she was going through some stuff, but if she was upset, she would tell him, right? Chrys wasn't a very subtle person.

He slowly entered the bedroom, closing the door behind him gently. When he turned, he saw Chrys sitting on the bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. She gazed at him emotionlessly. "Hi, Sammy."

He frowned and sat next to her, but didn't touch her yet. "Are you all right?"

She lay her head on her knees to look at him. "Yeah. Why? What's wrong?"

He put a hand on her back and really looked at her for a second. She looked… Exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes, and now that he looked at her, she looked thinner, if that was even possible.

"Chrys," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

He ran his hand up to thread it through her hair. "Chrys, please talk to me. You're not okay."

To his alarm, tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm fine, Sam."

He brushed her hair away from her face gently. "Come on, beautiful."

The tears slowly fell. "I… I'm okay."

He gently, quickly, moved so he was sitting behind her, her back pressed into his chest, his legs spread out on either side of her. Favoring his injury, he wrapped his arms around hers and buried his face in her hair. "Chrys, please tell me what's going on," he murmured.

She shook and whimpered a little. "I'm okay, Sammy, it's just been a long few weeks."

He nodded and held her tighter. "Talk to me, beautiful. Tell me about it."

She shook her head. "Sam, I… I can't." She took in a shuddery breath. "I just mean that… I don't… I can't, Sam, I can't."

Chagrined, he nodded and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Okay, it's all right. Let's just… Come here." He maneuvered them until he was on his back, and she was settled on his chest. She cried softly, her hand over her mouth, shaking in his arms.

Her tears made his heart ache, and he held her tight, ignoring the tears in his own eyes.


The next morning, Chrys woke early. Her eyes hurt, her nose was stuffy, and she was completely and totally embarrassed.

And, of course, wildly in love with Sam Winchester.

Ugh, she thought to herself, even as she cuddled closer to his big, warm form, taking care not to bump his hurt leg. Get it together, Summers. Just because Sam was nice to her didn't mean anything. She'd cried like a bitch and he'd been kind. Not only was it a primary part of who he was, he would have had to be a pretty big dick to not be.

She got out of bed gently, smiling when he turned and stayed asleep. She gave in to her impulse to smooth his hair away from his forehead, the pain in her heart almost overwhelming. Before she could embarrass herself more, she stood, dressed, and quickly left the room.

She had the house to herself for a while, so she made a pot of coffee and sat on the couch, curling her feet underneath her.

She was trying to avoid her thoughts. She wanted to think about the man in the bed upstairs, but she tried not to. There was no use in it. It wasn't like she could leave. It would kill her. Literally.

It was impossible to stop the thoughts galloping through her mind. The almost certainty that they would not win the fight against Lucifer. The insane hope that they would. The absolute dread that, if they did win, the bond between her and Sam would be severed, and he would leave her broken and hurting, while he went off to keep saving the world with his brother.

She had a fantasy, that she would never admit to, of them living a normal life. Sam went off to college, she worked with kids, or maybe dogs. He came home and kissed her senseless every night, she cooked dinner, and they made love before falling asleep together.

Which was ridiculous, because they were going to hell to rule side-by-side, she didn't know how to cook, and you had to be in love with someone to make love to them.

The coffeemaker completing it's brew cycle shook her out of her thoughts. She stood and went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. On the way, she flicked the radio on, and stopped moving when she heard the Christmas music tinkling through the air.

"What the fuck? Is it Christmas?"


Sam woke up to the sounds of Christmas music floating up to their room. He turned and reached for Chrys, hoping to delay waking for a few more minutes, but she wasn't there.

He rolled onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head, thinking about how to handle this morning. She was going to be embarrassed about last night, Chrys despised showing weakness, or what she perceived as weakness. Did he tell her it was nothing to be ashamed of? She might rip his tongue out of his head. Did he ignore it? She might think he was ashamed for her.

He was still thinking about it when her low, melodic voice carried up the stairs.

"Oh, come all ye faithful,
joyful and triumphant.
Oh, come ye, oh, come ye to Bethlehem."

Helpless against her voice, helpless against her, he stood and grabbed a shirt on the way out the door.

When he got to the hallway, he saw Dean was also poking his head out. The smell of coffee filled the house, he followed it and her voice to find her. Dean grumbled and shut his door again.

"Sing choirs of angels,
sing in exultation.
Sing, all ye senders of the heaven above."

She was cleaning one of their rifles in the living room. The day before, she'd berated them for letting the guns get into that condition. Dean had pointed out that they had bigger fish, Chrys had pointed out that there would be no way to shoot those fish if the guns wouldn't fire.

She was wearing her typical tank top and skirt, with her hair braided and draped over her shoulder. It was what she usually wore, but today, it seemed… Different. Radiant.

"Yea, Lord, we greet Thee,
born that happy morning,
Jesus, to Thee be all glory giv'n."

Her slender hand moved the oilcloth along the barrel, her movements slow and sure. He limped down the stairs, but stopped in the middle, shirt still in hand, and took the rare opportunity to study her.

The bite on her shoulder was finally healing, and the bruising had faded to a dull yellow. It still made him sick to his stomach to look at it, to see that there was now a permanent reminder of the pain she'd gone through. The fact that she was still up and walking around, like a normal (albeit a little prickly) person was astounding.

Her face was relaxed, her blue eyes alert and focused on her task. She had one long leg crossed over the other, and her foot gently kicked in time to the music. She was effortlessly enchanting.

"Word of the Father,
now in flesh appearing.
Oh come let us adore Him,
oh come let us adore Him,
oh come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord."

He suddenly couldn't stand not touching her. He finished coming down the stairs, draped his shirt over the railing, and approached her, still limping.

She looked up, her eyes widened and a blush rose on her lovely cheeks. Sam was forcefully reminded again how pretty she was as she looked down to put the gun across her lap.

He took that face in his hands and bent at the waist to kiss her thoroughly. She was stiff, then sighed and melted against him, opening for him when he nipped at her bottom lip.

Her soft hands ran from his waist up his bare chest, and he shuddered at the her touch. "Christ, Chrys."

She smiled against his mouth and ran her nails lightly back down until her hands rested at his waist again, just above the band of his sweats. "Morning, handsome."

The sound of Dean's bedroom door opening had them both jumping back. Sam grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, winking at Chrys when he saw the blush getting brighter on her cheeks.

Dean looked grumpy when he came down, but when Chrys smiled at him, Sam was amazed to see his brother's face soften. "Morning, Dean, Coffee's ready." He grunted in reply.

She turned and smiled up at Sam, standing. "How's that leg, Sammy?"

He looked down at her when she approached. "Fine."

She ran a hand down his arm. "Sure?" Her blue eyes, clouded with concern, examined him closely. He nodded.

Dean was leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them closely. "Didn't know you were all choir girl about Christmas, Chrys," he said lightly, sipping coffee.

She put a hand on Sam's shoulder and guided him to a chair. "Sit," she demanded softly. "I'll get your coffee." He obeyed, stifling a smile at her hovering.

She went into the kitchen and spoke loudly. "I'm really not, Christmas was a time for my mother to tell us how Christians stole Yule." Sam could almost hear her eye roll. "The woman was insatiable for conspiracies. So I'm not a big Christmas person, but the music is beautiful. Even Mama thought so, we used to sing carols all season long." She came back in and handed Sam a steaming mug with a smile. "I even learned to dance to it."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Dance?"

She nodded. "Ballroom dancing. I'm best at the waltz, but I can do a mean salsa, too."

Dean snorted behind her, and she turned to him with a smirk. "Don't believe me, Winchester?"

The music changed, and Sam's heart beat faster when Chrys's eyes lit up. "Ooh, that's a waltz." She took Dean's cup away and sat it down, then turned back and pulled Dean furthering the living room. "Come on, I'll lead."

Dean looked pained, and a little terrified. "Come on, Summers-"

"Shut up, Dean," she said cheerfully, placing his hand on her hip. "Just follow."

Sam watched them dance around the room slowly, then faster as Dean caught on. Soon he was spinning Chrys around, and her head tilted back so she could laugh.

That laugh did something to Sam. He felt jealousy rise up in him, making his blood boil a little. He had to remind himself that he had been shot three days ago, he couldn't go twirling her around anywhere, anyway.

He focused instead on the way she moved, her hand light in Dean's, her long legs gracefully carrying her. The way her lips were tilted up, and her hips mirrored his brother's as they danced.

And it was there, watching her dance in the living room with his brother, that Sam realized that his feelings for Chrys might go a little beyond "liking" her.


Chrys didn't know what the hell had gotten into Sam, but she liked it. Since she'd danced with Dean that morning, in a moment of temporary insanity, Sam had become incredibly handsy. He had hardly let her go all day.

They were on the couch, doing research. She was leaned up against him, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, the other flipping through the pages of a book. His fingers were playing along her collarbone, which was distracting as fuck, so she wasn't researching as much as sitting there in a lust-filled haze.

Luckily, Sam was pretty easy to distract.

She put a hand on his knee, refocusing on her book. Slowly, so slowly, she began to move it up, sending up a silent thanks that Dean and Bobby had gone out for supplies.

She noticed the very moment his breathing changed, and it sent heat down through her. But she didn't move, just kept her eyes on the book.

Sam, however, wasn't going to let her get away with this, apparently. His hand moved down her arm just as slowly, until he was gently cupping her breast, thumbing her rapidly hardening nipple. Her own breathing caught, and she arched subtly into his hand.

His deep chuckle sent more heat spiralling through her. This plan has backfired.

"I feel like you want something, Chrys," he rasped.

She whimpered. "Fuck, Sam…"

She turned and stood long enough to move the books to the floor, then very gently straddled him, making sure not to jostle his leg. His hands moved up her sides, one tangling itself in her hair to tug her head back so he could brush his lips against her neck. She moaned and ran her hands down his chest, savoring the hardness of him.

His other hand cupped her breast again, and she moaned as he pulled her shirt down enough that he could roll her nipple between his fingers. "Sam!"

She undid his belt, gasping when he pulled her head down to kiss her hard. She freed him from his jeans, tugging his pants down just far enough.

She moved her skirts out of the way and hovered over him, relishing the feeling of power again. She was already so wet she could feel the heat radiating from her core. He must have felt it, too, because he shifted and tried to thrust into her, but winced and let himself relax.

She smiled and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning forward to press her lips to his ear. "Tell me you want me, Sammy," she whispered.

He moaned and put his hands on her hips, burying his face in her neck. "Fuck, I want you, beautiful. Please."

The desperate little catch in his voice was her undoing. She slowly sank onto him, gasping when he bottomed out. She stayed there, dropping her head on his shoulder.

When she lifted her head, his hand came up to cup her face. She met his eyes and started moving, but when she started to let her eyes fall shut, they popped back open when his the ran along her cheek. "Look at me, beautiful, please," he husked.

She did as asked, confused at what was happening even as she was grateful he hadn't ordered her to. His other hand was on her hip, kneading and guiding her pace.

Chrys was overwhelmed. Those brown eyes looking up at her was affecting her thought processes, this was the most intimate she'd ever been with Sam. The way he was touching her face, not to hold her there, but just to be touching her.

It was the sexiest damn thing that had ever happened to her.

She moaned and picked up her pace, never breaking eye contact. The coil of heat in her belly was demanding attention, and it was becoming more and more urgent the longer she drowned in Sam's brown eyes.

As her orgasm started to pour through her, Sam moved his hand to grip the back of her head and pull her down to kiss her. His tongue plunging into her mouth sent her spiralling up, shattering her into tiny pieces. She cried out into his mouth, then swallowed his deep moans in kind as he stiffened beneath her.

She whimpered into his mouth, and he kissed her gently before releasing her. She smiled and leaned back, feeling inexplicably warm and close to Sam.

He smiled up at her. "Let's clean up before they get back, beautiful."


That night, holding her against him, when he was alone with his thoughts and a sleeping Chrys, Sam was able to acknowledge that he didn't just like her.

When he thought about her smile, her real smile, which was quick and hard to catch, his heart beat faster.

If he thought about her hands, which could be harsh or gentle, depending on when you caught her, shivers went up and down his spine.

And when he thought about her, the Chrys who was by turns caring and callous, smart and naive, a lovely person and kind of a bitch, he felt something inside him start to flutter.

When he was alone went other his thoughts and a sleeping Chrys, Sam was able to acknowledge that he was falling in love with her.


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