Chrys lay awake next to Sam in their motel room, unable to sleep, but unwilling to sacrifice the warmth she was wrapped in to go outside.
It had been a long couple of days. Bobby's dead wife, a town full of goddamn zombies, the message Death had sent the older hunter. It had been exhausting, and she had just been a background character. The guys were invested, she couldn't imagine what it had been like for them.
She was pulled out of her thoughts by his strong arm tightening itself around her waist and pulling her snug against him. He buried his face in her hair, and she couldn't help the smile on her lips. "Chrys," he murmured, "Why are you still awake?"
She cuddled back into him, giving in to the moment of weakness. "Because I can't sleep."
He huffed out a laugh and nuzzled her neck. "Smartass."
She smiled and tilted her head back. "You like it."
She felt him smile against her, then listened as his breathing deepened again as he fell back asleep. Gradually, his warmth against her back and the gentle movements of his chest sent her into sleep, too.
Sam tensing behind her woke Chrys up. She kept her eyes closed and remained still, ears straining to hear what was going on.
"Sit up. You, too, ma'am."
She carefully sat up, and put her hands in the air as soon as she saw the gun. She glanced over at Sam, who was glowering at the masked men holding them there at gunpoint.
The man standing in front of Dean's bed suddenly spoke up. "Looking for this?" He asked as he emptied the cartridge out of Dean's handgun and tossed it aside.
Dean slowly sat up, eyes flicking to Sam and Chrys before facing the men in front of them and holding his hands up, too. "Mornin'," he drawled.
"Shut up," the man in front of his bed snapped. Chrys glared, trying to tamp down her temper. Don't yell at men with guns pointed at you.
Dean squinted at him. "Wait a minute. Is that you, Roy? It is, isn't it?" He turned to the other man with a bitter smile. "Which makes you Walt. Hiya, Walt."
The men looked at one another, then Walt removed his mask. "Don't matter." Roy removed his mask, too.
Dean smiled again. "Well, is it just me, or do you two seem a tad upset?"
Walt was glaring at Sam. "You think you can flip the switch on the Apocalypse and just walk away, Sam?"
Chrys rolled her eyes. "Ugh, this shit again. Do you people ever let things go?"
Sam just stared at Walt. "Who told you that?"
"We ain't the only hunters after you," Walt replied, pumping the shotgun. "See you in the next life." Chrys rolled her eyes again. All hunters are drama queens. I owe Sammy an apology.
"Hear me out," Sam spurted. "I can explain, okay? Please."
Walt paused, then shot Sam in the chest. Chrys cried out as agony spilled through her, and darkness enveloped her.
"Wake up, Chrysanthemum."
Lucifer's cold, smooth voice washed over her, lighting up some of her senses, and making others quake in fear.
She opened her eyes to find herself on her back in the motel room. She sat up slowly, a dull pulse of pain still in her head. When she looked over, her eyes widened at Sam's body cooling in the bed next to her. She screamed a little and scrambled to her feet, only to see Dean's body on the other bed. "What the fuck?"
"Don't fret, Chrysanthemum, it's unbecoming on such a lovely woman." Lucifer said softly. She turned to see him leaning against the wall. "They'll be back soon."
She tried to look collected as she faced him. "What the fuck, Luci?"
He smiled. "Your Winchesters are learning a lesson. They're learning that God doesn't care what happens, that He won't interfere. It's a lesson He's taught them before, but I'm betting they'll be allowed to remember it this time."
She blinked. "What?"
He smiled and pushed himself off the wall, and she fought not to take a step back. "What are you doing here?" She asked instead.
He suddenly looked… Uncomfortable? That can't be right.
"I felt your pain. I came to block it… Until Sammy comes back."
"It's Sam," she corrected evenly, her mind working fast. "You came… To block the pain?"
He nodded, his eyes on hers. "Yes. It… Causes me discomfort when you are in pain, Chrysanthemum."
She didn't know what the hell she was supposed to do with that. So she ignored it, and instead asked, "What happened to Roy and Walt?" Her temper snarled at her. "I have words for Roy and Walt."
As she turned to look for her gun, his words stopped her. "The men who threatened you have been taken care of."
She paused and turned back to him. "What?"
He smiled coldly. "I've… Attended to them."
She closed her eyes against the memories washing through her. "Luci, we've talked about this."
Chrys walked home, arms wrapped around her middle, fuming. Underneath, of course, was sadness so big it was struggling wildly to get out. But crying made them mock you even more. Anger meant fighting back.
And Chrys had always loved the idea of fighting back.
"Stupid little cunt," she whispered, relishing the way the word felt on her fourteen-year-old tongue.
Rain started to come down, just cementing the atmosphere for her mood. "Shit."
She walked faster and ducked her head down. Mama usually made some sort of vegan stew on rainy days, and as much as Chrys hated vegan food, and vegans for that matter, it sounded comforting after the day she'd had.
She just had to get through explaining that her books had been stolen and strewn across the front lawn of the school, so she would have to buy new ones. She had to get through telling her parents that Tammy fucking Pastin, a snotty girl in her class, had found the cuts on her arms, and had immediately started in on her. She had to get through explaining that Tammy had started the stupid fight, so Chrys had had no choice but to finish it.
She had to get through telling Mama and Dad that she was, once again, suspended from school.
She was shaken from her reverie by a gentle throat clearing.
She gasped and whirled to see a short, whip-thin man standing behind her. "Um… Can I help you?"
He smiled, and she was not comforted. "Miss Summers, the Dark Prince sent me to find out what you'd like done with one Miss Pastin."
Chrys blinked. "Huh?"
"Lucifer, dear. He would like to know how you want to dispose of Miss Pastin. The girl who caused you so much… Distress."
She frowned. "I'm fourteen. Everyone causes me distress." Fear gripped her. "Wait, do you have her?"
He nodded. "Yes, miss."
Shock resounded through her. "Well, let her go!"
Now he was frowning, too. "Miss, I-"
"Look, I don't care what that bastard wants," she snapped. "Just let her go!" She spun on her heels and walked away, mad and scared and trying desperately not to give in to the urge to sprint all the way home.
The next day, Chrys knew as soon as she walked into the school building what Lucifer had done.
She dealt with the whispers and the dark looks and the more than usual isolation in the hallways.
She dealt with her first period teacher being much kinder to her than the norm.
She dealt with the school counselor pulling her out of class and explaining that just because they had a fight, Tammy's suicide was not Chrys's fault.
But Chrys know it wasn't suicide. Just as she knew it was her fault.
Lucifer had killed Tammy Pastin for her.
Chrys sighed and ran a hand through her hair, shaking the memories away. "You can't just kill people because they… Don't play nice with me, Lucifer. It's awful." She frowned. "And no one plays nice with me, I'm bitchy."
He smiled, and she hated the way her heart beat faster for the fallen archangel. "Actually, I can, Chrysanthemum. I'm the devil. And those men pointed guns at you. They had the audacity to want to kill you."
She ran a hand down her face. "Luci, they wanted to kill me because of you." Inexplicably, she missed Sam fiercely, his even temper and his warmth and his unwillingness to kill people who irritated her.
She examined Lucifer, taking in the big hunks of raw skin showing up, the open sores starting to form. She frowned. "You look like shit."
He nodded and put a hand to his face. "Yes, Nick… Isn't holding up like I had hoped."
She glared at him. "He's not an old coat, Luci, he isn't 'not holding up.' He's a human being, he's dying. A human being who, I'm sure, you tricked into being your vessel."
Lucifer smirked. "I never lied, Chrysanthemum. Nick knew what he was saying yes to."
She rolled her eyes. "You rarely do, and I sincerely doubt that."
He looked up. "Our boys are on their way back."
She glared again. "My boys, Luci. Not 'ours.'"
He smirked back at her again. "Whatever helps you sleep at night." He crooked a finger at her. "Come give me a goodbye kiss, Chrysanthemum."
She fought it. She battled harder than she had ever fought against the undeniable need to obey Sam. In the end, Lucifer won.
In the end, Lucifer always won.
She stepped forward to press her lips against his cold ones, the dark part of her rejoicing and the rest of her disgusted and sad. It didn't stop her from whimpering against his mouth and pressing her hands to his chest, but she clung to those negative feelings.
In a blink, he was gone, and Sam and Dean were waking up with huge gasps of air.
Later, at a different motel, with a better lock on the door, Chrys sat next to Sam on the bed, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Dean had gone out for beer, and to get away from Sam, she suspected.
"And the amulet he threw away, he's worn it for… God, twenty years? I gave it to him for Christmas when we were kids." Sam's voice was thick with emotion as he explained what they'd witnessed in heaven.
She leaned into him. "That sounds… Hard." Smooth, Summers. She wasn't good at comforting people. She really was better at telling them off.
He nodded and squeezed her. "I guess… I mean, I don't understand why he's so upset. I knew he would be mad, I just didn't realize how mad."
She leaned away and looked up at him incredulously. "Seriously, Sam? You didn't know?" At his confused look, she rolled her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Men. I can't deal with this."
"What are you talking about?"
She took a deep breath and looked back up at his big handsome face. "Sam, for fuck's sake, you were the only thing he had. You were what he hung his hat on. You were… Are… His world. And all you wanted to do since you were a teenager was leave. And then, to have it rubbed in his face like that…" She sighed. "Sam, just give him some time, okay? He'll come back around."
He looked upset, and she leaned back into him as he spoke hesitantly. "Uh… Yeah. Yeah, okay."
That night, lying on his back with Chrys's head on his chest, Sam couldn't get her words out of his head.
You were the only thing he had. You were what he hung his hat on.
Was she right? Did he abandon Dean? He had never thought of it that way, he had always assumed that Dean had wanted to stay with their father. But what if he hadn't? What if Sam had left the only person on who was really on his team with their father?
"I swear to Christ, Sam, the less you sleep, the less I sleep, and the meaner I get," she whispered fiercely. She looked up at him, and he took just a second to appreciate the sight of her lying on him, her long hair spilled across his shoulder. "What is going on in that pretty head, Sammy?"
"Just, uh, nothing."
She scoffed. "You're an idiot. Just tell me, all right? So we can go to sleep, and I can get the required amount of rest to be moderately pleasant tomorrow."
Instead, he pulled her up to lay on top of him and ran his hand through her hair. "Tell me what happened to you instead. I just realized I never even asked."
She chuckled. "No, you did not, you inconsiderate fuck." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "I mean, it's not like you had stuff going on or anything."
He chuckled. "Come on, how was your day, honey?"
She laughed softly. "Well, let's see." She counted on one of her slender hands. "First, the two men whom I quite literally require to survive got shot not six inches from me."
Sam frowned. "Yeah, what happened? How are you alive?"
She looked down at him. "Uh… Lucifer. Lucifer came... To save me."
Shock resounded through him. "What?"
At his whispered shout, Dean stirred in the bed next to them. Chrys's soft finger pressed itself against his lips, and they watched until he was still again. Sam was glad, Dean was already mad enough at him, for what he'd done to Chrys after Famine, for what they'd seen in heaven… For everything.
Once his brother had settled back into sleep, Sam turned back to the woman on his chest. She was staring at him solemnly. "Can you be quiet?" she whispered. He nodded against her, and she smiled a little and pulled her hand away. "Okay. Yes, Lucifer came to save me from the pain I was in. He killed Roy and Walt. He, uh… He does that," she said softly, looking down again. "Kills people for me, sometimes, no matter what I tell him to do."
He frowned. "So, he came and killed them? What else?"
She shrugged nonchalantly, but he saw the bitterness and pain in her face. "The standard visit from my intended. Told me that he'll win, gave me a backhanded compliment, insulted you guys, kissed me, and left."
Jealous fury rose in Sam's chest at the thought of Lucifer's hands on her, and he struggled to keep his voice even. "He… He kissed you?"
She met his eyes. "Yeah, he usually does."
"Usually?"
She rolled her eyes. "Sam, chill. Yes, he kisses me. He's kind of a possessive bastard. In case you hadn't caught on, you know, from the soulmate thing."
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm the fire raging in his chest. "Right, uh… Right."
The smirk in her voice made his eyes pop open. "Are you jealous?"
He glared at her. "Of course not!"
She grinned. "You are, too. Ha!" She put a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.
He smiled, but anger was still coursing through him. A million thoughts were racing in his mind, most of them furious and homicidal, those pointed at Lucifer. He was also concerned, because he knew that Lucifer scared Chrys, no matter how brave a front she put on. And he was… Jealous. Because no matter how much Lucifer scared her, there was some sort of connection there that Sam suspected he would never understand.
She was examining his face, and he hers. She put a soft hand on his cheek, and he leaned into it a little, turning to place a kiss in the middle of her palm.
"It's not… It's not the same, Sam," she whispered. "It doesn't mean the same thing as it does with you."
He blinked, his fury stalled by her words. "What?"
She looked at him for a long time, and he looked back, sensing the importance of the moment. Sadness filled her eyes, and he found himself unable to stop from cupping her cheek and pulling her toward him to press his lips to hers.
She kissed him back gently, then pulled back. "He doesn't mean what you mean, Sam. To me, he doesn't mean what you mean to me."
"And what do I mean to you, beautiful?" he asked hoarsely, some part of him roaring in his chest for her answer.
Instead, she smiled and pecked him on the lips again. "That, I think, is a conversation for after the apocalypse."
Everything, you big idiot, you mean everything to me.
That's not what I wanted you to say.
**Writer's block is a real, terrible thing.
**Feedback gives me the warm fuzzies and keeps me going.
