The Bunker; Lebanon, Kansas

Daleney

Enjoying a languid stretch, devoid of any traces of pain for the first time in days, Daleney relished in the pleasantly smooth motion of her muscles shifting as she slowly rose to consciousness. The night before had brought more hazy dreams of midnight conversations with that strange, different side of Sam. In her dreams he asked her question after question about herself, as if he were hungry to learn everything there was to know about her. Though when she woke she had trouble remembering the details of their conversations, she liked their talks; she found the timbre of his voice calming to her. After the first few dreams in which they had conversed, dream- Sam had become more comfortable with her, stretching out his long legs in front of him as he lay half propped up beside her. She'd slip into a deeper sleep than she'd ever had while his fingers stoked her hair. She was so frustrated that she couldn't remember more, the details shimmering just out of her minds reach. Still every night she breathlessly anticipated going to sleep, hoping for another tantalizing, frustrating dream.

Loosing a giant yawn, she placed her feet on the floor of the room she had just moved into after insisting with Sam that she didn't have to occupy his anymore. Though it was bare and simple, she liked it, in large part because there were no noisy neighbors or street sounds like in her apartment in New Orleans. Finally she could get some peace and quiet.

Daleney glanced at the clock, startled that it read 10:03 am. She hadn't meant to sleep in so late, especially not when she had big plans for today. Sam had promised to help her improve her gun skills, and she was grateful. When her father had died on a hunt her mother had sheltered her against the world of hunting, yet even as a teenager she had felt an inexplicable pull towards it, though now that pull was towards the two men that were so versed in that world. And not taking up hunting had turned into a way to not deal with her father's absence. So she'd decided it was about time she was able to properly protect herself against the monsters that her father had died fighting against.

Not wanting to waste any more time, she hastily rooted through the bag of clothes and toiletries she'd gotten from her apartment back in Louisiana, where she'd also visited her sister in the hospital, driving the amazing, and likely priceless, vintage motorcycle stored in the bunkers huge garage. Her sister was on the mend, slowly but surely getting better, much like Daleney herself. They'd spent hours sitting cross legged, knees touching, going through old pictures of their parents, reliving memories from their childhood. It was the closest they'd been in years, and strangely it was all thanks to Rebecca being kidnapped by a crazy shifter.

Smiling slightly to herself, Daleney found what she was looking for, and slipped on a pair of faded blue jeans and one of the gigantic flannels Sam had loaned her, which she knotted at the hip to ensure she could successfully maneuver her small body in the oversized cloth. When that was done she padded in muffled sock feet to Sam's room to check if he was awake. She was anxious to get started as soon as possible, having checked out the bunker's formidable gun range the day before, and thankfully Sam's room was right next to hers.

She found Sam engrossed in one of the bunker's numerous weighty tomes, brow creased with focus, his large body hunched over the ancient text. From the look of the writing on the pages it was something Greek. He was so invested in the book that he hadn't noticed her appear in the doorway, so she knocked softly to alert him of her presence. When he saw her a warm smile lit up his face, and she found herself helplessly drawn to smile back.

"Morning sleepy head," he teased, a grin slipping into place as he closed the book in his lap with a weighty thup.

"Morning," she said back, tucking the toes of her left foot behind the ankle of her right, casually leaning against the door frame, "I didn't mean to sleep in so late, I guess I needed the shut eye" she trailed off with a secret smile. And the late night dreams…

Sam threw the book onto his bed as he rose, "Well now that you're up, how about a firing lesson?"

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The satisfying clap of the 9 mm pistol she'd borrowed from Sam echoed in the lofty firing range as her finger pulled the trigger again and again. She was really getting the hang of firing a gun, the bullets lodging firmly in the red circle of the paper dummy 50 feet away.

"Good!" Sam's raised voice cut through the gun fire, making Daleney lower her weapon and face him, his impressed grin contagious, "you're hitting the target with almost a hundred percent accuracy, that's crazy awesome" he praised, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, "I'm impressed"

"Thanks," she said with a laugh, "I guess I'm a natural" she replied a bit sarcastically.

"You just might be" Sam said, not at all sarcastic, eying her, "I haven't seen shooting skills like that in awhile…" he trailed off, seeming to be in deep thought, "But how's your hand to hand combat?" he asked.

Apprehensive, she frowned as she answered, "Uh…non-existent"

A boyish smile graced his features, and Daleney found herself wondering with happy anticipation what that smile could hold, until his voice broke the silence, "Let's find out"

And that's how, 10 minutes later, Daleney found herself circling Sam, her fists up, ready to block any blow he might direct at her. As they circled each other he gave her tips, how to block a torso jab, or where to land an effective face punch. She soaked up his every word, her eyes wary on his own fists, yet instilled with the assurance that he would never hurt her. And finally, after countless instructions, his open palm flew out, headed towards her neck, and she blocked it easily with a diagonally placed forearm. He seemed impressed before quickly swinging a closed fist towards her torso. She reciprocated by catching his fist in her hand and swinging his arm down at an awkward angle so that he had to twist his body to avoid a broken arm. "Good" he huffed out through grated breaths, and she felt pride and confidence flood her veins and color her cheeks before she released him.

On and on their sparring went until they were both sweaty and out of breath, still circling, each with bruises in differing states of formation blooming on various body parts. She had to admit that seeing this side of Sam was a little terrifying; he was lethal and had knowledge of countless ways to maim and kill. And yet, as his chest heaved and his molten gaze fixed on her she felt an answering heat of the delicious, tingly variety roar to life within her, until it felt like her whole body was on fire. It was equal parts intimidating and, well, hot. He was hot. There was no use denying it, and maybe it was because of that small thought echoing in the back of her mind that when Sam's big hands grasped her waist, and one of his long legs came behind her knee to direct her in an efficient tackle, sweeping her to the floor, she didn't really fight all too much.

As her back hit the ground and the breath left her chest with a slight sigh, Sam positioned his strong forearms beside her head, bringing his face close to hers. She felt his warm breath tickle her neck as he rasped out, "We'll have to work on your tackle defense", though he didn't seem too interested in teaching anymore.

Their eyes locked, and from this close she could see the flecks of gold and blue in his green eyes. She could practically feel the rough stubble of his jawline rubbing so sweetly against her jaw, her neck, and even lower, against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs…mmm…

Her eyes darted to his lips, so close she could almost taste them, warm and soft, against hers. She wanted to catch his lips in hers, to nibble and tease and swirl her tongue against his. She found herself leaning up closer to him and amazingly he leaned down a little lower, as if to fulfill her desires.

Just at that moment Dean's footsteps echoed down the hallway, announcing his impending presence. They had just enough time to hop up out of their compromising position and get into their makeshift fighting stances. Their breaths were still coming fast when Dean walked into the room, humming some Metallica song and nibbling on a piece of pie he'd picked up that day. No doubt he was already halfway through the damn thing.

Daleney's lips quirked at that strangely endearing thought. Lots of food, great company, good water pressure; if she wasn't careful, this place could start to feel like a real home, not just some place she kept her stuff and passed out at, exhausted between doing research for the boys cases and going back and forth between the Bunker and New Orleans to shuttle more of her stuff here.

A sudden bolt of longing so fierce it nearly made her sway on her feet hit her in the very center of her being, and it occurred to her that she might greatly desire a home of her own. As Dean announced that the reason for his visit was to show her how to handle herself in a knife fight, and started in on different knife holding techniques, demonstrating between bites, she bit her lip and cast a sideways glance at both of the boys that had opened their home to her. Yes, she'd very much like to call this place her home, here with them.

Much more than she was ready to admit aloud.

Sam

Leaning back against his headboard, Sam glanced up from the dusty pages in front of him, casting another stealthy look at the woman curled up on the other side of his bed. Sam tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. She looked so peaceful, so comfortable here with him, and he found that he rather liked that she was felt so at home. She was sketching on a notepad they'd found in a supplies closet, absently twirling a curled strand of rich, dark hair that had escaped the loose bun coiled at her nape, her bright amber eyes flicking up to Sam's face every so often. He pretended not to notice, but curiosity got the better of him, and as he set aside the book he'd been pretending to read between sneaking glances at her, he asked, "What are you drawing?"

A playful grin bloomed on her lips, and Sam attempted to ignore what that did to his pulse as she replied, "You'll see soon enough," her gaze flickered back up to meet his and her grin unfolded into a full smile, "Call it a surprise for someone's upcoming birthday that they neglected to tell me about" she teased as she tucked the colored pencil she'd been using behind her ear.

Sam felt shock infuse his features briefly before he managed to sputter out, "How did you find out?!"

She laughed, the sound tinkling and pleasant to his ears. He made a note to make her laugh more often. "Take a guess," she replied, her eyes glittering "Here's a hint, he loves pie, is a shameless flirt and is very willing to give up information after being plied with alcohol"

Dean, Sam thought with a small tinge of exasperation, though he found himself smiling back at her. He liked that she'd asked Dean about him, it made his chest tight in a way he couldn't quite explain. With a sigh he ran a hand through his hair, replying, "Well the secret is out now; just promise nothing huge, okay?"

Grinning at him like a Cheshire cat, she spoke in that whiskey voice he was starting to wanna hear more of, "I can neither confirm nor deny…" she trailed off, her tone mockingly ominous, becoming bright again when she continued "But I can say that there will be gifts"

"Gifts?" Sam replied, unable to hide his blatantly worried tone, "What kind of gifts?"

"Nope," she said pressing her lips together, "No more hints for you, future birthday boy"

"Oh come on," Sam replied, half-unintentionally flashing her a look he would only admit to himself was characteristically reminiscent of pleading puppy dog eyes, "Just one more little hint?"

She sucked in a breath, her own eyes going soft as she gazed at him. Sam felt warmth sizzle in his chest, and without thinking he reached a hand out to brush his fingers across her cheekbone, a delicious heat sparking on his fingers. He watched a gentle blush color her cheeks as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, her amber eyes meeting his. He could almost imagine that her thoughts mirrored the heat sizzling within his own, or had he fantasized the molten look she flashed him? She glanced down, her eyes fixing onto his lips, a rosy glow flushing across her cheekbones as her little pink tongue licked at her bottom lip. His eyes instantly flashed there, and a bolt of something hot and fierce coursing through his veins.

Coherent thoughts abruptly fled Sam's mind as an almost palpable attraction crackled between them. Was it just him that felt this connection in the heavily laden air? As if she'd heard his thoughts, her eyes flew back up to meet his, gazing at him with heated intention. His own eyes swept down her body of their own accord, cataloging the fall of his blue flannel that graced her slim shoulders, the neck open a few buttons the reveal the shadows and contours of her collarbone and below, her strong lithe arms and small gentle hands that lay in her lap. He liked her in his clothes much more than he was would admit out loud. His eyes fell to her toned torso, following the swells and dips of her curves, encased in blue plaid, splotched with red – wait, red?

The warmth that whispered through his body turned to icy cold panic as worry overtook that delicious heat. He had no time to mourn its loss as he automatically checked her over for other injuries. Not wanting to alarm her too much, he spoke softly, "You're bleeding".

Confusion flashed across her face, followed quickly by a frown of annoyance tinged with pain. He himself frowned; he wanted to see her smiling again, or gazing up at him, heat shimmering in her eyes.

"Ah damn," she murmured as she pressed the wound tentatively, her fingers shaking a bit as they became stained red with her blood.

"Here, let me take a look," Sam said, gently rolling up her tank top, surveying the bleeding, "We'll need more gauze, Dean should have some in his room" he said absently, more focused on how much better her injuries looked. The gash, the bruising, it all looked weeks healed instead of days. Even the cut itself looked better; having progressed past being healing and pink at the edges, the skin there the same smooth tan as the rest of her body. Strange…

"I can get it," she replied, easing out from under his hands, swinging her legs up and off the bed, preparing to rise.

"No, no-" Sam started, but she interrupted him, waving a hand in the air to cease his protests as she crossed the room on steady feet, "Sam really, it's cool, I can get it. You've already done enough to take care of me. Please let me help" she finished with those big, bright eyes looking pleadingly at him.

Hell if those molten eyes wouldn't be the death of him. He grumbled an agreement in response, and in return was graced with a smile that lit up her face as she went out the door. Dean's room wasn't far from his, she shouldn't be long, so Sam started setting out supplies to attend to her wounds. While he did so, his gaze fell on the sketchpad Daleney had been using; the image was turned face down so that he couldn't see it. He burned with curiosity, suddenly dying to know what she'd been sketching. Trying to justify sneaking a peak, he reasoned that she wasn't finished yet, so whatever he was might not be the finished product. That wasn't really running the surprise, right?

With that logic, he reached out and turned the sketchpad over, surveying the picture before him. It was a rough, but very accurate sketch of his face. Everything was expertly done, from the fall of his hair, to the cut of his jaw and the lines of his mouth. He could see what the finished product would be, and for a moment he marveled at her skill, wondering if she'd taught herself this craft.

And then he saw the eyes. For a minute he thought his own eyes were playing tricks on him; he even rubbed his thumb over the image, seeing if it was real. But it was, she'd really drawn it there. Staring up at Sam, etched into a portrait of his own face, were two eyes, colored a bright, jarring blue, so alive they almost glowed, seeming to pin his gaze in a fierce stare. Some emotion he couldn't name rose up in him, so strong it nearly stole his breath away. He absently realized part of what he felt was a longing, a soul deep longing burning behind the confusion and fear. With a lump in his throat he set the paper aside.

Whatever his rolling emotions meant, Sam knew one thing for sure; those eyes were sure as hell not his.

Daleney

Shuffling down the hallway to Dean's room, Daleney tried to push away the fresh wave of apprehension that arose in her mind at her unexpected plan to speak to Dean without arousing Sam's suspicion. It was true that she wanted to help, and Sam had already done so much for her, but retrieving some gauze was not the only reason for her visit to Dean's room now.

Reaching his doorway, she hesitated for a moment before she knocked, seeing him laying on his bed with his eyes closed, Bad Company pouring out of his headphones as he bobbed his head to the music. She regretted disturbing him when he looked so peaceful, but she needed answers, and now was a good a time as any to get them.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she knocked softly a few times. Dean's green eyes snapped open and focused on her, a slight upwards twitch of his lips an indication that he was glad to see her.

"Hey shortstop," Dean said as he removed his headphones, "Whats up?"

She smiled at him, then gestured to her side splaying the red soaked fabric as she replied, "My cut started bleeding, would you have more gauze I could use?"

"Of course, lemme see it…"Dean trailed off as he went full nest mother mode and checked, then rechecked her injury, all the while muttering about Sam's fix up job on her side. She tried to stifle her grin as he retrieved his own stash of medical supplies.

While he sifted through ankle wraps and disinfectant wipes, Daleney tried to muster up the courage to say what she'd really come here to say. She would've chickened out if not for a brief memory of that strange night she'd found the boys hadn't flashed through her mind.

Studying her hands, she spoke softly, "Hey Dean, can I ask you something?" She felt his worried gaze fix on her face, though she kept her eyes on her hands, knowing she couldn't meet his gaze yet without losing all her resolve. After his affirmation for her to ask, she swallowed thickly and continued, "The night you and your brother found my sister, when the shifter stabbed me, I thought I saw something weird….with Sam"

She was all too aware that he'd become still as she'd spoken, and she chanced a peek up at him. His jaw was set in a hard line as he clenched his teeth, his eyes steely and focused resolutely on her. She continued, "His eyes, I thought they flashed the bright white before I passed out," studying his face before she continued, choosing her words carefully, "Dean, I imagined that, right?"

She knew she was grasping at straws for some kind of explanation, but she had to ask. She held her breath waiting for Dean's reply. He stared at her for a few long moments before gripping the retrieved gauze in his fingers. She thought she saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, so powerful it nearly made her gasp, though he carefully recomposed his features a moment later. Finally he replied, "Of course kiddo, when you sustain an injury like that your brain goes haywire, all kinds of chemicals are dumped into your system"

She huffed out a breath, and grasped onto his explanation like a drowning woman to a life raft, "Yeah, yeah that's what I figured, but I had to ask" she met his gaze again and continued, "I was afraid that I was going crazy…" she trailed off, feeling the fear and uncertainty resurface in her eyes.

Dean's warm palm came to rest on her shoulder, and she was glad for that anchor to the present to keep her from slipping into memories of the past. Dean's eyes took on a fierce sheen as her replied, "Hey, you don't have to be afraid of monsters like that anymore. You've got two of the best teachers to help you learn how to hunt, and we protect our own"

She smiled at his resolved expression, believing those words wholeheartedly. She met his eyes and replied with all the sincerity she could show him, "Thank you Dean, really, for everything"

He flashed her a smile that crinkled his eyes, a real smile, and gave her shoulder a squeeze before handing her the gauze and making light of their chick flick moment. She laughed along with him as he bashed Sam's medical skills once more and sent her with all the gauze she could carry to get stitched up, but as she started back to Sam's room all the doubts she'd tried to dispel came rushing back to her.

What had she seen that night? Could it really be explained away by her brain chemistry or was it something more. And what about her dreams? There were so many questions she didn't have answers too, and between her fevered dreams, and her own slipping grip on reality she couldn't help but feel like a boat set adrift on the ocean, trying to combat the battering waves.

As she rounded the corner back into Sam's room, greeted by his warm, gentle smile, she suddenly realized that he was her anchor, her safe place, and she wanted to be that for him too. Feeling gratitude and a hint of sparking chemistry settle in her chest she presented the gauze to him with a triumphant smile. As they grinned at each other, she decided that if these boys would have her, she'd gladly make this place her home.

And maybe, just maybe in this new home she'd find out the secrets behind all of her unanswered questions.