Hello again. Sam's just a cutie, I guess, so I decided to write this. Really? It's been stuck in my head all week and I needed to put it on paper. Or, rather, the internet. Review ideas, yada yada yada.

Anyway.

On with the story!

"Dean told me that Sam likes you! Do you like him back?" Charlie babbled as she and Clara were walking through the mall. They'd made a few stops already, paying with the illegal credit card.

"No, and no. Sam does not like me. I know." Clara's face was stony as she tuned out the crowd around her. What was it her father used to say? Shut up, you little bitch. No... Ignore the world around you, as they are probably ignoring you. That's it.

"I need to do your hair. Seriously. I need to do it. It's gorgeous, dahling." Charlie put on a fake diva voice for that last sentance. Clara subconsciously reached up to twirl a strand of hair around her finger. She'd gotten more than enough clothing already, at least enough for five separate outfits."

"I'm not very...comfortable...with people touching my hair." Clara said slowly.

"Aw, sweetie, it's okay. I know how you feel. It's okay."

"Thank you. I think I am done. Thank you for taking me."

"No, thank you. Did I mention that you really should French braid your hair? I bet it would be gorgeous. Gorgeous. Sam doesn't know what he's missing out on."

"Sam? Why?"

"Never mind. Here, let's go."

The girls climbed into the Impala, Charlie babbling on about her hair.

"Pie!" Charlie yelled into the occupied bunker. "And no, Dean, we didn't scratch the Impala." She said before Dean could open his mouth.

"What flavor?" He asked instead.

"Cherry," Clara supplied as she headed for the bathroom. She felt that she needed to change out of the ratty clothes she'd worn for a month. Well, it wasn't like she had an alternative.

Charlie leaned over and whispered, "So where did you find her? Sam's obviously infatuated."

Dean looked at Charlie in a mixture of shock and confusion. "She was in the shower. And Sam? I thought he was done after Jess..."

Sam walked into the room, oblivious to the conversation that just occurred. "Pie." Sam sliced everyone a piece, putting the rest in the fridge. Everybody sat down (except for Clara, who was still in the bathroom) and began to dig in. Dean had barely finished his first slice (which he savored, then wolfed down every other piece) when Clara came out of the bathroom.

Sam would deny it, but later on both Charlie and Dean would remember a slight swoon from the younger Winchester.

Clara had entered the kitchen hesitantly, as if to avoid drawing attention to herself. Sam's eyes locked on her anyway, drinking in every last detail. Clara was dressed in a red button down which hugged her figure nicely, a white tank top underneath. Darker wash skinny jeans made her legs look longer than they already were, and she had a pair of black Converse. Funny. Jess hated Converse, deeming them impractical, but Sam was instantly in love with the shoes. A thin leather bracelet hung on her thin wrist, a silver...pentagram...charm in the middle. Her hair was down, a few glossy curls over her shoulder instead of on her back.

"Ahem. Sam, why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer," Dean chuckled, and Sam's face was instantly the color of Clara's new shirt.

"Uh, um...where's Cas?" Sam sputtered.

"Out. Said he had Heaven shit to deal with or something." Dean answered, still laughing at his brother's bright red face. Clara sat down slowly, in the only empty seat next to Sam. "Why? Do you always need the family together?" He said it as it were an inside joke.

"No. And tone down the cynical part of Dean, or you'll just be one of those cranky old dads. Right, Clara?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Clara, who's your daddy?" Dean cackled, but Clara's throat stuck. She pushed her plate away and stood up, hoping she wouldn't break down at the table. Striding quickly, she made it out the door on time to hide behind a tree before the tears came.

She remembered her father. The angry, drunken screaming matches. The needless rages. The bruises, each and every one of them seemingly deserved. Clara cried harder; loud, hiccuping sobs ringing through the trees that camouflaged the bunker.

At the table, Sam watched the door from his seat. He was hoping Clara'd come back, but after 10 minutes of silence, Sam rose. He turned to Dean.

"Dude, what the fuck!? Why'd you have to do that? Oh god, I really hope Clara stays with us. She can't go back to...to whatever." Sam poked his head out of the bunker door, no sign of Clara. Turning back to go inside, a wail reached his ears. After a few minutes of frantic searching, Sam finally found Clara pressed up against a tree trunk, her legs tucked into her chest.

He plopped down next to her, wrapping a long arm around her shoulders.

"Go away." Clara mumbled. She felt really bad that her first impression with them was a whiny teenager who sobbed a lot. She really wasn't like that, but she trusted too easily and let down her walls too often. "I'm...fine. Just leave me alone."

"No way. Dean made you cry. He can be an asshole sometimes, sorry."

"I can tell," she said dryly. She picked her head up. "And I'm the one who should be sorry. I've cried one too many times, it's just..." Her bottom lip quivered. "It's just you guys found the chinks in my armor, the holes in my walls all too easily. This is really hard for me to admit, because I haven't cried in, well, years."

"Wow. I haven't cried in weeks. It takes a lot. Dean's punishment is he has to find the next case, and do all the research. Although I might not go through with that. He's horrible at research."

"Really?" This earned a small smile from Clara. "Because it's really not that hard."

"Ah, well, this is Dean we're talking about." Sam stopped smiling, his face serious for a second. Clara looked up at him in confusion. Sam brought his other hand up to cup her chin, leaned forward, and pushed his mouth onto hers. Clara's eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, and brought her hands up around his neck. She kissed back slowly at first, but picked up the pace when Sam did.

In one fluid motion, her hands went from the back of his neck to pushed into his hair. When they broke, Clara's eyes never left Sam's. Still holding his head, she was quiet. "I'm so sorry." She whispered, and kissed the fleshy spot just above the bridge of his nose. She stood up, and headed back to the bunker, leaving Sam sitting on the ground, dumbstruck.