Sam can't tell what you're doing from his vantage point, just that whatever it is has had your full concentration for the past several hours. As he creeps closer he can hear your voice, light and happy, singing to yourself as your arms continue to attend to the task at hand.
He could hear you from the barn, your voice crystal clear with touch of sadness. You're drawing, fingers covered in black charcoal as you smudge the lines of a breathtaking portrait of a woman's face. You pause for a moment, tipping your head as if examining the grain of the parchment before resuming the skillful stoke.
Oblivious, your voice picks up volume, while you sketch with precise intent, completely focused.
Car tant vous aim, sans mentir
Qu'on poroit avant tarir
La haute mer
Et ses ondes retenir
Que me peusse alentir
de vous amer.
"What are you singing?" He asks.
You yelp in surprise, clasping a hand over your mouth, heart beating like a stallion. "Samuel, you scared me half to death."
"I didn't mean to." He places his hand to his chest in apology. "I'm sorry."
"Come sit with me," you suggest. He stares blankly for a moment and then lowers himself the ground beside you, picking up the parchment delicately, holding it up by the edges.
"You're talented." He looks to you, then back to the picture. "This is… incredible."
You blush. He's never complimented you before and it takes you off guard. Grinning like a fool you put a hand to your cheek. "Thank you."
"Who is she?"
"My mother." You reach over and run a dirty finger over her face. "I have to draw her otherwise the memory fades. I'm not entirely sure if that's true likeness or if my mind fills in the foggy parts."
"She was beautiful. You look like her." He comments, setting down the parchment and reaching for the others laying on the ground in front of you.
"Don't-" you reach out to stop him but he's already thumbing through them, holding up the next.
"Where is this?" It's a detailed drawing of a garden with tall, manicured bushes and a statue of a women in the middle. She's pouring water from the vase into the pool at the base of the fountain.
"My favorite garden. There are many within the castle walls, but this is the smallest and farthest from the gates. It's secluded and quiet. I spent a lot of time there."
"And this?" Sam picks up a portrait from the bottom of the pile. It's of a man sitting on the edge of a bed, looking down at his feet. There's a pained expression on his face. It's darker than the rest, thick broad strokes instead of delicate lines.
Sam feels you tense up, sitting up a bit straighter and clasping your hands in your lap. "My husband, Mathieu."
"Ah," he nods gently, looking away from you. "Were you singing for your husband?"
"No, I was singing for…" You pause, answering him honestly, "love in general I suppose."
"What happened to him?" Sam asks quietly.
"We both fell ill at the same time. My symptoms seemed far worse. No one thought I would survive...but I did. He died the day after my fever broke. It happened fast, there was nothing that could be done."
"How long were you married?"
"Twelve years." You sigh, looking up at the sun, anywhere but at Sam. He shifts beside you, picking up the picture again, analyzing the face now that he has more information.
"You were happy with him?"
"Very," there's no veiling the smile that spreads across your face. Your memories of Mathieu are painful, but also heartwarming. "I was sixteen when my father told me I was to marry him. I didn't want a husband, or anything to do with being a wife. I knew it was inevitable, but I'd convinced myself I was meant for greater things. I cried for days, it was all very dramatic. He was older by ten years and at the time that seemed like an insurmountable difference. But he was kind and smart and so funny. He made me laugh until my sides hurt..." You stop when you feel the emotions tightening in your chest. Sam doesn't want to hear you go on and on. "It seemed just as I was planning on growing old with him, he was gone."
"You're lucky to have had so long." He draws in a breath and grinds a thumb over the callus on his palm. He looks straight ahead, staring out at the tall grass, but his mind clearly elsewhere. "I had someone once, a long time ago. I was young, not much older than you were when you married."
"You had a wife?" You clarify, studying his face, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he expression sours.
"I had a mate, she was mine and I was hers. I should have married her but it seemed like we had all the time in the world. Once I claimed her it didn't seem like we needed anything more "
"She died?"
"In childbirth." Sam looks at you, his eyes staring a hole right through your very soul. "I lost my Omega and my child."
"Oh Sam, I'm sorry." You wish you had something more to say. You had never stopped to imagine his life before. It times it feels like he's always been with you.
"I'm only telling you this because I want you to know that I understand what it's like to lose someone. Now that my parents are gone I only have my brother."
"And me." You add confidently. You speak without thinking and panic for a moment, but it's not necessary as Sam just smirks softly and places a hand over yours.
"And you." He confirms.
"It would appear, Samuel, that you and I have more in common than one would suspect."
"Indeed." He smiles at you, squinting in the sunlight.
"I know that I can be a nuisance and I create more work for you, but I do appreciate everything you've done for me."
"You're never a bother. Life would be boring without you around."
You're in the village when the news comes.
Sam's beside you haggling with the butcher over a price for one of his pigs. They've been in the midst of a heated discussion for some time now and you wander absentmindedly down the row of men peddling their wares. Stopping to admire a woven skirt you don't even notice when Hugh slides up beside you. Hugh knows everything and everyone, filling the village's unofficial position of town crier.
"Good morning, Y/N." His voice is sneaky and he smells faintly of body odor.
"Good morning, Hugh." You smile, side stepping to get away from his wafting stink. He's kind and enjoys making you laugh, you just wish he bathed more often.
"I have a something for my favorite mademoiselle." He feigns a terrible French accent and fishes in his cloak to present you with a shiny red apple, holding it like a crown jewel in his palm.
"It's beautiful," you take it, examining the unblemished skin. It's not often you're able to get your hands on the sweet fruits you used to devour on a daily basis. "Thank you very much!"
"I stole it," he winks at you.
"It'll be our secret then." Grinning, you admire this treat. It's amazing how life has shifted. A year ago you'd be appalled if a foul smelling man had even tried to speak with you. But you find yourself becoming accustomed to seeking out appreciation in the smaller parts of life.
"I have news from your homeland as well." He adds, slinking around you. Hugh has never attempted to hide his attraction to you. It's all meant in good fun, so you don't mind. He's a bit bolder without Sam around, leaning closer than needed when he speaks. "Would you like to know?"
"Yeah please," you grin, feeling your heartbeat just a bit stronger. Hugh's updates have been one your only links to the life you left behind and you look forward to any new reports.
"All of France is in mourning. The Mad King has died." He continues to talk but you hear none of it. There's a pressure in your chest, a feeling akin to that of fist tight around your heart.
"When?" You interrupt him, hardly able to force a whisper.
"Weeks ago now." He shrugs oblivious to your reaction. The world closes in as your vision narrows into a tunnel of claustrophobia. Your surroundings begin to blur and you draw in a deep breath to prevent yourself from losing consciousness.
"What have you said to her?" Sam's deep voice booms from behind you. Hugh looks up, wide-eyed and takes a step away from you. You feel Sam's familiar hands curl around your arm, turning you toward him. "What is it?"
"I did nothing, I swear to you." Hugh holds up his hands in a sign of submission.
"What's wrong," his brow furrows as you turn to him, opening your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. You're looking at him as if you're underwater, not really seeing what's right in front of you. A sob tears from your throat, a horrid raw sound that's accompanied by quivering lips and fat tears. Sam places both hands on your shoulders, looking to Hugh. "What the in the holy hell, did he touch you?"
"I never touched her!" Hugh panics, "I just bought her an apple." He stamers. "An apple, and news from France."
"Tell me," Sam commands. You're crying quietly, staring at the ground before pressing into his chest. He places a hand at the back of your head in an attempt to comfort you.
"The King died." He shrugs, utterly confused. "She must be a true patriot."
Sam can feel your trembling form against him, fisting his cloak in your hands as your knees give way.
"Please take me home." You mutter, trying to compose yourself. People are beginning to take notice of you.
Sam curls his arm around your side, pulling you from the busy street without another word. He helps you onto his horse, and the ride back to his cottage is a blur. The world doesn't seem to right itself until you're seated at the small, familiar table in front the fire.
"I'm sorry I made such a scene." You manage, wiping your eyes.
"You don't have anything to apologize for." Sam grunts. "He was your brother."
"He's dead." You stare at Sam with wet eyes, utterly shattered. If there's one thing he understands, it's complex emotions when it comes to family.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He kneels down before you, taking both your hands between his. No, you don't want to talk about anything, you want him to hold you, but you don't dare ask for that.
"I've talked enough for a lifetime." You sigh. You don't mean it as a joke and Sam tried to contain his amusement. "I just want to sleep."
Your slumber is long and hard, waking up to the sounds of Sam rustling around by the hearth. It's midday, and he should be hard at work in the forest, but instead you find him sitting at the table, sharpening various blades.
"Why are you here?" You ask, taking a seat across from him in your nightdress, hair still wild from sleep. Any sense of propriety you felt being around him in such a raw state faded long ago.
"I thought you might want company." He offers, his face unwavering. "No one should be alone in times like this."
You smile down at your lap. Sam is always kinder to you than you deserve and this is no different.
"Can we go for walk?" You inquire, thrilled at the prospect of spending a whole day with him, it's the only thing that seem to take the edge your grief.
"Of course." Confirming your request, he looks up, catching you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long. "Did you want go as you are or would you like to dress first?"
"So witty." You retort.
You dress, then try to eat, but your appetite is nowhere to be found. Before you know it you find yourself on the narrow path that leads to the small pond. Sam is walking a snail's pace beside you, willing himself to slow down and set the measure of your footsteps.
"I'm sorry." He offers, bending down to pick up a large stick, banging it on his leg like a bored child. "I know, despite your reasons for leaving, that he meant a great deal to you."
"Thank you." You wander on in silence, trying to focus on the slight breeze and the easy feeling of companionship when you're with him. You wish you could always be with Sam, to watch him grow old and grey, waking up beside him each morning until you're wrinkled and cranky.
"What are you going to do?" He asks, looking forward.
This is the moment of truth. You chose your words carefully, watching his expression as you speak. "I'll write to my brother, Philip. I don't know what's transpired in my absence but I dare to hope that I may be welcome home."
Sam twitches, his mouth tightening for a brief moment as he snorts. "Good. You'll be better off in France, where you belong."
You don't think it's possible for your heart to break more than it already has, but somehow the ache in your heart and head intensify. There was part of you that thought, perhaps, he would at least express a fleeting sentiment of sadness at the idea of your departure.
If you had gotten what you really wanted, Sam would have turned to you and taken you into his arms, pleading for you to stay with him. He'd take your hands in his and tell you that the very thought of living without you makes him ill, that he can't imagine his life without you. But instead he acts as if you've said nothing of consequence.
Just when you think you couldn't be any more disappointed, he adds "I'll hire a messenger for you."
For six long, agnosing weeks you live in the hell that is Sam's terrible disposition. You hardly see him, he's gone before you awaken and many times does not return until after you've gone to bed. You listen to him, drunk as a skunk and mumbling to himself, as he knocks around in a stupor before passing out. When you do have occasion to see him he barely speak to you, ignoring you in favor of a book that you know for a fact he's already read ten times over.
It appears that you have finally overstayed your welcome.
"I have good news!" You half-shout, your voice suddenly too loud as you struggle to control the sickening feeling in your stomach. He's just outside the barn, preparing his stead for the yearly hunt. Every able bodied man is about to depart into the woods in hope of securing enough meat to make it through the winter. He'll be gone at least a fortnight.
"What is it?" Sam asks distracted, tightening the saddle on his horse.
"The courier returned, he brought a letter from my sister." Sam pauses, but doesn't turn to you. "I've been invited to come home."
"Good," he grunts, continuing to attend to the mare Your heart sinks. You might vomit. He cares so little that he can't even be bothered to stop what he's doing to give you his full attention.
"It wasn't just the message that arrived...my brother sent knights to escort me home whenever I wish to depart. They're in the village."
"I'm happy for you." Sam turns to grab a rolled up blanket from behind you, nearly knocking you over. He doesn't even look at you.
"We can depart in the morning and it appears that you're leaving now, so this could be the last time we…" Don't cry. "Our last chance to say goodbye."
"Well then," He finally looks at you, his eyes wild and nostrils flaring. "Goodbye."
"Why are you always upset with me?" You ask, unsure of exactly what's happening. You've come to him with intention of gathering your courage and telling him what this last year has meant to you… but it's clear now that your plan was flawed. Any hope of being able to express your feelings die with his words. "I didn't do anything."
"That's nothing new."
"I don't understand you, Samuel. I was sure you'd be thrilled at my impending departure, I thought knowing I'd be out of your hair would put you in a better mood, but you're angry with me all the time now. Is it that I didn't depart soon enough? Has your tolerance for me finally reached its breaking point? I had hoped that, perhaps, we would part as friends. I can see now that was foolish."
"I don't have the words to-" Sam draws in a breath and shakes his dead, arm flailing at his sides.
"Tell me," You snip with your hands on your hips. "You have been impossible for weeks now, so just tell me what it is you have to say. Just get it off your chest. This is the last chance you'll ever have."
"You make me feel like a lunatic!" Sam cries, throwing his arms into the hair.
"The sentiment is mutual." Pursing your lips your mentally prepare yourself for the barrage of insults you're sure are to come.
"You are the most ridiculous person I have ever known. The way you talk, the way you eat those tiny little bites like a church mouse. You leave a mess everywhere you go and you don't know how to do anything! I can't even ask you to feed the horses while I'm gone because I would never expect that you would get that close to actual work."
"If I am so awful then why have you allowed me to stay with you all this time?" You inquire, stepping toward him.
"Because I love you!" Sam shouts, then recoils as if he surprised by his confession.
You heart speeds up to a gallop in your chest. Narrowing your eyes you take step closer to him, examining his features for any sign of jest. You've gotten better at deducing when he's making fun at your expense. "What did you just say?"
Sam balks, closing his eyes and pressing his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose. "I am quite tired and very hungry. It's possible I could have said anything."
A slow smile spreads across your face, as an excited stir bubbles up from your belly. Taking a step even closer to confirm. "You love me?"
"Dear Lord," he mumbles, "against my better judgement."
"Samuel Winchester, the cantankerous woodsman who would rather skin a rabbit than help me with my corset, loves me." You bite your lip, clasping your hands dramatically. You're more happy than you've ever been in your life, but unable to control the urge to tease him just a bit more. He does deserve it after all. One doesn't tell a woman he loves her against his better judgement without there being some repercussions.
"You are impossible," Sam snears. He's always at a loss when it comes to you, feeling somewhere between the urge to fuck and strangle you.
"I am quite the woman." You sigh, bobbing on one hip, not ready to let him off the hook. He's been so awful these last weeks. "With my unmatched candle making skills and a natural aptitude for the outdoors."
"I pictured this conversation going differently." Sam laughs with exasperation. "You make my blood boil."
"Surely there must be something you like about me?" You challenge him.
Sam's chest heaves with a mighty breath as he reaches out and grabs your arms, pulling you closer to him. His finger squeezes your biceps while he gazes down with an expression of affection. "You're the most infuriating woman I have ever known, but you're also the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. But, more importantly, you are brave. Brave to leave everything you know and set out in the world. Brave to save me from a pack of wolves. You are self assured and overconfident. You don't accept your own limits. You make me feel things in a way I didn't think was possible."
"Sam," you breathe. For the first time in your life you're speechless.
"And now that I have bared my heart to you, will please put me out of my misery and tell me if you feel the same." His head tilts to the side, scrutinizing your face.
"I have loved you for a long time." Your heart is ready to burst at the very idea of this strong, wonderful man making such a bold statement. "You really think I am brave?"
"Yes, more so than any person I have ever known." Sam's looking at you with stare that makes your legs weak. His hand comes up to your face, cradling your jaw as his thumb catches your bottom lip. You tilt to the side, offering your neck so he can scent you. He bends down pressing his nose into the skin right below your ear, inhaling slow and deep, a simple gesture that feels supremely intimate. The touch of his skin on yours sends a chill down your spine. When he pulls away you start to protest but open your eyes to find him offering himself to you in turn. Standing on your tiptoes you stretch up and nuzzle your face into his neck. Inhaling him while you open your mouth, pressing your parted lips against the scratch of his facial hair.
Sam groans and pulls you flush with his body, snaking a hand around your waist. When you pull your head back he cradles your face with a large, rough palm, bending down to kiss you just as the horns sound in the distance.
The hunt is beginning and they won't wait for him.
Sam stops, freezing as he closes his eyes and gathers restraint. "I have to go, if we continue this I won't have the will to stop."
"Okay." You confirm with a nod. "I will wait for you to return. At which time we can discuss more of the reasons you love me."
