A/N: Thank you to my wonderful, fabulous, selfless betas, skzb, Cartersdaughter, and Catsluver, who take time out of their busy lives each week to help me out tremendously with this story. Special thanks to Catsluver for convincing me that Dean needed to be much angrier in this chapter and for lending me some of her talent for description in making him, well, Dean. :)

Thanks, as always, to the guests who reviewed last chapter and to all of you for reading, reviewing, alerting, or favoriting!

Chapter 28

When TJ found Sam's room, Dean was standing outside the closed door, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a charcoal-gray T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. How had she not noticed that before? If someone had asked her five minutes ago, she wouldn't have had any idea what Dean was wearing. She realized then just how rattled and preoccupied she'd been by everything. "How's Sam?" she asked.

He gave her a what-do-you-care kind of shrug, expression hard.

"Please, Dean," she drawled softly.

He stared at her for a beat, then spoke brusquely. "He woke up briefly and I talked to him. He was lucid. Doc's in with him now."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

Dean's brows drew together. "He's got the mother of all migraines. The doc's gonna give him something for the pain. He should be okay eventually."

Her stomach clenched at the thought of Sam in pain. "I came as soon as they told me he was in a room."

"Sorry they interrupted your touching reunion with Jeremy," Dean mocked.

Dismayed by his hostility, TJ tried to explain. "Dean, Jeremy's a close friend. I've known him all my life. He's like family, and his mother—who was my mother's best friend and like an aunt to me—is about to be carted off to the nuthouse. What was I supposed to do, tell him to fuck off?"

"That would have been a start." Anger flashed in his eyes. "Are you forgetting what Auntie Suggs almost did to the twins?"

"No," she said, feeling a stab of cold queasiness in the pit of her stomach at the reminder. "I'll never forget that as long as I live. But it wasn't Jeremy's fault."

"No?" His jaw hardened. "He should have kept her on a leash."

"She's mentally ill, Dean." TJ was disturbed by Dean's callousness. "And it's not like he left her alone. If all this is anyone's fault, it's mine. I should've been more on guard. I was the one who was supposed to be watchin' her."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and the rough stubble on his jaw. Dark circles underneath his bloodshot eyes were a dead giveaway he was exhausted. "Yeah, well, he never should've left you to watch her. He knew better—or he should have." His face contorted with contempt. "And apart from letting his psycho mom run loose, Jeremy's been a dick to Sam."

"Yes, he has," TJ conceded, "and he's sorry for that."

Dean snorted doubtfully. "He should be. I ought to go out there and rip him a new one in his sorry ass. He turned you against Sam every way he could. He used every trick in the book to separate you from Sam—not only from Sam but from your own babies!" Dean's voice had gotten steadily louder, and his last words seemed to echo in the hall.

TJ was shocked and a bit intimidated by Dean's wrath, which, although slightly skewed, wasn't unjustified. She felt shaky and drew in a fortifying breath, trying to calm her nerves. "Everything you said is true, but it wasn't all Jeremy. I was no saint in all of this—and Jeremy really does feel bad about everything. So do I. I know he took advantage of my memory loss, and it was shitty of him to do that, but..." She stopped. It was probably a waste of breath to defend Jeremy to Dean.

"But what?" Dean snapped, prompting her.

She let out a resigned sigh. "Maybe I let him take advantage. I needed him, Dean. At least, I thought I did."

He turned his head away from her and stared at the wall opposite him, jaw set in granite.

"I don't expect you to understand, but I want you to know whatever was between us—whatever I thought was between us—is over. He's just a friend, and that's all he'll ever be. I love him like a brother." She huffed an ironic laugh and ran her hands through her hair. "I can't believe I just said that." She'd always hated it when guys said they loved her like a sister.

Dean stared at her intently. She got the feeling he was about to say something caustic, but they were both distracted when Dr. Steve came out of Sam's room. They both looked at the doctor questioningly.

"Sam's vitals still look good. We were able to wake him again, and he was responsive. He answered a few questions for me." Steve scratched his bald spot. "Looks like your suspicion was right, Dean. It appears that he has a severe migraine. I'm still not sure what happened in that barn, but, aside from the headache, I think he's gonna be okay. He hasn't responded yet to the DHE—that's an abbreviation for a migraine drug with a ridiculously long name—so I've ordered some Demerol to be added to his IV to see if that helps. If he starts responding to the DHE and all goes well, he can go home sometime in the morning."

Dean nodded, and TJ felt some of her tension ease.

Once Steve was gone, Dean heaved himself away from the wall, standing up straight. "I'm gonna stay with Sam," he said tiredly. "Why don't you go back to the farm...or your little friend? Your dad can come get us in the morning when they release Sam."

"No," she said defiantly. "I want to stay with Sam."

Dean shook his head, and when he spoke, his tone was acerbic. "Too little, too late, sweetheart." He turned and put his hand on the door handle.

TJ put a hand on his arm, stopping him. She could feel the muscles in his arm tense, could feel his barely-restrained animosity. "Please, Dean." Her voice was the perfect balance of polite, steely calm and determined Kentucky backbone. She wasn't about to back down, no matter how formidable Sam's brother was. "I want to stay with him. Let me stay."

He still looked angry and distrustful.

She glanced down, struck by the true meaning of what she was about to say. When her eyes found Dean's again, she felt a surge of emotion that caused her chest to constrict, but she made her voice strong. "He's my husband."

Dean was utterly still for a moment, gaze locked obstinately with hers, his expression grim. He seemed to be debating what he should do. Finally, he released the door handle and raised his hand, jabbing his fingers at her. "If there's anything—anything at all—you call me."

It wasn't a request. It was a demand. But she'd won the battle.

XXXXXXXX

Once Dean was gone, TJ slipped quietly into Sam's room, careful not to make any noise that might wake him. In the end, Dean's protectiveness of Sam had won out over his anger with her, and he'd given her a litany of instructions about how she needed to be careful because Sam's migraine would make him sensitive to noise and light, and he might wake up nauseated.

The thought of how angry Dean had been with her made her cringe. She had a lot to prove to him, but the fact that he'd relented and let her stay with Sam was a start. Dean had seemed to like her until the whole hugging Jeremy thing, and she hoped he would eventually soften toward her and they could be friends. She knew one thing: She would gladly spend the rest of her life showing him how she felt about Sam.

Sam's room was almost dark. Only the faint glow from a very dim floor light and a silent heart monitor gave off any illumination. It took TJ's eyes a split second to adjust, and then she saw the outline of the sleep chair near Sam's bed that Dean had mentioned. She made her way to Sam.

The head of his bed was slightly raised, and her eyes traveled to his face. His brow was smooth and he looked peaceful. She hoped that meant the medications were kicking in and he wasn't in pain. There was a shadow of stubble on his jaw, and she ran her fingers along its scratchiness with a feather-light touch. He was completely out and didn't stir. Her heart filled to overflowing with a powerful emotion—okay, love—that made her eyes water and her throat constrict.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead, lingering there far longer than was necessary and breathing in the musky, spicy scent of him. She thought of everything that had happened—the revelation of his strange, scary past; the terror of Liv trying to hurt the twins; Sam's strength and heroism, not only in saving the twins but in the way he lived his life every day—and she knew her mother had been right all those weeks ago when TJ first came home from the hospital. This amazing, beautiful man and the two babies he'd created with her were TJ's whole world, and she would never take them for granted or want any other life ever again.

So what if demons, ghosts, and monsters were real? So what if Sam thought he was cursed, that he thought he was dangerous? At least he knew more about what went bump in the night than the average Joe and would be better equipped to protect his family from it. Besides, if she'd learned one thing in the past twenty-four hours, it was that nothing in life was guaranteed. Danger could come from the most unexpected places—even from her own backyard—and it didn't have to be a supernatural creature to be her worst nightmare.

She brushed a few strands of Sam's soft hair away from his face and kissed his cheek. She wanted to know him again, to feel and rediscover every inch of him. She glided her fingers over the smooth skin of his arm, over the hospital ID bracelet that somehow managed to make his wrist look unmistakably masculine, and down to his hand. Then she laced her fingers with his and squeezed gently, reassured by his warmth.

Her gaze scanned over the rest of him. On his other hand, there was a pulse ox clip on his middle finger that led to the monitor she'd noticed earlier and an IV line that wound its way up from his arm to a clear bag of fluid hanging from an IV pole. Beneath the blanket that covered him almost to his chest, she could see lumps of pillows under his hips and legs and was glad someone had taken precautions to protect his skin.

Satisfied he seemed to be okay, she sat down in the sleep chair and kicked off the flats she'd worn to the birthday party, preparing to camp out for the night. Someone had brought in an extra pillow and blanket for the chair, and she punched the too-puffy pillow, sank her head onto it, and covered herself, squirming and trying to find a comfortable position. It was futile.

She sat up and peered at Sam. He was long and massive, taking up the whole bed, but he looked comfy and inviting on his nest of pillows. Despite the blanket covering her, she felt chilled and knew Sam's body would be warm—not to mention his shoulder would make a good place to lay her head.

She hesitated, eyeing him closely, and decided she could squeeze in if she angled her body just right. She pulled back the covers and eased into bed with him on the side where he wasn't hooked to anything. Snuggling against him, she pulled the covers back over both of them and lay her head on his shoulder.

His breath hitched faintly, but he didn't wake.

She let out a long sigh. Sam's body was way more comfy than the sleep chair.

The horrors of the day began to fade away and were replaced by a contented exhaustion. For the first time since she'd woken from the coma, she no longer felt lost. She was finally where she belonged.

XXXXXXXX

He woke with a start, his heart beating double-time. Something was wrong with his right arm, and he felt panicky. He couldn't feel it or move it. In fact, his chest felt weird, too, like something heavy was on it, and there was something wrong with his stomach, like something was jabbing into it. He was reluctant to open his eyes, although the pounding in his head had relented somewhat. He had the groggy, loopy feeling he was on a heavy-duty painkiller.

He groped with his left hand and felt his chest. There was something hairy there, and it wasn't his chest hair. Actually, it was hair from a head.

He chanced opening his eyes. The pain wasn't bad—well, it wasn't as bad—and he blinked a few times to clear his vision and adjust to the near-dark room.

The next question was: Who did the head belong to? Obviously, it wasn't Dean. The hair was much too long. He slid his hand down the silky strands and found a shoulder and then an arm. The thing gouging his stomach was an elbow, and he realized there was a hand over his heart. He rubbed the back of the hand and recognized the soft skin. He would know the feel of it anywhere.

"TJ?" he croaked out.

She didn't move. She slept like the dead when she was really tired.

"TJ, wake up." At least his tongue was working better and didn't feel so clunky, although he had to pry it from the roof of his mouth. He would kill for a drink of water.

She moaned faintly and then sighed.

He brushed his fingers through her hair, careful not to get the pulse ox clip on his finger tangled in it. Her hair was so smooth and fine. He'd never understood why she was so scornful of it. "TJ, I need you to wake up." He'd tried to speak louder, but his voice was hoarse.

TJ moaned again and her hand moved, rubbing lightly over his heart. Sam drew in a deep breath. He could smell her familiar minty, floral scent and closed his eyes, savoring it. If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't feel his arm, he would have stayed like that forever, content to feel her body so close.

He shook her shoulder. "Wake up, Teej."

"Hmm?"

"Wake...up," he said succinctly.

"Sam?" she said sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Ah," he grunted with a wince. "TJ, I can't feel my right arm. I need you to get up."

She jolted awake and shot up, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Oh, my Lord, Sam." Her voice was all sleepy, Kentucky drawl. "I'm so sorry." She grabbed his right hand and started massaging it.

The instant she'd gotten up, he started to feel the blood flow into his arm again, and he felt the first tingling feelings of the nerves waking up. He could feel her kneading his hand and arm, and he flexed his fingers. He was relieved. The numbness had been way too close to what the paralyzed part of his body felt like—or didn't feel like.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated, distress in her voice. She was still massaging.

"It's okay. It was just asleep." The tingling was more intense as more and more feeling came back into his arm and hand. He let her massage it for another minute, and then he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yeah. It's okay." He tried to see her expression, but her face was in shadow. He let his hand slip down to hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze, liking the weight of her hand in his.

He wanted to see her, so he decided to chance turning on a light. With his free hand, he hit the glowing picture of a light bulb on the panel of his bed, and a dim florescent hummed and brightened behind him. He squinted a bit, but the pain the light caused was tolerable.

She squinted too as the sudden light shone in her eyes. She rubbed them with her fingers and blinked her long lashes a few times.

"What time is it?" asked Sam.

She kept her hand in his but reached with her other to grab his cell phone off of the bedside table. "3:21 a.m." Her voice was still husky with sleep, and her hair was disheveled.

She looked vulnerable and kissable. Sam wanted to trace the freckles on the top of her nose and cheeks with his finger, but he didn't think she would appreciate it. He cleared his throat, trying to clear it of its hoarseness. "What—what are you doing here?"

She poked her tongue in her cheek, her mouth quirking. "Um, sleeping?"

He almost smiled. "Where's Dean?"

"He went back to the farm. He was exhausted and kind of pissy—mostly at me," she said ruefully.

"Why do you say that?"

"Just remind me never to get on his bad side," she said vaguely, glancing away.

Sam knew there was more to the story. He could imagine what Dean's mood might have been like if he'd seen TJ with Jeremy. Dean's wrath wouldn't have been pretty.

She changed the subject. "Either Dean or my dad will come pick us up in the morning when we spring you from here."

Sam sighed, feeling a wave of grogginess. "So you got babysitting duty?"

"Yeah. Can I get you anything? How you feelin'?"

"Fine."

"It's a sin to lie," she drawled wryly.

"I'm okay. They got me on the good stuff."

"You sure you don't want some water or something?"

He closed his eyes for a second. "Yeah. Water would be good."

She poured him some water from the pitcher on the nearby overbed table, and the lukewarm liquid felt good sliding down his throat. When he was done, he handed her the cup, which she set on the nightstand.

He watched her for a second, feeling a little self-conscious of all the stuff he was hooked up to—namely, the urine collection bag hanging on the other side of the bed. He wondered if she'd seen it and then told himself to get over it. It was just science.

"You didn't have to stay," he said.

She took his hand again. "I know. I wanted to."

She sounded sincere, but he was afraid to get his hopes up. He wanted to drift back to sleep with the warmth and softness of her hand soothing him and pretend that everything was okay between them, but unwelcome thoughts of her with Jeremy intruded. He opened his eyes and tried to keep his expression neutral and the derision from his tone. "How's Jeremy?"

She tilted her head. "Are you being facetious, or do you really want to know?"

He thought about it before answering. "Both."

One side of her mouth curved upward in amusement. She didn't answer right away, and he didn't push her. He shouldn't have mentioned Jeremy. Talk of Jeremy would lead to talk of Liv, and talk of Liv would lead to talk of what had happened and Sam's disturbing display of demon power.

TJ stared at their intertwined hands for a moment and then seemed to come to some sort of decision, like it was time to clear the air. She lifted her brown eyes to his with a strange kind of resolve. "First of all, nothing happened between Jeremy and me when I went over there last night. I spent the night in his guestroom—alone."

Sam kept his expression impassive, but a knot deep inside him began to uncoil just a little.

"As for Jeremy, he's how you'd expect. He's upset about his mom and really sorry for all the trouble she caused. He was horrified by what she did and felt guilty about it."

"Guilty?"

"Yeah. He knew she was getting more unstable, but he was in denial. He feels bad that he didn't have her committed months ago."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. On the one hand, if Jeremy really had known how dangerous his mother was, it made Sam angry that Jeremy had sat by and done nothing.

On the other hand, deep down, Sam knew Jeremy couldn't have foreseen what Liv did with the twins. No one could have—not even Sam, with the warning his vision gave him. Sam had known the twins were in danger, but despite the precautions he took, Liv had still stolen them from under his nose in broad daylight. It never occurred to him the twins might be in danger from a human.

Then there was the fact that Liv was Jeremy's mother—his family. If Dean suddenly went crazy, Sam wouldn't want to have his brother committed either. There was no way he could ever do such a thing, unless it was absolutely the last resort.

"Liv has a concussion," TJ went on, "but she'll be fine—physically, at least." There was a sad, faraway expression on her face. "They're moving her to a psychiatric facility in Lexington. She'll be under lock and key."

Sam had no love for Jeremy or Liv, but he knew how painful all this must be for TJ. She'd been close to them, whether Sam liked it or not. "I'm sorry," he said.

Her eyes traveled back to him. "Thanks. I know it must be hard for you to have any sympathy for her, but Liv was a good person and a good mother to Jeremy."

"It's okay, TJ. You don't have to explain. I understand." He'd seen his share of good people do bad things for whatever reason—demon possession, ghost possession, mental illness. It was nothing new to him. Hell, Sam himself had once shot Dean full of rock salt in an abandoned insane asylum because a ghost had screwed with his mind. The only reason he hadn't killed Dean was because the handgun Dean handed him wasn't loaded.

TJ held Sam's gaze for a long moment. "You really do understand, don't you?"

"I've seen a lot of things."

"Because of the hunting," she ventured.

He nodded, feeling uneasy.

She frowned, her brow knitting together. There was suddenly a gigantic elephant in the room neither of them wanted to acknowledge, and its name was Demon Blood.

Sam could almost hear the seconds ticking by, so heavy was the silence. The oppressiveness of it suffocated him, and he finally gave in and spoke, his voice barely audible. "So, I guess there's no doubt that my blood is still...tainted."

She didn't say anything, just glanced down at their hands again.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Are you—are you afraid of me?"

She looked up at him then, her face inscrutable. "You've asked me that before."

"You never answered me."

"You answered for me," she countered. "You told me I should be afraid."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "You should be."

"You told me I should take the twins and run as far away from you as I could get."

"It was good advice," he said, swallowing a lump of self-loathing. "I'm a freak, TJ—an abomination. Everyone close to me gets hurt or dies. Look what happened to you."

Moisture welled in her eyes, but her voice was strong. "That's not true, and it wasn't your fault."

"You can never be sure of that." He thought of Robby and Sami Joy and felt queasy. "The twins—you know the score, TJ. They could be like me. Maybe they're tainted too. Maybe their demon blood made you sick."

A tear spilled onto her cheek, and she wiped it away, shaking her head. "No. I don't believe that."

He huffed a bitter laugh and was suddenly angry at the unfairness of it all. He was cursed with demon blood—maybe his innocent children too, no matter how much he wanted to deny the possibility—and nothing would ever change that. Why him? Because he'd been raised a hunter? Yeah, he had. And so had other hunters like him. Why was he so fucking lucky?

He turned his fury on her. "Why aren't you with Jeremy right now? He's everything you want, TJ. You don't have to be afraid with him. You can have normal with him."

She seemed unfazed by his anger. "Maybe I don't want normal."

She'd said it so softly and gently that it gave him pause. He wasn't even sure he'd heard her right. "Why would you want to be with me? You saw it for yourself, the evil that was unleashed from me."

"How could what you did be evil?" Her tone was incredulous.

He shook his head. "It's not what I did. It's what's in me."

She stared at him pensively for a moment. "Sam, do you know the law of conservation of energy?"

It was a strange question. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, frowning.

"Do you know it?" she persisted.

He slogged through his foggy brain for the answer. "Is that the one they teach in high school physics that says the amount of energy on Earth is finite, that the total amount of energy in an isolated system remains constant over time?"

She smirked, merriment in her large brown eyes. "That would be the one. Have mercy. And I thought I was a nerd."

Despite his dark mood, he felt a faint urge to smile.

She nodded. "In other words, it means energy can change its location or form—like changing chemical energy to kinetic energy—but the energy itself can't be created or destroyed."

"I don't get what that has to do with having demon blood in me or its power."

"Well, what if that demon mojo isn't really demon mojo? What if there's only so much magic or whatever in the universe? What if Heaven and Hell or The Powers That Be or whoever—what if they all draw their power from the same source, and it's constant? What if it's like energy, and it can't be created or destroyed, only manipulated?"

He was skeptical. "I see what you're saying, but why would that matter?"

"Because maybe the power itself isn't evil. Maybe it's the person or thing that wields the power that makes it good or evil. The way I see it, you've only used your gift for good, to try to save people. Surely that wasn't what the demon intended."

Sam let that soak in.

"He couldn't control it once it was in you, Sam," she said with intensity, "and he couldn't control you."

Sam felt a twinge of hope, but he was afraid to let it grow, afraid of what the fates might do to him for daring to think maybe TJ was right.

"Sam, you saved Sami Joy and Robby. You were the only one who could." Her features turned anguished. "My God. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't...done your thing."

He hesitated. "Maybe. But...there's a darkness in me, TJ. And what good was the vision part of my gift?" he asked bitterly. "Liv stole the twins in broad daylight right out from under me, and I didn't even know it."

She rolled her eyes and then gave a short laugh. "Would you shut up? You'd make a horrible salesman, you know that? You're not very good at this wooing stuff. You're supposed to downplay your faults and play up your strengths."

He glanced down, feeling that hope he'd felt earlier start to burn brighter. What was she saying? Did she really want him to "woo" her?

"Besides," she said, "if you hadn't been hungover because I was acting like such a stubborn child, you probably would have noticed something was up. And Dean knocking at the front door distracted you more."

"Nice spin you put on it."

"It's not spin, Sam. It's the truth. Why are you so hard on yourself?"

"Years of practice."

She shook her head, her mouth pursed reprovingly. "It's not like you walk around zapping people all the time with your diabolical power." She gestured at the hospital bed. "Whatever you did to Liv, it hurt you worse than it did her."

His headache flared at the reminder, and he tried not to wince.

They were quiet for a minute, like they both had things they wanted to say but weren't sure how to say them. Finally, she was the first to speak, her tone sounding curious. "So, have you ever heard of a movie called Wings of Desire?"

He swallowed hard, his heartbeat quickening.

She looked down, suddenly preoccupied with her fingernails. "It probably doesn't mean anything. It's an old German film with this weird song—"

"I know."

Her head came up and she met his eyes with surprise. "You do?"

He nodded. "You and I saw it the first time we ever went on a date. Well, sort of a date. We were just friends. You took me out to thank me for tutoring you for a Latin test that you aced."

"Does 'lecturum te ad 5:00' mean anything to you?"

"'Picking you up at 5:00,'" he translated, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. "That's what you texted me after you found out what you made on your test. You were being a smartass, letting me know that we had a date. I'd told you I wouldn't go out unless you made a perfect score on the test."

"Oh," she said.

"Do you remember more Latin?"

She shook her head. "No."

He nodded, trying not to look too deflated. He'd felt a flicker of hope. TJ's neurologist had told them that sometimes, with the type of retrograde amnesia she had, fact memory was affected to a lesser degree than autobiographical memory. She might be able to remember impersonal or procedural things better than things that were personal or abstract. She did remember most procedural skills—except for how to tie her shoes and a few other small items like that.

She paused, thoughtful. "So, this movie...was it—did I like the movie?"

He was amused at the doubt in her voice. "Uh, no. You told me you'd rather stick a fork in your eye than see it again."

She made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "Why did we go see it, then?"

"I think you were being nice. You chose it because you thought it was something I would appreciate."

"Oh." She studied his face. "I must have really liked you."

His faint smile was bittersweet. "I think you did."

"Did you like it—the movie?"

"I did. Very much."

Her mouth curved enigmatically. "Good." Then, after a beat, she frowned again, like she was trying to remember. "Did we eat somewhere that had dinner rolls?"

"Yes. We ate at an Italian restaurant afterward." His heart was thumping now, and he took her hand and squeezed it. "What else do you remember?"

She shrugged. "That's pretty much it. Just, you know, the Latin; the name of the movie rings a bell; and I remember dinner rolls." She bowed her head. "It's not much. I know."

It was everything. Even if it was all she ever remembered, it was something—a little piece of their past together that hadn't been totally erased. He felt a surge of emotion and clenched his jaw, fighting a lump in his throat. Cupping her chin with his fingers, he raised her face so she would look at him. "You've remembered other things, haven't you?" He wasn't asking. He knew.

"I...guess. Sometimes it's just a feeling. Sometimes it's a lightning flash, a fleeting vision of something. They're so quick that half the time I'm not sure there's really any meaning to them. It's more like déjà vu. It's just enough to frustrate me and make me wonder."

"Next time, tell me, TJ. I'll help you remember."

She nodded and pressed her lips together, but he couldn't tell what thought or emotion she was suppressing.

"You know," she said, "a lot of times these feelings or memories or whatever you wanna call them—they get triggered by things like smells or music or things people say."

"Yeah?"

Her expression was serious, but there was a hint of mischief just under the surface. "Yeah. I wonder what would happen if, you know, we kissed."

His heart swelled with love for her, and he grinned. "I don't know. Maybe we should find out."

"I have bad breath," she warned, a teasing light in her eye. "I haven't brushed my teeth since yesterday morning."

"That's okay. I haven't either—and I threw up earlier."

Her freckles crinkled playfully and she laughed. He drank in the sound of it.

"Barf breath? Ew," she said.

"I know."

"I can top that. When I brushed my teeth yesterday morning, I used one of Jeremy's toothbrushes."

He tilted his head, slanting her a stern look. "That's a major cockblocker for me."

She arched a brow, unrepentant. "I wish it had been your toothbrush," she drawled, soft and sultry.

His mouth went dry and he felt a surge of heat. "Such a way with words, TJ."

She smiled, biting her lip, and then tried to be serious again, although her mouth still twitched with humor. "Okay. I'm ready if you are."

"I've been ready for this since January 1st," he said quietly, referring to the day she went into the coma.

She drew in a breath and seemed frozen for a split second—except for the moisture that welled in her eyes. She leaned in closer to him, swallowing tightly. "Have mercy. You are so..." She shook her head in amazement.

"I'm so what?" he asked, his heart pounding.

"I think Jeremy was right." Her mouth was slowly getting closer and closer to his.

"I don't want to know what Jeremy thinks."

"You might want to know this," she challenged.

Sam was wary, but he could smell her hair and skin and feel the warmth of her breath (which, by the way, didn't smell too bad after all), and the effect was electrifying. "Fine. What does Jeremy think?"

"That I'm falling in love with you." She paused for a beat and then added with a smile of wonder, "Again."

Sam's blood soared through his body, and he was filled with a joy that made him want to triumphantly flip the bird at Jeremy Suggs, the fates, the Winchester curse, and all the fucking demons in hell.

She kissed him then, her lips nudging his, tentative at first but then more demanding, until her tongue flicked over his lips and his teeth. He couldn't hold back and opened his mouth to her, feeling the warm, firm moistness of her tongue as it explored his mouth. She curled her hands around the back of his neck, brushing her thumbs lightly over the hair at his nape.

He ran his fingers through her hair, holding her to him. His body was on fire, every cell burning and longing for her, and the kiss became searing and urgent. He was making up for every agonizing moment in the past seven months that he'd wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to hold her, to make love to her. He poured his soul into kissing her, and she responded, giving him her soul in return.

He ran his tongue over her teeth and mingled with her tongue, then sucked as if he could devour her. It had to be the longest, hottest, most passionate kiss in human history, and when they finally broke apart, they were both breathless.

"So," he said, panting, "did you remember anything?"

"No," she said, but there was no disappointment in her breathy voice or the cheeky grin she was giving him. "Nothing."

"Oh." He hadn't really expected her to remember, but a small part of him had still hoped for a miracle. "I think it cured my headache," he noted.

She laughed, her dark eyes flirty and filled with warmth. "We could always try again," she drawled.

Sam was suddenly overwhelmed with need for her, and he found it hard to speak. He took her face in his hands and locked eyes with her, feeling a fierce, overwhelming emotion that made his chest feel tight with the expansion of his heart. "I love you, TJ."

She grabbed the front of his hospital gown with both hands and leaned in, brushing her lips over his. "Shut up and kiss me, Sam Winchester."

He was happy to oblige.

TBC

A/N: This is not the end, kids. Part 3 begins next week and will be around five or six chapters, so stay tuned...