Christina Perri – Human
They were a mere hour away from the Bunker when Leila suddenly stirred in Ivy's lap. Her eyelids fluttered, and she took in a sharp breath, her eyes wide with disorientation. Sam, noticing the movement, immediately leaned forward to get a better look at her face.
"Leila?" he called softly, his voice filled with hope and concern.
Leila's eyes darted around the interior of the Impala, taking in her surroundings before settling on Dean, who was now back at the wheel. "Dean… stop the car," she whispered, her voice urgent and strained. Back seats and her stomach definitely still did not agree with each other, though she had a feeling she would be feeling lousy even if she were anywhere else.
Dean's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, catching Sam's worried gaze before quickly pulling the car over to the side of the road. The tires crunched on the gravel shoulder as the Impala came to a halt.
Before the car had even fully stopped, Leila scrambled to open the door, nearly falling out in her haste. Her legs were unsteady, and as she stumbled onto the asphalt, her knee scraped against the rough surface, but she barely noticed the pain. With one hand braced against the side of the car, she leaned forward and vomited, her body heaving violently.
Sam was out of the car in an instant, rushing to her side. He knelt beside her, one hand on her back, supporting her as she continued to retch. "Leila, it's okay. I'm here," he murmured, his voice soothing despite the fear gnawing at him.
Dean and Ivy exchanged worried glances before Dean killed the engine and got out as well, circling around to where Leila was slumped against the side of the car, breathing heavily.
"Leila, what's happening?" Dean asked, his voice rough with concern. He did appreciate Baby staying immaculate though.
Leila slowly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her body trembling as she tried to catch her breath. Her ethereal blue eyes, usually so vibrant, were clouded with pain and confusion, and it was clear that whatever had just happened had taken a significant toll on her.
"I… I don't know," Leila gasped, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to describe the gaping hole feeling in her chest. "Something… something's wrong. Like something is missing."
Sam, still kneeling beside her, noticed the crimson stain spreading on her knee where she had scraped it against the asphalt. His heart skipped a beat as he reached out, gently touching her leg.
"You're bleeding," Sam said, his voice laced with concern. The sight of blood seemed almost surreal—Leila, a powerful celestial being, shouldn't be this vulnerable.
Leila looked down at her knee, her expression one of shock and confusion. "I shouldn't be," she whispered, her eyes wide as she processed the sight. "I'm… I'm not supposed to bleed like this. Not anymore."
The realization hit them all at once. Whatever was happening to Leila wasn't just an attack; it was stripping her of her celestial essence, making her more human. The missing piece she felt was more than just a metaphor; something fundamental to her very being was slipping away.
Sam tightened his grip on her shoulder, a sense of urgency gripping him. "We need to get you to the Bunker, now."
Dean, who had been standing nearby, listening intently, felt a surge of determination. "We're almost there," he said, his voice firm as he moved to help Sam get Leila back on her feet. "Just hang on, Leila. We're going to fix this."
Leila nodded weakly, though the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. She leaned heavily on Sam and Dean as they guided her back to the car, every step a struggle.
As they settled her back into the Impala, Ivy quickly grabbed a spare cloth from the glove compartment, pressing it gently against Leila's bleeding knee. "We're going to get you through this," Ivy whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Dean slid back behind the wheel, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "Buckle up, everyone," he said, his voice rough with determination. "We're not stopping until we get to the Bunker."
Being back at the Bunker felt surreal for Leila. As Dean guided the Impala down the gravel drive and into the garage, she gazed out at the familiar, yet somehow foreign, surroundings with a mix of emotions swirling within her. The Bunker—the Men of Letters' secret stronghold—was as imposing as ever, its heavy metal door creaking open as they approached. The place had always held an air of mystery, with its dimly lit corridors, old-world architecture, and the hum of hidden machinery that seemed to pulse with the echoes of long-forgotten secrets.
Leila's memories of this place were sharp and painful. It was here, in these very halls, that she—or rather, her last body—had died weeks ago. The memory of that final breath, the coldness of death overtaking her human form, still haunted her. And it was here, within these walls, that she had been freed—unleashed from her mortal bindings and restored to her true self, the Midnight Star, a Zorya of immense power.
But now, as Sam helped her out of the car and guided her through the entrance, the weight of her situation pressed down on her. The Bunker, once a place where she had reclaimed her strength, now felt like a reminder of everything she had lost. The long corridors, lined with shelves of ancient books and artifacts, the worn wooden furniture, and the low, ambient lighting that cast shadows in every corner—all of it felt strangely oppressive. The sense of irony wasn't lost on her. She had come full circle.
Sam, sensing her unease, gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder as they walked. "We're going to fix this, Leila," he said quietly, his voice full of determination.
Leila nodded, though the words felt hollow in her ears. As they passed through the war room, with its imposing map of the world and the glowing red lights that marked the locations of supernatural activity, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was teetering on the edge of something catastrophic. The room was a reminder of the countless battles fought, and the many yet to come—a battleground she was no longer sure she could stand upon.
They finally reached one of the Bunker's many bedrooms, Sam's room to be exact, a simple yet comforting space with a sturdy bed, dark wooden furniture, and a small lamp that cast a warm, golden light. The room, like much of the Bunker, was filled with a sense of quiet resilience—a sanctuary amid the chaos of their lives.
Sam hesitated before they entered, shifting his weight awkwardly. He glanced around the room from the doorway, then back at Leila, who was still visibly shaken from everything that had happened but at least she was steady on her feet now. He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. "Um, would you prefer a room to yourself?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
Leila paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the room that radiated Sam's presence—books neatly stacked on the nightstand, a worn leather journal on the desk, and the familiar scent of old paper and pine that was uniquely his. Despite the turmoil she felt inside, this room, this space, felt safe. It was a refuge from the storm that raged both outside and within her.
She looked up at Sam, her voice soft and a little uncertain. "May I stay with you?"
Sam's initial discomfort melted away at her words, replaced by a gentle understanding. He nodded, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Of course," he said softly, his voice full of warmth. "Whatever makes you feel safe."
He stepped aside, allowing her to enter the room first. As she crossed the threshold, the sense of vulnerability that had clung to her since they left the road seemed to ease, if only slightly. Sam followed her inside, closing the door behind them, sealing out the world for just a little while.
Leila moved toward the bed, hesitating for a moment before sitting down on the edge. She ran her hand over the soft quilt, grounding herself in the simple, comforting textures of the room. Sam lingered near the door, giving her space but ready to be there for her at a moment's notice. The weight of the day, the fear and uncertainty, all seemed to hang in the air between them.
After a moment, Leila looked up and patted the bed beside her, inviting him to sit. "Sam," she began softly, her voice tinged with hesitation, "I really don't want to make you uncomfortable. This is your space."
Sam gave her a reassuring smile as he moved toward the bed and sat down beside her. "You'll never make me uncomfortable, don't worry," he said gently, his tone filled with sincerity. He wanted her to feel safe here, to know that she wasn't intruding on anything. "This room, this space—it's yours too, if you need it."
Leila let out a small sigh of relief, comforted by his words and the warmth in his voice. She glanced around the room again, the familiarity of it beginning to ease the tension that had been building inside her.
Sam noticed the shift in her demeanor and wanted to make sure she was as comfortable as possible. "Do you want to eat anything? Take a shower?" he offered, his concern evident in the way he looked at her.
Leila considered his question, her mind still foggy with exhaustion and the lingering effects of whatever had happened to her. "A shower might be nice," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. The thought of washing away the day's events, even if only symbolically, seemed like a small step toward reclaiming some sense of normalcy.
Sam nodded. "I'll get you some towels and find something comfortable for you to wear." He stood up, moving to the closet where he kept his spare clothes.
Leila watched him as he gathered the items, her heart swelling with gratitude for his kindness and understanding. "Thank you, Sam," she said softly, her voice filled with a warmth that hadn't been there before.
Sam returned with a set of towels and one of his T-shirts and sweatpants. "Here you go," he said, placing them on the bed beside her. "Can you find the communal bathroom or do you want me to walk with you?"
Leila took the clothes and towels, her fingers brushing against his hand for a brief moment, then looked up at him. The thought of walking through the Bunker alone, even for a short distance, made her feel uneasy. The place, with all its memories and shadows, felt a little too vast and empty right now.
"I'd really appreciate it if you walked with me," she admitted, her voice tinged with a vulnerability she hadn't intended to reveal.
Sam nodded without hesitation, offering her a reassuring smile. "Of course," he said, his tone gentle and understanding. He extended a hand to her, helping her up from the bed.
They walked together through the familiar halls of the Bunker, the silence between them comfortable, yet filled with unspoken thoughts. As they reached the communal bathroom, Sam stopped at the door, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.
"I'll wait right out here," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Take your time."
"I won't be long," she promised, offering him a small, appreciative smile.
Sam nodded as she stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, Leila felt the weight of everything come crashing down on her. The silence of the room was deafening, amplifying the turmoil inside her. She clutched the clothes to her chest, her knees buckling as she slid down to the floor.
The floodgates opened, and she began to sob, the tears she had been holding back for so long finally breaking free. She pressed her face into the soft fabric of the clothes, muffling her cries as she let out all the fear, frustration, and despair that had been building up inside her.
Outside, Sam paced back and forth, his concern for Leila growing with each passing minute. He had sensed her fragility, but he had wanted to give her space, thinking she needed a moment to herself. But when he heard the faint sound of her sobs through the closed door, his heart clenched with worry.
Without a second thought, Sam turned back to the door and knocked softly before pushing it open. "Leila?" he called out gently, stepping into the room.
He found her on the tiled floor, her shoulders shaking as she cried, the clothes still clutched to her chest. The sight of her like this—so vulnerable, so broken—hit him hard. He quickly crossed the room and knelt beside her, his hand resting gently on her back.
"Leila…" Sam's voice was soft, filled with concern and tenderness. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to overwhelm her, but then he reached out and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she continued to cry.
Leila didn't resist. She leaned into him, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from drowning in her own despair. She buried her face in his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat grounding her in a way nothing else could.
Sam held her close, his hand gently stroking her hair as he whispered soothing words, trying to comfort her as best as he could. He wished he could take away her pain, wished he could do something—anything—to make her feel safe again.
After what felt like an eternity, Leila's sobs began to subside, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She pulled back slightly, looking up at Sam with tear-filled eyes. The vulnerability in her gaze, the raw emotion, was almost too much to bear.
Sam looked down at her, his heart aching at the sight of her tear-streaked face, her wide, doe-like eyes searching his for something—reassurance, comfort, the love that once was between them. He didn't know what to say, but in that moment, words didn't seem necessary.
Leila's gaze lingered on his, and without thinking, she leaned up toward him. Sam's breath hitched as he realized what was about to happen, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. He knew deep down this was the same woman he had fallen in love with.
Despite everything that had changed, despite all they had been through, this moment felt like a bridge to the past, to a time when their connection was simple, pure, and strong. The weight of the world, the fears, the doubts—they all faded into the background as he looked into her eyes. Those same eyes that had once held his heart so completely, now filled with the same longing and vulnerability he felt.
Their lips met in a kiss that was at once tender and filled with the intensity of unspoken emotions. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of the unbroken bond they still shared despite the distance that had grown between them. It was as if, in that brief moment, all the walls they had built around themselves crumbled, leaving only the raw truth of their feelings.
Sam's hand moved to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. He could feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, the familiar comfort he had missed so much. It was as if all the pain and uncertainty of the past weeks melted away, leaving only this—the connection between them that had never truly faded.
Leila responded in kind, her hands clutching at his shirt, holding onto him as if he were the only solid thing in her world. The kiss was more than just a physical connection; it was a reaffirmation of everything they had been through together, a silent promise that they would face whatever came next side by side.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other's as they tried to steady themselves. Sam's heart was racing, but it was no longer from fear or uncertainty—it was from the overwhelming sense of rightness that had settled between them.
In the silence that followed, Leila suddenly let out a small, embarrassed giggle, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. The sound was light and unexpected, breaking the intensity of the moment. Sam pulled back slightly to look at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"What's so funny?" he asked gently, his voice filled with warmth.
Leila bit her lip, trying to stifle another giggle. "I don't know," she admitted, her eyes sparkling with a mix of lingering emotion and something lighter, more playful. "I guess I just… I didn't expect that."
Sam's smile widened, a chuckle escaping him as well. "Yeah, me neither," he confessed, feeling the tension between them ease, replaced by a familiar sense of comfort and closeness.
Leila looked up at him, her expression turning serious for a moment, as if she were weighing her next words carefully. "Shower with me?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I don't want to be alone."
Sam's heart softened as he saw the need in her eyes. He knew how overwhelming everything must have felt for her, and he understood that she didn't want to face any part of this alone—not even something as simple as a shower.
"Of course," he replied gently, his voice full of warmth. He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation, her fingers curling around his as he helped her to her feet.
Sam turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was just right, the steam beginning to fill the room. The steady sound of the water was soothing, a soft backdrop that seemed to ease some of the tension still lingering between them.
Sam turned back to her, offering a reassuring smile as he began to help her undress, the movements tender and careful. Leila followed suit, the intimacy of the moment not just physical but deeply emotional. They were both vulnerable, exposed not only in body but in spirit, sharing a quiet trust that had been hard-earned over time.
Once they were both undressed, Sam guided her under the warm spray, allowing the water to cascade over them. Leila closed her eyes as the warmth enveloped her, washing away the remnants of the day's turmoil. The sensation was comforting, grounding her in the moment and in the presence of the man she trusted more than anyone.
Sam stood close behind her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders, offering silent support. He could feel the tension begin to melt from her body, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the back of her head.
"Take your time," he whispered, his voice gentle and steady. "I'm right here."
As the warm water cascaded over them, Leila moved slowly, letting the gentle rhythm of the shower ease the tension in her body. Sam's presence beside her was steady and comforting, his occasional touch a reassuring reminder that she wasn't alone. Yet, beneath the surface, her mind churned with doubts.
Leila couldn't help but worry if she had done the right thing, asking Sam to join her like this. The intimacy of the moment was something she had craved, something she desperately needed to feel grounded after everything that had happened. But now, as the water washed away the grime and stress of the day, she couldn't shake the gnawing fear that she might be leading Sam down a path that could only end in pain.
She knew the unpredictability of her own circumstances—how uncertain her presence on Earth truly was. She was stuck for now until this Rowena issue was resolved, sure. But what would come after? Leila knew firsthand how the universe's demands could pull her away at any moment, how the cosmic forces she was tied to could reclaim her without warning. It was cruel, she thought, to involve Sam in this—to risk deepening the connection between them when she couldn't promise that she'd be there tomorrow, or even in the next hour.
Her heart ached at the thought of hurting him, of opening old wounds that had barely begun to heal. The love between them though relatively fresh, had always been intense, forged in the fires of shared experiences and deepened by mutual understanding. But it had also been fragile, easily disrupted by the forces beyond their control.
As she gently lathered the soap in her hands, she felt Sam's hand brush against hers, offering silent support. The simple, tender gesture brought a wave of emotion crashing over her, and she had to swallow hard to keep the tears at bay. She wanted so much to stay in this moment, to hold onto the comfort and security that Sam provided, but the uncertainty of the future loomed over her like a dark cloud.
Would it have been kinder to keep her distance? To shield him from the heartbreak that might come when she had to leave again? Leila didn't know, and the not knowing was what frightened her most of all.
But as she stood there, wrapped in the warmth of the water and the closeness of Sam's presence, she realized something important: Sam knew the risks. He had always understood the precarious nature of their lives, his as well not just hers, and yet he had never hesitated to be with her, to stand by her side no matter the cost.
And in this moment, he was here, with her, choosing to be close despite the uncertainties. Perhaps that was what love truly meant—accepting the fragility of life, the impermanence of time, and choosing to hold on to the moments of connection, no matter how fleeting.
Leila leaned back slightly, her body resting against Sam's chest, seeking comfort in the solid presence of him. She felt his arms wrap around her, holding her close, and the doubts that had plagued her began to fade, replaced by a quiet acceptance. Whatever happened next, they would face it together. For now, that was enough.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the water.
Sam pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his embrace tightening slightly. "You don't have to thank me," he replied softly. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
And as they stood there, letting the water wash over them, Leila allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to live in the moment—to cherish what they had, here and now, without worrying about the unknown future. She was done being a good little machine, holding up the weight of worlds all on her own.