Small fingers clutch at him when he tries to rise from bed, and the blankets shift until Rowena's warm body presses up against him.
"No," she murmurs, burying her face against his shoulder blade and wrapping her arm around his bare torso. "It's too early."
Sam shifts, turning so he can wrap both of his arms around her and press her into his chest as his fingers curl in the ends of her hair. His lips touch her temple, a few days' worth of stubble scratching gently at her skin, and Rowena hums softly, eyes still closed.
"Can we stay here all day?" she asks softly, and Sam hugs her a little bit tighter. In the week since they'd brought Rowena into the bunker, they'd spent every waking moment pouring over books, researching as much lore as humanly possible. But there were still people in need, and Dean had found a case.
"It's just a short hunt," he reminds her, and tenderly brushes loose strands of red hair out of her face, tucking them back behind her ear. "Some werewolves in Topeka. It's less than four hours there, shouldn't take us long to dispatch them, and then we'll be on our way home by dinner time."
"You don't have to come home right away," Rowena's protest is faint, though- they reveled in being together all the time, in falling asleep and rising together. In being able to touch each other without restraint whenever they pleased.
"I don't think I could sleep without you," he answers truthfully, and feels Rowena's smile against his skin. Sam's hand strokes gently over the curve of her belly, and Rowena shakes her head.
"Little lass is still sound asleep in there," she tells him, fondness in her voice. Then she walks her fingers up his bare chest, scratching over his jaw, and arches an eyebrow in interest. "Which means…"
Sam's mouth is on hers mere moments later, hands tightening in her hair just enough that she moans into his kiss. Rowena's hands make quick work of his boxers, and then Sam is carefully shifting her to her other side, pressing his front up against her back and lifting the hem of her silky nightgown.
It takes a little bit of shifting, but eventually Sam is able to get a pillow wedged between her thighs to ease the strain, his arm beneath her head as a pillow as every part of their bodies pressed together. He uses his palm to lift her leg, pressing it forward slightly before he sank inside her slowly.
Rowena keened as he sank to the hilt, nails biting into his forearm as she pressed her cheek to his bicep, lips parting. She's hot and wet and tight, and Sam buried his face in her hair, hips thrusting forward as a groan builds in his chest.
"Sam," Rowena whines, morphing into a low moan, her hand moving backwards to cover the one he held on her hip, and Sam's lips touch her neck, tongue darting out to taste the salt of her sweat.
"Feel so good," he tells her, words nearly slurring with pleasure as his hips press into her again. "So wet for me, honey."
Rowena squirmed slightly, shifting just enough so she can catch Sam's mouth with her own- it's a messy kiss, barely even a kiss at all, but when she started to clench around him, the edge of her orgasm razor thin, she needed the connection of his lips. She comes with a shudder, oversensitive and panting, and Sam follows her a few thrusts later, holding deep as he spilled inside her.
"Please be safe," she whispers in the softness of the afterglow, their breathing fading back to normal as their skin cooled. "I…"
Rowena trailed off, swallowing, but Sam knew what she was trying to say. He touched her jaw with gentle fingers, angling her face towards him, and kissed her firmly.
"I will be safe," he assures her, and some of the tension leaves the corners of the witch's eyes. "You promise you'll be okay here by yourself?"
Rowena nodded, finally loosening her grip on him enough to let him slip from the bed.
"I've a new spell book I want to try and locate," she tells him as he moved to the sink to clean up before bringing her a warm, damp towel. Once she'd cleaned up as well and snuggled back under the still-warm covers, nightgown righted, he set about getting ready for the hunt. "I think it might be of use when it comes to the birth."
Sam kept his breathing steady as he nodded, though his heart jumped in his chest.
"We don't know that her birth will be as dangerous as a nephilim's," he reminds her, buttoning his jeans and turning to face her, running a hand through his hair. "That was one tome, from the 1200's, and we haven't found any other lore to back it up."
Rowena's lips twitched, but she gave a small sigh.
"I believe this is a situation where being overly cautious would be of most use to us," she replies, and Sam can't find fault in that logic. He nods, tugging a white t-shirt on before slipping a blue and white checked flannel on, leaving the buttons undone as he knelt on the bed and cupped her jaw softly. Rowena melted at his touch, some of the fire leaving her eyes. "I don't want to fight about this again, Samuel. Not when you're leaving."
"For a day," he corrects, and Rowena rolls her eyes. "And we're not fighting. This is not a fight, because I refuse to believe bringing our daughter into the world has to harm you."
Rowena cupped his cheek. "Women have died in childbirth since the beginning of time, my love."
His heart sang and sank at the same time. But still, Sam shook his head- just kissed her forehead, then her nose, and then her mouth, lingering there until they were forced to part for oxygen.
"We'll find a way," he whispered, and got up off the bed to find his boots. He's just finished lacing them up, turning to be sure she didn't need anything before he left, when he finds her discarding her nightgown to tug on a pair of soft black leggings and one of his old Stanford sweatshirts that he never wore, but were big enough on Rowena to accommodate her belly. "Ro, you can get some more sleep-"
"I'm seeing you off," she tells him stubbornly, shoving her feet into her house shoes and checking her hair in the mirror. Recognizing that this was not a fight he particularly wanted to have, he merely let her lead the way out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen, where Cas had already started the coffee, the smell nice and strong.
Rowena pales at the scent, and there's approximately six seconds before she's moving to the large industrial sink and leaning over it, whole body heaving as she gagged. Cas is closer, but he doesn't seem to know what to do- Sam crosses the room in two strides, gathering Rowena's red hair up into a makeshift ponytail in one hand and pressing soothing circles between her shoulder blades as she vomited up what little liquid was in her stomach.
"It's okay," Sam soothes softly, feeling her body tense in another gag and pressing between her shoulders as she heaved once more, fingers curled around the lip of the metal sink until her knuckles were bone white.
Finally, the redheaded witch wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, grimacing, and straightened up. Sam studied her carefully, and she pressed a palm to his chest, reassuring him she was alright.
"She is clearly her mother's daughter when it comes to coffee," Rowena says, voice raw, and Castiel winces.
"I would offer to heal you, Rowena, but I do not know how angel grace would interact with her latent magic," he says, and Rowena offers him a small, tired smile as she shook her head.
"It's alright, Castiel. I was quite sick throughout my entire pregnancy with Fergus, so I anticipated it with this one as well," she shrugged, and took the glass of water Sam offered her gratefully, taking a small sip. "It's a sign of a healthy pregnancy, according to most witches."
Her hand cups the underside of her belly, already noticeably bigger even after just a week, and she looks down at it fondly.
"Pain in the arse, truthfully, but better than the alternative," she says, and lifts her eyes back up to Castiel, gaze soft. "I can stand a little nausea and heartburn if it means she's growing in there."
"Need a Pepcid?" Dean's voice comes from the entryway, and Rowena's eyes flick to his, unaware he'd been standing there. "Better than Tums in my opinion."
Rowena chuckles at that, but Dean shifts, opening a cabinet and producing a white and blue bottle with a red cap. He tosses it to Rowena, who catches it and looks at him with an arched eyebrow.
"Just don't use 'em all. We're havin' burgers tonight from Greasy Joe's and I'm gonna need those fuckers," Dean warns her, and Rowena holds her hands aloft in surrender before popping the top and chewing on one of the pink pills. The minty relief is almost instantaneous, and her eyes widen before she smiles sideways at Dean, who was pouring himself a travel mug of the atrocious coffee and speaking quietly with Castiel.
Sam's hand touches the center of her back, and she turns to face him, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter.
"What do you need before I go?" he asks, and Rowena shakes her head, though she's so deeply fond of him she can't help the way she's smiling.
"I will be fine, Samuel," she reassures him, though his face is still slightly pinched in worry. "I warn you, though- drink any of that coffee before you leave, and I will not be kissing you goodbye."
Sam salutes her, though he does pour himself a travel mug, keeping the lid safely and securely on as the group headed through the bunker to the garage. Once there, Dean and Castiel piled into the Impala with waves of goodbye towards Rowena, and Sam cups her face in his hands, thumbs stroking over her cheeks. Heat pooled in her belly, even despite their coupling less than an hour ago, and she pressed in close until she could kiss him, her belly squashed tenderly between them.
"Come home soon," she whispered when they finally parted, eyes locked with his and entranced by the darkness of his irises. "To us. Come home to us, Samuel."
He nods, and bends until he can kiss the crest of her belly in farewell before he turns and walks to the Impala- she knows it's because if he says anything else he'll lose his nerve and stay here with her, and he needed to work this case as much as the other boys did. Being cooped up in the bunker would drive them all crazy, and they needed to get out occasionally before they were at each other's throats.
Rowena stands, hand pressed to her throat, as the Impala pulls out of its spot and heads towards the concealed exit. In her belly, her daughter does somersaults, awake for the morning, and she swallows hard as the taillights disappeared, leaving her alone.
"He'll be alright, darlin'," Rowena says, stroking her belly, and if she's being truthful, she doesn't know how she's trying to reassure more- the baby in her belly, or herself.
The first thing she does is take a long, too hot shower. She missed baths, but there were no tubs in the bunker, and pregnancy meant she wasn't supposed to sit in a hot bath anyway.
Despite being alone in the bunker, Rowena took the time to dry her hair properly, setting the curls until they were bouncing ringlets against her shoulders. She'd grown lax, in the bunker- comfortable, truly, for the first time in centuries- and spent most of her time with her appearance unenchanted, makeup free and hair messy or pulled out of her face.
There's no reason to even do her makeup, truly, given she'll be alone most of the day in the bunker, but she does swipe some mascara over her eyelashes and picks out a soft pink lipstick to smear across her lips before she studies her face in the mirror. There's a softness to the shape of it that she knew was a side effect of her pregnancy, some of the lines near her eyes blurring out as her cheeks rounded softly.
The kick against her bladder startles her, and Rowena barks out a soft laugh as she hoists herself out of the chair. "Oh, you're just like your father. Always seems to know when I'm pickin' myself apart."
She's returning from the bathroom when her phone chimes, and she can't help the smile when she opens Sam's text.
Halfway there, stopping for gas. Miss you.
Her heart stutters a half step at the little text heart he'd included at the end, and she knows it's silly. They were having a baby. She knew he loved her. But seeing the physical manifestations of it, the rawness of it chewed at her heartstrings.
She'd spent so much of her life running from love, from anything she could possibly attach herself to. Love, to her, had always been a weakness- since that first moment she'd held her son in her arms, all those centuries ago, she'd convinced herself her life was better without it. That existence would hurt less if she closed herself off from emotional attachments.
But Sam…Sam had snuck his way past her defenses, lowered her walls and stormed the gates of her heart to entangle himself in the innerworkings of it.
And now their daughter, not even here yet, already owned so much of what was left of her heart. Her small fingerprints touched every fiber of her being, and Rowena knew it was love. It couldn't be anything but love.
Technically she didn't even need to reply to the text message- knew Sam wouldn't be expecting one, that he just liked to check in and let her know how things were going for his own piece of mind. It was something she liked about him, that he never minded that she took forever to text back or might not even text back at all. He just liked to tell her things, like if he didn't text her right in that moment, he'd forget- and he wanted her to know every thought that crossed his mind.
She carries her phone to the kitchen- sets about making a cup of tea, her stomach finally settled after the coffee incident, and even braves making some toast. Sam had found her favorite brambleberry jam to keep in the fridge, and she smears it across the warm bread before carrying her tea and the plate to the library.
She takes a picture of her breakfast, belly peeking in at the bottom of the photo, and texts it to Sam.
Bug finally let me eat. Miss you too. Stay safe please.
She sets her phone aside to pick up a triangle of toast, nibbling on the end, and gingerly opened Sam's laptop with her free hand. She hated the thing, truthfully- barely tolerated her cellphone half the time- but it was the only way to find the particular book she was looking for.
Rowena finishes half the toast and leaves the other half for later, fingers typing out Sam's password and watching the screen come alive. She clicks on the internet icon, watching the tab pop up, and her heart softens so much it feels like melted butter in her chest.
The tab opens on a search for nursery design ideas, and she can tell he'd been deep into his research by how many links he'd saved on a note on the home screen titled 'Baby Girl's Future Nursery'. Her heart pounds in her throat as she clicks on a few, her traitorous heart envisioning she and their daughter ensconced in the rocking chair in the corner of one picture.
Her phone began to vibrate against the table, pulling her from the vision, and she picked it up to see Sam calling.
"You're not even there yet, Samuel," is how she greets him, and his soft chuckle warms something low in her belly.
"We're about thirty minutes out," he tells her, and in the background, she can hear the cadence of Dean and Castiel's voices, even if she can't make out what they're saying. "Just wanted to check in before we went radio silent since you didn't reply to my texts."
"I didn't hear it vibrate," she tells him, frowning, and flips speaker on briefly to navigate to her text messages- where she does, indeed, have three unopened texts from Sam.
She awake finally?
Hope she doesn't give you too much trouble while I'm gone, but if she does the heating pad is in the library.
Dean thinks we should name her Deanna, by the way.
"We are not naming our child after your ape of a brother," Rowena scoffs, but her lips are pursed against the smile she's fighting. "Absolutely not."
"See, I figured you'd answer after that one," Sam says with a laugh, but Rowena's eyes flick on the picture of the soft-lit nursery on the computer screen, and she supposes there are worst things to have been distracted by. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Samuel," she says softly- tenderly, with only a hint of reproach. "I am no worse than when you left this morning, I promise. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know. I've done it all my very long life."
"I know that," he replies quickly, and she chews at her lower lip as her hand pressed against where a small foot was sticking into her ribs. "I just…don't want you to have to, anymore. I wouldn't ever claim it to be my job, but it's my privilege to get to be with you. To take care of you, and our girl."
She hates how quickly tears prick the corners of her eyes, throat tight, at his quiet declaration.
"Samuel, I…" she starts, but then Dean's voice comes from the other end of the phone, loud even in the background.
"Alright, wrap it up lover boy," he says, and Rowena scowled slightly as the courage to let the words slip out fades. "Almost there, I need you focused."
Sam must cover the phone to voice his reply, because Rowena can only make out the shape of his voice, none of the words, before he speaks directly to her again.
"I'll call you when we're done and heading home, okay?" he says, and her chest gets oddly tight.
"Be safe," is all she can get out, and after he makes a promise to do just that, they mutually hang up. Rowena clutches the cellphone for a few long moments, eyes shut, and then set it off to the side once more to focus on the laptop.
She carefully minimizes Sam's nursery search without exiting out of it and pulls up a new web browser for her own search. It takes several attempts to even remotely find what she's looking for- it's an older tome, from the 1800s, and as she began to deep dive, she learned it had gone through several libraries in Europe over the centuries before landing in the United States.
According to a rare books log, Spells of Juniper and Thorn, the book she was looking for, was housed in a history of witchcraft museum in Salem, Massachusetts. Not exactly ideal, given how far that was to travel in her current condition.
Rowena spends the next handful of hours attempting to find translations of the book online, only to come up empty no matter how hard she dug. It leaves her feeling irritated, and she slams the laptop shut in annoyance as she sits back. Belated, she realizes she should probably eat something, given how long she'd been pouring over the internet without anything more in her stomach than a few triangles of toast.
She heaves herself up from her chair and checks her phone on a whim- only to realize, based on the time, that Sam should have called at least two hours ago to inform her they were driving home. And she didn't have a single message or missed call from him.
Inescapable panic wells in her chest as she struggles to remind herself to breathe.
In an instant she's pressing his contact and holding the ringing phone up to her ear, ignoring the tremor in her wrist as she waits, holding her breath, for him to answer. It rings until the voicemail picks up, and something hollows out in her chest, her breath coming in pants.
Every part of her feels like jelly, and she sinks back down into her chair, one hand re-dialing Sam's number, the other pressed tight against her belly to keep herself grounded. It continues to ring until the voicemail kicks in, and Rowena belated realizes her cheeks are damp with falling tears.
None of her next few calls to Sam, Castiel, or Dean go through, and terror rips at the inner walls of her ribcage as she imagines every possible scenario for why not a single one of them can pick up a phone. In her belly, her daughter kicks wildly, picking up on her emotions, and a sob escapes Rowena's throat at the idea of doing any of this without Sam.
The creak of the front door startles her, and she wobbles to her feet, swiping at her cheeks as she moves through the library to the main entryway.
"I need you to know that I am fine," is the first thing out of Sam's mouth, and it's a counterpoint to how beat up he looks. One eye is nearly swollen shut, cuts litter his face and neck, and one arm is in a makeshift sling, his checkered shirt torn to pieces. Behind him, Dean is helping Castiel down the stairs, the angel in almost as bad a shape as Sam.
"What happened," she grits out, fighting every instinct in her body that wanted to run to Sam's side and check his injuries. It's tempered by the sheer anger radiating through her bloodstream, heating her veins, and she knows Sam can tell she's close to exploding.
"There were more of 'em than we expected," Dean tells her as he carefully dumps Castiel into one of the chairs nearby. The angel groans, shifting, and Rowena's frown deepened. "Plus a ghoul."
Rowena's gaze snaps back to Sam, eyes flaring wide, and it's him that bridges the gap between them, lifting the arm not in a sling to cup her face in his cheek.
"Cas is too hurt to heal me," he explains. "But I am fine, Rowena. I swear. Nothing that won't heal up in a few days."
It takes her a moment to realize how badly she's shaking. Adrenaline pumped through her body sluggishly now, wearing off, and her lack of food was making black spots swim across her vision. Sam frowns down at her, concern filling his face.
"Hey- hey," he says, and guides her back into a chair, forcing her to sit as he took stock of her. "When was the last time you ate?"
Rowena frowns, trying to count back, and when it takes her a moment to answer Sam shakes his head, making a soft noise under his breath.
"Stay here. I'm making you a sandwich," he states, and Rowena shakes her head, a quiet noise of panic escaping her at the thought of Sam being out of sight, out of reach. Sam catches the sound, eyebrows furrowing, and touches her cheek with gentle fingers. "I won't be far."
"I can walk," she insists stubbornly, though she does allow him to help her to her feet. They leave Dean and Castiel behind, the two men talking in low voices as Dean examined Castiel's injuries. She doesn't let Sam touch her on the walk to the kitchen, and she can tell it cuts at him, but she needs to quiet the voice raging inside her head before she let him in.
She sits while he pulls things one handed out of the fridge and cabinets and drawers; she's mildly dizzy, and knows she does need to eat, but that doesn't mean she's going to help Sam. Rowena watches as he makes her favorite, a turkey sandwich loaded with toppings and smothered in mustard (the baby's current favorite). Some of her annoyance wanes as he places it before her with a soft look.
"I'm sorry," he says once she's eaten half, and the dizzy feeling has disappeared. She looks at her nails, now painted a vibrant royal purple, and briefly closes her eyes before she speaks.
"I don't want you to be sorry," she finally whispers, words clogging in her throat, so she had to force them out. "I know- I know- this is part of the job. You, getting hurt for the sake of other people."
Sam winces.
"But it's different now," she manages to say before the tears slip out of the corners of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. "If you don't come back- if you don't come home, Samuel- then I lose everything."
She hates the way a sob bubbles up in her throat, and she forces it down, refusing to let the sound escape. Her nails bite into her palms, and she takes a deep breath so she can continue.
"I can't do this on my own," she confesses, and her voice breaks so much that Sam is rounding the counter to cup her shoulders, drawing her face against his chest after he tosses the sling aside. She clutches at the fabric of his t-shirt, pressing her cheek over his heart as she whispers the next words. "You can't make me fall in love with you and then leave me here alone."
"Rowena," her name sounds pulled from Sam's throat, raw and low and she tightens her grip on him, eyes screwed shut as a half-sob lifted her shoulders beneath his touch. "Please, look at me."
It took a few minutes for her to gather the courage to pull away from his chest, swiping at her eyes before she lifted them up to his. The dark irises draw her in, seemingly swallowing her whole, and his hand cups the side of her neck, thumb hovering just above her pulse point to feel her heartbeat thunder beneath it.
"I will never leave you here alone," he says in a fierce whisper that she feels in her bones, the reverberation shaking through her. "Not you, and certainly not our daughter. We are in this together, do you understand?"
Her lip trembles as more tears fall down her cheeks.
"I love you," he says, and presses their foreheads together as tight as he can. "I love you, Rowena. I would love you even without this baby, and I need you to know that. She is my whole world, and I love her, but I don't love you simply because of her. I loved you before I even knew about her."
Rowena gives a little sob at his confession, and the fingers on Sam's good hand swipe away the tears that fall.
"You- you and your stupid kindness, and your generosity, and your strength," she gasps out, hiccupping slightly. "How could I do anything but fall for you?"
His mouth is hard and unyielding against hers when he kisses her, and she melts into it easily, a hand skimming up his chest to twine in his hair, holding him against her. They're barely kissing, to be honest, in their eagerness to be closer, and Rowena shifts, unthinkingly gripping his hurt arm- Sam breaks away from her, making a pained noise.
"Sorry- oh, Samuel, I'm sorry," she says, pulling back, but Sam just shakes his head, keeping her warmth close to him as they caught their breath.
"It's fine, Rowena. Really," he tries to assure her, but she's already reaching a hand out towards him, murmuring under her breath as purple light beams out of her palm. She concentrates, power flowing through her, mending first his arm, then the cuts and scrapes, and finally the black eye. Once she couldn't sense any other damage, she dropped her hand, releasing the flow of power, and exhaled shakily, the half of a sandwich not enough to sustain such a large burst of magic use.
"Hey- hey, sit down," Sam says when she swayed a little, helping her back onto her chair and moving to get her a cup of water. "You really didn't have to do that, you know."
"Pure vanity, my love. I couldn't stand to see you with that horrid black eye," she jokes weakly, and Sam gives her a look that has her picking up the second half of her sandwich. "Does it hurt less, now?"
Sam softens. Leaning in, he kisses her forehead, and then laces his newly healed hand through hers, squeezing.
"Like brand new," he answers. "Want another sandwich?"
Rowena nods, and Sam just chuckles before he goes about making her another one as she finishes the second half of the first one. She's just finishing the second sandwich when Dean and Castiel appear- the angel looks a little better, though he's still paler than usual, with a cut above his left eye.
"Are you going to scold me if I heal him too?" Rowena asks, arching an eyebrow, and Sam merely mirrors her expression.
"I am fine, Rowena," Castiel tries to reassure her, though he winces slightly when he shifts in place beside Dean.
In the end, she ends up healing the cut above his eye, but Castiel refuses to let her heal the broken rib he's sporting, claiming it would take too much of her energy to fix.
"I rather dislike how everyone but myself gets to have a say in my energy levels," Rowena said evenly, only a light trace of annoyance in her tone. She knew they were trying to be helpful, but all it was succeeding in doing was pissing her off. "I am a very powerful witch, you remember."
"You're also very pregnant," Dean points out, and Rowena glares at him. "Listen, if it were up to me I'd have you heal Cas in a heartbeat. But you've got my niece cookin' in there, and she's the number one priority."
"That was almost sweet of you, Dean," Rowena replies after a moment, lips curling in faint amusement. Her hand rested against where the baby was kicking rather intently, and she shifted in her seat, wincing at a particularly hard jab. All three men's eyes narrowed, their attention fixed on her as worry clouded their features. "She's just rather busy in there this evening. I'm fine, boys."
She rolled her eyes when none of them moved, just continued to stare at her as though she might explode.
"Boys," she says, and carefully gets off the chair she's on, Sam instantly moving to her side to keep her steady, though she no longer felt any dizziness. "While you were off getting your arses kicked, I was doing research."
Sam's hand stays against her lower back as she guides them to the library- Sam helps her sink into the lower chair, and she opens the laptop, pulling up what she'd researched on the spell book.
"Massachusetts?" Dean asks, and Rowena nods.
"Not ideal, I admit," she replies, and Dean snorts, tilting his head slightly.
"Could call Garth," he says, and Sam's eyes widen in interest. "See if he's got any connections out that way."
Sam nods, shrugging. "Worth a shot, at least."
"I'll call him in the morning. For now, I'm going to shower this crap day off," Dean says, rubbing a hand down his face.
"I'll go and grab the burgers for dinner," Castiel says as Dean heads down the hall for the showers.
"Oh, I could-" Rowena starts, and Sam shakes his head.
"It would take longer to finish the bindings than it's worth for the twenty minute trip," he reminds her, and Rowena sighs but nods in agreement. "I promise we'll get outside tomorrow, head to the park and take a walk so you can get out of the bunker for a bit."
Rowena gives him a half-smile and nods, fingers finding his and squeezing, keeping them linked together afterwards.
"Think I'm gonna shower once Dean's done," Sam says, rubbing at the back of his neck as he fought off a yawn.
"The communal aspect is rather inconvenient," Rowena agrees, expression turning wistful. "Dean would likely complain if I joined you."
Sam laughs, and bends to kiss her firmly, a hand against the back of her neck to hold her there, kiss lingering. "You know, after today? I'm willing to piss Dean off a little bit."
Rowena's laughter fills the library, soft and musical, and is only silenced when Sam kisses her again.