Chapter 6
He was it: strong and capable, sensitive and smart. He was everything you wanted. Everything you needed. Everything you craved. But you were you: invisible and unwanted.
Men never came up to you in a bar. No one ever asked you for your number or smiled in your direction.
You weren’t beautiful, at least, not in your eyes. You were what people call plus sized. What the fatphobics called disgusting and unhealthy. You could see the disdain in people's eyes when they looked at you. Feel their judgment as their eyes traveled from the toes of your boots to the hair on your head. Mocking sneers and hurtful laughter followed you wherever you went.
At least that’s how you perceived it. It’s how you saw yourself, a big lumbering mess unworthy of love and affection. You weren’t skinny, thus you were not attractive. It was logical.
Sam was different. Tall and muscular, thick corded muscles dancing beneath the layers he wore. Eyes which sparkled when he smiled, and oh, his smile. The mere action of a tiny grin could bring you to your knees on your strongest day.
You were in deep.
He must’ve known. He must have seen how your eyes followed him during a hunt. How you would take extra care to make sure he was alright.
Dean sure had. He would tease you constantly about your little “crush”. The elder Winchester was relentless in his comments. Often reducing you to a blubbering mess. He meant nothing by it. It was his nature to tease. He had taken on the role of brother after they found you, cowering in the back of a dank cellar, where you had suffered at the hands of a Djinn. One who fed off fear.
It took the combined efforts of Castiel and the brothers to bring you back to yourself, but, it was too late to go back to your old life. You had, insisted, or rather begged, for them to teach you all they knew. They had reluctantly agreed to take you on, And you had fought beside them ever since.
You weren’t the best nor the brightest, but you liked to think you brought something to the foursome. Even if it was just your cooking skills.
“What’s cookin’, good lookin?’” Dean shouts over the noise in the bar.
Your eyes, however, were glued to Sam who was charming a pretty brunette. Your heart gave a painful lurch with every smile he graced her with, with every touch she gave him. You were near to tears at this point.
Dean follows your line of sight and sighs sadly. “I think you need another drink.” he yells.
“No!” you yell back, shaking your head. “Take me home!”
Dean nods without a thought, grabs you by the upper arm and steers you through the gyrating crowd. He stops at the bar exit and inclines his head in Sam’s direction while handing you the keys to the car.
You nod once, push the door open, and make a break for it. The safety of the shiny black Impala calls to you.
Logically you knew you had no claim over him. He was a free agent, and the betrayal you felt was misplaced. He wasn't yours. He didn’t see you that way. It was about time you came to grips with it. It was time to move on.
If only your heart would take the hint and let you.
You slide into the backseat of the Impala, your head landing heavily against the headrest. All you wanted was your bed, a hot cup of tea, and a quiet place to cry. Your heart was broken, your self-esteem was swirling mournfully in the toilet. You were ashamed of who you were. Ashamed of what you’d let yourself become. Ashamed you had fallen for a man who could, by merits of his looks alone, have anyone he wanted.
It was a mess. A total and complete mess.
You squeeze your eyes shut, praying to anyone who would listen that Dean would get his butt out of the bar and take you home. You were suffocating. You needed out. Now.
To your surprise, Sam opens the rear left door and slides in next to you, pulling the door shut behind him with a loud thunk.
His knees bunch uncomfortably between the driver seat and his own. The smell of cheap whiskey and cigarettes clings to his clothing. His hair in disarray from running his fingers through it.
“Where’s your friend?” you ask. Trying for nonchalance, it instead comes out squeaky, forcing you to fight the blush rising in your cheeks.
Sam turns his head toward you, his eyebrow raised in question. “She went home, to her fiance,” he counters. Curling his fingers into his worn jeans, he breathes out a heavy breath when you don’t reply.
“Are you ever going to say it?” he asks softly. “I know. I’ve known from the start. You’re not very subtle, (Y/N),” he adds.
It's at this point you know that you’re going to die. The mortification was a tangible thing, so potent in its poison you felt like you were going to throw up. He was waiting for an answer, one you were not ready to give him, but it was the point of no return. It would be impossible to get over the rejection.
At best he would avoid you. At worst he would tell you to leave.
Your family would be taken from you. All that you had would be gone. You were going to have a panic attack.
“No?” he says. “Fine. I’ll go first.”
Your eyes snap to his, the question clearly written on your face.
“I’ve loved you from the first hunt. Your kindness and intellect, your laugh and smile,” he says quietly, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Soft and inviting. You’re a demon on a hunt, fierce and unforgiving. I haven't felt this way since Jess. I had thought my chance for happiness died with her. But you...” he trails off. His hand moves to stroke your cheek. Gentle and loving.
“I’m in awe of you,” he murmurs and moves in for a kiss.
Soft lips meet chaffed ones. Your blood turns to liquid fire as he cups your face. His scent fills your nose and you can’t help but wonder if you’re in a dream.
You respond enthusiastically, your hand tangling in his hair to pull him closer. His hands move to your waist, trying to bring you closer. It’s cramped and uncomfortable, but you’ve never felt lighter nor more free.
He loved you. He accepted you. He wanted you.
Dean breaks the moment by tapping on the glass. “No sex in the car!” he yells, opening the driver's seat door and sitting down. “You can keep it in your pants long enough to get to the bunker.”
You pull away from Sam, slightly drunk on the taste of him, and smile shyly. “I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a quick peck to his cheek.
“Ah, hell! I ain't getting any sleep am I?” Dean complains.
You giggle as Sam throws a cocky smirk in his brother's direction. He shrugs and pulls you closer, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “Not anytime soon, jerk,” he replies with a wink.
“Bitch,” Dean mutters.
The engine roars to life, and Dean pulls out of the parking lot.
Your heart soars. With a little help from your friends, and the love of a good man, you knew you could learn to love yourself. It would take time and patience, but you knew you could get there.