So…this is another story for my dearest friend Clara. Basically Sam came home from a hunt, and was kinda out of it and needed to take his aggression out.
You drum your fingers on the wood counter, trying not to concentrate on what time it is. You haven’t turned a page in the book you were reading for a good 5 minutes, which for you is saying something. Normally you can read a little bit before Sam comes home, but today was different. He’d been gone 3 weeks—which in the short time that you had been married, is the longest to date. You would read a sentence or two, and stare at the clock; then look back at the book and to the clock again. It was like time was mocking you, slowing down on purpose. The love of your life was driving home as you sat there trying to struggle through a book, and of all days to slow down, time picked today to be a pain.
But finally, after what seemed like hours, you heard the familiar purr of the Impala come and go, as Dean dropped Sam off at home. You slammed the book shut and raced to the front door, only to open it and see a very unsettled Sam. You sent him a worried look, but paired it with a smile so at least he would know that you were happy to see him. He came up the front steps slower than usual, and gave you sort of a half-willed hug and just a light peck on the end of the nose.
That was it? No big grand running through the door and grabbing your face the moment he saw you and kissing you till your mouth was sore? Did he miss you at all? Or maybe something happened on the hunt. Yeah…maybe that’s all it was. You watched Sam pace like a tiger in a small cage. He wouldn’t sit down or get comfortable or anything. It was like he almost felt…unwelcome. You really hated asking him what was the matter, because he wasn’t one to sit down and normally share heart to hearts. Occasionally, when the situation demanded it he would tell you about the hunt. For example if he came home hurt, or there was a deep purple bruise that you were bound to see he would tell you about it, but other than that he mostly kept quiet about the hunt. He didn’t want to worry you anymore than leaving already did.
You walked over to your husband slowly, so as not to startle him. He was like a deer on edge, and you didn’t want to spook him in fear of the fact that he would bolt out the door.
“Sam?” You ask placing a hand on his shoulder. His back was to you, and you saw that as soon as you touched him, his shoulders raised. He was a cat ready to pounce on anything within range. “Do you want to talk about it?” You soothed. You placed your other hand around his waist, as you brought your head between his shoulder blades. He relaxed into your hug…somewhat. He didn’t try to pull away—which was good sign, but you still felt helpless not being able to mend the broken hero that walked through your door just moments ago.
“Not really.” He said almost mumbling it under his breath. He brought his large hand, and covered your smaller one that was still around his waist. Well at least the stone statue in front of you was softening a little bit. It was a start, and you would take it.
You didn’t say anything for a few minutes. You were just content to be touching your husband, after being away from him for three weeks—of course you would rather him be shirtless right now, and instead of you hugging him trying to get him out of his shell made of bullet casings, you would rather be tracing that perfect star tattoo with your wet eager tongue as he moaned your name in desire and ecstasy…but at least he was home, that was the important part, and you certainly didn’t want to push him.
He began to breathe easier, and you felt the muscles in his back relax somewhat. He took a few steps forward, leaving you standing by yourself once more. He turned around to face you finally, but the look on his face, almost made you wish he would turn around again. You hated seeing your husband wearing a weight this big, a load that no person should ever have to carry. He brushed a hand over his jaw, and looked at the floor trying to find the words to say to you.
“We um…we were hunting a shifter…and uh…when we were on our way to leave, Dean got another phone call from the sheriff in town telling him that they got sight of something suspicious at an old warehouse. We weren’t too far away so we decided to check it out.” Sam paused turning his back to you again. Putting his hands on his hips, he finished what he was trying to say. “We got there too late. The shifter was gone, and a girl that the shifter caught was bleeding on the floor.” You inhaled sharply, and tried to steady yourself on the couch closest to you. “Is she okay?” You asked shakily.
“Yeah she was fine, we got her to a hospital in time but…Dean and I don’t like leaving monsters like that alive. You know, you think you get rid of something…” He didn’t finish his statement. You turned and went into the kitchen to pour him a drink of something to ease his nerves.
“I’m sorry Sam. I know that must be hard. But you saved a girl’s life, that’s the important thing.” You turned around to face him, leaving the glass of liquid on the counter. His back was still to you. It’s like he didn’t want to look at you. You knew that Sam always blamed himself when things went wrong on a hunt, and he probably didn’t want you seeing him feeling like he failed. “I just…I just wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.” You said sighing and leaning back against the counter. Sam’s back muscles tightened at that statement. And he turned around and looked at you with eyes that could melt steel.
“There is one thing.” He said as he walked towards you, picking up speed with every step. You didn’t even have time to respond, because suddenly it was as if a sleeping dragon had suddenly awoken with a fire in his belly that burned for one thing and one thing only.
Till I put more quotes up (which I will hopefully be doing tonight) this should keep you occupied.
I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t fun to write………..