Written by: KariGorsuch

The world tilted, reality shifting under me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. My heart slammed against my ribs, a violent, painful rhythm, like it was trying to force me to move. But I couldn't. I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except stare.

I barely registered the scrape of my chair against the floor as I shoved to my feet. "Sam?" His name came out fractured, barely a whisper, as if speaking it too loudly might break the fragile moment apart.

He let out a breath—unsteady, unsure—but I didn't wait. I couldn't. I launched myself forward, slamming into him, my arms locking tight around his waist. My fingers fisted in the fabric of his jacket, clutching him like he might slip away if I let go.

For the briefest second, he tensed. A heartbeat, maybe two. Then something in him cracked wide open, and he folded into me, his arms crushing me against him. I felt his breath against my hair, shaky and uneven. His entire frame trembled, as if he wasn't sure he was really here.

God, I didn't care. I just held on tighter.

He was warm. Solid. Real.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest constricting with the force of everything I couldn't say. The grief, the anger, the relief—it all tangled together, too big, too much, threatening to choke me.

Dean's voice cut through the haze, rough and unreadable. "Take the 'Stang."

I barely heard him. My world had narrowed to Sam—to the steady rise and fall of his chest, to the way he held onto me like I was the only thing tethering him to this moment.

Sam nodded, and I felt his grip shift. His fingers brushed against mine, hesitant at first, then firm, lacing our hands together. When he started moving, I followed without thinking, letting him guide me toward the door

The night air hit me like a shock to the system—cold, sharp, real.

Sam's grip on my hand tightened as we stepped outside, like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding me. I couldn't tell who was trembling- me or him.

The Mustang sat in the parking lot next to the Impala, bathed in the dim neon glow of the bar sign. I couldn't help but shiver, a chill running down my spine at the quietness that surrounded the bar.

Sam hesitated for half a second before leading me toward the car, his movements stiff, uncertain. I stole a glance at him as we reached the Mustang.

His face was half-shadowed in the dim glow, unreadable, but I could see it in his eyes.

"Sam?" I asked quietly, pausing next to the door. "I... I'm sorry-"

Sam exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the handle of the door like he needed something solid to hold onto. For a second, he didn't say anything. Just stood there, staring at the ground, his jaw working.

Then, finally, he shook his head. "Don't," he murmured. His voice was rough, like it hurt to speak. "You don't have to be sorry."

I swallowed hard, my chest aching. "I should've—"

"Bri." He turned to me then, and the look in his eyes knocked the air from my lungs.

There was so much there—pain, exhaustion, something like disbelief. Like he still wasn't sure this was real. "There's nothing you could've done."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I should've done something, should've found a way to save him. But my throat closed up, the words dying before they could leave my lips.

Sam sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face before finally pulling the door open. "Come on," he said, voice quieter now. "Let's just get out of here."

I hesitated for a moment longer, my feet rooted to the ground. Every part of me was screaming that this wasn't real. That if I closed my eyes, even for a second, he'd be gone again, and it would just be me, alone in the Mustang.

Sam must've seen it written all over my face because, without a word, he reached out, his fingers gently cupping my cheek.

The touch was soft, so unbelievably real, and it sent a shiver through me. My breath hitched, my pulse racing as his thumb brushed against my skin. I felt the warmth of him, the life in him, like it had never been gone.

I closed my eyes for a moment, just letting myself feel it—the reality of him, of us, here and now, alive. When I opened them again, I didn't know what to say. Words felt too small, too fragile to hold what was tumbling inside me.

His gaze softened, and the gentleness in his eyes made something inside me crack. I wanted to say all the things I'd kept locked away, all the apologies, all the hurt, all the things I didn't know how to feel anymore.

Instead, I leaned into his touch, letting him steady me, before I opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.

The drive back to Bobby's was quiet, nothing but the hum of the engine breaking the silence that fell between us.

Bobby's junkyard came into view, the worn sign in the distance signaling our arrival. Sam slowed the car, the engine purring softly as we pulled up to the house.

We sat in the car for a couple minutes before we both got out, Sam waiting for me before heading up the stairs to the porch, an arm wrapped around my shoulders.

The porch light flickered overhead, casting a dim glow over the worn wooden planks, and the front door creaked open before either of us could reach for it.

Bobby stood in the doorway, his eyes landing on Sam first. His whole body went rigid, fingers tightening around the doorframe like he needed to ground himself.

For a long second, no one spoke.

Then Bobby let out a breath, low and rough, like he'd been holding it in ever since Sam had died.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Sam tried for a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, Bobby."

Bobby's face twisted, something between anger and relief flashing through his eyes. "Don't you 'hey, Bobby' me," he snapped, stepping forward, giving Sam a once-over like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "You were dead, boy."

Sam flinched, just barely, but I felt it in the way his arm tensed against me.

Bobby's gaze flickered to me then, sharp and questioning. I shook my head, answering his unspoken question.

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening like he was bracing himself for the worst. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, then turned back to Sam.

"Well?" His voice was rough, edged with something almost like fear. "You got an explanation, or am I gonna have to start testing you for demon smoke?"

Sam shook his head, his expression unreadable. "I don't know," he admitted, voice low. "I just... woke up. In Cold Oak." His gaze flickered toward me, searching, maybe for something that made sense of it all. "Dean was there."

Bobby scoffed, shaking his head. "Of course he was."

Bobby rubbed a hand over his face, muttering a curse under his breath before turning on his heel. "Come inside. We're not doin' this on the porch."

Bobby led us to the living room, pacing for a second before turning on Sam with that sharp, no-nonsense look. "Alright. Let's try this again. You're sure you don't remember anything? No bright lights? No booming voices? No crossroads demons grinning at you?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Just waking up in Cold Oak. And Dean." His voice dipped, uneasy. "He looked... off."

Bobby exhaled, shaking his head. "Off. Yeah. That's one way to put it."

Sam frowned, glancing between us. "What?"

I shifted uneasily, glancing at Bobby. "Sam..." I trailed off. "It's not really our place to say."

Sam's frown deepened, and he turned his full attention to me. "Bri." His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, the kind that told me he wasn't going to let this go. "What happened?"

I swallowed hard, my fingers twisting together in my lap. Bobby let out a sigh beside me, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Might as well tell him," he muttered. "He's gonna find out one way or another."

Sam's gaze flickered to Bobby, then back to me. "Find out what?"

I opened my mouth, but the words got stuck, the weight of them pressing down on my chest.

Bobby was the one who finally said it. "Dean made a deal."

The room went deathly silent.

Sam blinked. "A deal," he echoed, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right.

Bobby nodded grimly. "Crossroads. His soul for yours."

The blood drained from Sam's face. He shook his head, disbelieving. "No. No, Dean wouldn't—" He stopped mid-sentence, like he already knew he was wrong. His breath hitched, his shoulders going rigid. "How long?"

I couldn't look at him.

Bobby sighed, like he hated to say it as much as I hated hearing it. "One year."

Sam's jaw clenched, his whole body going stiff. "One year," he repeated, his voice hollow. He let out a sharp, bitter breath, running a hand over his face. "Dammit, Dean." His voice broke, and the sound of it nearly shattered me.

I reached for him instinctively, placing a hand over his, trying to ground him. "Sam," I whispered.

He didn't pull away. Didn't move at all, really, just sat there, staring blankly at the floor, breathing hard. Then, finally, he looked up, his eyes dark with something dangerous. "We're breaking it."

I froze, his tone sending a chill down my body. "Sam... We can't. If we mess with the deal, you die." My voice broke, " I can't watch you die again."

Sam's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he turned his hand over beneath mine, gripping it tight. "And I can't watch Dean die." His voice was low, but there was steel beneath it, something unshakable, unrelenting.

Bobby exhaled sharply, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "We don't even know where to start, kid. Crossroads deals—they're airtight. Ain't nobody ever broken one before."

Sam's fingers twitched against mine. "Then we'll be the first."

I shook my head, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Sam, please," I whispered. "I just got you back." My throat tightened. "I can't lose you again."

His gaze softened, just for a second, but it wasn't enough to dull the fire burning in his eyes. "And I can't lose him," he said, voice thick with something raw. "Not for me. Not because of me."

Bobby let out another sigh, heavier this time. "Look, I ain't sayin' I like it. Hell, I hate it. But there's rules to these kinds of things. The second you try to weasel out of a deal like this, the hellhounds come sniffing." He looked between us, his expression grim. "And they don't stop."

Sam's jaw clenched. "I don't care."

I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart breaking. "You don't mean that."

Sam turned to me, his eyes dark, desperate. "Yes, I do." His voice was rough, shaking at the edges. "If it means saving Dean, I don't care what happens to me."

I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. "I just got you back," I whispered. "You can't—" My voice broke. "If we mess with the deal- You die- and the Goddess Eve gets me," I whispered.

Sam's breath hitched, his entire body going still. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, his grip on the table tightening until his knuckles turned white. "What?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but the sharp edge in it sent a chill down my spine.

Bobby straightened beside me, his expression darkening. "Bri, what the hell are you talkin' about?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Azazel... he made me an offer." The words felt like glass in my mouth. "Said if I gave in, if I made a deal with him, I'd get you back. But the catch was that I'd have to give myself up to her."

Sam's face drained of color, his entire body going rigid. He stared at me like he hadn't heard me right, like if he just stood there long enough, I'd take it back.

Bobby cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "Dammit, girl..." His voice was low, full of something between anger and concern.

Sam stepped forward suddenly, closing the space between us. His hands came up to my arms, firm but careful, like he was afraid I'd slip right through his fingers. "Tell me you didn't," he breathed, his voice rough, pleading.

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. "I wanted to," I admitted, my voice shaking. "I almost did."

Sam flinched, his grip tightening. His chest rose and fell sharply, his breath unsteady. "Why didn't you?"

I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I reached up, pressing a hand against his chest, against the steady, solid warmth of him. "Because Dean did it first." The words felt like lead in my mouth. "And because—" My breath hitched. "Because I couldn't do that to you."

Sam exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to mine for the briefest second, like he was trying to ground himself, to breathe through the storm inside him. When he pulled back, his expression had hardened into something fierce, determined.

He turned sharply, his hands dropping from me as he rounded on Bobby. "We need to find a way to break this deal. Now."

I tugged on his arm, "Damnit, Sam! Listen to me- We mess with the deal, you die. Dean dies. I die."

Sam stopped cold at that, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, he turned back to me, his expression shifting from raw determination to something that looked a hell of a lot like fear.

His voice was low, barely above a whisper. "What do you mean?"

I forced myself to hold his gaze, even though everything inside me screamed to look away. "Azazel wasn't lying. If we try to break the deal, the contract defaults. And if that happens... I go to her." My hands curled into fists at my sides. "Eve gets me. And you die."

Bobby's face darkened, his jaw tightening. "This just keeps gettin' better."

Sam shook his head, stepping closer again, his hands gripping my arms like he could anchor me in place. "No," he said firmly. "That's not happening."

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes, frustration bubbling in my chest. "You think I want it to? Sam, I can't lose you again. I won't. But if we go after this deal—" My voice broke. "If we try to save Dean, we might just be signing all our names on the dotted line."

Sam's grip on me faltered for a second, like the weight of it all was finally starting to settle over him.

But then, something in his expression shifted.

"We'll find another way," he said, steel in his voice. "There has to be another way."

Bobby sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Kid, you're talkin' about beatin' a hell contract and keepin' the damn Mother of Monsters from claimin' Bri."

Bobby exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Look, I ain't sayin' you're wrong to fight this, but you two are running on fumes." His gaze landed on me, sharp and knowing. "And don't even try to argue, Bri. When's the last time you actually slept?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but Bobby cut me off with a look. "Thought so." He sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Ain't a damn thing we can do tonight. You two need to get some rest, and I'll start digging. If there's even a chance of a loophole, I'll find it."

Sam shook his head. "Bobby—"

"Don't Bobby me, boy." His voice was firm, but there was something softer beneath it. "If you wanna be any help to your brother, you need to not keel over from exhaustion first."

I swallowed hard, my body betraying me with a sudden wave of exhaustion I hadn't let myself feel until now. Bobby was right. I hadn't really slept in days.

Sam hesitated, then let out a slow breath, his hand grazing mine before he nodded. "Okay."

Bobby jerked his chin toward the hallway. "Go. I'll wake you if I find anything."

I didn't argue this time. Instead, I let Sam take my hand, leading me up the stairs to the room Eve and I shared.

Sam closed the door behind us, the soft click settling over the room like a quiet exhale. I stood in the middle of the space, suddenly feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me all at once. My body ached, my mind foggy from days of pushing forward on nothing but adrenaline and desperation.

Sam hesitated for a moment, watching me. Then, wordlessly, he stepped forward and reached for my jacket, his fingers brushing my shoulders as he eased it off me. I let him. I didn't have the energy to fight it—to fight him.

I felt the gentle pressure of Sam's hands guiding me, his touch steady but careful, like I might break if he moved too fast. I didn't protest, not when all I could think about was the weight of everything I'd been holding in, everything I hadn't let myself feel.

He worked in silence, his hands warm and sure as he pulled my boots off, setting them gently beside the bed. When he moved to unbutton my jeans, I froze for a moment, a flicker of hesitation passing through me. But then I looked down at him—his eyes steady, his expression soft but earnest—and I realized I didn't want to hide from him. Not anymore.

With slow, deliberate movements, Sam undid the button, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin as he slid the zipper down. My breath hitched, but he didn't rush, his hands never lingering too long, always respectful. He helped me step out of my jeans, folding them neatly before setting them aside with the jacket.

I stood there in just my shirt, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable. Sam noticed, his hands brushing my arms as he reached for one of his own shirts that had ended up in the room. It was oversized on him, the sleeves long enough to hide his wrists, the cuffs stretched from being pushed up, and the fabric soft from too many washes.

He set the shirt down beside me on the bed, his fingers tracing the edge of my shirt before gently pulling it over my head.

My breath caught in my throat as the fabric shifted over my skin, leaving me feeling bare and open. Sam's touch was gentle, his hands warm against my skin as he slowly pulled the shirt off. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down, the air between us charged with something unspoken.

When the shirt was off, Sam paused for a heartbeat, his eyes sweeping over me. I could see the concern there, the care in the way he looked at me.

He reached for the shirt he had set aside earlier, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric before he held it up to me. His gaze didn't leave mine, and I could feel the weight of everything—everything we had gone through, everything that had been left unsaid.

"Here," Sam said softly, his voice low. "Wear this."

I nodded, slipping my arms into the sleeves of his oversized shirt, the fabric falling comfortably around me. It smelled like him—familiar, grounding—and for a brief moment, I let myself relax into the softness of it.

Sam gave a small nod before standing and pulling the covers back. Without a word, he climbed into bed first, moving to the side so there was room for me.

I climbed in beside him, settling against his chest. He slipped an arm around my shoulders, pulling the covers around me before drawing me farther into him.

His warmth seeped into me instantly, his steady heartbeat a quiet reassurance against my cheek. Sam's hand moved slowly, trailing up and down my back in a soothing rhythm, like he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding me.

I let out a shaky breath, my body finally giving in to the exhaustion I had been holding back for days. My fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like an anchor, afraid that if I let go, he might disappear again.

Sam must have sensed it because he tightened his hold around me, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going anywhere."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, closing my eyes against the burning sensation behind them. "Promise?" My voice was barely above a whisper, the vulnerability raw and unguarded.

Sam shifted slightly, just enough so he could tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed lightly against my cheek. "I promise," he said, voice full of quiet conviction.

I nodded, unable to say anything else, and surged up, pressing my lips firmly against his.

Sam froze for only a second before he melted into me, his grip tightening like he'd been waiting for this just as long as I had. The second our lips met, it was like something inside me snapped—something I'd locked away back in Tennessee, buried beneath grief, fear, and the belief that this moment would never come.

My hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to memorize the way he felt, warm and solid beneath my fingertips. I could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers curled against my waist like he was grounding himself in me, afraid that if he let go, I'd disappear.

The kiss deepened, slow but searing, filled with all the things I hadn't let myself feel—the longing, the heartbreak, the sheer relief that he was here, alive, with me. My body pressed flush against his, my heart hammering against his chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't drowning in loss.

Sam tilted his head, his fingers sliding up to cup the back of my neck, his touch both gentle and desperate. He kissed me like he was trying to rewrite the past, to erase every moment we'd spent apart, every second I thought I'd lost him forever.

When we finally broke apart, I was breathless, my forehead resting against his as I tried to steady the wild rhythm of my heart. His eyes burned into mine, dark and full of something I couldn't quite name—but I felt it. Felt it in the way his thumb traced the curve of my jaw, in the way he pressed another lingering kiss to my lips, slower this time, like he wasn't ready to let go.