Hollow Promises

Screw Life

People were clearing their throats, trying trying to get your attention and take over the pool table. You and Sam passed them your cues before collecting your jackets.

He left to pay for his drink, which gave you enough time to take a hit from your inhaler, just to settle your nerves. The emotions ran fresh in your head, even with the medicine, you were still fidgety. An attack was the last thing you wanted.

Sam quickly collected you, laying a hand on the small of your back to guide you out the door.

"That's some gal you got son," old gums slapped together as the owner nodded and smiled. Decades in the sun had turned his grinning face to leather, "Keep that pretty lady tucked un'er your arm, lest some dog snatch 'er up, like my poor Agnes. Though that gold diggin' harlot, bless her captivatin' soul, got nothing on you miss."

Sam chuckled and rubbed the back of his head and you blushed.

Like your cheeks turned a shade of pink. The idea of you and Sam as an item came to mind. Y/n, feelings? Bad. For. Business. Wake up girl, in two days you'll be going your separate ways. You sighed.

The more it came up the harder you fought to forget it, living on the run was a good way not to die.  The cool air outside swept your hair. If you were gonna be honest for a moment, you weren't so sure you deserved that.

You had actually thought about turning... just so that you could end it all and be politically correct. That wasn't the first time you could've become one of them either. But when each chance came you couldn't do it. Every vampire you killed was for Tyler, and the dishonor cut deep each day you went without spilling their blood.

Gravel crunched beneath Sam's boots as he stopped at the edge of the street, "I wanna say one more thing about today. Then I promise I won't talk about it anymore unless you want me to."

That was last thing you wanted to do, but you nod your consent. He certainly earned his say in the matter.

"This town will suffer if something doesn't change," Sam says as people mill about him coming from all walks of life.

You try to block it all out, but the sounds refused to be silenced. You heard groans and laughs; you dared to open an eye and saw worry creases and smiles. Most of the vehicles on the road were trucks, some engines stilled when they parked while others revved to beat the light. There was an energy about the place that could only be labeled as life.

"Do they deserve this fate?" Sam let the plea slip away.

You manage to look at Sam's boots, but that's it. You know his words will change you if you glance any higher.

"Stay Y/n...fight with us," Sam hesitated, but his hand claimed yours, "If I've got anything to do with what happens over the next 48 hours, you will the the sun rise on the third day."

What were you suppose to say to that? People don't take on a stranger's problems, those were characteristics of a generation long passed. Didn't Sam and Dean recognize a lost cause when it crossed their path? But what if they see something about you that you yourself are blind to? You close your eyes and raise you head, "I'm afraid to die Sam," your lids drift open completely, "I know we all gotta go someday but...not like this."

Sam's grip on you tightens. A piece of his hair fell in front, it hung over his left eye, but that didn't stop him from holding your gaze, "You won't," he whispered.

You wanted to reach up and brush the strand aside and hold his hand for dear life. It was hurting to breath, but you didn't dare reach for your inhaler. He doesn't need to know anymore about you. Feelings. Are. Bad. For. Business. But you were tired; of the hiding, evading, surviving but never living. So you let your fingers thread into the roots of his scalp. And you risked a smile.