Sam takes a deep breath, reaching above her and using the car to help her stand. “Lucifer’s host is rotting out from under him. It won’t last much longer. He knows where I am and he’s coming back. He wants his vessel and it’s not me he’s after.”
Dean instinctively pushes her back against the car, forearm across her throat. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she cries, grabbing at his arm, Converse glancing off his shins. “He doesn’t know where Sam is! I didn’t tell him anything.” She takes a shallow breath of air and gasps, “he can’t find him, can’t find you, you’re hidden somehow. I’m not. I need to leave to protect him, to protect you.”
“You don’t owe us anything. Why wouldn’t you just tell Lucifer we’re right here?”
Sam rolls her eyes and makes a fuck you noise in the back of her throat, same noise their dad used to make when Sammy would get bitchy and then apologize, before the apologizing stopped and it got really bad, before they came to blows and black eyes, before Sam left them both for good.
Dean’s struck again, holy motherfucking shit, this girl isn’t lying and he’s wondering just how the fuck he dealt with a girl up in his junk all the time, with puberty, leg hairs dulling his razor and those boobs constantly near, a sister and then she’s shoving him off, swiping her wet face with the arm of her borrowed hoodie. “Seriously, you need to ask me that question? I’m a fucking Winchester, asshole.”
One of these days my fingers will fly across the keyboard again. I know what's going to happen next, I just can't get my brain and my fingers to connect and just get it out. Who cares if it sucks at first? Isn't that what editing is for?