charloft } { 25. The last time you loved
[Set in the unnamed AU Season 6 verse. likely_evil is used with assumed permission.]
She isn’t really sure she can justify what it is she feels for Sam as love.
It’s a ridiculous notion, if she’s being completely honest. Sam has no soul. You can’t be in love with something that doesn’t care for anything, not even himself. She doesn’t know why she is even letting him sleep with her, but there’s something about being in close quarters with him. It’s a magnet that pulls her in, something she normally chalks up to animal magnetism or just being so desperate for contact after Hell that she’ll put up with anything. There’s something about Sam that makes her feel safe, though. He takes her side, puts himself between her and the danger, and he trusts her.
She’s not sure how much that trust means, given the circumstances, but she’s never had anyone trust her before. It’s like a drug that slinks under her skin and makes her want more. She’s addicted to that feeling, the one that makes her feel like she’s wanted, protected. They’re both addicts, when you think about it. Sam chases the physical, that heady rush that comes when two bodies collide, while she just wants the feeling of being shielded by someone larger than she is. When he kisses her, for a moment, she can fool herself into believing that there’s something there. When he touches her, she feels and that’s something she hasn’t had in a very, very long time.
Now, it’s gone.
Now, there’s Dean, and Bela should have known better than to think that she would have enough clout to outweigh Sam’s connection to his brother. Even without a soul, there is still something there, something that Bela can’t duplicate, recreate or outmatch. All she can do is just nod when Sam tells her that he doesn’t need her anymore. It hurts. It hurts so much more than she’d care to admit, but she’s Bela Talbot. She isn’t one to waste her emotions on anyone, especially someone who isn’t even close to understanding them. So she cuts her losses and leaves, driving back to New York City.
Her apartment hasn’t been touched in two years, but for her it seems like so much longer. Every year of Hell rings in her ears, and she knows that this isn’t the place to be. It’s a place for her to fall back into old habits, but she isn’t sure there’s much of a reason to stay out of them. Sam won’t be in need of her anytime soon. She might as well go back to doing what she does best.
She fights off a cough as she pulls the sheets from the furniture, dust flying into the air. One by one, each piece of her old life was revealed, brought out of storage like clothes that you store for the winter. She forgets how good it feels to hide behind the designer clothes and stylish lifestyle, to be the woman who could walk into a room and command that kind of attention. She’s had a year of jeans, demons, hunters and blood. It might be good to be Bela Talbot again for a while. It might be good to actually have respect again.
That feeling doesn’t last, however. It lasts as long as she can distract herself with cleaning up her apartment and restoring it to what it used to be. Once all the pieces are in place and the persona is there again, the loneliness hits her. She misses having someone there. Sam never slept, but there is something about having that warm body there that’s comforting. It makes you feel less alone in the world. She knows Sam will never love her, but companionship … that is something he could give. That is the part that she misses more than anything else. She doesn’t say anything, though. She adjusts. She gets used to being alone again, shuts off from the rest of the world and reclaims more and more of herself every day. It’s who she is. After so many years, it’s like slipping on a glove.
Until her phone rings.
“Bela, it’s me. I think Dean’s starting to catch on that there’s something wrong.”
The minute she hears his voice, her newfound resolve crumbles. She takes a breath, pressing her shoulders back into the couch, and tries not to sound too eager as she speaks. She knows he’s just going to discard her again when it’s over, but for that little while, that small moment, she can be part of something again. She wants that feeling more than anything else.
“I’m on my way.”
767 words
She isn’t really sure she can justify what it is she feels for Sam as love.
It’s a ridiculous notion, if she’s being completely honest. Sam has no soul. You can’t be in love with something that doesn’t care for anything, not even himself. She doesn’t know why she is even letting him sleep with her, but there’s something about being in close quarters with him. It’s a magnet that pulls her in, something she normally chalks up to animal magnetism or just being so desperate for contact after Hell that she’ll put up with anything. There’s something about Sam that makes her feel safe, though. He takes her side, puts himself between her and the danger, and he trusts her.
She’s not sure how much that trust means, given the circumstances, but she’s never had anyone trust her before. It’s like a drug that slinks under her skin and makes her want more. She’s addicted to that feeling, the one that makes her feel like she’s wanted, protected. They’re both addicts, when you think about it. Sam chases the physical, that heady rush that comes when two bodies collide, while she just wants the feeling of being shielded by someone larger than she is. When he kisses her, for a moment, she can fool herself into believing that there’s something there. When he touches her, she feels and that’s something she hasn’t had in a very, very long time.
Now, it’s gone.
Now, there’s Dean, and Bela should have known better than to think that she would have enough clout to outweigh Sam’s connection to his brother. Even without a soul, there is still something there, something that Bela can’t duplicate, recreate or outmatch. All she can do is just nod when Sam tells her that he doesn’t need her anymore. It hurts. It hurts so much more than she’d care to admit, but she’s Bela Talbot. She isn’t one to waste her emotions on anyone, especially someone who isn’t even close to understanding them. So she cuts her losses and leaves, driving back to New York City.
Her apartment hasn’t been touched in two years, but for her it seems like so much longer. Every year of Hell rings in her ears, and she knows that this isn’t the place to be. It’s a place for her to fall back into old habits, but she isn’t sure there’s much of a reason to stay out of them. Sam won’t be in need of her anytime soon. She might as well go back to doing what she does best.
She fights off a cough as she pulls the sheets from the furniture, dust flying into the air. One by one, each piece of her old life was revealed, brought out of storage like clothes that you store for the winter. She forgets how good it feels to hide behind the designer clothes and stylish lifestyle, to be the woman who could walk into a room and command that kind of attention. She’s had a year of jeans, demons, hunters and blood. It might be good to be Bela Talbot again for a while. It might be good to actually have respect again.
That feeling doesn’t last, however. It lasts as long as she can distract herself with cleaning up her apartment and restoring it to what it used to be. Once all the pieces are in place and the persona is there again, the loneliness hits her. She misses having someone there. Sam never slept, but there is something about having that warm body there that’s comforting. It makes you feel less alone in the world. She knows Sam will never love her, but companionship … that is something he could give. That is the part that she misses more than anything else. She doesn’t say anything, though. She adjusts. She gets used to being alone again, shuts off from the rest of the world and reclaims more and more of herself every day. It’s who she is. After so many years, it’s like slipping on a glove.
Until her phone rings.
“Bela, it’s me. I think Dean’s starting to catch on that there’s something wrong.”
The minute she hears his voice, her newfound resolve crumbles. She takes a breath, pressing her shoulders back into the couch, and tries not to sound too eager as she speaks. She knows he’s just going to discard her again when it’s over, but for that little while, that small moment, she can be part of something again. She wants that feeling more than anything else.
“I’m on my way.”
767 words