Despite her apprehension, Sam doesn't remove his hand from her arm.
The firm is grip in its urgency, but it is also surprisingly gentle. He only wants something to anchor her back to this moment, something remind her that she is as tangible as he is and wherever she went, she has returned.
"C'mon, you should sit down," he says, leading her back to the bed.
She lets him lead, not fighting the idea of sitting down because being steady on her feet isn't something she's found yet. She sits, but she doesn't let go of his arm, keeping him there because as long as she can feel him, he's real and she's not in Hell.
"It's just ... not really sunk in yet."
She doesn't know if it ever will. She doesn't know if it can, or if it's really meant to last, but at least it's something. It's a little more time than she had before.
He doesn't know how he got from one point to the next, how one moment he wouldn't trust Bela as far as he could throw her, reluctant as ever to work with her, and the next he was caring, except that's what Sam does. It would be easier if he didn't, if he could see the world as black and white as Dean has, as right and wrong as their father did, but he is not either of them.
Sam is not the soldier. He's just a guy with a terrible thing inside of him, and he knows what it's like to want to be saved. "It's okay," he says softly, sitting down next to her. A hand settles on the low of her back.
"You're okay. It's over, Bela," he says, and he sounds almost dazed about that. It worked, against all possible reason. And then, he says it aloud, because he needs to. Maybe because she needs it, too. "It worked."
There's a sharp, almost bitter laugh at that. It worked. It worked. The words hang in the air, because for all she knows, she didn't expect them to. All she had was a brief semblance of a hope. And for once, that hope had paid off.
"It worked."
Her throat chokes on the words and she feels like she might cry. Or maybe she's already crying. She couldn't actually tell until she felt the drops hit the back of her palm. She stares at it for a moment and the hand quickly comes up to wipe at her face.
His expression shifts into something unreadable at the sound of her laughter.
There's hope blooming in a terrible, aching way at the center of his chest. If it worked for Bela, it'll work for Dean. He doesn't listen to the logical part of him, the one that was law-bound once upon a time, that tries to tell him you can't just cheat death without paying a price for it. What matters is there was a way, and he knew there would be.
Sam's hand lifts itself, almost as though by its own volition, thumb wiping lightly at her cheek. It isn't sympathy that's splayed across his expression; Bela Talbot isn't someone that would want it, would see it as pity. Rather, it's empathy, the kind Sam deeply connects to, for better or for worse. (Often times, it is the latter.)
"You're in shock," he says. "And there is no right way to feel about it."
Sam's empathy at times could be a good substitute for Bela's apathy, but in this moment, it's needed. He seems to be able to process her feelings better than she can, make sense of them when there are too many for her to deal with. Her hand comes up to rest against his wrist, and for a moment she believes he's actually there for her more than his brother.
Sometimes Sam makes it easy to forget.
Eventually she remembers again, however, and reaches to take the ring from her finger. "You'll probably want this."
Sometimes he forgets until he tells himself to remember. This was all about Dean. There is nothing he won't do for him, and as Bela slips the ring off her finger, his hand all but trembles in the waiting. It feels like more than want.
More than need, even.
"Yeah," he says, letting out a low breath. "All this time, all we were looking for..."
"Sometimes the most important things come in the smallest packages."
Or the biggest ones. She takes the ring off and places it in his palm, closing his fingers around it. There's a part of her that tells her that she should keep it, just in case, especially given her line of work, but a deal is a deal, and this isn't one she's going to break.
Sam swallows thickly, his fingers brushing against hers as the ring settles on the weight of his palm.
"For what?" he asks, his voice surprisingly low.
As far as Sam is concerned, he didn't do much. At least, not as much as he'd have liked to. Bela was the one that came to him with an answer. His research skills and dogged determination alone wouldn't have been enough to save Dean.
Sam's done a lot for for her than most people have. He's been there for her, which she's never really had either. She smiles at him softly, understanding why he may not get it - even with the way they've been working together, there's so little he still knows about her.
"For helping me." She places her hand over his gently. "For trusting me. Especially when you have every reason not to."
If it had been her, she would have turned him away a long time ago.
"I was hoping you would prove me wrong," Sam says in a moment of rare honesty.
He's sometimes more empathetic than is good for him, understands what he doesn't always want to understand, and a part of him had been fighting it every step of the way until he didn't. Until he doesn't, and he's not sure what to make of that yet.
Her head tips to the side as she considers him, a man with too much of capacity to care, in contrast to her, a woman who has a hard time learning how. Her eyes watch him curiously for a moment, contemplating the question that she isn't sure she wants to know the answer to.
"Well?" she asks softly, her eyebrows climbing in an amused gesture. "Do I pass?"
The expression on Bela's face vaguely makes his lip curl up into a smirk.
"The jury's still out there on that one," he says with a straight face, mostly because he isn't sure he wants to know the answer, either. (He already knows the answer, or he wouldn't still be here. He wouldn't care.)
She chuckles softly at that, before nodding. Fair enough. She knows she has a lot more to make up for, but she hopes that this at least gains her some ground.
"Well. When they come back, you'll have to let me know."
Because she'd be very curious to know. But in the mean time ...
"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink." Or ten.
Sam joins her, chuckling quietly and ducking his head.
A strange, unfamiliar warmth floods his cheeks, and he tells himself it's nothing. When he looks back up again, the (dimpled) smile is still faintly curved on his lips. "You want to go out for them or do you want me to bring them to you?"
After the night she's had, Sam won't blame her if she doesn't want to leave the room.
... After the night she's had, Sam also wouldn't blame her if she wanted to be anywhere but here.
She considers that for a moment, as both option were entirely tempting. She even had her own wine here, but she could go for something a little stronger - and somewhere not here. It's been a long time since she's been out in the world without the end of her life hanging over her head.
"Go out," she nods. "I think I know just the place."
Sam was already leaning toward that direction himself, so he brings himself to his full (freakishly tall) height and slips back into his jacket. Opening the door and standing back so that Bela can walk through first, he motions with his hand.
"Lead the way," he says. He is still relatively new to Mystic Falls, however small the town is. The only place he'd have thought of is the Grill, and Alaric and Dean have that market cornered.
They do, which is why Bela has taken the time to seek out alternate means of libations while she's been in town. She wanted to avoid Dean as much as possible, so she tracked down an establishment that was a bit higher class.
As she makes her way inside, she glances around for a moment, before turning back to him. "Table or bar?"
Sam points to a table at the far back, a booth in the shape of a semi-circle. The bar won't give them as much privacy, and Sam's already spotted a few patrons of the establishment crowding up the counter. He's much better on a one-on-one setting.
"Table it is," she nods, weaving her way through the crowd to the table indicated. Once she gets there, she slides into the empty space, making her way into the middle so that he has space to slide in next to her.
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no subject
The firm is grip in its urgency, but it is also surprisingly gentle. He only wants something to anchor her back to this moment, something remind her that she is as tangible as he is and wherever she went, she has returned.
"C'mon, you should sit down," he says, leading her back to the bed.
no subject
"It's just ... not really sunk in yet."
She doesn't know if it ever will. She doesn't know if it can, or if it's really meant to last, but at least it's something. It's a little more time than she had before.
no subject
He doesn't know how he got from one point to the next, how one moment he wouldn't trust Bela as far as he could throw her, reluctant as ever to work with her, and the next he was caring, except that's what Sam does. It would be easier if he didn't, if he could see the world as black and white as Dean has, as right and wrong as their father did, but he is not either of them.
Sam is not the soldier. He's just a guy with a terrible thing inside of him, and he knows what it's like to want to be saved. "It's okay," he says softly, sitting down next to her. A hand settles on the low of her back.
"You're okay. It's over, Bela," he says, and he sounds almost dazed about that. It worked, against all possible reason. And then, he says it aloud, because he needs to. Maybe because she needs it, too. "It worked."
no subject
"It worked."
Her throat chokes on the words and she feels like she might cry. Or maybe she's already crying. She couldn't actually tell until she felt the drops hit the back of her palm. She stares at it for a moment and the hand quickly comes up to wipe at her face.
"You think I would be happy about it."
no subject
There's hope blooming in a terrible, aching way at the center of his chest. If it worked for Bela, it'll work for Dean. He doesn't listen to the logical part of him, the one that was law-bound once upon a time, that tries to tell him you can't just cheat death without paying a price for it. What matters is there was a way, and he knew there would be.
Sam's hand lifts itself, almost as though by its own volition, thumb wiping lightly at her cheek. It isn't sympathy that's splayed across his expression; Bela Talbot isn't someone that would want it, would see it as pity. Rather, it's empathy, the kind Sam deeply connects to, for better or for worse. (Often times, it is the latter.)
"You're in shock," he says. "And there is no right way to feel about it."
no subject
Sometimes Sam makes it easy to forget.
Eventually she remembers again, however, and reaches to take the ring from her finger. "You'll probably want this."
no subject
Sometimes he forgets until he tells himself to remember. This was all about Dean. There is nothing he won't do for him, and as Bela slips the ring off her finger, his hand all but trembles in the waiting. It feels like more than want.
More than need, even.
"Yeah," he says, letting out a low breath. "All this time, all we were looking for..."
It was this tiny little ring.
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Or the biggest ones. She takes the ring off and places it in his palm, closing his fingers around it. There's a part of her that tells her that she should keep it, just in case, especially given her line of work, but a deal is a deal, and this isn't one she's going to break.
Not with him.
"Thank you, Sam."
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"For what?" he asks, his voice surprisingly low.
As far as Sam is concerned, he didn't do much. At least, not as much as he'd have liked to. Bela was the one that came to him with an answer. His research skills and dogged determination alone wouldn't have been enough to save Dean.
To save her.
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"For helping me." She places her hand over his gently. "For trusting me. Especially when you have every reason not to."
If it had been her, she would have turned him away a long time ago.
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He's sometimes more empathetic than is good for him, understands what he doesn't always want to understand, and a part of him had been fighting it every step of the way until he didn't. Until he doesn't, and he's not sure what to make of that yet.
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"Well?" she asks softly, her eyebrows climbing in an amused gesture. "Do I pass?"
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"The jury's still out there on that one," he says with a straight face, mostly because he isn't sure he wants to know the answer, either. (He already knows the answer, or he wouldn't still be here. He wouldn't care.)
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"Well. When they come back, you'll have to let me know."
Because she'd be very curious to know. But in the mean time ...
"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink." Or ten.
omg that icon /shallow
A strange, unfamiliar warmth floods his cheeks, and he tells himself it's nothing. When he looks back up again, the (dimpled) smile is still faintly curved on his lips. "You want to go out for them or do you want me to bring them to you?"
After the night she's had, Sam won't blame her if she doesn't want to leave the room.
... After the night she's had, Sam also wouldn't blame her if she wanted to be anywhere but here.
lauren cohan is too pretty for this world
"Go out," she nods. "I think I know just the place."
correct
"Lead the way," he says. He is still relatively new to Mystic Falls, however small the town is. The only place he'd have thought of is the Grill, and Alaric and Dean have that market cornered.
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As she makes her way inside, she glances around for a moment, before turning back to him. "Table or bar?"
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Sam points to a table at the far back, a booth in the shape of a semi-circle. The bar won't give them as much privacy, and Sam's already spotted a few patrons of the establishment crowding up the counter. He's much better on a one-on-one setting.
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