Keep your expectations low, and everything should be alright.
World’s End | Up all night for good fun
The first time that Malcolm had met Wrench, the blond had smiled at him. Over the years, Malcolm had seen many variations of Wrench smiles, ranging from playful smirk to the classic “I’m sorry I did the thing, but look how much charm I can channel in my face” grin. Malcolm loved both of those smiles, and every degree that feel between them.
Frowns were another matter entirely. They didn’t belong on Wrench’s lips, and they were so rare that the gesture seemed incongruous with the rest of his face. There was a frown, though. From the timing of it, Malcolm gleaned that Wrench wasn’t okay with the joke he’d make about dying, but he was certain that there was something more to it than that. They joked about death all the time. It was their right as young twenty-something and potential immortals.
Not that Malcolm ever wanted to live out that potential. He’d known about the curse that ran through his veins for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t minded it back then. As far as he’d understood, it just meant that he could spend the rest of his life with his family, and a young Malcolm Kinnear couldn’t think of anything better than that.
But then some asshole immortal with some asshole grudge had murdered his father, and once the dust had settled around him again, he’d realized that being immortal didn’t mean spending the rest of his life with the people he loved. It meant that in most cases he’d be spending the rest of their lives, and mortal lives, he’d learned, were fragile.
It had comforted him to know that Wrench was like him, with the same blood burden and the same unwillingness to embrace eternity. As such, they liked to make light of the things that made them squirm, so Malcolm wasn’t sure what had made Wrench frown. He’s ask later, when they would both presumably be a little more drunk.
"She is the worst," he agreed, wrinkling his nose at the subject of Irene. Bastian was sweet and kind, strange things to attribute to an assassin, especially one of his caliber. He tried to hide his gentle heart, but Malcolm could see it. He had plenty of experience with the truly heartless, and Bastian did not qualify. Not by a mile. "I was always under the impression that we hung out in places full of lowlife degenerates so that we looked better by comparison. And Kevin isn’t so bad. Dumb as a damn cinder block, but he’s essentially a nice guy."
Of all of the bartenders at Fenix, Kevin was perhaps the only one that was just a bartender. Malcolm was pretty sure the guy didn’t know that Fenix was the front for Vlad Relyco’s crime empire, which was a little concerning, considering that Bastian always has a weapon of some kind within reach, usually stowed in a compartment under the bar. Maybe Kevin just thought they worked in a rough neighborhood. Technically true, Malcolm conceded.
Wrench took his hand, and the wielder forgot all about the potential stupidity of Kevin the Bartender. They’d been holding hands for so long that they seemed to click together like the pieces of a puzzle. Malcolm had learned to ignore the heat that seemed to shoot from the contact of their hands, up his arm and straight to his cheeks. Malcolm didn’t like to blush; the act was too telling. He’d trained himself to remain calm in all situations and avoid physical tells, mostly because of his business, but it had its uses in his personal life, too.
He smirked at Wrench and squeezed his hand, and with the slight tingle across his skin that normally accompanied magic, things rearranged around them and reassembled in the form of the bustle of Fenix. There’d been a time when his teleporting hadn’t been so smooth, but as in all things, he’d trained and honed the skill until it was effortless, like a reflex.
Fenix wasn’t terribly busy, but there was enough traffic that no one noticed their sudden appearance. Without breaking contact with Wrench, Malcolm headed to the bar. He knew for a fact that Bastian was working, but he wasn’t at the bar.
"Hey, Mal," Kevin said in greeting. He set out two glasses without asking for a drink order. Malcolm checked in on Bastian pretty regularly, at least consistently enough that Kevin had committed his favorite drink to memory. Malcolm’s visits had become even more frequent in the aftermath of The Big Event. He still didn’t know the details, and that drove him insane but he knew that it had left the wolf devastated. Kevin, to give him due credit, seemed to understand this, and he answered Malcolm’s next question before the wielder could ask. "Bastian’s on his break. He should be back soon, though."
Malcolm nodded, hiding his immediate concern. Kevin’s innocuous statement could’ve meant that Bastian was actually on a break, but it could’ve just as easily meant that he was holed up in a breakroom with someone licking coke off of his abs. Malcolm’s gaze flicked over to Wrench. They were there to have fun, not get into a snit over Bastian.
"Thanks, Kevin. If he comes back, just let him know were’e here, would ya?" Malcolm slid one of the glasses of whiskey on the bar over to Wrench and took the other for himself. "You. Me. Dance floor."
He smiled and tossed the drink back quickly before making his way toward the dance floor. And maybe if he accidentally ended up grinding on Wrench in the crowd, it probably wouldn’t be a big deal. Yeah, totally not a big deal at all.
World’s End | With Their Pumped Up Kicks
"Yes way," Rissa responded, wincing in her head. That had probably made her sound like a kid, and that was the very last thing that she wanted Aubrey to see her as. She didn’t want anyone to think of her as a kid, truth be told, but she knew that it was inevitable. She was the youngest hunter on the team, and she knew that she looked younger than she was, which was a huge pain in the ass when she wanted to genuinely flirt with people, like she was with Aubrey.
Or at least she was trying to flirt. It had never really been her forte. She much preferred the direct approach, but asking someone up front if they wanted to go make out seemed somewhat clumsy. Aubrey didn’t seem to mind the hand on his knee, and she thought for a moment to put it back, but she stopped herself. On the one hand, he could’ve meant that he liked that she’d touched his knee. But then again, he could’ve just as easily meant that he didn’t mind because he wasn’t really interested in her in a physical sense.
She wasn’t sure which, and her tendency to overthink was not helping. Aubrey’s face wasn’t helping either. It was very pretty, and his expressions were cute, and Rissa was too tipsy and or drunk to not be distracted by the curve of his smile. Her wings fluttered nervously behind her. She smiled in turn as he talked about nature. He seemed to feel the same way about it as she did. She drained the rest of her scotch, leaning in and taking Aubrey’s hand.
"It’s because everything in nature is rooted, you know?" she said. "Not literally, but like, in the cosmic energy sense." She rested her palm to his. His hand dwarfed her own, and she laughed a little before looking back to him.
"So like, everything in nature is connected somehow, okay?" She paused to curl her fingers, slotting them between Aubrey’s and giving his hand a squeeze. "So when other stuff tries to push it down, it holds fast because it’s all intertwined." To demonstrate this, she took her other hand and wrapped her fingers around Aubrey’s wrist, lightly pushing his hand away. But she kept her grip with her other hand so that they didn’t separate.
"I think it’s cool, too," she agreed. She still hadn’t let go of Aubrey’s hand or his wrist. "I also really like that you’re giving me the guided tour of your last-night-on-earth speech. It’s very behind the scenes. Refreshing."
"You know," she said, finally letting go of his hand. She stretched a wing out, curving it around Aubrey and nudging him just a smidge closer. "If we’re going to talk about big, philosophical things like the end of the world and the power of nature, you’re gonna need to get me another drink."
"Well then, I won’t let you down," Oma said. She’d always been proud of her ability to frankenstein weapons out of spare parts, but knowing that Linc appreciated it made her want to preen. Instead she leaned back, curled into Linc’s side as they elevator carried them up. Apparently elevators weren’t as fast as they used to be. She took a deep breath and nuzzled her cheek against Linc’s shoulder. She didn’t mind if the elevator ran slow.
"It’s not the equipment I’m worried about so much as the flesh-eating zombies," she sighed, grinning as she looked up at him. Her eyes were about level with his jaw. It would be easy to just lean forward and sneak a kiss. But she didn’t want to do that. Not before a major debriefing, and not when she was inebriated. There was a chance of making things awkward between them, and she wouldn’t risk that for anything.
"I’ll be sure to add ‘sneaky, silent-killer shit’ to the specs when I make my newest masterpiece," she promised. She laughed softly when he mentioned their zombie apocalypse plans. It had started out as idle speculation, born of boredom. Other than the random missions here and there, there hadn’t been much to do in Alaska. It wasn’t like they could go outside and sunbathe.
The plans for surviving a zombie outbreak had gotten more and more elaborate as time went on, like they’d taken on their own life until one day Oma realized that they’d actually constructed list of supplies they would practically need in order to survive. In a way, it reminded her of her feelings for Linc. She’d caught herself wondering what the wolf would be like in bed, and before she knew it, she was ass over teacup for the guy.
"Hey, chin up. Some of the plans might come in handy. You never know," she pointed out, standing up straight as the elevator slowed and the doors slid open. Oma stepped off of the elevator, fumbling for her room key as she approached the door. there was one thing from the old plans that definitely hadn’t changed. And that was that she was going to protect Linc no matter what.
She nudged the hotel door open with her hips and stepped inside. She liked to think that she kept a clean room, but really things tended to get away from her. She quickly went about grabbing up the random articles of clothing she’d haphazardly discarded on the floor, shoving it into her suitcase, which she promptly moved between the far wall of the room and the bed, which she hadn’t made. She knew Lincoln wasn’t going to judge her for the clutter; he knew her well enough to know that she favored a little entropy, but it would probably be awkward if she just left her bra from the day before lying in the middle of the floor.
"Make yourself at home," she said, gesturing vaguely at the minibar. "If you don’t mind, I’m going to get out of this dress. I am definitely feeling a tank top and yoga pants mood coming on."
World’s End | Dark Roman Wine
Bastian had been at Fenix every night for the past week. He normally tended bar a couple of nights a week, and other than shooting people, it was probably his most marketable skill. He couldn’t say with certainty where he’d picked up his bartending abilities, but based on his tips, he guessed that he was doing something right. Like most things in his life, he found that if he had a flashy enough presentation, people didn’t really pick up on the fact that he was just making everything up as he went.
He flipped a bottle up into the air, catching it without looking as he thumbed the cap off and sloshed its contents into the line of shot glasses waiting on the bar. They were for a cluster of women up front. Some kind of bachelorette party, if Bastian had to guess. Fenix was more exclusive than other clubs in the area, so they didn’t get that sort of thing often, but when they did, Bastian liked to be there. Mostly because he was a vain motherfucker, and he was acutely aware of the way people looked at him. The women laughed as they watched him, all smiles as they took their shots.
"Do we have a bride-to-be here, or do you ladies just naturally glow?" he asked, lips quirking in the corners. At the behest of her friends, one of the women gave a little wave. Bastian smiled, pouring out an extra shot for her, bowing from the waist as he set it down in front of her. He winked as he stood back up, noting the blush on the woman’s cheeks but not saying a word. "Well, in that case I think some congratulations are in order. This round’s on me."
He could’ve carried on for the rest of the night like that, reveling in the attention of then ten or so women, nine of which were definitely not getting married (and he’d already done a quick check for rings, pleasantly surprised to find none). But just as he was turning back to the shelves of liquor behind him, he froze in his tracks. Even as a human, his sense of smell was pretty sharp, and he’d caught a scent that made his wolf scramble to the front of his mind.
Not all alphas had the same scent, per se, but they all smelled distinctly different from other wolves, even over the sharp smell of alcohol. And he’d never met an alpha with a scent like the one he’d just picked up on. He didn’t want to seem like an over-eager kid, but he also didn’t want another bartender to get to the alpha first. He grabbed onto Kevin, one of the only bartenders in Fenix that was just a bartender.
"Kevin, take care of these lovely ladies, okay? I have to take care of someone," he said, leading the guy to the bachelorette party. "Ladies, this is Kevin. He’s going to take over for me. Enjoy your big day tomorrow, okay?" There was a chorus of disappointed groans, which was a nice ego stroke, truth be told, and Bastian put on his most charming smile.
"I know, I’m sorry. But I promise you’ll have plenty of fun. I’m leaving you in capable hands," he grinned before walking to the end of the bar. The alpha looked a lot younger than Bastian was expecting, and it would’ve jarred him a little if he hadn’t already met his fair share of immortals. Vlad had mentioned that they were expecting a VIP, but he hadn’t given him a picture or a name. Just the impression that he was the most IP of all VIPs, and his visit had to go well. Bastian had already disappointed Vlad in the recent past. He had no plans on repeating that mistake.
"What’ll you have?" he asked. He rested his hands on the bar, leaning on his arms a little without realizing it. His wolfside was trying to get close. If he didn’t hold it back, it would probably do something embarrassing like lick the guy’s face and nuzzle at him. Not that Bastian didn’t want to do that, all things considered, just not at the bar. His mind had already wandered to something more along the lines of the two of them in the privacy of his room, probably with a lot less clothes.
But he was getting ahead of himself.
Poem | BBM
The worst time is the early morning
After everyone else has gone to bed
Or to work
Or wherever it is that people go when
they have a life outside of this.
Normally I know
That I am a lonely person
But in those early morning hours
I can feel it.
Pressed into my skin like steam
Thick and heavy and it makes it
hard to breathe.
Those early morning hours are
when I lie there and think
on two questions that I should
probably let go
I wonder how I can get anything done
when it feels like all I do
is choke on how much I miss you.
But more importantly
And far less civilly
How dare you?
World’s End | With Their Pumped Up Kicks
"Aww, I don’t think he was mean mugging," Rissa said. "I think he just has a very serious resting face. Know what I mean?" But she hadn’t missed how Lincoln had been protective of her, the way that a big brother would be, just like she didn’t miss the way that Aubrey’s leg bumped her foot. She just wasn’t sure if it had been on purpose or not. She figured it would be pretty lame to out and out ask if he was flirting, so she went for another drink instead. She had her drink halfway to her lips, but when Aubrey spoke, she paused and put her drink down.
She leaned forward, smacking him lightly on the arm. She wasn’t normally so invasive of other people’s personal space, but she’d had a few drinks, and even if she was older than she looked, she was still on the tiny side. She could feel the pleasant buzz in her cheeks that she associated with being not-quite-drunk. It was a good place to be.
"Get the hell out!" she said. She smiled at the coincidence. Of all the bases in all the world… "I was supposed to ship out there myself, you know. Before… Well, before all of this." She gestured vaguely to indicate the room, which was still mostly populated with hunters. Her hand fell to Aubrey’s knee for a second, but she quickly remembered herself and pulled away.
"Shit. Sorry, man," she grinned, taking another sip of her drink. "Sometimes I get Wandering Hands Syndrome when I drink. Hope that didn’t weird you out or anything." She listened to him talk about New Orleans. She had been born in Dallas, but her family had gone up north when she was young. She knew chilled Vermont winters and the relatively tame summers of the Montpelier dome. But she could remember the dry, cracked heat of Dallas when she’d gone to visit family. She’d heard that New Orleans was just as hot, but muggy like walking into a sauna.
"I think a swamp would’ve been a nice change of pace. I was doing time at the academy in New York. Nothing there but pavement and skyscrapers," she said. "Don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful in it’s own way, but I like nature. The feel of grass under me, ya feel?"
Oma glanced back at the chickadees at the bar. They looked cozy, already comfortable with each other. If she had Vegas money, she would bet it all on them at least trying to hook up before everything was said and done. She knew how that went. She’d been in the game for a while, and while she’d never had a serious relationship with another hunter, the occasional fling was nothing out of the ordinary. Oma was pretty good with impulse control, but she had needs.
She’d even played around with the idea of trying to sleep with Linc every now and then, but she’d never made a move. She didn’t want just random sex with him. What she really wanted was to be near him, to be able to see him, to know that he was okay. Some people could pinpoint the exact moment when they’d fallen for someone. Oma couldn’t. She had no idea how her emotions had blindsided her like they had. All she knew was that over their time together in Alaska, she’d fallen head over heels for her werewolf cohunter.
"I don’t know, Linc," she sighed, turning back to face him. "I’m less and less surprised by anything the government does anymore." It was sad to know that the government had authorized to send people as young as the chickadees into the belly of the beast, but then again, they’d volunteered. It was her experience that people who were brave enough to volunteer for shit like the Quidel Initiative wouldn’t have even considered backing out and going home.
"I am thrilled," she said, "It’s nice to be able to go outside without bundling up or worrying about going snowblind." She remembered the first time they’d had a mission out in the snow. As a phoenix, she’d tended not to feel the cold, but even her higher core temperature hadn’t held it off completely once she was out in it for long enough. Coming back in from it hadn’t been a picnic, either. The snow had been so damn white that when she went back inside, she couldn’t see. It had scared her the first time, though she’d eventually gotten used to it. Needless to say, she was glad to be back from the tundra.
"If it’s a tropical vacation, I’m not prepared. Didn’t pack a bikini or anything," she sighed, smiling playfully at Linc. "Don’t worry. If they don’t, I’ll throw something together for us. I’m sure I can manage something impressive." She stepped into the elevator when it arrived. She didn’t like closed in spaces, but it was something she’d gotten more used to. Her fingers walked lightly over the buttons, pressing down when she found her floor.
"Maybe they’ll let me pack a flamethrower, huh?" She laughed a little. The joke was that she didn’t need a flamethrower when she was one herself. All phoenix possessed some degree of fire-wielding, and Oma came from an old line, so her magic was pretty powerful. It came in handy. She tried not to show people, but Linc had seen her burn a yeti to ash. It had been overkill, and at the time she had claimed adrenaline, but the truth of it was that the yeti had advanced on them and taken a swipe at Linc. The inferno that followed hadn’t been Oma’s adrenaline talking. It had been her rage.
"But for the record, I’ll be pissed if they don’t give us good guns. It’s the least they can do if they’re sending us into hell."
Bourbon Street | Get back on the horse
Tig rested her elbows up on the bar, leaning forward with her head cupped in her hands. The bartender was an almost confusing mix of adorable and sextastic, and she wasn’t even sure how to react to it. She would normally have flirted with him without hesitation, but she was a little scared that she would intimidate the poor little darling. Though he wasn’t little by any stretch of the imagination. He was probably a foot taller than she was, and every visible inch of him was muscled and sturdy. She could probably climb him like a tree, if he’d let her.
"Don’t worry, darling, I’m sure we’re in very capable hands," she said, smiling. She gave Hecky a sideways look, and her smile twisted into a little smirk. He always knew how to cheer her up. She would sometimes comment that she should just give up on dating all together and just marry him instead, and she was only ever halfway joking when she said it. As far as she was concerned, they were married, just in a platonic best friends sort of way.
"Yes, I can see that with perfect clarity. Hecky love, if I knew it wouldn’t offend you on a spiritual level, I would kiss you so hard right now." Her jaw dropped just marginally when Emmett picked up the knife, but she quickly covered the reaction, biting at her bottom lip. Her voice raised slightly over the pulsing bass line of the music. "My name’s Tig, by the way. And this is Hecky."
She was about to ask the bartender for his name when she caught sight of a mountain moving in her peripheral vision. She turned to see a tall, blond slipping onto the stool beside her. He looked like he’d stepped right off of the cover of some romance novel involving vikings in some capacity. He smiled, waving at the handsome bartender.
"Emmett!" he said. Tig got the feeling that he wasn’t shouting over the music. His voice had a naturally, booming quality to it. Tig turned back to Hecky, eyes wide, clearly communicating something along the lines of "Are you sure this is a club and we didn’t die and go to heaven?" She looked back to the bartender, then to the giant viking. The man caught her staring and smiled, all dimples and twinkling eyes.
"Hey," he said, "First time here?" It sounded like a line, and he seemed to realize that because after a moment he laughed and shook his head a little.
"Sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m a bouncer here. So I kind of have an idea of who the regulars are," he explained. The hand he held out was massive, and when Tig took it, it swallowed hers whole. "Name’s Isaac." He glanced back to the bartender.
"How’s the crowd tonight, cousin? I know it’s my night off, but you know I’ll go knock some heads together if anyone’s causing trouble." Tig looked back to Hecky, holding her arm out to him.
"Pinch me. This is a dream, right?" she asked.
World’s End | To Heal The Wounds
World’s End | With Their Pumped Up Kicks
Rissa sipped her scotch, enjoying the burn that washed over her tongue. She liked it when she could taste what she was drinking. It was much less hazardous than the sweet, fruity drinks that she’d started on. While she did enjoy those, they tended to tell her lies, and she’d spent more than one night puking her guts up because she’d gotten carried away with you. Scotch burned from the start, but at least it was straightforward.
"Well, I appreciate your architectural approach to the pick-up line. It shows planning. I like that," she smiled. She hoped that Aubrey wouldn’t think she was being sarcastic, because she wasn’t. She liked when people put thought into things. It seemed more genuine, less like she was just an afterthought in this flirty, verbal tango they were developing. He didn’t look unhappy, so she figured that he’d gotten what she’d meant.
Oma laughed. Her forehead came to rest against the crook of Linc’s neck. One of her favorite parts about her human form was the smells. She could smell as a phoenix, of course, but it wasn’t the same. Some things smelled better, others worse. She liked Linc’s smell either way. Perhaps in another life she would’ve thought it was creepy, but she figured that if anyone would get it, it would be a werewolf. Linc smelled like spring water, crisp and clean, but with a hint of earth and soap and something else.
It wasn’t unique to him, but it was certainly not something that Oma can into contact with all that often. She knew that there were other people like her, other people whose lifespans were considerably longer than average. People like that wore their years on them, whether they realized it or not. Layers and layers of experience clinging to their skin. It was a subtle scent, but undeniably present. She’d never asked Linc about it. She figured that if he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.
"Old, sure," she said, her lips brushing lightly over Linc’s neck. "But I’m not so sold on wise. We’re hunters, after all. And soon we’ll be in a dome where there are apparently zombies." It was a joke to lighten the mood, though the underscore of bitterness crackled through her tone. Some people had volunteered for this mission, but Lincoln hadn’t had a choice. Oma hated that, and she hadn’t kept that a secret at all. She was glad when Linc agreed to come back to her room with her.
"We will drink every last child-sized booze that we can get our hands on then," she smirked. She arched an eyebrow as she looked back to the chickadees. They really were too young for this, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop them from going. All Oma could do was cover them and make sure that they didn’t die out there. She’d do her best. "Night, chickadees. Don’t do anything to crazy. We’d hate to have to bail you out of jail or something." She walked away with Lincoln, arm still twined in his.
"Night, Oma. Nice to meet you, Linc. We’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow for the big debriefing." Rissa looked up at Linc when she felt his hand on her shoulder. Weres and shifters always ran a little hot, and Lincoln was no exception. The warm weight of his hand was like the comfort of family. Rissa would’ve scolded herself for getting attached so quickly, but she’d learned fairly early on that she was not cut out for emotional detachment.
She watched him leave with Oma until Aubrey spoke. She laughed and turned back to him, picking her glass back up. “Yeah, but I get the sense that they might need chaperones, too, don’t you?”
She’d only just met Linc and Oma, but they seemed pretty fond of one another. Maybe Rissa was just reading too much into it, but Aubrey had noticed, too, so perhaps not. Rissa put her foot forward, nudging gently at Aubrey’s knee with the toe of her pumps.
"So where did you say you were before all of this?" she asked. She new that Linc and Oma were from Ixchal, and Pierce was from the Guerrero unit out of New Mexico. She’d been assigned to the Armistead unit in New Orleans, but that was all before the Quidel Initiative. She didn’t regret her decision to volunteer, but it was a shame, really. She’d always wanted to see New Orleans.
Devil’s Trap | Walk five hundred miles to fall down at your door
Dean held onto Jo for as long as she stayed in his arms. There was a tug of disappointment that rattled through him when she pulled away. He ignored it. This wasn’t about him wanting to hold onto her. This was about making sure that Jo felt safe and secure. The last thing Dean wanted was to creep her out with an extended hug.
He also ignored the note of disappointment in the back of his mind when Jo said she’d have to think about returning to the life. Not that he blamed her. Hunting had torn both of their families to shreds. Both the Harvelle and the Winchester families had lost everything to it.
"Hey," he said. his voice firm and steady. "It’s whatever you want to do. Take as much time as you need." He was careful not to sound patronizing. He could pull the "I’m the big brother, and it’s my job to watch out for you" cared with Sammy. He couldn’t do the same with Jo, and more importantly he didn’t want to. He thought about her question, shrugged his shoulders just enough that it was visible. He had no plans on leaving for the night, but he wasn’t really sure about sleeping arrangements.
Cross’s condo was a little small for five people. He guessed that he and Sammy could find a motel nearby. Or maybe Elia had something in the area. It wouldn’t surprise Dean in the least. Before he and Sam had found out that Elia was absolutely rolling in money, she would find hotels when she joined them on a hunt.
But after the cat got out of the bag, she’d revealed the location of several properties that she’d apparently had the whole time, including a penthouse right in the middle of Manhattan and an underground car garage in California that made Dean’s inner mechanic drool.
Considering that she’d been in love with Cross for god-only-knew-how-long, it made sense that she’d keep a house or something nearby. Even if she didn’t, Dean suspected that Cross would offer up his home to them for as long as they needed it. Typical frickin’ Cross.
"We’ll stay unless you want us to go," he said.
”Cream and sugar?” Cross asked, glancing back at Sam as he waited for an answer. He suspected that the younger Winchester drank his coffee black. Most hunters did. As much as coffee was his life blood, Cross preferred at least a little creamer with his. Elia, he knew, took hers with enough sugar to induce a cavity. It was a trickster thing, apparently.
He noticed that Elia stayed close to Sam, even after they were done hugging. He tried not to smile about it. When she’d first introduced him to the Winchesters, Cross couldn’t help but notice the way that Elia had talked about Sam. It was a not-quite-subtle kind of admiration. He often wondered if Elia had a crush on the taller Winchester. He wouldn’t be surprised.
Both of the Winchesters were handsome, but Sam had the bookish side to him that Elia seemed to admire. Cross thought it would be nice for Elia. He couldn’t remember her showing romantic interest in anyone else for as long as he’d known her, so surely she got lonely sometimes. Then again, he wasn’t sure if she actually liked him or how Sam felt about her, and it was definitely not his place to meddle in any of that.
"Well for now, why don’t you take a load off, Sam?" Elia asked, nodding over at the living room. "We won’t tell if you need to take a cat nap."