You are about to start reading the third installment of my Not Strong Enough series. If you haven't read the first two, you probably shouldn't be here right now...

But, if you know you're in the right place, welcome! This chapter and the next two will take place between the three-week time period in The Girl Next Door. So, obviously, this is all my own original crap.

I don't own Supernatural or any references to anything else you may recognize.

"Gari, you've been in there for an hour!" Dean yelled as he beat on the bathroom door. "What the hell are you doin'?"

"Gimme just five more minutes!" I called back, and I flipped on my hairdryer before he could say anything else.

Once I finished drying my hair, I stared in the dirty old mirror and grinned. Maybe it didn't look as totally natural as I'd hoped, but my hair was blonde again, and I couldn't help how overly ecstatic that made me. The fact that it was almost as long as it was before I'd cut it was also a major plus.

For the first time in over two years, I finally felt just like my old self again.

I opened the door, and Dean huffed in annoyance. "It's about time," he said agitatedly. "What took you so—?" He stopped abruptly as he saw my hair, and I smiled brightly.

"You like?" I asked, mockingly flipping the long locks over my shoulder and winking at him.

He stared back at me, trying to look angry, but it didn't work. "Alright, yeah," he admitted reluctantly, giving me a tiny grin. "You look good."

"You mean I look better," I corrected teasingly. "I always look good."

His grin widened despite the irritated way that he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, go show off to Bobby or Sam. I need a shower."

"Yeah, you do," I joked. I looked down at his leg and tried not to laugh at the black garbage bag covering the cast. "Good luck with that."

"Y'know, you've been all high-and-mighty over me since you got your cast off," he said, narrowing his eyes accusingly. "At least I'm not gonna have to keep mine on as long as you had to!"

"It doesn't matter how long you have to keep yours on—the fact of the matter is that mine is off and yours isn't!" I stuck out my tongue at him and leaped out of the way as he lunged out at me; then I burst into laughter as he lost his balance and almost fell on his face. "Careful, Deano!" I crowed happily. "Don't wanna break anything else!" I waved at him over my shoulder and headed for the kitchen, excited to display my hair for the others.

"Shut up!" he called after me, and I just laughed harder.

Okay, yeah, maybe it was silly that I was so happy to have my blonde hair back, but I'd missed it more than I would ever confess. My long, straight, absolutely-totally-perfect blonde hair was a part of me—until Sam left, I had never dyed it or drastically cut it or anything. Sure, I'd experimented with bangs when I was eighteen, but I'd quickly gotten fed up with those and let my hair grow back to normal. It was the one constant in my life, and I'd had no idea how lost I would be without it until it was too late.

When I had black hair, I wasn't me. I wasn't Garideth Leigh Vulcan, the fantastically brilliant demon witch who learned how to fend for herself when she was nine. When I had black hair, I was a shell of my former self—I was desperate and pathetic and, further on down the road, I was barely even human. Sam had been right to say that I was no longer Gari—that I was no longer me—because it was true. Only looking back did I realize how completely true it was.

But, now, after everything that I'd been through in that year of being alone and in those six months with Soulless Sam and in the few weeks in the panic room… I finally felt like myself again.

And I knew that it wasn't solely because of me going blonde again—I'm not that obsessed with my hair—but looking in the mirror and seeing me, my actual self (plus a few more scars and bags under my eyes) made me realize that I really was myself again—even if I'd lost most of my awesome powers. Gari was back, and she was here to stay.

I just hoped that everyone else would realize it, too.

Well, really, one person in particular…

"Your hair!" Sam exclaimed as I walked into the kitchen. He was sitting at the table and staring up at me with an expression of utter shock on his face—and maybe a little bit of happiness, too.

I suddenly felt nervous, and I stared down at the dirty floor and twisted a strand of my hair around my fingers. I looked up at him from under my eyelashes and bit my lip before asking, "D'you like it?"

He nodded eagerly and gave me a genuine smile. "Yeah, you, uh—" His eyes dropped to the table, as if he was feeling as nervous as I was for some reason. "Y—you look beautiful," he finished quickly, and my heart gave a little thump in my chest at the compliment and the way his cheeks turned pink as he tried to hide his face with his hair.

I felt the heat rush up my neck, and I tried to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Thanks," I said warmly, and I gave up trying to control myself, grinning widely at him. I sat down in the chair next to him and held back a small giggle at the way he fidgeted at our close proximity.

He hasn't acted like this since we first met, I thought giddily, my grin growing. Who knew all I had to do was dye my hair back to normal to get him all adorably nervous again?

Sam finally turned back to me and opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped abruptly as Bobby came in. "Look at you!" the older hunter said, clapping me on the shoulder as he passed through the room and toward the front door. "Ya finally look like you again!"

"Thanks, Bobby!" I called after him, and I still couldn't wipe that stupid grin off my face. I faced Sam again and raised my eyebrows. "So, it seems the consensus is that my hair is better blonde and I should never, ever, ever dye it again. Does that sound about right?"

Once again, Sam started to say something, and once again, he was interrupted—this time, it was as Dean hobbled into the kitchen on his crutches. His hair was dripping wet, and he had a scowl etched so deeply on his face that I didn't know if it would ever go away. There was a bruise blooming on his right elbow, and he winced as it knocked against the doorframe. He grabbed the towel that was slung over his shoulder and rubbed at his hair furiously as he grumbled, "You still talkin' about your hair?"

I bit down hard on my lip and averted my eyes as I shook with the effort of holding back my laughter. As soon as Sam let out the smallest chuckle, I lost it.

I clutched my stomach and sucked in deep breaths as I tried to stop laughing, but it was no use. I decided to just let my fit of giggles run its course, despite the fact that Dean looked like he wanted to shove his crutch down my throat. "I—I'm sorry!" I gasped out. "You just—and your face—and—oh, my God!"

Dean glowered at me until I managed to gain a tiny bit of control. "You done?" he snapped, and I gave a weak nod as I wiped tears of mirth from my eyes. "You wanna give me that seat?"

I obliged instantly, still giggling a little as I stood up and moved behind Sam's chair. "So what happened? Or dare I ask?"

"I fell," he said flatly.

"Hey, at least you didn't die this time," Sam said optimistically, and I let out another giggle.

"Mystery Spot?" I asked him.

He grinned up at me and nodded. "Mystery Spot."

"Reading those books was probably the best and worst idea of my life," I said. "On one hand, now I know pretty much everything about you guys, and I don't feel totally clueless when you talk about past hunts."

"And how's it the worst idea?" Sam asked.

"Well, the emotional trauma is never gonna leave me," I replied with a shrug.

He chuckled and shook his head in mock disappointment. "You and your attachment to fictional characters."

"Excuse me, but Sam and Dean Winchester are real, and one of them is most likely thinking about all the different ways to kill me right now." I grinned over at Dean, and he huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, last time we had a fangirl find out we were real, she stalked Sam," the older Winchester said, his mood lightening the slightest bit as he began to tease his brother.

My grin turned into a pout, and I scrunched my eyebrows together in confusion. "Who?"

"Becky Rosen," Sam said grumpily. "We met her after Chuck stopped writing the books."

"Damnit, I didn't get to read that! I only got to go as far as Dean going to Hell!" I whined. Dean looked offended, so I immediately said, "Just so you know, I sobbed like a little baby. Every single time."

"You read them more than once?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

I blushed and looked down. "Maybe…"

"How many times?"

"More than Harry Potter, but less than Lord of the Rings."

"So about ten?" Sam asked seriously, and I blanched. I had forgotten that he knew pretty much everything there was to know about me.

"I didn't count on you remembering stuff like that," I said embarrassedly, my blush deepening even more.

"Ten?" Dean exclaimed. "As in, you read each book ten times? That's like sixty six books!"

"Actually, it's only sixty," I mumbled, staring down at my hands. "Chuck went on some kind of writer's strike during the third season, so there were only sixteen books instead of twenty two." Dean gaped at me, and Sam let out a small laugh. "And, hey," I said defensively, "they're all really short, and Chuck writes like a fifth grader, so they're really fast reads! And I didn't read all of them ten times. Just most of them…"

"What was your favorite?" Sam asked.

"…You don't wanna know."

"Aw, c'mon," he implored, looking up at me with those big, pleading puppy eyes, and he grinned as I sighed in defeat.

"Alright, fine," I huffed. "But before I tell you, you have to remember that I am a total emotional masochist."

Dean gave me an odd look. "What d'you mean?"

"She means that she likes reading books that make her cry," Sam explained. "And watching movies and listening to music…" I slapped his shoulder playfully, and he smiled sweetly at me.

"So what's your favorite?" Dean pressed. "And you better choose carefully 'cause I am so not okay with our lives bein' there for anyone to see."

"Don't worry—it's not No Rest for the Wicked. Your death scene," I clarified at the puzzled expression on his face. "It's not a part of All Hell Breaks Loose, either. Or In My Time of Dying. Or Mystery Spot." I shrugged thoughtfully. "Though it probably would've been Mystery Spot if it wasn't for Gabriel's sudden decision to be an even bigger dick…" Sam gave me a pointed look, knowing that I was stalling. I sighed. "Okay, okay. It's a cross between Home and Born Under a Bad Sign," I told them.

"Okay… and what happened in those?" Dean asked confusedly. "In all the ones you said, really…"

"Well, like I said, No Rest for the Wicked was when you went to Hell. All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 1 was when Sam died the first time, and All Hell Breaks Loose: Part 2 was, of course, where you gave your heartbreaking 'What am I s'posed to do?!' speech and sold your soul to bring Sam back." The older Winchester shifted uncomfortably as I brought that up, though I wasn't sure if it was because of me bringing up the speech or him selling his soul. "In My Time of Dying is when John sold his soul to keep you alive—it's the only time I've ever cried and will ever cry for your father. It's the only time he actually was a father. I'm sorry," I said instantly, and I let out a small sigh of relief as Dean's fist unclenched and he gave me a short nod. "And Mystery Spot was the time of the repetitive Tuesdays."

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed, looking offended. "I died like a hundred times!"

"Over a hundred," Sam corrected quietly, and I felt a small pang of regret in my heart.

I squeezed his shoulder in an attempt to convey my apology. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. All of it." His eyes slowly met mine, and he gave a small nod to express his gratitude. I knew that he still hadn't told Dean about the six months he'd spent trying to find Gabriel, and I knew that he probably never would tell Dean. And it certainly wasn't my place to say anything else about it.

"So… Home and Born Under a Bad Sign?" Sam said, clearly trying to change the subject.

"I'm surprised you haven't guessed what Home is. It's kinda obvious."

Realization dawned in Sam's eyes. "Lawrence," he said, and I nodded.

"What?" Dean asked, looking very put out that he hadn't caught on, too.

"Home is when you guys went back to Lawrence and found the poltergeist and Mary's ghost," I explained warily, trying to gauge the older Winchester's reaction.

"Oh." He frowned, and there was a slightly faraway look in his eyes, as though he was remembering all of the conflicting emotions brought on by being in that house and seeing his mother's ghost. He shook his head slightly. "Born Under a Bad Sign?" he prompted softly.

"Heh, well, this one's embarrassing…" I chewed on my lip and shifted back and forth on my feet, reluctant to tell them about it.

"Why?"

"Um, well…" I laughed nervously. "That's when Meg possessed Sam…"

"What?!" the brothers yelped simultaneously, and Sam spun around in order to stare disbelievingly at me.

I grinned sheepishly. "Meg's funny," I mumbled. "It was nice to see she hasn't lost her sense of humor over the years."

"You like her?" The anger on Dean's face was enough to make me take a step back. "She got Ellen and Jo killed, and she almost got Bobby killed, too!"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And yet you still worked with her to tryto take down Crowley," I shot back. "Speaking of Crowley, how long d'you intend to let him live? Is he still useful to you? Are you keeping him around in case we get another God-angel or something? And wasn't he the one who gave you the Colt and sent you after Lucifer in the first place?" Dean huffed and looked away from me. "That's what I thought. Meg was funny, and she saved my ass from being ripped apart by hellhounds. So forgive me if I don't hate her as much as you do."

Of course, I really did like the demon—even though she had been supplying me with demon blood, she had tried to get me to stop. I considered her a friend, though I wasn't about to tell them that. But it did piss me off that she just suddenly stopped supplying me without warning. In the long run, it was a good thing, but that was just kind of rude.

"The intense broments were great, too," I said after a minute, and I saw Sam try to hide a smile and Dean try to keep looking pissed.

"Alright," Dean said as he struggled to get to his feet, "I'm gettin' outta here before you start bringing up all of our 'broments.'" He hobbled out of the room toward the front door, and I took his seat.

"So…" I said, turning to Sam.

"So…?" he echoed, grinning as I rolled my eyes.

"Do I really have to ask?"

His grin faded, and his eyes flicked to a spot just over my shoulder before looking back at me. "Yeah, I'm seeing him," he said quietly.

I laid my hand on the table, palm facing upward. "Can I…?" I asked slowly, unsure if I was pushing him too far. He nodded once and gave me his hand.

As soon as I touched Sam, Lucifer started tugging on my hair. "Hm, blonde again," he mused. "Y'know, it really is your best look."

I gave Lucifer a disgusted glare and turned back to Sam. "Does swatting him away work?"

Sam shrugged. "You could try it. He usually just laughs at me."

"How long has he been playing with my hair?"

"About five minutes."

"Great." I swatted my hand at Lucifer, but he just took a step back and laughed before pulling on my hair again. "He's really annoying."

"This is the best he's been since…" Sam frowned. "Well, since ever."

"I resent that," Lucifer piped up, but Sam and I ignored him.

I gazed at Sam sympathetically and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry. I know it's kinda lame and pointless to say it, but I'm sorry."

He gave me a halfhearted smile. "I'm dealing."

"You don't have to deal alone," I said softly, resisting the urge to withdraw my hand as the words tumbled from my mouth. Here comes the rejection, I thought resignedly.

Sam pulled his hand out of mine, looking strangely apologetic. "Yeah, I do," he replied sadly.

I didn't argue, despite how much I wanted to. I simply said, "Okay," and glanced away from the grateful half-smile he was giving me.

"Thanks," he said, "for, uh… for not pushing it."

"It's not really my business, so why would I?" I said emotionlessly, though I still couldn't make myself look at him.

I felt his hand brush my arm and I moved away. He sighed and said, "Gari, please, I—"

"I'm gonna go call Elle," I said abruptly, standing up and heading for the door. "She's probably worried sick."

"Gari, wait."

I turned back to him and forced a smile. "Try not to have any mental breakdowns, okay?" I teased gently. "And I'm always here if you need me."

Before he could say anything else, I walked out of the kitchen and went into the room I'd claimed as mine. I leaned back against the door as I shut it, and I let out a long sigh.

So much for making progress…

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

I couldn't sleep.

This new/old house was too small, and my bed was too stiff, and the whole place smelled like mildew and rotting wood.

In other words: ew.

Plus, I couldn't stop thinking about Sam. Our previous conversation had been going so well—I mean, I thought he was starting to warm up to me again—but then it all went downhill when I tried to help him.

I kind of felt used, to be honest. It seemed he liked having me there whenever he was nearing a breakdown but didn't want me around any other time. And I knew that was very un-Sam-like behavior, but I didn't know what else to think.

But then the way he looked at me when he saw my blonde hair, and he called me beautiful, and he was all jittery and flustered just like he used to be…

Ugh. I'm starting to get why some girls hate guys so much. I'm almost thirty—I shouldn't be having problems like this.

Oh, God. I'm almost thirty.

Nope, nope, nope. Stop thinking about that. I can freak out when I'm almost forty.

If I live that long…

Fuck, okay, this sleeping thing isn't working out for me.

With a sigh, I got out of bed and slipped on some old plaid pajama pants that I rarely ever used. I padded out into the hallway, trying to remember how to get to the kitchen.

Once I finally found it, I went straight to the fridge and rummaged around for something to snack on. My eyes alighted on a pack of pudding cups, and I smiled slightly as I remembered the way the boys had laughed and insisted on buying it due to some inside joke of theirs. I grabbed one of the cups, then searched for a spoon. Thankfully, we had also remembered to buy some plastic utensils. I hopped up on the counter and grinned as I opened the cup and licked the pudding off the top.

Just as I was about to take my first bite, I heard a strange noise. I waited a minute or so to see if it was just my imagination, and, when all was quiet, I dismissed it and went back to my pudding.

No, there it is again. I jumped off the counter and tiptoed out of the kitchen, my late-night snack completely forgotten. I paused in the hall, waiting for the noise to happen again so I could follow it. There! I turned right and carefully made my way through the too-dark house, my arms stretched out to keep me from running into anything. I reached the end of the hall and stood between two doors, biting my lip indecisively as I waited for the noise to lead me into the correct room. My head jerked to the left as I heard the sound again. It sounds like a whimper, I thought as my hand grasped the doorknob. But who would be—?

My thoughts broke off as I opened the door and saw a familiar form tossing and turning on the bed. My heart broke as I realized what—or who—had been making those pitiful noises.

Sam.

"Sam?" I called softly, taking a few wary steps forward.

He continued to twist in his sheets, and another small cry escaped his lips. "No," he mumbled plaintively, "don't!"

"Sam?" I tried again, reaching out to turn on the small lamp on the bedside table. I moved closer and knelt down beside his bed. I remembered that he normally slept with a knife under his pillow, and the itty bitty part of me that was thinking of anything but Sam was trying to warn me about that, but the majority of me just didn't care.

I noticed that his forehead was drenched with sweat, and dark brown locks of hair clung to it no matter how much he thrashed around. "Stop, please," he begged, flipping over so fast that he almost hit me. "It hurts."

Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized that this wasn't just a normal nightmare—he was dreaming of the Cage. "Sam, wake up," I said, my voice slightly louder than before. He didn't respond. "Sam, c'mon, it's just a dream; you can wake up now."

"No, no!" Sam cried desperately. "Stop! Please, stop!"

I didn't care what terms we were on or if I'd see into his dream—I had to wake him up. I couldn't let him suffer through this any longer.

I climbed onto the bed and shook him roughly, trying my hardest to block out the images that shot through my mind. If I paid attention to them, I was afraid that I'd be stuck like that, too. "Sam, wake up!" I yelled frantically, tears streaming down my face as he continued to flail. "C'mon, Sammy, it's just a dream! Wake up!"

Sam shot up with a gasp, nearly knocking me out of the bed. His eyes darted around the room wildly, like he didn't know where he was; then they finally landed on me. "G—Gari?" he said shakily. "W—what are you—?"

I pulled my hands back into my lap and stared down at them. "I heard you crying out in your sleep," I said quietly. "I had to wake you up."

"I—I'm sorry—did I wake—?" he started, looking guilty, but I broke in.

"No, I couldn't sleep. I don't like this house." I realized then that I was shaking, and I didn't know why. Glancing down, I saw that my knee was pressed against Sam. He was the one who was shaking. He was shaking so badly that it was making me shake. Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for his hand. He locked his fingers through mine and squeezed hard. "Are you okay?" I asked finally. "Sorry, that's a stupid question, isn't it?"

"I'm fine," he said, and I knew it was sort of an automatic response for him now.

"Was it Lucifer?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"It was nothing," Sam replied flatly, but he wouldn't meet my eyes.

I could've pushed him farther and brought up what I'd seen, but I didn't want to do that to him. Instead, I simply said, "Okay."

I kept waiting for him to pull his hand away, but he just loosened his grip the slightest bit. I traced my thumb in tiny circles on the back of his hand subconsciously, and I was struck once again by just how much I'd missed the feeling of his fingers entwined in mine. I'd been doing it a lot lately, but I'd never let myself think about it until now. I knew I shouldn't have been focusing on something as trivial as holding his hand at a moment like that, but I couldn't help it. The way our fingers locked together just felt so natural, like that's how they were always meant to be.

I stayed quiet, despite the urge I felt to say something, anything, to comfort him. But, really, what do you say to comfort your ex-lover after he has a Hell-dream?

"It was Lucifer," he said softly, and I flinched as he broke the silence. I didn't look at him, afraid that, if I did, he'd stop talking. I felt him move and glanced out of the corner of my eye to see him running his free hand through his hair. "First time I've actually slept since that Leviathan, and I have nightmares." He laughed mirthlessly. "Just my luck, right?" I didn't reply—didn't know how to reply. "I haven't been honest with you," he continued, "or Dean. I've been seeing him the whole time since I woke up, and I haven't said anything. Today wasn't the first time. Not even close." I looked at him then, unable to help myself, and I opened my mouth to speak. He stopped me by saying, "But you've noticed, haven't you?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes."

"D'you know that I'm seeing him right now?"

"Yes," I repeated, for I could see him, too. He was leaning up against the doorframe with a calculating look on his face, watching us intently without saying a word. This was the quietest and calmest I'd ever seen him, and I didn't want to think about what that meant for Sam.

Sam glanced at me nervously. "Can…" He sighed and closed his eyes, looking disgusted with himself for some reason. "Can you still see him?"

"Yes," I said for the third time, and his eyes lit up the slightest bit, only to darken a moment later. I knew then why he was so ashamed of himself—some part of him was still hoping that I could see Lucifer, just so he wouldn't be alone. I suddenly didn't care if he was using me or not. It wasn't going to stop me from helping him in any way that I could. I squeezed his hand tightly, knowing that he would jerk away after I spoke. "Haven't you figured it out yet? I can see him when I'm touching you. That's why I'm always trying to hold your hand."

He did just what I expected, staring at me incredulously when I kept my grip on his hand. "I—I mean, I guessed, but I didn't want… Let me go!" he ordered. "You don't need to see him, too!"

"Sam, calm down," I told him, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"Are you crazy?" he yelped, finally managing to reclaim his hand. I sighed and raised my eyebrows at him, waiting for the rant I knew was coming. "You don't mind?" he exclaimed disbelievingly. "I've been dealing with him since my wall fell, and I almost shot you, it got so bad! I thought he was you, Garideth! My finger was on the trigger! If Dean hadn't stopped me, I would've—you would be dead! You have no idea what he did—what he's doing to me!"

"That's not what I meant," I said softly, somehow masking my frustration.

"Then what did you mean?" he asked angrily.

I tried to keep my temper, I really did, but I couldn't stand him yelling at me for some stupid misunderstanding without even letting me explain first.

I glared up at him and snapped, "I meant that I don't mind seeing Lucifer if it helps you! I'd go to Hell and back for you, Sam, so this is absolutely nothing!"

He stared at me, eyes wide with shock and his mouth hanging slightly open. "I—I don't—" he stuttered. "Why would you—?" He stopped and looked away from me, as if looking at me was making it hard for him to think. "You shouldn't say that," he said quietly. "I've been friggin' terrible to you since…"

"I love you, Sam," I said bluntly, knowing that, now that I'd said it, I had to keep going. "No matter what was said and done by both of us, I love you. And, right now, I don't even care how you feel about me. Just as long as you let me help you."

He regarded me with big, sad eyes, looking like a scolded puppy. Then, all of a sudden, his shoulders sagged even further, and he leaned toward me. His arms wrapped around my waist, and he squeezed his eyes closed as he ducked his head into the crook of my neck.

I honestly didn't know how to react. I was frozen with shock and bewilderment and disbelief and incredulity and all of those other synonyms that meant I was totally taken by surprise.

Then I slowly returned the embrace, taking note of the fact that he was still trembling. "It's okay, Sammy," I murmured. I hesitated, waiting for him to correct me. When he didn't, I tightened my arms around him and continued talking. "Everything is gonna be okay. You've beat the devil before, and you can beat him again. It doesn't matter that he's in your head this time. You can still beat him. I know you can."

As I said that, I glanced around the room, hoping that Lucifer wasn't there to refute my promise. He seemed to have disappeared for the moment, so I allowed myself to close my eyes and pull Sam closer. I found myself thinking of all the times he'd comforted me after my nightmares, and I wished I'd never gotten the chance to return the favor.

"I'd give anything for you to not have to go through this," I whispered, and I rubbed my hand in small circles on his back, just like he used to do to me.

He finally released me and pulled away, and I reluctantly let him go. "I know," he said just as quietly.

I bit my lip as the urge to bring up the subject of us rose in my throat, and instead, I asked, "So are you okay now?"

His eyes got all big and sad again, and I knew that he could tell what was on my mind. "Yeah, I think so," he replied, also avoiding the subject. "I mean, I'm not seeing him right now, at least."

"You think you can go back to sleep?"

"I'll probably just have those nightmares again if I do," he said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"I could, um…" Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Am I really about to say this? Stop talking, Gari! Stop talking now! "I could stay in here with you," I suggested embarrassedly, and I stared down at the comforter, effectively letting my newly blonde hair hide my face. Fuck, did I really just say that?!

Sam looked at me sympathetically, and, my God, I hated that expression. "Gari, I—"

"C'mon, Sam," I interrupted, giving him a wry grin to cover my discomfort. "It's not like I'm gonna try anything on you. You may be my totally gorgeous ex-whatever, but I'm not that pathetic."

He narrowed his eyes angrily. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

I sighed, letting my façade drop. "Yeah, I know," I said. I chewed on my lip thoughtfully, trying to figure out a way to explain my thought process to him. "D'you remember two years ago when Lucifer was talking to you in your dreams?" I asked finally, and he nodded slowly, looking confused. "D'you remember that he had a harder time reaching you when you were with me?"

He nodded again, and I could tell that he was catching on. "What, d'you think that applies here?"

"It might," I shrugged. "Best-case scenario: you sleep Lucifer-free. Worst-case: you spend the night sharing a bed with me for no reason. So, what d'you say? Wanna give it a shot?"

He frowned and said, "I dunno, Gari. I don't really think that—"

"Oh, no, it's okay," I interrupted, and I got out of the bed, trying to hide how much his constant rejection of me hurt. "I understand. It probably wouldn't have worked, anyway. It was a stupid idea." I rapidly blinked back tears as I walked toward the door. "Night, Sam."

"Garideth, wait," he called, and I froze with my hand on the doorknob. I turned back to face him curiously, not letting myself hope for fear of getting rejected again. He gazed at me for a moment, trying to come to a decision. He looked so pitiful and lost and alone, and it physically pained me to see him that way. All I wanted to do was hold him and never let him go, and it hit me again that I didn't have the right to do that anymore. "Maybe…" he started, breaking me out of my thoughts, "maybe it'll work."

I slowly walked back toward him. "Are you sure?"

"No," he admitted, shaking his head. "But… But I don't wanna see him any more than I absolutely have to."

"Okay," I said as I crawled into bed beside him. I rested my head on the pillow, and he clicked the lamp off and did the same. "If you need me, I'm right here," I assured him. "Don't hesitate to wake me—even if you're just dreaming about clowns and midgets."

He chuckled and said, "Alright, fine. And, Gari?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

I could just barely see his face in the little bit of moonlight shining through the dirty window, but I could still make out his smile. "Thanks."

"It's what I do," I joked, and he chuckled again. I wriggled around and said, "Your bed's squishier than mine. It's not fair."

"Goodnight, Gari," Sam said sternly, and I grinned.

"Goodnight, Sam."

I inched my hand toward his slowly, and I closed my eyes contentedly when he twined his fingers through mine and squeezed. Baby steps, I thought. I can be patient. He's worth it.

And so it begins!