Title: We Walk the Miles
Rating: PG
Summary: No one Layla has ever met eats like Dean. Sometimes she has to wonder what he’s more in love with: her, or a short stack with scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for philosophy_20, prompt #20: Reflection.



And so today, my world it smiles,
your hand in mine, we walk the miles,
Thanks to you it will be done,
for you to me are the only one.
Happiness, no more be sad, happiness....I'm glad.
If the sun refused to shine,
I would still be loving you.
When mountains crumble to the sea,
there will still be you and me.
Thank You – Led Zeppelin

No one Layla has ever met eats like Dean. Sometimes she has to wonder what he’s more in love with: her, or a short stack with scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns. He certainly looks very much in love, at the moment. It makes her smile, even chuckle slightly, from behind Sam’s computer screen.

“What?” Dean asks, looking to his left, over at her. “I have something on my face?”

She laughs. “Not at the moment. But if you keep eating like that, it’s only a matter of time.”

Dean just rolls his eyes at her. “Sometimes, I swear to God, it’s like having two Sams around,” he comments, and at that, Layla rolls her eyes. Hearing Dean complain about Sam is something that she has learned to tune out. She knows, good and well, that Dean doesn’t know what he would do with himself without Sam around. She doubts he could survive.

“Anything?” Sam asks, returning from the restroom. His question is directed at Layla, who has been looking up local obituaries online. She shakes her head.

“Nothing yet,” she answers. She can’t help but think that’s a good thing.

She thinks that the existence of demons and witches and the all of things in horror movies should have been a complete shock to her. It was an idea that had certainly taken a while to get used to. But, in a way, it made sense. Because, ever since she was a little girl, she’s believed in angels. Demons, she supposed, couldn’t be that far behind. It was a balance.

So finding nothing suspicious, nothing that implies any kind of supernatural death in this town, is a good thing. Boring for Dean, who grew up on the hunt and craves it in a way, feels in his element. But good nonetheless.

“Good,” Sam confirms for her. She smiles.

“You gonna eat that?” Dean asks. Layla turns to find him pointing to her plate, where she has left three strips of bacon and most of her eggs. She’s not feeling very hungry this morning. She pushes her plate toward him, but before he can dive in to finish her breakfast for her, she catches his face in her hand.

“What?” he asks. She tilts his head a bit.

“You have syrup on your face,” she tells him, letting go. He smiles, mischievously, but she notices that a second too late, because, the next thing she knows, he’s kissing her, open and messy. She tastes syrup, toothpaste, and Dean. Sam chuckles from the other side of the table, but out of the corner of her eye she sees him avert his gaze fairly quickly.

“Now so do you,” he answers, almost smugly. He smirks at her, and she thinks, briefly, about wiping it away on the back of her hand. Instead, she decides to have some fun of her own, gathering up all of the syrup on her finger and popping it into her mouth, licking it off.

“Mmm,” she says, gratuitously. She looks over to Dean, who stares at her, wide-eyed. Her eyes sparkly, as if to say, ‘You know you deserved that, right?’ “That was good.”

She picks up the plate she had pushed Deans way and deposits her bacon and eggs on his plate. Then she grabs a fork and impales his short-stack, taking the top two pancakes for herself. She cuts into them while Dean still stares at her.

Maybe she is a little hungry after all. Or, a lot hungry, because the pancakes are gone in a matter of minutes, and Dean is still staring at her, his breakfast seeming to have been forgotten. She smiles at him.

“I have something on my face?” she asks, innocently.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally says, “I think I love you.”

Layla chuckles and so does Sam. ‘I love yous’ between them are rare, especially on Dean’s end. But whenever she does say it, his reply is, more often than not, the same.

She leans forward and kisses him, in much the same way he had kissed her, and says to him, as he says to her, “Back at you.”