#I think about them a normal amount I promise

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

request: can you write a story based off the the episode 10x3 where they are trying to cure Dean as a demon. Sam for the most part has kept their sister away from demon Dean but she wants to face him and he’s just evil and trying to break her. The whole story is her dealing with all of her emotions and trauma. Obviously in the episode he breaks out of his restraints and maybe he finds the sister in the bunker and tries to kill her and then you can figure out the rest. Just make it super intense and dramatic and detailed. I just think the whole storyline from 10x3 would be soooo good and I know you’d write it exactly how I imagined it with the perfect amount of angst, comfort and everything inbetween ugh I’m so excited if you can write this. thankkkk you!!!!!

A/N: OH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE. I followed the storyline pretty much of the entire episode and it’s SUCH A LONG STORY. I just kept writing and writing, but I felt it was necessary. I wanted to capture every single emotion and detail to really get a feel on this story because it was such an intense episode already. I hope you love this!! ALSO requests are always open like please you can spam me with a bunch of requests and I’d be so happy. Some stories catch my mind a little more than others but if you have requested something already I am WORKING ON IT I PROMISE!! Just some get my mind/ideas flowing way more than others so they get finished first. If you put in a request already and I haven’t done it yet just do it again and I’ll try to speed it up on writing it. Other than that keep sending in requests!! I’ll write anything lol. Also pls lmk how you like this one it seriously took so much effort and I would absolutely love if I got some feedback!!!!!!

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader (and a little bit of cas hehe)

You sat in the bunker, paralyzed with fear. Dean was back, but he was still a demon. You hadn’t seen much of him because Sam refused to let you around him, but the little you had heard about him it was clear: he wasn’t your brother anymore. He was cold, his eyes pitch black, and there was no hint of remorse behind them. Your body trembled as you fought to hold back a sob. The door opened, and Sam stepped in—he looked utterly broken. He was carrying a cooler full of blood that would hopefully cure Dean of being a demon.

“Sammy,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. He froze at the sound of your voice, taking in the sight of your trembling form. The fear in your eyes hit him hard, and he longed to shield you from the nightmare their family had become. “Hey, bug, what’s going on?” He asked softly, stepping closer. That’s when you saw him fully—his face was exhausted, but it was his eyes, hollow and drained, that told the true story. His appearance was what absolutely crushed you and before you knew what you were doing, you blurted out an apology.

"I’m so sorry, Sam," your voice cracking with emotion. You fought to keep herself together, but the tears came anyway, spilling down your cheeks. "I’m sorry for everything. For this life... for the constant running, the fighting, the endless darkness. I’m sorry we never had a chance to just be—to be a normal family, to be happy." You shook your head, your breath catching as the weight of it all crashed over you. "And now... Dean..." your voice trembled, and you had to stop for a moment, swallowing hard to keep from breaking completely. "He’s not even Dean anymore. And I don’t know what to do, Sam. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help."

The tears came faster now, and you didn’t try to stop them. You just let them fall, your chest heaving with each breath. You wiped your face with the sleeve of your jacket, your voice barely a whisper as you added, "I’m just so sorry."

Sam stood frozen for a moment, his heart aching as he watched you crumble. You were apologizing for things you had no control over. It hit him like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he put down the cooler and moved toward you, his arms instinctively reaching out, pulling you close. He needed to comfort you, to make you feel safe again, even if everything around them felt like it was falling apart.

"Hey, hey," Sam whispered, his voice soft and steady, even though his own heart was breaking. He gently cupped your face in his hands, brushing away the tears that fell from your cheeks. "Don’t ever apologize for this life. You hear me?" His voice wavered, the depth of his love for you clear in every word. "You didn’t ask for any of this either. I know this life has been cruel to us. I know it’s taken so much from us, but none of this is your fault. None of it."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace, holding you like you were the most important thing in his world—because you were. He buried his face in your hair for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it was hard. Everything felt impossible. But he knew he couldn’t show you that. You needed him now more than ever, and he’d be damned if he let you feel alone in this.

"You don’t deserve this," he murmured, his voice full of quiet sorrow, but also a fierce protectiveness. "You never deserved any of this. We’re in this together, and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You don’t have to carry this by yourself."

He gently pulled back, his hands still on your shoulders, his eyes full of nothing but love and determination. "I don’t care how messed up this world is or how screwed up we are. We’re family, and that means we fight through this. Together. Always."

He wiped your tears softly, his voice full of reassurance. "You’re not alone, and you never will be. I’m here. I’ve got you, no matter what."

You pulled away slightly from Sam, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Your heart ached for him—he was carrying so much, and you knew he was trying to protect you from the worst of it. But the thought of him facing Dean alone, of him struggling with the monster his brother had become, made you feel like you were suffocating.

“I need to help you, Sam,” you said, your voice urgent but soft, almost pleading. You took a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure. "Please. I want to help you. I can’t just sit here while you go through this alone."

Sam's expression hardened, and his hands tightened around your shoulders, as if holding you back from something he knew was dangerous. His eyes were filled with desperation, but there was a clear resistance there—he didn’t want you anywhere near this. He knew the toll it was taking on him, and the thought of you getting involved, of you getting hurt, made his chest tighten with fear.

"Y/N, no," Sam said, his voice low and firm, though there was a raw edge to it. He shook his head slightly, like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. "I can’t... I can’t let you do that. You’ve already been through enough, and I’m not dragging you into this. I won’t." His hands gripped your arms tighter, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can handle it. I’ll face Dean. But I can’t let you face him too. You’re not supposed to be in the middle of this. I’m supposed to keep you safe. I won’t risk it."

But you shook your head, the fire in your chest growing stronger. You couldn’t just stand by and watch him suffer alone—not when it was your brother too. The guilt would eat you alive if you didn’t help him now.

"I can’t let you do this alone, Sam," you said, your voice breaking with determination. "I need to face Dean. I need to help you. I know it’s dangerous, but I can’t just... I can’t live with myself if I don’t try. If I don’t help you now, if I don’t stand by your side, I’ll never forgive myself."

Sam’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, conflicted. His protective instinct screamed at him to push you away, to keep you safe. But he could see the resolve in your eyes, the way you were unwilling to back down, and it hit him harder than anything else. He wanted to protect you from this pain, but he couldn’t deny you your choice. You had always been there for him, and it hurt him to know you thought you had to do this.

"Y/N," Sam started, his voice rough, but there was no mistaking the concern in it. "I don’t want you to... I don’t want you to see Dean like this. You’ve already been through so much, and I—" He faltered for a second, taking a breath. "I’m not sure I can keep you safe, not with what he’s become."

You stepped closer to him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the love he had for you and the fear of losing you. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

"I have to help, Sam," you said, your voice shaking but resolute. "You don’t have to do this alone. I won’t let you." Your hand gripped his, steady and firm. "We’re in this together. Always."

Sam swallowed hard, his hand reaching up to hold yours, but his eyes stayed on you with that same conflicted pain. Slowly, he nodded, though it was clear how much it hurt him to agree.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But I’m not going to let you get hurt. I can’t lose you too." He pulled you into another tight embrace, holding you as though he never wanted to let you go, as though you were the one thing still keeping him from falling apart completely. "I’ve got you. And I’ll make sure we both make it through this." You nodded into his chest, but wanted to make sure that he knew you were also there for him. You pulled away from him and walked towards the cooler of blood he had put down.

“Well, we better get started,” you said, trying to sound more certain than you felt as you picked up the cooler. But before you could even take a step, Sam’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm with gentle but unyielding force.

You froze, looking up at him, and the moment you met his eyes, you saw the storm behind them. His jaw was tight, and there was something darker flickering in his gaze, something full of fear—fear for you.

"Wait," Sam said, his voice thick with something you couldn’t place. His grip on your arm didn’t hurt, but it held you still, like he was trying to anchor you in place, to make sure you understood what you were about to face. "Listen to me, okay? You have to be ready for what you’re about to see."

You gulped, but tried to be confident in the situation you found yourself in. "Sam, I’ll be fine."

He shook his head, his hand still on your arm, his thumb brushing over your skin as if trying to calm you. "No, you won’t. You think you know what you're walking into, but you have no idea." His voice lowered, a layer of tenderness creeping in. "This isn't Dean you're going to see in there. He’s a demon, there’s no one possessing him it’s just who he is."

Your stomach dropped, but you held his gaze. “I know Sam." You muttered softly, hearing him say it out loud made you feel nauseous.

Sam’s eyes softened, but the worry never left. He stepped closer to you, his body looming just slightly over yours as if shielding you from something, though you knew he couldn’t protect you from the truth that was waiting for you behind that door. "I know you do," he whispered, his voice rough. "But you need to hear me, okay? It’s different and I’m trying to prepare you in every way possible. He’s going to make you feel things you can’t control. He’s going to manipulate you. He will say things that will make you question everything, make you doubt yourself. He will try to break you."

You frowned, but Sam wasn’t done. He let go of your arm, his hands moving to your shoulders, his touch firm but careful, as if he was afraid even the smallest jolt would shatter you. "He’s good at that. He knows exactly how to twist your feelings—how to twist your memories. He knows how much you love him, and he will use that against you. He will make you feel like you're losing everything. And that—" Sam’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, but he forced himself to keep going. "That will be the hardest part."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I won’t give up on him, Sam. I know what Dean is. I know what he means to me."

Sam nodded slowly, his forehead furrowing in quiet desperation. "I know you won’t," he murmured, and for a brief moment, his eyes softened with something close to admiration. "But he IS a demon now... and he WILL make you question everything. You’ve never seen Dean like this. You’ve never seen him like this before."

He let out a sharp breath, like he was weighing how much to say. "It’s not just about seeing him as a demon. It’s about feeling what he will do to you. He is going to make you think he’s gone. That you’ll never get him back. And it’s going to hurt—so much worse than you think." His eyes were dark now, full of an understanding you couldn’t ignore. "You need to prepare yourself. Mentally, emotionally... you need to brace for it. Because when you see him... you won’t recognize him at all. And that’s going to hurt the most."

You felt the weight of his words crash into you. Sam wasn’t trying to scare you—he was trying to protect you, to prepare you. And though a part of you wanted to shake off his worry, to push past it and rush forward to face Dean, you couldn’t. You couldn’t ignore how much he cared.

"I can handle it," you whispered, but even to your own ears, the words sounded fragile.

Sam’s face softened, but the sadness in his eyes deepened and for a long moment, Sam didn’t speak. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable, torn between wanting to protect you and knowing you needed to do this.

"Just promise me one thing," he said, his voice tight. "When you see him—when you look at him—don’t forget who he was. Don't let him make you forget the older brother you’ve always known." He paused, his eyes searching yours, desperately trying to convey every ounce of his care. "Promise me, please, that you won’t let it break you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you nodded slowly, determined despite the fear twisting in your chest. "I promise, Sam. I won’t forget him. I won’t give up on him."

Sam let out a shaky breath, the weight of his relief almost visible. He squeezed your hand, then took a step back, his eyes still locked onto yours. "Okay," he whispered, his voice full of quiet, helplessness. "If you need to walk away... you do that. You turn away and don’t look back. Not for a second. Don’t give him that satisfaction, okay?"

"Okay, I wont," you said, your voice steady now, even if your heart was pounding through your body. "I’ll come find you if you walk out. You’re not in this alone." Sam reassured, the concern never leaving his face. You nodded and with one last glance, he stepped aside, letting you walk toward the door. You reached for the handle, feeling the cold metal beneath your fingers as Sam’s steady presence lingered behind you.

And with that, you stepped forward, ready—or as ready as you could be—to face your brother who was now a demon.

As soon as you stepped into the room, your eyes locked onto him, and the air seemed to freeze. The coldness that radiated from him was palpable, like a dark aura pressing down on you. Though his eyes weren’t black, there was something in them—something sharp, dangerous—that sent a chill straight through you. It was the unmistakable presence of evil lurking beneath the surface, twisting everything that had once been Dean. For a moment, you froze, instinctively halting in your tracks as the weight of the transformation hit you full force. You wanted to step back, wanted to run, but before you could think about moving, you felt Sam’s hand gently settle on your back, grounding you. His touch was a steady reminder that you weren’t alone, even as the room felt like it was closing in. You walked closer to Dean and watched as the corner of Dean’s mouth curled into a twisted smirk. The room seemed to grow colder as he took a slow, deliberate step toward you. His eyes—those familiar eyes—were colder than you remembered, and the way he looked at you felt wrong. Like you were nothing more than a toy to him. “Well, look at you. My baby sister,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You think you can save me, don’t you? But here I am. And there you are just standing there, scared shitless.”

As Dean's words sank in, the weight of his twisted gaze making your heart pound in your chest, Sam’s hand on your back tightened slightly, as though he could feel the struggle inside you. Without a second thought, he stepped in front of you, positioning himself between you and Dean, blocking your view. His voice cut through the thick, suffocating air, firm but edged with raw emotion. "Dean, stop," Sam commanded, his words heavy with pain.

But then, something inside you—something deeper, stronger—refused to let him win. You couldn't, not without a fight. You stepped around Sam. "You’re still in there, Dean," you forced yourself to say, despite the tremor in your voice. "I know you are. I won’t let you do this." Dean's grin only widened. "You’re lying to yourself, sweetheart. There’s nothing left of me but this." His voice dropped, almost a growl now, "And this—this is what’s going to destroy you."

Your resolve hardened, and despite the absolute terror gnawing at you, you stood your ground. "You won’t destroy me Dean. Not now. Not ever." You replied, your voice much firmer now.

At the sound of the cooler snapping open, you turned just in time to see Sam pulling out the vials of blood, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken determination. His hands were steady, but you could see the weight of what he was doing pressing down on him.

"You’re gonna come back, Dean," Sam said, his voice tight with emotion, but resolute. "We’re not letting you go."

He walked towards you, the cooler of blood in his hands. Dean eyes zeroing in on it like a predator. "Really?" he sneered, his voice dripping with mock amusement as Sam set the cooler down on the table with a thud.

Sam sighed, trying to mask the frustration but failing. "For what it's worth, I got your blood type," he said, offering a sarcastic half-smile, before clearing his throat and opening the cooler.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a twisted grin. "Sam," he said, his tone low and dark, "I know you think you're gonna try and fix me, but did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to be fixed?" His gaze shifting between you and Sam. "Just let me go. Let me live my life. I won’t bother you." Dean paused, his eyes locking onto you, and his grin stretched wider. "And I pinky promise not to go after our sweet baby sis first."

Your breath caught in your throat. The fear coursed through you like ice, and your hands instinctively gripped the edge of the table. No, don’t let him see it. Don’t show him how much that scares you. But it was impossible to hide. You could feel your heart pounding, your body frozen in place as Dean's words twisted the knife further.

Sam noticed. His jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on you, locking gazes for a brief moment, silently urging you to stay calm, to stay strong. You nodded, trying to steady your shaking breath, but it felt impossible. You could see Sam’s anger flickering behind his frustration, but he kept his attention on you, silently grounding you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this. Sam turned back around to take his attention off of you. “Well that didn’t sound promising.”

“What do you care?” Dean asked, his gaze flicking between you and Sam, his voice dripping with mockery.

Sam’s response was sharp, almost a growl. “What do I care?” He let out a huff and rolled his eyes, disbelief dripping from his voice as he looked at Dean. He was trying to stay in control, trying not to let Dean get to him. His eyes flicked back to you, checking on you again, and in that moment, you felt the weight of his silent support. You had to hold it together—for Sam, for Dean, for everyone.

“You’re not going anywhere, Dean. Not until you’re cured and you will be cured.” You said with so much power behind your words.

Sam stepped forward, starting the ritual, but Dean’s voice cut through the tension once more, this time darker, more dangerous.

“You think I’ll sit here like Crowley and get all weepy while you shoot me up? Well, screw that. I don’t want this!”

Sam rolled his eyes again, frustration now boiling over. “Yeah, I think we pretty much figured that out.” His words were sharp. Dean’s gaze moved back to you. “You don’t even know if this is gonna work, do you? You know I’ve got a hell of a lot more running in me than just demon juice, sweetheart.”

Sam kept his focus on the ritual, his jaw set.

“Mark of Cain, got it,” You muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper, but there was a finality to it.

"That's right," Dean growled, his eyes burning with defiance. You glanced at Sam and saw that the syringes were ready. The tension in the air thickened. You looked back at Dean, trying to mask your fear with a heavy sigh.

"Buckle up," you said, your voice steady despite the nerves crawling under your skin.

"Baby sis, you know I hate shots," Dean muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

You nodded, your grip tightening around the holy water bottle in your hand. "I hate demons."

As Sam took his final step toward Dean, the air seemed to crackle with the energy of the impending confrontation. Without warning, Dean’s eyes flashed black, and he lunged at Sam with a growl, desperate to stop the ritual.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the holy water and splashed it right into his face. Dean recoiled with a howl of pain, but it was enough to give Sam the opening he needed. With swift precision, Sam drove the needle into Dean’s arm.

Dean snarled, his body convulsing with rage and discomfort. Sam was unfazed and spoke with a steady determination. “Look, we’ve got a whole bunch more of these to go. You could make it a whole lot easier on yourself.” Sam’s voice was steady, but the uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Before Dean could respond, he started grunting aggressively, jerking violently against the restraints.

You glanced at Sam, seeing the look of hesitation flicker across his face, but before you could say anything, he grabbed another syringe and stabbed it into Dean’s arm. Dean writhed in pain, his eyes glaring up at Sam with unrestrained fury.

“For all you know, you could be killing me,” Dean breathed heavily, the words laced with anger.

Sam turned abruptly, slamming something down onto the table in frustration. “Or you’re just messing with me. Either way, the lore doesn’t say anything about exceptions to the cure.” His voice was firm, but the confidence never quite reached his face.

Dean chuckled darkly. “The lore,” he scoffed. “Hunters, men of letters. What a load of crap it all is.”

Sam squinted his eyes, looking him up and down, but kept quiet. “Oh, you got nothing?” He glanced at Sam, then shifted his attention to you. “What about you, sweetheart?”

You gulped, the fear creeping up on you, but you forced the words out. “This isn’t the real you even talking.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s the real me, all right.” His voice dropped, becoming colder, darker. “The new real me. The me that sees things for what they really are.”

The air around him seemed to pulse with something dark, something raw. His eyes locked onto you, and you felt a cold chill crawl down your spine.

“And I can see what you really are. You’re absolutely terrified,” he continued, his voice dripping with venom. “You thought I’d be broken—but I’m not. This is me now. And you? You’re just another casualty. You’re going to burn, slowly and painfully—just like our mommy you never got to know.”

Your eyes widened in absolute shock at the threat and the mention of your mother, shocked he could even think of such a thing. His gaze flickered over you, studying your reaction with a twisted satisfaction. "I could make you beg for death, you know. You think I’m still Dean in here, but he’s long gone. And you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize that."

Dean’s laugh was low, a sound that sent a jolt of dread through your body. “You can’t save me. And you can’t save yourself, either. I’ll make sure of that. But hey, maybe I’ll keep you alive for a while, let you watch it all fall apart. Maybe make you beg for death? Won’t that be fun?”

The venom in his words stung like poison, and it took every ounce of strength not to crumble in front of him. He could see it—the fear was written all over your face, and he was savoring it. He wanted to break you, and deep down, you knew he was capable of it.

Your breath was shallow, and panic bubbled up in your chest, threatening to overflow. The room felt suffocating. Your world began to blur, and you could feel your knees shaking beneath you. “I’ll make you scream! I’ll make you beg for death and watch as you choke on your own blood!” He screamed at you who was frozen in fear. Sam, enraged, stormed toward Dean. His eyes were filled with a fury that only came from seeing someone he loved in pain. Without hesitation, he jabbed the next syringe into Dean’s neck.

Dean screamed, a sound so raw and guttural that it made you jump, your entire body trembling with fear. It felt like the world around you was falling apart.

Sam threw the syringe on the table, turning away from Dean. The tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with dread. Dean’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and mocking.

“Let me ask you this. If this doesn’t work—you both know what you got to do to me, right?” His voice was cold, menacing. “You got the stomach for that, Sam?! Because I know Y/N doesn’t!”

Your breath caught in your throat, a wave of nausea rising in your chest. His words felt like a punch, each one more suffocating than the last. You couldn’t take it anymore. Your knees buckled as you rushed out of the room, your mind spinning, your heart pounding. You gasped for air, your chest tight, and the world around you felt like it was blurring together. The threats, the fear, the helplessness—it was all too much. You couldn’t bear to hear any more. You couldn’t bear to be here.

The weakness weighed too heavy on you. The fear was too real. You stumbled down the hall, desperate for air, desperate for a moment where you didn’t feel like you were drowning. You were spiraling, every breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as your body shook uncontrollably. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the walls closing in around you. Your hands scrambled for stability from the walls, but they felt foreign, unreal, slipping away from you as if nothing could anchor you. Your heart pounded so violently that it drowned out everything else. The world was blurring, and you couldn’t stop it. You screamed in panic, the noise getting strangled in your throat, swallowed by the terror that was overtaking you. You were shaking so hard, your body threatening to collapse under the weight of the fear. Your breath was ragged, each inhale burning, like you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs. Your legs buckled beneath you, but you didn’t fall. You clung to the walls, nails digging into the surface as if they could keep you from falling apart. Tears streamed down your face, and you didn’t know how to stop them.

Then, suddenly, Sam was there, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you against him. His presence was grounding, but it didn’t stop the panic raging inside you. You trembled against him, clinging to his shirt, your fists clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from floating away into the terror.

“Shh, I’m here. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe,” Sam’s voice was soft but firm, filled with that quiet steadiness you knew and trusted. But it felt so distant through the haze of panic that surrounded you.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. The fear suffocated you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t catch your breath. “I can’t—Sam, I can’t—” You gasped, clutching harder, the terror building, squeezing the air out of your lungs.

Sam held you tighter, his hands gently guiding your shaky arms around him as he spoke again, more urgently this time. “Breathe, okay? I need you to breathe with me. In through your nose, slow. You’re okay. I’m right here.” His words were calm, but his voice betrayed how upset he was, how desperately he was trying to keep you from falling into the abyss of panic.

But you couldn’t. The fear was overwhelming, and every breath felt like it was ripping you apart. “I can’t,” you sobbed, your chest heaving. “I can’t breathe, Sam. I can’t...” You were sobbing so hard now, shaking violently, your body convulsing in his arms. “I can’t. He’s going to kill us... Sam, he said it himself. He said it—he’s going to—”

Sam’s eyes widened in horror as your words hit him like a punch. His grip tightened on you, his hands holding your face gently, forcing you to look at him. “No, no, no. Look at me. Look at me.” His voice cracked with emotion, raw and full of pain as he tried to steady you. “He’s not going to touch you. I swear to you. I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The weight of your fear crashed down on you, but you could barely hear him through the fog of panic. “He said it... he said he was going to kill us... I can’t— Oh my God! He’s going to kill me... I can’t—I can’t—”

“No,” Sam interrupted, his voice low but filled with an undeniable certainty. He gripped your shoulders, his thumbs gently brushing the tear-streaked skin of your face. “He’s not going to hurt you. You hear me? And you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not going to die.”

You shook your head, but the words didn’t make sense. The terror was louder than anything else, drowning out everything he was saying. But Sam wasn’t giving up. His hands were on you, steadying you, grounding you. His voice was insistent, unwavering. “Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, slow. You’re okay. You’re safe. You can do this. You’re strong enough to do this. In through your nose... slow... just like that. I’m right here.”

You tried, you really did. But the air still felt thick, like you couldn’t get enough in. You gasped, shaking so violently you thought you might break.

Sam didn’t let go. He cupped your cheeks, his breath steady and warm against your skin. “I’m right here with you. You can breathe. You can breathe. I promise you’re going to be okay.”

His voice, so calm, so grounded, started to break through the haze of panic just a little. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong. Your hands loosened their grip on his shirt, though you still clung to him, desperate for anything to keep you from falling apart.

Slowly, shakily, you tried to breathe. It wasn’t perfect, but the tremors in your chest started to ease just a fraction.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, barely able to get the words out through the rawness in your throat. "I couldn’t handle it, Sammy. I thought I could… I really did. But he—" You cut yourself off with another sob, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers still clutching his shirt as though it were the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. He didn’t try to pull away or tell you to stop, just held you through the storm. His hand stroked your hair gently, his fingers brushing your skin with an almost tender urgency, as though he couldn’t bear to see you so broken.

"He scared me," you whispered again, voice broken, barely audible as you clung to him, feeling like a piece of you was slipping away with each word. “I couldn’t stop the fear... I thought I could keep it together, but I... I couldn’t. I’m so sorry." Your voice cracked on the last part, the weight of it pressing down on you like a thousand tons.

Sam pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression full of concern and something deeper, something that wasn’t just about fear, but understanding. "Don’t apologize," he said softly, his voice so gentle yet filled with an unmistakable strength. "You don’t have to be sorry. What he said... what he did... It should have scared you. It was pure evil."

You shook your head, still unable to stop the tears. "I should’ve been stronger. I—I thought I could handle it. I thought I could... but I wasn’t ready, Sam. I wasn’t ready for it. I—"

Sam cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes soft but firm. "Hey, listen to me," he whispered, his voice low but filled with an unwavering confidence. "You are strong. You’re stronger than you think. You don’t have to apologize. We’re going to get through this, I promise."

His voice held a certainty that slowly, almost imperceptibly, started to sink into your bones.

You closed your eyes, leaning into him again, feeling a sense of relief you hadn’t realized you were missing. He held you for a moment longer, his hands gently brushing through your hair, offering silent comfort. When you finally pulled away, his eyes softened, filled with concern, but there was a quiet determination there too. "Listen, I think you need a little time. Clear your head. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. If you need to get away from this, it’s okay." You blinked up at him, trying to process his words, still shaken but feeling just a little steadier than before. Sam reached for your hands, squeezing them gently. "I’ll be here, with Dean. If you feel ready to come back, you’ll know where to find us." You nodded slowly, taking in a shaky breath as you turned away, your feet carrying you toward the hallway. But as you walked, your steps faltered when you reached Dean’s door. The place that once felt like a refuge, where you and Dean would laugh, talk, and find solace in each other’s company. Now, it felt cold, distant, like something you couldn’t touch. But despite the overwhelming fear still gripping your chest, you needed to be there. You needed a piece of him, something to hold onto, even if it was just the remnants of the past.

With shaky hands, you pushed the door open, the familiar scent of Dean’s cologne filling the air. You didn’t bother to turn on the light. The dim glow from the hallway illuminated the room.

You walked in slowly, your legs weak beneath you as if the weight of everything was too much to carry. Your eyes glanced around at the cluttered room, the remnants of his life still scattered about: a jacket thrown over a chair, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, a few books stacked haphazardly on the dresser. It all felt so wrong.

But you couldn’t stop. You needed this.

Without a word, you collapsed onto the bed, a cry escaping from your chest before you even realized it. The sound was raw, desperate, like a broken thing struggling to survive. You buried your face in the sheets, clinging to them as if they could hold you together. But the weight of it was too much.

The tears came once again—hard and unrelenting, flooding your face, soaking the bed beneath you. You couldn’t stop. You just couldn’t. The grief tore through you like a storm, leaving you empty and hollow. Every sob was a reminder that the man you loved was gone. Every gasp for air felt like it was being ripped from your lungs, suffocated by the weight of what had happened.

Dean wasn’t here anymore. Dean was gone, and all that was left was this twisted version, this monster wearing his face, mocking you. The pain was too much to bear. Your body shook violently as the sobs racked through you, each cry coming out like a wounded animal, a desperate plea to make it stop.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. How could everything go so wrong so quickly? How could someone you trusted with your whole heart become someone you were terrified of?

You curled up tighter on the bed, pressing your face deeper into the pillow, as if you could disappear into it, as if you could escape the crushing pain that consumed you.

You felt your body tremble with exhaustion, but you didn’t care. You didn’t know how long you lay there, your body wracked with sobs, lost in a fog of despair. Time had no meaning anymore. There was nothing but the endless ache, the never-ending stream of tears.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook you and you fell into deep nothingness.

Hours later, Sam walked through the door, his footsteps heavy, weighed down by the crushing reality of everything that had happened. He didn’t expect to find you here. But when he saw you, curled up on Dean’s bed, he stopped in his tracks.

The sight of you, so small and vulnerable sent a deep ache through him. It was as if you were seeking refuge in the last place where you felt safe, but now that place was empty—Dean was gone.

Sam’s breath hitched as he slowly walked toward you, trying to make himself as quiet as possible, not wanting to disturb the fragile silence. The sight of you—so broken, so lost—was almost too much for him to bear.

He stood there for a long moment, watching you, but he didn’t want to disturb you. He knew how raw you were, and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Instead, he quietly moved to Dean’s dresser, pulling open the drawers, his eyes landing on old photos. There were pictures of the three of them—of Dean, Sam, and you—smiling, laughing, being a family. The images were so painfully full of life, so full of warmth, and now they felt like a cruel reminder of everything they had lost. Sam swallowed hard, his heart aching in his chest as he sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the photos in his hands, trying to cling to the reminder of who Dean really was.

As he adjusted his position, his knee brushed against you, and your eyes shot open. You jerked awake, panic immediately flooding your system. Your breathing hitched as you looked around, disoriented, your wild eyes landing on Sam.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me,” Sam said gently, his voice calm and soothing as he saw the fear in your eyes. He reached out, his hand hovering near your leg. “It’s Sam. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

For a moment, you couldn’t process what was happening, where you were. Your heart racing with fear, but then you realized it was Sam.

"Sammy?" You whispered hoarsely, your voice cracking with the remnants of your tears. The moment you spoke, Sam’s expression softened, and his hand moved instinctively, rubbing your knee in a gentle motion.

"Yeah, I’m here," he replied softly, his voice full of that familiar warmth, but there was an undeniable pain beneath it. His thumb traced small circles on your knee, the touch meant to comfort, but you could feel his heart breaking, too.

You blinked, still trying to piece together what was happening, and finally asked, “What’s going on?” He slowly extended the photos toward you. You took them from him, your hands trembling as you looked down at the first picture. It was of the three of you—laughing around a campfire, Dean’s arm around you, Sam’s goofy grin plastered on his face. You ran your fingers over the edges of the photo, the memory of that day so vivid in your mind. “I remember this,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “We ended up by that campfire and it was perfect. I remember feeling so... free.”

Sam smiled faintly, his own gaze distant. “Yeah. We were just... being us. No monsters, no threats, no worry. Just us.”

“Just us,” you repeated, almost in disbelief, as if the simplicity of it was too much to hold onto.

Sam gave a soft chuckle, the memory clearly bringing him comfort, but the sadness in his eyes remained. “You kept teasing Dean because his marshmallows were burnt. You’d pretend to be all disgusted, but we both knew it was because you wanted his.”

A small, bitter laugh slipped from your lips, despite the overwhelming pain. You had forgotten about that. “You know me too well,” you murmured. “I always acted like I didn’t want anything to do with those burnt marshmallows, but I couldn’t resist them. Dean always made them with the perfect crisp.”

“You loved it,” Sam teased softly, a slight twinkle in his eye, though it didn’t quite reach the depth of his sadness.

You both fell into a moment of silence, the memories hanging between you like a fragile thread, so easily snapped by the weight of everything that had changed. Sam flipped through another photo, gently lifting another picture from the stack.

It was a candid shot, taken on a long drive. You were sleeping in the backseat of the Impala, curled up in the corner, your head resting against the window. Your hair was tousled, and you looked so peaceful, a soft expression on your face that spoke of all the exhaustion you’d been carrying.

Sam’s lips curled into a sad smile as he looked down at the picture. “You used to fall asleep so easily.”

You looked at the picture for a moment, the memory of that time rushing back. “I used to be able to sleep anywhere, didn’t I?” You said softly. “I’d fall asleep in the back of the car, on the floor of the motel room... anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as you guys were there.”

Sam nodded, his eyes softening. “Yeah. And Dean would always make sure you were comfortable, even if it meant giving up his seat or letting you sleep in the front.”

Your throat tightened as you looked at the photo again, feeling the pang of longing for simpler days. "He always took care of me," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Even when things were rough, he made sure I was taken care of."

Sam’s expression darkened slightly, but he didn't say anything for a moment. He turned to the next photo, his fingers brushing over the surface, as if the memories were too much for words.

This one was from another time, a shot of the three of you standing in front of the Impala, the sun setting behind you, casting long shadows on the ground. You were all leaning casually against the car, smiles on your faces as you took a break after another long day. There was something about the photo that captured a moment of calmness, like you could take a breath and believe that everything would be okay.

“That was the summer we finally took a real break,” Sam murmured, almost to himself. “We didn’t have a hunt for a few weeks. Just… time together. I remember feeling like that moment could last forever.”

You smiled at the memory, but the happiness it brought was bittersweet. “We didn’t know how rare those moments would be. It’s like we thought we could escape it all, just for a little while.”

“And we did,” Sam said softly, his voice laced with a quiet sorrow. “Even if it was just for a moment, we were free. We were happy.”

You let out a long sigh, turning your attention to the next photo. It was a picture of the three of you standing by a creek, Sam holding up a fish he had caught. Dean was laughing, looking more carefree than you had seen in years. You were standing between them, holding a fishing rod in one hand, a playful grin on your face.

“We almost didn’t catch anything that day,” Sam chuckled, remembering. “But we didn’t care. It was just nice to be out there.”

You nodded, a soft, smirk on your lips. “We spent hours there and I was the only one that caught a fish.”

Sam let out a chuckle, his finger lingering on the edge of the photo. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You felt the familiar ache in your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the memories or the overwhelming pain that had been gnawing at you for so long.

“I miss it,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I miss when we were all okay. When we weren’t broken.”

Sam gently put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “We’re still here,” he said, his voice steady, though the pain was clear in his eyes. “And we’re going to get through this.”

You leaned into Sam's embrace, taking a deep breath, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you.

“I know we will,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “You’re not going to stop, Sam. You won’t stop until he’s back. And I won’t stop either. I’ll fight for him. For both of you. For our family.”

Sam looked down at you, his hand resting on your arm for a brief moment. The look in his eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of sadness there.

“You always know just what to say,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then, it faltered, as if the weight of the situation caught up with him again. “I need to go give Dean more blood. Just... hang in there, okay?”

You nodded, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “I’m going to flip through a few more photos and then I’m going to face him again. I’m ready, we’re going to get him back, Sammy.”

Sam gave you a long, searching look, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and pain. He squeezed your shoulder gently, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was trying to convey all the emotions he couldn’t put into words. “You’re stronger than you know,” he said softly, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He let out a shaky breath, forcing a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned and walked out the door.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with the photos, the memories, and the overwhelming determination to get your brother back.

You sat in the quiet room, the silence only broken by the soft rustle of photos as you flipped through them. Each one was a little piece of the past, and you couldn’t help but get lost in them, memories flooding back of moments when life felt simpler, when your family wasn’t shattered. You smiled softly at a few, some of you, Sam, and Dean as kids, others of the three of you laughing on the road. Dean’s arm was always around you, a silent protector.

But as time went on, the smiles faded, the weight of the present settling in. You flipped through more photos, trying to hold onto something, anything, to remind you that you hadn’t lost it all.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the bunker shifted.

The steady hum of the bunker’s lights flickered, and you froze, a chill crawling up your spine. The steady silence was broken by the shrill, jarring sound of the alarm. It was blaring through the entire place, and the lights flashed red, casting the entire room in an eerie glow. Your breath caught in your throat as the ground seemed to vibrate with urgency.

The bunker was on lockdown.

A feeling of dread washed over you, the panic rising as you glanced toward the door. You could hear the buzz of the alarm reverberating through the walls, a constant reminder that something was wrong. Something had happened, and you weren’t sure what.

You stood up, your heart pounding in your chest, the photos scattering around you as you rushed toward the door. The bunker had never gone on lockdown unless something major was going down—something serious.

And that’s when you realized. Whatever was happening, it was happening now.

Your mind raced with thoughts of Sam, of Dean, of everything that was slipping out of control. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts, but the alarm kept ringing in your ears, pressing in on you.

Your thoughts spiraled as you heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the hallway.

No. No, no.

The voice you dreaded pierced through the growing panic like a blade.

“Smart Sam!” Dean's voice echoed, rough and cold. “Put the bunker on lockdown!” His tone was sharp, filled with menace, and it only made your heart race faster, a deep, primal fear clawing at your chest. “I hope you have our sweet baby sister with you because if I find her first…” He trailed off chuckling darkly.

You froze, paralyzed by the sound, your mind scrambling for what to do. A pit of dread opened in your stomach.

The realization hit you all at once. Dean—demon Dean—was loose. The man you trusted, the man who practically raised you, was no longer the one who would protect you. He was the one you had to run from.

Panic rose in your throat as you rushed to make a decision. There was no time. He was close, and you could hear his mocking tone as he stomped down the hall, getting closer. In a moment of sheer instinct, you crouched low, hiding under his bed. You held your breath, praying he wouldn’t find you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t look here.

The footsteps grew louder, and then—crash. The door to his room was flung open with a violent force. You flinched, pressing yourself further against the cool floorboards, your heart pounding so loudly you thought it might give you away. The door slammed against the wall, the sound reverberating through the bunker, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to stay silent.

Dean’s voice, dripping with dark amusement, broke the silence.

“Well, well, well…” His tone was twisted, mocking, like he was savoring the moment. "Looks like little sister has been rummaging through my stuff. I should've known you'd come crawling back here.”

You could hear him moving around the room, his footsteps heavy as he paced, no doubt seeing the scattered photos that littered the floor, the ones you had been looking through. The ones that meant so much to you. The memories of a time when Dean had been the brother you could count on. His laughter. His warmth. That was all gone now.

He snorted, his voice oozing with cruelty. “You really think you can hide from me, sweetheart?”

You felt every word like a punch to the gut. His presence was suffocating, and the room felt colder, darker with every word that came out of his mouth.

He paused, and for a split second, you thought he was going to leave. But then the sound of his heavy breathing grew louder, closer. He was right near the bed now.

"What's the matter?" His voice dropped lower, taunting. "Too scared to come out and face me, kiddo?"

Your chest tightened, each breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do anything but stay hidden, the weight of terror pinning you in place.

Then, you heard him bend down, the sound of his hands brushing against the floor. He was too close. The next thing you knew, you could feel his gaze on the edge of the bed, your pulse skyrocketing.

“I know you’re here,” Dean sneered, the sound of his voice creeping along your spine like ice.

A cruel chuckle escaped his lips, the sound as dark and chilling as the red lights flashing through the room. "I think you should come out, sweetheart. Come out and let me see that pretty little face of yours." His voice dripped with venom. "Come on, I promise I wont make you beg for death for too long.“

You fought the urge to scream, fighting every ounce of fear that racked your body. “I’ll be gentle and maybe make it a little quicker than I originally intended… maybe.” He taunted, before moving away from the bed completely.

Then the sound of his boots echoed out of the room and down the hallway. He chuckled darkly, the laughter booming off the walls. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, baby sis. I just wanna play. Don’t you miss your big brother?"

You heard the soft thump of his boots retreating further down the hall, the distant echo of his voice mocking you. Now’s your chance.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus, listening for his movements to die down. “Sammy! Once I find our sister—Oh! You’ll wish I never had.” He screamed down the hall. You jumped in fright from under the bed as the sound of his voice faded into the distance.

Finally, you heard the familiar creak of the floorboards in the hallway, followed by silence.

The coast had to be clear.

With a soft breath, you pushed yourself out from under the bed, crawling on your hands and knees, barely daring to make a sound. The darkness seemed to stretch around you as you moved towards the door, your heart hammering in your chest.

The hall was empty. You held your breath and moved quickly, praying he wouldn’t hear you. You had to find Sam and get the hell out of this nightmare. You turned the corner, heart pounding in your throat, the brief moment of freedom fading as you collided hard with Dean’s chest. The impact knocked you to the floor and the breath left your lungs. You looked up and was met with his cold dark eyes and subtle smirk which only grew more as you tried scrambling away from him on the floor. “No, no, no, no, no,” you whispered, your voice trembling in pure terror. That's when your eyes caught sight of the hammer in his hand—twirling slowly, almost gleefully, the cold metal gleaming in the dim light as he grinned down at you. “No! Dean, no, please!” You shrieked as you turned and clawed desperately at the floor to get away, your fingers scraping against the cold surface, each movement frantic, full of pure terror. Every inch you gained felt like a victory, but with each breath, you knew Dean was right behind you, enjoying your struggle. You needed to escape. You had to. As soon as you pulled yourself off the floor, you felt it.

A cold, iron grip closed around your ankle.

“NO!” You screamed, thrashing with a force you didn’t even know you had. You kicked, you twisted, you screamed—every muscle in your body locked in pure, unrelenting panic. Your heart raced as if it were about to tear itself from your chest, each shriek more frantic than the last.

Dean dragged you back, hard, and your body slammed into the floor with a sickening thud, the impact rattling your bones, the air knocked from your lungs in a painful gasp, and a horrible crack came from your head. The world around you spun for a moment, and then all that was left was the terror—him, his grip, his presence—everything closing in on you. You felt the cold floor against your cheek, felt your body slacken for a second, but it only fueled your panic more.

“Please, don’t! Please!” You screamed, your voice wild, hoarse, the sound of your cries raw and desperate. “Please don’t do it! Please—please, Dean, I’m begging you, please!” You tried to claw your way away again, but it was no use. Every time you moved, he was there, pulling you back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Please, Dean! Sammy, help! Please, help me!” You screamed, your voice echoing through the bunker.

Dean’s laugh was low, dark, a twisted sound that sent ice running through your veins. “Sammy’s a little held up right now.” He smirked, knowing the trap he put Sam in so that he could get to you. The hammer glinted in his hand, a cold, mocking glimmer that reflected the red lights overhead. “It’s just you and me, kid. Well until Sammy sees your little body lying here lifeless. Oh, he’s going to be devastated when he finds you… well only until I also finish him off.” Your body trembled in terror as your gaze locked onto his weapon, and you could feel the world around you closing in tighter with each passing second.

“PLEASE, DEAN, DON’T—!” The scream ripped from your throat, echoing down the hallway like a cry for mercy, but there was no mercy. There was nothing but the chilling smile on his face as he stared down at you, that cruel gleam in his eyes, his hand tightening on your leg.

“You should’ve stayed hidden,” he said, his voice low, mocking, as if he was savoring every second of your terror. “You never learn, do you?”

You kicked again, harder this time, desperate, but his grip was unrelenting. Tears flooded your eyes, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. “No... no, please... no...” you pleaded, but your words were barely coherent through the sobs. The fear coursing through you was overwhelming, suffocating. Dean didn’t care. His grip tightened around you, and you winced, feeling the pressure like a vice. “Begging me won’t help you,” he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You think that’s gonna save you?” He dragged you roughly toward him, his lips curling into a grin that was nothing but pure malice. “You think crying is gonna get you out of this?” He breathed his hot breath on your face. You were shaking, your body locked in a full-body tremor of fear. Your head was spinning, your heart pounding, and with every breath, it felt as if you were sinking deeper into a nightmare you couldn’t escape. “No, please, please, Dean,” you whimpered, struggling against his hold. The more you begged, the more twisted Dean’s expression became, savoring every ounce of your fear. His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing the back of your head and slamming it down onto the floor with brutal force. Your vision blurred from the impact, pain radiating through your skull, but Dean only laughed—low and sick. His face got closer to you this time, "Don’t think for a second that you’re in control here," he snarled. The hammer twirled in his hand again, slow, deliberate. Each spin was a reminder of the power he had over you. You tried to move, to escape, but your body was shaking too violently, too weak to fight back. “S-s’mmy Please.” You managed to squeak out, but it was barely above a whisper. Dean leaned down over you, his grin wide and predatory. His voice was almost a purr now, but there was nothing sweet about it. "You think anyone cares? You think Sam cares? No... no, sweetheart. No one’s saving you." You screamed, your voice a raw shriek of pure terror as you thrashed beneath him. Dean’s grip loosened completely before you felt his hands wrap around your throat. He tightened them with a suffocating weight. Your breaths gasped as you hands slapped weakly against his chest. "Okay..." Dean whispered, drawing out the words like a dark lullaby, "Let’s see if you can beg now."

This was it. You were going to die. You were going to die at the hands of your brother. The man who always protected you and cared for you.

You stared into his cold eyes as you felt yours start to drift off. But, just before your world went completely dark, the crushing weight was lifted off of you. You turned over and sucked in a desperate breath when you felt hands on your shoulders. You cried out a horrific rasp, flinching away, but Sam’s soft voice cut through the haze. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. Its Sam. It’s Sammy. Look at me, okay? Please, just look at me.” His voice cracked, raw with worry, but there was urgency, a trembling desperation you had never heard before. You could barely lift your head. Every breath felt like it might be your last. You gasped, wheezed, every inhale tearing through your lungs, each one harder than the last.

“Can you breathe?” Sam’s tone was filled with panic as he cupped your face. He frantically scanned your face and saw the blood, the cuts, and the way your body trembled. His stomach twisted with a sickening feeling. His thumb wiped away the blood from your temple, but you could feel the tremble in his touch. “Hey, can you breathe?” He asked urgently in one last desperate plea for an answer.

You clutched at your chest, fighting for just one more breath. “S’mmy?” You managed to rasp, your vision blurred and unfocused.

"Yeah, baby, it’s me. It’s me, but I need you to breathe," Sam reassured you softly, cupping your face and lifting your chin up so you could have better access to your airways. “Breathe with me, okay? Slow, deep breaths, sweetheart. In... and out. You’re okay, just focus on me.”

Your body shook with the effort, your chest burning, the air too thin, but Sam’s voice—soft, insistent, like he couldn’t bear to see you struggle any longer—pushed you to focus. "In through your nose, baby, just like I’m doing, slow and deep. You can do this. You’re going to breathe. I need you to do this with me. Please."

You tried to follow his rhythm, desperate to calm the storm raging inside of you. Slowly, each breath came a little easier, though it felt like your body fought against every ounce of effort. You sucked in another shaky breath, and for the first time, you felt the pressure in your chest lift just a fraction. One breath. One more...

And then you heard it.

A scream. Raw. Full of agony. It echoed in your ears, tearing through the fragile calm Sam’s voice had built. You forced your eyes open and jolted up. You body exhumed the last bit of energy it had to see the scene before you which made your blood run cold.

Dean was locked in Castiel’s unyielding grip, his body thrashing violently against the angel’s strength. Cas’s hands were tight around Dean’s arms, dragging him away, his expression unreadable, but his hold relentless. Dean’s voice cracked, a mixture of rage and pain, as he screamed and grunted, trying to fight back with every ounce of strength. His feet scraped against the ground as he was dragged farther from you, but it was useless.

"Sam..." You barely whispered the word, the terror creeping back into your chest. Your heart lurched at the sight.

“No, no, no...” Sam’s voice trembled with panic, his grip tightening on you as if he were afraid you might shatter into pieces. He turned your face back to him, forcing you to focus. "Look at me, please. Focus on me. Don’t look at them."

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t look away from Dean. You could see the fight in his eyes, the desperation, the disbelief that Cas—Cas—was doing this. Dean’s face twisted with a mix of fury, his body jerking as he screamed for freedom, but nothing he did seemed to matter. The angel dragged him away, like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

You let out a loud painful strangled sob that got caught in your throat.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice broke like glass, desperation thick in the air. His thumb brushed your cheek, but it was frantic, not soothing. “Look at me.” His words were raw, pleading, a cry in the storm. "I’m right here, it’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe."

His voice cracked again, his words thick with fear, and you saw it—real fear in his eyes. Sam, always the strong one, always the rock, was unraveling, torn apart by the sight of you—of Dean—and there was nothing he could do.

Dean’s screams echoed in the background, and you felt the tremor in Sam’s hand as he held you, his entire body trembling with the weight of what was happening. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

You tried to focus on Sam. Just Sam. His face was so close now, eyes searching yours, lips moving in a desperate whisper. “You’re safe. You’re with me. I’m not leaving you. I’m so sorry.”

Each breath felt like it might be your last, but you tried, for Sam. You focused on him, on the sound of his voice, his presence anchoring you. Dean’s cries still echoed, but Sam was your anchor. Sam was all that mattered. And slowly, just slowly, your breath began to steady.

“Good girl,” Sam murmured softly, his voice thick with relief. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

He was practically holding you up so he gently guided your back to the wall so he could check you over. Your body felt broken, bruised, but Sam was there—strong, steady, never leaving your side.

His touch was tender, but there was an edge of urgency to it, as if he needed to make sure you were really here, really okay.

“Let me check your head,” Sam said softly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of a concussion. His fingers gently probed your skull, checking for bumps or bruises. You winced, a sharp gasp escaping you, as he touched the sensitive area at the back of your head. Sam’s eyes darkened with helpless fear.

"Sorry, sorry, baby, I know that hurts," he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. "But I have to check, I need to make sure you’re okay." His words were strained, his hand hovering over your head, checking for swelling, for damage.

The dull throb of your head making it harder to focus. “M’head... hurts,” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

“I know, sweetheart,” Sam whispered, his face tight with concern.

You tried to shift, to sit up more, but the pressure in your neck made your entire body scream in agony, and your hand instinctively shot up to your throat.

“No, don’t touch it, sweetheart.” Sam’s voice broke like glass, and you felt his hand gently pull yours away from your neck.

He was trying to keep you still, but you could feel the weight of his panic pushing against the calm he was trying to create. Sam’s hands were already covered in your blood, but he wasn’t hesitating. His fingers brushing against the swelling bruises. His breath caught as he saw the darkening marks, the deepening shade of purple and blue spreading over your throat. He pressed lightly, as gently as he could, but the discomfort in your eyes was enough for him to stop. His expression twisted with a mix of anger and worry, but his voice stayed soft, steady as he leaned in close to you.

"You’re swelling." His thumb brushed against your skin, his face pale with panic.

Your hand instinctively tried to reach for your neck again, but Sam’s grip on your wrist was firm. "No, no, please don’t touch it," he pleaded as his mind raced on what to do next.

Everything hurt. Every inch of your body felt bruised, torn, like you’d been beaten to the edge of your life. Your face was covered in blood, your head was throbbing with every heartbeat, and your neck—your neck felt like it was on fire, swollen and tender beneath your touch. You couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped your chest.

Sam’s hands were shaking as he carefully wiped away the blood from your face. His touch was tender, but there was an edge to it, the frantic urgency of someone who couldn’t bear to see you in pain, couldn’t bear how fragile you looked in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” Sam murmured, his voice low and full of sorrow. "I’m so sorry... I just need to make sure you’re okay. Just a little more, okay?"

He slowly ran his hands over your face, carefully checking the cuts, making sure none of the injuries were too deep. The blood kept flowing, soaking into his fingers, and you could see the horror in his eyes as he noticed how much you were losing.

“Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be alright.” His words were ragged, like they were being pulled out of him like he didn’t believe a word he was saying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let you know how bad it really was.

You noticed the way his body was rigid, like he was fighting to hold it together. His face was strained, his jaw tight, but he wasn’t letting up.

“You’re strong,” Sam whispered to you, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re so strong. Just breathe, baby. Please, just breathe for me."

His hand finally pressed against the back of your neck, gently massaging the swelling to ease the pain, but you could hear the terror in his voice. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Sam whispered again, his lips close to your ear. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it through this.”

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, trying to hold it together for you. But, he’d never seen you like this, broken and bruised, the light in your eyes dimmed by the trauma you’d endured at the hands of someone you loved. His protective instincts screamed in agony, but there was nothing more he could do here. His mind was already racing, searching for any possible way to make things right. Maybe Cas could help.

“I need to grab Cas, alright? Just hold on, I’m coming right back,” Sam said, his voice strained as he quickly got up. The panic clear in his eyes and his movements frantic.

You nodded weakly, barely able to keep your eyes open as exhaustion weighed down on you like a heavy blanket. Just before Sam turned his gaze from you, he noticed them threatening to close. “Hey, no! I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?!” He pleaded. You widened your eyes and nodded. “I’ll be two seconds don’t you dare close them!” He shouted as he practically ran down the hallway to where Cas was restraining Dean. Cas walked away from Dean, his eyes locked eyes on Sam’s disheveled presence. “How is she Sam?” He asked, worriedly. Sam breathed out speaking low enough so Dean couldn’t hear, but urgently enough for Cas to understand the extent of it. “She’s in bad shape, Cas. I don’t know what to do. He—he choked her and beat her pretty badly. I just... I need you.” Sam pleaded and Cas nodded. “I’m still not at my full grace. I can help a little bit, ease the pain, but she will need to rest to make a full recovery.” He said, his expression as serious as ever. Without wasting a second, they made their way back towards you, Sam trailing behind Cas. Your eyes were still open, struggling to focus, as Cas knelt beside you. His fingers brushed gently over your bruised neck as he carefully examined the damage.

"Cas?" You whimpered, your voice weak and trembling.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. His grace swirled around you, and for the first time since everything had happened, you felt a small bit of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stop the constant pounding in your head.

You felt a warm energy washing over you, a peace settling deep within. The swelling in your neck began to subside, and the pain that had been gnawing at your body seemed to dull a little with each passing moment.

Sam stood off to the side, watching with wide eyes, a mixture of awe and desperation flickering across his face. Cas' healing grace was a blessing, but Sam knew that no matter how much healing Cas could provide, the mental and emotional scars would remain far longer.

After a few minutes, Cas pulled back, his brow furrowed in concern. “You should feel a little better. Rest, you’ll still need time to fully recover.”

Sam gave a silent nod of thanks to the angel, his eyes never leaving you. “Thank you, Cas,” he said quietly.

As Cas nodded in acknowledgment, you clung to his arm, your grip tightening slightly as you looked up at him. “Thank you, Cas. For everything.” He sent you a sad smile, his eyes full of empathy, knowing you were still trembling in fear, but unable to do anything about the mental scars you now carried.

“You’re going to be okay,” he reassured you softly. You nodded, fully believing the angel’s words, trusting in the comfort he had given you.

The silence stretched on for a moment, but the tension in the air was palpable. Sam shifted uneasily, glancing at you, then at Cas. “Cas, about Dean…” Sam trailed off, his voice tight, unsure of how to continue. His eyes flicked back to you, concern flickering there before he spoke again. “How is he?”

Cas took a slow breath, his expression softening with the weight of the situation. “He’s restrained for now. I believe the cure will work, Sam. We just need time.”

The mention of Dean sent a jolt of tension through your body, and you instinctively shrank back slightly, the thought of Dean still being lost in the grip of the demon unsettling you more than you expected. Sam noticed, his eyes softening with a silent promise to protect you.

“You okay?” Sam asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He crouched beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder in reassurance.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The emotions swirling inside of you were overwhelming, but you couldn’t bear to let them out now, not in front of them.

Sam gave you a reassuring nod, though his worry never fully left his face. “I’m gonna take care of you. You need to get some rest, okay?” He paused, glancing toward Cas. “I’ll be there with you in a second Cas just let me get her cleaned up and in bed first.”

Cas nodded and filled with the quiet certainty that only he could offer. “Rest now Y/N. We will do everything we can for Dean.”

Sam gave a small, appreciative nod to Cas as he left the room, then Sam turned back to you.

His hand was now on your shoulder, supporting you. “How are you feeling now?” He asked softly.

“I’m... better,” you whispered, though your voice was strained, hoarse from everything you’d been through.

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Come on,” Sam said softly, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nodded, the exhaustion written all over your face. You weren’t sure you had the strength to do it on your own, but Sam was there, steady and unwavering, as he guided you toward the bathroom. His hand was warm against your back, supportive, but his touch was careful, mindful of your pain.

When you reached the bathroom, Sam opened the door and flipped the light on, the soft hum of the fluorescent light filling the silence. He stood there for a moment, watching you as if making sure you were okay, that you weren’t about to collapse. Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to the shower.

“I’ll run the water for you,” he said quietly, adjusting the temperature, his fingers nimble as they twisted the faucet. “Just... take your time, alright? I’ll be right outside the door.”

You were so tired, so worn down, but Sam’s presence was a small comfort. It gave you the strength to move forward. He grabbed a towel from the linen closet and placed it on the counter, then found a pair of his sweatpants and a sweatshirt. They were oversized, but they would fit. He folded them carefully and set them next to the towel.

“Here you go,” Sam said, his voice softer now. “I’ll leave them right here for you.”

He hesitated, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be okay. The last thing he wanted was to leave you alone when you were so fragile. But you needed this time to yourself. To breathe.

“I’ll be right outside. Just call for me if you need anything,” Sam added, his voice tinged with that protective tone he always used, the one that made you feel safe, no matter what.

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes, your throat tight from the raw emotions still swirling inside you. “Thank you, Sam,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He offered a soft, strained smile, his hand lingering on the door handle for a moment. “Of course,” he said simply, his eyes filled with a mix of love and concern. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here.”

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him. You leaned against the counter for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on you. It was hard to feel anything other than exhaustion, but Sam had been your anchor through it all, and his care meant more than you could express.

As the warm water began to fill the shower, you let the steam rise around you, trying to relax under the heat, to wash away the lingering fear and pain. You allowed yourself to just exist for a few moments, letting the warmth seep into your aching muscles. Slowly, you scrubbed away the tension, the weariness in your bones easing with every pass of the washcloth. It was hard to shake off the heaviness, but the heat and solitude were helping. Just a little.

After a few minutes, you reluctantly turned off the water, the sudden silence hitting you as the last of the steam dissipated. You stepped out, wrapping yourself in the towel Sam had left out for you. It was soft, warm against your skin, and the faint scent of his soap lingered on it, a reminder of his presence just beyond the door.

You eyed the oversized clothes Sam had left on the counter. The sweatshirt and sweatpants looked almost comical, the sleeves and legs hanging far past your fingertips and ankles. But they felt like a small piece of him, like a shield, so you slipped them on, pulling them as tight around you as you could, trying to feel something resembling comfort in the vastness of his clothes. You tugged at the sleeves, trying to bury your hands in them as you stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way toward the door, the clothes swallowing you in a way that somehow made you feel safe. Your heart ached, but there was something calming in the way they felt. Like Sam was still here, protecting you even when he wasn’t right beside you.

As you opened the bathroom door, Sam was standing just outside, his eyes immediately locking onto you as you walked out. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of you in his clothes, looking so fragile and small under the fabric. You caught a flash of concern cross his face, but he quickly masked it with a gentle smile. He stepped forward, his arms instinctively reaching out as if to steady you.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with worry as he glanced down at the oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants you were swathed in.

You nodded, offering a weak smile. “I’m... okay. Just... trying to get comfortable, I guess.”

Sam’s eyes softened even further, and he gently cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across your skin in a comforting, soothing motion. "Let's get you some rest, alright?" His voice was warm, offering you a sense of reassurance. As Sam guided you gently through the hallway, his hand resting lightly on your back, you stopped, a sudden surge of uncertainty washing over you. You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice barely a whisper, “Sam… can I… can I sleep in your room instead?”

Sam froze, glancing over at you with a soft expression that was all tenderness. He could tell you needed something more right now—something beyond just the comfort of the bed in your own room. He stepped closer to you, his face softening, the concern in his eyes deepening. Without a second thought, he smiled gently, his hand brushing against your arm as he nodded.

"Of course, Bug," he said, the nickname slipping out naturally, carrying with it all the warmth he felt for you. “Let’s get you settled in my room.”

He led you to his room, his hand remaining steady at your back as you walked. The space felt different with him in it, cozier, comforting in a way that only Sam’s presence could make it. He pulled back the covers, making sure everything was just right for you.

Once you were comfortably nestled in, he adjusted the pillows around you, making sure you were warm and relaxed. He pulled the blanket up around you, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he gently tucked it in.

“You’re safe here,” Sam murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of your exhaustion settle in as you sank deeper into the softness of his bed. He sat down beside you for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from your face. As he stood up to leave, the darkness pulled you under.

You woke with a start, your heart racing in your chest as the soft light from the hallway trickled in. The bed felt familiar, warm, but something was off. You blinked, still disoriented from the deep sleep, and when your eyes focused, you froze.

Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light, was Dean.

For a split second, all you could do was stare, your breath caught in your throat. A wave of panic rushed through you like an electric shock. No. No, not again.

The terror flooded you faster than you could process, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “No, please, no!” The words tumbled from your lips in frantic terror, your body jerking as you scrambled to get away from him.

The sheets tangled around your legs, tripping you up, making you feel more trapped. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You had to get away. You had to get away.

“Please! No, please, no!” You cried, pushing at the bed with shaky hands, trying to free yourself from the blankets that held you down, but they only made you feel more ensnared. Panic surged through your chest as you pushed harder, desperate, but in your frantic attempt to escape, you didn't realize how close you were to the edge.

And then, you lost balance.

With a gut wrenching scream, you tumbled backward, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud, your body tangled in the blankets, your heart thumping in your throat. The impact made everything spin. Your mind was a blur of terror, the only thing you knew was that you had to get away.

You scrambled on the floor, your limbs moving in every direction, hands pressing against the cold wood, trying to push yourself backward into the corner of the room. You couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop the overwhelming terror. Your back slammed into the wall as you tried to put more distance between yourself and the figure in the doorway.

Dean stood there, unmoving, a pained expression on his face. His hands were raised, palms out, as if to show he meant no harm. But you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t see past the fear and the memories of him that haunted you.

“Y/N, please!” Dean’s voice cracked with desperation, his tone softer, but it didn’t reach you. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s really me. I’m not a demon anymore. Please…”

But your screams continued, echoing through the room, drowning out everything he was trying to say.

Then the door slammed open.

Sam.

His face was a mix of horror and frantic concern as he rushed in. “Dean, what the hell?” Sam’s voice was sharp, filled with panic. “She’s not ready for this!”

You didn’t hear Sam, didn’t see anything but the man standing in the doorway. You were still scrabbling against the floor, shaking, screaming, begging for him to leave, to not hurt you.

Dean hesitated, clearly struggling with what to do. “I’m sorry, Sam... I didn’t think she was going to wake up yet. I just had to check on her…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t want to—”

“No!” you screamed again, your voice hoarse, panic coursing through every fiber of your being. “Please, no!”

Sam moved toward you, kneeling in front of you, his hands reaching out to gently hold your shoulders. You flinched away from him, still lost in your fear, unable to focus on anything but the threat in the doorway.

“Y/N, please,” Sam said, his voice frantic. He was trying to calm you, trying to reach you, but his words barely made it through the haze of panic. “Listen to me. Listen. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe. Dean’s not a demon anymore!”

Your eyes remained fixed on Dean. Your breaths were shallow, gasping for air, but you couldn’t hear Sam. You couldn’t focus on anything but the terror that clawed at you.

“Please! No! No, I can’t—I can’t—” You were barely coherent, your voice raw, still scrambling away, shaking, terrified.

Sam’s own panic intensified as he looked at Dean, his voice sharp with frustration and urgency. “Dean, leave! Now!”

Dean’s face fell, the regret and pain washing over him, but he backed away, slowly, giving you space. “I—I’m sorry.” Before he rushed out the door.

You continued to shake, your chest heaving, the sound of your breath almost deafening in the room. Your hands gripped the floor, trying to steady yourself, to breathe. Slowly, Sam turned back to you, his hands gentle but firm as he held your arms, trying to pull you out of the panic.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his voice softer now but still filled with urgency, “I need you to listen to me. Look at me, please.” He begged and forced you to meet his eyes. “Dean’s cured. He’s not a demon. He’s Dean. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe. It’s over.”

The words finally hit you. "W-what?" You whispered, your heart pounding, struggling to grasp the magnitude of what Sam was telling you.

“He’s cured, Y/N.” Sam repeated, his hands moving to gently pull you into his arms, holding you close as you continued to shake. Your breath caught in your throat. "Are- are you sure? R-Really, Sam?" Your hands trembled as they clung to his shirt.

"Yes," Sam affirmed softly, his voice steady. "It’s over. We did it. He’s cured. Dean’s back. It’s really him."

Relief hit you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and sudden. You could hardly breathe through it, but you collapsed into Sam’s arms, all the tension in your body finally unraveling. “Oh my God!” You cried out in pure relief. Your hands gripped him tight, clutching onto him as if you might float away.

"Thank you, Sam," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Thank you for being strong enough to fix him. To do this... You saved us."

Sam wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, resting his cheek on your head. "We did it together," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You never gave up on him, Y/N. You were right there, with me. We made it through."

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt. "Thank you," you repeated, barely able to hold the words together. "Thank you." You took a deep breath, your fingers clutching Sam's shirt as you pulled away slightly. You could feel the heaviness of the moment hanging in the air between you both. The fear, the confusion... it was still there, but something else was creeping in. Hope. Slowly, steadily, but it was there.

“Sam,” you said softly, your voice wavering a bit, “I’m ready. I want to see him. I need to.”

Sam looked at you for a moment, concern still flickering in his eyes. “Are you sure, Y/N? I don’t want you to—”

“I’m sure,” you interrupted, the words heavy with everything you had been holding back. “I need to see him. Please.”

Sam hesitated, but he gave a gentle nod and helped you to your feet. His hand lingered on your back as you walked toward Dean’s room, a comforting presence you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from. But when you reached the door, you hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding. You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the tiniest bit of fear as you turned the doorknob. Sam gave you a soft smile of encouragement before he walked away to give you both a moment he knew you both needed.

Inside, you saw Dean sitting on the bed, flipping through the stack of old photos you were looking at earlier, his expression distant. He looked so normal, so much like the brother you remembered. But as soon as he heard you, his head snapped up, his eyes widening when they met yours.

“De?” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Dean froze, his body tense. His face was pale, but his eyes were filled with pain. In an instant, the guilt in his eyes was almost unbearable, and when he stood up abruptly, you couldn’t help but flinch back, the reflex built from everything that had happened.

He saw it, the fear still lingering in your eyes, and his face crumpled in regret.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” he said hoarsely, taking a step toward you, but still keeping his distance, his hands shaking. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I never—”

Your eyes flickered down to the photos in his hands, the same ones you had been flipping through earlier. The memories of the real Dean—the brother who’d always loved you, who’d always been there to protect you, the one who’d never hurt you.

You swallowed thickly, a lump in your throat. With a shaky breath, you took a step forward, pushing past the lingering fear, your voice soft but firm. “It’s not your fault, Dean,” you said, your eyes meeting his. “I know the real you. The one in these photos,” you pointed to the pictures in his hands, “the brother I grew up with, the one who protected me. That Dean would never hurt me. That Dean would never do what... demon Dean did to me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, every ounce of your emotion spilling out in that one moment. “You’re you, Dean. You’re cured. I know you. And that’s all that matters. You’re back. You’re really back.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears as he took a slow, shaky step toward you, his voice trembling. “Y/N…” His voice was thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry,” Dean choked out, his voice thick with grief. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to scare you... God, I never wanted to be that thing.” Tears blurred your vision as you stepped into Dean's embrace, your arms wrapping around him tightly. His scent, so familiar, was a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed. You pressed your face into his chest, letting the sobs wrack through your body as the weight of everything fell on you. He held you just as tightly, his hands coming up to rest gently on the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your hair as if trying to soothe you. His breath was shaky, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his face pressed against the top of your head.

You could feel his tears wetting your hair as he buried his face against your shoulder, his whole body trembling as well. His tears now mixing with yours. You clung to him, your hands gripping his jacket as you whispered between sobs.

“I’m so glad you’re back, De. I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, barely able to speak through your tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. I thought I lost you...”

Dean held you tighter, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You didn’t lose me. I swear, I’ll make it right. I’ll spend every damn day proving that I’m here, that I’m not that thing anymore.”

You shook your head, still clinging to him. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re back. You’re my brother. I know who you are. That’s all that matters. It’s over now. You’re really back.”

Dean didn’t say anything at first, just held you tighter, both of you surrounded by the warmth of the other’s embrace. The years of fear and pain were slowly being replaced by the quiet, overwhelming relief that, no matter what, you had your brother again. The real Dean.

[ghostgryme]

what if i said i got into ace attorney…

(just finished aa4 so no spoilers for 5 and 6 pls)

[drabbles-n-doodles]

I am constantly filled with the desire to hug mister Drumbot. So I drew Jonny hugging him to satiate the little beast in my brain

[katabay]

trains :)

this is a very rough and scribbly comic, but sometimes that's all a comic is going to end up being lmao. the guy with the jacket is darren, glasses is andy. not featured, andy's dead brother who nevertheless insists on haunting the subtext

the main thing I wanted to draw was the train tho

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app

[milolovesbmc]

The Dream (The Angel's Kiss)

Based on the sculpture by Auguste Rodin (1905)

(Censored just in case even though it's nothing explicit, uncensored under the cut)

"I remember you, something about you... coming to me, and sinking into me, and giving me breath again. . ."

[icewindandboringhorror]

Just curious what the average level of personal investment in these sorts of things is. Like, how much do people usually get into silly stuff like this their friends ask of them? etc. etc. Which I know, only surveying a small sample on a very specific website means I'm not getting an exact average idea lol, but.. curious nonetheless .. Maybe reblog for bigger sample size but also this is not very serious at all/not worth a call to action gbhjbhjb

[alittlemineblr]

If Ren and Martyn don't meet up at least once to make kissie noises at each other during the decked out event then really was it worth it?

[untimelyambition]

i am begging on my hands and knees for jon matteson and bryce charles to sing a song together. since i first watched npmd, every single day without fail i have thought about their harmonies together in hatchet town (“if he gets me next i could be three” and “fits the bill, he fits the bill”) literally the sickest harmonies in the entire show, i turn into a little gremlin every time i hear them. their voices sound SO good together it actually makes me a little ill. my favourite song my favourite line my favourite harmonies, their voices blend perfectly and i am so desperate to hear them sing a duet to hear them singing together again pls pls please pls pls pls. pls.

[byanyan]

@cafesol on the topic of byan:

[roudiseshipweek]

THE WEEK IS FINALLY HERE!!!

if i hadn't done the art for this week traditionally, i never would've been able to get them all done, but for some reason my dumbass decided to not outline things with a pen or sharpie so they're smudgy as fuck but it's okay because i'm happy with the way they came out overall.

im beyond excited to see what everyone else has for the week, so here's my day one!!

[cherryskirbycorner]

so I finished reading iyd where it's currently at a few days ago.

i am incredibly normal about @post-it-notes7 's Heart and Soul series. I can be trusted with these freaks I promise I won't keep microwaving all of the strawberries and blueberries I promise.

anyway good lird these two have been through so much. they need eepy time + bonus wishful thinking first few chapters in a nutshell

[happi-tree]

HI IM COOKIES (im good friends with llumimoon in case you know them) AND I LOVE YOUR SWIFTLI WRITING A WHOLE LOT HI i'm new to the fandom and want to make friends maybe its weird for me to be introducing myself to everyone individually like this but i'm a little extroverted autist anyways maybe we can be friends

Hi, there, Cookies!!! OMG I'M SO GLAD YOU ENJOY MY WRITING 🥺🥺🥺 I saw your tags in my notifs and they made my day! I've read your fic, too (llumimoon sent it to me <3) and you're a phenomenal writer!!! A very warm welcome to the fandom, lovebird, and definitely don't feel odd about introducing yourself - I love getting asks and my askbox + dms are always open <333 And ofc we're friends dw dw 🥰🥰🥰 Can't wait to get to know you better, and I hope you have a wonderful time in the fandom hehe :]c

[featherymainffins]

Ok is it just me or does sitting behind a table and preferably by a window increase one's energy levels and productivity exponentially?

Me when I'm sitting on the ground for a prolonged time: Everything sucks and I am doomed. Me when I'm sitting somewhere with no windows and/or not much light coming in: Everything sucks, I want to sleep or die. Me as soon as I am behind an actual table/desk and when I can look outside if I choose to: Oh everything is fine actually and life is nice : ).

[snekdood]

why do ppl you barely know or interact with at all think you give a huge fuck about interacting with them?

[classyrbf]

THAT D!CK IS A 10/10! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...an analysis on the jjk men’s dicks just because hehe :)

INFO...jjk men x gn!reader, we’re talking about cock and balls a lot (no seriously), cum analysis, where they like to cum, heavy detail (be warned), im trying to make this a little realistic so no, gojo will not have a 12 inch dick (sorry not sorry), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

here’s a little something while I’m being a busy bee and dealing with life (help me)

GOJO

to start off, gojo isn’t too big or isn’t small either, if anything he’s just perfect (cause he is perfect duh). He’s around 3 inches soft and 6.6 inches hard. Listen, as much as I want to make this man have the hugest dick ever, he does not and it’d cause an extreme amount of pain every time he is pounding you. He’s not too girthy either, just the average 4.3. His also slightly curves upward which is perfect for hitting your sweet spot. But he’s super sensitive on the tip! So if you tease him too much there he might just cum prematurely. His balls are definitely a decent size too, they may be on the bigger side a little but he loves to have his balls played with so have fun! When gojo cums, he cums a lot! It literally will go all over the place if he can’t control it correctly. It’s spurts out in waves and it sometimes it’s like torture cause it makes his orgasms last longer but god does it feel so good. His cum is sort of thin and runny instead of thick and goopy with a slight salty taste.

NANAMI

i personally feel like nanami is fucking packing girth wise! He is slightly smaller than gojo around like 5.75-6 inches but he is fucking girthy! It’s like a damn weapon and it’s heavy (I’ll help you carry it around nanami, don’t you worry). His girth is around 5.5-6 inches and it’s veiny! Lord help us all because he knows how to use that thing, hitting all the right angles. From being so girthy his cock slightly hangs…So what comes with a fat cock? Big breeder balls! Duh! His balls are so fat and big it’s like an instinct to suck and lick on them. He leaks a lot of precum when he’s hard so it just drips from his cock until he cums so hard. Speaking of cum, unlike gojo he has more of a thicker consistency, and instead of spurting out all over, it just flows from his cock and it’s looks so pretty like a fountain. It drips all down his cock and balls and onto his hand if he’s jerking himself off. When he’s fucking you, he definitely cums inside and just fucks his cum into you over and over until he makes a big mess.

TOJI

my man, my man, my man! Toji is definitely bigger than nanami and gojo but only by like 1-2 inches. So he’s around 7 inches which is still scary bc why are just walking around with that? He’s definitely girthy too but not like nanami, he’s more girthy around the tip of his cock and it gets slightly smaller towards the base but it’s not a huge difference. He’s tip gets really pink and red when he’s hard that it almost looks painful (don’t worry baby I’m on my way to help) but I promise he’s fine. Dare I say that doesn’t trim that often???? I feel like he has a slightly bush, nothing too crazy but it’s kind of grown out. He doesn’t care (me neither) as long as he gets laid he’s fine. His balls are mix of nanami and gojos but they hang! So when he’s fucking you they definitely slap against your skin. When toji cums it’s pretty normal, it’s sometimes shoots out a little bit and then slows down after, but it’s definitely a good amount of cum that does come out quickly. He loves to see your face or your chest covered in it because he’s a pervy little bastard for sure.

GETO

pretty boy geto hehe…let’s just say that thing curves to the left okay? He’s around 6.5-7 inches and girthy so let’s pray for everyone’s holes cause I don’t think we are making it out alive. He’s somewhere between nanami’s and Toji’s girth so…do what you will with that info. His dick is so pretty though, a pretty dick for a pretty face, the curtains match the drapes yk? He has two prominent veins that run on the underside of his dick where he’s really sensitive. If you look closely you’ll see them pulsing when he’s hard. His tip is also a very pretty pink color while his shaft and base are slightly darker than his skin tone. His balls aren’t too big either so it’s definitely more about his dick. He doesn’t cum a lot either surprisingly, he’s never been the cum everywhere and get super messy type of person but if hasnt had sex or jerked off it’ll be more than usual.

CHOSO

choso is closer to nanamis size, maybe a little smaller but not a huge difference. His is pretty average but there is nothing wrong with that (can I get free ride???). Just like geto he also has a very pink tip and his shaft is the same color as his skin. His girth is around Gojo’s but he has some big balls that are just asking to licked and sucked fr. Baby boy gets so whiny when he’s hard and leaking that he’s almost embarrassed by it, he tries to control it but he literally can’t stop getting so hard to point it drives him insane. His cum is stringy and thick, like the perfect consistency for cumming on your face, chest, ass, literally anywhere. He cums a normal amount, usually spurts out super quickly and then slows down towards the end of his orgasm.

SUKUNA

where do I even begin??? Clearly, this mf is the biggest out of all of them. He’s scary asf because he has two, yes, two dicks that are practically identical. 8-9 inches long, 4.7 girth. End my life. THIS MF GOT 4 LEGS. It’s actually cruel. They’re thicker towards the base and gradually get narrow towards the tip. So at first, the stretch doesn’t seem that bad until you realize you got about 7 inches more to go…yeah. His cocks are darker than the rest of his body and his tips are sort of like a light pink/tan color. The only difference between his cocks is that one is super veiny and the other quite literally has like 3 veins. Fat breeder balls that hang, swing, touch the floor (I’m jk) but literally the mix of toji and nanamis balls. They hold so much cum, he can literally go round for round back to back and fill up every hole of yours without taking a break. And he cums so much that it’s actually concerning. Like nanami, its overflows maybe once in a while it will shoot out.

HIGURUMA

believe it or not I think this man is packing at least 7-8 inches. It may not look like it but I think he does! He never brags about it either so it’s really hard to guess. When he’s hard his dick touches his belly button…and his balls are somewhere between Geto’s and Gojo’s size so they’re kinda average. The color is slightly tan maybe like one shade darker and he has a pale pink tip. Did I mention he has a fat tip?? It seems like it gets even bigger when he’s hard, all swollen and everything. His girth is pretty average too like Gojo’s maybe slightly bigger like 4.5 but that’s it. Higuruma doesn’t cum that much it like toji where it’s a pretty normal amount. His cum isn’t super white either, it’s kind of on the clear side and super stringy which is perfect for cumming on your tongue imo

[xinganhao]

🫶 svt reacts to you saying 'i love you' on accident.

★ prompt: Ot13 reaction to you saying I love you for the first time (possibly kind of by accident) 🥰 c/o anon

ⓘ friends to lovers vibes, flirting, pet names. headcanons under the cut.

🫶 read more?

seungcheol tries to take it in stride. really, he does. he's convinced he can be very normal about this, even though it will probably have him preening the whole day. he's always thrived most on words of affirmation, and what's more affirming than the truth?

jeonghan's joking, of course. he knows deep down that your little slip doesn't immediately entail a relationship, but he's definitely intent on going out swinging. the light teasing is an attempt to get you to think about a time where you can freely say 'i love you' to him every day.

there's a fair amount of sincerity in joshua's reaction. his first thought is to make sure that you're okay with it, since he has some idea that you've probably tripped on the words. but give him that leeway and he'll take it in a heartbeat. you've started saying it; he'll never let you hear the end of it.

if junhui manages to feign nonchalance, it's because of his acting prowess. he's smug and giddy, though he's not about to let you know that. he's the type to pull the rug underneath you a couple of days later, right when you've probably forgotten it. "so…" he'll drawl. "how much do you love me, hm?"

to no one's surprise, soonyoung is decisively not chill about it. this is A Big Deal to him! an 'i love you'? something he's wanted to hear for ages? he needs to make sure he's not dreaming. there's the dopiest smile on his face, because you love him. it's the best thing he's heard.

wonwoo's hands are shaking. his throat is suddenly dry, and he's relatively sure his brain has short-circuited. it's— just an offhand thing. at least that's what he tries to convince himself. the reality: he's going to be replaying the words in his head for weeks on end.

it doesn't strike jihoon immediately. maybe it hits him once you're gone; maybe it occurs to him when the moment has already passed. one thing's for sure: he's not going to let it go unanswered. he's a little late, not on time, but that doesn't mean he doesn't mean it. you know that, right?

the words make something bloom and blossom in seokmin's chest. they take root like a promise, and even though he tries not to get ahead of itself, it's hard. he's so, so happy to hear it from you that he'll be walking on clouds for the days to come.

mingyu doesn't hate you. that much is certain. he just hates the power you have over him— how you can upend his entire day with a couple of choice words. he had thought he'd be stronger than this, but here he is. panicking because of 'ily'? god, he can't afford to be in shambles like this.

ever the rational type, minghao will be the type to press, "how do you love me?" he can't afford any missteps, needs to know you're on the same page. if you love him as a friend, then so be it. but if there's a prospect for anything more, even just a minute worth of it… well. he would like to know.

joking about it is a coping mechanism. that's something seungkwan subscribes to, at the very least. it gives him time to gather his wits, this whole keeping-up-a-facade thing. (ask anyone: he had been smiling a little too hard at his phone when your text came in. the eyes never lie.)

rarely is vernon thrown off his game like this. he's not supposed to be melting over a flippant 'ily', and yet here he is— trying (and failing) to be cool about your slip-up. can you blame him? he's wanted you for so long, and the words can be as good as a promise if he really wanted them to be.

you're not playing fair. chan has half a mind to make you suffer, to not give you the satisfaction of a reaction. alas, he's always had a soft spot for you. that extends to unquestioning forgiveness, and reciprocity where it matters. yes, even in accidental confessions.

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