#Sam Winchester has PTSD

[nexilu]

Dean totally has some severe PTSD from the first time Sam died in his arms at Cold Oak

[anassemblageofpassions]

The way s5 starts Sam’s “redemption arc” as a parallel to his entire fucking life subsequently demonizing him (heh) since he was 6 months old. As a baby he had no choice in the matter of demon blood but he is still damned for it. And yet he tries anyways to avoid it all but he can’t help it, the powers come to him anyways, and then he doesn’t bother and he decided to use the violation he was bestowed with for good.

But he can’t because it’s inherently evil in spns narrative, no good can come out of it and who Sam is even as lives are saved. He dooms the world because of who he is and there is no coming back from that.

Until season 5 starts and Sam is forced fed demon blood against his will yet again, but refuses to swallow it this time. Spits it back in his violators’ faces. He rejects being further “tainted”, he’s no longer a “willing participant”. He was able to fight back against what he was not able to as a literal infant. He is “redeeming” himself for something that happened to him against his will as a literal infant.

And the rest of the season has all these badass moments that are supposed to be “redemptive” and subverting who sam supposedly is but they’re really just reinforcing who he already was with an added dash of truly unhealthy self-loathing.

The only way for Sam to “redeem” himself for literally being born, something that was literally planned by deities for centuries against his control, was to throw his body into the worst part of Hell to be tortured for eternity. That is supernaturals original ending.

This is actually the real reason why supernatural is and always will be a horror show.

[johanna-swann]

Kind of have complex feelings about fandoms jumping to the "they just need a good same-sex smooch" every time a character says they feel "broken" or like there's something "deeply wrong" with them. This feeling that there's something monstrous inside you that can never be fixed? Most likely doesn't come from being queer or at least not just from being queer. More likely it's mental illness. There is a significant overlap, we already know that, but healthy minds usually don't go there, queer or not.

Maybe it's just my personal experience as a bi and grey-aroace queer with severe depression and anxiety, but I've had that feeling. I still have that feeling sometimes and my sexuality has nothing to do with it and never did. So I'm attracted to more than one gender. So I'm attracted to others in a way that's different from how allo people feel. Big deal (not).

Idk, it just feels weird (disrespectful) that when a character who shows obvious signs of mental illness and no signs of being queer gets a bunch of "he needs to get dicked down good" statements instead of real sympathy. Even after the actors have said that their own experiences with mental illness played into their work and after it's been said by the people working on the show that the character in question is straight. Like. Internalised queerphobia sucks, yeah, but can tumblr please learn that not everything is about being gay.

[starkskypines]

truth in the angel’s garden

a little sabriel for swoon june day 16: alternate prompt: hug

>>>

Sam breathes out a quick breath and then another and another and tries to get a handle on his raging emotions. It’s dark in his room and that’s a hindrance to his breathing, so he reaches for the light switch as quick as he can, letting the thundering in his chest remind him that he’s still alive. The light flooding the room is too bright, like staring into the light of Gabriel’s angel grace before Sam forces his eyes shut lest he goes blind, but it beats off the demons well enough. Figurative ones that is. The ones that haunt Sam’s dreams until they become nightmares that leave him waking terrified like this.

It’s a consistent thing now with him being a hunter for so long. He’s grown used to nights like these for the most part. As much as one can get used to something that no normal, sane person would ever be used to. He’s used to them enough to be able to get some rest at night. He has his routine at this point, and it works to calm him down. He focuses on the light both literally and figuratively. The lightbulb provides light to fight off the darkness in his room. The warm images of Dean and Cas and Jack and Gabriel provide light to fight off the darkness in his mind.

Tonight, he focuses on the memory of him and Jack looking for the perfect flowers for Castiel’s garden. It was only a few days ago that they went flower shopping. They went through the farmers market first and then the greenhouse a few blocks over. Jack was very specific about getting the right flowers for Cas and scared of disappointing him. Sam told him that this wasn’t something that could end in disappointment. If they got the wrong flowers, Cas would love them anyway because of the gesture. Jack believed him eventually, and they left with a trunk full of a variety of flowers. From daffodils to sunflowers to tulips. And even ferns and a climbing vine of some sort that Sam didn’t quite understand the appeal, but that Jack knew was something Cas spoke of before.

And of course, Cas did love the flowers and the gesture behind them, and he planted them almost immediately in his flower garden right outside Sam’s window. Well, right outside the living room window downstairs, which Sam is above and which Sam could go to right now. He could let the rich scent of dirt and the lingering floral scent wash over him like a tide across the shore of a beach he secretly calls home because he’s never been able to call a burn-blacked house in Kansas home.

Sam spent the night at Dean and Cas’s for the weekend before he heads back out to California for a few weeks, though on nights like these, he wonders why even bother going back to his empty apartment there. He doesn’t truly miss California enough to keep returning, but he doesn’t have reason enough to impose his stay here.

read on ao3

[humandisorderincarnatedean]

#i will burn the world down for him via @queermania​ 

when you remember dean practicing his fake smile because he was told to bury his feelings so he can keep doing his job in a season full of people telling him to get over himself and his grief and bury his feelings so he can keep doing his job

[studiogrimm810]

Speak of the Devil >Finding You // part 1

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together

warnings: torture, ptsd, flashbacks, abduction, graphic depictions of said torture

word count: 4,571

A/N: soooo, i had this idea come to me in a dream but also i'm just obsessed with trauma bonding lolol,,i've realized that this idea is too complex (and comforting) to just do once/one part so i think i'm going maybe work on a part 2 or maybe even a part 3 (eventually) for this one as well...okay, thats all, thanks for reading my rambles!!! <3

read other parts here

———————

The nights were the hardest for Sam, everything so still, calm, settled- it made him itch. He ached for you, but there was only so much he could do.

Dean was in auto-pilot, trying his damnedest to get any info on your whereabouts but he always came up short.

All either of them knew was that Lucifer had you and that was enough to make Sam sick to his core. He knew damn-well what the devil was capable of, he spent over a century learning of just that, so to think of the person he loved succumbed to even a fraction of that made him irrational.

It has now been over a week since you were taken and the boys are finally following up on their most helpful lead at the moment, pulling up to an empty hospital in a desolate neighborhood of Denver.

The building was a classically looking rundown hospital- windows shattered, paint chipped, doors broken in. The sight made Sam’s skin crawl. Usually, he wouldn’t be so affected by the sight of an eerie building but to think this is where you’ve been all this time rots his insides.

Sam takes the lead on this one, wasting no time to break through the front doors and let his eyes scan through the halls. Dean doesn’t say a word as he just lets his little brother storm the halls. He does make sure to be extra vigilant, hoping to catch anything Sam might miss on accident.

They make their way through halls and up staircases, ducking into every room for any hint of you.

The maze of halls inevitably makes Sam’s internal compass spin haphazardly as he starts to lose his placing. Standing at the end of one hallway that spans out into two new hallways, he’s frozen. Dean almost bumps into him as Sam stands still, his hands shaking but body stiff.

“Sammy?” Dean tests, trying to peek around him to get a read on Sam’s face. “Hey,” he calls more sternly this time, placing a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder to spin him towards Dean. “Talk to me.”

Sam turns to face his brother, his features melted into complete helplessness and loss.

Dean knows this look all too well.

His baby brother needs him.

“I don’t know where to go- I don’t-,” Sam shakes his head, his glossy eyes darting between Dean’s own. Dean’s features remain stiff as he takes in his brother's pain, clenching his jaw.

“They’re here, they have to be, and we’ll find them,” Dean states, commanding it to be true. Sam’s heartbreaking contort of painful fear makes Dean’s fury build, to think that not only did someone mess with you, but also his baby brother. It was enough to fuel out just enough confidence to not break down for Sam. “C’mon, pull yourself together,” Dean barks after a reassuring squeeze to Sam’s shoulder, his support being physical and not vocal.

Dean now takes the lead, choosing to go to the right. Sam follows close behind, his breaths so shallow that he doesn’t think his lungs are getting the proper amount of oxygen, but it doesn't seem to matter to him right now.

Another series of halls and rooms digs a deeper pit of dread between the brothers, but Dean refuses to quit for his brother.

They make their way to a staircase that leads to the top and final floor of the building. This has to be it.

Dean sneaks up the stairs carefully, looking up the hall to see a beam of light coming from a room on the far end. Dean turns his head to look down the other side to see nothing out of the ordinary. He quietly steps into the hall and motions for Sam to follow and stay quiet and close to the wall.

When Sam sees the beam of cool light his stomach flips with hope. He could almost feel that it was you in that room.

Halfway there, the brothers hear voices and Dean immediately signals for them to stop.

“He’ll kill ya, I’m tellin’ ya,” a masculine voice warned, which was followed by a more feminine groan of annoyance.

“He would never notice,” the second voice counters, seemingly as a whine.

“Just shut up,” the first voice sounds completely annoyed and down with their partner.

Dean inches closer, step by step, until he reaches the doorway and leans in just enough to see two figures that the voices are coming from. One is sitting in a chair in the far right corner and the other is standing next to a bed while fiddling with a small dagger.

That’s when Dean sees you.

You’re neatly tucked into the bed, a clean and tidy hospital bed with icy white sheets draped over most of your body. Your arms are laid out on top of the blanket, one having a drip of some liquid stuck in your arm. Your face is completely peaceful and devoid from any discomfort.

Dean presses back into the wall and looks at Sam, giving him a curt nod and signaling to get ready. Once Dean gets out his demon blade, he checks to make sure Sam is ready and then he attacks. Storming in and grabbing the farther guard, pressing the blade to its throat and scowling up at him.

“Why did you take them? Who are you!?” Dean roars, keeping his face a stone of anger as he seethes. The man with the masculine voice under Dean’s hold just scoffs with a cocky smile.

“I’m just workin’ a job, bitch means nothin’ ta’ me,” he licks his teeth, sizing up Dean.

“Who do you work for?” Dean emphasized with a mocking sneer. Both him and Sam needed confirmation that it was actually Lucifer who took you.

“I’m not at service to tell,” the man exaggerates with a sarcastically snooty eyebrow raise, trying to sound smart and ‘proper’.

“Too fuckin’ bad,” Dean wastes not time stabbing the man deep through his chest and watching as the skeleton underneath flickers like an electric surge of burnt orange and yellow.

Sam is quick to pin the demon he has to his chest so that Dean has a clean shot to her chest as well, killing her in the same fashion.

The body’s slumped to the ground with smoke rolling out of their mouths and eyes as their corpses are now just an empty shell. Neither brother cares to give a second glance since you’re still hooked up to some IV drip and completely unconscious.

“Hey, hey,” Sam coos, gently cupping your face in his hands, already shedding a few free tears. “C’mon, baby, can you hear me?” Dean grabs the bag to examine it but can only tell that it’s a clear liquid with no labels or indicator. Dean reaches down and carefully pulls the needle out of your arm and presses a piece of the blanket underneath you to the small bead of blood that follows.

The most bizzare thing about this whole setup is the lack of physical evidence of anyone hurting you. The only blemish they could see was the small bruise that surrounded the mark of the needle that Dean just removed. Both of them thought that after you had been gone for so long you’d at least be somewhat damaged, but why would someone take you just to keep you asleep in some abandoned hospital?

What was the purpose?

Somehow this was more terrifying to Dean.

Sam still hadn’t really taken the time to look you over or assess your situation, he was too busy with trying to wake you up.

“Sammy, they’ve been drugged, they’re not gonna wake up just yet,” Dean said softly, realizing Sam needs this moment, “we need to get them out of here.”

Sam sniffles and nods softly, not taking his eyes away from your closed lids.

“Can you carry, ‘em?” Dean asks, looking over his shoulder to make sure they’re still alone.

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice comes out hoarse, his shoulders burdened with worry and ache deep in his chest.

“C’mon,” Dean urges, turning to keep a lookout while Sam gets you situated. Thankfully, you’re fully clothed underneath but Dean avoids you both to preserve your privacy.

As Sam peels back the blanket he’s especially relieved that you’re still in the same clothes he last saw you in, somehow you looked even neater though. The shirt you wore had always had a small tear at the bottom hem but you refused to stop wearing it- now that tear was gone. So were the scuff marks on the knees of your jeans and even your hair looks silkier than usual.

He tries to push away any reasoning of why you seemed pristine.

He instead scoops you up and tucks you close to his chest the best he can, placing a soft kiss to your forehead and following Dean out. He murmurs soft reassurances and praises to you even if he knows that you can’t hear him, he still hopes that you can.

“You’re okay now, I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he kisses you again, keeping his eyes ahead of him and darting around to make sure there are no immediate threats to you.

Sam doesn’t let go of you even when they get to the Impala, even when he and Dean settle on making it a straight shot back to the bunker. Sam doesn’t care if he gets uncomfortable or too stiff because he cannot let go of you, even if he wanted to.

He settled in the car to still have you placed in his lap, arm still cradling your back and other drapes over your legs, holding you close and keeping you secure.

Dean steals glances back at his brother, Sam has barely looked up from you. Occasionally, a few tears fall and Sam will start sniffling, but then it fizzles out until he’s completely silent again.

Hours of driving and you’re still not even responsive and that continues to make Sam sick but he shoves those feelings down because he has to focus on getting you back in your bed at the bunker.

That’s his next step, getting you set back up in your own bed.

That’s all that matters right now.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’ll always remember the way that Dean beckons him awake- his voice softer than Sam has ever heard him before.

And that makes him feel a little worse, if he’s being honest.

Sam settles you back up in his arms and cradles your stiff body out of the Impala. He blindly follows Dean, now keeping his eyes down on you, silently praying that you’ll just wake up already.

Once he gets you completely settled in yours and his shared bed, an overwhelming sense of dread washes over him.

“Please, baby,” his words interrupted by a stifled sob and he reaches a hand up to cover his mouth, “just wake up,” he begs softly, pushing some hair out of your face and running his thumb over your cheekbone.

He would wait by your side until you finally did just that.

———

White hot. A rod of white hot pierced your stomach for what felt like the hundredth time. It twisted, wrapping your intestines up like a fork in spaghetti. You scream out in pure agony, your eyes lolling open to look down at the rusted pipe that’s lodged in your abdomen. You cry out, biting your lip and sobbing at the sight of your blood dripping out of the end of the hollow cylinder.

Your stomach looked like a pile of ground meat, flooded with blood and singed skin, the stench flaring your nostrils.

You see a hand wrapped around the exposed end and you follow it up to see burning red eyes staring back at you with a hungry smile.

Lucifer himself had subjected you to his torture for what felt like weeks and you were starting to give up any hope at being rescued.

He pulls out the pipe and flicks your blood off the pipe with a laugh that ripples up your spine like clawing bites. He spins his other wrist and just like that the pain is gone- your stomach completely patched over with fresh, unharmed skin.

He pulls back the pipe to hover it over an open flame and then he moves it to leave rings of burns along your exposed skin.

The pain- it’s too much, it’s too much.

You tug against your chains, hoping it’ll just come loose and unravel you out of this nightmare.

As you look back into the Devil's eyes, everything seemed to fade around the glowing red, like a light at the end of a tunnel. The eyes merge into one beam and they slowly dissolve into bright white.

The sounds of his laughter echo and the hold of the chains wrapped around you loosens.

You feel heavier.

You feel… awake.

Your head is strictly iron weight, keeping your body pressed into the soft cushion beneath you.

Soft.

It’s actually soft and you could cry.

Warm.

Oh, it’s warm too. Your fingers instinctively curl into the sheets under you, holding on tight so that you don’t float away from this sliver of paradise that Lucifer has seemed to slip you in.

You refused to question his methods because the peace you felt- no, the bliss was definitely something you’d take advantage of.

You hear your name being called and the sound spikes you out of your trance and sends your heart out of your chest.

There’s some rustling sounds and your name is called again and you feel absolutely hopeless. You can’t go back, please- please. You just got here, you just started to feel okay.

A large hand cups your face and you snap your head away with a sharp inhale, pushing past the heavy weight in your bones and letting your adrenaline surge your movement.

“Woah- hey, okay,” the voice says softly but you don’t even entertain it with patience. You get your eyes open and look around the room quickly. Upon realizing your hands are free from chains, you sit up and hold them to your chest, wrapping your wrists with your own fingers to bind them protectively. Your hair falls in front of your eyes and you refuse to move your hands away from where they feel safe so instead you try to flick away the stands so that you can see.

Your heart is racing and ears ringing, disorienting you further. You barely recognize the eyes staring you down- Sam?

Your chest heaves with frantic breaths as you stare up at him, back pressed to the bed frame behind you. You look around and see that you’re in your room at the bunker.

What? Is this real?

Sam freezes at your reaction, holding his hands out trying to reassure you that he’s not a threat.

“H-hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Sam nods, keeping his eyes glued to yours. You make no effort to move, this all just feels wrong.

You look around the room to find you’re both alone. Where’s Dean? If this were real, wouldn’t he be here too?

The door creaks open.

Speak of the… too soon.

Dean's head peeks in to check on Sam but he becomes fully alert when seeing the urgency of Sam’s stance.

“You’re awake,” Dean breathes out relieved, wanting to progress further and hug you but as he takes one step too close your back presses further into the wall behind you with a small whimper.

Your whimper cracks away at Sam’s chest.

“What-?” Dean starts to say but he can’t finish the thought.

“Honey, it’s just us, we’re not gonna hurt you,” Sam shakes his head, letting his eyes look over you for any signs of physical distress.

You swallow thickly as you look between them, a lump building in your throat as you try to choke back a sob. You continue to look around, unable to comprehend where you just woke up from, was it all just a dream?

“A-Am I dreaming?,” you breathe out, your voice unsteady and wavering. Sam and Dean share a quick glance but Sam returns back to you with a frim shake of his head.

“No, sweetheart, you’re awake, this is real,” Sam assures, tilting his head down to keep his eyes level with your unsure ones.

“Awake?” You echo, letting your eyes flick down a bit as you try to gather your thoughts. You look back up at him.

Him.

“S-Sam-.”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” he nods, wanting to inch further but too afraid that he’s going to scare you further, but the way you break down- slumping against the wall- he can’t help himself. He reaches out for you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close.

You unhook your binding hold on your own wrists to wrap around his neck. He just lets you cry as he rubs a free hand up your back.

“You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he murmurs into your ear. You pull away to look at him again and let out another sob- this one of pure relief. You smile up at him, barely believing this is real but know that deep down it really is.

“Sam,” you exhale, holding his face in your hands so you can really feel him. “H-how did you find me? Where even was I?” You question, wanting to know why the transition from Lucifer’s torture to this felt like waking up from a bad bad dream. 

“Denver, we found you in Denver,” Sam explained, smoothing down some of your hair and appreciating your waking form with every flicker of his senses. “You were kept in some room and had been given medication to keep you asleep, I don’t know how long you’ve been out but we found you almost 20 hours ago,” Sam’s face saddened at the memories but forced those away to focus on how you’re right in front of him now.

“What? I’ve been here for almost a day?” You ask, brow pinched in confusion. Sam nodded.

It didn’t make any sense, you JUST saw Lucifer.

“What about… Lucifer.?” You ask, almost whispering, “where is he?” You asked, starting to feel on edge. You push away from Sam enough to look behind you and all around.

“Woah- okay, you’re safe. Lucifer isn’t here,” Sam says, startled by your sudden shift.

“N-no, he’s here- he has to be,” you stutter, your hands starting to shake and you instinctively bind your wrists to your palms again.

Sam swallows but keeps a firm hold on you, his own past trauma bubbling back up from its hidden pot that he keeps stashed miles away from his regular train of thought. His mind raced through the thousands of scenarios that the Devil put him through and to think of you experiencing just one of them made his heart ache.

“Hey, no one but us is in this bunker,” Dean steps in, trying to be the face of reason for the two under his care.

“What happened?” Sam asked, not acknowledging Dean but just wanting to hear from you. You look up at him, trying to organize your thoughts.

“No,” you shook your head, backed away and rubbed your forehead with your hands, “No, he- I just saw him, he has to be here-.”

“Honey, I promise you that you’ve been here for almost a day and no one else has come through. It’s just us,” Sam explains, his hands on your thighs as he tries to continue to assure you that you’re safe.

“But I just saw him,” you whisper as if you can’t believe it, your eyes drift as you try to shuffle through your thoughts and memories of the past few weeks.

“You’re okay, I promise,” Sam says, keeping his eyes locked on you, “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” At the mention of food, your stomach growls.

You nod softly and Dean offers to get some food for you three, hoping that giving you two some privacy will help calm you down a bit.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam nods at his brother, simply sparing him a momentary glance so that he can keep his focus on you. After Dean leaves, closing the door behind him, Sam asks you another question, “what happened during that week?”

Your confusion is evident as you bring your eyes back up to his, “week? Have I been gone only a week?”

“Yeah, well 9 days technically, but we found you without a scratch,” Sam explained. You could see the dormant fear of what the hell happened to you during that time, “the way we found you was as if you were being preserved.”

You shake your head, not completely understanding.

“No, Sam, he’s been torturing me- constantly,” your words tremble and you continue to rub your own wrists to keep yourself grounded. “H-he would hurt me and hurt me until he needed to erase it all to start over again, h-he wouldn’t stop,” you shake your head, your words spewing out like a fire hydrant cracked open by the ram truck of emotions that went at it full force, “a-and it was weeks, Sam, it felt like weeks and he wouldn’t stop,” you choke out, rubbing your wrists raw.

Sam doesn’t know what to say but he’s worried about the burn you’re giving yourself on your wrists so he reaches out to gently hold your forearms, hoping to separate your hands.

“Y-you’re okay, now, baby, you’re safe,” Sam tries to keep his composure, trying to be strong for you.

“Sa-Sam, the things he-,” you couldn’t even get the words out but Sam practically read your mind. He quickly pulled you into a tight hug, keeping his arms around you protectively. His insides tremble with a whirlpool of fear, regret, trauma, pain, love, and god- so much more that he can’t even focus on right now. But his bones refuse to let him shake, keeping a sturdy hold on the love of his life and hoping that it offers some sense of security or comfort.

“I know, baby, I know,” he spans his hands out as wide as he can to cover every possible inch of your back. “You’re okay, he’s not here anymore, you’re safe,” he lets his palm run up and down the top of your back, right over your spine, and usually this would calm you but once he got too close the nape of your neck you recoiled away, tensing up and refusing to let his hand meet the skin.

He has to force bile back down his throat because he immediately knows why you had that reaction. Something that Lucifer would do to Sam in the pit was grabbing the back of his neck and piercing the scruff to a hook in the cage. Lucifer would often tease the method by tickling up Sam’s neck and digging his nails into the skin, just the thought makes Sam dizzy again. Has Lucifer done the same to you? Sam thinks, forcing his hand back down the span of your back to hold the spots where he only felt safe being touched after his time with Lucifer.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your head. You continue to shake in his arms, trying to piece together why you and Sam have different explanations for your time missing.

You both stay like this for a while, Sam not wanting to let go and you not wanting him to. You end up tangled together on the bed in a peaceful silence. You really didn’t want to talk about what happened or really even think about why or how it did. You were more than content to be in Sam’s arms again, pressed to his chest.

The sound of the bunker door opening made you flinch, worried that it could be anyone or anything. Sam’s hold on you tightens softly, letting his fingers grip your hip a bit deeper.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s just Dean back with the food,” Sam's voice low and sweet. “Let’s go eat, hmm?” He pulls back his head to look at you better. You’re hesitant to leave the safety of your room but you’re crazy hungry so you nod and sit up. Sam keeps his eyes on you as you push up and go to stand. He feels like he needs to constantly keep an eye on you, afraid of what will trigger you out of nowhere.

The two of you meet Dean in the kitchen, Sam keeping his hand on your lower back to guide you through the halls of the bunker.

“Got you a bacon burger with all its greasy goodness,” Dean smiles, hoping his attitude can help lighten up the tension a bit. The small smile that blesses your lips rewards him of that.

Sam pulls out a chair for you, the side of the table that is closest to the corner of the room so you don’t have too much free space behind you.

Despite the hunger gnawing at your gut, you can only pick at your food. You eat a few fries and tear off pieces of your burger. Sam worries when he sees this, but he understands how difficult it must be for you right now so he doesn’t comment on it.

Dean has just polished off his food and Sam made it halfway through his before calling it quits but you’ve barely made much of a dent. Dean gives Sam a silent question, asking if they need to discuss anything now or if it should wait. Sam doesn’t honestly know, but due to how tired you already seem he thinks he’ll just help you to bed and talk with Dean later. That way they can come up with a course of action and recovery for you.

“Are you tired, honey?” Sam asks after wiping his hands with his napkin and setting everything aside. You nod, pulling your eyes up from where they’ve been planted to your plate while you ate. Your eyes plan to go to him but they land on a messy figure across the room with glowing red eyes and that same awful smile that’s burned into the backs of your eyelids. You jump back, your chair scraping the tile on its way to the wall behind you, you take a quick gasp of air and your fear fuels hot tears to your eyes.

Dean instantly looks back to where your eyes lead and so does Sam, standing to guard you from whatever threat it is you see, but they only see the far end of the kitchen where the stove clock flashes the time and nothing seems out of the ordinary. Sam snaps back to you to see you frozen in fear.

“Baby? What is it?” He asks, crouching down to your level and reaching out for your hands.

“H-he’s here, it’s him,” you stutter, gripping your wrists tightly again. Sam looks back out into the room to see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

“Who? Honey, there’s no one there,” Sam shakes his head, scanning over your face for any hint of what’s going on.

No, that can’t be right. You see him. You can actually see him. You drag your shaken eyes to look up over at Sam, mouth slightly agape and tears dripping down your cheeks, “y-you can’t see him?”

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[jasmines-library]

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

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The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them. 

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality. 

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again. 

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again. 

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling. 

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly. 

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly. 

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair. 

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival. 

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.” 

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started. 

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

~

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself. 

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue. 

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod 

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you. 

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained. 

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured. 

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

~

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself. 

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed. 

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body. 

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

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@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

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[scoobydoodean]

dean would be the most dedicated boyfriend/husband & i hate the way people talk about him like he’s a player who could “never settle down”.. please he just needs a moment of affection 🥲

People love to rewrite literally every single fucking thing that happened with the Braedens into various made up stories passed on as fact, but when Dean was with the Braedens, he treated Ben like a son. He taught him how to work on cars. He cooked Lisa and Ben breakfast every morning. He contributed to the household. They specifically wrote a scene where a pretty waitress passed her number to Dean while he was out with a neighbor and Dean disposed of it without a second thought (6.01). He didn't leave the Braedens so he could go fuck someone else. He left because his presence put Lisa and Ben in danger and then soulless Sam (who had ulterior motives) convinced him he was going to ruin their lives and probably get them murdered and his PTSD went haywire and 6.01, 6.02, 6.05, and finally 6.21 reinforced all his fears about them being hurt because of The Curse Of Loving Dean Winchester, and it left him feeling so upset and scared of them being hurt that he thought it was better for their safety if he cut ties.

Long before all that, Dean was so in love with Cassie that he told her about hunting after just a couple of months and then he was heartbroken when she rejected him and he was willing to be vulnerable enough to tell her so directly. The idea of Dean as some kind of suave playboy who could never settle down because he likes to fuck and suck too much is just ???? Like quite arguably, Dean seeks out casual sex as a substitute for the affection he wishes he could share with a life partner, but liking sex and having casual hookups isn't a crime and doesn't preclude a person from being interested in a long-term relationship and/or a stable home (something we know Dean was actively aching for at various points from episodes like 1.13, 2.20, 3.10, 5.12, 5.17). It was that he felt he couldn't have those things because of the circumstances of his life, and the narrative repeatedly reinforced that belief, and Dean eventually settled into peace with the fact that he has a family anyway despite everything!! It just isn't a traditional family. And he also gets a stable home and his own room!!! It's just underground and warded so he feels safe and cosy. People not recognizing that Dean DOES have a family and a home carry the same confusion as John in 14.13 (who also—btw—always knew that Dean wanted a home THE MOST).

JOHN My fight. It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes. But now you – you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you. I guess that I had hoped, eventually, you would… get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family. DEAN I have a family.

HE HAS A FAMILY. It just isn't the traditional family!!! And Dean is very loyal to that family and he takes care of that family he is the hearth of the house!!!

[glimmeringwinchester]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 – grace winchester has spent her life searching for approval from her father. when she and her brothers find themselves up against a nest of vampires, she realizes its okay to let bridges stay burned.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) – canon typical violence, ptsd, mention of anxiety, implied panic attacks/anxiety disorder, mentions of childhood abuse, additional violence, protective dean and sam, gracie finally stands up for herself, dean is serious when he says john will never hurt his sister again, fluff/comfort f you squint and really take it in, oc au

series: love was the law

Grace Winchester hasn’t been the same since finding her father, or, her father finding her. Even with him gone again, she flinches at every loud noise, recoils into herself at any innocent touch, and has somehow gotten quieter than she already was. She sits beside her brother at a small table, scrounging for another case to work and monster to kill. Sunlight falls into the diner from every angle, and it catches in her tousled hair somewhat angelically. She’s not paying attention to anything around her, entirely absorbed in the newspaper clippings she has between her fingers. 

“All right, dude, not a decent lead in all of Nebraska.” Dean’s voice is gruff and gravely, but it hardly breaks through the focus Grace has found. “What do you got?” 

“Well, I've been scanning Wyoming, Colorado, cd.   Dakota. Here – A woman in Iowa fell ten thousand feet from an airplane and survived.” Sam read off of his laptop, though even he didn’t sound too enthusiastic about that lead but it's all that he’s been able to come up with since opening his web browser. 

Dean shakes his head, hands clasped together as he abandons his paper for a while. “Sounds more like ‘that’s incredible!’ than the twilight zone.” 

“Yeah.” Sam sighs, and his fingers move against the keypad, evidently beginning a search for something else; something real. Grace stays locked into her newspaper, green eyes scanning the pages intently. 

“Hey, you know, we could just keep heading East – New York, Upstate. Could stop by and see Sarah again. Huh? She’s a cool chick, man. Smokin’.” Dean taunted, his smile broad and jesting. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?” 

Sam laughed, scratching at his head as he kept his eyes down and on the new webpage he’d pulled up. “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe someday. But in the meantime, we got a lot of work to do, Dean, and you know that.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dean sighed acceptingly, turning his head to Grace who hadn’t shared any potential leads, but looked too interested in the paper to have not found something. “What’d you get, Gracie?” 

Both brothers sigh when they realize she’s not even listening to them, and tenderly Sam reaches out to put a hand on the newspaper. His heart breaks when Grace flinches, eyes wide and alert as she looks between Sam and Dean before eventually shrinking into herself and setting the paper down entirely. “Yeah?” She asks softly, not even slightly aware of why they want her attention. 

“Find anything? Sam and I got squat.” Dean asks again, only this time his tone is softer. He hates that for nineteen years, this was the only version of his sister that he’d ever known. He didn’t think she was capable of being any other way, but then she’d come back from Stanford and she’d been situationally bubbly and sharp witted. He hadn’t had the chance to realize that John drained the life from her when they were kids, but he knows now, and he hates that he can’t have everything. He can have John, but then he loses Grace. He can have Grace, but then he’s out of the only parent they have left. What Dean Winchester hates the most, is that he’d trade his father for his sister any day. 

“Oh, um, yeah. Daniel Elkins of Manning, Colorado was found mauled in his home. I know the name, I just can’t figure out from where, but it looks like the cops don’t know what to think. At first they thought it was some kind of bear attack, but now they found signs of a robbery.” Grace explains what she’d found, her voice as quiet as a whisper but she hasn’t been much louder since they’d connected with John. 

Dean rummages through his bag to find John’s journal, the name apparently sounding familiar to him too. Grace watches him intently, not because she’s interested, but because she’s been on edge for days now. “Here. Check it out.” Dean hands the journal to Grace once he’s found something relevant, and the youngest Winchester takes it into her hands with narrowed eyes. 

“It has to be the same Elkins.” Grace mumbles after a beat, looking up at Dean who nods agreeingly. 

“How can you be so sure?” Sam questions, pulling the journal into his own hands and out of his sisters. He misses the way that Grace’s eyes flicker downward with uncertainty, but Dean doesn’t, and he sighs internally. Grace hadn’t questioned her capabilities as a hunter when it had been just them out on their own. The eldest Winchester hates that someone he still needs can ruin everything good in his life just by being around. 

“It’s a Colorado area code.” She explains hesitantly, and Sam’s eyes soften when he realizes that she’d interpreted his genuine confusion as critical doubt. This had been the version of his sister that had shown up on his doorstep over a year ago. This was the version of his sister that he’d left behind without looking back. He doesn’t know how he left her so easily back then; not when he can finally see just how broken down she’d been. He misses the way she rolls her eyes whenever he questions her, and how she used to contribute to their conversations. He’d spent nineteen years not knowing that his baby sister could be somebody entirely different, but now that he knows that, now that he’s seen that version of her and had gotten to love her, he doesn’t want this. He hates this. 

“Alright. Manning, Colorado. Let's go.” Dean threw a crumpled up napkin on the table, beginning to pack away all of the books he’d pulled out from his bag. Sam doesn’t hesitate to follow his action, closing his laptop and reaching for the leather crossbody he refused to wear correctly. Grace grabs the paper she’d been reading, folding it in half before she stood up, waiting by the corner of the table for Sam before she turned to follow Dean. 

He held the door open for Grace, and the youngest Winchester whispered a soft ‘thank you’ as she passed. Dean shook his head, making eye contact with Sam before they followed their sister to the Impala. Daylight was precious and quickly fleeting, so after bags had been thrown into the trunk, all three siblings piled into the car and headed straight toward Colorado.

-

By the time they reached Manning, darkness had fallen over the town. Grace Winchester fought off a yawn as she crawled out of the backseat of the Impala, evidently not having won any measure of rest despite her prolonged silence that left the backseat quiet and still. She stumbled into Sam unintentionally, and her entire body seized with fear instinctively. Her firm-chested brother stepped away from her sadly, wondering what it was going to take to pull her out of her shell again. He hadn’t been much help the first time around. He knew too much, felt too much about her to ever think of intentionally provoking her. Jessica had been the one to breach her bubble of solitude. She’d been the one to drag Grace to parties and study groups. She’d been the one to spend hours in Grace’s room in silence, but eventually that silence became lively conversations that kept Sam awake when he was trying to get rest in before an exam. He might’ve had a little sister for the last twenty years of his life, but he doesn’t know the first thing about girls in general. 

“Gracie.” Dean calls for her quietly as he stands in front of the open trunk. He’s scrounging for weapons, but he has a flashlight already extended toward her. Grace takes it quickly, testing the battery before she nods and steps away, putting unnecessary distance between them. 

Dean throws one at Sam, not as cautious about his brother's reaction as he was about his sisters. If it was two weeks earlier, he would’ve thrown one at Grace without warning her, but it’s not two weeks ago, and his sister isn’t the same as she was then. It’s a realization that keeps hitting the Winchesters like a heavy punch, and each time it crosses their mind is as devastating as the first. 

They creep through the blanket of darkness with precision that only comes with practice. Grace is sandwiched between her brothers, the shift in attitude not enough to derail their routine. She stops behind Dean when they approach the front door of Elkin’s house. Insects chirp from all around her and her skin crawls, but at the very least she takes their presence as a sign of good things. At least it's not eerily quiet. They cross over the threshold with careful footsteps, shining their lights against surfaces in the distance. There isn’t much on show in Elkin’s property, but Grace supposes that fits the script of any hunter that she’s known. They all have a lot of things, but most of those things aren’t sentimental or personal. For a moment, Grace considers what her own home would look like if she ever found a way to have that small privilege. She thinks, at the very least, she’d display all of the childhood pictures they have. 

They creep further into the house until they find what was once Elkin’s study. Grace grimaces at the evident signs of a struggle, the sight unsettling given Daniel Elkin’s capabilities and knowledge. Something had happened here, that much was obvious. 

“Looks like the maid didn’t come today.” Dean commented sarcastically, sweeping his flashlight against the desk to his left. 

Sam peels away from his siblings to kneel by the door, his fingers trailing over whatever was thrown across the floor in a thin layer. Grace trailed farther away, shining her flashlight against the walls in the farthest corner. She craned her head when Sam called out, his voice even but laced with curiosity. “Hey, there’s salt over here, right inside the door.” 

“You mean protection-against-demon salt or ‘oops, I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” Dean didn’t even bother to glance back, too busy rifling through papers that Elkins had scattered around the place. 

“It’s clearly a ring.” Sam mused, brushing off his fingertips before he stood up, shining his light in Dean’s direction. “You think this guy Elkins was a player?” 

“Definitely.” Dean hummed with unmistakable certainty. His younger siblings frowned at his tone of voice and crept closer until they could look over his shoulder at the papers he was flipping to. They weren’t just random papers like Grace had assumed they were, but rather a spiral ring journal that held a striking resemblance to something they all knew. 

“That looks a hell of a lot like Dad��s.” Sam noted, his flashlight shining against the paper, bringing the black ink to light that was otherwise near perfectly concealed by the darkness of midnight. 

“Except this dates back to the ‘60s.” Dean informed his younger siblings of what he’d read on a page toward the front of the journal. There wasn’t time to waste. Whatever attacked Elkins could very well still be in the general area, and with that in mind, Dean grabbed the journal before he backed away from the study, crossing over the salt-lined threshold to find another area of the house. 

All of the other rooms held the same level of physical distress, which had the baby hairs at the nape of Grace’s neck standing up straight. Furniture was broken, glass was shattered, salt was scattered – it wasn’t a good sight, and all three of the Winchesters knew that. 

“Whatever attacked him, looks like there was more than one.” Dean muttered beneath his breath, creeping toward one of the far corners in the room while Sam and Grace crept toward another. “Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too.” 

“Yeah.” Sam agreed, sounding breathless as he swept his gaze across all of the destruction that had occurred. Grace could remember what their motel room looked like at times when John got too involved in a case, and she couldn’t help but wonder if some of this had been a result of that same all-in dedication. It wasn’t the farthest fetched theory in the world, but it didn’t take away from the obvious struggle, so she kept it to herself. There was no point in sharing if what she had to say didn’t add any value to the case, John had taught her that when she was seven. 

Grace was rummaging through a pile of papers that looked like they could be leads for a case when Sam piped up a few feet behind her, his attention aimed on Dean. “Got something?” He inquired hopefully, and Grace’s head snapped to her brother immediately, her full attention on whatever it was that Dean was looking at. 

“I don’t know. Some scratches on the floor.” Dean mumbled, his fingers ghosting over the scratches that from where Grace was standing, looked to be surrounded by pools of blood. 

“Death throes maybe?” She questioned lightly, and Sam nodded in agreement, looking back at Dean who was already considering the possibility. 

“Maybe.” He agreed, but there was something beneath his eyes that had Grace looking in a different direction. She made a soft sound of understanding when Dean reached for a blank paper on the desk, grabbing a pencil and lowering it to the floorboard. She hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. Maybe she was getting dull, losing that only thing that made her valuable. “Or maybe a message.” Dean’s eyes widened as he pulled the paper away from the floor, the sliver of light that brightened the room falling against it at just the right angle. He held it out to Grace, “Look familiar?” 

The young woman reached for it curiously, familiarity crossing her features within the first handful of seconds. “Three letters, sex digits – the location and combination of a post office box. It’s a mail dorp.” She breathed the realization, her eyes wide as she trailed her gaze to the door. 

“That’s just the way Dad does it.” Dean didn’t think before he said it, but it’s as if he can see every wall his sister has let slip come right back up into place. He sighs with conflict that can’t be resolved right now, dusting off his hands as he makes his way back toward the Impala. Grace followed quickly, her footsteps falling into step with Dean’s unintentionally. Sam’s lips curved slightly at the sight. Their lives had been anything but traditional, but in his sister there was still an innocent little girl. For years she had followed Dean around everywhere, emulating his attitude, mimicking his movements. Their lives might’ve changed, but somewhere within them all were the kids they’d once been. 

-

 Grace stayed in the car when the boys ran in to retrieve whatever had been stashed at the post office box. She hadn't wanted to travel too far from the car in paranoid fear that they’d been tailed to the location, and neither Dean or Sam had been willing to fight her on the subject. It wasn’t really a three person job anyways, but as they rushed back to the Impala with a semi-crumpled envelope in hand, Dean couldn’t help but feel like something was missing; someone. He hopes whatever rut Grace had fallen into would end with time and patience, because he doesn’t know how to lead a hunt when she isn’t behind him keeping him in line. There might’ve been hunts when she was away at Stanford, but even back then he’d missed her. 

The door slammed as the eldest Winchester fell into the driver's seat of the car. Sam was hardly any different, and Grace swore her bones rattled at the force of metal meeting metal ahead of her. “J.W. – You think? John Winchester?” 

“I don’t know. Should we open it?” Dean questioned, his voice gravely with concern, but their attention was short lived as knocking on the window shattered their found sanctuary in the leather detailed car. Grace flinched into the farthest door, her eyes wide as they looked up to meet the reflection of her father. She’d known that they weren’t alone, but her heart still hammers in fear as she sweeps her gaze over the man she’s least expected to show up midway through a hunt. “Dad?” Dean called out, breathing heavily as he pulled away from the window just enough to see out of it clearly. 

John didn’t say anything, instead, he peeled open the back door and slid in right beside Grace on the leather seat. The youngest Winchester tried to remain unbothered, forcing her shoulders to drop and her hands to remain uncurled, but there was no way for her to completely rewire the instinctive reaction that happened whenever her father was close enough to touch. 

“Dad, what are you doing here? Are you all right?” Sam craned his neck to look back at John, but his green eyes found his sister instinctively. Grace was settled as close to the passenger side door as she could get without looking like she was trying to escape her fathers reach, and her shaking hands lay upright on her thighs like she’d been taught all of those years ago. He can still remember the first time John had backhanded her because she’d clenched her fingers into fists when he’d been ragging on her ‘disobedience’ and his heart lurched at the violent memory of blood dripping from her cheek after John’s ring had sliced her skin. He’d do anything to switch places with her, get her out of armshot from John, but he can’t. Instead, he can only hope that their fathers not here to antagonize her further. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” John nodded, keeping his eyes on Sam, not allowing himself to even glance at Grace. The youngest Winchester doesn’t know what to make of the situation, but she knows that it's too early to rest entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d flipped at the drop of a hat with no warning. “Look, I read the news about Daniel. I got here as fast as I could. I saw you two up at his place.”

Dean’s eyes trail to Grace, her insistence that she stay at the car while they went inside making more sense now than it did only moments ago. For once, she’d had a right to be on edge, and he hates that he hadn’t trusted her instincts more, but it was hard to know when her anxiety was trustworthy. She’d spent the better portion of the last week away from John looking over her shoulder without reason. “Why didn’t you come in, Dad?” Sam frowns, pulling Dean’s attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“You know why.” John huffed, his voice even and without any care for the wellbeing of his children. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t followed… by anyone… or anything. Nice job of covering your tracks, by the way.” Grace could scoff at the excuse. They would’ve been safer had he been in there with them, even if she wants nothing to do with him, he was the one that taught them that there was safety in numbers, and yet he’s always the first to be missing from a fight. 

“Ah, that was Gracie.” Dean shook his head, knowing he’d caught John in a trap. He wouldn’t take back what he’d said, no he was far too interested in keeping his pride intact to backtrack on his words so obviously, but the sour grimace that crossed his expression said everything that he wouldn’t. Had he known that Grace was the one to cover their tracks initially, he never would’ve praised her efforts, but he’d already done it, and for once Grace Winchester was getting validation for her efforts, even if it was muddled by the disgusted expression that fell upon their fathers browline. 

Unconsciously Grace pulled at the seam line in her black leggings, her bottom lip caught between her teeth tightly as she tried not to focus on how her father was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. “Knock it off, girl.” John snapped when he became aware of the anxious movements his daughter was making to his left. The young woman, who still hadn’t even celebrated her twenty-first birthday and was really only a kid pretending to understand an adult world, stiffened at the reprimand, stilling her fingers on her thighs and straightening out her posture. 

“Wait, so you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam frowned, and all three siblings bristled at the realization that they would never be enough for their father on their own. Something else always came before them, whether it was a hunt, or apparently a fallen friend. It shouldn’t sting anymore, they should be used to it, but Grace’s eyes still flickered to her lap in a moment of weakness. 

“Yeah.” John sighed, but there was no ounce of apology in his whispered words. “He was – he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting.” 

Grace frowned at that, knowing that most everyone John crossed paths with was brought up in some capacity. Whatever John learned, they learned to, and Daniel Elkins was not someone that Grace remembered from passing conversation. “You didn’t tell us about him.” Not everything had gone back to the way that it had been, because if it did, Grace never would’ve opened her mouth at all, let alone to question John’s relationship with another hunter. 

“I don’t gotta tell you shit, girl.” John’s eyes were ablaze with anger as he snapped his gaze toward his youngest child, and Grace didn’t hesitate to push herself closer to the door, her eyes wide as she stared back at her father whose short temper hadn’t gotten any better since she’d left home. “You better watch who you're talking back to. You got that?” He seethed, leaning closer until his breath fanned across her face and she was effectively pinned between the car door and his body. She wouldn’t be able to bail before his hands caught the fabric of her shirt, but her hand reached for the handle regardless. 

She nodded frantically, her breath hitching when his hand shot out to grab the fabric of her top. He pulled her closer, close enough to tell that he’d definitely had a drink sometime recently if the stench of beer on his breath was any indication of his alcoholic habits. “I said. You got that?” 

“Yes sir.” She forced the words off of her lips, hating how they felt like a mouthful of dry sand, but evidently that was enough to break through some of the anger that clouded his eyes with something dark and unwelcoming. He didn’t release the tight grip he had on her shirt however, and nervously Grace glanced down at the crumbled fabric that was one sharp tug away from tearing. 

“Dad, hey–” Dean called for John’s attention, and suddenly that anger melted away into something else, his gaze softening once it fell upon his boys. He shoved Grace away from him with more strength than what was necessary, and the young woman's head thumped against the window from the unexpected force of her fathers hand shoving her backward. She winced, but pursed her lips together to stop the audible pain from passing into the air and giving him another reason to put his hands on her. She was getting restless, anxious, her eyes were darting between all three men in the car, and whether she noticed or not, tears blurred in her waterline as her breathing hitched to something familiar and worrisome. “What happened with Elkins? Why did you never mention him?”

“We had a– we had kind of a falling out. I hadn’t seen him in years.” John’s voice softens, his eyes only on Dean as he speaks. Grace hates that even after years, he can’t even look at her without inflicting harm and pain. She doesn’t know what happened between them, can remember sparing moments when he hadn’t been horrible, but that was as far gone as Mary Winchester. It was like one day, he’d suddenly realized he hated her and had never tried to reframe his way of thinking. Even if she hated him, wanted nothing to do with him, it hurt to know that the only parent she has left doesn’t love her the way he was supposed to. “I should look at that.” He nods toward the envelope in Dean’s hand, and the eldest child doesn’t hesitate to hand it back to him. 

John peeled the envelope open carefully, unfolding the paper with a level of cation that he’d never applied to his own flesh and blood. With his gruff hands occupied, Grace raised her own to the collar of her shift, rubbing against the wrinkled fabric and where the neckline of her shirt had rubbed against sensitive skin harshly. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have fabric burns on her body, but as she presses her fingers over the reddened and irritated skin, every memory comes rushing back to her at once. “‘If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.’ That son of a bitch.” 

Dean’s eyebrows furrow, and Sam leans closer to the backseat, curiosity evident in his own green eyes. “What is it?” He questioned carefully. John had never treated him the way he’d been quick to treat Grace, but he’d taken his anger toward them out on her, and so the middle Winchester acted with caution. 

“He had it the whole time.” John shook his head, but that didn’t give any of his children anymore insight. 

“Dad, what?” Sam asked again, and Grace was already sick of them having to ask the same questions multiple times just to get some semblance of a straight answer from him. She doesn’t know why he still treats them like they’re not good enough to be involved in the hunts that he’s chasing, but with every passing second it gets on her nerves more and more. He was the one that dragged them into this life unapologetically. He was the one that had sent them coordinates and essentially led them on a wild goose chase, and yet he’s the one that keeps that an arms length away whenever they're together. 

“When you searched the place, did you see a gun–” 

Grace’s posture straightens even more, and despite everything she’s come to learn about avoiding John’s anger, she finds herself speaking up, filling in the blanks of his sentence the same way she’d fill in Dean’s. “An antique colt revolver?”

John’s gaze snapped to her, his hard eyes filled with anger and violent passion, but he didn’t comment immediately. Instead, he inclined his head, demanding more than what she’d already given; giving her permission to say more. “The gun wasn’t there, but the case was.” 

“For the love of god, girl!” He bellowed in frustration, and within seconds his hand was jutting out to make contact with her face. Grace squeaked when the stinging pain registered in her mind, her fathers handprint warm and throbbing against her cheek, but she didn’t recoil into herself like she wanted to. That would only fuel his anger more, and it seemed like in the years since she’d run away, he’d lost any kind of handle on it at all. 

“Dad, what the hell!” Sam yelled, his eyes looking straight at Grace who only shrugged off his concern. Dean’s nostrils flared with anger, his jaw locked with a protectiveness Grace remembers being more controlled, but he didn’t comment, didn't want to test the theory that John would still punish her further if they intervened in any way. They weren’t children anymore, him especially, but somehow he thinks John will always treat them like they are. 

“They have it.” John didn’t even bristle beneath the heated glares his sons were throwing at him, and realizing that harboring any ill feelings wasn’t going to get them anywhere tonight, Dean drew in a deep breath, trying to push the protective anger out from his rough exterior. 

“You mean whatever killed Elkins?” He asked calmly, but his eyes stayed on Grace, not unaware of how she was falling into a panic attack the longer John sat beside her. Her eyes that had once been so clear and green were glazed over with a dark fear that sent a chill down his spine. He still needed his father, still needed advice and direction, but he’d spend the rest of his life lingering in feelings of uncertainty if it meant keeping her safe and unharmed. 

“We got to pick up their trail.” John’s eyes flashed with urgency, and before any of the siblings could unpack the use of ‘we’ in his sentence, he was climbing out of the backseat and into the cold Colorado air. The youngest Winchester let out a sigh of relief she hadn’t even realized was collecting in her chest, deflating into the passenger side door as she finally brought her hand up to hold where her father had struck her. The skin throbbed and burned beneath her touch, and without even seeing the damage that had been done, she knew her eye would bruise from how his fingers brushed right beneath her waterline. Her lip quivers in an automatic response, but she refuses to cry in front of him – refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d just broken yet another piece of her slowly dying heart. 

“Wait.” Sam called through the open window, both him and Dean leaning toward it. “You want us to come with you?” 

“If Elkins is telling the truth, we’ve got to find this gun.” John sighed, leaning into the window so that he could see both of his sons; the only two people he even cared about just slightly. Grace was just another box to check, or at least, that’s how she felt a majority of the time as she sat in her brother's shadows. It was hardly fair. John expected perfection from her, and yet he never gave her an ounce of what he did her brothers. The odds were always stacked against her, but somehow she’d survived this long. That had to count for something. 

“The gun? Why?” Sam continued to press for information, for a reason to put his life on this line for just another weapon, but John refused to give into the valid questioning. 

“Because it’s important, that’s why.” John argued, but for once, Sam wasn’t backing down to his bullshit excuses. If Grace wasn’t terrified of being dragged out of the car and beaten into a bloody pulp on the gravel road, maybe she would’ve said something too, but the sting against her cheek kept her firmly where she already was. 

“Dad, we don’t even know what these things are yet.” Sam tried to make their hesitancy known, but John was never the kind of man to take excuses of any kind. He’d give them just enough information to assure they weren’t going in completely blind, but nothing entirely helpful. Grace thought it must be some kind of sick game to him. There was no other explanation for his secrecy. 

“They were what Danny Elkins killed best… vampires.” All three siblings visibly recoiled at their fathers words, a combination of shock and fear filling their eyes as they craned their heads to look at their father. 

Dean’s eyes widened considerably, his gaze set on John firmly. “Vampires? I thought there was no such thing.” 

“You never even mentioned them, Dad.” 

“I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and others had wiped them out.” John hangs his head for a second, accepting his son's disbelief and concern. Grace doesn’t even want to consider what John’s reaction would’ve been if she’d been the one to question him on this. “I was wrong.”

Grace sighed quietly to herself as she sank deeper into the backseat of the Impala, itching to grab the blanket that was crumpled into a ball on the floor, but fighting against it. Instead, she listened to John prattle on about everything that he knew about vampires, her brothers giving him the same attention. “Most vampire lore is crap. A cross won’t repel them. Sunlight won’t kill them and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust – that part’s true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won’t know it’s a vampire until it’s too late.” 

He didn’t say anything else other than that he’d tail them to the motel they’d scouted out a few miles West. The thought of him spending the night with them in a cramped motel room made her skin crawl, but there was no getting out of this. This is what Dean pulled them away from Stanford to do – find John – but Grace hadn’t realized just how much she’d begin to sacrifice just to see through these endless hunts. When he was far enough away to no longer hear the way that rocks and leaves crunched beneath his boots, Dean rolled the window up, starting the car with evident irritation in his posture. 

He didn’t pull away from the post office immediately, instead he turned toward the backseat, ushering Grace to come into view where the lights shone brightly over the center console. “Come here, Gracie. Let me see you.” 

“I’m fine, D.” The youngest of the trio whispered, tears still prickling her eyes as she cradled her cheek protectively. She sounded small, scared, and Dean hated that this was his fault. He dragged her back into this, he brought her into the search for John. Even if he hadn’t been the one to strike her, it felt like he did as he sat with the guilt of being the reason she’s here at all. 

“Gracie, let me see.” He insisted, reaching out for her. He hates that she flinches, hates that her eyes that aren’t so soft anymore pinch together in fear of another strike, but eventually she caves, leaning closer until her face is illuminated by the glow of the lights inside of the car. “He got you good, huh?” His thumb strokes across the visible mark of where his fathers palm had clapped against her soft skin, and Grace sucks in a breath between clenched teeth at the sting that comes forward with the continuous prodding and poking. 

“When doesn’t he.” Grace hummed humorlessly, and both of her brothers seem to deflate at the reminder that she’s used to this. They know that she is, know that she can handle constant pain and soreness, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow when they’re essentially helpless in the situation. “I’m fine, Dean. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.” 

Dean, for once in his life, doesn’t see John as being his entire world, and softly he tries to make that known to both of his siblings, but more so Grace who seems to only be holding on by a thread. “I can tell him to get lost–” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Grace huffs, pulling away from his touch to slouch against the backseat. Dean wants to say that she’s handling this well, that she’s coming back out of her shell now that John’s no longer in sight, but he knows that it's only the adrenaline of having to be on her a-game that’s fueling this conversation right now. He knows that the second they pull away from this gravel road, she’ll become nothing more than a shadow of herself as she tries to keep everything that wants to come falling out inside. “Just… don’t try to get between us if something happens, okay? It’s not worth it.”  

“I sat there and did nothing for nineteen years–” 

“Yeah, because the one time you did say something, he held a machete to my throat and said he’d kill me!” Grace snapped, tears falling down her face as she finally broke. “This is not about you, Dean! This isn’t about either of you! It’s about me! About how he hates me so much that he’d rather threaten to kill me than apologize for hitting me so hard he fractured my ribs! You wanted him back, well guess what, here he is. Now can we please stop acting like this isn’t normal. Like you didn’t know this is exactly what would happen when you showed up at Stanford asking for help finding him!” 

“Gracie, I didn’t–”

“Yes, you did. Don’t even try to say you didn’t think this would happen again. It’s fine, Dean. Can you just drive, please? Before he comes out here again.” Grace melted into the leather seats beneath her weight, her arms crossed over her chest as she let her tears fall silently, not possessing the energy it would take to shut out her overwhelming emotions entirely. Sam sank into the passenger seat with a sigh, his eyes trailing to Dean who held the wheel tightly, tears glimmering in his own green eyes. Truth is, he did know this would happen, at least some buried part of him did. He’d been hopeful that things wouldn’t end up like this though; been hopeful that for once he could just have his family together without violence. He was stupid to think that grudges and anger would be so easily overcome, and he hates that he pulled Grace away from something good just for her to end up where she’d started. 

The engine revs as he pulls away from the post office, tension thick in the car as neither of the siblings say anything else, nobody knowing what to say. 

-

Despite the motel that they’d rented a room at, Grace hadn’t gotten so much as a wink of sleep in the hours that had elapsed from night to early morning. She couldn’t rest knowing that her father sat only a few inches away from the end of the bed that she shared with Sam, and she knows that he knows that despite doing her best to act like she wasn’t wide awake with her eyes closed. She shifts slightly beneath the heavy blankets, curling her hands into fists beneath the pillow as she hears the faint static of the police scanner hum to life and him grab his jacket that had been thrown against the chair he pulled away from the table. She barely keeps her body from flinching when his hand bats at her ankle that's beneath the covers, apparently mistaking her body for Sam’s as he calls for her brothers to get up. 

“Sam, Dean, let’s go.” He demands, but all her brothers do is groan in response as they try to cling onto sleep. Grace doesn’t have the same privilege, and quickly she slips out of bed, putting her sock-covered feet into the tennis shoes she’s had for nearly two years. Her heart hammers in her chest when she remembers how Jessica had skipped an entire day of classes near finals just to drag her to the mall and take advantage of all the year-end sales that were going on. It had been so long ago now that the laces that were once a shade of pink, were now muddied and twinged brown. Grace would do anything to go back to a time when she could tell that they were pink. “Picked up a police call.” 

“What happened?” Sam questioned, his voice filled with exhaustion as he peered up at John. Instinctively his hand reached out to feel Grace beside her, and when he came up with only warm sheets, he sat up fully, searching for her until he found her beside the nightstand separating the two beds, reaching for one of Dean’s jackets that she’d stolen weeks ago. 

“A couple called 911. They found a body in the street. Cops got there. Everyone was missing. It’s the vampires.” John explained gruffly, his gaze trailing to Grace when her realized that she was the only one ready to go. His posture stiffened, his eyes hardened and every last piece of Grace’s heart nearly broke as she watched him throw daggers at her. She would never be able to please him, but a small part of her still tries to show up her brothers hoping for scraps of his validation.  

“How do you know?” Sam questioned, finally throwing his feet over the side of the bed, meanwhile Dean still hadn’t moved an inch, his sleep-filled eyes riddled with conflicting emotions. 

“Just follow me, okay?” John huffed, already heading towards the door. Dean groaned, swinging his legs off of the bed and standing up finally. Grace didn’t avoid his quick glance intentionally, but it still cuts Dean as he sighs to himself. 

“Vampires.” He tries to downplay his obvious hurt, chuckling beneath his breath as he stuffed his bag full without any rhyme or reason. “It’s funnier every time I hear it.”

Grace and Sam rolled their eyes, both throwing their duffles over their shoulder and heading toward the door. Grace’s cheek wasn’t as inflamed as it had  been the night prior, but beneath her eyes was a purplish bruise that ached deep in her bones. Sam grimaced as the light caught on the undertone of yellow in the wounded flesh, and comfortingly he slung as arm over her shoulder once they passed through the threshold of the motel room. 

“Get any sleep last night?” He asked her softly, aiming his words for her alone to hear and take in. 

Grace sighed, shrugging his arm off of her and stepping the slightest inch ahead of him, creating distance that only isolated her breaking heart further. Regardless, she looked over her shoulder, a smirk of indifference resting against her bitten lips. “Nope.” She threw her ponytail over her shoulder as she continued toward Baby, not willing to let her father read any kind of emotion in her appearance. 

Sam sighed, craning his head to look at Dean when he finally emerged from the hotel room. “She’s gonna be fine, right?” It felt like a cheap question, one that undermined the severity of Grace’s experience with John, but Sam was desperate to hold out hope for his little sister bouncing back the second they could cut ties with John… if they ever cut ties with John. 

“This time Sammy… I don’t know.” Dean admitted with a reluctant sigh, hanging his head as he stepped forward, leaving Sam to follow after both of his siblings who were beginning to lose themselves into the roles that John Winchester had demanded they play over a decade ago. The soldier and the shadow. Sam knew exactly where he fit into that, and nausea pooled in his stomach at the thought of ever falling into the mold that John Winchester had crafted for him. 

-

“I don’t see why we couldn’t have gone over with him.” Sam rolled his eyes as he leaned his weight against the Impala, watching their father stalk back across the dirt road after what looked like a hostile chat with the town's local officers. Grace wasn’t all that bothered by essentially being benched from the game, but she stood at full attention beside the hood regardless of her personal feelings. It didn’t matter what she wanted, only that she was perfect and quiet. 

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s already starting.” Dean rolled his eyes in the same exasperation that Sam felt, turning his back to the crime scene as he addressed his little brother and willed his gaze not to trail to Grace who still hadn’t uttered as much as a word to him; not that she’d even said more than five words since climbing into the backseat of the Impala. 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, both hands stuffed into his pockets as he looked at Dean. “What’s starting?” 

Grace rolled her eyes with a silent huff of annoyance, knowing exactly what Dean was referencing even if Sam was otherwise clueless. Neither sibling had time to fill their brother in though, stiffening their shoulders as John approached with his hands shoved into his pockets despite how he’d always reprimanded Grace when she was trying to seek warmth in the biting cold. She can still remember how he’d sliced at the seams of her coat pockets with an army knife when she was eight, rambling on about how he’d cut her hands off if she was just going to waste their usefulness to him. He’d shoved a shotgun at her seconds later, and she could grimace at the memory of being forced to shoot her first spirit with frozen and trembling fingers. 

“What do you got?” Dean questioned, stepping just slightly in front of Grace when he turned back around to face John. It wouldn’t do much if he tried to step toward her, but it was something at the very least. 

“It was them all right. It looks like they’re heading west. We have to double back to get around that detour.” John didn’t beat around the bush, but like always, didn’t give his children anything of value to hold onto and make their own conclusions about. Grace dug her toe into the dirt, not taking her eyes off of John as she listened to more of his bullshit with an expression of neutrality. 

Sam frowned, tilting his head to the side as he tried to unmake John’s reserve. “How can you be so sure?” He pushed, not willing to back down on getting the specifics. Grace was glad at least one of them had the gall to question him, because it certainly wasn’t going to be her, but she couldn’t help but think this was only making the situation worse for them as his questions started to chip away at John’s willingness to be civil. 

“Sam–” Dean sighed, trying to stop a fight from brewing so soon, but before he could try and disarm his younger brother’s irritation, Sam was raising his voice to be heard over the interruption. It seemed that both of their brothers didn’t know how to act around their father, but she didn’t either, so the insult that was forming at the tip of her tongue stayed unmoving and half-formed and she kept herself a silent observer to the chaos. “I just want to know we’re going in the right direction.” He clapped back at Dean and not so subtly made a dig at John, something that definitely would’ve gotten Grace into hot water with their old man. She’s surprised he hasn’t called her out for something already, but she doesn’t think he’s stupid enough to get on her case with the police just a few feet away. For now, she’s safe. 

John, surprisingly, didn’t bristle beneath Sam’s weak interrogation, but a quirk in the corners of his lips told Grace all that she needed to know. He thought this was funny; though dragging them around in the dark was some kind of power move. Over a year later and he really hadn’t changed all that much, if he did at all. “We are.” He assured in an unreasonably condescending tone, and thankfully, Sam wasn’t quick to take the bait of his reassurances. Grace couldn’t stand the slowly rising tempers, or more specifically feared the consequences of rising tempers, but a small part of her was glad that somebody was finally trying to stand their ground to John Winchester.

“How do you know?” Sam fired back, his eyes hard and slitted into thin lines that didn’t hold as much malice as he thought they did. 

“I found this.” John sighed, pulling his hands out of his pockets to hand Dean what looked to be a fang. Even though she still stood behind Dean, the glimmery of something white caught in the corner of her eye, and she knew enough about the case to make an educated assumption of what had her father so certain of where their next destination should be. 

“It’s a vampire fang.” Dean frowned, looking down at the tooth that was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

“No fangs – teeth. The second set descends when they attack.” Grace took the words in carefully, slightly disturbed by the mental image of an entire set of teeth emerging from what was once a human's gums that second they attacked their chosen victim. She’d been in this life a long time, had grown a thick stomach to a lot of things, but that mental image was beyond what she could stomach so early in the day. “Any more questions?” He directed his gaze to Sam, who looked to the ground in defeated annoyance but didn’t say anything else, letting his silence speak for itself. 

“Let’s get out of here. We’re losing daylight.” John took control like he always did, and Grace was the first to follow that order. She shuffled to the car door quickly, placing her hand on the silver handle as John walked back toward his truck. “And, Dean, why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it.” 

Grace couldn’t help but roll her eyes, wondering where her father got the nerve to think so highly of himself and so horribly of them. She didn’t say anything in Dean’s defence, but when John had his back to them, still stalking toward his truck without even inquiring to gauge Dean’s reaction to his criticism, she looked toward her eldest brother with a grimace of sympathetic understanding, silently clearing the air that had grown tense and cold between them. Dean hadn’t done a lot of things right leading up to this moment, but at the end of the day he was still beneath their fathers thumb just like she was. 

Sam, however, smirked in amusement, not quite realizing the true sentiment of John’s words and what they were armed with. He never had understood how the petty digs cut the deepest for his overlooked siblings, but Grace was simply glad that he’d never learned to question his worth based on materialistic accomplishments. She’d deal with his crooked smirk if it meant sparing him the pain of coming to terms with how you're not good enough for the one person who is supposed to love you unconditionally without something to show for it. 

John pulled out around them, his engine revving as he pulled off onto the road. Sam was on his tail within seconds, one hand resting on the wheel as the other fell beside him. This wasn’t like old times, that much rang true, but Grace couldn’t decide if it was any better than their childhood had been when they weren’t even talking to each other like they used to. She wanted to talk to them, wanted to just be with them, but the paralyzing fear of it somehow getting back to John kept her silent and anxious in the backseat – the perfect little shadow. 

The car was silent for a while before Dean piped up from the passenger seat. “Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten. Smaller packs are sent out to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest, where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks. I wonder if that’s what happened to that 911 couple.” 

“That’s probably what Dad’s thinking.” Sam hummed critically. “Of course, it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks.” 

“So it is starting.” Dean craned his head to look at Sam, his eyebrows raised in recognition. 

“What?” Sam looked back at him, his jaw clenched as he flickered his gaze between the road and Dean’s exasperated expression.

“Sam, we’ve been looking for Dad all year. Now we’re not with him for more than a couple of hours and there’s static already.” Dean didn’t comment on the silence falling off of their sister, but nobody was going to breach that conversation when this was how it had always been. Sam considers himself lucky to have gotten to know who Grace is without John’s influence in any capacity. 

“No.” Sam denied, “Look, I’m happy he’s okay, all right, and I’m happy that we’re all working together.” He admits, his words hanging heavily in the air before Dean ruins the stretched thin silence with a petulant mumble of ‘good’ beneath his breath. Grace shifts uncomfortably in the backseat, knowing that Sam’s words are only true to an extent, but she’s still unable to shake the uncomfortable weight of knowing that her brothers are enjoying this time spent with John in any capacity no matter how small. She hates that she can’t enjoy it too, hates that she’s so filled with fear she never fully leaves fight-or-flight mode. She’d love to sit here and say that in moments where things are good, or at least tolerable, she’s happy to be a family again, but that’s not the truth for her, and it never has been. She’d be perfectly fine never seeing John Winchester again and the weight of that breaks her heart for the little girl inside of her that worshiped the ground he walked. “It’s just the way he treats us like we’re children. He barks orders at us, Dean. He expects us to follow him without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal.” 

“He does what he does for a reason.” Dean defends their father like he always does because at the end of the day, it’s the only way he knows how to keep them all safe. Grace’s heart hurts for herself, but it hurts for her older brother who has always had to carry the responsibility of making sure they all come out the other side alive and relatively unscathed. She knows how much he’s sacrificed for them, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to inflict the most unimaginable pain on him when he gets into the mode of ‘Daddy’s Soldier’. Two things can be true at once, Grace knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. 

“What reason?” Sam scoffs. 

“Our job! There’s no time to argue. There’s no margin for error, alright? It’s just the way the old man runs things.” Dean’s correct to an extent, but so is Sam, and Grace can see both sides of the battlefield as she lingers on the sidelines. She hates these fights, hates when neither of her brothers' sides are the right one to pick. Dean’s an extremist, but Sam’s too eager to find defiance. John Winchester is a horrible person, but at the end of the day he taught them everything they know, and he does know a thing or two that they haven’t ever needed to consider. 

“Yeah, well, maybe that worked when we were kids, but not anymore, alright?” Sam shook his head, his voice softening as he kept his gaze bouncing between Dean and the road ahead of them. “Not after everything we’ve been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you’re cool with just falling into line and letting him run the whole show?” 

“If that’s what it takes.” He admits, and even if Grace knew that he’d say that, it still hurts her to think that he considers her being slapped for something out of her control as ‘what it takes’ to complete a hunt. 

-

There hadn’t been much discussed between the siblings in the hours that had elapsed since the sun was positioned in the sky to when it had fallen beneath the trees to touch down on another piece of land somewhere far and hopefully less haunted by evil. But the silence that was becoming normal was abruptly dismantled by Dean’s phone ringing in his jacket pocket. Grace didn’t have to crane her neck to look at the caller ID to know that it was John, and with evident disinterest she sank further down in the backseat, listening to Dean’s end of the conversation. 

It was short, but her head perked up as he nodded in the passenger seat. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, flipping it closed before he turned his head to Sam. “Pull off the next exit.” 

“Why?” Sam questioned, and this time Grace couldn’t help but sigh out loud as she let her head hit the window. 

“Cause Dad thinks we got the vampires trail.” Dean filled in the blanks, but there wasn’t really much information in the explanation. Grace understood the frustration Sam felt, but she was getting real tired of his sour attitude toward them both. 

“How?” There was a venom in Sam’s tone that Grace didn’t think Dean was blind to, but rather didn’t feel the need to play into anymore. 

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” Dean shrugged, and Sam’s jaws locked as he revved the engine, speeding around the truck and jerking the wheel until both cars were stopped in the dead center of the road. Grace sighed, sinking further down into the seat as Sam charged out of the car seething with frustration that he couldn’t suffer through anymore. “Oh, crap. Here we go.” 

The car jerked with the force of her brothers slamming the door seconds after one another, and despite every instinct telling her to stay in the car, to let them hash this out on their own, she couldn’t just leave them to face their father without her, so she stepped out of the car seconds later, ensuring that distance was kept between her and John. 

“What the hell was that?!” John came storming out of the truck, his nostrils flared and chin raised as he stomped his way toward Sam who didn’t back down at the show of confidence. 

“We need to talk.” The middle-child seethed, his chin raised all the same as Johns. 

“About what?” John spit, his eyes filled with a fire that was usually directed toward Grace. The youngest Winchester took a step back instinctively, stumbling into the Impala with a near soundless thud. Dean reached out tentatively, pulling her closer by her elbow if only to offer the smallest semblance of comfort. It didn’t do much to settle Grace’s nerves, but she appreciated the sentiment of it regardless. 

“About everything.” Sam’s voice was filled with fury, and Grace can’t think of a time when she’d heard him so beyond mad. She’s always hated conflict, but there’s something about seeing her calm, always level-headed brother so worked up that has her reeling for something to ground herself to. “Where are we going, Dad? What’s the big deal about this gun?” 

“Sammy come on, we can Q&A after we kill all the vampires.” Dean stepped forward, his breath fanning across the air as it dawned on Grace how truly cold it was. The mountains didn’t care about seasons, and the near frozen temperatures only showed that fact. 

“Your brother’s right. We don’t have time for this.” 

“Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous to be together. Now, out of the blue, you need our help. Now obviously something big’s going down, and we want to know what!” Sam was seething with anger, his jaw clenched and every muscle in his body rigid as he refused to back down. Grace shifted on her feet, inching closer to the chaos despite every instinct in her body telling her to stay away and keep distance between herself and her fathers fists. 

“Get back in the car.” John demanded, nodding toward the Impala. 

“No.” 

“I said get back in the damn car.” John stepped closer to Sam. Maybe it was seeing her brother in the position that she’d always been in, or maybe it was just finally her breaking point. Whatever the reason, Grace found herself pushing past Dean, pulling at Sam’s arm until she could position herself between her father and her brother. 

“He said no.” She growled, adrenaline rushing through her body as her fingertips buzzed with a sudden energy she hadn’t possessed before, or ever. “You cannot keep doing this! You cannot keep treating us like children and expecting us to act like soldiers! We’re not soldiers, Dad! We’re grown adults! Adults that are only here to help you! So why don’t you get your head out of your ass for one fucking minute to tell us what the hell is going on?!” Grace flinched when John’s hand came hurtling toward her already bruised face, but in a moment of confidence, or maybe stupidity, she caught his wrist between her ice cold finger tips, her hard eyes narrowed into thin daggers that looked a lot like his. “I am not a child that you can manipulate and abuse. Not anymore.” 

Grace doesn’t know when his wrist slipped from between her fingers, but she recognizes the sting of pain before she even realizes he’s reeled back to hit her again. Her nose pulses with every beat of her racing heart in her chest, and a trail of something warm and thick dirties her upper lips. She doesn’t have to wipe at her nose to know that it’s blood, and even though every part of her wants to fall to her knees and cry about how she’s back in this position when she’d promised herself the night she ran away that she’d never come back to this, she doesn’t so much as bristle as the breeze trails past her damp face. 

“I’ve had enough of your damn mouth.” John seethed, stepping forward to strike her again as Grace becomes increasingly aware of Dean’s raised voice beside her; the ringing between her ears finally dwindled down to silence as the shock of his previous blow ebbs away. 

“That’s enough! That’s enough, Gracie.” He pulls her back by the loose fabric of his jacket around her torso, but before she can shrug his hands off of her and step up to John again, the satisfaction of finally standing up for herself an addictive sensation, Dean is slotting his body between them, his shoulders squared and rigid. “That goes for you too. And I swear, if you ever put your fucking hands on her again, it won’t be her that fights back. You hear me? Do you hear me!” He raises his voice, but John doesn’t answer. All he does is scoff and shake his head, already making his way back to the truck. 

Grace huffs, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She barely flinches at the blood that smears across her palm and the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, retreating back to the car with pent up anger weighing her down. She slams the door behind her, grumbling beneath her breath as she leans between the seats and sets her eyes on Sam. 

“Set my nose.” She demands gruffly, her eyes glazed over with residual anger and stinging pain. She’s not fully here with them, that much Sam can tell as he searches for glimpses of sweet green in her dark eyes. He doesn’t know how to handle the situation when he’s never seen her so… Sam doesn’t even have a word to describe Grace’s attitude at the moment, but it scares him to no end to consider how after an entire lifetime of abuse, tonight was her breaking point. Pride ripples off of his shoulders – pride in her, pride in himself – but he’s otherwise frozen as he looks at the young woman who bears no resemblance to his little sister at this moment. “Sam, set my fucking nose!” 

“Come here.” Dean’s voice is gruff as it washes across his two younger siblings, and Grace snaps her gaze toward him instantaneously out of learned instinct. She hadn’t heard him get in the car, hadn’t registered the door slamming shut or his presence in the slightest, but as the seconds pass her by and the engine in the truck revs beside them, she’s beginning to fall away from the front of disassociation that had tried to save her active mind from the trauma of confronting the man who scares her more than any monster or spirit ever could. She leans her head into Dean’s hands, already knowing what lies ahead of her as she pinches her eyes shut and nods her head in acceptance of the pain that’s to come. Dean doesn’t give her a countdown, but he feels around her nose for a couple of seconds before he’s gripping both sides of it and straightening it out. She groans, recoiling backward instinctively as another stream of blood falls above her lip. “You okay?” 

“Peachy.” Grace huffs, but as Sam straightens out the car and lets John pull out in front of them on the road again, she deflates entirely, suddenly feeling the weight of her exhaustion as she rubs at her swollen eyes. “You stuck up for me.” She muses softly, pulling at the tips of her fingers with anxious uncertainty, the invincibility that had washed over her when adrenaline was coursing through her veins slowly dissipating the longer she sat with the memory of recent events playing like a highlight reel in her head. 

Dean scoffed out a breath, but he nodded his head regardless after a handful of seconds passed by. “Yeah, yeah.” He shrugs her comment off, but her eyes are burning holes into his shoulder, and he can’t avoid the conversation despite how he wants to. Dean Winchester had never been good at emotional displays, but Grace very rarely gave him the choice of backing away from them. “I meant what I said Gracie, I did think this time would be different. The way he talked about the both of you when you were at Stanford – I just thought he’d at least try to turn a new leaf. Can we cut the chick-flick shit?” 

“No, because I am a chick. That rule only applies to Sammy and you know it.” The youngest Winchester huffed, uncrossing her arms only to drop them at her sides like they weighed too much for her to carry. “You know that wasn’t the first time he broke my nose?” 

For once, Dean didn’t try to shut down the conversation. For once, all he did was try his best to actually listen to Grace as she opened up her heart to him. He craned his head to peer into the backseat, comforted by the sight of her sprawled against the leather seats. She hadn’t sat like that in weeks, she’d been keeping herself closed off and small, but a piece of Dean’s heart heals as he keeps his eyes on her now. 

“I don’t remember him ever breaking your nose before.” Sam frowned, evidently paying more attention to the conversation than either Grace or Dean had first thought. Frustration and anger was still rolling off of his shoulder in waves, but he’d always been good at keeping his feelings away from Grace. Even if she wasn’t aware, she had been both of her brother's soft spots for as long as they could remember. 

“Because you weren’t there.” Grace says softly, her eyes saddened and brimming with tears. “Whenever Dad took me on hunts… they were never as long as he told you they were. Sometimes we’d be gone a week, but the hunt itself would only take two or three days. One time–” Grace looks down, her hands beginning to tremble at the memory that plays at the forefront of her mind like it had been burned there by someone sadistic and cruel. “One time, when I had the flu, he took me out to South Dakota to kill some pissed off spirit. Shit went wrong, and he just– he just flipped; finished the hunt himself and dragged me back to Bobby’s. He must’ve hit me a few hundred times. That was when he was the worst. When he didn’t have to worry about you asking questions, when he didn’t have anyone there to stop him. At, uh, at one point he punched me so hard that I fell over, and then he just kept kicking me. I don’t remember much honestly. It’s like… glimpses, flashes. All I really remember is that he kept throwing rocks at me, telling me to get up, yelling at me to get up. I tried, but I couldn’t and I puked all over myself. That pissed him off even more, he grabbed me by my shirt, pulled me up to my feet. He, uh, he had his hand around my neck. It was one of the first times he said he’d kill me and I actually believed him. If Bobby hadn’t gotten back from his own hunt, I really think he would’ve killed me that night.” Grace, despite herself, smiles sadly at the memory. She can’t look up at her brothers. She doesn’t want to know what they look like. But, she’s not done. Somehow, there’s more to the story that isn’t really a story at all. It’s her life. The tragic and twisted existence of Grace Campbell Winchester. “Bobby brought me inside. I didn’t think anything was broken, I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t leave it alone. I’ve never seen Bobby so scared, so terrified for anyone. The way he looked at me… I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. He looked at me like one wrong move would be enough to finish what Dad didn’t. He set my nose back in place, but I can’t even remember how Dad broke it. If it was his fist or his foot or one of the rocks he threw, I– I don’t know. I just know that I stayed with Bobby for a couple of days after that. Dad went off to do another hunt, or I don’t know, maybe he just got wasted at a bar and got a motel room somewhere. I just– all I remember is that four days later he showed up, told me to get in the car, and we drove back to that crappy ass motel he left you at. Before we got inside he told me not to tell you, that if I said anything, he’d have no problem killing me for real and making sure it hurt.” 

“Gracie, look at me.” Dean pleaded tenderly, his voice thick with tears as he searched for the only pair of eyes that could make him question doing something stupid and reckless but she refused to look at anything besides her blood stained hands in her lap. She doesn’t know what had changed her mind about sharing that specific encounter, but she doesn’t think she feels any lighter in the aftermath of its exposure. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please.” 

Grace’s bloodshot eyes trail up to meet Dean’s after a beat of thick silence, and her bottom lip trembles as she sets her gaze on his crestfallen green gaze. The green gaze that they share. The green gaze that is so entirely Mary it almost hurts Dean to even look at his sister and see someone so broken down they're hardly even recognizable. Mary would hate what they’ve become. Hate what John simultaneously made of them and unmade of them. Sometimes, he doesn’t even feel like a person. He’s got such a misconstrued sense of his own autonomy that life or death doesn’t feel like such a weighted gamble of cards. What Dean Winchester hates the most is that the two kids he gave his own childhood up for – to raise and nurture when nobody else was around to do it –, have the same troubles embedded deeply in their instincts. “You don’t have to say anything, Dean.” Grace deflated sadly, wanting to just move on, to focus on the hunt and maintaining pleasantries with their father who is undoubtedly stewing in his wild anger only a car ahead of them.

“No, I do. I do, Gracie. I should’ve said something to both of you a long time ago.” Dean shakes his head, so often forgetting that he hadn’t willfully been a silent observer of the abuse. Grace hates that he blames so much of her suffering on himself, but she’s guilty of the same fate when there’s nothing else to keep her mind busy. “I’m not going to let him lay another finger on you, and if does, if I’m not there to stop it and shit happens, you come and find me, and I’ll deal with it. You hear me, sweetheart? He so much as grabs you too tight and I’ll handle it. I’ll finish him.” 

“You know I don’t blame you right? Either of you.” She asked softly, her voice wavering as she breathed through her mouth, her nose still throbbing at the center of her face. She’d need ice and Advil whenever they had a chance to dig through their duffles, but for now, she could live with the reminder that she’d finally stood her ground in some capacity. “The only one I blame is Dad, and it looks like we’re stuck with him for the foreseeable future, so can you stop trying to dig your own grave? And can you please stop looking like you’re going to tear his head off? This is what you wanted, and maybe it didn’t turn out the way you hoped, but we still have a job to do and I cannot be the only one thinking straight. I mean, we’re up against fucking vampires, you should be bouncing off the walls and you should be stressed beyond belief because halloween came early.” 

“Halloween did not come early.” Sam huffs, a small smile cracking his stoic expression as he threw a glare at Grace over his shoulder, his grip on the wheel loosening just slightly as he let her words wash over him. He couldn’t promise his best behavior, but he could certainly try if it meant keeping her happy. 

“We’re literally up against Dracula and his evil family, Sammy. Halloween basically came early.” Grace rolled her eyes, feeling more like herself as she taunted her brother and his eternal hatred for anything related to the tail-end of October. 

“Freaking vampires, dude!” Dean bellowed, and that was all that it took for peace to be restored amongst the siblings, John’s presence no longer so daunting now that Grace knew they had each other's back in any circumstance. 

-

Grace stood between her brothers in broad daylight, concealed by only a couple of overgrown and intertwined branches as they scooped out the vampire nest from a distance. John stood only a few inches away, his eyes memorizing the terrain that they’d stumbled across intently. Dean grumbled at her side, shaking his head as he watched two vampires engage in a rushed conversation before slipping into the abandoned barn. One lingered by the doors, sweeping his gaze across the expanse of trees and shrubbery before he disappeared too. 

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered beneath his breath, “So they’re really not afraid of the sun?”

“No, direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill them is by beheading them.” Grace’s nose scrunched at the violent nature of their only true weakness, and subtly she was reminded of her reset nose when an ache ran deep through her bones. She stepped just slightly to the left, her forearm brushing against Dean’s as she created distance between her fathers body and her own. She could talk a big game about carrying on with the hunt and letting the past take up residence on a back burner, but instinct was something harder to control. Dean nudged her with his elbow, nodding just slightly to convey his watchful eye. He meant what he’d said. John Winchester would never lay another hand on her if he had any say in the matter; and he’d make sure he got a say this time around. “And, yeah, they sleep during the day. It doesn’t mean they won’t wake up.” 

“So I guess walking right in’s not our best option.” Dean assumed, and Grace was inclined to agree that walking right into a vampire's nest was a dumb play, but John’s reaction insinuated the very opposite. 

“Actually, that’s the plan.” He mused, nodding toward their cars parked a few feet away in a clearing not visible to the barn doors. They followed him cautiously, stepping over twigs and branches that would give away their position if even one of the creatures heard something suspicious. 

She pulled the trunk of the Impala open, her eyes training over the stuffed bear she’d taken possession of all of those weeks ago in Kansas. A saddened warmth spread through her chest at the memory of Mary burning before her own two eyes, but she pushed it aside. Now was not the time nor place to unpack her boatload of parental traumas. 

“Dad, I’ve got an extra machete if you need one.” Dean called over his shoulder as he looked to John who had his own trunk open and was scrounging through his collection of weapons for something specific. 

“Think I’m okay. Thanks.” He replied drying, unsheathing a machete that glimmered beneath the overcast sky. Its blade was impressive, not something that Grace had seen before, and the irony that he suddenly had a weapon of that nature in a hunt like this didn’t leave her entirely. For someone who said he’d never hunted a vampire and thought all they were all extinct, he certainly had the weapons and knowledge to disprove that. 

“Wow.” Dean hummed, turning back to the trunk. Grace’s fingers were curled together in a pattern that Dean hadn’t seen since his teenage years, but a broad smile broke across his lips as he shook his head. Years ago, they’d created a silent code for the times when their father was being nothing short of an arrogant dick. It was one of the only ways that they could get anything beneath his nose, and still Dean found humor in it, even if this time his smile was drawn from the stirrings of nostalgia that blossomed in his chest. 

“So… you boys really want to know about this colt?” Grace could only roll her eyes at the fact that her father refused to acknowledge her, but she didn’t say anything. Truth was, they did want to know, and she was willing to sacrifice her pride if it meant gaining precious insight. 

“Yes sir.” Sam replied, his attention snapping to John instantaneously. 

John sighed, and for a second his eyes lingered on Grace angled between his boys so perfectly that it looked like something natural. John couldn’t remember a time when his kids had been so at ease around him, and even if their shoulders were still rigid with tension, there was something about their closeness that struck him deeply. “It’s just a story… A legend, really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel’s letter. Back in 1835, when Halley’s comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun… a special gun. He made it for a hunter – a man like us, only on horseback. The story goes he made thirteen bullets. This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. ‘Til somehow, Daniel got his hands on it. They say– they say this gun can kill anything.”

“Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean questioned, astonishment laced within his tone. Grace stood straighter at the realization, her gaze falling upon that hidden corner of the trunk where she’d tucked her precious bear in between a pocket knife and the first aid kit Dean kept. 

“Like the thing that killed Mom.” Grace whispered as she trailed her gaze back to John, looking at him with so much confidence he almost didn’t have a clapback for her direct mentioning of Mary. Almost. He opened his mouth, probably to threaten her into silence, but she stepped up closer, her voice even and calm as she raised her chin. “You do not have the right to take her away from me. Maybe I don’t remember her, but she is still my Mom. The only one I’ll ever have. So why don’t you just get on with it instead of wasting any more time that we don’t have.” 

John, for once in his life, listened. “Yeah, the demon.” He licked at his lips, shifting his gaze to Sam who stood in the same state of shock as Dean. “Ever since I picked up its trail, I’ve been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun… we may have it.” 

Grace nodded, looking directly at her father, no longer afraid to so much as meet his eye without explicit permission. “Well let’s go then. I’d say it's about twenty years overdue.” 

-

Grace climbed through a window after Sam, standing on piles of hay that sank beneath her weight. Dean was right behind her, and softly he closed the boards up after he’d climbed through, drowning them in near complete darkness before their eyes adjusted to the change in light. John was ahead of them, but what else lay ahead of them was incredibly daunting. At least four vampires laid asleep in makeshift hammocks, their arms folded over their stomachs as they assumed the same near identical positions. 

She kept close to Sam, and Dean kept close to her. They had each other's backs, and that was as much comfort as Grace was going to get before they managed to secure the gun. As they stalked through the barn, it became evident that it wasn’t just four vampires that surrounded them, but over a dozen, and chills crawled up her spine as she grimaced internally. She snapped ehr gaze to Dean when teh toe of his shoe clashed against an abandoned bottle of beer, his shoulder jostling the hammock that a vampire rested in soundly. Their eyes widened, and both siblings froze to gauge the reaction that was to come, but when nothing happened and the vampire settled back into sleep, Grace breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

“Dean, Gracie.” Sam whispered for their attention, crouched beside a woman that Grace could only see half off. She crept closer, blood stains coming into view. Sam was already busy trying to untie the ropes that bound the woman, but Grace and Dean snapped their gaze to the far corner of the room when they heard a muffled sound. 

“There’s more.” Dean whispered, and Grace nodded, already back on her feet and heading in the direction that they’d heard the slightest commotion from. Dean grabbed onto a metal lever, putting both of his hands around the cold material to dampen the noise, but a clanking squeak still echoed around the barn and Grace kept careful watch of the vampires surrounding them. One of the guys shifted in his sleep, but thankfully he remained that way. 

The quiet didn’t last long, and Grace flinched into Dean when a near demonic sounding scream came from the woman bound to the pole in the center of the barn. All at once the other vampires woke, bouncing to their feet as they took in the sight of intruders around them. 

John smashed a window in the corner of the barn, his eyes wild as he looked over his shoulders to locate his children; all three of them. “Kids, run!” He threw out the order, and they listened, but Grace faltered when her eyes caught something silver in the distance. She stumbled on her feet, but didn’t go back for the gun that caught her attention. There would be another opportunity, their had to be.

When sunlight broke across her face, she squinted at the intrusion of bright light, running through the wooded area where the calls of her brother's voices created an audible path. “Gracie! Dad!” 

“I’m right here. God, I’m right here, stop fucking yelling you idiot!” She groaned, batting her hand against Dean’s shoulder when she got close enough to reach them. Dean rolled his eyes at her attitude, but stopped calling for John, realizing that he was essentially giving their covered position away. “They have the colt.” She told her brothers, confirming that they were chasing the right lead for more than just a police scanner call. 

“They won’t follow. They’ll wait till tonight. Once a vampire gets your scent, it’s for life.” John panted as he came running up to them, and Grace could only roll her eyes at the fact that he was only thinking to tell them that small detail now. 

“What the hell do we do now?” Dean threw back at their father, evidently less than impressed with that simple answer. 

“You got to find the nearest funeral home, that’s what.” Dean reared back at the cheap solution, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he schooled his features. 

-

Grace stood beneath the cover of nightfall only a few feet away from where Dean had parked the Impala. There’s a crossbow at her side, arrows from John already loaded into the weapon. She doesn’t know what they are, but she doesn’t really care. All she knows is that he’d sent her and Dean out as bait, but not without shoving the weapons into her empty hands, demanding that she prove she hasn’t lost her worth in the years that it had been since they’d seen each other. She doesn’t want to think about how his eyes had flashed with something genuine as she nodded to the instruction, but she can't help but consider that maybe she doesn’t know him as well as she’d thought. Regardless, his sudden care for her wellbeing doesn’t change her opinion of him. If anything, it only pisses her off more. She doesn’t need him anymore; doesn’t want him. She’s long since abandoned the desire to win his affection and praise. All that she cares about is doing her part in keeping her brothers alive. 

She waits for the perfect moment before she reaches for the weapon, letting the arrows cut through the darkness of night only when she’s certain that she has the perfect shot. Both arrows pierce through the hearts of the vampires, and they crane their necks to face the expanse of trees behind them. Her heart is hammering, unable to recall the last time she’d even held a crossbow, but the knowledge that after all the time that had elapsed and she was still a perfect shot had her jogging toward her brother without concern. Sam and John were right behind her, and Grace couldn’t pinpoint when they’d arrived, but she smiled cheekily at Sam over her shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows tauntingly. For a second, she was just the girl he’d started to know at Stanford, and Sam had never been so glad to see that stupid smile in his life. 

“Barely even stings.” The woman calls over her shoulder, looking straight at Grace who still holds onto the weapon of choice for the night. She can only shrug, but John has more to say.

“Give it time, sweetheart. That arrows soaked in dead man's blood. It’s like poison to you, isn’t it?” Grace’s gaze trailed down to her fingers, suddenly aware of the fact that she’d touched both arrows to lace them into the weapon. She could roll her eyes at John’s inability to ever be truly transparent, but she pockets the complaint for a later date. The woman’s eyes began to grow heavy, and in second both vampires dropped to the ground. “Load her up. I’ll take care of this one.” 

The last thing Grace saw before she turned to help her brothers was John slicing the head of the vampire off with one clean blow. 

-

“Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk, cabbage, and trillium – it’ll block our scent and hers until we’re ready.” John hummed, a fire burning bright beside Grace as she stood in the middle of the woods beside her brothers. 

Dean coughed, pacing the rough terrain with understandable restlessness. “Stuff stinks.” He commented, and Grace could only shake her head at his reflection. 

“Well, that’s the idea. Dust your clothes with the ashes and you’ll stand a chance of not being detected.” Grace didn’t have to be told twice, mostly because it wasn’t her jacket she was ruining by spreading ash across her chest and sleeves. She shot Dean a cheeky smile, flaunting his ash covered jacket in a silly spin that had him chuckling and shaking his head. She’d never been so light in the presence of John, had never been so light in the presence of Dean, but new leaves had been turned since he’d punched her, and fear was something she muddled through so intensely. She could only hope it lasted, but if this was all that she ever got of ‘peace’, she’d take it as a win. 

“You sure they’ll come after her?” Sam questioned, looking back at John. 

“Yeah. Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun. But the blood sickness is gonna wear off soon, so you don’t have a lot of time.” 

“Half-hour outta do it.” Dean hummed, stepping up to the conversation with Grace on his heels. 

“And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can.” Grace frowned at the ultimatum, or, direct order. She’d been thrown enough orders in her life to know when something was optional, and John’s direction to leave town was definitely not that. 

“Woah, Dad. You can’t take care of them all yourself.” Dean fought back, but John shook his head. 

“I’ll have her and the colt.” He tried to reason, but all Grace heard was bullshit masculinity and its inability to let anyone else help. She hadn’t thought for a second that things with him would be any different, but somehow she didn’t expect this. 

“But after, we’re gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together, right?” Sam questioned, his voice laced with something that Grace couldn’t determine. His words were pointed, level and directed, but there was still something else lingering in his civil tone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you? You still want to go after the demon alone? You know, I don’t get you. You can’t treat us like this.” 

John looked toward the fire before his gaze swept back to Sam, who’d thrown his promise to the wind, but for once, Grace was right behind him, not bristling at the conflict that was beginning to rise between them. “Like what?” 

“Like children.” Sam snaps, the same argument eating away at him each time it slips away from focus unsolved and unaddressed.

“You are my children. I’m trying to keep you safe. All of you.” John looked right at Grace, and there was that genuinity again. She stepped back instinctively, her body partially concealed by Dean as she tried to make sense of his sudden care. She hated this. Hated that she’d finally been ready to cut her ties with him and this is how he acts; like the father she’d wanted when she was seven.

“Dad, all due respect, but that’s a bunch of crap.” Dean sighed, not willing to stand out in the cold and let their father lie to their faces to save his own ass another time. He’d endured this treatment for years, but he’d finally reached his limit.  

“Excuse me?” John recoiled, and both Grace and Sam turned their gaze to him, jaws hanging slack as they watched Dean make good on his promise that wasn’t solely aimed at the youngest Winchester. He’d meant what he said about sticking his neck out; not letting history repeat itself. But, he hadn’t meant it only for Grace. He’d meant it for Sam too, but more importantly, he meant it for himself. He didn’t want to be a soldier anymore; he couldn’t be. Not when he’d finally seen what could become of him if he just acted on his own impulses every once in a while. 

“You know what Gracie and Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can’t be that worried about keeping us safe. I mean, fuck Dad, you’ve never been worried about keeping Gracie safe at all. That was my job. My responsibility. So why don’t you let it stay that way.” He prattled on, and Grace could only dip her head down at the mention of her name. She knows what he gave up for her, but she desperately wished he hadn’t had to. It’s not her fault that it happened, but that doesn’t lessen the guilt she carries. 

“It’s not the same thing, Dean.” John shook his head, but that only further frustrated his children who were damn near fed up with being kept in what seemed like eternal darkness. 

“Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?” 

“This demon… It's a bad son of a bitch. I can’t make the same moves if I’m worried about keeping you alive.” He relented, but even with his spoken word, little was actually revealed to the siblings. John Winchester just had a way of being elusive without even batting an eye. 

“You mean you can’t be as reckless.” Dean snapped back, going toe-to-toe with their father, tired of just being the little boy that listened and obeyed blindly. He’d played that role for twenty-six years, he couldn’t stand to fill the shoes for another second. 

“Look, I don’t expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mothers death… it almost killed me.” Dean looked away at the mention of Mary, and John shook his head, growing teary. “I can’t watch my children die, too. I won’t.” 

“What happens if you die?” Dean’s voice wavered with the slightest indication of vulnerability before it grew cold and detached, his jaw clenching as he spoke. “Dad, what happens if you die and we could have done something about it? You know, I’ve been thinking. I think maybe Sammy’s right about this one. I think we should do this together.” He was pleading at this point, begging with John to let them see this through with him. Grace couldn’t admit it, but a piece of her yearned for the same thing as her brothers. She may hate the man, may despise his presence next to her, but she couldn’t be an orphan. She still can’t even begin to handle the fact that she’s already down one parent. “We’re stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it.”

“We’re running out of time.” John nodded, entirely bypassing the point that Dean had been trying to drive home. Grace deflated behind her brother, taking a step away in wild defeat and discouragement. She hates the thought of being around John, but she wants to have a hand in righting her mothers death. It’s not fair that even after all of this, John still dangles any kind of closure over her head. Every part of her knows that he’s incapable of change, but a piece of her heart breaks as she realizes that nothing about them will ever be enough to get him to stay. “You do your time, and you get out of the area. That’s an order.” 

She scoffs as she shakes her head, turning her back to her brothers and her father as she made her way back to the Impala wordlessly. She’d fought for John to love her for years, she wouldn’t let herself waste anymore time on someone that had never been what he should’ve been for her. 

The door slams behind her, and she sinks into the leather seats wearing a pout of frustration. When Sam and Dean sink into the seats up front, a beat of silence passes before the engine roars to life and Dean pulls out onto the road like a bat out of hell, the timer already running out of time. 

-

Grace crawls through the window after her brothers, silently landing on the bails of hay that are stacked up against the boarded wall. She brushes her blood stained clothes off, grimacing at the hay that still sticks to her and sends prickly sensations down her spine whenever she moves. She creeps through the hallways wordlessly, grinning beside Dean as they sweep a coin off of the desk and listen to it clank as it hits the floor. She slips into the hallway, gripping tightly to a machete that conveniently is perched against the wall of the barn. She doesn’t let herself think about the irony of this nest of vampires housing the very weapons that can kill them, focusing instead on the plan at hand. 

She holds her breath as a vampire stalks through the barn searching for the cause of the sound, and when he’s just a few steps ahead of her, Dean pops out from the sideroom, a grin on his lips as he whispers, “Boo!” The vampire didn’t even have a chance to spin on his heels and search for Grace before she was wielding the machete with practiced ease, slicing his head clean off in a second. 

“That is either the coolest thing I’ve ever done on a hunt or the most disgusting.” She grimaces as blood drips down her face and further stains her clothing. She can’t tell what’s her blood or his anymore, but the satisfaction in knowing she’d killed the evil they stumbled across eased the disgust pooling in her belly as warm blood began to cool on her skin. 

She wiped a palm down her face, wiping the blood into the fabric of her pants as she followed Dean. When he had what he was searching for, he nodded toward the window where Sam was waiting with a machete from the trunk, having taken the role of lookout reluctantly. 

“We’re going back for him, aren’t we?” Grace questions as she lands on the ground, brushing off her clothes again as dirt and hay stick to her. 

“Obviously.” Dean retorted and Grace nodded promptly, not having it in her to argue about what their next move should be. Their father couldn’t handle what was coming his way, even if he didn’t know that, Grace did, and despite herself and every self-preservation tactic she’d learned since childhood, she couldn’t get herself to be the kind of person to walk away when showing up mattered most. 

-

The headlights from John’s truck shone brightly in the expanse of darkness as Grace and her brothers rushed through the wooded area toward the gravel road. Grace wielded a crossbow with elegance, hardly bristling as she aimed for the chest of a woman and shot blankly, the poison coated arrow piercing directly through the vampire's sternum. Sam was only steps ahead of her, but before Grace could make a move to shoot the approaching vampire, he’d gained the upper hand and wrangled Sam into his grip. 

“Don’t! I’ll break his neck.” He warned dangerously, hooking his arm around Sam’s neck with a threatening tightness that had Grace lowering the crossbow just slightly. Grace’s gaze trailed to Dean as leaves rustled beside her, and she found her brother gripping at the handle of a blood soaked machete with genuine fear shining brightly behind his green eyes. “Put the blade down.” He only tightened his grip when Dean looked to contemplate the ultimatum, and Sam began to gasp for air as his windpipe was crushed ruthlessly and slowly. 

“Dean!” Grace called, shaking her head as she dropped the crossbow fully, allowing it to dangle at her side as she looked back at Sam whose cheeks were beginning to redden with the lack of oxygen. 

The vampire, a man that Grace had no interest learning the name of, stared straight at Dean as the machete clanked at the impact of thin metal meeting the rough ground. “You people. Why can’t you just leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do.” 

“I don’t think so.” Grace hadn’t even noticed her father pick himself up from the ground, but her gaze snapped to him at the sound of a gunshot firing. The colt glistened beneath the moonlight, one of its carefully crafted bullets slicing through the air before it embedded itself in the creature's head right between his deep eyes. Grace didn’t take another moment to take in the sight of blood slowly slipping from the wound, instead, she rushed to Sam, the crossbow forgotten in the clearing of brittle grass as her sneakers padded against the ground bringing her closer to where Dean held Sam upright by his shoulders. 

Sam shrugged Grace’s concerned hands off of him as he turned to fully watch the vampire succumb to his injury. Light flickered from the hole in his head before he dropped to his knees on the gravel, groaning in pain before everything became still.

“Kate, don’t!” Another vampire called when a girl cried out in distress, attempting to rush toward her fallen leader before she was held back protectively. It was only a handful of seconds later that car doors were slamming shut and the vampires that remained sped away, their headlights shining bright in the darkness before they ebbed away. 

Grace Winchester took one look at her father before she shook her head, abandoning the fight and turning toward the direction of where the Impala was parked in the near distance but out of earshot. The leaves crunched beneath her feet, but she said nothing as she sought out escape. 

-

Grace’s hair was damp as she sifted through clothing that her brothers had somehow strewn across the room in the few hours that they’d actually occupied the motel room. She’d finally washed the blood off of her body and traded in her soiled clothes for new ones, but even with the seven minute shower she still felt heavy and out of sorts. She sighed as she threw a flannel at Dean, deciding against stealing it for herself when she noticed the grease stain smeared along the left side of the thin article. She stood in only pink pajama pants and a Stanford t-shirt when the motel door creaked open again, her father finally making his presence known. 

“So, boys…” Grace could only shake her head in exasperation when her father entirely bypassed her existence, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care that much as she continued to sift through the random garments within reach. She threw a t-shirt on top of Sam’s duffle bag, wondering how they’d created such a mess in the first place when all they’d done was steal a handful of hours of rest. 

“Yes, sir.” Dean cleared his throat, turning around to face John fully. Sam stepped up beside him, unintentionally shielding Grace from John’s sight. The youngest Winchester didn’t notice, but the eldest did, and John squared his shoulders at the realisation that he was being barred from looking at his own daughter. 

“You ignored a direct order back there.” John continued, deciding that now wasn’t the time to breach any kind of conversation pertaining to Grace. 

“Yes, sir. But we saved your ass.” Dean made sure to highlight what mattered, and Grace could only manage a smirk as she settled into the realization that it wasn’t just a one time promise. Even if it would take time to truly separate himself from everything that he’d been blindly following for years, Dean was putting the effort in where it mattered. 

“You’re right.” John relented, and Grace frowned at the simple resolution, turning around to witness the conversation as she pulled an old hoodie over her head. She can’t even remember the last time she’d seen Dean wear a hoodie, but now wasn’t the time to question why he was still holding on to the tattered thing. 

“I am?” Dean questioned skeptically, taking a step closer to Sam when he caught the slightest glimpse of Grace moving in his peripheral. All three Winchesters were on edge, knowing exactly what kind of treatment Grace would be subjected to taking had this occurred only two years ago. Dean wasn’t going to let it happen now, but still he worried about not being able to prevent it. 

“It scares the hell out of me. You…you three are all I’ve got. But I guess we are stronger as a family.” Grace bristled at the words rolling off of John’s tongue, unable to picture a reality where her father ever admitted that she was worth bringing along. She hates that this is what she’s wanted for her entire life, and now that it's falling at her feet laced with sincerity, it feels wrong and misplaced. She hates that John is willing to step up, be the man he should’ve been albeit still with faults and ridged edges, but she’s already moved on. It’s too little too late. “So… we go after this damn thing…together.” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean and Sam nodded but Grace couldn’t just let that be all that was said after years of torment and abuse; after he’d just broken her nose and backhanded her like she was just an insignificant child. He’d burned the bridge to her heart a long time ago, and there was no way to restore scattered ashes. 

“I’ll help you, because she is my mom, and this is my fight as much as it is yours, but you are not my family. You will never be my family.” She spat uncaringly, slinging her dufflebag over her shoulder and heading for the door, stepping around her father and her brothers. The light from the lamps fell upon her face, catching on the swelling around her eyes and the bruising to her cheek bone. 

John Winchester might be ready to finally accept his only daughter, but Grace Winchester has no obligation to forgive the years of anguish he’d inflicted on her.

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: can you do one where their sister is in purgatory with Dean and when they come out they realize Sam didn’t even look for them and was with a girl while they were suffering in purgatory fighting for their lives basically. The sister had a really really hard time in purgatory and is defientely scarred and has bad ptsd like super bad. I see how messed up it made Dean and I imagine it would take a huge mental toll on their sister. Make it dramatic and have Sam and her make up somehow and deans mad but for his sisters sake he has to keep himself together to fix their problem as a family.

A/N: this was so fun to write, I hope you like it! Requests are open please send in some ideas because I’m bored and want to write stuff LOL

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The ground was uneven beneath Dean's boots, the dim light of the underworld barely cutting through the suffocating darkness. He had just pulled himself and his sister, Y/N, out of purgatory with nothing but their ragged breaths to anchor them back to reality. But as the veil between those two worlds lifted and they found themselves standing on solid ground once again—on earth, on familiar soil—the weight of it all hit Dean harder than he could have anticipated.

They had escaped, yes. They had fought their way through the endless maze of creatures and the sickening, oppressive silence of purgatory. But that didn’t mean they were free. Not truly. Not when their minds were still wrapped in the haunting memories of everything they'd seen, everything they'd endured.

Dean knew it would take time, but he hadn’t expected it to start this fast. The moment his boots hit solid earth, his sister's body tensed beside him. Her breathing was shallow, a slight tremor running through her limbs. She wasn’t hiding it well. But Dean could tell. He always could.

He glanced sideways, watching her for a second longer than he meant to. Her face was pale, eyes wide and unblinking, as though she couldn’t fully comprehend the freedom they had just won. He reached out for her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Y/N,” he said softly, his voice strained with the weariness that had settled deep into his bones. “You alright?”

But as soon as she looked at him, her walls broke down. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hand shaking as she reached for him, her fingers clutching his jacket like she was afraid it would slip away. She wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.

“Dean…” She gasped his name, her voice barely audible as it trembled. She looked almost feverish, her eyes darting around the open space, as if expecting something to jump out of the shadows at any given moment. The world was no longer a safe place for her—her mind still trapped in purgatory, the fight to survive still clawing at her chest. “I… I can’t—Dean, I can’t—” Her words were falling apart in front of him.

Dean’s heart twisted in his chest, and without thinking, he pulled her into his arms. It was instinctive, a desperate need to protect her, but it was also the one thing that seemed to ground him in this moment too. She clung to him, her body shaking uncontrollably, the sobs that had been building finally breaking free.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected to feel this—the vulnerability, the absolute terror in her small, shuddering frame.

“Y/N… Hey, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own heart threatened to beat out of his chest. "We’re here. We’re back. You’re safe. We both are. I promise."

But the words didn’t land. They were hollow, meaningless, because nothing could undo what they’d been through. Not the screams. Not the endless days of fighting without rest. Nothing could erase the raw, jagged scars that purgatory had left on their souls.

She pulled away slightly, her eyes wide, haunted. “I’m... I’m so scared, Dean. I’m always looking over my shoulder. Always hearing them... hearing the growls, the whispers. It’s like I can’t escape it. I’m still there, and I can’t stop hearing the screams.” Her voice cracked, the terror unmistakable.

Dean’s throat tightened, the words sticking there. He had fought and clawed his way out, but the truth was—he hadn’t really left either. He could still feel it. The suffocating grip of purgatory on his chest, the constant need to fight, the adrenaline that had coursed through him for so long that now it felt like a damn near permanent part of him. Even the sunlight, which should have felt like salvation, felt like it was too bright. Too real. Too normal.

He wanted to say something, anything that would make this better. But the reality was, he knew what she was feeling. He had felt it too. Every single moment since they had made it out of that hellhole, his body had been reacting like it was still there.

"Hey, I know," he said quietly, his voice suddenly thick. He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself at this point. “I know what it’s like. You’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.”

But even as he spoke, her sobs intensified. She broke down completely, her whole body shaking, and Dean held her tighter, his own breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against her hair. "I’m so scared, Dean…. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be scared all the time... to hear things that aren’t real. It’s... it’s not over, Dean. It’s not over for me."

A raw sob ripped through her, and Dean felt it deep in his chest, the weight of it pressing down on him in ways he couldn’t explain. He wanted to say something to help. He wanted to tell her that it would get better, that time would heal them. But deep down, Dean knew it wouldn’t. Not completely. Purgatory didn’t just break you; it remade you in its own image.

“I understand,” he whispered, surprising himself with the confession. “I can’t... I can’t shake it either, Y/N.” His voice cracked, and he hated it. He hated how raw it sounded. How human it made him.

Y/N looked up at him, her tear-streaked face a mirror of his own pain. And for a moment, the two of them just stood there, holding each other—sharing the weight of their suffering in silence.

The world might have looked the same, but nothing felt the same anymore. They weren’t the same anymore.

“I’m here,” he repeated, a little more firmly this time, even though he wasn’t sure how much comfort it really offered. “You’re not alone. We’ll get through this together.”

And they would. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not quickly. But they would figure out how to survive in a world that felt so much bigger than the one they’d left behind in purgatory. For now, it was enough that they had each other. For now, they had the silent understanding of two people who had seen the worst of it and somehow, somehow, were still standing.

Though, they still had to face one more thing: the looming question of where Sam had been during all this. “We gotta find Sam.” Dean muttered under his breath and with determination you would both stop at nothing to find him.

When they had finally reached Sam, the reunion was nothing short of overwhelming. Y/N felt the warmth of Sam's embrace seep into her bones as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tight as if he were afraid that if he let go, she might vanish. For a moment, everything else faded. The horrors of purgatory, the constant fight for survival, the fear and isolation—it all slipped away in the comfort of Sam’s arms. She clung to him harder than she thought she ever could, her body shaking violently as the sobs wracked through her chest.

She had thought she would never feel safe again. But here she was, in Sam’s arms, and it was everything she’d longed for. Before she knew it, Dean had wrapped his arms around the both of them and Sam patted his back.

“I can’t believe you’re both here,” Sam said as Dean pulled away. His voice was thick with emotion as continued to hold his sister who wasn’t letting go, tightly. His hand moved over her hair in a soothing gesture, and Y/N let herself melt into it. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel anything but this moment, this relief.

Dean watched them from the side, a small smile on his face, though his eyes were weary. Something wasn’t right. Something in Sam’s demeanor felt... off. There was a subtle distance in his expression, an awkwardness to the way he spoke. It was like he was relieved to see them, sure, but not the way he should’ve been. There was something missing.

Sam pulled back slightly, his large hands still resting on Y/N’s shoulders as he looked down at her. He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you both again. I was starting to lose hope. I... I thought I’d lost you both.” His voice faltered, but then, almost offhandedly, he added, “I mean, I tried looking for you but there was no trace of anything. There was nothing else I could do. I’ve... I’ve kind of stepped back from all that now.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered in her chest, and the air between them instantly grew cold. She stared up at Sam, eyes wide with disbelief, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you mean, you stepped back?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper, but already tinged with confusion and hurt. “Sam... what are you talking about?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering toward the ground for a moment, his hands dropping from her shoulders. “I mean... I’m not hunting anymore, Y/N. I... I don’t do that anymore.”

The words hit Y/N like a slap in the face. Her breath left her entirely, her legs weakening as she stepped back from him, blinking rapidly as the confusion and hurt in her chest twisted into something far more primal. "What?" she croaked, the words tasting like bile on her tongue. “You... you don’t hunt anymore? What does that mean? You just gave up?”

Dean, who had been standing off to the side, felt his stomach drop at the tone in her voice. He stepped forward, his gaze flickering between Sam and Y/N, a frown pulling at his features. But before he could say anything, Y/N spoke again, her voice rising in disbelief.

“You... you just stopped hunting? For real?” Her chest was heaving now, her breath shallow, and Dean could see the wave of emotion crash over her. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. “Sam, we were trapped in purgatory. We were fighting every single day to survive—dying out there, and you—”

Her voice cracked, and she stumbled back a few steps, shaking her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You... you left us to suffer... for what?” Her voice was trembling with anger now, with disbelief, the hurt evident in every word. “You just stopped looking for us, Sam. You gave up on us.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. His eyes flickered with guilt, but they couldn’t meet hers. “Y/N, I’m sorry... I just... I didn’t know how—”

“No,” Y/N snapped, her voice escalating to a scream now, the floodgates opening. “Don’t give me that! How dare you say you didn’t know how?!” She surged toward him in a wild rush, shoving him with all the force she could muster. Sam staggered back, eyes wide with shock, but Y/N was unstoppable now. “We were fighting for our lives out there, Sam. I was terrified every second. I needed you. We both did!”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his own anger flaring at the scene, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes shot between his sister and Sam, disbelief twisting his features as the weight of what Sam was saying hit him. His throat tightened, and his voice came out sharp, raw.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean barked, his tone hard. “After everything we’ve been through, after all we’ve fought through together, you just quit?” He took a step forward, his voice rising as he let the rage build. “We were fighting for our lives every damn second in that place, Sam. You didn’t even look for us.”

Sam flinched, taking a step back, his eyes flickering with guilt, but his words were weak. “I didn’t know what else to do, Dean. I tried to find a way. I thought—I thought you two were lost. You don’t understand—”

Y/N was shaking now, her fists clenching at her sides as tears welled up in her eyes. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and it felt like the world had dropped out from under her. “You left us behind,” she whispered brokenly, but the words cut through the silence like a scream. “You didn’t even look for us, Sam. You left us to suffer... for what?”

Sam’s eyes flickered with something—guilt, shame, confusion. He stood there, frozen, his hands held up in an attempt to placate her, but the words were already spilling out before he could stop them. “I... I met someone.”

The words didn’t register immediately. Y/N stared at him, her mind trying to piece together the nonsense she’d just heard. It couldn’t be—“What?”

“I met a girl,” Sam repeated, his voice softer, almost apologetic, but it hit Y/N like a punch to the gut.

“A girl?” Her voice cracked as she took a staggering step back, her body swaying with the weight of what Sam had just revealed.

Dean's eyes widened in complete disbelief. He took a sharp step forward, his anger boiling over now. He had been furious, but now? Now he was fucking seething.

“You gotta be kidding me. Are you out of your goddamn mind, Sam?” Dean growled, his voice low but venomous.

“A girl? That’s what you’ve been doing, Sam?”

Y/N’s voice rose, trembling with hurt and outrage. “You left us to suffer. For a girl?” Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest burned with the sting of betrayal. “A fucking girl?” She whispered, the words barely coming out, but they were enough to make the air between them feel like acid.

Her breath catching as she stared at Sam, the disbelief on her face growing darker with every passing second. “That’s what you’ve been doing? You met a girl?” She stumbled back again, this time with a look of pure betrayal, her hand flying to her mouth as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Please, it’s not—” Sam started, his hands reaching out to her in an attempt to calm her down, but the damage was done.

She lashed out, her fist connecting with his chest with a force that made him stumble back, the shock of the hit barely registering before she attacked again. “We were suffering, Sam! Every damn day!” Her voice was ragged with pain. “You didn’t even look for us. For a girl?! You abandoned your family for that?” Her chest heaved as the words came spilling out in desperate, frenzied bursts. “I was terrified, Sam! I thought we were going to die out there. You don’t get it. You don’t get it, do you?!”

Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing Y/N’s arms before she could strike Sam again, but her anger made her stronger than him in that moment.

“How could you do that to us?” Y/N screamed, her voice shaking. “We were alone. Alone in that place, surrounded by things that wanted to kill us every second. And you just... you just let us go, Sam. How dare you?”

Before Dean could step in again, Y/N's fists flying toward Sam’s chest with a force that had no place in the fragile, exhausted body she’d come back with. It was a frantic, desperate kind of attack—one fueled by pain, by betrayal. She slammed into him again, the punch landing square in his gut.

Sam stumbled back, wide-eyed, hands raised in defense. "Y/N, wait—"

"Shut up!" Y/N screamed, her voice breaking with the weight of everything she couldn’t keep inside. She swung again, but this time Dean was there, grabbing her around the waist before she could make contact. She struggled against him, kicking her legs, her breath hitching in sobs that she couldn’t control. “You left us! You left us for a random fucking girl! How dare you!”

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to keep her calm, his grip firm but not hurting her. He pulled her back against him, holding her against his chest as she kicked and screamed, the words coming out like raw, guttural cries. "Y/N, stop," he murmured in her ear, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Sam stood there, frozen, his mouth moving like he wanted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. His eyes were haunted, like he could barely stand to meet her gaze, but Y/N wasn’t giving him an inch. She pushed against Dean’s arms, writhing in his grip, her body still trembling with pent-up energy, the frustration pouring out of her.

"You—" Y/N sobbed, her voice breaking into the words that had been festering inside her since they’d realized they were trapped. “We needed you. We needed you to save us, Sam. You could’ve saved us.” Her words shook with pain, every syllable like a slap in the face. Dean pulled her into his chest, more forcefully this time. His own chest was tight, his eyes burning, but he couldn’t lose it like she had. He couldn’t let her spiral completely. He knew she was about to cross realities from purgatory and where she was in the moment now.

“Y/N, please,” Dean murmured into her ear, his voice gentle but firm as you whimpered against him. “I know. I know. I need you to breathe, okay?”

He said calmly, holding her tightly against him, even as she writhed in his arms, her body shaking with the full force of her emotional breakdown. Her breath came in quick, gasping sobs as she tried to break free from his hold.

“Stop, Y/N,” Dean said softly but firmly, his own voice raw with the same anger and hurt she was feeling. “You’re scaring yourself. Calm down for me, please.”

But Y/N couldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop the tears that were now flooding her face, the hot rush of betrayal, the crushing weight of realizing that, in the end, she had been nothing compared to the life Sam had chosen for himself. “You didn’t even care enough to try to get us back.” She sobbed, her voice breaking.

Sam stood there, completely still, his face hollow with regret, guilt eating at him as he watched his sister unravel before him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn’t speak. How could he?

Dean glared at him, his eyes burning with anger, but it was a look that spoke volumes—this was Sam’s mistake, and now it was time to fix it.

Dean’s jaw clenched as he held her tight, feeling the heat of her rage and grief, her entire body vibrating with the tension that she couldn’t let go. His own chest tightened as he felt the overwhelming sense of betrayal rising in him too. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, not really—but now it was clear.

Y/N’s breath was ragged, her sobs coming in gasps as she buried her face against Dean’s chest. She couldn’t look at Sam anymore. She didn’t want to. “How could he leave us there?” She whispered brokenly, as if the question could somehow make sense of it all.

Dean’s gaze shot to Sam, who looked utterly devastated, his eyes full of regret, his posture stiff.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice dangerous in a way that only came out when he was pissed beyond belief. “What the hell, man? We’re standing here, barely alive, and you didn’t even try to get us back?” His voice cracked in frustration, his eyes never leaving his brother. “She’s right. We were fighting for our lives every damn day, and you—”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Sam snapped, his voice sharp, cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I didn’t know what to do! I—I couldn’t find you, Dean. I swear, I was—I was trying to figure out how to bring you back. But I didn’t even know where you were!” His hands fumbled in front of him, as if looking for something to grab onto. “I didn’t leave you. I just... I didn’t know how to get you back.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening anymore. She pulled herself from Dean’s arms, her face red with anger, tears still streaking down her cheeks as she stepped right up to Sam. “You didn’t try hard enough,” she spat, every word coated with venom. She couldn't look at him anymore.

Without a word, she turned and walked out the door, her footsteps uneven as she left the house behind. She needed air. She needed to be alone.

The cold hit her immediately, biting at her skin, but she didn't care. She sank down onto the front steps, her hands moving to her face as her chest tightened in a way she couldn’t control. Her body trembled, and she could barely keep her breath steady. Tears flowed freely now, a flood of emotion that she had been holding back since the moment they’d returned—since she’d realized that Sam, one of the last people she had always counted on, had left her behind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the sting of her tears would block out the storm inside her chest, but it didn’t help. Her body heaved with sobs, her head buried in her hands as the weight of everything crashed down on her.

Inside the house, the argument was escalating. Sam’s voice was muffled through the thin walls, but Y/N could still hear the frustration in his tone. Dean’s was louder, sharper, each word cutting deeper. It didn’t matter to her anymore. She didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear their voices arguing over her, over the past.

Her mind was reeling, spinning with thoughts she couldn’t quiet. She tried to take deep breaths, to pull herself together, but it was impossible. She thought she was past this—thought the terror of purgatory was a memory she could lock away. But it never worked that way, did it? The fear always came back.

It was too much. The memories, the sounds, the feeling of being trapped in purgatory, the constant fight for survival, for breath. The way the ground had never felt solid beneath her feet. The way everything was dark and endless, every corner hiding something dangerous, something that could kill her. The way she had felt like nothing, just a pawn in a game of survival, fighting against an unstoppable tide.

The panic gripped her, suffocating her, and suddenly, she was back there.

She couldn’t breathe. The air felt thick, oppressive, like she was drowning. Her hands clutched at her sides, and she rocked back and forth on the cold steps, trying to ground herself, but she couldn’t. Her vision blurred with fresh tears, and her body shook uncontrollably. The memories were too vivid, too real.

Stay down. Keep quiet. They’re coming. Don’t let them hear you...

Please, please don’t let them find me. Please.

She was shaking, her whole body quaking with terror, her knees pulled up to her chest as she rocked on the steps, trying to hold onto something—anything—that would remind her she was safe now. But it wasn’t working. The fear, the panic, the terror—it was all too fresh. Too close.

Dean’s voice broke through the fog of her mind. “Y/N!”

It was sharp, desperate. His voice seemed to reach her from miles away, but it pulled her back, just a little. She could hear footsteps, loud and frantic now, coming closer, but she couldn’t stop herself from rocking. She couldn’t stop the tears that kept falling, couldn’t stop the fear from consuming her, from taking over every part of her.

“Y/N, hey, hey,” Dean’s voice was right next to her now. His hands were warm on her shoulders, his grip firm as he gently pulled her back from the edge, but she was too far gone.

Her breath came in short, frantic gasps, and she could feel her chest tightening, the air around her getting thinner and thinner. She wasn’t here, in this moment, with Dean and Sam. She was still stuck in purgatory, fighting for air, desperate, terrified.

Dean kneeled in front of her, his voice low, soothing as he tried to reach her. “Y/N.” His hands moved to her arms, trying to ground her, but she snapped her head up at the sound of his voice, her heart racing even faster than before. Without thinking, she jumped up from the steps, her chest heaving as panic exploded in her chest.

“No! No, Dean, we have to go!” She screamed, her eyes wide with terror. “We have to run! They’re coming! They’re going to get us!” Her voice broke on the words, each syllable filled with pure, unrelenting fear. She didn’t even realize she was trembling so violently. Her hands flew out in front of her as if to push him away, like somehow she could give him a running start ahead.

The frantic look in her eyes, the wildness in her movements—Dean froze for a split second, caught off guard by the intensity of her reaction. His body instinctively moved forward to close the distance, but his hands held up, trying to keep her from spiraling further.

“Hey, hey, wait,” Dean’s voice was calm, but his expression was one of disbelief, trying to understand what was happening. “Y/N, it’s okay. We’re safe.” He took another step toward her, his voice more urgent now. “You’re out. You’re with me. Nothing’s going to get us.”

But Y/N was beyond listening. Her breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps, and her eyes were darting around as though she could see something that wasn’t there, her chest heaving with the intensity of her panic.

“No, no, no,” she repeated over and over, her voice growing higher, more desperate. “We have to go. We have to leave! They’re coming!” She took a stumbling step backward, her body jerking as she tried to run, to flee from something that wasn’t there.

Dean’s eyes widened, his heart aching at the sight of her. He could see the fear consuming her—he had seen it in purgatory, had watched her fight for control, but this... this was different. It was like she had been torn open, exposed to something she couldn’t escape. Something she couldn’t outrun.

“Y/N, hey, look at me!” Dean’s voice was firm now, the edge of panic creeping in, but he was trying to hold it together for her. “Look at me. You’re safe. We’re not in there anymore. We’re out, okay?”

But Y/N wasn’t hearing him. She wasn’t with him. She was still stuck, lost in purgatory in her mind, the same place she had been for so long. The place where the monsters were always coming.

She started to turn away from him, her whole body tensing as if preparing to run. She was shaking, every part of her rigid with fear. “No, Dean! They’re coming! We have to run!”

Dean moved in quickly, stepping forward and gently grabbing her arms, keeping her from retreating any further. “Y/N!” His voice was softer now, more insistent. “Y/N, listen to me.” He locked eyes with her, his hands tightening just enough to ground her without hurting her. “Look at me. You’re not in purgatory anymore. You’re safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

But she was still shaking, her mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The echo of purgatory still felt real to her, the constant threat of death and danger clawing at her.

Her hands were shaking violently, and she finally collapsed into him, pressing her face into his chest, her breath ragged and broken.

"Dean," she whispered, voice hoarse with terror, "I can't... I can’t breathe. I can’t... I’m still there. I’m still... I can’t...” She gasped. “I’m still stuck there. I can’t get out.”

Dean’s heart broke at the sight of her. His voice was steady, despite the panic rising in his own chest. “I’m right here, Y/N. You’re out. You’re here. You’re with me. We’re okay.”

But Y/N couldn’t stop shaking. The memories were still fresh, the terror still suffocating. She felt like she was drowning all over again.

Dean’s voice grew firmer, pulling her focus back to him. “Look at me, Y/N. Focus. Breathe. In... out. Come on, just breathe with me. You’re not in there. You’re here with me. You’re safe.” He took a slow, deep breath, matching her frantic gasps with his calm, steady rhythm.

She tried to follow, her breath ragged, her chest tight. She couldn’t get it right, but Dean didn’t let up. He stayed there, holding her, guiding her, forcing her body to slow down.

“Just breathe, okay? You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice soft, but insistent.

Y/N’s body jerked, the fear still clawing at her, but slowly—so slowly—her breathing started to match his, each inhale and exhale a little steadier than the last. Her hands trembled in his grip, but she was listening now. She was trying.

The sound of Sam’s footsteps getting closer made Y/N flinch, her body tensing, but Dean’s grip tightened on her arms, grounding her back to him. “It’s Sam, it’s just Sam. Relax.” He reassured her. Sam hovered at the edge of the porch, his face pale, his eyes filled with guilt and regret as he watched his sister struggle. He didn’t say a word, but his presence was there, heavy, inescapable.

Dean shot him a look over his shoulder, his voice low but harsh. “This is your fault, Sam,” he growled, before turning his full attention back to Y/N.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut as she clung to Dean, her body trembling less now, though the fear still lurked in the back of her mind. She was still shaking, but Dean’s steady presence was the only thing that made sense anymore. He was here, and that was all that mattered. Slowly, but surely, she felt herself coming back to the present, the overwhelming panic ebbing away.

“Come on,” Dean whispered, pulling her into his chest as she continued to shake. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re out of there.”

Sam stood quietly, watching them. He could barely look at her, barely look at Dean. The weight of his failure—the fact that he hadn’t been there, hadn’t even tried to find them—was too much to bear. His heart sank as he watched Dean take care of Y/N, the realization that he had caused this all too real.

But there was nothing Sam could say. Nothing that would fix this. He had lost his chance.

Dean kept his arms wrapped around Y/N, whispering soothing words as she finally began to calm, her sobs dying down into quiet sniffles. Her body still shook, but it wasn’t from panic anymore. It was from the aftermath of everything she had been through. Everything they had both been through. Everything that Sam could have helped them out of, but didn’t.

The Impala’s engine hummed as it rolled down the empty road, the familiar sound a small comfort in the midst of everything that had just happened. The air inside the car was thick with tension, with so much unsaid between the three of them. Sam had been quiet since they left the house, his guilt weighing him down like an anchor, and Dean—Dean was focused on driving, his jaw set, his eyes straight ahead, trying to keep his mind from spiraling back to the mess they were all still tangled in.

Y/N had fallen asleep in the back seat, her head against the window, the weight of the past few hours—hell, the past few years—finally pulling her into a deep, much-needed sleep. The tension in her body had finally subsided, but her breathing was still uneven, a subtle reminder of how much she was still struggling.

Dean’s gaze flickered in the rearview mirror every few moments, checking on her, but he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure if she’d wake up crying, or if she’d wake up terrified again, caught between two worlds—between purgatory and the life she used to know.

Sam was quiet beside him, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes trained on the passing road but clearly lost in thought. The silence stretched on until it was almost unbearable.

Dean knew Sam was probably wrestling with guilt, but he wasn’t sure if Sam even knew how to begin the conversation. Dean didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about purgatory, or the things they had seen, or the horrors they had lived through. But Sam needed answers. He needed to understand what had happened to their sister while they had been trapped there.

Finally, Sam broke the silence, his voice low but filled with regret. “Dean... I—I don’t even know where to start. But... I need to know what happened to her. What you guys went through.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as his jaw clenched. He didn’t look at Sam—he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed to focus on the road, on anything but the memories that were clawing at him, threatening to pull him back into the nightmare.

But Sam needed to hear it. And as much as Dean wanted to protect her, as much as he didn’t want to relive the horrors of purgatory, he knew Sam needed to understand.

“Sam...” Dean’s voice was rough, the words caught in his throat. “You have no idea what it was like in there.”

Sam sat up straighter, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “I... I know I can’t understand. But I need to know what she went through. I need to know how bad it was for her. For both of you.”

Dean swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror again, looking at Y/N’s sleeping form, her face so peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever. He wasn’t sure how to explain it—how to put into words what he had witnessed, what he had felt during the hellish time they had spent in purgatory.

Dean exhaled slowly, his voice thick with emotion. “It was... it was brutal, man. Every damn day, it was a fight. Not just for us—for her.” He swallowed again, trying to get the words out without cracking. “She wasn’t... she wasn’t the same when we first got there. She was strong. She’s always been strong. But being there, being hunted by monsters and being trapped like that... it changed her.”

Sam shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to know.

Dean’s eyes stayed focused on the road as he spoke, his voice growing quieter as the weight of his words began to settle in his chest. “I had to take care of her, Sam. I had to watch her fall apart. Every day. It wasn’t just the monsters. It wasn’t just fighting for survival. It was what that place did to her.” He paused, his voice cracking just a little as he relived the memory. “She was scared, Sam. Absolutely terrified. I could see it in her eyes. I could feel it, like a constant pressure. It was like... like she was losing herself every damn day.”

Sam’s jaw tightened, the guilt eating at him with every word. “I had no idea... I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“No,” Dean said sharply, his voice almost a growl. “You didn’t. Because you weren’t there. We were. We fought our asses off every damn day just to stay alive, and I had to hold her together, Sam. I had to keep her from falling apart, from losing herself completely. And some days...” Dean’s voice faltered for a second, the weight of the memories pressing down on him. “Some days, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. If I could keep her with me.”

Sam stayed silent, his hands gripping the edge of the seat, his chest tightening with the brutal reality of what Dean was saying. He knew it hadn’t been easy for them—he had felt that when he first reunited with them. The distance between them, the look in Y/N’s eyes, the way Dean had kept his focus on her, protective and unyielding.

Dean took a shaky breath, glancing back at Y/N again. “There were days when... when she just couldn’t. When she couldn’t fight anymore. She’d... she’d just sit there, curled up, shaking like she was about to break in half. I don’t know if you can even imagine that, Sam. Watching her go through that. Watching her become some terrorized with no hope.”

Sam’s throat tightened, guilt flooding him as he tried to picture it. He couldn’t. It was too much. He had been so consumed by his own guilt, his own demons, that he hadn’t even considered how badly purgatory had affected his siblings. He hadn’t realized how much she had been suffering.

Dean shook his head, his voice softening as he continued. “It was the silence that did it. The constant, crushing silence. The emptiness of the place. And the monsters, the ones that never stopped hunting us. We didn’t have a moment’s peace. I don’t even know how we made it through.”

“You keep saying she was scared, but... what else? What did it do to her? How much of her did it take?” Sam’s voice cracked, his eyes searching his brother’s face for some kind of answer.

Dean swallowed hard, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror again, where Y/N’s pale face was pressed against the window, her body still trembling slightly in her sleep. “It took everything, Sam. Every part of her. Every day was like living in a nightmare that never ended. She started to shut down after a while, like... like she didn’t think she could survive anymore. I had to pull her out of it. But it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough. And that place—that place... it never let up. It broke her, Sam. It broke me too.”

Dean’s voice caught in his throat again, and for a moment, the car was silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the Impala as it rolled down the road.

“Purgatory’s not just a place, Sam. It’s a damn mindfuck. It gets into your head. It turns you into something you don’t even recognize anymore. You don’t know what it’s like to be constantly hunted. To never feel safe, to always wonder if you’re going to die that day.” Dean’s eyes were haunted now, his voice distant as he spoke, remembering those long, dark months. “I had to keep her close. I protected her with everything in me and it wasn’t even enough.”

Sam could hear the strain in Dean’s voice, the exhaustion that had never really left him. The weight of the responsibility. The fear.

“And now...” Dean’s voice softened again, almost to a whisper, “now she’s back, but she’s not the same. The things we went through, the things she went through... they’re with her. She’s not gonna be able to shake it off. You can’t just forget something like that. Her PTSD—it’s gonna be bad, Sam. She’s gonna be jumpy. She’s gonna be scared. She’s gonna feel like she’s still there. And I... I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know how to make her feel safe again because I know I barely feel safe.”

Sam’s heart broke as he absorbed the weight of his brother’s words. He had left them in purgatory. He had abandoned them, and now he was faced with the consequences of his failure. His siblings trauma was something they couldn’t fix alone, and Sam was going to have to help them. He had to make up for the time he had lost.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Sam said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I should’ve searched harder.”

Dean didn’t respond right away, his eyes focused on the road ahead. But after a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice tight, but filled with an unspoken promise. “Yeah you should have…” Dean trailed off, clenching his jaw. “We’ll figure it out, Sam. But it’s gonna take time. For all of us.”

And in the backseat, Y/N stirred slightly in her sleep, her breath still shaky but a little more even now, her body curled up tightly as if she was still trying to protect herself from the memories that haunted her. Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened and he focused his attention back to the road.

The hours passed, the road stretching out in front of them as they made their way towards the nearest motel. The car was quiet, save for the occasional sound of tires humming on the asphalt and the soft breath of Y/N as she slept in the back seat. Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror, checking on her every few minutes, but for the most part, his focus was on the road. His mind was still racing, replaying everything that had happened in the past few days, in the past few months, hell, the last few years. Every part of him was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. But it was the ache in his chest, the fear for his sister, that was the hardest to shake.

Sam had fallen quiet next to him, his eyes lost somewhere in the dark night outside the window, probably replaying their conversation from earlier. There was guilt in his posture—his slumped shoulders, the way his hands were tense on his knees, like he was trying to keep himself together. Dean didn’t know what to say to him anymore, not with the weight of their shared history, the things that had gone unsaid for so long.

The Impala’s engine purred on, the miles slipping away, but the tension in the car was almost suffocating. Dean didn’t want to think about purgatory anymore. He didn’t want to think about how it had broken Y/N. He just wanted to move on. But there was no moving on. Not yet. Not when the scars were still so fresh, when they were all so damn broken.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of a small motel on the outskirts of town. It was a place he had passed by countless times, a quiet spot that they had used more than once in the past. The neon sign flickered in the dark, casting an eerie glow over the place, but it was far enough away from the main road that they wouldn’t be disturbed. Dean turned to look at Sam, who was still sitting there, staring out the window.

“You good?” Dean asked, his voice flat but laced with an edge of concern.

Sam nodded slowly but didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

Dean didn’t press him. Instead, he pulled the keys out of the ignition and turned to the back seat, checking on Y/N. She hadn’t stirred since the car had stopped, but her breathing was still unsteady, a telltale sign that the trauma was still haunting her even in her sleep.Her head rested against the window, her face pale, her body curled into the seat like she was trying to protect herself from something that wasn’t there anymore.

Dean didn’t want to wake her. Not yet. He knew the toll purgatory had taken on her, and he didn’t want to rush her back into reality too quickly. He wanted her to rest, to feel safe, but part of him—part of him that was always on alert—was worried about what would happen if she woke up in the wrong moment.

Sam, however, didn’t see the concern in his brother’s eyes as he pulled himself from the car and moved toward the back of the Impala. Dean’s gaze flickered to him, his voice low and filled with warning.

“Sam, wait. Let her sleep. She—”

But Sam was already leaning into the backseat, his hand gently tapping Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, hey, we’re here.”

Dean’s eyes widened in alarm. He knew it was too soon. Too soon for Sam to try and wake her up like this. Her instincts, sharpened to a razor’s edge during their time in purgatory, would kick in. She wasn’t going to wake up slowly, not after everything she’d been through. But it was already too late.

Y/N's body jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her eyes snapping open in a split second, wide with terror. She immediately went rigid, every muscle in her body locking as her eyes darted around, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, confusion flooding her mind. The fleeting fragments of reality and nightmare twisted in her head. Purgatory had taught her to fight first, think later. The moment her gaze landed on Sam, it was like everything she had suffered, every monster she had fought, every split second of terror, came crashing back all at once.

“No!” Y/N screamed, her voice raw with panic and desperation. She didn’t recognize him, didn’t see Sam as her brother—only a threat, an enemy, someone to fight against. Her arm shot out before Sam could react, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him back with an unexpected force. She swung with wild, panicked energy, not knowing where she was or who she was fighting.

“Sam! Get back!” Dean shouted, but it was already too late. Y/N’s instincts had already kicked in, and her body was moving like a well-trained soldier, every movement a flashback to purgatory’s brutal reality.

Sam stumbled back, narrowly avoiding her fist as she lunged again, her face twisted in fear and anger. “Get off me! Get away!” she shouted, her words incoherent, her mind still trapped in the hellish cycle of survival. She wasn’t seeing Sam—she was seeing the monsters, the endless nightmarish beasts from purgatory that had hounded her every single day. The creatures that never stopped hunting her.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice cracked with urgency as he reached for her, trying to grab her arms. “It’s me! It’s Dean! You’re safe, okay? You’re safe now!” But his words barely cut through the fog of fear and confusion clouding her mind.

Y/N thrashed against his grip, her knees buckling beneath her as she dropped into a crouch, her hands clawing at the air like she was still trying to fight off something invisible. “No! No! They’re coming!” she screamed, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her whole body trembled as she curled into herself, rocking slightly as if trying to shield herself from an attack that wasn’t there.

Dean was trying to hold onto her, but she was so damn fast, her survival instincts too well-developed. “Y/N!” Dean’s voice broke, his hands desperately grabbing her wrists as he pulled her into his chest, his voice low and soothing, though his heart was pounding in his throat. “It’s okay. We’re not in purgatory anymore. You’re safe. It’s just me, okay?”

But Y/N wasn’t listening. Her chest was heaving as if she couldn’t catch her breath, her eyes wide, darting around the room as she continued to struggle in Dean’s arms. “No! No, please!” she sobbed, the sound tearing at Dean’s heart. “They’re here. They’re going to get me. Dean, we have to run. We can’t stay here. We can’t! They’ll find us—” Her voice cracked, desperate, pleading, as her eyes darted around, scanning the parking lot like she was expecting the next threat to come barreling toward them. But it wasn’t there. It was never going to come. Not in the real world. Not anymore.

Dean tightened his grip on her, holding her still, trying to calm her. “Shh, I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re not in that place anymore. It’s over. It’s over, baby.”

Y/N’s body trembled against his chest as she tried to push away from him, still disoriented, still lost in the trauma of what had happened. Her mind flashing with images of all the horrors she had endured there. Dean tried again to hold her, to ground her. He was strong—too strong for her to escape—and yet it felt like she was slipping through his fingers. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? You’re safe, Y/N. You’re with me. We’re safe.” His voice was tight with emotion as he held her close, trying to block out the terror that had overtaken her. “You’re home. You’re not there anymore.”

But Y/N’s body continued to tremble, her mind still fighting to keep her from the monsters that lived in the dark corners of her mind. Her fists shook, her nails digging into Dean’s shirt as she struggled to get away, her mind not yet fully realizing she was safe.

Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper as he stroked her hair, his hand gently pulling her back into him, keeping her close so she couldn’t hurt herself or anyone else. “It’s over, Y/N. You’re safe. You’re home. I won’t let anything happen to you. No one’s coming. It’s just me and Sam, alright?”

Then, a flicker of recognition.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Y/N froze, her body taut with tension.

Sam.

Sam was there.

She looked around with wild eyes until they locked onto the face in front of her. Sam, standing a few feet away, his face still full of shock and guilt, his body frozen in place. She stared at him, as if trying to make sense of something that had been lost.

For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The screaming, the terror, the fight for survival—all of it vanished in that single moment when she saw him. Sam.

Her mouth trembled as she breathed out his name, barely above a whisper. “Sammy?”

She blinked. Once, twice. The recognition was slow, but it hit her like a wave crashing over the shore. Sam. Sam was here. And if Sam was here... it could only mean one thing.

She wasn’t in purgatory anymore.

The realization hit her with such force that it almost knocked the breath out of her. She wasn’t surrounded by darkness, by monsters, by the endless fight. She wasn’t there anymore. She was... home. She was safe.

Sam wasn’t a shadow in the dark. He wasn’t one of the creatures that had hounded her every day. He wasn’t part of the nightmare. Her chest rose and fell with a jagged breath as her whole body went still.

“Sammy... you’re here.” Her voice was shaky, still wrapped in disbelief. Her eyes scanned his face, her mind still reeling, but it was there. That final piece of clarity.

Dean didn’t know if it was the fact that Sam was real, or if it was the way her body slowly began to relax against him, but the tension in Y/N’s form started to ebb. She was still trembling, still disoriented, but the fight was gone. Her mind had finally caught up to the present.

The grip of fear around her heart started to loosen.

Sam stood frozen, his body still, but his eyes softened when she called out for him and he understood. He saw that he was her pull to reality. That if he were around, it was her reminder that she was out. That she was safe.

"I’m here, Y/N." Sam said, his voice cracking, full of love and guilt. "I’m so sorry. I’m here now. You’re safe. I promise, sweetheart."

He took a step closer, hesitant, unsure if he should reach out, if he should even get too close. But he had to try. His voice trembled as he spoke again, his words coming in a rush of guilt, sorrow, and raw emotion. "I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I should’ve found you, I should’ve—"

But before he could finish, Y/N’s body moved with an almost primal urgency. Without thinking, she lunged forward, her hands reaching for him. And then, she was in his arms.

Sam barely had time to register it, his own arms wrapping around her as she buried her face in his chest. Y/N was shaking, her whole body convulsing with sobs, but she held on so tight, like if she let go, the nightmare would come crashing back. Sam held her just as fiercely, his own heart pounding as he whispered, over and over, "I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now."

For a long moment, there were no words. Just the sound of Y/N's breath ragged against Sam’s chest, her body shaking in his arms. Sam didn’t know what else to say. He had failed her, failed Dean and the weight of that failure hung heavy in the air between them. But for now, he could do this. He could hold her, let her know that he was there. That he was there for both of them.

"I’m so sorry.” Sam said again, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could’ve been there with you. I would’ve traded places with you in an instant. With both of you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there."

Y/N's hands clutched at him desperately, her voice muffled in his shirt as she finally spoke. "I—I don’t want to be angry at you. I can’t..." Her voice trailed off, as if she didn’t have the strength to hold on to that anger anymore. It was just too much. Too much fear, too much pain, too much everything.

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her, but she pushed it down. "Sam... I—" Her voice faltered, but she steadied herself. "I don’t have the strength to be angry anymore. I—I was terrified, Sam. Every second.... but I can’t hold onto this anger. I just—I can’t."

Sam’s eyes welled with tears as he pressed his forehead to hers, his voice breaking. "I’m so sorry, Y/N and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right. I’ll be here for you. For both of you. I promise."

Y/N’s arms tightened around him, and Sam felt a flicker of hope stir in his chest. He wasn’t sure if things would ever be the same between them, if they could ever get back what had been lost. But he would spend every damn day trying to make it right, trying to help her heal. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

"I forgive you," Y/N whispered, her voice so quiet, so raw.

Dean watched them, his arms crossed as he stood a few feet away, letting the siblings have their moment. His heart ached for all of you. The pain, the suffering—they had all been through too much. But seeing Y/N in Sam’s arms, finally finding some semblance of peace, that was something.

He could see it now. The crack in the wall, the first real sign that they could begin to heal.

Dean nodded to himself, taking a deep breath as he walked closer to them. "You hear that, Y/N?" His voice was soft, but the weight of it was clear. "We’re all in this together. Always. We’re not alone in this."

Y/N looked up at her brothers—at Sam, still holding her, and Dean, standing behind them, his eyes full of love and protection. She felt a weight lift from her chest, not completely, but enough to know that they had her.

She finally let out a shaky breath, the kind of breath that carried a small but meaningful relief. "Yeah," she whispered, a tremor still in her voice, but something else too—something fragile, but real. "Together."

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, it felt like it might just be enough.

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (19)

Word count: 4.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: A huge shoutout to all my wonderful readers! Your support and love keeps me going! <3

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You can’t kick 'em in the nuts and make a run for it?” The girl in the next cell asked.

“Not if you want to avoid getting beaten into a pulp,” you told her through a mouthful of bread and tomato. “There’s always a guard outside the door.”

“Kick 'em in the nuts, too.”

You snorted so hard, bits of tomato landed on the floor.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “There are fancy rooms upstairs with wardrobes full of fancy clothes that you have to wear and then they take you to other fancy places for men–”

“Sometimes it’s just the fancy rooms overhead. Men come here, too.”

“But they take you out, don’t they?” She argued. “Just go to a reception and tell the hostess, a waitress, anyone. I know you managed to run away once… so why not try again? If they let you out, it can’t be that hard!”

You swallowed the bite in your mouth and sighed. What did it matter if you told her the truth? Neither of you would make it out anyway. 

“They’ve kidnapped my half-brother and half-sister. Little kids, barely six… have them at gunpoint somewhere. I make one wrong move and they are dead.”

“Shit.”

You could picture her dumbstruck expression. After spending a week next to her, seeing her face while going in and out, you were starting to get a hang of her. You still didn’t know why you did it, take her turn every night. Eventually, they would drag her out, but for a week, the boss wasn’t in the building and no one seemed to push the inevitable and drag that girl’s stubborn ass out. 

And boy was she stubborn. She bit and clawed like a wild cat at the guards who tried to drag her. She got plenty beat up in the process, but everyone seemed to wait for the boss to get her in line when he came. 

“Don’t you worry,” she said. “My fiance is going to get us out.”

“Fiance?”

“Yeah. I bet he’s worried out of his mind right now. But there’s police. They’ll find us.”

“The police are in on this,” you said. “They get serviced for their quiet.”

She spat, then screamed in frustration.

Footsteps echoed off the walls, and blood froze in your veins. You recognised the hard tap and unforgiving rhythm of his steps. The boss.

“Go to your bed and pretend to sleep,” you hissed, discarding the sandwich in your hand and doing the same. 

“W-what?”

“Just do it.”

Covering yourself entirely with the blanket, you rolled into a ball, as if that would make you invisible, teleport you out of the horror story you were about witness. Since staring at the glass wall in his cabin for the first time, you had prayed for yourself. The pastor in the church your aunt dragged you to every Sunday preached that one should only pray for the world and not for oneself… because praying for oneself was selfish. If you prayed only for the world, that made you a good person, and God helped good people without having to ask for it.

You had never been particularly religious, but that one thing had stuck around. Subconsciously, all your life, you had never asked for yourself, not from God, the universe or even as a favour from people. If you wanted something, you had worked hard to earn it, and achieve it by sheer will and not divine intervention.

But that first night with the boss had made you pray for yourself over and over.

And you prayed now, in whispers that only remained in your breath, never making a sound. 

God, let him forget that I exist… Not tonight. Please please please.

The footsteps came to a halt, and the door next to yours opened.

You closed your eyes tighter. Oh, that poor girl. He had come for her at last.

“I hear you’ve been difficult.”

A spit.

“Michael,” he said in his cold, raspy voice. “Hand me my cane, now.”

“Yes, Boss,” said Michael, gleefully.

A slash in the air and a piercing scream sliced the air.

You shut your ears tightly as the scuffling began… but then it ended as suddenly as it had started when a loud, sickening crunch which sounded so close to the shared wall that you were certain it had happened against it.

A minute passed.

“Oh, what a terrible waste,” the boss sighed at last, almost delicately. “Remove it.”

The taps receded and then soon they carried her body by your cell, blood trailing behind her.

You sat up bolt in your bed, unable to keep the bile down as you emptied your stomach on the carpet next to the bed. Sam’s side of the carpet.

You plopped back on the bed, breathing heavily. 

“Just a dream,” you told yourself. “Just a dream.” Then, the reality came crashing down on you and you wanted to throw up all over again.

Abby’s quiet knock from the main door wrenched you out of bed and through the seating area. She didn’t have to see the vomit. Her face was pinched when you opened the door for her. She entered trepidly and placed the breakfast tray on the table. 

“Who’s in the house?” You asked

“Just us,” she said. “Mr Dean Winchester left last night itself.”

“And S-Sam? He’s out for his run?”

“Mr Winchester left for work.”

“It’s only 7.”

She gave you an apprehensive look, as if she wanted to say something but was scared of how you would perceive it.

“What is it, Abby?”

“Miss, he’s in a right state, that man. Before you came, he used to be so dry and detached… but this past month, since you first locked yourself in your room, he’s gone from pillar to post for you. Sleep, food, everything be damned. The only thing he has done is worry.” Her hand fluttered nervously to her side. “He stumbled down the steps this morning from exhaustion and still went for his run anyway. I think he needs to see a doctor.”

Abby didn’t know what had conspired last night.

“I don’t know the deal with his brother being back now,” she said, wrangling the corner of her apron. “But everyone knows they don’t get along. It can’t be good for him.”

Sam had looked exhausted last evening. The dark circles under his eyes, the once-fitted shirt that hung loose on his shoulders, and the ever-present frown on his forehead had become more and more etched now. 

“Abby, tell me when Sam is back, will you?”

You sent her away and cleaned up your mess in the bedroom. A hot shower further cleared your head. Taking stock of your time in the Winchester Mansion made you recount the number of times you had run out on Sam, locked yourself in the room, the number of secrets you had kept. So, he’d had his own secrets. You knew that. 

Then there was the fact that Sam had never explicitly said he hated his brother. In fact, he’d never spoken of him without pain mingled with love. His exact words- “We had a fight and I couldn’t see his face after that.” Couldn’t…. Not ‘Didn’t want.’ Nowhere had his words implied that Sam’s consent was considered.

The day appeared stormy, with an overcast sky. Maybe the light of the lantern would carry, perhaps it wouldn’t. You set it on the sill anyway.

Dean found you at the pier an hour later, when you had nearly given up hope. He stood at his usual spot but did not sit beside you and you noticed he was dressed differently; no jacket today, just a black T-shirt and jeans.

Slowly, you tilted your face upwards to meet his sharp green eyes. How often had you wondered what Dean Winchester would be like? Bitter? Angry? But Han wasn’t any of those things.

“Get up!” He ordered, without an ounce of remorse. You got to your feet.

“This way,” he pointed and began to walk towards the jungle without a preamble.

A frisson of annoyance ran through you. Where was his abashedness?

“Sam didn’t know,” he said briskly. “That you knew me. That we knew each other. That poor bastard had no damn clue.”

“You want me to believe you’ve been hiding out in these woods without Sam knowing?”

“Yes.” He came to an abrupt stop and you realised Dean was dead serious. “That kid’s as straight-jacketed as they come. Keeping up the charade nearly did a number on his head, and then you came into the picture. Sam’s nearly lost his goddamned mind over you.”

“He told you that?”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “Haven’t you been listening to a single word? I haven’t seen Sam in months, not since the fight. But he’s my only family left. I had to keep an eye on the kid.”

The trees were too damn thick for any sunlight to trickle down. Dean started walking again and you followed.

“What was the fight about, then?” You pressed, refusing to believe.

“You,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Two years before I came into the picture? Yeah, right.”

Dean tilted his head, weighing his words. “About the idea of you, I guess.”

“Wow, that clears it all up, doesn’t it?” You laughed sarcastically.

He stayed quiet for so long that you actually paid attention to your surroundings, finding the trail vaguely familiar in the thick trees.

“We were to be married in eight weeks,” he said, voice deep and achingly sad. “She’d come to drop off pie for me. Sam says he insisted on dropping her back, but I knew my Jo. She was stubborn that one. If she wanted to drive herself, nothing Sam said would’ve changed her mind. Nothing. Ellen called three hours later asking for her. We searched all night long, all through the woods, all the way two towns over. Nothing. Sniffer dogs couldn’t catch a trail. The police found her car two days later in New Mexico… and her body two weeks later face down in the lake.”

You wanted to reach out, say something… anything, but words failed.

“She hadn’t drowned, Y/N. She’d already been dead when they threw her in there. Post-mortem said haemorrhage… blunt force trauma to the back of her head, ligature marks, bruises…” He closed his eyes unable to continue. 

You knew bits and parts of what followed– Dean’s self-destructive tendency and Sam’s unwavering support. The latter won.

“Sam still thinks he’s to blame. That he should have somehow foreseen it. I know Ellen doesn’t disagree with him or shy away from throwing it in his face.” A mirthless scoff.

“I think the bigger part of her anger is because of what Sam did to you… and me.” You said. “Or rather, what she thinks he did to you and me.”

Dean sighed. “I owe Sam a lot more than my life, a sorry and a thank you. This whole plan hinges on his resilience.”

“What plan?”

He ran a hand through his hair, but his pace slowed down. “The detective working this case, Jody Mills… she’s suspected a human trafficking ring here for years. Every few years someone goes missing or a body mysteriously appears. But this thing has its claws in so deep that we can’t trust the entire PD.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

He glanced at you briefly, and you saw the ever-present kindness there. “You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve figured out a bunch of this yourself.”

Nodding to yourself, you thought out loud. “Sam wasn’t keeping me around for sex, didn’t want to hang me as bait for kidnapping, so obviously he wants information about where I was but…” You vividly remembered the night when he’d held your bloody hand and then all but shushed your barrage when you had tried to spill it all in a haze. “He stopped me from telling him… He didn’t want to hear any of it.”

Dean chuckled. A sudden light sound in the pressing quiet. “And I just called you smart.”

“What?”

“For all your God-forsaken angst over loving Sam… Have you not considered him liking you back?” Dean narrowed his eyes as if he was judging your intelligence. “Obviously it’s hard for him to listen to what you’ve been through. Hell, I’ve choked back on what little you’ve told me. Why are you being so thick?”

Tears sprang in your eyes. 

He placed a gentle hand against your cheek. 

“Give yourself some credit, Y/N. As stupid as you’re being right now, how can you question your own judgement of Sam so easily? You took your time forming your opinion, didn’t you? So consider all proof objectively. He was on board with the plan from day one knowing it would wreck his reputation if I disappeared after transferring my inheritance to him, knowing he’d have to make himself a villain… all for Jo. The kid didn’t bat an eye before agreeing. What led to the fight was the very last step of the plan. After infiltrating the system, he’d have to be one of them and well…”

“Buy a girl,” you finished.

“Yes,” said Dean. The word hung heavy in the air. “Sam refused to do it at first, but it was the only way. It’s killed him since day one, Y/N. And yesterday when you said he’s no better than any of those men who hurt you…”

The tears now freely flowed down your cheek and right into Dean’s palm. He slowly directed your face into his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around you.

“Oh, what have I done?” You whispered into his jacket. 

Sam had banged hard on your door last night and you never gave him a chance to explain. Not a single word. If you truly loved him, how come the trust was broken this easily? And when you refused to speak, he’d respected your consent then, too.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you said. “I should’ve trusted him, trusted you. After all, you never coaxed anything from me. I–”

A thousand memories ran through your mind: Sam’s fingers holding up your corset, touching his hand for the first time in the entrance hall before, his laugh after the false escape from dinner. Sam handing you a portfolio, Sam showing you around the old guesthouse, his fingers slipping on your wet shirt in the barn, laughing with him on the floor of your bedroom, his voice as he read out poetry… and his lips when they met yours.

“Sam took to playing chess in high school,” said Dean as you moved back. “I don’t think he ever got too good at it, but he used to come back rambling about all these moves, the King's Gambit, the Scandanavian, the Sicilian. He didn’t have anyone to play against, so I learned the basics to humour him and we played every night before bed.”

He’d started walking again and you kept pace this time.

“So there we are one night, recreating some classic game from half a century ago and I played a different piece and well, what do you know, my king ended up in a position from where he couldn’t move. Thought I’d lost because that was the only square my King was safe in. But then Sam said that’s not what it was. I couldn’t be forced to move my King to a checked square, but it wasn’t currently checked. A stalemate is what it was. That’s where we are at, Y/N.”

“A stalemate?”

“Yes. We know pieces of information, but not the ones that actually matter. It’s our move next, but every square is checked, Y/N. We need to know.”

The dim lights of the dungeon came back to you and oddly the crack of the skull. “The operation is not local, definitely crosses state lines. The building where they kept me is somewhere along New Mexico's border. It’s a huge glass building, seven stories high. I don’t know exactly where but from the se…” you gulped. “From the seventh floor, I could see a tall red tower with blinking lights. They blinked all the time… like passing seconds… but slower than s- seconds. The boss sits on the seventh floor.”

“The boss?”

“I-I don’t know his name. No one does. They only call him ‘the boss.”

“This is good, Y/N,” Dean said eagerly. “What does he look like? How does he find these girls? How does he keep them?”

“He… He looks like any other white man, in his 50’s, maybe early 60’s but his eyes, he has the coldest gray eyes and his laugh...” You stopped, collecting your thoughts. “You already know how he gets the girls. Men as scouts, pretending to be friends or lovers, finding vulnerable girls with little in the way of family. Me… Rosalie. About keeping them, there are two ways. One is standard, get them hooked to heroin. Once you have that, they’ll do anything to get the next fix. But those girls don’t make much money, yeah? They aren’t polished. I was the second kind, for the richer clientele that don’t like the smell of drugs and want the girls alive and kicking. For them, guess, it’s easier to blackmail by holding a loved one hostage. Rosalie only had a mother and I only had Jamie and Danny.”

You told him about how your siblings were held hostage somewhere, and how you stayed in line just to protect them.

“There’s very little we wouldn’t do to protect them, wouldn’t we?”

Dean nodded, then came to a halt and you noticed with some surprise that you were standing in front of the wishing well. 

His fingers grazed the parapet's tally marks, and you voiced a long-lost curiosity. “Why do you have one extra?”

“That dumbass brought you here, didn’t he?” Dean snorted. “So much for our secret place.” But he didn’t seem to hold any grudge over it. “Dad brought me here right before Sam was born. Told me this was a magic well, so I needed to make a wish about what I wanted… a sister or a brother.”

“What did you ask for?”

“You see the extra mark there, don’t you?” He winked. “After the fire, I used to run out a lot, trying to find the well again. Wish my dead parents back, you know? Finally found it when I was twelve and Sam was eight. ”

“Seems like you’ve kept pace since with the tallys.”

Dean winked as if there was a secret to it, but didn’t share it with you.

“Come on, make a wish then,” he said.

“One is already due. I don’t want to burden the well.” You sighed. “Look, Dean. I’ll help you with whatever you want. I can draw plans of the building, and the street layout I could see from the seventh floor. Tell you the number of guards, the shifts, even the names of some of the clients, but I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to my brother and sister.”

“I promise.” 

The walk back should have seemed like an interrogation, except Dean held your hand as you described more of the place, the people, the process… the boss.

“I told you already, I don’t know his name,” you burst out when he questioned a third time. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did he… Did he hurt you? This boss?”

You laughed. One short, shaky laugh. “He had a wall full of these instruments… silver, gleaming and so cold.” Then there was the glass wall.

“Oh, that son of a bitch.”

“I wonder why you think Jo was involved in this,” you said, more to change the subject that anything else. “I mean she didn’t exactly fit the pattern.” Full family, doting boyfriend, well-to-do. Blitz kidnapping didn’t seem likely. The boss had to have had something on her.

“No, she didn’t fit the pattern and for a long time, we didn’t suspect her to have been in this.”

“How come?”

Dean’s voice reduced to barely above a whisper. “No obvious signs of… sexual assault in the postmortem report.” And despite the tragedy of it, Dean almost sounded relieved. He pulled out an old wallet from his back pocket and gazed at a picture inside lovingly. “I don’t know, Y/N, it makes me feel like an asshole but knowing that maybe she might have escaped the worst of it… God, I think it kept me from throwing myself off a damn cliff.”

“Oh, Dean!” You closed the distance in-between to hug him. “I bet she–” you gasped. The wallet hung loosely in his grasp and you glimpsed the picture behind the plastic. 

You grabbed the wallet and held it up. “That… That’s Jo? Your Jo?”

He took you by your shoulders. “You knew her?”

“Oh my God!” All the hurt and anger and fear came crashing down on you as you collapsed to the green earth of the side lawn. Over the years she had gone from being the girl in the next cell, to the girl with brown eyes, to the girl in your nightmares and eventually… the only thing you were proud of.

“She’s… she used to be the girl in the next cell. I knew her.”

“Who did this to her?” Dean asked, voice so sharp, it didn’t even sound his.

“The Boss did,” you whispered. “I think it might have been an accident. I only heard the scuffle and then the crack of her skull. It was quick. She didn’t suffer much.”

There was a sharp intake of breath over you and you didn’t dare look up.

“Dean, you should know, the girls there… eventually choose to stay there. I know I did. Once you stop with the kicking and screaming, it gets a little easier. The bad days are lesser and most clients don’t treat you like complete trash. There’s food on your plate at night and poor orphan girls have a bed to sleep in when they comply… they…. we stop fighting. Because there is no relief to fight for, no home to go to and no one who could protect us. But your Jo, she never stopped. I bet she took a few teeth out of that one guard, too.”

“Did they… did anyone ever…?” He could not spit the entire sentence out and you saw the courage it took to finally confront that question.

You looked straight in his tear-stained tortured eyes. “No one hurt her that way. I… I took her turns for the week she was there. I still don’t know why I did it. I’m not a charitable person, and it was hell that week, but something about her faith in her fiance reminded me of, well, me… before I found out how I got there. I wanted to protect her faith just a little longer. So, no Dean, no one touched her that way. And you should also know, she died like she lived, fighting and believing in your love for her.”

Dean hugged you and broke down. “Thank you… Thank you for doing that for my Jo,” he blubbered. “You’re… You’re like an angel. Sam said that you know… yesterday he said that he thought you were some kind of an angel when he first saw you dressed in white. Wasn’t wrong.”

And you broke down with Dean. The night had descended upon you, as you both held each other in the darkness and just cried. 

Much later, locked in the dining room, you drew the floor plans of the building from your memory, a map of the road and the way to the bus stop that you could remember, the names of the guards, physical descriptions, names of the girls, anything and everything you could think of. The maids all gave you curious looks. Getting along with a brother-in-law would be normal for most families, but an estranged brother-in-law who you had never supposedly met? Knowing the history they knew, that had to look shady.

As it turned out, Dean had been alternating between living in the Guest house in Sam’s room and a cabin further north that not many people knew of in the estate. He knew ways to sneak in and out better than almost anyone. Hired security was never too big a problem for him. He was to set out first thing tomorrow morning to see how he could use your intel.

“You know my roommate Carmen,” you said at the door when he was about to leave. “She might have been the only one to care for me back then. I fought with her the night before. If you can do one thing for me, find her and tell her she was right and I am so very sorry.”

“Of course.” Dean stepped up and kissed your forehead. “And Y/N, I’m going to get that bastard. Not just for what he did to Jo, but also for what he did to you. You said you didn’t fight after a while because you didn’t have a home, a family. Now you do. Remember that.”

You watched Dean head out. He would be gone before you woke up tomorrow, but you felt lighter than you had in years, like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. Upstairs, you found Abby in her room.

She stood up the moment she saw you. “Miss, is everything alright?”

“Yes, Abby. I was wondering if you knew when Sam would be back?”

“He was home earlier this evening but didn’t stay long. I believe he left for Colorado.”

Hurt. “Did he say anything about when he would return?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“No, Miss.”

“Did he say anything at all?”

The pitying shake of her head was enough for you to turn around and return to your room. What if you had hurt Sam beyond fixing this time? Abby had been correct, he looked fragile, not just physically, but something about the fragmented look in his eyes, as if one blow could shatter him. What if your hurtful words and vitriolic accusation finally pushed him to the edge? How much bullshit could one man take after all?

You had stepped into this house thinking you would be used, and it was the most horrid feeling in the world. What if Sam thought the same now? That you had used him… used his home, his wealth, and his empathy. Hell, you had used his body, too! 

No, you didn’t pray for yourself much. But in that moment you did- God, please give me one chance to apologise. Please.

*****************************

A/N 2: So turns out I was tagging all wrong :/ Ana is feeling sad about that. Hopefully, it will work this time.

Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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@sammedeansandwhich @trexrambling @strawberryycoww @joseyrw @lacilou

@giggles1029 @perpetuallyoverwhelmed @borhapparker @wafflezo @sammysgirl

@goodbyemilkyway @winnifredburkleismyhero @impalaspixie @edwardsfangirl1712 @fandomoniumflurry

@pbandjelly @sammysgirl1997 @aloneatpeace @spnexploration @sojuxxi

@vickyfarley @esoltis280 @mayafatimakhan

[tothewheel]

fic recs

aka, i read too much fic and need to share my favorites

gorging myself on you, still can't get enough (insatiable) - sobsicles

i love this so much. casual confessions from dean. insanely horny and conflicted cas. grocery store confessions <3

rating: M

how we're stuck in entropy - shineforthee

unfinished as of now, but worth it imo. sam makes a deal for cas' life and dean has to grapple with grief and mourning. amazing commentary on grief and dean's mindset, and great destiel

rating: E

don't stop, don't slow - hedderstheowl

trans cas and cas being so surprised by how good sex is with someone he loves

rating: E

love's such an old fashioned word. - hedderstheowl

same author as above bc i cant get enough of their fics. i LOVED this concept and characterization of cas. cas gets revived but doesnt believe hes out of the empty, and treats the world around him accordingly.

rating: E

ignite your bones - ilovehowyouletmefall

such powerful storytelling and writing. loved this front to cover. dean kills sam to get the world back- the remaining of tfw 2.0 grapple with the after effects. dean deals with grief, homophobia, and cas' confession.

rating: E

this whole trilogy but namely sam winchester, ally at law - alittleduck, amidsizedfrog

sam wants to be an ally soooo bad but dean refuses to be an acceptable queer. love this characterization so much

rating: T

the cheapest room in the house - biggaybenny

dean downloads grindr for cas to meet guys and gets jealous when cas talks to guys. angst with a happy ending

rating: E

psalm 40:2 - unicornpoe

cas time travels to meet dean pre-hell. pre and early seasons dean my beloved <3

rating: E

benedictions - kalmialatifolia

priest cas and writer dean. unfinished but i think about this fic at least 3x a week. if you enjoy fleabag, youll enjoy this fic. if you enjoy priest porn, youll enjoy this fic. cannot recommend this enough

rating: E

everyone knows the year doesnt stop until april- fleeceframe

first of all, go check out this author right now i love ALL their fics, but this one stuck with me. early seasons destiel. cas has so much love he doesnt know what to do with it. case fic

rating: M

gold in the edges of our vision - sewingnatural

i fucking love this so much. absolutely amazing religious imagery and symbolism. dean and cas share peaches on a roadtrip and are in love about it. fic that convinced me to go on a roadtrip this summer

rating: T

juxtaposition - rhinestoneangels

this fic is short and amazing. interesting prose, dean in hell, religious imagery. mwah love it

rating: G

where the heart is - goldenraeofsun

claire fic of all time if i do say so myself. claire time travels to s7 and hunts with dean before making her way home. i adore this one so much

rating: M

here, bullet, here - a_good_soldier

dean and his relationship with violence. contains pre series dean and post-canon destiel. named from a poem, this one hits you right in the heart

rating: T

use cinderblocks to build a stairway - pollutedstar

dean, sex work, ptsd, and self worth. heed the tags!! heavy fic but thoroughly enjoyable

rating: M

the soul burns brighter than the sun - wow_thisiswheremylifeis

post-canon fix it. cas escapes the empty and effectively breaks it, while telling everyone but dean that hes alive. they grapple with their relationship and fixing the empty. love it!!!

rating: E

let's take a drive - sobsicles

another sobsicles fic because theyre all 10s. jack reverts to baby age, cas is protective, dean and cas have a complicated relationship. amazing fic with amazing feels. best tag ever: maybe we're all a little scared and that's okay

rating: E

the eye is a mouth. - zeke21

dean, sex work, god, a study on the relationship between all three. fucking amazing fic, really nailed chuck's presence in this. go check out this authors other works too, they're all mind blowing

rating: E

asterism of an f-series ford pick up - disabled_dean

altered my brain chemistry a little bit i think. cas and dean go on a roadtrip and dean is exceptionally horny about it. dean is not normal about love and thats okay

rating: M

maybe i like pleasure pain - tothewillofthepeople

another one that wrecked me entirely. one of the best cas centric fics out there, this fic focuses on cas' recovery post-empty. lovely dialogue and imagery, just amazing all around

rating: M

wyoming, january 1996 - luulapants

THEE dean 17th birthday case. fucking amazing storytelling, takes johns journal entry and runs with it.

rating: T

between sex and death and trying to keep the kitchen clean - ftmsteverogers

jupernatural, kid jack, post-canon fix it with empty confession misunderstanding <3 love it so much, this author is so talented :)

rating: E

[imagineteamfreewill]

From the Dead - Five

Pairing: Soldier!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Hearing loss, pregnancy, nervousness, nausea, mentions of PTSD, and fluff

Summary: Dean Winchester died as a war hero during his third tour overseas. He left Y/N behind, and she decides that she needs a change. She leaves Lawrence to work at Camp New Moon, where a mysterious visitor shows up almost five years after Dean first left for his tour.

A/N: This is the final part of the “From the Dead” series. As always, thank you for supporting me whether I’m writing Supernatural or Marvel, both here and on other websites. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

From the Dead Series Masterlist

The months practically fly by after Dean receives his hearing aid. As part of his therapy, he creates a list of things he wants to do now that he’s back in the States, some of which you’ve never done together. One by one, you check things off the list. You spend sunsets—and a few sunrises—snuggled up on the beach by the lake, and when the fall hits, you and Dean are able to get away for a few weekends for hikes in a nearby state park. It’s on those nights at the lake and in the cabins you rent at the parks that Dean talks to you more about his tour. He can’t tell you all the details, especially since Sam is still advising you on whether or not to sue for everything you’d been put through, but he talks to you about his life in the village. Sometimes you lay together in bed as he talks, and other times you sit facing him so you can read his expressions. Sometimes he cries. You do too. It’s cathartic for both of you.

When winter descends on the South, you take him to Atlanta for some of the Christmas festivities. You go to a concert, go on a fancy date at an even fancier restaurant, and walk hand in hand while you look at Christmas lights. His family drives down for the holidays, and you put them up in a few of the empty staff cabins. Mary tells you one morning while you’re watching the sun rise over the lake that she understands why you’d want to stay at New Moon. It’s one of the best Christmas gifts you get.

Dean surprises you with trips to the zoo, aquarium, and museums. He takes you shopping, compliments you with every new thing you tried on, and he carries your bags. He cooks you elaborate meals and brings you picnic lunches. You’re pretty sure that he and Meg text because he always seems to show up for lunch on the days where you need his company the most.

Life is sublime, even on the rough nights when you sleep very little. Dean’s nightmares wake you up on occasion, but you don’t mind. He shows you his love in a thousand little ways, and lying with him and comforting him is one of the few ways that you do the same. You both lay on your sides, facing each other, and you murmur reassurances in the dim light from the bedside lamp. You’ve gotten used to sleeping with it on, especially now since you found out that the darkness is something that worsens his PTSD.

Some nights, you stay up late worrying about the girls. Others you spend sitting up with them or talking with them when they need support, or intervention. Oftentimes, on those nights, you walk back to your cottage in the dark, following the path with just an old plastic flashlight to guide you. Your phone is usually dead and you’re always bone-tired, but without fail, you open the door to find Dean waiting up for you on the couch. He has the TV playing low in the background, and if you haven’t eaten dinner, he has a plate of food ready to be reheated for you. He listens when he can, too. You tell him whatever isn’t confidential, and he listens in silence with a hand on your leg as you curl up to him on the couch, or he holds you close as you lay together in bed, just like when you listen to him talk about his time overseas.

It’s on one of these nights in early March when you’re curled up together, sometime just past midnight, that you realize you’ve been home late almost every day this week and that Dean had been alone almost all day, every day. Your thoughts roam back to the first dinner you’d had with his family since his return. He’d thrived in the living room bustling with people he loved, and he’d lit up any time he’d interacted with his niece and nephew. You haven’t seen that exact look on his face since.

“Dean?” you murmur. He doesn’t answer right away, but he keeps stroking your hair, so you carefully turn your head on his thigh to look up at him. He took his hearing aid out an hour ago, which meant he probably just hasn’t heard you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Do you… Do you still want kids? We haven’t talked about it since you got back, but before your deployment…”

He hums thoughtfully and sits up a little more on the sofa. You sit up when he moves, pulling your legs in and propping yourself up with one arm on the top of the back cushions. He keeps looking at the TV, but you can tell that he really isn’t watching it. The show is something pedantic—a black-and-white sitcom from the 60s that only comes on during late-night television. It’s one of a few that are on rotation during your late night talks, and you know enough from the subtitles that you’ve seen this episode at least three times.

“Did you hear me?” you ask, reaching out to gently touch his arm with your fingertips.

Dean nods. His eyes still stay focused forward. “I heard you. I’m just… thinking.” He turns to look at you after a second. The furrow between his eyebrows is pronounced, and his lips purse ever so slightly as he searches your face. “Why? Are you—?” He glances down at your stomach, just for a split second.

Quickly, you shake your head and scoot closer on the couch so that your calf is pressed up against the side of his thigh. You reach out and grab both of his hands in yours. He turns slightly more towards you, and his thumb drifts over your knuckles as you answer,

“No. No, I’m not pregnant. I just…” You trail off and look down at your joined hands, trying to put thoughts to your words. Finally, you sigh and look back up at him, squeezing his hands. “When we were at your parents’ house, with Sam and Jess and their kids, you seemed really happy.”

“Those little guys are awesome,” Dean replies, chuckling lightly. The worried crinkle between his eyebrows relaxes at the memory. “I had no idea how much I’d really missed them until we got there. The videos you’d shown me on your phone weren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

“It wasn’t just that. It was the way you cuddled and played with Jacob, and the way you held Ella and talked to her. You love them.”

“Of course I love them, Y/N, they’re my niece and nephew.”

His voice is patient as he gives you the reminder, and though you know that he isn’t trying to make you feel bad, you still find yourself searching for the right words to get your point across. You’re exhausted, and your thoughts are already scattered.

Maybe I shouldn’t have even brought it up, you think.

Nonetheless, you nod and squeeze his hands again. “I know. I just… It reminded me of all those conversations we had before you left, you know? And I see the way you look at babies and little kids whenever we’re in town. Anyone could tell that you want a kid of your own.” You pause and shake your head a little. “I don’t know, it’s late. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. If it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen, right? I mean, if that’s what you want.”

Releasing him, you rub your face with one hand and stand from the couch. He looks up at you, watching in silence as you gather your dinner dishes, along with the mug he’d been drinking from when you got home. Your stomach twists as you move, and though you hope he’ll speak up and put you out of your misery by giving you some kind of response, Dean says nothing.

“I should shower,” you tell him. The lights in most of the cottage living area are off already, and the light from the TV casts strange shadows over him and the couch. It’s enough light for you to see Dean already looking away from you, staring at the long wooden coffee table you’d bought from a thrift store shortly after starting at the camp.

As you pass by, however, he scoots forward on the couch and reaches out. His arm blocks your path and his hands rest on your opposite hip, holding you in place. Your heart skips a beat.

“I do want kids,” Dean admits, quieter than before. He holds your gaze. Though the room is dark, the hesitance in his expression is clear.

Has he been thinking about this too?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, dishes still in hand as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, so you set the dishes on the side table to his right and take matters into your own hands.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s shoulders slump and he nods. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? Why didn’t you want to bring it up?”

Carefully, you lower yourself to sit on his thigh with your back resting against the arm of the couch. You drape your legs over his lap. Dean reaches his arm behind you and holds your hip to help you keep your balance on his legs, and almost immediately his thumb is rubbing small arcs on your side, back and forth at a steady tempo. His other hand rests on your thighs. It’s warm over your legs, and you can feel his body heat even more where your shirt has come untucked, revealing the bare skin on your side where his thumb has found purchase. He’s almost too warm to be this close to him, but you can’t bear to complain, not after so many painful years apart. You rest one arm over his shoulders, and with the other you cup his cheek, turning his face so you can look at him properly.

“I was nervous that you’d changed your mind,” he admits. The low sound of the TV almost drowns him out, so much so that if you were any farther away, you’d be straining to hear him. “It’s been so long since we talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if that was still what you wanted.”

His next words go unspoken: with me. Dean has never expressed it outright, but you know that he still sometimes feels insecure about wearing his hearing aid and his struggle with PTSD from everything that happened overseas. You’ve joined him for several video sessions with his therapist, and you know that they’re working on strategies to deal with both of those things. You try not to interfere or give your opinions on his recovery—he needs a wife and a partner, not a second therapist—but you support him in every way you can without overstepping. You never want him to feel alone because of what he’s been through.

You lean in to kiss him on the cheek opposite your hand, and you smile gently as you say, “I love you, Dean. It’s still what I want, but even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change things between us, at least not on my end. You’re still my main man, no matter what. Kids have never been the endgame. It’s always just been you.”

The lines on Dean’s face relax, smoothing out to reveal the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re just starting to reappear now that the winter is fading and he can comfortably spend more time outside. Your stomach untwists as he smiles back at you. He shifts the hand on your hip and squeezes it just a little.

“I love you too, Y/N. No matter what.”

Dean kisses you on the lips, and it’s long, slow, and sweet. He’s warm against you. You’re bone-tired, but you close your eyes and kiss back, soaking up his warmth and the feel of being in his arms after a long day at work. It’s heavenly. You never would have predicted this moment a year ago. If someone had told you that Dean wasn’t dead and that he’d find you at New Moon, and that you’d be having a conversation at one in the morning about having kids, you would’ve thought they were crazy. Now, however, you’re just grateful.

After a few moments, Dean eases his arm under your legs instead of resting it over them, then stands. He carries you to the bedroom and you relax in his arms, keeping your eyes closed for the short walk. When he sets you down on the edge of the bed, you open your eyes to look up at him. You brace your hands on the mattress behind you to keep from toppling backwards as the memory foam dips under your weight.

“I don’t want to stress about this,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help anything. If it happens, it happens.”

He nods in agreement, then yawns. You chuckle and sit up a little more so you can stand without fighting against the mattress. Dean always complains that it’s too soft, but you like the way you can sink into it after a long day. 

“Get to bed, soldier,” you order, patting his arm. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

A month ago, Dean had decided he was ready to get back to work. You’d offered to put him on the payroll at camp as a maintenance worker or groundsperson, but he’d opted for an online position, at least for the time being. It’s a dull job compared to his work with the military. Secretly, you’re thankful that he’s chosen a safe route and that he’s feeling well enough to get back to work, but you also worry a little. For as long as you’ve known him, Dean’s been a hands-on type of person. He likes to build and fix and create. His therapy appointments are virtual too, which means that he spends most of the day cooped up in the cottage, sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch in front of a laptop. Not only is it not the healthiest thing for him physically, you know that he pushes himself to work harder than anybody should, simply because the job seems so much easier than what he used to do. Plus, being that he’s home most of the day, he’s taken on most of the cottage upkeep, cooking, and shopping so that you can spend as much time together as possible whenever you are home. You don’t mind that as much, but it does make you feel a little guilty.

“I’ll wait for you to be out of the shower,” he replies, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You’ve waited up long enough for me, De. You need to sleep—you’ve been burning the candle at both ends just so you can see me in the morning and at night, and I’m starting to get worried. You were falling asleep during your meeting the other day when I came home for lunch, remember?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around his waist, reaching up until your hands press against the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Your cheek presses up against his chest and you close your eyes again. He returns your embrace, and after several long moments, you feel his body relax against yours. 

I could go to sleep right here, you think with a tiny smile.

“Come on,” you say as you finally pull away, then pat him on the chest with one hand. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Get the bed warm for me.”

He nods in agreement, and you step away. You hurry to get your pajamas from the dresser before heading into the bathroom. Dean had changed long before you’d gotten home, as he always did on late nights like these. You need to shower, but you know Dean would force himself to stay up until you’re ready to go to bed too, no matter how much you push him and try to coerce him to take care of himself first. You’re exhausted, too, and the thought of having to shower before you can crash isn’t appealing.

So, you forgo your normal shower and stick with simply washing your face and brushing your teeth after changing into the pajamas. You can shower in the morning, even though it means you’ll need to change the bedding sooner than usual. Though it isn’t quite as hot as it normally is this time of year, the humidity makes everything sticky, and you’ve spent most of the day outside. A thin layer of sweat coats your skin, making even your pajamas feel gross.

When you turn off the light and step out of the bathroom, Dean looks up from the book he’s grabbed from his nightstand. It’s a novel, if you remember correctly, but you’re not sure what about. The cover picture has a cactus on it. It’s probably another western—he’s been catching up on some of his favorite authors since Sam convinced him to get a library card in December.

“You didn’t shower,” he notes, clearing his throat and sitting himself up further against the headboard. He doesn’t fool you, however. You know that he’s been nodding off instead of actually reading the library book. He’s been on the same page the past three nights.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” you reply. You throw your clothes in the hamper against the wall. “I need to change the sheets anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

Dean hums and sets his book back in its place, then reaches over to pull the covers open for you. You climb into bed and wait until he’s dimmed the lamp beside his nightstand to cuddle up against him. The room grows darker once he does, and your eyes take a second to adjust, but you can still hear Dean’s dog tags clink as he shifts to get into a comfortable position with you at his side. You slip one arm over him, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes. To no surprise, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep. 

The next morning, Dean’s asleep when you wake up, which is a rarity. Despite the fact that you’re somehow still exhausted, you know that you need to get up before he does. If you doze until he’s awake too, he’ll want to get up and make you breakfast while you shower, meaning that he won’t get the rest he needs. His PTSD symptoms start rearing their ugly heads whenever he’s overtired, and you don’t want that for him.

Showering without waking Dean would be tricky, but after a few moments of lying in the dark, you find a solution. There’s a small bathroom attached to your personal office in the main camp building, and though you haven’t used it in a while, you know that it’s clean and that it still has your normal soap and shampoo. Before Dean, you spent most of your late nights sleeping on the futon in the office, then showering and dressing in the bathroom, rather than trekking all the way back to your cottage. You hadn’t had a reason to go all the way home back then, but now you do. The shower hasn’t been used in almost a year. This morning, however, it will come in handy.

As silently as possible, you roll out of bed and gather up the few toiletries you’ll need that aren’t already in the office bathroom. You pull on a pair of sweatpants over your pajamas, plus the faded Stanford hoodie you’d gotten in support of Sam shortly after marrying Dean. You grab a bag for the toiletries and a set of work clothes to change into after you shower, then shove your feet into a pair of sandals and slip out of the cottage to head towards the main cluster of buildings.

The sun is barely up. It casts an ethereal glow over the grassy field that separates your cottage from the rest of the camp. Dew dampens the path, and it makes wildflowers and the tips of grass blades glitter in the lingering sunrise. In the trees, birds sing and coo. The soft tap of your feet on the stones is the only other sound.

You pause to breathe in deeply, then exhale. Mornings at New Moon are special to you, especially after a long, stressful night. They remind you of why you stayed—every girl needs the peace and calm that the morning brings. They deserve it. You’ve certainly needed it many times yourself.

“You’re up early.”

You turn, already speaking as you meet Meg’s steady gaze. “I needed to shower, but I didn’t want to wake Dean. He’s been staying up late for me every night.”

She mutters something in acknowledgement, then tucks her phone in her jacket pocket as you close the distance to join her outside the only empty cabin, which she’s been checking for trespassers. It’s on the outskirts of the camp, and the four girls that had occupied it for most of last year transitioned to a more traditional foster home only last month. From what you’ve heard from their social worker, they’re on the path to reunification with their family.

Now that you’re closer, Meg’s giving you a strange, almost curious look, and you frown when she lifts her chin. Her eyes glitter with a secret. 

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” you say, “but do you know something I don’t?”

She chuckles and crosses her arms in front of her. Her lips press together in a smug smile. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Unsure of what she means, you start walking towards the office. Meg falls into step beside you, just as you knew she would. 

“Fine, I suppose,” you slowly reply. You’re careful to give vague answers, just in case she’s looking to start a tiff just for her own amusement. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering.”

A minute of silence passes as you walk together, and the path changes from stone to gravel. It crunches beneath your feet, and all around you, life begins to stir in the cabins as the girls wake and get ready for the day. They’ll be coming outside with their counselors and gathering outside the dining hall within an hour, which means time is running out if you want to shower and have time to mentally prepare for the day.

Meg holds the office door for you and you mutter your thanks, then head down the hall to your personal office. You’re just reaching the door when she calls your name from the lobby.

Turning, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. She stands near the receptionist desk, her hands at her sides, and for a second, a genuine smile flashes across her face. It’s quickly replaced with her usual nonchalant look, however, so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure that you’d seen it. You must be more tired than you’d thought.

“You should take a test,” Meg says.

You frown at her, confused, and set your bag of clothes and toiletries at your feet, against the wall. “A test?”

She nods, widening her eyes as she repeats, “A test, Y/N. You know, the tests you keep in the first aid closet? For those rare, special emergencies?”

For a moment, you just stare at her. There are very few emergencies that you handle at the camp. True, due to the nature of your job, you’re trained in a litany of thing, ranging from first aid and de-escalation to basic animal control and building maintenance, all of which is in addition to your psychology degrees and training, but the rest of the camp staff is so well-trained that rarely do situations ever become actual emergencies that you need to handle.

If you’re handling a first aid emergency, however, you do basic triage before an ambulance can arrive. You keep most of the supplies in your office, both in a cabinet and in a bag, but there are also small first aid kits in all the cabins, as well as in every building and down by the lake.

You shake your head, a little baffled by Meg’s strange behavior and comments. Neither one of you needs any kind of first aid right now, at least not that you’re aware of. Turning, you reach for the doorknob on your office door, but you stop as soon as your fingers graze the metal. It’s as if lightning has struck you, and you immediately straighten, dropping your hand back down to your side as you whirl to face her again.

“What?” you exclaim, shocked at her brazen assumption. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs and leans against the wall opposite the desk, her arms once again crossed. Her stare, as always, is unrelenting, but suddenly it makes your skin itch with anticipation. Does she know something about you that you don’t? You pride yourself on being self-aware, but is it possible that you’ve missed something?

“You’ve been nauseous on and off for almost two weeks now, and you’ve been moody. More than some of the girls, actually,” she huffs.

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms, almost a mirror image of her. “Really? Moody? That’s your argument for this, Meg?”

“Don’t hurry to prove me right,” she teases, and you quickly drop your arms again, heat rising in your cheeks. “You’ve been constantly complaining of being too hot and then too cold all week, too. Didn’t you say that was one of the things your mother-in-law complained about when she was pregnant with Dean?”

It was, and a strange feeling rises inside of you now that you remember the conversation you’d had with Meg about it. How she remembered such a detail from a random discussion you’d had almost months ago is beyond you, but it doesn’t matter. She’s put the thought in your head, and with it comes another reminder—your period hadn’t come last month, and you’ve been due for almost a week now. If it was coming, it would have been here already.

You inhale shakily and give her a terse nod.

“Right,” you say. You smooth your hands over your thighs, trying not to seem so blown away by her hypothesis. “Okay. Okay. I’m—” Shaking your head, you close your eyes and try to focus on the mental to-do list you’ve made for yourself. Then, after a second, you grab your bag from the floor. “I have to shower.”

Meg nods. “Shower,” she repeats. 

“I’ll see you later.”

She nods again, then turns on her heel and walks out of the building, leaving you standing in the hallway. You stay still for a second, listening to the front door open and close. Outside, Meg shouts at someone for standing on a bench, but the sound of her voice fades as she gets farther away from the building. Finally, you turn and open the door to your office, then quickly close it behind you.

You close your eyes and press one hand to your stomach, over the sweatshirt. It’s bulky over your pajamas. Logically, you know that if you are pregnant, the baby would still be too small to show, but it feels wrong not to feel for a baby bump now that it’s been suggested.

Not daring to get your hopes up just yet, you let your hand fall as you march to the locked metal cabinet in the corner of your office. It’s mounted to the wall and reaches almost to the ceiling, and the pregnancy tests are at the back of the top shelf. You don’t use them often, considering that New Moon is only for girls, but you keep them on hand just in case you need them for a new arrival. You’ll be lucky if the test is still good, considering you haven’t had to use one in so long.

You dump the bag from your cottage on the desk, then fumble with your keys until you find the right one. The bag falls over and knocks a pen off the desk, but you ignore it as you unlock the cabinet, pull over your rolling desk chair, and carefully climb up on it to grab one of the tests. After checking the expiration date, you tuck the flimsy cardboard box under your arm and head to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the cabinet or right the bag that’s tipped over and dumped onto your workspace. All thoughts of showering and getting ready for the day are gone. They’ve been replaced with a nervous energy that buzzes beneath your skin, making your fingers feel weak as you open the box.

The lock on the bathroom door is sturdy enough to help you feel a little bit more secure as you take the test, all the while trying to take deep breaths. Your heart feels like it’s beating too fast, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re nervous or excited. Maybe you’re both.

Calm down, Y/N! Freaking out isn’t going to help anybody!

You wash your hands and read the back of the box again, checking the wait time printed in tiny black letters. The test sits precariously on the countertop, in between the sink and the edge of the counter closest to the toilet, and you give it a wary glance before unlocking the bathroom door and going to sit in your office while you wait. After setting the timer on your phone, you end up pacing in front of your desk instead, from the wall to the futon and back again. 

Finally, the timer goes off. You flinch at the loud ringing, then hurry to silence it. Your hands fumble with your phone and you stay tense when the office falls quiet again. Silently, you slip it back into your pocket and go back into the bathroom. When you reach the sink, you brace your hands against the front of the bowl, on the thinnest part of the counter. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long few seconds, pointedly not looking down at the test that’s resting only a few inches from your hands. Inside your chest, your heart pounds even harder than before and your hands shake. Everything feels so unsteady, from your head to your feet, and for a second, you worry that you might pass out. Closing your eyes, you try to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself and to slow your racing pulse.

You’re reaching for the test on the counter when there’s a knock at your office door.

“Y/N? You in there?”

“Yes!” you yelp, almost too loudly. Your hand, outstretched and only an inch from the test, knocks it sideways, sending it clattering to the floor, along with a tube of toothpaste.

Dean calls for you again and you frantically scramble to right the bathroom. You practically throw the test onto the counter. It slides into the sink, and you’re pulling the bathroom door shut behind you just as Dean pushes the office door open from the hallway. He meets your eyes and you force a smile that you hope seems normal. 

“You left before I was up,” he says. He’s dressed already, in jeans and the green jacket you’d got him for his birthday, and his hair looks damp from the shower. 

Accepting a kiss on the lips, you hum a little and let go of the door handle to wrap your arms around his waist. Can he feel your heart beating too hard inside of your chest? What about your hands trembling against his back?

“I needed to shower and I didn’t want to wake you up. I have a shower here that I used to use when I was by myself.” You tilt your head back slightly, towards the door behind you.

Dean frowns. “You could’ve showered at home.” He looks down at you, and not only does his frown deepen, but the furrow between his eyebrows appears again. His worry lines are out in full force. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach drops. Are you supposed to tell him? What if the test turns out negative? What if—?

“Sweetheart,” Dean soothes, pulling away so there’s space between the two of you. He takes your shaking hands in his and searches your face for an answer to his concerns. “What’s on your mind? I can see all the gears turning in there.”

The tips of his fingers touch your temple. You swallow thickly and look away. A line of dust lays gray on the hardwood where your old rug used to be. You moved it just last week to clean, but apparently, you’d missed it.

“Did I do something?”

Frantic, you shake your head and find his eyes. “What? No! No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Dean steps closer, crowding close in a tentative way that allows you enough time to move away, if you want. You don’t, and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathe in his scent and soak in his warmth. Your hands move to clutch the sides of his shirt, pulling him infinitely closer until your front is pressed against his again. Then, for the first time all morning, you relax. Your shoulders slump and you rest your forehead against him.

“I think…” you finally say after a minute. You take a breath, willing the words out on your next exhale. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s silence in the moments that follow, and though you know he’s probably just processing the news, it kills you. You stay frozen in place, unable to move as you wait for Dean to speak. 

Finally, you release his shirt and step back, just enough that you can see his face without tilting your head at too uncomfortable of an angle. He’s staring at the closed bathroom door behind you, with both eyebrows raised and with long creases along his forehead. His whole body is tense and the longer he stares at the door, the deeper the furrow between his brows becomes.

“Dean?” you prompt. “Say something, please.”

“You think? Or you know?” His voice is hoarse and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then looks back down at you. 

“I don’t know. I took a test. I was just about to look at it when you knocked.”

“Oh.” His eyes flick up again, over your shoulder at the door, then down to your face. The second hand on the wall clock ticks as you stand near each other, Dean processing the news and you holding your breath as you wait for a more concrete response from him. The ticking feels louder than it did before. Has it always been that loud?

His fingers against your cheek make you look away from where you’ve been watching the black plastic line clunk around the circumference of the clock face.

“What do you want it to say?” Dean asks.

You inhale shakily and search his eyes, hoping for an answer to the question. “What do you want?” you ask in return.

Dean shakes his head, then runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until he can lace his fingers with yours. You glance down at your joined hands, unsure of why he’s not answering. He’d told you only just last night that he wanted kids. His hesitation makes you wonder if something’s changed in only just a few hours.

“It’s not up to me. It’s your body, Y/N.”

The words tumble out before you can even formulate the thought. “I just wasn’t expecting this so soon. I thought we’d have more time with just the two of us. What if this changes everything? What if it’s not everything we thought it would be?”

“We’ll still have time together,” he tells you, gently squeezing your hand. “It just might be less than we’d anticipated.”

“Would it even be a good thing if I was pregnant now? I know you said last night that it’s what you wanted, but we also said—”

“We said that if it happens, it happens,” Dean interrupts. “And if it’s happening now, then that’s a good thing. If it happens later, that’s also a good thing.”

You nod and take another deep breath. The butterflies in your stomach are out in full force. You have to close your eyes as you take breaths, trying to stave off the sudden wave of nausea that accompanies your worries. Dean’s hands in yours keeps you grounded as you breathe through your nose.

When you’re finally feeling more settled, you open your eyes and silently glance behind you at the bathroom door.

“You want me to wait out here?” Dean asks.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Tears burn in your eyes, and you wipe them away with one hand, embarrassed by your reaction. “Why am I so scared? We just said that this is supposed to be a good thing.”

Dean squeezes your hand again. “This is a big thing, Y/N. It’s okay to be scared. I can be brave for both of us, okay?” He smiles a little, his lips pressed together, and you nod in response, inhaling deeply through your nose.

You feel stuck in place. Part of you wants to go look at the test, but another part of you is rooted to the floor, keeping you in this moment. The results of the test could turn your life upside down for the second time in a year, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready for that. What if you aren’t a good parent? What if you aren’t able to do your job while you’re pregnant? What would you do instead?

“Hey.”

You blink, then meet Dean’s eyes again. Another tear rolls down your cheek and you sniffle, wiping it away with the back of your free hand. His smile has disappeared, and now he watches you with a concerned frown that makes his lips turn downward at the corners and makes the wrinkle between his eyebrows reappear.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart. We’re in this together, and I’m with you no matter what. Do you want me to look first?” he asks.

After a few seconds, you nod. You don’t know what to say, but you know it won’t matter to Dean whether you speak or not. He’ll do and be whatever you need in this moment, just like he always does.

He releases your hand and carefully steps around you, opening the bathroom door to retrieve the test from the sink. You’d left the light on in the bathroom when you’d shut the door, and now it floods your office from behind you. Dean’s footsteps are soft and his jacket rustles as he picks up the test, and you hold your breath as you listen for some kind of sign or clue as to the results. When there isn’t any, you turn in a circle to look at him.

“What’s it say?”

His profile gives you very little information about the results, and you take a tentative step forward when he doesn’t move or say anything. Maybe he just didn’t hear you? His bad ear is on the other side, but it’s still possible.

“Dean?” you prompt, stepping closer a second time. You wonder if he’s disappointed and that’s why he hasn’t said anything. The thought makes you nauseous again.

“You’re pregnant,” he answers. His voice shakes as he stands staring down at the plastic stick. It’s so small in his hand, and an image of him cradling a tiny newborn flashes in your mind.

You freeze a few feet from the bathroom threshold. “It’s positive?”

He nods and looks up, meeting your eyes. Tears glisten on his lower lash line, and you press your hands over your mouth, inhaling deeply as your heart leaps inside your chest. The wrinkle between his brows is gone once again, replaced with the kind of shock you’ve only seen a few times, the first being when you’d told him you’d loved him all those years ago.

“We’re having a baby,” Dean tells you, letting out a laugh. A smile grows on his face as tosses the test onto the counter and closes the distance between you in two long steps. He crushes you against him in a tight hug.

Too shocked to hug him back, you let Dean wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. Your feet dangle for a second before your instincts catch up with you. Hurriedly, you move your hands from your mouth to his back as your legs come up to wrap around his waist. You bury your face in the crook of Dean’s neck as you smile. Your cheeks already ache and you’re blinking away tears, but it doesn’t matter.

“We’re having a baby!” you exclaim. He spins around with you in his arms, and you push away from his neck and pull one hand from his shoulders so you can cradle his cheek in your palm. 

Dean’s eyes are alight with joy, making the green of his irises seem even more vibrant in the morning sunshine coming in from the office window. Your smile matches his as the scruff on his jawline scratches at the soft skin of your palm.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” you tell him, gently rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He takes a few steps, then sets you down on the only clear space on your desk, beside the bag you’d brought with you this morning. You let your legs fall from around his waist so they bracket his hips, but you don’t drop your hand from his face.

“I love you,” Dean says. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over your abdomen, and you laugh when it tickles. There’s no bump yet, but the effect is all the same. Dean smiles wider, his eyes flicking to your stomach, then back up to your face. “I love both of you.”

You laugh and pull him down for a kiss. “We love you too, Dean Winchester. Forever and ever.”

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[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 11: Enemies to Lovers

Bad Education | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20,061 Main Tags/Warnings: Buttler!Castiel, CEO!Dean, enemies to lovers, boss/employee relationship, character development, comedy Summary: When a multimillionaire grandfather wants to give his grandson Dean Winchester a lesson, he will search for a desperate method by hiring Dean's worst nightmare to be his butler. Will the charismatic Castiel be able to educate the most egocentric, selfish and rebellious rich dude and turn him into a perfect CEO? Or will they kill each other before that happens?

Better Than You | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,950 Main Tags/Warnings: Light internalized homophobia, office au, coming out, rivals to lovers, childhood friends, fluff, angst, happy ending Summary: Dean has many goals in his life, but there's just one that bothers him to death: to defeat the perfect Castiel Novak at any cost. This is a self-discovering journey, in which Dean will try his best to win against Castiel and not to fall in love with him in the meantime.

Maybe not a comedy (according to Jack), but he likes the happy ending | @seidenapfel Rating: Mature Word Count: 67,602 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Canon-Typical Violence, Angels, Demons, Angel Wings, Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel's True Form (Supernatural), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mention of Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, possible Meg Masters/Charlie Bradbury, Additional Warnings In Author's Note Summary: Dean Winchester is dead. He died ten years ago, when he sold his soul to Demon Corp in order to save his brother’s life. He has lost everything, even his dignity. All that is left is a brutal tool to torture other lost souls on Inferno just like himself. Castiel’s orders are simple. Free one random soul from the pit on Inferno in order to bring it back to Angelus Associations’ headquarters on Paradiso. No one expects him to be successful, but, as a soldier, he never questions his orders. The moment Castiel lays eyes on the human overseer, everything changes. Castiel has found his mission, the man he needs to save. An adventure begins that takes Dean and Castiel from planet to planet, from Inferno to Purgatorio to Paradiso, and beyond. It’s a journey to find themselves and each other.

Vampirenatural: The Rebellion - Rogue | @Taymarpigeon Rating: Explicit Word Count: 225,822 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, World of Darkness, Human Dean Winchester, Detective Dean Winchester, Vampire Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Smut, Gallows Humor, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Human/Vampire Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood Sharing, sickness and injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Kiiiind of Mafia, Kiiiind of Murder Husbands, Russian Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Suicide, non-consensual biting, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Acts of War Summary: From clubs to underground caverns, seedy motels, haunted hotels and exclusive mansions, Los Angeles has it all. It's a place for the pretty and the hopeful, but beneath its star-spangled façade are shadowy corners harbouring the vagrant and the vagabond alike. It's a world of corruption, sex and violence, Detective Dean Winchester has learnt to navigate with ease. Eight years at Santa Monica PD could never have prepared him for the underbelly of this so-called City of Angels though. Dean knows the shadows, he knows them intimately, but is he prepared for the World of Darkness?

[lotanxiety]

You’re not alone

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean and Sam notice you aren’t taking good care of yourself and they are worried about you. Dean talks you through it and offers support.

Warnings: mentions of ED, SH, and depression, this has some seriously heavy shit so if this triggers you PLS don’t read, fluff with dean

——————————————————

You have lived in the bunker with the boys for 3 years. Lately, your mental health has been really bad, but you were trying to hide it from Sam and Dean. With everything they dealt with on a daily basis, the last thing you wanted them to worry about was you.

It all started 4 months ago when you started having nightmares and flashbacks of the times you almost died. You were pretty sure you had PTSD, but with your lifestyle, therapy wasn’t really an option. You grew up with abusive parents which didn’t help with the accumulating trauma. The body keeps score and it seemed to all be catching up with you now. First, it was the nightmares, then the dissociating. The only times you felt alive were when you would fight monsters which led to your newest bad habit.

Whenever you didn’t feel real or got angry with yourself for whatever reason, you would take it out on your hips. It was something you could control. It reminded you that you’re real and it’s served as a punishment when you felt you deserved it. Seeing the red lines across your hips made you happy when everything else seemed grey.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, it was increasingly more difficult to get out of bed each morning. You would forget basic human necessities like eating, drinking, or bathing. You were able to hide your struggles before, but now it’s becoming noticeable. On the days the boys were home, you would fake it the best you could so they wouldn’t pick up on anything wrong, but not anymore. Maybe you want someone to notice. Maybe you finally want to be saved and cared for the way you save others.

———————-

*around noon*

“Hey, have you seen Y/N?” Dean asked Sam walking into the kitchen.

“No, I haven’t seen her all day.” Sam said. “Have you noticed.. she seems a little quiet lately. I also noticed she’s been having more nightmares lately.”

“I noticed that too, I can hear her scream out sometimes. I mean we all get nightmares, but these seem bad. Have you not talked to her about it at all?” Dean questioned.

“No, I thought you would’ve mentioned it.” Sam said.

“Dude, she’s obviously going through something and neither of us have checked up on her? Way to go.” Dean scoffed as he headed in the direction of your room.

—————————

You were laying on your bed, staring at the wall thinking of all the ways you have messed up lately. The last hunt you were out on, you made a mistake that almost got Sammy killed. Now, you opt to stay back and reference the lore. You replayed every mistake over and over in your head. Suddenly a knock interrupts your ‘greatest hits’.

You clear your throat, “um, who is it?” you ask.

“It’s Dean, can i come in.”

You look around to the mess of your room, random items taking up space on your bed with you. Suddenly, you become embarrassed and ashamed. “I- uh, do you need something?” You shout to the man on the other side of the door.

“I haven’t seen you all day, I just wanted to check up on you. Are you feeling okay?” Dean asks with concern.

*coughing loudly* “No I think I’ve come down with something, you should stay away.” You say, trying to sound sickly.

“Oh, ok. I can bring you some soup if you like” Dean asks, knowing you’re lying but trying to get through to you.

“I’m not hungry, thanks though” You say, pushing any kind of help away. You didn’t understand why you do this. You want help but then it comes and you resist at all costs. Maybe because this mess you’re feeling is comfortable, familiar. You’ve always been messed up, but now it’s just manifesting on the outside. When it was bottled up, it was easy to hide from everyone, but this is much harder and every lie you tell drains you more and more.

“You need to eat” Dean contested.

“I said no, now can you please go” The words felt like knives being thrown at the closed door. You didn’t mean to be so aggressive, but Deans pushing set off a nerve. Immediately you felt bad, but knew you couldn’t look at his face so you sat still in your bed as you heard hushed footsteps fade away. Feeling hot tears burn in your eyes, you walked over to your bathroom, and grabbed your razor. Anger towards yourself coursed through your veins, into your hands, as you unleashed hell onto your body. Saying to yourself, “You deserve this for being mean to Dean, he was just trying to be nice. He doesn’t deserve that. What’s wrong with you, etc.”

When you’re satisfied, your hips are stained red. You clean up and go back to laying in your bed, as you cry yourself to sleep.

——————-

That evening

“I don’t know Sammy, I think there’s something really wrong. Earlier- the way she spoke to me. It wasn’t her. I need to talk to her, to see her face, but she keeps pushing me away. I don’t know what to do. I’m worried… I’m worried it’s worse than just nightmares.” Dean confides to his brother.

“Yeah, I’m worried too. Maybe we can set up a movie night in the Dean cave and coax her out of her room. I think having some quality time, not worried about monsters could help.” Sam suggested.

“Okay, yeah. You run to the store and get some supplies and I’ll break out blankets and pillows. Meet back here in 30.” Dean says hopeful. He hated knowing that you were upset, but he wanted this to help so badly. He worked hard at getting his Dean cave set up perfectly. He even made a blanket fort. Once Sam and Dean finished setting everything up, the came to knock on your door.

You had just woken up from your restless nap. Unfortunately, the day wasn’t even over so you were back to laying in misery. You heard another knock on your door.

“Hey uh, we need your help in the Dean cave” Dean said from behind the door, you could almost hear the smile in his voice even though you couldn’t see him. While most other times you would decline, your curiosity got the best of you.

“Uhh okay, let me use the bathroom and I’ll be right there.” You said, getting up from your bed, ignoring the terrible headache. It stemmed from a combination of lack of food, water, good sleep, and crying so much. You looked in the mirror, repulsed by the face staring back at you, so you got to work making yourself as presentable as possible. After a much need brush through your hair (and teeth), a change of clothes, and some light makeup, you felt okay enough to make your public appearance. You left your bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind you to hide the mess, and headed towards the Dean cave.

When Dean and Sam laid their eyes on you for the first time in days, their mouths dropped. You looked awful. Bags under your eyes and barely skin and bone. You were always skinny, but this- this was bad. Both of the brothers concern immediately sky rocketed, but being as smart as they are, they knew to play it off. They knew if they outright said anything, you’d get defensive and shut down. So they quickly glanced at each other and greeted you like any other day. You were too busy looking at the scene in front of you to notice the boys faces.

“What- what is all this” you say surveying the room in awe.

“We thought you could use a little pick me up movie night.” Sam said with a soft smile on his face. Dean turned away from you to face the tv. It was too hard to look at you. He blamed himself for not checking on you sooner. For not immediately knowing there was something deeper going on. The cases had distracted him from the problem right under his nose and he was so angry at himself. You instantly noticed the change in his demeanor, making you uneasy. You thought he was still mad at you for the way you spoke to him earlier in the day. You made a mental note to apologize later. Sam opened up the blanket to let you sit beside him and so you did. In front of you, there was a whole display of food. Burgers, fries, popcorn, candy, you name it. The sight instantly made you nauseous.

You thought that you didn’t deserve food. Your mind = your greatest enemy. You pretended not to notice the food and encouraged them to start the movie. It was Alice In Wonderland- your favorite childhood movie you let slip one night with Dean after a beer too many. You glance across Sam to Dean who is staring at the TV but not actually watching. Sam nudges some fries in your direction, to which you shake your head.

“No thanks” you whisper over the beginning scene of the movie.

“Cmon Y/N, you haven’t eaten all day.” Sam said.

“Oh no, I had some granola bars in my room. I’ve been snacking on those-“ You lied.

“No you haven’t” Dean said finally speaking to you.

“What-“ you say looking at him confused, trying to play this off quickly.

“I’m not sure you’ve eaten anything in days” Dean starts.

“Dean-“ Sam interjects, trying to keep his brother from pushing you away.

“No, Sammy. She’s sick. Look at her.” Dean states.

Immediately, tears well up in your eyes. You knew you didn’t look your best but hearing Dean say that. It was too much. You wanted to head straight to your room to cut again, but Dean wasn’t finished talking.

“Y/N, I can’t walk on eggshells about this- you look terrible. What is going on?” Dean says in a much softer tone than before, his anger fading into worry.

“Nothings… going on.” you say.

“That’s not true and we all know it, can you just talk to us?” Sam asks.

Suddenly, that defense mechanism hits you strong and you attack the boys you love more than anything. You can’t help it. “I SAID I’M FINE. WOULD YOU BOTH JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND GO BACK TO WORRYING ABOUT MONSTERS OR WHATEVER” you shout, exiting the room and heading straight for your bedroom.

You close the door behind you, still crying. The scene that just played out was one of your worst nightmares and partially why you have started staying locked in your room. You beeline for the bathroom to pick up the razor for a second time that day. You roll down your pants to the hidden canvas. Right before you can move, Dean bursts through your door.

You both freeze. Time stops for a couple seconds. Every mirage and illusion you’ve built over the past few months is shattered. The ugly, dirty truth is exposed. Your walls crumble to the ground. You refuse to lift your eyes from the ground as he approaches you. He takes the razor from your hands without saying a word and throws it to the other side of the bathroom and grabs you into his arms. You both crash to the floor, as you sob into chest. Dean hold you patiently while you let it all out. Everything you’ve been holding inside. There are a million thoughts going through Dean’s head, questions he has, but his main objective is just to be there for you. You needed him, and he wasn’t there. All the warning signs, ignored. He secretly blamed himself for letting it get this bad.

You both sit in the floor of your bathroom for a while. Your sobs slowly turned into quiet hiccups for air. You nervously lifted off of his chest, anxiously awaiting the conversation to follow the events that have just transpired. You finally make eye contact with Dean, his eyes are glassy and red.

“I’m sorry Y/N” Dean said barely above a whisper dragging his hand over your hair to brush it out of your tear soaked face.

You open and close your mouth, not expecting his response. “What are you sorry for?” you ask confused.

“I- I wasn’t there for you. I mean I knew something was off, but- but this. This is all my fault.” Dean says moving his hand to hold your cheek, a singular tear falling down his right cheek.

“No, no this isn’t your fault at all. I- I don’t know what to say.” You say, feeling the weight of the situation.

“You don’t have to say anything. We are going to get you some help. You’re not alone in this. You have Sam. You have me. This- this work is hard and I know you’ve had it rough, but you can and will get through this.” Dean says, as more tears begin to fall from your eyes, though you thought you couldn’t cry anymore.

“I need you to get better. I need my Y/N. Can you do that for me?” Dean asks, gently stroking your cheek and wiping the tears as they fall. You nod.

That night, the three of you work on tidying up your room. Dean filled Sam in privately and he wanted to help you in anyway he could. You guys went back to the Dean cave after your room was clean, and ate dinner. Dean even drank water with you instead of his normal beer so you would be more inclined to drink it.

Finally, it was time for bed. Dean walked to your room with you. “I wish you would’ve told me what has been going on with you, but I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t” Dean said.

“You didn’t- I just didn’t want you to worry about me when you’ve got a whole world and billions of people to worry about.” You say in response.

“I will always worry about you first. I care about you Y/N. I am here for you no matter what.” Dean says firmly, pulling you in for a hug. His chin rests on your head as you two stand in an embrace mid hallway.

“Dean, could you maybe- um stay with me tonight?” You ask.

“Of course”

Dean grabs your hand and pulls you towards your bed. He strips down to his boxers and climbs in, holding a spot next to him for you. You curl up next to him, feeling the heat radiate off his body, comforting you. “Thank you” you whisper as you quickly drift off into a much needed, nightmare free, deep sleep. Dean leans over to kiss your head as he whispers, “I love you Y/N”.