#Sam fic

[imagineteamfreewill]

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out. 

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?�� Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat. 

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?” 

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself. 

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes. 

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet. 

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels. 

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers. 

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way. 

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead. 

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight. 

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step. 

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!” 

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees. 

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod. 

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby. 

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner. 

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit. 

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak. 

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction. 

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?” 

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands. 

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue. 

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension. 

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching. 

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed. 

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach. 

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists. 

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself. 

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him. 

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you. 

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss. 

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful. 

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not. 

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes. 

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away. 

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again. 

“We definitely will,” he says.

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[satans-helper]

Bring a Friend

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Danny Wagner x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~6800

Warnings: it's a threeway with HEAVY slash. Don't like it, don't read it. (voyeurism; oral sex w/ M & F receiving; dirty talking; bottom!Sam; Danny is a bit of a dom; fingering all around; protected anal & vaginal sex) 18+ only!

@mackalah sent a call to the universe asking for a Sanny x Reader fic inspired by the song Lost in the Fire by The Weeknd. I've been writing Sanny fics for a long time and I never get tired of doing it. I think I was one of the first, if not the first, writers in the fandom to write a Sanny threeway, actually...and I never thought I'd write more of those but I felt very inspired by this song and the idea...even if it doesn't fit your specific image, I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it ;)

---

Sure, you had reconciled with the fact that Sam would never love you as much as he loved Danny. At first, their overwhelming affection and adoration for one another was kind of cute to you. Seeing Sam so enamored with a boy was adorable–quite special, really. You loved that he could love a best friend so fiercely, so passionately. But then it had become clearer and clearer throughout your relationship that you would never be even close to a priority no matter how long you were with Sam or how close you two became–Danny would always be closer, and Danny would always be number one. 

So things ended. Amicably enough, thankfully, and you still saw Sam–and by default, Danny–all the time. You were friends. But you weren’t sure how to respond when Sam started sending you pictures that showcased more of their friendship than you’d ever imagined. Well, not seriously imagined, anyway.

The first one was almost passable as innocent–a picture of Sam and Danny’s arms slung across one another’s shoulders, Danny leaning in and pressing his lips to Sam’s cheek. 

Cute, you texted back. 

Jealous? Sam replied.

You balked at your phone. Sam was ridiculous. Of you or of him?

Either

Nope

Hmm… 

After that text, he sent you a picture of them actually kissing–Danny was planting a big one right on Sam’s mouth and Sam was smiling into it, arm outstretched to capture the moment on his phone.

What about now?

You stared at the picture, flabbergasted. It was kind of hot, you had to admit, but you also felt your chest tighten with bitterness–you’d really tried with Sam. You’d been patient and forgiving, welcoming of how close Danny was to him, but it just never felt like you were enough. Not the perfect fit. And that wore you down more and more until it just all had to end. But here Sam was showing off his perfect match, apparently really trying to make you jealous when you thought all those feelings of jealousy had been buried and forgotten.

You left Sam on read, ignoring his attempt to antagonize you, but later, when you’d nearly forgotten about the pictures, Danny texted you:

Did Sam send pics of us together to you?

You sighed. You weren’t really in the mood to get more, but maybe Danny would spare you. 

Yes. Did you guys take those just to send to me and make me “jealous?”

Actually no. I didn’t even know he sent them until now. I’m really sorry if it upset you 

Another sigh. Danny was a sweetheart. Surely he really didn’t want to rile you up or hurt your feelings. 

It's okay. You guys are good together

Thanks. You and Sam were good together too

You left that alone. As much as you could appreciate the sentiment, you weren’t in the mood to travel further down memory lane. But later, when you were lying in bed, you found yourself opening up your texts to look at those pictures again, especially lingering on the snapshot of Sam and Danny kissing. Finally, with a huff you locked your phone and tossed it aside before you tossed yourself into a fitful sleep.

But the next day, the pictures commenced. The first one was sent in the middle of the night and was a perplexing awakening–a picture clearly taken from Sam’s POV. You’d recognize that torso anywhere and there it was in clear digital–Sam flat on his back, a string of bright pink bite marks down his stomach and Danny’s wild dark curls pressed against his belly. You couldn’t see his face, but you also knew that hair anywhere. You sat up in bed rubbing your eyes and once your brain made full sense of the image, you wanted to be mad. You were mad–you could feel the heat rising in your body, the tension growing in your mind, but you also felt a tingle of betrayal shudder through you all the same. 

No text accompanied the photo. It was bait and you weren’t going for it. If Sam wanted you to be jealous, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction; if he just wanted you to have the pictures for whatever demented reason, you’d accept. But when the pictures kept coming and got progressively more raunchy, you thought the picture of Sam kissing Danny’s neck, his hand shoved down Danny’s pants, had to be the last one. There was no way it would escalate. But it did–later that night Sam sent you a picture of Danny straight up sucking his dick.

That made you gasp and, without even thinking about it, press the call button.

“Sam!” you shouted when he answered. “What the fuck are you doing? Does Danny know you’re sending me all these?”

Sam laughed. Such a bastard. “He didn’t at first. But now he does. He’s been encouraging me.”

You held your face in your free hand, sighing. “Sam. What the hell is wrong with you? I’ve really worked hard to move past our breakup and I–”

“Y/N, I know. That’s not what this is.” Sam paused for a second and you sensed he wasn’t alone on the other end. “This is an invitation.”

You couldn’t lie to yourself–you’d thought about it. How could you not after receiving all those pictures? But still the words from Sam didn’t make sense in your mind. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what I said. We’re inviting you to join us.” When you didn’t respond, Sam continued: “Just for a night, you know? Test it out?”

The words were still bouncing around. Your heart sped up with curiosity. “Let me talk to Danny,” you ordered. “I’m sure he’s with you right now. Right?” Danny would make it make sense. 

Another laugh from Sam. “Yeah, he’s here. Hang on.” There was a vague shuffle and then Danny’s voice was in your ear.

“Danny, please explain this to me,” you demanded, growing even more flustered and impatient. “What’s Sam talking about?”

“Well, um, I think he kind of said it all.”

You let out an exasperated huff. “He did not say it all, Danny. Clearly I need you to spell it out for me.”

“We both like you and we want to have a threesome,” Danny explained and you could hear Sam laugh in the background. “That’s it. If you don’t want to, it’s totally cool. And I’ll tell him to stop sending the pictures.”

Maybe it was strange, but when you’d looked at all the photos, you’d never pictured yourself being part of the action. Sam and Danny came as a pair–clearly. Your relationship had ended because of that–and were truly, as far as you were concerned, meant for one another. To get between that seemed strange, not to mention held incredible risk to damage the friendship you were still clinging to with both of them. 

You thought about the pictures some more though and felt you landed on some middle ground, unorthodox as it was. But all of this was entirely unorthodox. “What if I watched?” you proposed.

“What? You want to?” Danny asked, the surprise in his voice ridiculous to you given what he and Sam had already proposed themselves. 

“Sure. Clearly, Sam’s into that.”

There was a slight pause, then Danny said, “Okay. Yeah, sure. We’re into that too.”

It was probably one of the worst decisions of your life. But when you hung up, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited about it.

-

You were surprised at how Sam and Danny didn’t seem to care at all that you were watching, sitting in the oversized, plush lounge chair that had been hauled from the living room to the bedroom for the big show. You were also surprised at how, as the action progressed and you were seemingly forgotten, sinking back into the walls like you were invisible, you cared less and less as well. Sam and Danny were completely enthralling to watch–Sam was lying half on top of Danny, kissing him like his best friend was made of pure magic, and Danny was cradling the back of Sam’s head like he was a precious piece of art. Both things were true in your mind–Danny was like a magical, mystical storm enveloping Sam, who was indeed a rare and beautiful work of art that needed to be treasured.

When Sam smiled into the next kiss, a lightning bolt of jealousy pierced your chest. They looked at one another like they were completely in love, probably because they were. Sam had never looked at you like that. But it made sense. You were just the last in a string of failed girlfriends before Sam finally realized who his true partner was. You could imagine that Danny had been silently waiting and beckoning Sam to come to him for good. 

Nevertheless, you couldn’t deny that what you were privileged to witness was also painfully hot, even hotter when they both took their shirts off; Sam dipped his head down to begin kissing Danny’s neck and Danny’s hands roamed Sam’s shoulders and back, then up to toy with his hair. 

For the first time since they’d begun, Sam addressed you. “Isn’t he so hot?” he asked, glancing at you while he ran his fingers over Danny’s ribs. 

“Very hot,” you agreed; Danny blushed in response.

“Did you ever think about fucking him?” Sam continued. The question didn’t catch you off-guard, having expected to be a little scrutinized with all the build-up to this event. If nothing else, the conversation probably just made Sam even more turned on.

“Who hasn’t?” you replied. You had, not that you’d ever told Sam that. Not that Danny ever showed any interest. And not that Sam would have cared, you realized; on the contrary, you now knew he would have jumped at this opportunity much earlier. 

“I know, right?” Sam resumed pressing kisses to Danny’ neck, holding the side of his face; Danny nuzzled against his palm and that image made your heart swell. They adored each other so vividly and so overtly. 

“I’m surprised you’re okay with being watched, Danny,” you noted, feeling a little more apt to talking now that Sam had extended that olive branch. 

“I said I’d try it. For Sam,” Danny told you. Sam smirked against his skin and wiggled down to mouth against his chest. “I don’t mind, really. It’s just you.” 

“You like watching?” Sam inquired, peeking at you with his face still pressed against Danny’s chest, his cheek resting against his sternum.

“Yeah, it’s hot,” you said. You could feel your own body literally growing hotter by the second just watching, even more so when Sam finally brought one hand down to Danny’s crotch. Your breath hitched as Danny’s did too, and he arched up into Sam’s touch. 

“Just wait ‘til you see his dick,” Sam said, stroking Danny over his sweatpants. You could see the faint outline, impressively sized, not to your surprise. Sam brought himself to his knees and moved lower, bringing his fingers to the waistband of Danny’s pants. “It’s so big I can hardly take it.”

Your cheeks suddenly burned. “Jesus, Sam.”

Sam laughed. “What? It’s true!” 

“It is true,” Danny affirmed, putting both his hands on Sam’s head. “But you’re gonna take it tonight, right? Show Y/N how good you can be for me?”

You hadn’t, however, expected Danny to chime into the dirty talking. It seemed so out of character but it worked, and it had you rubbing your thighs together, starting to feel tortured. But you were going to try to keep up. “You let him fuck you, Sam?”

“Sure do. He’s fucking good at it too,” Sam said with a rough, low laugh. He pulled down Danny’s pants and that impressive dick was free, rock hard and looking heavy against Danny’s abdomen. You watched Danny close his eyes as Sam licked straight up his length, cradling his balls in one hand while the other was clenching tight around his hip. 

“Is Sam good at sucking dick?” you asked. Danny seemed to be enjoying it already, even with Sam just licking and jerking him off slowly.

Danny nodded, humming, and laced his fingers through Sam’s hair. “He’s so good at it. He knows just what I like. Why don’t you show her, Sammy?”

And Sam did, gripping the base of Danny’s cock to prop him up before he went down. Danny was big–the fact that Sam could take half in one go was impressive and you squeezed your thighs together harder, struggling more and more to figure out what to do with your own hands. Meanwhile, Sam knew what to do with his hands. He started to stroke Danny while he sucked and his other hand trailed up Danny’s body, palming at his chest before he slipped his fingers into Danny’s mouth. 

There was no music to curtail the sounds they were both making–Sam’s sloppy sucking and occasional gags, Danny’s muffled gasps and moans that turned to whimpers with Sam’s fingers in his mouth and his cock being worked over longer and harder. Maybe all of this should have been shocking. You never thought, not before all those pictures anyway, that Sam would go down on any man and you certainly never could have imagined you’d watch it happen, but the whole thing was far more arousing than shocking. It was like your brain couldn’t even acknowledge the surprise that should have been blatant, rather it was fixated on the pure pleasure Sam was giving to Danny and how it translated to you somehow, an invisible line connecting all three of you.

Forever, for sure. You’d have to take all of this to the grave.

Sam suddenly grunted and popped off, grinning at Danny with spit coating his chin. “Ouch, Daniel.” He turned to you. “He’s such a biter.”

You’d been too busy watching Sam going down on him to have noticed Danny chomping on his fingers. “I remember,” you said, voice just a tad wobbly which you hoped would go unnoticed. “From that picture. All those marks on your stomach.” You could still see faint pink remnants on Sam’s torso now.

“Mmm, yeah.” Sam jerked Danny off, a wet slick sound thanks to all the saliva he’d left behind, and kept his eyes on you while he asked, “Wanna watch him do it?”

You felt like you were about to burst despite no one touching you or touching yourself, but the idea of Danny doing that was too enticing to turn down. You also felt it was possible that such a long delay before your own ecstasy could make it all even more incredible. So you said yes and quickly Sam flopped onto his back, encouraging Danny to come to him with outstretched arms, but he had to wait a moment–Danny fumbled on the bed for a few seconds trying to get his pants all the way off and his struggle elicited a much-needed laugh from you and Sam.

“Stop laughing,” Danny protested with a final kick, sending the sweatpants to the floor. “Getting naked isn’t always like, a graceful thing.”

“You’re not as bad as Sam,” you assured him, and Sam shot you an insulted look. “He just tears everything off like an animal. No grace at all.”

“I like doing it for him,” Danny said. He kissed Sam on the mouth softly, deeply, and Sam’s arms circled his shoulders, bringing him even closer. You watched closely, glued to the chair, as Danny brushed Sam’s hair back and brought his mouth to his neck; you’d always loved kissing Sam’s neck, too. Would he make the same sorts of sounds when Danny did it? 

The soft sigh that Sam let out when Danny kissed along his throat was similar, yet still different. There was more desperation in that sound, especially when Danny carried on gently for another few moments before you saw him sink his teeth right in. Sam shuddered and clawed at Danny’s shoulders, and suddenly you were wondering what Danny’s mouth would feel like on you. 

“Yeah, Sam loves when I mark him up,” Danny purred, trailing his increasingly harsh and teeth-filled kisses down Sam’s torso. He stopped at Sam’s belly, his teeth pressing into the soft skin as he pulled down his shorts. Seeing Sam’s dick was nothing new for you, but when Danny abruptly grabbed Sam by the hips to toss him over, then lifted him onto his knees, that was an entirely new sight. 

Danny gripped Sam’s ass while he dove right in and took a bite into one cheek like he really was trying to eat him; Sam yelped and you gasped. It looked like it hurt–when Danny pulled back, there was already an angry red mark, but then Sam moaned and laughed a little.

“God, Sam. I didn’t know you were like this,” you remarked, perplexed and fascinated and so turned on that you had to sit right on top of your hands. “I’ve never seen you so–I don’t know. Submissive.”

“He’s a good boy for me,” Danny said, the words low and deep, and pet his hands up Sam’s sides. You could see that–Sam was perfectly pliant beneath Danny’s touch, like he was just waiting for whatever happened next, and so responsive to everything. Danny looked at you and his next question, though you’d been secretly waiting for it, nearly made you collapse out of the chair: “Wanna help him get ready?”

You balked for a moment, wide-eyed and so stiff from all the pent up excitement and curiosity. “Ready for–?”

Sam snapped his head to the side, peering at you sharply through his hair that had fallen into his face. “Ready to fuck me, obviously,” he snarked, but when Danny grabbed his hips hard and gave another bite to his ass, he quivered and his voice softened as he added, “Get over here, Y/N. We need you.”

That short sentence circled around in your mind, urging you to move but you felt like you couldn’t–the thought of getting up fully clothed to just wander over to what was happening on the bed seemed awkward and silly. Clearly your trepidation didn’t go unnoticed, because Danny was walking over to you, naked as the day he was born, and lifted you up. 

“Don’t be scared,” he said in your ear, pushing you onward while he stayed behind you, his erection unceremoniously pressing against your lower back. 

“I’m not scared,” you said, but you gasped again when Danny tugged at your pants and Sam was suddenly right in front of you yanking on the hem of your shirt. Helpless, you let them both strip you down to your bra and panties; Sam leaned back on his hands with a grin while you felt Danny move in even closer, his hands stroking your hips. 

“Is that okay?” Danny asked, his lips on your ear. 

“Yeah, sure,” was all you could say. You shivered when Sam reached one of his hands out to lightly press his fingers to the crotch of your panties. 

“It was really hot for you to watch,” Sam said, drawing a line down your thigh with one fingertip. “Danny was nervous about it. Performance anxiety, you know. But–” He leaned to the side to look behind you. “It looks like he’s doing just fine.”

You were feeling more relaxed–Sam was back to himself, at least momentarily, and Danny was keeping his touches gentle and tentative. “You guys look like you’re made for each other. It makes sense why we didn’t work out.”

Sam frowned a little. “I feel bad about that, Y/N. I didn’t even know how into Danny I was until, well, pretty recently.”

Danny gave a little snort. “Please. I think everyone but you could see it pretty clearly.”

Sam rolled his eyes before he sighed and looked back at you. “You should try kissing him,” he suggested, leaning back once more. “It’s totally serendipitous.”

You could imagine. You turned in Danny’s arms; he smiled at you so sweetly that you were wrapped up in his softness, not even realizing he was single handedly bringing you down to the bed to lie next to Sam. Then he was kissing you as tenderly as he’d smiled at you and you felt you understood what Sam must have been feeling while you’d been watching earlier–kissing Danny was like magic. 

You were feeling quite fulfilled just from making out and touching–Danny was so warm and so firm, his muscles taut beneath your fingers, his hair so soft–but then he was abruptly being pulled away from you. “Alright, back to business,” Sam commanded, yanking Danny away by his hair, to which Danny was grimacing and reaching up untangle Sam’s fingers. 

“Ha!” Danny exclaimed when Sam freed him. “You’re jealous.”

You’d never seen Sam jealous before, actually, but now that Danny was pointing it out, you could see it clearly–the darkness in his eyes beneath furrowed brows, the exaggerated slant of his cheekbones as he pouted, the flush on his cheeks. 

“You’re supposed to make it even during threesomes,” Sam said, looking from Danny to you then back again. Jealous or not, he was still hard, you noticed. “You have to divvy up the attention, Daniel and Y/N.”

“Fine,” Danny said shortly. “Then get on your knees again.” Instead of waiting even one second for Sam to do it himself, he grabbed his ankles and rolled him over again.

“Such a dom,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“God,” was all you could say, breathless at being involved now, not just witnessing. You needed to see more though and you were starting to understand your place in all this–you moved up to sit in front of Sam, lightly touching his face. “Hey, Sam��can I kiss you?”

He smirked at you, though you felt he had no right to when he was in such a vulnerable position, his ass quite literally in Danny’s face. “I thought you’d never ask,” Sam said, inching forward on his elbows, an image so ridiculous that you almost laughed. Instead, you brought your smile to his lips and kissed him for the first time in months–it should have felt ordinary but it didn’t. It felt brand new, strange and a little scary, made even scarier by the sudden popping sound that broke out from below.

You pulled away to identify the source, which was Danny squeezing lube onto his fingers. “Where’d you get that?” you asked, keeping your hands on Sam’s shoulders.

Danny chuckled, closing the cap of the bottle. “It was already on the bed.” With his dry hand he lifted a strip of condoms from the mattress and waved them around. “We came prepared.”

You grimaced; Sam and Danny both laughed. “Well, um–that’s good,” you said, but jeez. When had your ex-boyfriend and his best friend become such sex-crazed maniacs? It wasn’t the condoms or the lube–it was the fact that Sam was wiggling his hips back to Danny and Danny was squeezing one of his ass cheeks, anticipation evident on his face. 

“Are you good?” Sam asked, propping himself up on his knees to get directly in front of you, wrapping his arms around you.

“Yeah, uh, I’m very good,” you stammered, running a hand through your hair and nearly knocking Sam in the face in the process. “It’s just–a lot to process.”

Danny moved right behind Sam, holding him so you were all pressed together like an obscene panini. “Yeah, it is for us, too,” he said, resting his chin on Sam’s shoulders. “You’re the only one we’d wanna do this with.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sam said. “I’m keeping my options open.”

“You’re fucking rude, Sam,” you said, but all the distractions kept any real heat away from your voice. 

Sam laughed, that loud cackle that nearly made the walls vibrate. “I’m kidding, Y/N!” He grabbed your face and pulled you forward to plant a fast, harsh kiss to your mouth before he snapped back and said, looking over his shoulder at Danny, “Now let’s get this show on the road, big guy. Show her what you’re made of.” 

That certainly did set things in motion, with Danny moving swiftly to get Sam back down in front of you; Sam planted his face in your lap and grabbed your hips, hastily pulling your underwear down. You weren’t sure where to fix your eyes–at Danny kissing Sam’s spine and his arm moving vaguely below or Sam tossing your panties to the floor, then latching his teeth to your inner thigh.

You let out a flustered breath and unhooked your bra. “Since everyone else is doing it–”

Sam’s voice was faintly muffled with his face between your legs: “That’s the spirit.” Though it shouldn’t have, the swipe of his tongue up your center came as a surprise, but not as much of a surprise as the loud keen that came from him as Danny perked up behind him, looking at both of you. 

“Oh my god,” you uttered, trembling as you met Danny’s gaze. “Are you–”

“I’m getting him ready,” Danny answered as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. When you straightened up a bit, you got a better peek at what Danny’s hands were doing–one was gripping Sam’s hip and the other was thrusting idly. “I gotta open him up.” He draped himself over Sam’s back, his own upper body long enough for his own dark curls to mix with Sam’s sleek chestnut hair. “How do you want it, Sammy? Nice and easy or hard and fast?”

Sam gave an upwards nod at you. “Whatever she wants to see.”

Being given a clear say in this matter triggered a need for vengeance that you hadn’t even known existed. “Hard and fast,” you told Danny. He looked a little surprised, eyes widening slightly and lips parting; you tugged Sam’s hair a bit to make him look up at you again. “I bet that’s how you really like it, isn’t it?”

Of course Sam wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of feeling like revenge was ever possible. He laughed softly and said, “I like it however Danny likes it.”

Danny pulled back. “Which just happens to be hard and fast,” he said, and you caught a glimpse of him thrusting his hand forward again and Sam let out a choked little whimper, then a bitten-back groan as Danny gave a shockingly sharp, hard smack to his ass. 

You had nothing to say to that. You simply tried to process what the hell was happening all around you once more, which was a good thing; you couldn’t exactly speak when Sam began nipping at your thigh and sliding two fingers inside of you. You kept your hands in his hair and fought the urge to close your eyes–you wanted to see as much as you could of Danny working his own fingers in and out of Sam and the way your ex-boyfriend’s body moved so sinuously with every motion. Sam pressed his tongue to your clit again, licking with impressive intention given the position he was in, while his soft grunts got muffled against your heat. 

“How’s that feel?” Danny asked, and you weren’t sure if he was asking you or Sam or both of you.

“Good,” you said at the same time Sam said, “Amazing.” He looked up with suspicion. “Just ‘good?’ Alright, guess I have to work harder.” He brought his face back down, lapping at your clit wetly while his fingers worked deeper and harder through your own wetness. You felt a little embarrassed at how you were already dampening the sheet beneath you but you couldn’t help it–this was by far the most wild and the hottest sexual experience of your life. It made you a little mad that Sam being a kind of shitty boyfriend had to be the lead up to it. 

Danny hummed. “So, Sam–think you’re ready?”

Sam nodded between your thighs, then looked up, his lips and chin shiny with your slick and his spit. “I’ve got an idea,” he began, lifting himself up and using your legs for leverage. “Get under me. That way, it’ll be like getting fucked by both of us.” He laughed a little, looking very satisfied with his own suggestion. “Except I'll still be getting fucked the way I want.” 

“Always about you,” you muttered, a futile sort of defense mechanism against this very bewildering idea. But Sam only pulled you down as much as he could, until you were halfway down the bed and halfway beneath him.

Danny, you could tell based on the crinkling sound, was getting a condom on; you watched him slip one to Sam, who wasted no time in tearing it open. His abdomen flexed as he stayed upright on his knees and rolled the condom over his own cock; you reached out to touch him, his body still so familiar. The onset of an ache, of wanting Sam so badly, began to override the ache for punishing him. Maybe all of this was an apology in and of itself. 

“I gotta get in you before he gets me,” Sam said. His voice was calm but his cheeks were vivid scarlet and sweat beaded on his hairline. You spread your legs and got your arms around his waist, both bringing him down to you and giving yourself some much-needed stability, and Sam slid into you like it was any other ordinary time, except for Danny’s hands looping around his chest and bringing his chin back to Sam’s shoulder. 

The slide was easy–probably far easier than Sam’s experience would be, you thought–and Danny watched while he sank his teeth into Sam’s skin, the swirling forest of his irises fixed on yours in a way that would have made you feel self-conscious if it weren’t for Sam overtaking you being so distracting. 

“God, you feel good,” Sam said quietly, giving a shallow thrust. That was enough to make you moan softly in response, gripping his middle more tightly. Your arms were brushing against Danny’s abdomen; Danny brought one hand to your forearm as if encouraging you both to keep going, so Sam did with a few more gentle shoves of his hips. As you were just getting used to the sensation of three bodies of increasing heat coming together, Sam’s cock sliding through your wetness and his hands squeezing your breasts, Danny shifted and Sam’s serene face turned to an open-mouthed, tense visage.

“That’s it, Sammy,” Danny encouraged. There was so much love in his voice that it made you feel loved too, though it was obvious in that moment he was wholly focused on Sam. Rightfully so. Sam responded viscerally not only with his facial expressions that only you could see, but with his voice, cursing softly and moaning low, and the full-body shudder that ran through him as Danny pushed forward. 

You could imagine it being a bit of a challenge to take Danny yourself; the fact that Sam could do it was actually a little amazing. “God, Sam,” you said, stroking his hair. The soft reverence emanating from Danny made you feel the same–this was an experience to be treasured no matter how it went. “This is so hot. You guys look really hot together.” 

“He feels so good. Literally so hot,” Danny said. He leaned over Sam again, making Sam push down on you, and subsequently into you, harder. Danny was fully in charge now, something you were entirely unopposed to–you watched, fascinated, as he began to move, his hands wandering over Sam’s chest and hips while he started to thrust. He built up a rhythm swiftly and easily, soon enough making Sam let out moans that became choked little sobbing sounds as Danny started to live up to expectations–he was fucking Sam hard and fast and you were on the receiving end of the last gyrations and echoes of his movements. 

You grabbed the back of Sam’s head, pulling him in to kiss. There was just barely enough room to snake your arm between the two of your bodies; your first two fingers made a V around the base of Sam’s cock, stroking him lightly before you brought them to circle your clit. Sam’s desperate moans were drowned out by your incessant kissing–you wanted to consume him like Danny did, or as close to it as possible.

Between pants and huffs of effort, Danny’s voice snaked through your ears: “Do you like it, Sammy?” he asked and you opened your ears, giving Sam some necessary air and giving yourself quite the view as you strained to the side. Danny’s thighs were flexing with each thrust and his hands had a stronghold around Sam’s hips; Sam was all wobbly limbs and flushed skin, his hands clamped on your shoulders. 

“Yeah,” was all Sam said. It was probably all he could say while Danny pounded into him. 

Danny’s eyebrows rose. “What was that?” You bit your lip as Sam’s face tensed, his eyes shut tight, and waited for Sam to respond, but he didn’t. He only moaned a little, quiet and subdued, then the tension was slashed to pieces by another hard smack against his ass. “Sam?” 

“Fuck!” Sam was explosive now with that one word, fucking himself back onto Danny and, subsequently, harder into you as he shifted back and forth. Words escaped you entirely as you just tried to ride through the dense waves, but Danny apparently had more.

“Tell Y/N how much you like this,” Danny demanded, yanking Sam’s head back by a fistful of hair, Sam squirming helplessly all the way. 

“Oh my god, I like it,” Sam let out breathlessly, trying to look back at Danny. With the additional space, you touched yourself again more freely. Your chest and stomach felt so tight, this huge buildup growing even more–the fear surrounding this was gone. The anticipation had been alleviated and the payoff was more than you’d ever imagined, because the image of Danny holding Sam’s hip while he pulled his hair, his lips roaming Sam’s neck, and Sam desperately trying to please both of you was the most incredible thing you’d ever seen. 

It was Danny's name that escaped your lips as you came, eyes shutting to dizzying blackness, shuddering violently beneath Sam and squeezing his cock tight inside you. Even in the throes of your own little explosion, you realized what you’d said and managed to say Sam’s name next, and reached for him with one hand. 

“Oh fuck, I like that too,” Sam said against your cheek, teeth then dragging down to your neck. “You coming around me while Danny fucks me. So fucking hot.” 

“Fuck, you guys–” you started to say, still out of breath, and tangled your fingers in Sam’s hair, trying to keep him close. “This is–wow. Are you close?”

“Sam’s ready to blow,” Danny answered, not showing any sign of slowing down. “He’s getting even tighter and–” He peeked down, then Sam gasped. “Yup, his balls are full. You gonna come for us, Sam?”

“Danny, where’d you learn how to dirty talk like this?” you questioned, genuinely flabbergasted by how easily the more easygoing, friendly and sometimes exceptionally shy and boyish side could give way to a man who was so in charge, so lustful, so commanding.

“He’s a secret slut,” Sam quipped, which got him another slap on the ass. He laughed a little, then you were caught in the dark again when he began to kiss you. Based on just that, it did seem like Sam was close–the kisses were getting sloppier, the stifled moans sharper, his hands squeezing your body harder. And when he did come, it wasn’t exactly what you were used to because Sam also moaned Danny’s name, both syllables whispered on your lips.

“That’s good, baby,” Danny cooed. Your vision was a bit fuzzy as you tried to look right at him, but you could see quite clearly how tenderly those big hands moved down Sam’s trembling back. The gentleness was short-lived–Danny went back into thrusting harshly, their muscles clashing against one another’s, Danny’s fingers raking down Sam’s sides. You’d never seen Danny come. Never thought you ever would. You thought that would be forever reserved for Sam now that they’d gotten together. So, enthralled once more, you stayed transfixed on him as he closed his eyes and lurched forward, his upper body hanging over Sam, his curls shielding parts of his face. But you could see the twitch of a brow and the parting of his lips, then the white teeth biting down, and then Danny let himself go entirely. He flopped down on top of Sam, who collapsed on top of you.

“Okay, jeez, you guys are heavy,” you noted after getting the wind knocked out of you. Sam stayed motionless, but Danny had the decency to get up. You turned your head to the side to watch him move off the bed, carefully roll the condom off himself and grab his pants from the floor. You considered asking him to stay naked because, well, why not? But then Sam groaned loudly, interrupting your thoughts.

“I’m gonna be so fucking sore tomorrow,” he declared, finally rolling off you, spreading out on his back; he stretched and you heard a crack come from somewhere. “Thanks, Daniel.”

Danny stepped over to pat Sam’s thigh. “You’re welcome.” He looked over at you. “How are you feeling?”

“I–” you paused, trying to find the right words, but first you needed to find your clothes again. Sam might have been comfortable living nude as often as he could, but you needed some sense of familiar security around you after all that. As you got redressed, you continued: “I felt many things during all that, honestly. It was kinda fun to see Sam getting wrecked.” Danny beamed at that, which almost made you laugh, which made Sam actually laugh. “I think you guys really are great together and I’m happy for you. But breaking up still really hurt.”

Danny gave a sympathetic frown then, his eyes becoming softer; Sam crawled over to your seat at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I really am,” he said, sounding shockingly genuine. “I should’ve been a better boyfriend while I was still your boyfriend.”

“It’s okay, Sam, honestly,” you assured him, patting the arm that had wrapped around you. “It’s over and, really, it was fine. You were just in love with someone else. Better being in love with Danny than some random stranger or something.”

“Maybe if he’d told me sooner, we wouldn’t have ended up in that whole mess.”

Danny scoffed, planting his hands on his hips as he stood in front of both of you. “I sent you like, a million signals, Sam. You were pretty much the only person who didn't realize sooner.”

“It’s true,” you chimed in. “Looking back, Danny never really tried to hide anything.”

Sam sighed, then hopped off the bed and plastered himself against Danny’s side. “Okay, well, we didn’t hide anything tonight, did we?” He reached down and grabbed Danny’s crotch while kissing his cheek.

Danny hissed and slapped Sam’s hand away. “Too much too soon.”

“Never too much,” Sam replied, sneaking in another kiss, holding Danny close. “Never too soon.”

“Ugh.” You got to your feet, too. “Too much sappy romance for me.”

Sam cackled and grabbed your hand. “No, don’t leave. The night can’t end like this.”

“Yeah, we all at least need a few shots or a bowl or something,” Danny agreed with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “And a shower. Definitely a shower.”

“I get to go first,” Sam announced, breaking free and jetting out of the room, leaving you with a final image of his reddened ass, all thanks to Danny. 

So then it was just you and Danny standing in the middle of the bedroom where so many unexpected, wild and beautiful things had happened. You looked at the chair that you’d been sitting in, so unassuming, then to the disheveled bed, and Danny put one arm around your shoulders.

“Thanks for doing this, Y/N,” he said. “Sam still talks about you all the time. He really cares about you. I think he respects you a lot, too.”

“I’ll always care about him,” you told Danny. His touch was as comforting as your clothes, weirdly enough. You were starting to understand more and more why Sam was so smitten with him. “I care about you too, Danny.”

From the hallway, Sam shouted, “Do you care enough about me to let my boyfriend get in the shower with me?” 

Danny rolled his eyes while you laughed. “Okay, big guy,” you said, steering him out of the room. “You get in there while I get the drinks.”

---

Tagging no one (RIP my old fandom). If you'd like to be tagged in my fics, you can go HERE or DM me!

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

One Call Away - Sam Winchester x Reader

Loosely inspired by One Call Away by Charlie Puth in which the Reader calls on Sam as she’s going through a rough time. 

Listen to the song here

A/N: Hello! So this is once again one of those fanfictions that is based on what I’m really going through. I can’t get into details about what actually happened but I am a bit inspired and I wish I had someone like Sam (outside of my family) to turn to in times like this. I've been working on this one for maybe 6 months or so? It's been a long time coming so I hope you enjoy it!

As always, Supernatural masterlist | Masterlist of all Masterlists

Warnings: Mean people, crying, swearing, fluff, angst, language

Word Count: 3992

“You are a bitch!” The words of Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club rang through my ears every time I looked at her. If I had to deal with her mistreatment one more time……

Okay, so it wasn’t always like this, in fact, it used to be really good but then again, it all seemed like a phase. It didn’t make any sense, all of a sudden I was out and looking in and it was not okay. The environment around me was so toxic, that I dreaded going there every day. I didn’t know what to do or who to go to so I went to the one person I always knew would be there for me. Stepping outside, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. 

“Sam? Hey, can we talk?” I ask, hoping he isn’t busy.

“(Y/N) of course, what’s going on?” He said I can tell the concern in his voice.

“Work is just becoming too much for me and I don’t know what to do. I feel like no one likes me, people are trying to get rid of me, and I feel like I don’t have any ideas on how to fix the problem.” 

“(Y/N) I’m sorry, that’s awful. What happened?”

“I don’t know what happened or what changed, I just all of a sudden was kicked out of the crowd and it feels horrible. I work hard and I try to do everything that is required of me. I love my job and the people I work with but something changed for the worse.” I say, starting to cry. I couldn’t help but let all the feelings out because this was going on for months. 

“Hang on, I’ll be right there,” He says, the line goes slightly as the tears keep falling. A few moments went by and there was a knock at my door. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Sam says, pushing the door closed behind him and wrapping his large arms around me. Sobs just wracked through my body as the stress of the last few months boiled over. 

Right before I started this job, I met the Winchesters. I didn’t even mean to meet them but I’m glad to have them. They were in town working a case and I had assisted them in pulling information on what may have killed the person they were after. Don’t worry, I’ve known that monsters are real before I met them. My great-grandfather was a hunter, my grandfather, my father, and it would’ve gone to my brother but the tradition is, it goes to the oldest child. So I’ve grown up in the life and have seen everything. Of course, the guys were thrilled to know I knew so much about monsters and some best practices to destroy them but I wasn’t allowed to actually hunt at all. I was just used to giving information but I was damn good. So I was asked to move into the Bunker for easier access but I ended up having to get a job because my assistance wasn’t being requested as often. Things were great at first but everything changed and it was awful. Of course, the Winchesters were overprotective because they said they saw me as a sister, and they wished they could do something to help me. 

“They’re doing what to you?” Dean had yelled, not at me but at the situation. “I’m going to make them pay for treating you like that.” 

“I appreciate that Dean, but I don’t want you to do anything,” I explained to him and Sam. They both frowned when they couldn’t help me but it was something I needed to handle myself.

“But (Y/N) you’re being treated unfairly. You do see that right?” Sam asked, more concern showing up in his features. 

“Yes Sam, I know, but let me handle this first and if that doesn’t work, I’ll ask you guys,” I say and make sure they both understand before I go back to my room.

Authors POV

“Why is she being treated so badly? She really enjoyed her job and then all of a sudden, everyone turned on her?” Sam stated, not fully grasping what happened. 

“I don’t know Sammy, but we gotta figure out how we’re going to help her,” Dean said.

“Dean, you know what she said, she doesn’t want our help.”

“The hell she doesn’t. She’s too nice to start something like this. She needs to be protected.”

“Look I think she can be too nice too sometimes but she’s also tough as nails in certain aspects. She doesn’t let anyone push her around so we just have to trust her and believe she will find a way to come out on top,” Sam says but he doesn’t trust those words himself. No, Sam is extremely protective of her and will do anything he can to make sure she is okay. He could never tell her why he feels that way, maybe because he doesn’t know himself, but when it comes to her, everything is different. 

He paced the length of his bedroom, which was rather small for his long strides, and that made him frustrated because he would have to stop, turn, then go back to pacing, only to have to start all over again a few seconds later. The cell phone that sat on his bed taunted him, telling him she wouldn’t call to say she needed him. He would get flustered, running his large hands through his hair, slightly tugging on the ends of his neck as he would groan. He hated waiting and hated that she wasn’t calling sooner for his help. It irritated him that anyone was treating her poorly because she didn’t deserve that. She was smart, brave, funny, beautiful, strong, resilient; nothing standing in her way but this? This was more than she could handle, he thought. This would upset even him and he was used to this kind of crap but as long as he’s known her, she didn’t deal with things where she was being used or people didn’t like her. Okay, so she’s only been a part of the team for six months, but she became family as soon as she decided to move in with them. 

A few hours passed and Sam had fallen asleep waiting around. He refused to help Dean with a case that had come up because he was so concerned with (y/n) and he knew he needed to be around in case she needed him. He would’ve slept longer if it wasn’t for his phone waking him up with a rather annoying buzzing sound.

“Hello?” He answers the phone, trying his best not to sound as though he was just asleep. 

“Sam?” A small voice came through from the other end. She sounded timid almost; something was wrong.

“(Y/N) what's wrong?” 

“Something happened and I need your help; I’ve lost control. 

"Okay, where are you?"

"Down by the lake, about two miles from the Bunker. I'm in my car." 

"Stay there, I'm coming to find you."

Luckily, Dean had come back from his hunt and it ended successfully.

"Dean, I need to borrow Baby. (Y/N) got into a bit of a situation and she really needs help," the younger brother says to his older brother, in a way he hasn't seen his baby brother for several years.

"Dude, of course. Is she okay?" Dean asks.

It took Sam a few minutes for him to find the words to answer. He looked like a fish gasping for air on the land; he truly did not know.

"I don't know. She sounded so scared and fragile…." A single tear fell from his eye, knowing the person he cared for most in the world was in great need of someone to be there for her.

Dean had only seen this behavior in Sam one other time and that was when he was sent to Purgatory. This must've been serious. 

"Take whatever you need. Just make sure you're good before you drive; you don't want to get hurt yourself. Call me if you need me."

"Thank you, Dean." Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala from the table a jacket and his phone before speeding away to try and get to his friend, in her weakest moment. 

The drive seemed endless but it only lasted ten minutes. He saw her small vehicle parked under a tree, close to the lake but still a good distance from the shoreline. It was dark, with only a few street lights a few yards away. Sam had the idea of turning the Impala's headlights on, hoping to illuminate the view around (Y/N)'s car and as a way to make himself known. 

"Sam?" Her voice rang out into the night.

"I'm here," he answers her.

The sound of a car door opening and shutting came and went and the next thing Sam knew, (Y/N) was running into his arms as she let all her pent-up emotions fully go. With her still in his embrace, he bent down so he was sitting on his knees, with her head resting in his jacket. He held her close, afraid to say anything, for fear it was too soon for her to speak. So, he sat with her, rocked her, and occasionally wiped the tears from her now puffy eyes. Even at this moment, his heart swelled. See, Sam finally figured out why (Y/N) was different; he was in love with her. Yes, he had fallen madly in love with her yet could never find the right time to tell her. Now was definitely not the time but when she would look up at him, tears brimming her big (y/e/c) eyes, he felt it in his soul; he adored her. He knew he would do anything for that girl and he ached to help her when she was this hurt. 

How dare anyone treat such a beautiful and kindhearted person like her? He had thought to himself. He couldn't fathom why anyone would be so cruel to her but he pledged to himself in that very moment, he was always going to be there for her; Superman had nothing on him.

Sam's POV

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, wanting to know what happened since she seemed more calm.

"I was called in by my boss and had a meeting with human resources. It was so stupid and I felt like I was being targeted. I threw up because it's just been too much and I've been so stressed. I'm gaining weight and I'm eating more crap; I hate this," she answers and my heart breaks further

"(Y/N) you need to get out of there. It's not healthy for you to be in that environment."

"I know but I don't want to quit; it wouldn't look good for future jobs."

"Fuck getting another job! Just stay with us and we'll have work for you to do. You don't have to worry about anything; we've got you." I say, reassuring her that we will always have her best interest at heart. 

She looked back at me with these big, wet, puppy dog eyes and I felt my heartbreak further for her. "I wish I could but I just can't."

"Well, I'm not stopping until we figure something out that would be much better for you and I'm not giving up until we think of something because goddammit (Y/N) I care about you."

The air in the room felt very thick and everything was quiet, (Y/N) not saying a word, not looking at me and Dean, well Dean had shot me a look and a grin, knowing what was behind this sudden statement. I gave him a mental plea of 'please leave.' I was relieved when he just smiled and left the room.

"(Y/N) are you okay?" Again, she remained quiet for a moment before finding the words to say. 

"What do you mean you care about me?" She asks.

"Well, I've always cared about you, since we've met," I answer, trying to put off the true answer.

"But when you've said this before, Dean has stayed in the room; he just left." I took a big sigh and then I decided it was time.

"Sam, what are you saying?" She asks, her head slightly turned to the side, much like Cass does when he's confused.

"I'm saying I care about you, as more than just a friend. I've been crazy about you since you came to stay with us and with all this shit happening at your work, all I wanna do is wrap you up in my arms and protect you from all the mean people," I finish my statement, my eyes never leaving her face. 

There's an agonizing silence as I try to read how she's processing all this but then she finally speaks up.

"What are you waiting for?

I take that as an okay and I grab one of her arms, tugging her into my body. She's safe and she's warm in the protection of me. My arms snake around her and I feel her taking a big breath in and out; her whole body relaxing. Time had passed and I wasn't sure how much of it had but I savored every moment of it. I slowly untangled her from my arms as she looked up to me. Not a single word was spoken but I took the lead and pressed my lips to hers. She reciprocated, pressing her smaller frame to mine by stepping on her tiptoes to reach me. We stayed together for a short while, but it meant everything to me.

Two days later Sam was on my side through everything but it was time to go to human resources to find out what they could do for me. 

“Sam, I'm scared.” 

“I know you are baby, but I’m here and I’ll be with you as long as you allow me to be.” He takes my hand and drives me down to the department where we would be meeting with a representative of human resources. We arrive and as he parks the car, he brings my hand up to his lips and leaves them there for a bit. 

“You ready?” He asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, gripping his hand a little tighter. We walked in and were met by the specialist. 

An hour or so passed and it was determined I would be going on a leave. A few weeks away from my workplace I could not be more relieved to be out of that situation. In fact, so much pressure had built up inside me that it exploded in tears from my eyes. Sam just held me tight and made sure I knew he was there. I was going to be spending every day with Sam and Dean and I felt a bit odd about it, knowing I wasn’t going to be able to help too much.

“Nonsense sweetheart, you can help us research our cases,” Dean stated.

“Could I come with you guys?” I ask.

Sam and Dean shared a concerned look but Sam spoke up first. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to leave you alone while you’re on leave but you have to promise us, you’ll listen to everything we tell you. We care a whole lot about you and these cases can get pretty dangerous. Stay close, don’t wander off, and shoot when we say.”

“Wait, you guys trust me to shoot someone? I’ve never done that before,” I state.

“We’ll teach you. We have more time now so we can get you ready,” Dean said. “Sammy, you got this?” 

Sam glanced at me and looked to read my face, waiting to see if I would object. “If she’s up for it.” 

I sucked in a hard breath and nodded. 

“Then I will take her on.” Now it was my turn to read his face. It wasn’t as easy but I managed; he looked slightly uncomfortable. 

“Sam, can I talk to you for a minute, in private?” He nodded and followed me out of the room. 

“You don’t have to teach me to shoot. You looked uncomfortable; I can ask Dean,” I say.

“No I want to,” he says.

“Then why do you look so annoyed by it?” 

“I’m not annoyed, I’m worried. Our line of work can be really dangerous; I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“Well I’ll be fine, you’re going to train with me; I’ll be a hunter.”

“That’s not something to be excited about, (Y/N). We kill people and creatures.” 

“Sam, I know, I’m not excited per se but I am interested in learning more about you and what you go through every day.”

“But you can do that without doing what I do,” he says.

“Look, I really appreciate your concern and you’re right, I don’t have to do this to get to know you better but I don’t want to be alone for twelve weeks and I can’t ask you to give up hunting just for me so if this is what it takes, then teach me. Show me what I need to do to stay safe,” I said going over to him and wrapping my arms around him. He holds me close, his head resting on my head. 

“I care about you a lot, you know that, right?” 

“I know, I do too.”  

A few weeks later, Readers’s POV

Time seemed to have gone by rather quickly. The more hunts I went on, the easier it became. I took it as not killing people as much as killing creatures who may have been human at one point but aren’t anymore. I was continuing to stay busy with the boys, hunting, traveling, researching, and staying in more crappy motels than I could count. The job was taking a toll on me, on all of us, but we all grew closer and the boys treated me like I was their sister, well that was until Sam started distancing himself from me. It began as small ways for him to separate himself; not interjecting in conversations about hunts, simple nods or shakes of his head, answering with “hmm” instead of actual words. Then it grew into staying behind during hunts, not eating food with Dean and me, and overall just not acting like himself. 

“Hey Dean, have you noticed a change in Sammy lately?” I asked one day while he was driving us home from a hunt. 

“You mean any more than usual?” He jokes, always having to pick on his younger brother. 

“I’m serious, Dean, I’m worried about him!” I say, slightly swatting the elder Winchester. 

“I don’t know (y/n), maybe you should go talk to him, see what's bothering him,” Dean suggested.

I figured that was the best idea so I decided to do just that. I was a bit infuriated and when I walked, I added more pressure to each step, making sure Sam knew I meant business. I finally found him in his room, lying across his bed, as if we weren't worried about where he was.

“You better have a damn good reason for acting so off, Sam,” I say, making myself known.

“(Y/N)” he says, suddenly sitting up to look at me. 

“Well Winchester, what's your problem? You've been acting weird, especially around me. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? What is it?” I asked, both hands on my hips, staring down at him.

“No, it's not that,” he says.

“Then what? I mean I thought everything was fine between us but you've been acting so differently towards me! You can't look at me for long, be around, or talk to me. It's almost as if I annoy you or something. Is that what it is Sam? Am I annoying? Do I bother you? What?!” I practically yell at him.

“I love you,” he says, calmly and not initially meeting my eyes. I go to say something else but just stare at him when his words sink in.

“You what?” I said, not immediately grasping what he was saying. 

“You’ve been through hell lately, with how everyone treated you at your job and you felt like the whole world was against you, you turned to me and I was always there for you. No matter what time of day, if I was out on a hunt or preoccupied with something else; I stopped for you. And in the midst of it all, I fell in love with you. Never in all my life have I connected with someone the way I have with you and all I want to do is protect you and make sure no one hurts you ever. I just hope you feel the same about me because I haven’t had much in this life but I hope to have you because you are who I am proud of, who I want to wake up to every morning, start a family with, maybe even retire from the hunt.” He said, looking at the tears that were steadily falling from my eyes. 

“I love you too Sam. I couldn’t have expected you to be the person I would turn to amid my darkest time but you were always there and you helped me realize there’s more to life than just working a job where I wasn’t appreciated or even valued for that matter. You’ve shown me what it means to love someone more than just myself and to be fully open and raw to someone else and I cannot thank you enough for that. You are my Superman; always there to save my day and my life. You are my heart's desire, my perfect man, the one I hope to spend the rest of my life with. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else.” I admitted and the smile on his face was pure, unbridled joy. He took a few strides and took my face in his hands, just gently but enough for me to feel that he was in control. He took his time, watching my eyes the entire time except for the few times his gaze dropped to my lips and back. Making sure I had given silent permission, he finally brought his lips down to mine, just a small, chaste kiss to test the waters then when he saw my response, he brought our lips back together with a passion and urgency I wasn’t expecting from him. His hands moved from my face to my hips, bringing our bodies flush against one other, fear in both of us that this moment would end. I grabbed ahold of his shirt in both my hands, holding onto him with every ounce of strength I had. When we finally pulled away, there was a sparkle in his eye, one that solidified the next step.

“You know, now that we’re together, we can mess with Dean.” He suggested. 

“Oh yeah? Like kicking him out the room or make-out sessions in the backseat of the Impala?” I suggest. 

“Ah, now that’s my girl, exactly what I was thinking.” We both laugh before going back in for another kiss. In the end, Sam was who I needed. The person who was always there for me to run to when I just grew too frustrated with life. He was my biggest supporter and always made sure I had everything I needed or ever wanted. And all he ever was, was one call away.

[joshym]

Why Don’t You Make Me?

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: you learn what being sassy with Sam leads to

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: (18+ MINORS DNI) unprotected sex, angst, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering (f receiving), pussy slapping(sorry lol), a bit of a praise kink, some degradation, rough sex, sam is an asshole(hehe), ends with some good fluff

a/n: i’m not even sure how to explain this one, lol. essentially, i watched an interview forever ago where he talks about not liking one of my favorite bands, thus, sparking this. i haven’t been able to let go of it since. we all know sammy is a bit picky when it comes to music...

with that being said, enjoy. 🤍

It’s nothing out of the ordinary for you and Sammy to have pointless, petty arguments that usually pertain to nothing of any importance. You both are too stubborn for your own good, and neither one of you are too keen on admitting any sort of wrongdoing. 

Sammy loves to insert his opinion on absolutely everything. Even when his opinion wasn’t requested. He relishes any opportunity to share his opposing thoughts, even when he knows it’ll inevitably piss you off. 

Something Sammy has very strong opinions on is music. He’s quite pretentious when it comes to his musical preferences. You’re always more than willing to listen to whatever song or artists he’s into at any given moment, eager to give it your full attention when he’s excited to show it to you. You love his music taste and that he’s introduced you to so many incredible pieces.

However, he never gives you the same respect. When you want to show him something you love, he has to overly critique it. Every fucking time. He’s entirely too critical of everything you enjoy and you’re starting to take offense to it. It just pisses you off to no end that he fully believes his music taste is far superior than yours. To avoid getting your feelings hurt, you’ve pretty much stopped showing him anything you love, and you typically only listen to your music when he’s not around so you can enjoy it in peace.

You’d anticipated a day at home to yourself as Sam had a full schedule. You had nothing planned, so you decided to spend the day cleaning the house and listening to a special playlist compiled of your favorite music. 

You’ve been so lost in cleaning that you don’t even realize several hours have gone by. Your playlist is still on full blast, too loud for you to hear Sam coming in through the front door.

You’re startled by your music suddenly coming to a halt, making Sammy laugh at you as you nearly jump out of your skin.

“You know, that’s the most overproduced shit I’ve ever heard. There’s nothing enticing about it, feels like my intelligence is being insulted.”

You have zero patience for this right now. Not only did him scaring you annoy the shit out of you, but now he has the nerve to bring this up again. You’re over it.

“Can you fucking not, Sam?”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re always dragging my music in the dirt and I’m just sick of it. It’s fucking rude. Just let me enjoy it without you being an asshole, please.”

You’re walking past him when he grabs your arm to stop you.

“Don’t try to walk away from me, sweetheart. I’m an asshole, huh?”

He’s looking down at you with a condescending expression that has you immediately turned on. Something about him being angry makes you desperate for him to have his way with you. You have a feeling you know where this is going, so why not take it a little further?

“Yep. You’re a fucking asshole.” you say through gritted teeth. 

He smirks at you, noticing your cheeks becoming flushed and your angry appearance turning into a needy one.

“You better quit running your pretty mouth, y/n, or you’ll seriously regret it.”

“Why don’t you make me?”

That was all he needed. Before you know it, your back is pushed up against the wall with a light grip on your throat. 

“You know you can’t talk to me like that and get away with it, right?”

He’s pressing his hips against your body, showing you just how hard he is already. With one hand, he pulls your shorts down to your feet. His fingertips trace ever so lightly over your clothed clit, just barely giving you that pressure you’re so desperate for.

“What’s the matter, baby? Your pretty cunt already needy for me?”

He grabs the fabric of your panties and pulls them up between your lips, giving you much needed friction against your clit.

“Fuck, Sammy..”

“You like calling me an asshole, huh? Turns you on being a little bitch to me, doesn’t it?”

You’re hardly able to form any coherent thoughts with as much as you're turned on right now.��

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how much you love being a bitch and calling me names. Tell me.”

His lips meet your neck in small nibbles against the sensitive skin.

“I love it, Sammy. I fucking love pissing you off.”

“Yeah, I know you do. Get down on your knees so I can show you what you should be doing with your mouth instead of running it.”

You quickly comply. He caresses your face with one hand while he’s undoing the button on his jeans with the other. You're practically drooling at the thought of having him tucked away in your mouth.

He pulls his cock out, and he’s unbelievably hard.

“Open, baby. If you can call me an asshole with that mouth, you can take my dick in it, too.”

You open for him and he slowly slides himself inside all the way to the back of your throat before pulling out completely. 

“Remember what to do if it’s too much, right?”

“Tap you three times.”

“Good girl.”

You open for him again and he slides in with much more force this time, hitting the back of your throat much harder. He pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail and uses it to hold on to while he fucks himself into your mouth. You keep your eyes on him and watch as his jaw clenches with every thrust. You gag a little around him, making him smirk.

“God you look so pretty like this, honey. You’re doing so good.”

You feel him start to twitch and you realize he’s getting close. He quickly pulls out of your mouth and lifts you up.

“Get your smart ass to the bedroom. Take your clothes off and be ready. I’ll be there in a minute. And don’t you dare touch yourself. You’re not getting off unless it’s from me, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He slaps your ass as you walk towards the room. You strip yourself of your remaining items of clothing as you sit on the bed against the headboard with your legs open, ready for whatever he has planned for you.

He’s taking much longer than you care for. You’re getting restless and you’re so desperate. You decide to risk it and you begin to touch yourself, running small circles over your clit. Right as you’re finally feeling some relief, Sammy walks in the room.

“So not only do you call me names, but you don’t listen to me either?”

He’s holding the speaker you were using earlier. He sets it up on the dresser next to your bed and starts playing your playlist at a low volume.

“Sammy what are you-”

“Gonna fuck you to your little playlist so every time you listen to it, you remember your punishment for being such a fucking brat about it.”

As your music starts playing, he leans over you on the bed to crash into your lips with his. The kiss is sloppy and vigorous, making you that much more turned on.

He moves down to your neck and chest to suck marks into you. He takes your nipple in his mouth and softly bites at it, eliciting a sound out of you that can only be described as pornographic.

He lifts up only to spread your legs as far as they can go. Without warning, he lands a quick and light slap to your already aching pussy. Your hips buck harshly at the contact, causing you to moan even louder.

“That’s what you get for not listening to me when I said not to touch yourself.”

He does it again. 

“And that’s for calling me an asshole.”

You're clenching so hard around absolutely nothing, ready to beg him to be inside of you. 

“Sammy please..please fucking touch me.”

He’s looking at you smugly. He knows exactly what you want, but he’s going to make you work for it. 

“You’re awfully squirmy, baby. Bet you want me so bad, huh?”

“Yes, Sam, please.”

“Call me an asshole again.”

You look up at him, confused and almost sure you heard him wrong.

“Call me an asshole again, y/n. Then I’ll give you what you want.”

You’re starting to catch on to his little game.

“You’re an asshole, Sam. A fucking dick.”

He smiles, then dips down between your legs.

“Look at you, honey. Making such a mess and I’ve barely touched you.”

His tongue meets your swollen clit with small flicks. You’re hardly able to hold yourself still at the sensation, but he keeps you in place with his arm wrapped around your hips.

He sinks two fingers deep inside of you, moving them at a quick speed. You’re already so close that you’re hardly breathing.

You grab ahold of his hair that’s draped across your belly and use it to hold him there. His fingers are moving at a speed that has you whining under him.

“Fuck, Sammy..I’m s-so close, please don’t stop-”

“Come on, baby. Cum nice and pretty so I can put my cock inside of you.”

His words have you instantly meeting your release, belting out a slew of moans almost melodically.

“That’s it, there you go. Fuck- look at you, y/n. You’re so beautiful when you cum for me.”

His fingers have slowed down to work you through your orgasm. You’re nearing overstimulation, but you can’t force yourself to make him stop. His fingers mixed with your release feel so good. 

He pulls out of you and immediately puts his fingers in his mouth, savoring the taste of you.

“Mmm, gonna fuck you now, pretty girl.”

He positions himself between your legs and wastes no time plunging into you. You’re so wet that it takes you no time to adjust to his size.

He holds himself up on his knees, gripping your hips and thrusting into you. He loves to watch himself slide in and out of you, watching as his cock becomes coated and shiny with your slick. The sounds of your wetness fill the room along with your damn music that started this whole thing. He’s picking up his pace to a more brutal one.

“Think I could watch your pretty pussy get fucked all day. So fucking good, baby.”

He keeps up his pace, his face displaying pure ecstasy as his eyes become droopy with pleasure.

He pulls out, leaving you missing him instantly. 

“Turn around. On your knees, face down.”

You quickly do as he says, almost embarrassed by how eager you appear but too fucked out to care.

He teases you a bit before he sticks himself back inside, burying himself in you completely.

It takes no time for him to pick his pace back up as he slams himself into you. One hand is gripping your ass, while the other reaches down under your hips to play with your clit.

“Fu-fuck, Sam, I’m close baby. I’m so fucking close..”

“Cum on my cock, and make it pretty again. Give it to me.”

It’s as if his voice contains some sort of magic, making you cum again at the sound of it mixed with the overwhelming pleasure.

“Oh my god, Sam!”

You’re almost screaming at the feeling, this one even more intense than the first one.

“Fuck, y/n. You’re squeezing me so tight. Gonna fill you up, baby.”

He meets his release shortly after you. The feeling of him filling you up is something you’ll never get tired of. 

He’s out of breath, staying tucked inside of you for a bit while he regains his composure.

He finally pulls himself out, leaving you feeling empty while his cum spills out of you.

You lift your head up to see him looking at your dripping pussy, biting his lip.

“So fucking beautiful, y/n.”

You roll over on your back while he sits on the bed next to you.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he says as he runs his fingers through your disheveled hair. 

“Yeah, that was absolutely amazing.” 

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier. I know I can be a bit ruthless about things like that. I don’t mean to be so harsh.”

“It’s okay, really. Honestly, if it ends in sex like that, I’d be more than happy to argue about it all the fucking time.”

“Yeah? Well, in that case,” he points to the speaker that’s still playing your music. “this song is fucking garbage.” he winks at you as you start to laugh.

“You’re an asshole, Sam.”

He leans down to kiss you.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too.”

Masterlist

[stellatekintsugi]

Sam Fender

[sams-sass]

Bound

Part One

Hey hey hey!! Here is my new Alpha!Sam fic. I really hope you guys enjoy this! Its somewhat of an AU, but Sam and Dean are still hunters. 

Read Part Two Here: 

Unchained

Summary: You learn something new about yourself, something that is brought on by a stranger. Your life is turned upside down when you present as an Omega and are immediately taken and kept away from him. Your Alpha.

Warnings: Eventual smut, talk of capture, talk of mistreatment, talk of fear and anguish, reader is a virgin. This is angsty, but it ends happy because I literally cannot make Sam sad.

Note: @never--doubt, @emoryhemsworth, @hintsofhoney and I were talking about an innocent reader fic. So this is mine. 

I would like to give a special thank you and shout out to my beautiful and brilliant Betas @emoryhemsworth @440mxs-wife​ @makeadealwithdean and @never--doubt​ you guys helped me so much with this fic. Reading and rereading. Listening to my ideas. Thank you thank you thank you!!!

Pairings: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Prologue 

It started with the war. Hundreds to thousands of boys and men were sent to fight and die for a country that didn't provide the service back. Most of them were Alphas. Their Omegas were left at home for months, years, or sometimes until the boney hands of death also claimed them. Their natural cycles and heats were not being met with what they needed most—their Alphas. The Omegas called for their mates. Their desperate and wild howls filled the night air. The moon wept alongside her sisters.

Generations came and went, and as time passed, a dip in the presentation of Omegas occurred. Not only were they becoming increasingly rare, but they were also going extinct. The mother of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas became a commodity. Bought and sold to the highest bidder in hopes of breeding an Omega.

Once held in the highest regard, their presentation became seen as weak and dependent. Omegas were to be captured and stowed away in a house of their own kind. They would be kept pure, letting their heats dissolve them every month in agony. They do not allow them any contact with Alphas. A select few Betas can be in their presence. The only Alphas now who could claim an Omega have to pay the price.

Only a twist of fate can undo the ties that bind. -------------------- As you strolled through the farmers market, you let your hands touch soaps, fruits, vegetables, and fabrics. The spring air blew strands of your hair off your shoulders, filling your nose with its new and crisp scent. You turned your face toward the high morning sun, feeling the heat soak through your t-shirt and leggings.

"Hey, Ness." You greeted your friend as you ducked under a tent.

"Hey, Y/N." She called back, looking at you over her shoulder.

"Got anything good for me today?" You asked, bending at the waist to check out her selection of fruits and vegetables.

"Well, seeing as you are late..." She said, turning to face you fully.

"Ugh, I know!" You said. "I couldn't make myself get out of bed this morning. I just felt this pull for more sleep." You explained, picking up an orange for inspection.

"Still, I saved you the best tomatoes," Vanessa said, her smile wide as she handed you the brown paper bag.

"You are literally the best. I love you." You said as you took the bag from her hands, peeking at the red and orange heirloom tomatoes.

"Love you more." She said back. You fell into an easy routine with your friend. She was a Beta. Her sweet and clean smell filled your nose. Vanilla and ripe summer strawberries. You were also a Beta. Your presentation had not been typical, but it wasn't entirely abnormal.

You were about to ask Ness if she wanted to come over tonight when it hit you. The scent filled your entire body. It smelt of soft sandalwood, the woodsy and fresh aroma reminding you of springtime. Green and young foliage kissed by the sun and air for the first time. A heavy musk lay underneath. Old books with spines that crack from time passing. Your fingers could almost feel the worn and read pages between them. The wind shifted, and you could now smell pine. The ever-true and mighty trees covered with heavy snow still stand tall in the changing environment. Your mouth watered at the scent of orange. You could practically taste the sweet and tart juice rolling across your tongue and sliding down your throat. It's supple nectar refreshing and filling you. You could feel the heat of a bonfire on a cool summer evening burn across your flesh, its incandescent smell warming you from the inside out. Soothing mint was the final scent you picked up. Clean and bright. Fresh. It cleared your senses until it was all you could scent...all you could feel was him.

"Do you smell that?" You asked out loud. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your knees buckled involuntarily. You let out a gasp that turned into a moan. Your tongue felt thick with moisture. Your head lolled back on your shoulders.

"What is happening?" You asked through panting and panicked breaths. You felt like you were being watched, and your head snapped forward, looking...for what, you weren't sure. You flicked the hair out of your eyes, and that's when you saw him. He was tall. Standing above everyone else. He wore a blue jacket with a black flannel underneath. His brown hair blew softly in the breeze. He was incredibly handsome. Long limbs and broad shoulders. Defined cheekbones and a strong jaw, softened by baby-pink lips and expressive eyes. His mouth sat slightly open, his chest heaving with full breaths. His eyes locked onto yours, and the cramps rolled through you.

"Oh, my god." You practically shouted, your hands flying to your stomach.

"Y/N, what the hell is going on?" Vanessa asked, her voice worried and confused. You gasped as you fell to the ground, your hand knocking over fruits and vegetables as you tried to catch yourself.

"Holy shit," Vanessa said, covering her mouth. "You're an Omega."

You curled inward as a fresh wave of cramps moved through you. When you looked up, there he was. Crouching in front of you. His hazel eyes were determined yet concerned. He held his hand out to you, offering you help. You couldn't explain why, but you trusted him. Your fingers danced over his, his body pulling you back to standing. The moment your skin touched his, you knew. You had read about his. True mates. There was no record of a true mate in over a century. They had been eradicated from the treatment of Omegas. Or so you thought. Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt the slick leak between your legs. He caught the smell of it, and you saw his eyes turn wild. His hand practically yanked you toward him, his opposite arm holding you tightly against his chest.

"Omega." His voice was thick and weighted with arousal. Your knees buckled again, but he caught you this time. His hand came up to wipe the hair away from your forehead.

"You're my..." You mumbled through panting breaths and moans. Your cramps were getting worse, overtaking your entire body. He looked deeply at you then. His sunset eyes were staring into yours. Intertwined in green, blue, and gold, you saw your life waiting for you. It was then that you realized the others around you. Alphas from all over the surrounding area were closing in on you. He noticed them too. A protective and possessive growl came from deep within his chest. He turned and tucked you behind him, his arms holding you tightly. Using himself as a shield as he slowly backed up while assessing the situation.

A whistle broke through the crowd. Your head turned to see dozens of guards racing through the farmers market. They had nightsticks, guns, and gas that they were threatening the descending Alphas with.

"No." Your Alpha said, moving you to the front of his body and wrapping you into an unyielding embrace. Despite all the action, you couldn't help your body's response to being surrounded by his scent. You fisted his shirt in your hands, trying to get as close as possible.

The guards came for him. There were about 20. Your Alpha tried to hold onto you, but there were too many. He unwillingly let you go and began to fight them off. Sometimes taking two of three at a time. You watched in fear and amazement as his massive form made quick work of each guard. His arms and legs struck their target each time precisely. Another Alpha jumped in as well. He fought off the guards alongside your Alpha. Their movements were calculated and practiced. They were experienced. You stared at the two of them, still wrecked with cramps and sweat.

Suddenly, hands wrapped around your arms. You tried kicking. You tried yanking your arms away. You tried flailing your entire body. They were too strong. Alarm and panic coursed through your veins. You let out a scream, your desperation evident. Your Alpha turned then. His nostrils flared. There was so much anger and aggression in his focused eyes. You watched his large hands ball into fists at his side. His lip curled over his front teeth as he charged at the guards, his body only seeking yours. The other Alpha, who was fighting with him, ran as well. The guards all blocked you, standing between you and your Alpha. You watched as he screamed, punched, and kicked. You saw the agony and peril written across his handsome face as they threw you into the van. You made eye contact with him. You reached out your hand, desperately trying to get back to him.

"I will find you! Do you hear me? I will come for you. My Omega!" He screamed, his eyes holding yours with certainty. His voice was the last thing you heard before the needle pinched your skin and sleep took you. ---------------------- "Come on, man! I just wanna sleep!" Dean whined, his head turning to the other side of the pillow.

"I can go without you. I just wanted to let you know I'm taking the car." Sam said, already picking up the keys.

"What?" Dean shot up. "Why do you need the car?"

"Because it's a few miles away," Sam explained.

"Fine. They better have coffee." Dean mumbled as he dramatically threw the covers off him and stumbled into the bathroom.

"It's a farmers market, Dean. Of course, they will have coffee." Sam said, rolling his eyes and waiting for his brother.

"And bacon!" Dean shouted.

"I'll call ahead." Sam shot back sarcastically. ---------------------- "What the fuck, Sam? I don't see any bacon!" Dean asked, his face twisted in annoyance.

"Have a muffin," Sam said, pointing to the first thing he saw.

"You have a muffin!" Dean poked his finger into Sam's chest.

"I told you, you didn't have to come," Sam said.

"Right. Like I'm gonna let you leave Baby here with all these..." Dean paused, flailing his hands around dramatically. "Vegetarians!" He whisper yelled before he stalked away.

Sam shook his head and laughed lightly at his brother's usual antics before returning to the canvas bag display before him. He lifted his head to look at the booth next to him when it hit him. The purest and most intoxicating scent filled his lungs.

It smelt of jasmine, its sensual and feminine smell wrapping around him. He could see the fields of lavender in his mind. Their gorgeous purple color contrasts the lush green grass in which they grow. The floral scent was wild yet tamed, making his hands ball into fists at his side. His tongue felt heavy at the taste of honey, his mouth savoring its nutty and woodsy aroma. He smelt spices, cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg. Their nostalgic and balmy perfumes reminded him of autumn. How the seasons change brought new life to the earth. Sam could virtually feel the rain dance across his body. Goosebumps covered his flesh at the humid and earthy smell bringing him almost to his knees. His pupils dilated at the fresh and invigorating fragrance of freshly cut lemon. Its sticky and citrus juices awakened his senses until all that was left for Sam to see or feel...was you.

He saw you then, hunched over and panting. Your eyes locked on his, and his world stopped spinning. All the air left his lungs, and the blood ran hotter in his veins. You grabbed your stomach, your face scrunching in confusion and pain. You fell to the ground, and Sam took off toward you. Shoving and pushing anyone and everyone out of his way until he was crouching before you. He stretched his hand out to help. He knew the instant your delicate touch caressed his scared and calloused skin. Sam caught the scent of your slick sliding down your legs and had to keep himself from ripping your clothes off. He ran his hands over your hair, feeling the heat from your body as he pulled you close.

"Omega," He claimed.

"Your my..." Your voice was breathy and dazed. Sam knew what you meant. True mates. Even in his delirium, he knew this was exceedingly rare. He tilted your head back to look directly into your eyes. Swimming among the specks of Y/E/C, he saw everything he could ever need. ----------------- Your hand was reaching toward him. His love. His Omega. His unclaimed mate. He reached back. Your beautiful eyes were full of fear and agony. It killed him to watch you in pain and sorrow.

"I will find you! Do you hear me? I will come for you. My Omega!" He pledged to you and himself. The guards slammed the doors of the van and sped away. It took over 15 guards to hold Sam and Dean back from you. They finally broke away and raced toward the Impala. Dean jumped across the hood to climb into the front seat.

"What the fuck is going on, man?" Dean screamed once they took off driving. Sam didn't answer right away; he just sat in brooding silence. His hands balled tightly into fists on his lap. Dean screamed his name, and Sam finally snapped out of it.

"I don't know," Sam said truthfully. "I think...no...I know, she is my true mate."

"True mate?" Dean asked, looking over at Sam. "When was the last time that happened?"

"Over a century ago," Sam answered.

"Whoa." Was all Dean said, his hand running through his spiked hair.

Despite their best efforts, they lost the van carrying you. Sam shook with anger and frustration. His mind and body swinging between hectic depression and chaotic rage. Now that he had seen you. Scented you. Heard your angelic voice...he could never be without you.

They pulled into Singer Auto the next day. Sam closed the door and immediately started pacing. Bobby greeted them outside with beers in his hands.

"What's got you two all riled up?" Bobby asked around the lip of his beer can.

"I met my true mate. They took her from me, Bobby. They took my Omega." Sam said. His voice was primal sounding. Bobby lowered his beer can, his brow stitching together on his forehead. He looked at Sam as if he was crazy, glancing between both boys for more information.

"Your true mate?" Bobby asked. "Sam...there hasn't been a documented case of true mates in..." Bobby trailed off. His head shook in disbelief.

"Over a century. I know." Sam finished for him. He sounded impatient.

"It's true, Bobby. I saw it all. She presented in the middle of a farmers market." Dean piped in.

"What?" Bobby looked as if he had just been punched in the stomach.

"Yeah. Us and about 50 guards from the government had to fight off like 25 other Alphas who were all called there by her presentation." Dean explained.

"And you're sure it was you, son?" Bobby asked. Sam pricked at the question but remained in control.

"It didn't happen until we made eye contact." Sam verified.

"My god," Bobby said. His eyebrows raised to his hairline.  

"Bobby. I need to know where they are kept, the Omegas. I need to find her. I need to rescue her. Every minute that I am without her is agony to me. It has only been a day, and I feel like I'm gonna combust. I feel like a part of me is missing. I need to be with her. I need...her. Just her." Sam said, his voice softening.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I don't know. I-I don't even know if there is just one house or several." Bobby said regretfully. Sam let out a breath that turned into a growl, his hands raking through his hair.

"Well, boys, it looks like we have some work to do," Bobby said more confidently. ----------------------- You awoke in your new room. It was bland. All sense of individuality was gone. The walls were beige. The bedding was beige. Even the furniture was a withered beige. You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes and feeling the tears come. In all the turmoil at the farmer's market, you didn't have time to fully understand what was happening. The fear settled over your shoulders like a cold, scratchy blanket offering no warmth.

Your body curled into itself tightly. Cramps still sat deep in your abdomen. A constant and aching reminder of your new reality. The tears fell hot and heavy down your cheeks, their salty taste getting caught in your mouth. You sniffled and pressed the palms of your hands into your eyes. Your breath was wet sounding as you cried in your lonely room. You got out of bed and went to the door, swallowing thickly from nerves. Eyes closed as your fingers felt the cold metal of the handle. You turned it. Locked.

"No. No. No. No. Please. No." You said in total defeat. Your voice pendulated from small and meek to loud and angry as you continued your protest. You ran your hands over the door, looking for any way out.

"You can move around the house once your heat is over." Someone spoke. They were right outside the door. Your breath caught in your throat, and you stepped backward in fear.

"Don't be scared." She spoke again. There was the sound of a key turning in a lock. The door opened, and a woman walked through. She was beautiful with wavy raven-colored hair that fell to her mid-back. She wore a long black dress that accentuated her cleavage. Her olive skin was highlighted with freckles and beauty marks. Large dark brown eyes found yours, and a calm smile sat on her lips.

"My name is Violet. I am the head Omega of this house." ---------------------- Four months Later The Omega house was strange. Most women here were kind and compassionate. Most days passed with walks around the property. Reading in the small library and eating meals with some other Omegas here. You had classes on how to be a good Omega. How to best manage your heats. And how to keep your Alpha happy. It was misogynistic and disgusting, but you were holding it together. It was alright per se, but it wasn't home. There were two times when the house was miserable. Once was when you had your heat. You were forced to stay in your room. Given only essential over-the-counter medication for the pain. No matter how bad the cramps were. No matter how loudly you pleaded. You were not allowed to touch yourself. Not allowed anything that could provide some relief for the aching pulse between your legs. Some have even been tied down because they could not stop. However, the worst days were the days when the Alphas visited. They came in with confidence unlike you had ever seen. Their fancy cars and clothes could not mask their true nature. They saw you all as property. They didn't ask permission to touch or scent you. They didn't want to talk to you or find themselves in any kind of courtship. They tried to claim you as their own. They wanted to own you. Today was one of those days.

You took a deep breath, running your hands over the white dress you had to wear when the Alphas were here. It fits tightly across your chest, flowing slightly at your waist. The hem fell around your calf, showing your bare feet. You rubbed your bicep nervously and prayed that you didn't get chosen. You had lucked out the past four months and hoped your luck could get you one more month. A bit more time for him to find you. You knew he was looking. You closed your eyes at night and pictured his handsome face. His strong yet gentle hands holding you. His warm and perfect mouth...

Violet's voice calling all of you interrupted your thoughts. You rolled your eyes and made your way downstairs to greet the Alphas. You stood with the other Omegas. Some of them like you, begging to not be chosen, while others did whatever they could for an Alpha's attention. The door opened, and several men walked through. You could feel the arrogance and pride rolling off of them.

Violet introduced all of you. You felt like you were up for auction. It was sick and twisted. There was nothing weak or feeble about you or anyone here. All of these women deserved love and affection from someone of their choosing. Someone who loved them the way they deserved to be loved and adored. You left your body, flying high into the air, your mind conjuring up memories of your Alpha. His lips. His hands. His pointed nose. His green and gold eyes. How protective he was of you. Holding you like it was his last day.

A finger trailing over your neck pulled you back into the room with everyone. You slid your eyes over to the Alpha smiling in front of you. He leaned in, moving your hair out of the way so he could put his face into the crook of your neck. He took a large breath. Goosebumps covered your skin, and you did everything possible to not look as disgusted as you felt.

"I like this one." The Alpha moaned. His lips gave you a small kiss before he pulled away.

"Yes, I would like to have her." His eyes raked over your body. "Whatever the cost." He added.  

"Very well, Alpha Luke," Violet said, her eyes staring forward. Your heart sank in your chest. What? You had been bought? You were going to be this Alpha's wife? Panic began to drip down your spine. Your stomach felt sour and sick. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood to keep yourself from screaming.

"When will she be ready?" Luke asked.

"Tomorrow evening," Violet said.

"I'll be here at 6 sharp." He turned and took a few steps before turning back around. "Have her in more revealing clothes." He said with a wicked grin.

The door to your room closed. The lock slid into place. Its sound echoed as a physical manifestation of your sealed fate. --------------------------- "Oh, my god," Dean mumbled around a pancake.

"What?" Sam asked, lifting his head from his laptop. He hadn't slept or eaten in days.

"I found it," Dean said. His face was bright, and his smile wide.

"You found..." Sam trailed off.

"The last house," Dean assured him, turning the computer so Sam could look.

"Let's go," Sam said. His voice was authoritative and raw.

Over the past four months, Sam, Dean, and Bobby had been on a never-ending search. They watched and observed wealthy Alphas. Following them to Omega houses. Sam trying to find you through your scent. Every time he walked away more disappointed than the last. He knew you were waiting for him. Sometimes, in the still hours of early morning, he swore he could feel your heart beating in his chest. He had to get to you. You were all he could think about. He could not rest until you were safe in his arms. Food lost its flavor. Whiskey no longer burned. All the things that once brought him joy felt useless and limp. He needed you. ---------------- You sat in the bath as it was custom for Omegas on their selling day. Four other Omegas sat around you. The water didn't feel warm to you. You had lost all sense of perception of the world around you. You almost felt catatonic from ache and anguish. You no longer felt the soapy sponge on your flesh or the delicate fingers that washed your hair. Your mind receded into itself. Not allowing you to accept that tonight you would be wed. Tonight a stranger would take you as his own. Laying a claimed mark on your skin. Time was up. Your Alpha couldn't find you. And now, even if he did. You would legally belong to someone else in only a few short hours.

This house and its customs. This society and its rules. They may contractually bind you to someone for money. But your heart could speak for itself. Your heart belonged to him. Your soul resided with his. Your Omega was his absolute pairing. A man whose name you didn't even know. And yet, he was yours. And you were his until the end of your days.

The Omega's helped you dress. A white outfit sat in front of you. It was what the Alpha had requested. The top was a lace corset highlighting your breasts with a matching skirt that fell to your upper thighs. The lace was not opaque. You could see your white underwear and a gathering of lace hid your nipples. Although it was clearly made to be removed, it was rather elegant. You looked in the mirror and closed your eyes. Even though this was one of the most sensual and beautiful items you had worn. You never felt more disgusting.

The ceremony started, and you practically lurched forward from nausea. You caught yourself on the railing, descending the staircase as you were told. Another Omega had been chosen as well. Her name was Tanya. You didn't know her well, but having her next to you was helping slightly.

You reached the end of the stairs and saw Luke waiting there. His eyes looked over you with a controlling lust that made your skin crawl. You lowered your head and walked over to him. His scent reeked of wet dog to you. He reached up and touched your cheek. It felt almost kind. Until his hand wrapped around your jaw and he yanked you towards him, your lips pulled uncomfortably together at his harsh touch.

"Mine." He growled in your face. The tears prickled in the corners of your eyes. Then...you smelt him. That delicious woodsy and citrus scent. Your eyes rolled back, and a sharp breath pulled into your lungs. Luke smelt him too. His lip curled. His head turned toward the entryway. The large doors began to shake against their hinges. Your breathing became loud and erratic. The wood began to creak and moan against the assault. Luke pulled you toward him, his arm wrapping around your waist. You tried to fight him off, pushing on his forearm.

The doors finally gave. They hit the house's walls with a resounding bang that echoed throughout the room. He stood in the middle of the doorway. His massive form was emphasized under the milky glow of the full moon. He wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans. His muscular arms were defined by the shadows of night. His face was stoic and stern. He wore a few days of stubble across his chiseled jaw. You stopped struggling when his eyes connected with yours. As soon as he saw you, his shoulders pushed back. His body stood to its full height, his head tilting up in dominance. It was as if time stood still. Your pounding heart was the only thing you could hear.

"'Mega." Your presentation was rounded beautifully by his flawless lips. The moment his boot crossed the door's threshold, guards were on him. Luke sneered, shoving you behind him. Your Alpha pushed the guards away one by one, his large and powerful hands all but throwing them aside like ragdolls. The same Alpha from the farmers market slid behind him on his knees. His body attacking with the same ferocity as your Alpha. The guards didn't give up without a fight. They continued to attack. Your Alpha landed several punches that knocked guards out cold. You swallowed, watching the sheer power coming from him. The guards left the other Alpha, and all came for yours then. His body taking hits from every side. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hands. Luke pounced, his fists flailing. The sounds of a fight filled the room. Hard contact of skin on skin. Low and heavy grunts.

You flung yourself into the pile, jumping on top of Luke. He threw you to the ground forcefully. You got back up and flicked your hair out of the way.

"Go! I got them, go!" The other Alpha screamed. He squeezed himself into the pile so your Alpha could break free. You started walking toward him, but Luke once again grabbed you. You flailed and kicked, and your Alpha pumped his arms to fight him. You spun in Luke's grasp, holding onto his shoulders and kneeing him hard between his legs. He fell, letting you free. You ran to your Alpha. He held his arms out for you. You jumped onto him, your body wrapping around his chest. He encased you fully into his arms. He backed you against the wall, looking deeply into your eyes. He lowered his head and ran his nose over your neck, scenting you. Your eyes fluttered.

"Omega." He mumbled.

"You came for me." You whispered. Your breath was low and deep in your lungs.

"I promised you I would." He moved his head to the other side of your neck. You gripped his shirt in your hands, rolling your hips against his. He groaned in your ear, his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of your thigh.

"Are you kidding?! Get in the fucking car!" The other Alpha screamed, breaking free from the assault. Your Alpha then ran out of the house with you, throwing you into the back of an old but well-taken-care-of car. The other Alpha jumped into the driver's seat and sped off. The two of you looked at each other in the back seat. You were both breathless and wide-eyed.

"I'm Sam." He said, turning fully to face you. You let the sound ring in your ears. His name. You finally knew his name.

"Y/N." You said with a genuine smile. You watched as his lips silently repeated your name. Sam reached forward and pulled a jacket from the car's front seat. He draped it across your shoulders and smiled at you. He had dimples that eased his dominant appearance and gave him a boyish charm. You lowered your nose to the collar and inhaled deeply. You curled inward at being completely surrounded by his scent.

"I'm Dean, by the way." The other Alpha said. "Not that anyone cares." He mumbled.

"I care." You piped up. "Hi, Dean. Thank you for helping to save me." You said politely.

"You're welcome." He looked at you in the rearview mirror.

Dean drove like a madman to ensure you would not be followed. Taking numerous side streets and even dirt roads through fields. The trip lasted a while until you finally pulled into a motel. You and Sam got out; they had already gotten two rooms. Dean went to stow the car somewhere in the woods.

You walked into the motel room, and suddenly everything felt real. This was real. You were with your Alpha. You swallowed nervously, and your fingers played with the hem of Sam's jacket sleeve.

He reached up to touch your face, and you instinctively backed away, cursing yourself as soon as you did it.

"Were you...?" Sam trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks. You looked down at the floor and tried to think of how to tell him.

"I don't want you to be frightened. You probably saw some scary things locked away in there. I want....No. I need you to know that I would never hurt you. You are my true mate." Sam said.

"Don't worry, Alpha. I assure you, I have been kept pure." You said, keeping your eyes down.

"You think your purity concerns me?" Sam asked you, his face tight with disbelief.

"They told me it was important." You explained. Your voice was small.

"Maybe to some Alphas, it is. To me, however, your well-being is what concerns me. I am your Alpha. Your protector. Your provider. I don't care what they told you in that house. I am telling you now that I am only concerned with your safety and happiness." Sam took three steps to close the distance between you. He took your face into his massive hands.

"I am not asking you if you are pure. I am asking if they hurt you?" His thumb came under your chin to lift your face to look at him.

"Not in that way, no." You said, feeling your confidence starting to emerge again from his words.

"Good." He said, keeping his emotions under control, although you did see him bristle. He glanced down and then back up, his eyes narrowing.

"When you say 'pure'...?" His voice questioning.

"Uh. Yes. I am a virgin." You said, your words were shakey with fear as you spoke them. His eyes widened, and his lips parted.

"What? I...Y/N..." His shocked face read so many different emotions.

"Does that scare you?" You asked.

"Not at all. If anything...it makes me want you even more." He confessed.

"Oh." Was all you said, looking away sheepishly.

"Can I ask why?" He asked.

"It just never felt right. I guess now I know why." You touched his face, running your thumb over his cheek. His eyes closed at the gesture.

"Have you done...anything?" He asked, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Yes. I have done some stuff." You answered honestly.

"Have you ever...had an orgasm?" He asked you, his voice shy.

"Yes." You admitted.

"But never during your heat?" He asked.

"Yes, it was during my heat." You corrected him.

"But I read the Omegas are forbidden...you weren't allowed to touch yourself," Sam was confused.

"They could stop my hands but couldn't stop my mind." You said. The confidence you once had coming back.

"Your mind? You thought about something?" Sam asked, his voice growing heavier.

"Not something, someone." You whispered, turning your head to kiss his wrist. Sam brought you even closer to him.

"You thought about...?" His body melted into yours.

"I thought about you, Sam. Only you. Thinking about my Alpha. My perfect mate. Even without your touch, you brought me to highs I never thought I could reach." You said, your body pressing harder into Sam's.

"I thought of you too, Y/N. When I was in my rut, I felt like I was about to explode. Thinking of you. Picturing your warm and pure scent. Imagining your soft body against me. Wondering what your name would feel like to finally fall off my lips. I could have sworn I could taste you. Thinking of you gave me the greatest pleasure I have ever known. Until now." He suddenly fell to his knees in front of you. Sam's long arms wrapped around you, his breath becoming heavy and fast. His hands tentatively removed his jacket from around your shoulders. His eyes watching yours to make sure it was ok with you. You nodded, silently begging him to continue.

"I am yours." He whispered. His nose trailed down your chest, his hot breath fanning your breasts.

"From the moment I scented you, I knew you were the most important thing in my life." He dipped his head down to your stomach to deeply inhale your scent. His lips caught on your shirt as he moved back up your body. His fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt. A desperate groan left his mouth.

"We are bound from this day forward. And if fate should be so cruel as to rip me away from you, I will find you in any life after this. You are mine. My Alpha submits to you. My Omega. My moon and stars. My Y/N." Sam's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I am yours, Sam. My Alpha. My sun and skies. Take me." You said through heavy breaths. Your hands took his face between them. Your fingertips traced the outline of his lips.

Sam didn't waste a moment. He instantly stood, grabbing you and taking you with him. He lifted you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist. His mouth overtook yours. Hot, wet, and possessive. You kissed him back, your tongue finally tasting him. Of all the times you had imagined this, nothing could have lived up to the real thing. The moment his lips graced yours, the cramps started. Your body fell into its natural heat from being with your Alpha. You gasped and gripped Sam tighter. He could sense it instantly, his primal instincts responding to his Omega. Sam's teeth sunk into your bottom lip, drawing a small amount of blood. You moaned into him.

"Claim me." You instructed. You twisted your fingers into Sam's hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to look at you.

"Show everyone who I belong to." You breathed, your voice low and confident.

To Be Continued...

Tagging: @never--doubt @emoryhemsworth @makeadealwithdean @nancymcl @babymxxse @kazsrm67 @zepptte @maliburnee @brooklyn-glen-2014-blog @katherine-ann1 @samfreakingwinchester @idreamofplaid @reconsidering-my-life-choices @clarinette07 @440mxs-wife @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @writethelifeyouwant @squirrelnotsam @prettysourabbie @fanficorwhatever @spnexploration

[julesthequirky]

The 'Uncle': Part One

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: Three years ago your mother introduced you to her new boyfriend, Dean, and since then you've all gelled as a new family. Dean treats your mother like she's the finest gold and you honestly couldn't be happier for her. But what you weren't counting on was a new 'uncle', and there's something about the way that he looks at you that makes your skin crawl...

Characters/Pairings: Step 'Uncle'!Sam x Step 'Neice'!Reader, Dean, OC Denise (reader's mother), Omar, Tony, Raven, Emily.

Overall Warnings: Noncon (rape), degradation, finger sucking, mentions of blowjobs, blackmail, manipulation.

W/C: 2,336

“She’s eighteen, Denise. I’m sure she’ll be fine on her own.”

“I don’t know,” Your mother chewed her bottom lip. “What if something happens? I’d feel better if someone was here, like Sam.”

Fuck. No. Anyone but him. Dread lined the pit of your stomach at the thought of Dean’s brother in your home for a week whilst your mother and Dean went on vacation.

“Mom, please. I’m an adult.”

“You’re not twenty-one yet, missy.”

You pleaded, giving her your best Bambi eyes. She turned to Dean, who had his arm around her waist.

“You know what I think, Dee? She’s old enough, and Y/N is a good kid,” he chuckled. “Hell, kids her age are doing all sorts of things - drinking, parties, passing something from Kentucky, ahah.” Dean petered off as he realised he’d put his foot in it.

He chuckled, and you shot him a look to say, ’Why’d you go and say that for?’. But, of course, your mother would never let you stay home alone now, and she stared dumbstruck at her boyfriend for a moment before turning to you.

“I’m calling Sam.”

“No, Mom, please. I don’t need supervision!”

“Dee—” Dean attempted.

“No, I’ve made up my mind.” With that, she strutted off, already dialling his number.

Dammit. That was it then.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Dean squeezed your shoulder as your mother stayed firm in her decision and he followed her into the living area.

Knowing Sam would be sitting put a sour taste in your mouth, and nausea roiled in your stomach. You would be subject to him for a week, where he would get away with anything. And they had no idea.

It started two years ago when Sam came over to celebrate the 4th of July. Dean was at the barbecue, beer in hand, tongs in another, and wearing an apron that made you and your mother laugh, prompting you to tell him, ‘That’s not what meat man means’.

You were dancing to music in your cutest short-shorts and t-shirt, with the hosepipe filling the inflatable pool, when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, the feeling extending down your spine. You turned, hose in hand, and your eyes honed in on the cause.

You thought Dean was tall. Well, he was taller. And he was staring right at you. Your smile slipped. Something about the intensity of his look made you nervous, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of being caught in a predator’s gaze.

He raised the beer to his mouth, and you turned to face the pool, eyes fixed on the water rippling, intent on not gaining any more attention than you had already garnered.

Out of sheer luck, you managed to stay away from Sam. When he was around, you were out. But it seemed that the inevitable couldn’t be fought.

*

Fuck. Fuck Fuck!!! You mentally cursed yourself out as you approached the house. The lights were on. Meaning Sam was home. Thinking you’d be fine, you hadn’t taken your rucksack with a spare change of clothes. Which also meant that you couldn’t even use your typical studying excuse.

You weren’t stupid enough to go through the front door, so you sneaked around the house’s edge to not set the sprinkler’s off and headed for the backyard gate. You gave it a tentative push, and it swung open slightly. Relief washed through you, intensely grateful that you wouldn’t be attempting parkour tonight.

You edged towards the trellis that lead up to your balcony when suddenly you were plunged into darkness. The fuck?

You knelt, frozen on the spot, heart pounding in your chest, as you listened desperately for a sound, anything. But nothing, except for the crickets in the grass. You mentally chided yourself and willed yourself to calm down. Still, the adrenaline running through your veins had you on edge, and you wouldn’t breathe until you were safe inside your room.

With some sense of calmness, you make your way to the trellis. You’re sure that he’s probably gone to sleep. With that self-reassurance, you climbed the frame with ease and expertise. Dean had talked about bringing it down as it blocked the sight of the yard from the living room, but you’d managed to talk him out of it.

You dropped onto the balcony, making barely a sound, and quickly found relief as you let yourself into your bedroom. You closed the door behind you and closed the curtains, making it look like you had been here all along.

“Have a good time out?” A voice asked.

“Fffffuuuuuuuuck!!” You yelled, heart soaring to your throat, a coldness washing over you. You spun around to see Sam sitting in the corner of your room.

He clicked on the bedside lamp beside him. Then, watching you, he rose to his feet. That familiar prickly feeling came to your head and awareness of how screwed you were slid down your spine.

You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it. “There are cameras. By the gate, Y/N.”

Shit. You’d forgotten about the damn cameras. Dean had installed them, joking that they were only for show, only because your mother had worried herself over intruders.

He stepped closer until he had you craning your neck back just to look at him. He was so damn tall. You swallowed thickly…. you were in the shit, for sure.

Sam was a brooder. He was patient and always found the right opportunity that worked in his favour.

“Does your momma know you dress like a slut?” Sam asked, fingering the hem of your super short skirt.

Your hand swatted his away, and his eyes narrowed at your slight. You’d poked the bear. Nice one.

“Your momma gave me a list of rules for you to adhere to. No parties, no drinking, no smoking and no boys. How many do y’think you’ve broken? Three at least, I’d say.”

All of them. You’d broken all your mother’s rules.

Damn. Fuck. You had swilled your mouth with mouthwash at least twice and popped a mint just in case, and to combat the herbal smell you had sprayed so much, you had coughed and spluttered before Ubering back. On top of that, you had begged your Uber driver, Omar, to stop at least a block away, so Sam wouldn’t get suspicious.

If he was angry, he didn’t show it. In fact, you’d say he’d been waiting for this moment as a smirk curved his lips.

“Your momma thinks you’re this perfect little angel, but I know different. And Dean’s too pussywhipped to see through your little act.”

In the two years you’ve known Sam, he’d barely spoken two words to you. Now, filth was spewing from his lips.

You had the wool pulled over your mother’s and Dean’s eyes. And they were none the wiser. You’d perfected the routine. Practised the lie so much it was second nature. Now, standing before you, Sam posed as a real threat to your perfectly curated deception.

“You weren’t supposed to be here!” You admitted, and he laughed.

“Oh, I know, darlin’. Did mommy dearest just have to go and ruin your plans?” he mocked  condescendingly.

The nerve of this man. It angered you. He knew exactly how your mother worried herself nearly to death. And he used it to his advantage feeding into her anxiety. He whispered poison into her ear, and no amount of convincing could appeal to her rationale. It all fell on deaf ears.

“She’s just concerned.”

And she had every right to be. At four, you had been out with your dad, doing errands, and a drunk driver on the wrong side of the road had ploughed headfirst into your dad’s car, killing him instantly. He never stood a chance. You on the other hand – it had been a miracle that you had come out almost unscathed.

“Is that so?” A malicious grin spread across his face.

You backed up, eyes wide, mouth forming a small o, the prey to a predator, as he stalked towards you. When the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress you almost fell on your ass, but Sam gripped your shoulder, stopping you from going anywhere.

“Well, she should be concerned.”

Danger spiked his words and fear rooted you to the spot.

“I’ll tell Dean.” You managed to choke out.

He snorted. “You’ll tell Dean what? How you seduced a grown man. That you couldn’t control yourself and succumbed to the lust surging in that little body o’ yours. Who do you think he’s gonna believe? The lawyer or the whore?”

“I’m not a whore.” You stood defiant.

“Oh please. I know you’ve sucked more cock than anybody else in your year.”

His fingers trailed over the curve of your lips. A whimper slipped out, and you gave a tentative shake of your head.

“Sam…”

He grinned like a child that was happy playing with its toy. He pushed his fingers past your lips and into the hot cave of your mouth.

“Suck.” He ordered.

You wouldn’t. You stood, staring hard at him with a mouth full of his fingers.

He bent low, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

“If you don’t start sucking, I’ll call your mother and tell her all about tonight.”

That bastard. Heat flamed your cheeks, and the strange sensation of shame filled you. His fingers nudged forwards, the heavy digits resting on your tongue curling down to the back of your throat.

If your mother found out about your exploits, you could kiss goodbye to the prospect of staying in a college dorm come September. Your mother would never let you out of her sights, and you’d never know freedom.

After a moment, your cheeks hollowed, and your tongue flexed. He groaned in pleasure.

“Such a good girl.” He praised.

Your tongue lashed over the digits, curling around them, sucking them as deep as they would go until eventually he pulled his fingers free with a resounding pop.

You avoided his gaze until he tipped your chin back.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You refused to answer him. He tutted, then grasped your chin and forced your head to shake ‘no’.

“Please. Let me go. I just want to sleep.”

You wished you’d taken up Emily’s offer to bunk at her place. Sleeping on a pull-out bed where the springs poked your back seemed far more appetizing than facing your ‘uncle’ tonight. You’d considered it, played around with it in your mind, but had you not turned up until morning, Sam would have called your mother.

“Let you go? Don’ think so, girlie.”

Your eyes fluttered shut and the first drop of a tear, slipped down, catching on his hand.

“Please.”

His fingers grasping your chin, loosened, eventually letting go. Shuddering in a breath, your eyes opened,

“I won’t tell anyone.” You’d take it to the grave.

“You won’t?”

You shook your head. You just wanted him to stop.

“I’ll stay in and do the housework. I’ll—”

“Bargaining won’t work with me, darlin’.”

Fuck. Your stomach dropped, leaving a sour taste in your mouth, and your heart thudded heavily in your chest. You craned your neck to look at him, and took a steady breath.

“So, who was the lucky boy tonight?”

His question caught you off guard, it had you blinking in confusion.

“C’mon, darlin’. I know you’re not stupid. Who’s cock did you suck?”

You shook your head. “No-ones.” You lied.

Long time crush, hot quarterback Tony had been at the party with a few of his buddies, playing beer pong. Emily had pushed you towards him, and then she had quickly ditched you, going off with Raven.

You’d forced yourself to make small talk, all the while wondering what the fuck you were doing. You’d almost pinched yourself when he suggested that he wanted to dance. With you. His body moved close to yours, closer still. His lips brushed your ear, your lips, your neck, hands exploring your heated skin. and you’d said the hell with it.

Tony had pulled you into a cloakroom, the chord light switch cast shadows, as you kissed. Then the next thing you were taking him into your mouth, with satisfied groans above you.

Sam sighed and pulled out his phone. he made a few taps before angling the screen down to you. Right there, from a hidden camera was Tony, pants down and you on your knees, hands gripping his hips.

All the energy within evaporated, and the colour drained from your face. How? No, you didn’t want to know.

“You’re a dirty little liar.” He whispered.

“Sam, I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted. “What would your momma say, hmm?”

He made a few more taps, turning it back around for you to see. Your mother was clicked ready to send. Your eyes widened, and adrenaline shot through your system, heating your temperature. He wouldn’t. But he would, and you knew that. He would do just about anything to get what he wanted.

“Please! You can’t. She’d lose her mind! I’d lose college privileges. Please, Sam, please!” you begged, hysterical, desperate for him to back away from the nuclear button.

Sam’s eyebrows raised as you begged and pleaded. But no amount would stop him on his current mission to screw up your life. Nothing would stop him unless he got what he wanted. You slumped, defeated.

 “Tell me what you want.”

 A slow malicious grin spread across his face, glee danced in his eyes. Sam leant down, pushing his face to yours.

“Oh darlin’, ‘m gunna pop your cherry.”

Coldness swooped down, freezing your blood, and his words knocked around your head, but you could barely hear them over the thrashing heartbeat in your ears.

No. No. No.

Your breath rasped, coming out quicker when his hand soothed down your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut unable to stop the sob of hopelessness escaping your chest.

[idreamofplaid]

Characters: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Sex is described here ;)

Word Count: 1560

A/N: This is for the @spnfanficpond Secret Santa fic exchange. I hope you enjoy @ambergoddess444 and your holiday season is a wonderful one!

It was hidden, like they always were. However, if you knew where to look, the trees couldn’t hide the tiny cabin ready to provide rest to weary and battered hunters. It peeked through the pines and the blowing snow, offering a place to take refuge from the elements and, in this case, the disappointment of not making it home for Christmas Eve. 

The bunker was different this year. It was filled with a kind of joy the Winchesters hadn’t known before. Lights were strung across the bookcases and along the railing of the iron staircase leading down into the war room. There was a big tree in the library and another in the kitchen. Both were covered with glass balls of every color, the kind you got in big boxes at a discount store when you didn’t have a lifetime of ornaments, each with a story to put on your tree. It didn’t matter; they were beautiful anyway and all the stories were waiting to unfold. The future finally looked bright.

Leaving to handle a werewolf problem was hard this year when happiness had finally come to the bunker, but Sam had quickly volunteered; and you came with him to be by his side. That was where you felt you belonged. He was determined Dean would spend his daughter’s first Christmas home safe with her and enjoying his life in a way he’d never been able to before. It was Sam’s gift to his big brother.

For Sam, the gift would have been making it back to be with his brother and his new niece. The two of you had driven half the night to achieve that end until the snow became so strong it was no longer safe to stay on the road. Gently, you’d suggested to Sam it was best to stop for the night, and he hadn’t argued. 

Looking at him now as he dropped your duffels to the floor of the cabin, his eyes dull with the disappointment of not making it home, you wished you could somehow lighten his heart. Sam smiled at you, and even when his smile was tinged with sadness dimples still showed on his cheeks. He always had a smile for you, no matter what. 

You went to him, wrapped your arms around his neck, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the lips. “The kitchen is stocked, and there’s wood by the fireplace.” You said and smiled back at him in an attempt to make the situation better for both of you. You hated to see him down. “We could have it worse.” 

Sam smiled again, this time it was stronger, and it put a small spark in his eye. “I’ll get a fire started,” he said with a kiss to your cheek. It pleased you that you could make him even the tiniest bit happier.

A few minutes later, Sam had a warm fire crackling in the fireplace; and you had put together a simple dinner by warming up some beans stored in the kitchen cabinets by another hunter for just such an occasion as this. In addition to the canned goods you’d found, there was plenty of coffee to help take away the chill.

Never one to lack in imagination, you fancied the coffee was a cozy mug of hot chocolate complete with whipped cream, chocolate shavings and a candy cane. You’d been imagining this kind of perfect Christmas for a long time, and had come to realize that being with Sam was all you really needed for it to be good in a way you’d never understood before you met him. Right now you wondered if he felt the same way. There was no denying the hint of homesickness in his eyes.

You put down your cup and reached for his hand. “I know this isn’t the Christmas you wanted.” You rubbed your fingers lightly across his knuckles in an attempt to soothe or offer comfort, whatever the gesture might give him.

Sam threaded his fingers through yours and looked at your hands joined together. “I never thought much about Christmas,” he said, then slowly raised his eyes to meet yours.”Until you. You made me see things in a way I hadn’t before.” You scooched closer to him and put your head on his shoulder. 

“You made me see things in a different way too,” you said softly. “I started thinking about dreams again that I let go of a long time ago, convinced they’d never happen.” 

Sam kissed the top of your head. “Tell me about them.”

You sighed and closed your eyes, allowing your own personal visions of sugar plums to fill your mind. “Sometimes I wanted a house so beautiful it could be in the pages of a magazine with stockings hanging at the mantle, candles and greenery everywhere, a tree with presents overflowing beneath it, and snow falling gently outside the window.”

Sam’s thumb brushed across your bottom lip. “We have the snow,” he said. “It’s not soft, but we have it.” His voice had gotten deeper, and his eyes had gotten darker. You knew that look. There was some comfort you could offer him.

You leaned in to kiss him, and when your mouth touched his something stirred within you as it always did at the feel of his kiss. His fingers tangled in the hair at the back of your head. He deepened the kiss, gently but insistently swirling his tongue around yours. The heat from the fire was warm on your cheek, and Sam’s body was warm against yours. 

It didn’t take long for your breath to hitch in your throat, and the wetness to gather between your legs. You needed him in so many ways and needed to make this better for him. You took his hand and stood, still kissing him for a moment before you turned to lead him to the bed in the corner of the one room cabin. It was covered with a navy comforter that looked more utilitarian than cozy, but you couldn’t think of anything more inviting than that comforter beckoning you to get Sam naked underneath it, to feel his body move against and inside yours.

He moaned as broke the kiss and held your bottom lip between his teeth. You took off his flannel and pushed at the t-shirt underneath, lifting it as far as you could until he took over to finish taking it over his head and tossing it to the floor. His chest was warm and solid under your hands. The more you touched him, the more you needed him.

You watched him take off his jeans; a small sigh of appreciation escaped from your lips when he stood naked before you. His cock was standing hard and ready. Your eyes moved from it to his face and back down his body while you took off your clothes in as slow a strip tease as you could manage. You were impatient for him, wanting the satisfaction of joining your bodies together.

He pulled back the covers; you climbed in together and immediately wrapped your arms around one another. His kisses were passionate; he covered your neck with them and dipped his head down to kiss the tops of your breasts.

You could feel his desire intensify along with the intensity of his kisses, until he rolled you onto your back and parted your legs with his knee. Sam entered you swift and sure. That moment when he first breached your opening filled you with a deep contentment that stoked your desire, and it only became more incredible as he started to move within you.

Each thrust filled you, stretched your body to accept him; and you did. He had all your love and your complete surrender in a way you never believed you’d feel for any man. Sam was everything you’d waited for in your life and wanted. You felt it as he brought you closer and closer to falling over that edge. It was easy to let go with him.

When he said, “come for me” your entire body shook with a release so forceful you could practically feel yourself floating. The only thing to ground you was the feel of his hands on you and the look on his face when he allowed himself to come, knowing he’d satisfied you first. His eyes squeezed tight, his hair fell into his face, and he said your name, “Y/N, fuck.”

He rolled off you and pulled you into his arms, holding you close while he caught his breath. You loved these moments after sex, his naked body warm next to yours. There was nothing in the world but him. It was easy to forget everything else, and you wanted him to forget everything else except you and how good this felt. Just this, nothing more was necessary, but as you kissed his chest and his shoulder you thought of something more you could give him. 

Maybe next year Dean’s little girl would have a cousin. For now, that thought would be your secret, your wish to hold to your heart this Christmas Eve. This Christmas Eve you knew which things in life really mattered. You snuggled closer to him, and Sam kissed the top of your head whispering “I love you” against your hair.

[blowjob-horseguy]

Hello My Old Heart

(Fic Sneak peak)

The first thing Sam felt was empty.

Like there was a pit in his stomach, so wide and deep it couldn’t be ignored. A gaping chasm right in the center of him. Like he had been scooped out and left gutless.

The absence left its fingertips all up his spine. It grabbed anything it could get its cold, dark hands on and pulled it into itself.

It was a feeling far too familiar, and it left Sam shaking.

How? How can this be happening again?

A child with long stringy hair and clothes about 4 sizes too big sat in the middle of a motel room.

That was him. 6 years old.

A snot nosed, red eyed, skinny little thing. Who had to ball the sleeve ends of his shirt up in his little fists to keep his hands from being engulfed.

He sat in the middle of the filthy carpet rocking back and forth. Sniveling and breathing hard; trying to stop crying.

It always used to be so hard to stop once he got started.

Sam, adult Sam, sat on the motel bed and surveyed the scene in front of him. If this was going to happen, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Lucifer always gets what he wants anyway.

It was a day Dean and John had gone out shooting. He had woken up all alone locked in their motel room. It was the first time he remembered Dean ever leaving him alone. A big part of him was terrified he wouldn’t be coming back.

There had always been something about the way Sam’s dad looked at him, even this young he’d seen it.

Something sharp in his eye, like he was always sizing him up, ready to bolt.

He used to think Dean saw it too. That that’s why Dean held on to him so tightly.

If only he’d known at the time how wrong that was.

Suddenly a shadow appeared in the hotel window. A dark figure breaking apart the morning light streaming from behind the motel's white curtains.

The second the shadow fell across his face, Little Sam’s lungs stopped heaving; stopped breathing at all.

Suddenly Sam was the quietest thing in the room; he stilled himself so forcefully that it was like he was trying to stop existing entirely.

He balled his tiny fists up even tighter, and his red rimmed eyes went wide as he stared at the figure in the window.

The figure didn’t move.

It looked like John, huge and looming. But there was no sign of Dean with him. Just one large man, standing, staring.

It felt like an eternity later when the figure in the window finally moved. With heavy footsteps, like steel toed boots, the shadow turned and walked out of the view of the small window.

Little Sam waited, impossibility tense, for the door handle to turn. For John to barge in to pull him away somewhere. This time with no Dean to break them up, to keep them civil.

But the heavy footfalls went marching passed the door, and farther. No John. No anybody.

Little Sam finally breathed out, one long sigh that turned into tears halfway out. And then he was once again crying in the middle of the floor, unable to contain it anymore. The hollow pit in Older Sam’s chest howled along with his younger self's sobs.

Sam almost tried to reach out to the young child on the floor. The one crouched like a corned animal, trying so hard to stay quiet he was shaking.

He hadn’t ever realized just how small he looked at this age; how fragile. He looked like a little China doll.

But Sam did nothing. He knew there was nothing he could do. So he sat, he watched, and he quieted the howling chasm in his chest.

The walls dissolved. The air around him spun out of focuse and the space morphed bit by bit into somewhere completely different. It was nauseating.

To be continued on Ao3. Please tell me what you think :)

[satans-helper]

Back From the Dead

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: ~6700

Warnings: lots of angst & tears (Sam really is my token boy for that lmao sorry to my Sam girls <3); some sexual content (PIV--18+)

Another post-concert Sam fic. Hope you enjoy <3

---

Countless photos and videos of the boy who broke your heart, the boy who you loved so much it made you sick, continued to assault you day after day, month after month. You couldn’t help but become transfixed despite how it made your chest ache so deeply–Sam in shimmering cream, backlit by pillars of orange flame. Sam in glittering crimson, dripping jewels. Each photo and video captured that natural charm, that honed magnetism, all of that slick seduction that had won you over so long ago, and you were left feeling whiplashed with each scroll.

When the end came, your friends all told you that you were better off without him. They tried to raise you back up, tried to paint you as the victor despite you feeling like you’d lost the most precious thing in your life. You’d tried to rally along with their support but you never really felt it, not for one second. And as the months dragged on, your quiet heartache and gray despondency became old. Your friends didn’t want to hear about it anymore, not for one more second. You couldn’t blame them. You were sick of your own thoughts that tormented you–no matter what you did with your days, Sam was at the forefront of your mind, always. 

Not even sleep was much of an escape. You dreamed about him frequently, in situations that were nonsensical sometimes, but sometimes in situations where he’d come back to you. Sometimes the dreams erased the breakup entirely and there you two were, together like nothing had ever happened. Then you’d wake up covered in sweat and chilled with grief, your heart once again like a dead-weight in your rib cage.

Summer was here, but instead of feeling excited for beach days, boat rides, barbeques and all the weekend trips that had been tacked onto your calendar, you just felt the same old familiar grief and desperation. You were so exhausted from the pain that came from that horrible breakup that had come out of nowhere, a pain that should have left you long ago. 

Of course, despite the clear blue skies and beaming sunshine as you drove to meet your friends–yet another gathering that wouldn’t distract you–your thoughts found Sam and that final day with him. You never thought you’d beg any man for anything but when he’d dropped the bomb, you’d begged him not to, to take it all back, to just stay, to work it out. Because you loved him too much and truly couldn’t imagine your life without him. And you’d said all of that–you’d laid your heart out on the line, vomited your love, adoration and commitment up, but it hadn’t mattered. Sam said it was over, so it was. 

What made it so much worse was that you couldn’t even talk to him. You’d given up quickly–he’d made it clear that friendship was not part of the breakup package. For a little while, you’d held onto hope that he would reach out and at least mend that. But he never did, and it was another hard thing to accept. But what was harder was how everyone else in the world got to see him and experience him every night and it didn’t take long before you found yourself scrolling through apps just to see his digital beauty in the palm of your hands since you couldn’t have the real thing anymore.

The evening at the beach with your friends moved slowly. You tried, as always, to smile, to laugh, to match everyone else’s energy. But the cold drink in your hand only reminded you of how much you missed Sam’s warm hand holding yours; the blazing sunset, brilliant and beautiful reflected in the lake, only made you think of the flames that reflected in Sam’s dark eyes each night. The sand beneath your bare legs and feet only made you want the sensation of his silky skin against your own, and when you brought a cigarette to your lips, you knew you could still feel the long-lost ghost of one of his kisses. You’d never feel that again, you reminded yourself for the millionth time, and it almost made you cry right there.

But you managed to save your tears for the drive back home. They swelled into big droplets that rolled down your cheeks in the dark and you wiped them away continually, rubbing at your eyes too so the road would stop being a blur. Dejected and lonely, you dragged yourself back inside your home that always felt so empty without Sam’s scattered messes, even without his smell. 

The only one that you still managed to keep in touch with, though infrequently, was Josh. Bless his heart, and bless it even more because when you kicked off your shoes, dropped your back and checked your phone again while standing idle in the hallway, you had a text from him waiting for you.

Hey baby doll, what’s shaking? Sorry it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I was thinking about you tonight!

For the first time all night, a real smile curved along your lips. You started to type as you meandered over to the couch, sinking down just as you hit send.

Josh! I miss you <3 Did you guys have a show tonight?

Ironically, it was only when you got to talk to Josh that you ever felt relief. He was not only your one remaining link to Sam, but he was also just so pure of heart and kind–such a gem that you couldn’t not feel comforted whenever you two reconnected. Josh was your last thread to a whole world that you missed dearly and he was a true friend even if you wished you could talk to him more. 

Not even a full minute passed before your phone began to ring with Josh’s name and contact photo illuminating the screen. You took the call quickly and eagerly, settling back into the couch, your whole body feeling so much more alive than it had in ages.

“You know I’m not big on texting,” was the first thing he said when you picked up, a smile evident in his tone. 

“I’d much rather hear your voice,” you told him, smiling too. “I was thinking about you tonight too. Well–all of you.” You sighed, though Josh being on the other line kept the smile on your face. “As always.”

Josh said he missed you too. He launched into a whole recap of how much he and the boys had been writing and jamming, working on new songs, in addition to the touring that you were well aware of thanks to your incessant internet upkeep. You could visualize so much of it–you had garnered a fairly intimate knowledge of the boys’ creative process through dating Sam, plus you had seen them play numerous shows in the flesh. One thing you’d always loved about Sam was how he always found what you did and what you loved just as fascinating as you found his life.

Your life felt even less fascinating since Sam left it, but as you told Josh all of your most recent updates, he followed along with so much intrigue that you began to feel as though maybe things weren’t as boring as you once thought. Despite the constant heartbreak, you’d been pushing forward, carrying on doing things you love in addition to the regular grind. Even though you’d felt so broken, Josh affirming everything you’d done and were going to do made you feel whole again, if only temporarily. 

But then, just when you thought you were in the clear of even bringing him up, you blurted, “I still miss him so much, Josh.”

Josh let out a soft sigh on the other end. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve never been able to understand why he didn’t think it’d work. To me–to the rest of us–it always looked like it was working.”

“I thought so too,” you said, lying back flat along the length of your couch. You were vividly remembering some of Sam’s final words to you: “I’m not unhappy. I know you’re not unhappy. But eventually, we will be.” It had made you more angry than hurt the moment he’d said it–what a cop out. It had been way, way too late in the relationship for him to suddenly become noncommittal or to pull out a random excuse of fear. A preemptive breakup with no reasonable cause in sight, as far as you could tell. Fame wasn’t enough of a reason for you. It never was, it never would be. Eventually, you began to realize that Sam maybe–probably, if you were being honest with yourself–just never loved you all that much.

But as you conversed with Josh, his next statement gave you a light of hope that you wanted to dash away before you ran with it in futility: “Honestly, Y/N…I think Sam misses you too.”

You shot up into a sitting position, feet flat on the floor. “Why do you say that?”

There was such a long pause that you thought Josh had hung up. Then, slowly and softly, he said, “Well, for one, he hasn’t really been with anyone else since. Not that I know of anyway, and it’s not like there’s an abundance of privacy while we’re touring, anyway.”

“Okay…” you said, also slowly, the wheels of your brain already turning.

“He’s been bringing you up lately. Just like, in normal conversation…it’s like he openly reminisces about you. He didn’t do that before.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“I also saw him looking at pictures of you, and of you and him together, recently. I don’t think he deleted any of them.” 

Your frown twisted into a confused purse of your lips, your brow tightening along with it–the statement, though encouraging, was so stark that it made you flinch. 

“I don’t–” You began, then shook your head. “Why won’t he just talk to me?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, love. But I do know, as you do too, that Sam is incredibly, ridiculously stubborn.” Josh clicked his tongue. “I think that his feelings for you are not totally gone. Personally, I never thought they were.”

-

Instagram alerted you to yet another end of the band’s tour. Well, a break–they’d all be off again soon and you were once again left to eventually play catch up with Josh, whenever that would be. You sighed as you paused on a photo of Sam. You gave yourself permission to look for another second, then just one more, before you locked your phone. It was time to move on, not only with your day but with everything. Sam wasn’t coming back to you. 

But then, when Sunday came around and when you were simply trying to focus on some back-to-basics self-care, Josh called.

“Hey, listen, mama,” he began, sounding a little on edge, which instantly put you on edge in turn. “I was sworn to secrecy but I just can’t keep it in. You deserve a heads up so you can figure out what exactly you want to do.”

“Josh,” you said, pausing your words as you began to peel away the Korean face mask from your cheeks. “What the heck are you talking about?”

“Sam’s coming to see you. Today. He flew in last night.”

A terrible, overwhelming wave of emotions swept over you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands–the used up face mask was stuck to one of them, your fingers clinging to it, with the bathroom trash can feeling so far away. The entire room surrounding you suddenly felt too small though, like the walls were closing in on you, and your heart began to beat frantically as the blood rushed into your ears.

When actual words entered your personal stratosphere again, you were tempted to ask if it was a joke. But Josh wouldn’t joke about this. Never. So you asked, “He was serious? How do you know?”

“Because he told me. He told all of us. He got on a plane, Y/N. He wants it to be a surprise and I just–” Josh let out an exhausted-sounding sigh. “I just don’t know what’s going through his head. I mean, do you want this?”

For the first time, you weren’t sure. 

But it didn’t matter–Sam showed up, just like Josh said he was planning to, just a few hours later. 

Nauseating panic made it hard to move right after the doorbell rang. You remained standing, totally frozen, right outside the door until it rang again and then, without having a coherent thought to drive your actions, you opened it.

No picture or video could ever compare to the real thing–you already knew that, but finally seeing Sam again in the flesh after so long was so uncanny and surreal that you wobbled back on your heels, so physically and mentally unstable. Josh may have warned you about Sam’s incoming presence, but there was nothing that could have warned you of the feelings his presence evoked–anxiety and confusion were at the forefront, so much anxiety that your vision blurred for a moment as you met Sam’s gaze, but also softer things. Adoration was there–that same adoration you’d felt throughout all of your time with Sam. Once upon a time, you’d looked at him like he was the sun, stars and moon combined. You just adored him that much.

“Hey,” Sam said, the first one to speak after what seemed like an eon of silence to you. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, long legs flexing slightly but visibly in just a pair of shorts. He inhaled deeply and his chest and shoulders rose and fell beneath the cream button-down shirt that you didn’t recognize. It looked like it could have been a thrift find, but you bet it wasn’t. 

“Hi,” you finally said, your own voice sounding strange to your ears. You left it at that, though there were so many other things another person might say–what are you doing here? Being the most reasonable one, and a question you were wholly justified in asking. But you didn’t.

“It’s been a long time,” Sam replied, and instead of the impossibly self-assured rock god you saw online every day, he looked sheepish. Trepidation wafted from his energy like a perfume, like he himself wasn’t even sure what he was doing on your doorstep.

You took a deep breath through your nose, trying to center yourself, and got a whiff of what Sam actually smelled like–amber and patchouli. A little bit of smoke. “Yeah,” you agreed. “It really has.”

Despite all the emotions that were gearing up, it took absolutely no convincing for you to let Sam inside. It was like muscle memory to open the door for him and to step aside, to follow behind and watch the subtle movements of his traps, shoulders and thighs as he made his way into your home. But now, he moved more slowly and his head turned from side to side, looking around as if to see what had changed. Not much had, you realized, apart from his own missing pieces. 

You needed a drink; Sam probably did too. So you both sat there on the couch, the ceiling fan above circling, sending drift after drift of his scent to you, and slowly sipped from beers you only ever started buying because of him. Awkward, tormenting silence ensued for far too long before you finally asked the necessary question of, “Why are you here?”

Sam looked at you, then looked down at the can in his hand. He brought it to his lips, tilted his head back and chugged the rest. After he wiped his mouth with the hem of his sleeve, he answered with, “I miss you, Y/N. I made a mistake.”

Your jaw dropped–then, quickly you realized you didn’t want to be so vulnerable again. Sam didn’t deserve to see you surprised. He didn’t deserve to see any emotion at all. You looked away, to the blank space of the wall above your TV–once upon a time, there were pictures of the two of you, and of you and all the boys, hung up there. 

“Oh,” you said, taking another drink. The beer tasted extra bitter on your tongue, and you felt your own bitterness, all the hard feelings that had been locked away inside your heart for so long, begin to seep out. “You seemed so sure of your decision before. I don’t see why anything would have changed.”

“At the time, I didn’t think we’d make it. We barely made it through that first tour together. Don’t you remember?” Sam asked, stuck in your peripheral vision.

You thought back to that time a couple years ago. Sure, it’d been hard–you couldn’t be with Sam as much as you’d wanted, but you were never the clingy girlfriend. You never made him feel guilty about any of it. Yet you’d come to learn that he felt guilty anyway, which led to resentment, all of which could have been avoided if Sam just learned to communicate better. But you never made him feel guilty for that either.

“You barely made it through,” you corrected, turning to face him again. His beauty struck you again like a slap in the face, making you falter silently–just a few weeks ago, you would have done anything to kiss those soft, plush lips. Has anything really changed for you?

“I know,” Sam said, one of the few times he’d ever admitted any kind of fault. “It was stupid. I should have trusted what we had.”

You looked away again, blinking as you felt a surge of rage and deep pain in your chest that was threatening to make you cry. How many times could you cry over one person? You were so drained. Then you felt Sam’s hand on your knee but refused to look down at the touch, though the sensation sent a shiver up your spine and a whirlpool of desire in your belly. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, his voice soft, but too sad. You didn’t think he deserved to feel sad. 

You shoved his hand away and shrank back against the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest. “What did you think would happen here?” you demanded, the threat of tears in your eyes traded for blazing anger that you hoped was cutting through Sam’s soul. “You don’t talk to me for all this time–you didn’t even want to be friends, Sam!” Your voice was rising like the tidal wave all your heartache felt like. “You toss me aside like trash then just decide to come back when, what? When you’re desperate? Because you finally feel real guilt, not just your bullshit self-pity?”

Sam’s mouth gaped in shock, just staring at you. You stared back until he stood up, shaking his head. “You’re right,” he said. “This was wrong. Another mistake.” 

But as he began to head out, steps trailing a line right for the front door, you knew you couldn’t bear to see him walk out again. 

You shot up to your feet and grabbed his arm–you pulled him back with more force than intended, making him stumble back against you with a surprised grunt. He actually looked scared when you physically turned him around but the anger you felt was drifting away–now you just felt charmed. Despite the changes there, you saw the same boy you fell in love with years ago.

“You ruined everything, you stupid idiot,” you said quietly, no heat in your words. Surprisingly, Sam smiled. He brought his hands to your shoulders and gently rubbed them as if he could massage all the turmoil of the past straight out of you.

It was also like muscle memory to have Sam beneath you as your legs splayed over his hips, knees pressed into your mattress. His hair was fanned out against your pillow as you swept your fingers through the long strands while your other hand kept a determined hold on his face, your thumb aligned with his jaw to keep him in place. 

His hands roamed down your sides, his touch fluid and familiar, his kisses the same, and all the daydreams and real dreams of doing this again flooded your mind, making you question if what was happening was even real. You pulled back to look at him, to assure yourself that he was here, that it was real, and those dark doe eyes looked back into your own, his lashes fluttering as a little smile graced his rosy lips. 

“Did you really miss me?” you asked as you released his jaw and touched your fingers to his mouth, tracing down his chin, his neck.

He nodded, hands squeezing your hips. “Every day.” Then he answered the next question you had: “I felt too embarrassed to go back…to try to undo it.”

You shook your head with a sigh, stroking his hair. “For being so smart, you really are so stupid, Sam.”

“I know.”

You sat back, removing your hands from him entirely. “So…what does this mean? Are you just gonna ditch me when the tour starts up again?”

“That wasn’t my plan. But I don’t expect you to forgive me or get back with me either.” He sat up as much as he could, propping his upper body up on his elbows. “We can stop right now if you want.”

Maybe you’d jumped back into things too soon. Especially without a real declaration and a real commitment to, well, commitment, it seemed way too likely you’d just end up heartbroken again. 

“What do you want?” you asked, still keeping your hands to yourself. 

Sam sat up more and wrapped his arms around your middle. He rested his head against your chest and sighed, but didn’t answer–not with words, anyway. You knew what that hug, what that hold on you, meant. You could remember like it was yesterday the first time Sam hugged you like that.

“I was such a fucking idiot,” Sam said, breaking the silence. He pressed his face into your sternum and groaned. “I am such a fucking idiot. I wanted you to come back to me so bad. Why would I have ever expected you to do that?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders in return. “Why would you expect that?”

One of the many troubles you were now experiencing was how you knew sleeping with Sam right away wouldn’t be fair to yourself. It’d be like rewarding bad behavior, you thought. But you wanted to–that was never an issue. There had never been a moment with him where you hadn’t wanted to do but, more than that, there had also never been a moment where you’d felt even mildly uncomfortable with him. From the beginning, despite his chaotic, fiery and slightly unpredictable nature, you flowed into him easily, like a steady river.

With a sigh, you moved off him and sat up against the headboard. Sam followed, sitting next to you without touching. “You still haven’t told me what you want,” you reminded him as you glanced at your dresser across the room. Inside the top drawer, the photos of you and him and you and the boys that once hung above the TV and all over your fridge were trapped, hidden beneath socks and underwear. 

It was against his nature to not be touching you–you knew it was probably taking a considerable amount of willpower to curb that–so when Sam leaned against your shoulder, you stayed put. 

“I wanna be together again,” he told you, and the words sounded sincere. “I should have never ended things. I never should have stopped talking to you. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

You were inclined to agree, but you kept that thought to yourself. 

“You came back…and came back to me,” you began while Sam leaned more of his weight on you. “But it doesn’t really feel like it.” At that, you felt him shift away, almost not touching again. But not quite–his knee was still just barely pressed into your thigh. 

“Why not?”

You hadn’t completely realized it until you said it, but it felt so painfully true as the words came out of you: “I feel like I don’t really know you anymore, Sam. The last time we spoke, you were telling me it was over. You were dumping me for–for what? I still don’t get it. Maybe I never will. All it seemed like to me was that you just didn’t love me. Like you never did.” You turned your head, not even wanting to see a glimpse of him. “I’ve had to try and swallow that epiphany all this time. And all this time, not only did I feel like you never loved me, but you never spoke a single word to me to try and correct that.”

Silence returned, heavy and confounding, for a long minute, maybe even two. Then Sam said, “Fuck.” You physically felt more than you actually watched him get off the bed, but you looked right at him when he was standing on the other side of it. “You think you don’t know me anymore, Y/N. You don’t love me anymore.”

That wasn’t true, but you weren’t opposed to him thinking that for a little while. Who the hell was Sam to just waltz up to your door out of the blue, to step right back into your home and your life as if he’d never left after all the shit he’d said to you? After he tore your heart right out of your chest, threw it to the ground and stepped on it? He could sit with some heartache himself, you thought, for a little while. You’d had enough for a lifetime.

Still sitting on your bed, you watched him in silence–instead of actually leaving, he stepped over to your desk chair and ran his hands down the cardigan that was lying over the back of it. Like he was waiting for something, because he also knew what he said wasn’t true. 

Your hand found the warmth his body had left behind on the sheets and you definitively, without a shadow of a doubt, knew that you really couldn’t ever let him go again. 

“Don’t go,” you said, standing up and moving to meet him at the chair, standing behind him. You laid one hand over his. “I do love you, Sammy. I never stopped.” Before he could reply, you went on, resting your cheek on his shoulder: “Even though you’re selfish and stupid and infuriating. Even though you don’t deserve it. I can’t help it.” You closed your eyes and rubbed your nose into the fabric of his shirt before you added, “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, turning his hand over so he could lace your fingers together. “I know that.”

Despite craving any words from him for so long, you wanted something else now. You wanted Sam’s skin under your hands, his kisses back on your neck–as you both fumbled to get your clothes off, writhing on the bed, you got those wishes. And now that Sam knew he had you, his kisses were a little softer, a little slower as he straddled you; now that you knew you had him, you felt like you could breathe again. Your fingers danced easily over his skin, from the subtle slope of his shoulders down to his warm chest; he let out a soft little huff when your hands squeezed his sides, then used one to press against his belly, your thumb lingering right at the waistband of his briefs.

“We really can wait, Y/N,” Sam reminded you when you slipped your hand beneath the cotton. “If you think that’d be better.”

“I don’t wanna wait. I’m sick of waiting.” You arched your back, trying to get more of Sam’s weight on top of you. A confession, one that you’d been shamefully keeping all to yourself, rolled out next: “I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”

“No way,” Sam said, sounding both smug and in disbelief. He smiled a little while his own fingers roamed, making their way down between your legs. “Does everything still work correctly?”

His ticklish touch along your inner thigh made you giggle and tremble a bit. “As far as I know.” You looked down, watching his fingers slide down the center of your panties. When Sam didn’t confess on his own, you felt inclined to pry–against your better judgment: “What about you?”

Sam wrapped his free hand around yours, encouraging you to keep touching him–he was as hot and as hard as ever. “Feel for yourself,” he said, making your hand wrap more firmly around his length.

Your cheeks were blazing hot. “Seriously,” you insisted, keeping your hand still. “What about you?”

He planted his hands on your hips. “Just a few. Probably less than you’d expect, honestly.” He leaned down, bringing his face close to yours, his hair hanging down like a curtain. “I realized fairly quickly that no one made me feel like you did and I didn’t want to keep trying.”

“Oh really?” you replied, sounding more haughty and jealous than you’d intended. But Sam always unraveled you so easily, without even trying–it was no different now. You were honestly surprised you hadn’t burst into tears at some point since he’d shown up. 

“Yes, really, Y/N. What do you want me to do to prove how much I missed you? Want me to sing all your accolades and beg for forgiveness?”

You scoffed. “Yes, actually.”

Sam didn’t even look surprised. He smiled and leaned back, his hair falling back over his tanned shoulders, and shimmied down to sit between your thighs instead of on top of you. “Fine. I can do that.” He cocked his head to the side while his fingers tapped your thighs, looking you over. You were already almost naked but his gaze was lingering and penetrating over every part of your body, making you uncomfortable–what did all those other girls look like? Did he try to find ones that looked like you, or the opposite? Did he miss your personal brand of warmth and softness as much as you’d missed his? 

His hands reached out and quickly you were freed from your bra, it being cast aside to fall to the floor, and your underwear too. Your body tensed up instinctively, feeling far too exposed in front of the boy who’d destroyed your heart so easily, but then Sam stood up just long enough to match your nakedness.

He settled back down between your legs, draping his body over yours so he could meet your lips again. The kiss was deep and slow–no tongue, just his impossibly soft, sweet lips on yours while one of his hands cradled the side of your face and the other swept through your hair.

“Don’t get me wrong–I missed this,” Sam told you, pulling back. He looked down as his hands smoothed down your shoulders to gently squeeze your breasts. “But I really just missed being with you. I missed talking with you–you’re always so good at calling me out on my bullshit.” He laughed a little and your heart began to race harder–Sam was always more natural and skilled with physical action to express his feelings than words. The fact that he was letting his thoughts flow freely from his lips, speaking of love instead of destruction, made you wonder yet again if you were just in a dream. 

“I missed your voice. I missed you singing in the car,” he went on, lowering himself–he began to press kisses to your neck and chest as the rest of the words emptied out of him: “I missed the smell of your perfume on my clothes and your lipstick on my mouth.” You brought your hands to his head, finally feeling like you could move again, and let your fingers glide through his hair. “I missed hearing you laugh, especially when I was the one who made you laugh. All the noise from the crowds every night–” He shook his head with his face pressed against your sternum. “I always wanted to somehow hear your voice in all of that. I kept wondering if you’d surprise me by showing up at one night. But that was very selfish, wishful thinking.” 

He looked up into your eyes. “This is just the first step. But if you keep going with me, I swear that I’ll never let you go again.”

You let that declaration hang in the air for a moment before you asked, “Really, Sam?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Yes, Y/N. I won’t go anywhere unless you want me to.”

Traitorously, the tears returned. They swelled big and hot in your eyes and you turned your head away, bringing one hand up to try and wipe them away as if Sam might not notice, which was impossible. You felt his whole body stiffen, like he didn’t know what to do–you didn’t either. But then, a second later, his arms were around your shoulders, holding you up against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, just letting you cry.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Sam said softly. 

“I just wish you’d never left in the first place,” you said, the words strangled with the attempt to suffocate your sobs. 

“Me too, baby. Me fucking too.”

All the times you’d cried since he left, you’d just wished Sam was still the one to hold you. Now you had just that–shocking and destabilizing, he was really there, and when the tears wouldn’t stop, you became desperate just for some relief from the ocean of emotion that you needed to break free from.

“Please say something funny,” you pleaded, sniffing, embarrassed that your tears were soaking his hair and his skin now.

Sam laughed. “Okay. Hmm…the last time we played Houston, I got so drunk after the show that I went to the wrong hotel room. I kept trying my key card in the door, wondering why the fuck it wasn’t opening, and eventually after me making such a racket out there, the person staying in the room opened the door.” He pet your hair and your shoulder blades and you found your tears slowing, your chest feeling more open. “And instead of just like, recognizing it wasn’t my room, I started arguing with them because I was so wasted I still really thought it was my room.”

That little story did make you laugh–the crying was traded for giggles, then louder, open-mouthed laughs. “God, Sam. What’s wrong with you?” you asked, hugging him tighter.

“So much. But you already knew that.”

Your laughter was contagious for Sam; all the laughter turned into silly, giggly kisses and then, when your skin was warm from love and not fear and your heart felt whole for the first time in a long time, Sam was all over you once more.

“Jesus, you feel so fucking good,” he panted with his mouth pressed just below your ear. His breath and saliva had made your skin and hair there wet–you didn’t care. You were both sweaty already, with Sam thrusting even and deep inside of you, his hips pounding against yours, and your hands all over him to keep him as close as possible. 

He felt amazing too. Not just the way he was fucking you–or really, as cheesy as it sounded in your head, making love to you–but his entire body. His whole essence. From his hair to his chiseled cheeks, the slightly scratchy beard, his warm chest with the fast-beating heart beneath and all of the silken, golden skin on yours, his beautiful body back in your arms, Sam was amazing. 

One particularly dense thrust against your tight walls made you gasp and dig your nails into his back. Sam groaned and sank his teeth into your neck, growling, “Fuck yeah, baby. Mark me up. I’m all yours.”

The sharpness of his teeth was brief–he resumed soft kisses to your neck then your mouth, capturing your moans and signs with his lips and tongue. You’d been on your back with your eyes closed moaning and sighing about him countless times since he’d left, but could never capture even a fraction of the real thing in those fantasies. When you would come, his name would crescendo from your throat like another sob, and when you’d open your eyes, you found yourself more alone than ever.

This time, when you came, his name didn’t sound like a desperate, aching plea–it sounded light and free even to your own ears, and when Sam kissed you right after the sound echoed through your bedroom, you could feel his smile on your lips. 

You hooked your fingers in his hair and held him against you while the movement of his hips actually slowed instead of sped up. Confused, you opened your eyes and turned your head to break away from his lips, to look at him instead. 

Flush-faced with his eyes bright, Sam smiled again and brought his hand to the crown of your head, his thumb stroking your forehead, his fingers curling into your hair. “That’s good,” he said, voice as soft as the summer breeze whisking through your open windows. “I wanted to look at you too.”

“I can’t believe I really am,” you said a little breathlessly, the last few aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through you. “After all this time.”

Sam smiled and worked up to his previous pace, never taking his eyes off yours; when he let out a huff and bit his lip, you pulled him down to do that yourself–your lips captured his in fierce kisses that you hoped wordlessly translated into “you’re mine forever,” your hands gripped his body like you’d never let go, and you squeezed yourself around his cock to make him whimper, then whimper your name in return as the muscles in his thighs fluttered and he let his whole weight drop on top of you.

Thankfully, he really didn’t weigh all that much. You hugged him, the two of you just breathing together, recovering from the confusion and madness and anguish to, as you now knew, steadily blossom together like the backyard garden you’d tended to in his absence. There was so much to catch up on, you thought while you stroked his hair and he stroked your skin, and so much to look forward to. 

Later, when the sun had almost completely dipped behind the trees and the stars were beginning to sparkle overhead, the two of you sat in the backyard, hands clasped together.

“How long are you going to be back home for?” you asked. That question had never bothered you before the breakup but now, you felt a little edginess as you asked it. You were now sure Sam meant everything that he said, that you two were as solid as ever, but simply knowing he’d be on the road again for however long after he’d finally come back to you made your heart feel heavy. 

“Tour starts up again in a month,” he told you, catching your gaze in the last little lingering bit of the warm sunset. “I was hoping I’d be here until then.” He brought his hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “If you still want that.”

A month. It wasn’t enough, because nothing with Sam was ever enough, but you silently vowed to yourself to make every second of it count more than it ever had before.

“I want infinity with you, Sam,” you told him, unable to help the smile that broke out on your face as he smiled with a lot of glee and just a little of that familiar smugness. “Always have, always will.” 

---

Tagging: @kissingsun @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @milojames16 @mindastreamofcolours @brokebellsgvf @wetkleenex-gvf @itsafullmoon @heckingfrick @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere

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[k9effect]

Reblog for a larger sample size!

No "show results", if you're not a fanfic writer just be patient.

I saw a post about an anon saying it was embarrasing to have an ao3 account in your 30s (it's absolutely not), so I want to do a poll and see what the age range actually is.

[stellatekintsugi]

Sam Fender

[julesthequirky]

Jared and Characters

The 'Uncle': Twoshot; Much to the reader's disapproval, her 'uncle' will supervise whilst the reader's mother and her partner go on holiday for a week.

Part One

Brat: Series; In order to adjust her behaviour and attitude, Y/N is sent to John’s and whilst she’s there, John’s sons, Sam and Dean take a liking to her.

Trailer Trash Tinkerbell: Part of The Creedence Creek Cowboys Trilogy; He's a lawyer. She's unemployed. But a chance meeting changes their lives forever. (Sam x Reader)

It Started With A Beer: Oneshot; Reader meets Sam in a bar, and smut ensues. (Sam x Reader)

Drive Me Crazy: Mini-Series; Reader used to date Sam, and now Dean's asking for her help on a case. (Sam x Reader)

Classroom Humiliation: Explicit Oneshot; Reader gets humiliated in class. (Jared x Reader).

[wosofanstuff]

Cute 😂

KISS & TELL | s.kerr

summary: the girls find out exactly who gave you that ring [789 words]

pairing: matildas!reader x sam kerr

notes: the long-awaited second part to 'hush hush'! this was the most voted wip to work on, next piece will be too far gone which was the second most popular xx happy valentines week loves!

IT WENT ON FOR about a week.

Your teammates pestered you all throughout camp about who gave you your engagement ring, and most importantly, how you kept it a secret for so long.

You gave them bits and pieces. Oh, we've been together for a few years now, but we've just kept it private..... She's super busy lots of the time, really hectic work schedule...... We played soccer together growing up.... You just didn't relay that you still play together. That your fiancee actually captains you.

Sam was enjoying every moment of it. She loved the secrecy, she adored watching her teammates pull their hair out over it. Chids had a whole shared notes app dedicated to adding information about your dubbed, 'mystery woman'. Sam revelled in her new title.

She was feeling extra cheeky, there was no denying that. Sam was at her peak watching everyone scramble around, listening as you slipped out little pieces of information of your relationship together.

Did you feel guilty that you hadn't told your team? Sure. But you and Sam never really felt the need to. They're your family, you love them with your whole heart- but this was one thing you and Sam just wanted for yourselves.

"Well I want to help plan your hens night," Alanna shrugged. The topic of your secret engagement had come up again after dinner one night.

"No because I'm not going unless you tell us!" Macca argued from her spot on the beanbag, Harper on her lap. You laughed, crossing your arms and putting your feet up on the couch.

"We can do without the numbers, Mac" You waved her off.

"Hey Y/N?" Ellie walked into the lounge area looking for you. "Can I grab my pre-wrap from you tonight please? I wanna start packing for Queensland,"

"Always punctual as usual" Mini chirped from her place on the couch, your feet resting in her lap.

"Shut up" Ellie quipped.

You chuckled, "Yeah, let me go grab it". You headed off towards your room and managed to pinch Sam's ass on your way past her, distracting her from the in-depth conversation she was having with Steph.

You chuckled as she tried her best to ignore you, but you knew she could never. Once you got into your room, it was only a matter of seconds before Sam followed you in. She crept up behind you and snaked her arms around your waist, tickling you as she squeezed you tight.

"You're cheeky, hey" She laughed, kissing your cheek as you giggled and tried to push your way out of her grasp. She moved her way down to your neck and you tried your best not to squirm in pleasure, knowing that at any second anyone could come-

"Aunny Sammy and Y/N are kissing!"

Your heart dropped and you pulled apart from Sam. You both turned around to see Harper standing in the doorway, pointing at you and Sam who she had just caught in the act.

"Mummy!" She ran off, yelling down the hallway.

"Harps, Harper! No!" You called after her, running down the hallway. She was surprisingly fast for a near-three year old. By the time you managed to find her she was already halfway through relaying to your team what she had seen.

"They kiss! Sam and Y/N kiss like Mum and Mummy!" She smiled looking back over to you. Sam had now come up behind you, a guilty look on her face, your lipgloss smeared on her lips.

"Skip.." Mary spoke up, slowly looking from you to Sam. "Is that true? Did you kiss Y/N?" She asked a shocked look on her face. The rest of your team looked at you both in silence.

Sam begrudenly crossed her arms over her chest and nodded her head shyly, a smile breaking out on her lips. "She just got engaged, Sam.. Not cool" Mary shook her head.

"Oh my god," Alanna erupted.

"Are you serious Maz?"

"Jesus fucking Christ" Mackenzie put her head in her hands with a sigh.

"What?" Mary held up her hands, looking from everyone back to you both. Sam chuckled and stepped forwards, holding up your hand that dawned your shiny new engagement ring.

You saw the cogs turn in her head before they finally clicked. "Oh my god!" She screamed, rushing over to congratulate you both. The girls all followed suit, shouting at you both for keeping it a secret from them all for so long.

"I can't believe you!" Alanna hugged you from behind, her arms around your neck.

"I don't kiss and tell, Kennedy!" You smiled as you watched Sam explain to your team how she proposed. You were so happy to finally have your team in on your secret. It just made it all that much sweeter.

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn���t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

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[ghostbsuter]

The purchase of the mansion was a spontaneous decision on their part.

Sam suggested it, actually.

1 they had the money, 2 they needed much more space than a single apartment could offer, and 3 now she gets to create her own garten of venomous plants!

Tucker holed himself up in his own room, his tech room, because he finally can separate his workspace and his bedroom!

Danny was haunting the mansion in return.

It was during the day that Danny saw the shadow of a child running. He had no idea the mansion was already haunted— why hadn't the ghost said anything before?

Searching for the shadow, it took them all weeks to even get a glimpse of the Ghost.

Only....

Only it wasn't a ghost. It's a whole human child. A human child left behind—

His name is Tim Drake and he has been living here his whole life, how— where were his parents?!