#Sam winchester x ofc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

glimmeringwinchester · 12 days ago

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𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐒

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — grace winchester remembers the very first night her father showed his true colors, and she’s confronted with the memories when she and her brothers take on a case in oklahoma

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — implied/referenced child abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, canon-typical violence, dean winchester is an asshole but he does care about his little sister, sam winchester just wants dean to realize he was hurt too, oc au

Palm Springs, California. 1991.

Rain came down heavy in Palm Springs, cold droplets splashing against asphalt and concrete with a rhythmic pattering that fought to quell festering anxiety. Tiny hands batted at the doors of a sleek black car, pleading to be let inside, to be allowed to escape the frigid rain and late summer mosquitos. Brown hair is drenched, weighed down by the rain shower that started just after sunrise. The wooded area still smells of flesh and gasoline, and salt residue gathers beneath untrimmed fingernails that are jagged and uneven. The smokes cleared, the fires burnt out, but John Winchester remains at the scene of the burning, his jaw set into a tight line as he watches his youngest child – his only daughter – pound against the windows, fear etched across her features as she stands out in the rain. Every couple of seconds she shrieks, slapping at her skin whenever a mosquito lands on her body, and sickeningly the father of three can only laugh as he watches her panic.

“Daddy!” The little girl no older than five years old, though she’ll very proudly tell anybody who asks that she’s almost six, pleads with her father, having not yet learned that begging is futile. She doesn’t know what she did wrong. Maybe he’s angry that she slipped in the mud on the way to burn the bones of a pissed off spirit, maybe he’s finally punishing her for breaking Dean’s fishing pole that hardly ever got used anyways, or maybe he just feels like being mean. He’d felt like being mean a lot lately. She jumps away from the car when a spider crawls near her hand, the tiny insect fighting to find shelter from the storm, but no matter how innocent its presence was in the moment, Grace Winchester was not a fan of anything with more than four legs and two eyes, and she knows for a fact that spiders have eight eyes, they just learned about it in school.

The rain continues to patter against the dense woods, and as the humidity in California increases, it only draws more mosquitos out of hiding. The little girl sobs when she realizes a spider is crawling up her arm, and she flails dramatically to get it off of her. She thinks it's never going to end – the storm; the assault of mosquitos – but then the doors click, and John begrudgingly inclines his head toward the backseat, the only indication that she’s allowed to escape the downpour. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t apologize for locking her out, doesn’t affirm that she’s safe from bugs now, merely huffs through his nose and speeds away, leaving the pile of charred bones behind him.

Present

Grace Winchester lays against the hood of the Impala, her eyes wide and full of wonder as she gazes up at the sky, an endless expanse of stars just out of reach above her head and speckled across the abyss of darkness like splattered paint. The air is twinged with something warm and inviting, Springtime in full swing across the states, though the temperature fluctuations with every border she and her brothers cross over. She doesn’t mind the slight chill and promise of something warmer once the sun rises over the horizon, taking a minute to appreciate how the breeze feels as it brushes against her arms and legs. Unlike her brothers, who never seem to adjust their wardrobe for the seasons, Grace leans into the annual change of climate, and looks forward to the warmer months and the promise of lighter layers and bright colors. She’s a sore thumb standing between Dean and Sam, their dark and broody exteriors softened by the splashes of color and patterns on her clothing, but they’ve long since stopped trying to indoctrinate her into flannels and deep neutrals. Even if Dean’ll never admit to it, he doesn’t mind the cotton shorts and frilly tops that take up space in his trunk. It’s a refreshing sight when everything else in their lives is so heavy and serious.

Sam leans against the hood, his broad frame accentuated by the jacket around his shoulders. He doesn’t know how Grace is unphased in only a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt, subconsciously shivering whenever the breeze rolls past him. Unlike the youngest Winchester, whose only priority is trying to locate the big dipper, he’s nose deep in the local paper, scouring for a case to work while Dean does whatever he intended to do inside of the bar he’d spontaneously pulled up to nearly an hour ago. Grace has a good idea of how their older brother is wasting time inside the dive bar, but she can’t bring herself to care about the nitty gritty details of his scamming as she loses herself to relaxation for the first time in a while.

She turns her head to the side when footsteps draw near, her brothers laugh projected over the lively atmosphere of music and distant chatter. She rolls her eyes at the wad of money Dean holds up with evident pride, entirely missing the fact that in his other hand is a paper cup with a bendy straw that hasn’t yet been mended into an arch. Sam trails his gaze over to Dean seconds later, and his reaction is almost identical.

“You know, we could get day jobs every once in a while.” Sam scoffs, lowering the news paper that he’d been very intently skimming for leads. Grace sits up on the hood, pulling her knees into her chest as she looks at her eldest brother, analyzing the short lived exasperation that crosses his features at Sam’s comment.

“Huntings our day job and the pay is crap.” Dean hands the cup to Grace, saying nothing about what it is, though the youngest Winchester has a pretty good idea and instantly perks up, reaching for the take-away cup that she only just noticed. She hums in satisfaction when creamy vanilla washes against her taste buds, the cup cold between her hands but she hardly bristles at the temperature, more than content to sip away at the milkshake like it's warmer than it really is.

“Yeah, but hustling pool, credit card scams?” Sam drops the paper even more, his shoulder crashing into Grace’s shin as he adjusts his stance, “It’s not the most honest thing in the world, Dean.”

“Well, let’s see, honest, fun and easy.” He holds out his hands, pretending to weigh the options that he’s never even really considered. Grace likes to think that in another life, he would’ve owned his own mechanic company, but Dean has never known freedom nor normalcy enough to even recognize that as something he’d be remotely interested in. “It’s no contest.” She can only scoff at his stupid expression, both of his eyebrows raised as he inclines his head to the side. “Besides, we’re good at it. It’s what we were raised to do.”

Sam’s quick to rebuttal, the moonlight glistening against his eyes. “Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked.”

“Yeah, says you.” Dean doesn’t hear what’s actually being said, and his response comes quick and without thought. “We got a new gig or what?”

“Maybe. Oasis Plains, Oklahoma. Not far from here. Gas company employee, Dustin Burwash supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.” Sam slips off the hood with purpose, laying the paper down on the black surface, just barely skimming the words as he tells Dean about the potential case. Grace furrows her eyebrows at the medical term she doesn’t understand, but Dean makes a noise of confusion before she can swallow her mouthful of milkshake to ask herself. “Human mad cow disease.” He clarifies, his eyes flickering to Grace for a second. He can only laugh at the sight of her only half paying attention as she bends the striped straw into a loop.

“Mad cow? Wasn’t that on Oprah?” Dean leans forward, hands bracing on the hood of the car as he inspects the paper for any details Sam left out, his interest peaked far more than Grace’s.

“You watch Oprah?” Grace could only roll her eyes at what Sam chose to focus on, but a smirk of amusement pulled at the corners of her lips as she took another sip of the cold treat between her hands.

As if he’s only just realized that he’s unintentionally outed himself, Dean bristles at the question for a second before he’s moving on, clearly wanting to avoid any further teasing. “So this guy eats a bad burger, why’s it our kind of thing?”

“Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years for the damage to appear but this guy Dustin, sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour, maybe less.” Grace listens closely to what Sam rambles off, but she makes no indication of being interested in any way. Dean however, inclines his head, having to agree that the conditions around Dustin’s death seem strange enough without any further details to support the claim Sam initially presented. “Now it could be a disease or it could be something much nastier.”

It takes no further convincing, and with a curt nod of acceptance, Dean stands, clapping his hands together before he reaches out to pat Grace’s ankle. “Alright, Oklahoma. Man, work, work, work. No time to spend my money.”

Grace rolls her eyes, sliding off of the hood as she follows her brother's movements. She ducks under Sam’s arm when he opens the back passenger door for her before she has the chance, crawling into the backseat with a careful grip on her milkshake. She reaches for a blanket that's thrown onto the floor instinctively, pulling it up around her body as she snuggles into the door as Dean starts the car. It’s not even a full minute later that the Impala is peeling away from the parking lot, heading straight for Oklahoma.

Hours later, the sky is bright with daylight, but the clouds that hang overhead keep the Springtime heat from fully settling over the small town. A sweatshirt is pulled over her body, but the hem of her pink shorts is visible as she climbs out of the car after Dean, eager to stretch her legs after falling asleep in a tight ball in the backseat. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail as they approach a man loading his truck outside of Oklahoma Gas and Power, smiling sadly at the man as Dean swings his keys into his palm, also playing up the act they’ve discussed in detail on the drive over.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam questions as they approach, straightening out his jacket that had gotten bunched up from his position in the car.

“Yeah, that’s right.” The man, Travis, answers, turning to look at the siblings that have the same light eyes in various shades of green.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?” Dean asked, wanting to be sure they were talking to the right person while not-so-subtly dropping their connection to Dustin. It was almost disgusting to consider how good they had become at slipping into lives that weren’t their own, but that ability to disappear into someone else had come from years of practice and failure. Grace can’t remember the first time she’d been told to ‘just go with it’ but she can definitively assume she was more than a little skeptical. Now, she hardly bristles at the prospect of lying through her teeth.

“Dustin never mentioned having nephews or a niece.” Travis frowned, taking in the appearance of the siblings, his eyes raking across Grace’s body as he took in the sight of her dressed so differently from the men on either side of her.

“Really? Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest.” Dean kept up the act, his smile entirely fake as he looked down at Travis.

“Oh, he did? Huh.” Grace could’ve cringed at how flattered Travis looked if she wasn’t so focused on getting the information they needed. It was sickening to think that something so small could make someone stricken with grief so happy, and it was even more sickening to think that it was all a lie and most of the people they encountered never even knew. Maybe it gave them peace; Grace hopes that it does, otherwise she’d feel horrible.

“Listen, we wanted to ask you, uh what exactly happened out there?” Grace’s lips trembled, her sad smile sinking into a grimace as she looked to Travis for information, hardly aware of how she played the part of a grieving niece almost too well. Sam had always been amazed at how naturally she could become somebody else, fitting whatever roll they wore like she was a trained expert. That was definitely an area where she far surpassed his level of expertise.

Travis shook his eyes, his eyes twinged with pain that spoke volumes about his awareness of the situation; not that anyone could blame him for not immediately questioning the circumstances of Dustin’s death. The average person didn’t immediately consider that something supernatural had been at hand. “I’m not sure. He fell in the sinkhole. I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh, by the time I got back…”

“What’d you see?” Grace allowed her voice to waver just slightly, desperation bleeding into her tone as she set her eyes on Travis firmly. Dean had to hide his amused smile behind a wrinkled grin of matching desperation, though his tone remained far more even than Grace’s.

“Nothing. Just Dustin.” All of the siblings could tell that was far from the truth, but Travis didn’t seem to question the nature of the injuries he’d seen. They’d probably all been explained away by detectives and medical examiners who were always so desperate to find scientific evidence over logical reasoning.

“Well, he was bleeding from his eyes and his ears and his nose, that’s it.” Travis shrugged, and Grace nodded gratefully, taking in the information and simultaneously trying to piece together what had happened with the information they already knew.

Dean tilted his head to the side, his lips pressed into a thin line as he pressed for more. “So do you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?”

“I don’t know that’s what the doctors are saying.” Travis was hardly phased, having no reason to doubt the medical examination or the facts that the doctors had disclosed to him and the public.

“But if it was, he would have acted strange beforehand like dementia, loss of motor control. You ever notice anything like that?” Sam pressed this time, but his tone was even, unassuming.

Travis shook his head again, “Yeah, but then again, if it wasn’t some disease what the hell was it?”

“That’s a good question.” Dean hummed his agreement.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam questioned, knowing that they’ve gotten everything out of Travis that they possibly could, and they’d need to do more digging elsewhere if they were going to learn anything of use.

Oasis Plains Estates was exactly how Grace had pictured it would be, and as the engine revved, she glanced out of the back window, taking in the sights of large and lavish homes steadily being constructed by teams of men in orange hard hats. These were the kinds of neighborhoods she’d always been fascinated by, but there was something off-putting and eerie about knowing that a man had lost his life here – still, she thinks a neighborhood like this would be better than crappy motel rooms any day.

She’d changed since they peeled away from the construction company’s headquarters, and as she climbed out of the car before Dean had even gotten the gear in park, she adjusted the waistband of her jeans, already annoyed by how thick denim cut into her hip bones.

“Huh. What do you think?” Dean hummed as they crossed the street, approaching caution tape and the sinkhole that Dustin had fallen into. Nothing about the location in particular had her feeling any type of way, and so she only shrugged indifferently in Dean’s direction, brushing hair out of her face when the wind blew just enough to rustle her thin locks.

“I don’t know, but if that guy Travis was right it happened pretty damn fast.” Sam noted, ducking beneath the caution tape with Dean, but he turned to hold it up for Grace, laughing quietly when Dean scoffed in annoyance about not receiving the same treatment.

“So what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?” Grace grimaced at the visual, batting a hand against Dean’s bicep as she rolled her eyes at his unnecessarily vivid imagery.

Sam wasn’t so phased, shaking his head as he peered into the sinkhole where roots grew and intertwined chaotically. “No, there’d be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside.

All three of the siblings squatted down, peering into the hole in the ground with equal disinterest. Sam’s nose wrinkled as he watched Dean shine a light on the sinkhole, and Dean, ever the observant individual, noted that there was only room for one of them down there. “You wanna flip a coin?” He questioned, ducking under the caution tape once again.

“Oh yeah, let’s go down there when we have no idea what the hell happened to begin with.” Grace scoffed, shaking her head as she and Sam exchanged equally bewildered expressions before turning back to their older brother.

“Alright, I’ll go if you’re scared.” Dean grabbed a hose from the ground, his tone laced with jesting arrogance that he knew would get under Sam’s skin. Grace wasn’t so easily roped into his shenanigans, and thus, entirely ignored the antagonizing comment. “You scared?” He only further egged Sam on.

“Flip the damn coin.” Sam caved and Dean chuckled with amusement, reaching into his pocket for a coin upon the rebutted request.

“Alright, call it in the air, chicken.” The coin toss was futile, because the second Dean flipped the nickel, Sam snatched it out of the air, declaring that he was going to be the one to go down. Despite not knowing what awaited him in the sinkhole, Grace wasn’t going to argue, just glad that she wasn’t being sacrificed with the bullshit excuse of ‘you’re smaller’. Dean, however, continued to tease, claiming that he said he would go down as if they all didn’t know he was bluffing just to do the opposite.

Sam tied the hose around his waist, but his hands were quickly batted out of the way by Grace who stepped in to tie the knot the second she realized Sam had no idea what he was doing. She knew the second he bore any weight on the knot he originally created, it would’ve slipped right out and he would’ve fell however many feet it was to the bottom. She really did question if they’d still be alive without her constant supervision.

“Don’t drop me.” Sam huffed, looking more toward Dean than Grace. Dean only rolled his eyes in response, gesturing for Sam to get on with it already, not wanting to draw any suspicion toward them when the up and coming development was crawling with construction workers still on the job.

Sam lowered himself into the sinkhole, and Dean grabbed onto the hose, batting Grace away when she stepped up to help him. She rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t object, stepping away from the hole in the ground with the assurance that her brothers had it handled. Sam wasn’t down there for any more than thirty seconds before he was calling for Dean to pull him back up, one of his hands cradling something cautiously while the other clawed at the dirt around him.

When he was on his own two feet again, he wiggled out of the hose, nodding toward the car without any further comment. Grace rolled her eyes, and Dean did the same, but the both of them followed Sam regardless of their attitudes towards his newfound silence. Once they were situated in the Impala, Sam opened his palm, revealing a very dead beetle with the most disgusting antennas at the top of its head. Grace flinched, shrinking into herself as she put as much distance between herself and the bug as she could manage.

“So you found some beetles in a hole in the ground. That’s shocking, Sam.” Dean hummed not even three minutes later, his eyes glancing at the insect that Sam hadn’t stopped messing with before he refocused on the road ahead of him, one hand on the wheel while the other gripped the gear stick.

Sam only shrugged, not giving into the sarcasm this time around, apparently able to pick and choose when he wanted to fall victim to Dean’s antagonizing. “There were no tunnels, no tracks, no evidence of any other kind of creature down there. You know, some beetles do eat meat. Now it’s usually dead meat, but–”

“How many did you find down there?” Dean cut him off, not interested in hearing all of the oddly specific beetle facts that Sam undoubtedly knew off the top of his head. Grace was more than glad about that, though she still shivered in disgust at the fact that her brother was holding onto a dead beetle somewhat protectively, poking and prodding at it like it wasn’t once a live insect that probably carried a few million diseases.

“Ten.” Sam sounded proud of the development, meanwhile Grace scrunched her nose up in disgust, very glad that she hadn’t been the one to stumble upon ten beetles.

“It would take a whole lot more than that to eat some dude’s brain.” Dean shook his head, rightfully skeptical about the premise of only ten beetles eating a man's brain in a matter of minutes.

“Well, maybe there were more.” Sam rebutted, wrapping his fingers around the beetle as he tried to sway Dean’s opinion. Grace was just glad she couldn’t see the black insect anymore, still beyond disgusted that it was even in the car with her to begin with.

“I don’t know. Sounds like a stretch to me.”

“Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before.” Sam prattled on, but Dean’s attention was quickly misplaced as he analyzed red balloons on the side of the road, tied to a post just inches away from an open house sign.

“I know a good place to start.” He commented smugly, his eyes scanning the surrounding area until they found yet another sign that advertised a community barbeque in a backyard. “Kind of hungry for a little barbeque. How about you?” Sam rolled his eyes, and Grace did the same, hardly surprised that Dean was interested in free food and conversing with townspeople. “What, we can’t talk to the locals?”

“And the free food’s got nothing to do with it?” Sam teased, his smirk only growing when Grace laughed softly, bating at the back of Dean’s seat.

“Of course not. I’m a professional.”

“Swear to god, Dean. If you puke this time, I’m going to kick you.” Grace threatened as Dean pulled up to a house on the left hand side, her mind flashing back to the last barbeque they’d stumbled into somewhere deep in Ohio. He’d entered a hot dog eating contest like an asshole, and after losing (which he still won’t admit to, claiming the guy who won cheated by not eating the buns) he’d puked inches away from her brand new running shoes that hadn’t even acquired a spec of dirt yet.

Dean only rolled his eyes at her comment, turning the engine off before he climbed out of the car, Sam and Grace following his lead begrudgingly. They glanced at the houses, taking in the large driveways and abstract roofs as they ventured down the sidewalk. “Growing up in a place like this would freak me out.” Dean commented, which had both Grace and Sma frowning in confusion.

“Why?” Grace questioned, looking at the houses that were more or less finished. They weren’t exactly her style, a little too flashy and big for what she figured her taste was, but something about it still felt safe and oddly romanticized. This was the kind of neighborhood that threw block parties in the middle of the street, and where everybody knew everybody even if they secretly hated everything about the town and its community.

“The manicured laws, how-was-your-day-honey? I’d blow my brains out.” Dean scoffed, still heavily critiquing the development.

“I think it’d be nice. You’re just allergic to normal.” Grace commented, Sam nodding his head in agreement as he stepped toward the left, giving her more room to walk between them instead of lingering awkwardly behind their broad frames like she’d found herself doing.

“I’d take our family over normal any day.” Dean scoffed, eyeing a sign in the front yard as they stumbled up the driveway.

“Normal and our family don’t have to be antonyms, you know. We could be normal.” Grace hummed, already getting lost in the hypothetical image of growing up without crappy motel rooms and a dead mom that she can’t even remember. She knows that had they had white-picket fences and parent teacher conferences, they most likely wouldn’t have had the relationship that they do now, but she thinks she’d be okay with stereotypical annoying older brothers that have their own lives outside of her own instead of the trauma and constant fear that’s rooted in the reality they did actually grow up within.

She pushes past Sam to be the one to knock on the door, a cheeky smile on her lips as she turns to tease him. Sam pushes her head away from his, but he laughs quietly beneath his breath regardless of the annoyed display he puts on. There are very few moments where he gets to see his sister for who she actually is, but as he watches her pound her fist against the textured glass, it’s clear as day that beneath the hunter exterior she always puts up, she’s just a twenty-year-old kid that still has so much joy tethered to her spirit. He wishes that she’d drop the act more often, she’d finally stopped putting it on at all in the last few months that they spent together at Stanford, but he knows what happens when she slips up, and he knows that despite their father not being around physically, she’s still terrified of word getting back to him that she was anything less than perfect.

The door swings open seconds later, and Grace’s mask comes right back up. Her contagious excitement that had both Sam and Dean grinning was quickly shoved aside, replaced with a stoic expression that only conveyed what it absolutely needed to. “Welcome.”

“This the barbeque?” Dean questioned, a smirk splaying across his lips as he inhaled the aroma of smoked meat and charcoal.

“Yeah, not the best weather, but…” The man glanced at the sky, the overcast weather not uncommon for early Spring, but definitely a damper on his plans for a sunny-day barbeque. “I’m, uh, Larry Pike, the developer here, and you are?”

“Dean, this is Sam, Grace.” Dean introduced them at the same time that Sam and Grace introduced themselves. Larry could only chuckle softly, his lips curving into a grin as he nodded.

“Sam, Dean, Grace, good to meet you.” Larry exchanged formalities, “So you three are interested in Oasis Plains?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded his head, inclining his chin just slightly to the right as he agreed, but Grace could tell he was itching to be let inside and shown to the food. She had to stifle the scoff that threatened to fall off of her lips, the days she’d been spending with her brothers breaking all of the habits she’d spent decades perfectly curating to avoid her fathers rage. It was both liberating and terrifying, because she knew that they would find him eventually, and she’d have to deal with the repercussions of letting herself be comfortable in her own skin for a change.

“Let me just say, we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color or… sexual orientation.” Grace and Sam couldn’t contain their smirks of amusement, meanwhile Dean looked deeply distributed by the insinuation that his connection to either of them was anything more than familial.

“These are my brothers.” Grace smiled politely, fighting back her giggles as Dean tried his best not to start rambling about how Larry's analysis of their relationship was beyond off and disturbing.

“Big brothers.” Dean clarified, and Grace could only roll her eyes, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Our father is getting on in years and we’re just looking for a place for him.” Sam cut in before Dean could derail the conversation anymore than it already had been.

Larry hardly even bristled at the wrong assumption, inclining his head like a stereotypical businessman solely seeking out successes in his career. “Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome to. Come on in.”

The siblings followed Larry through the house, looking around at the furniture choices and style as they were guided out to the backyard where more people gathered. Some had red solo cups in hand, while others simply mingled, lively chatter filling the space easily.

“You said you were the developer?” Dean questioned as Larry stepped outside, a smile on his lips as he proudly showed off his accomplishments.

“A few months ago I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We’re the first family in Oasis Plains.” Larry walked backwards as he explained the last few months of his life and developments, a smile on his lips as he peered over his shoulder, approaching a woman in a baby pink blouse. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi there.” Joanie smiled, shaking Dean’s hand before she shook Sam’s. Grace only smiled, Joanie nodding her head fondly at her.

“Sam, Dean and Grace.” Larry introduced them, and Sam was quick to mention that he was Sam, not wanting to be confused for Dean which had Grace shaking her head just slightly as she stepped back to let her brothers guide the conversation. She had no interest in baseless conversations, and so far, there hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary that piqued her interest enough to pretend like she wanted to engage in a mindless conversation.

“Tell them how much you love the place, honey. And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses.” Larry faux whispered, and Grace had to fight the eye roll at his obnoxious attitude. She hated men that sought out nothing but personal gain, and while she could respect an honest hustle for business, something about Larry himself just rubbed her the wrong way. First impressions were hardly ever misleading, and so all she put her energy into was appearing polite enough.

Her brothers, however, laughed in polite amusement, Sam’s lips curving into a smile as he nodded along.

“Boys, Grace, if you’ll excuse me.” Larry quickly saw himself out of the conversation, and Joanie was quick to step up, although Grace found her energy far more enticing than this.

“Don’t let his salesman routine scare you.” Joanie brushed Larry off, more for Grace’s benefit than Sam or Dean, but still the men nodded anyway. “This really is a great place to live.”

“Hi, I’m Lynda Bloom, head of sales.” Another woman approached, and Joanie was quick to welcome her into the conversation, jutting a hand out in Lynda’s direction with a sweet smile on her lips as light refracted off of her necklace, something Grace was sure her brothers didn’t notice in the slightest, but she appreciated.

“And Lynda was second to move in. She’s a very noisy neighbor though.” Grace found herself smirking at Joanie’s comment before the woman peeled away, leaving only Lynda to converse with.

“She’s kidding, of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners.” The woman stepped the slightest bit closer, and instinctively, Grace stepped back, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sam or Dean, though her brothers were hardly phased and thoroughly amused. They’d grown up with Grace rambling about how girls can read each other easily, and they’d always found it humorous, clearly that hadn’t changed as Dean’s hand jutted out to slap at her side.

“Yeah, yeah, well..” Sam trailed off, but Lynda cut in before he could finish, not that he knew what to say in the slightest.

“Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color or… sexual orientation.” Lynda gave the same rehearsed spiel, and this time neither Sam or Grace found it as funny as they did the first time, both fighting grimaces as they wondered why these people were so intent with analyzing their behavior beneath a romantic lens. In Grace’s opinion, they were basically the poster children for typical American siblings.

“I’m gonna go talk to Larry, alright honey?” Dean played into it, and Grace honestly wasn’t sure whether he was addressing her or Sam, but that question was very quickly answered when he turned on his heels and began walking back toward the house, but not without reaching out to tap Sam’s butt on his way.

Grace had to turn her face away to get her laughter under control, meanwhile Sam snapped his head back to glare at Dean’s retreating frame. It didn’t take any further prompting for Lynda to lead them over toward a tented area, talking their ears off about the customizations and amenities that Oasis Plains had to offer. Grace wanted to beat her head against the wooden fence, and every time she glanced over at Sam, she was certain that he was thinking the same thing, his eyes practically dead as he forced small smiles and head nods every few seconds just to appease Lynda. Grace was doing the same, but her boredom wasn’t so discreet as she drummed her fingers against the table to her right, wondering where the hell Dena had escaped to and inquiring about whether he was undergoing the same torment. She was only half paying attention when Sam stepped around Lynda and braced his hands on her shoulders, softly guiding her away from the table without any further explanation. Grace frowned curiously, but when her eyes followed his sharp motions, her breath caught in her throat as she realized a tarantula was mere centimeters away from where her hands had been. Immediately shivers crawled up her spine and she flinched in disgust, looking antsy as she glanced between Sam and the house.

“I need to go wash my hands.” She announced quietly, making a quick b-line for the house, leaving Sam and the tarantula behind, although she was almost certain that she could feel it crawling up her arms despite not even actually touching her skin. She shivered in disgust at the thought of it brushing against her without her even realizing, suddenly desperate to scrub her hands until they were raw and bleeding.

She stumbled into Dean on her haste to enter the house again, her shoulder bumping into his chest as she brushed through the crowd. She hadn’t even noticed him coming out of the house with Larry, but as she snapped her head to the left, she realized that he’d been one of the people she’d pushed past in an anxious hurry. Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her, a hand holding onto her wrist as he kept her in place. “What’s up?” He inquired, taking note of the unsettled gleam in her soft eyes.

Grace shook her head, practically trembling as her voice came out rushed and whispered, ��Fucking tarantula like an inch away from my hand. Oh my god, I think we need to cut my hands off. I can feel it crawling on me.”

Dean rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, completely ignoring her dramatics as he pulled her along with him to Sam. “You’ll be fine.” He coaxed half-heartedly, accepting that her fear of bugs was very real, but not knowing the root, and therefore not recognizing the fact that she was seconds away from a panic attack – the memory of a late night in Palm Springs playing at the forefront of her mind despite all efforts to stay grounded in the present. His eyes fell onto her features when her fingers latched onto the sleeve of his jacket, and finally he took note of how her eyes were glazed over and far from the current moment, and the tough exterior he put on melted away quickly, replaced by soft understanding that he very rarely let show. “Hey, you’re okay, sweetheart. We’ll find Sammy and get out of here, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Grace agreed easily, but her grip on his sleeve didn’t falter, and although Dean was beyond confused, he didn’t push for anymore information, just continued on toward where Sam stood beneath a tent in front of a teenage boy. They got to him just as Larry began dragging the kid away, and Sam’s eyes lingered for a second before he looked to Dean and Grace.

“Remind you of somebody?” Sam smirked, his eyes trailing over where Larry was not-so-subtly reprimanding his son beside the back door. Grace shivered, knowing exactly what Sam was referencing, but Dean remained unphased by the taunting, apparently not recognizing the similarities between Larry and John. “Dad?”

“Dad never treated us like that.” Dean frowned, beyond confused.

Sam scoffed, his eyes trailing over Grace who was hardly paying attention to the conversation at all, subconsciously picking at her cuticles with the hand that wasn’t tightly holding onto Dean’s leather sleeve. “Well, dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case.”

John Winchester definitely had favorites, and very rarely (literally never) was Grace above her brothers. But, even though Sam was never thrown to the ground by his own hands, or locked outside of the car in a bug infested wooded area at five-years-old in the pouring rain, he didn’t avoid John’s gruff scrutiny so easily either. “You don’t remember?” Sam scoffed.

“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice but sometimes you were out of line.” Dean wouldn't touch any conversation about Grace’s relationship with John with a ten foot pole, but he would touch Sam’s, and the frustration that the middle Winchester felt was only piling up by the day, incapable of comprehending how his brother could openly admit that John was a dick, while also being his biggest supporter. Grace could understand it, but she wasn’t in the mood to unpack the trauma response of surviving at whatever costs necessary.

Sam rolled his eyes, not willing to abandon the topic just yet, despite how desperately Grace wished they’d stop talking about John all together. Her fingers twitched as she held onto Dean’s sleeve, but before he could react, she pulled her hands away entirely, intertwining her fingers in front of her body as she rocked on her feet. “Right. Right, like when I said I’d rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.” Sam rolled his eyes, his gaze trailing over Grace once more, but his sister still didn’t seem to be paying any more attention than she had been before, her eyes glazed over as she glanced back to where Larry and his son had once stood, but now both were gone.

“Bowhuntings an important skill.” Dean rebutted, and if Grace wasn’t so dazed from lingering panic, she would’ve frowned at how normalized all of this was for Dean. She’d gotten the chance to spend almost an entire year out from beneath her fathers thumb, but Dean never had, and when she’d been healing, finding herself and establishing connections in the real world, he’d been subjected to it all alone. Maybe Dean had never been beaten until he passed out, maybe he’d never been taunted with cynical punishments, but he was just as equally manipulated by the mind games that John Winchester thrived on playing with his own children; he just hadn’t realized it yet. Grace could be patient, she could wait for him to realize how much of his life and adolescence had been tarnished by John’s attitude on his own terms. Sam however, didn't seem to be able to extend the same thoughtfulness.

“Whatever.” Sam rolled his eyes, not in the mood to have his feelings belittled and trampled over. “How was your tour?”

“Oh, it was excellent. I’m ready to buy.” Dean quipped, a sarcastic smile on his face before it fell, his tone dropping as he grew serious. “So you might be onto something. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn’t the first strange death around here.” Grace frowned, looking up at Dean at the information, finally coming out of her own head enough to be fully engaged in the conversation at hand.

“What happened?” She questioned, angling her body so that Larry couldn’t watch them talk, not that he’d be able to hear them from across the patio, but she didn’t want to take any chances and raise any more red flags than necessary.

“About a year ago before they broke ground one of Larry’s surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this. Severe allergic reaction to bee stings.”

“More bugs.” Sam concluded, and Dean nodded, repeating the realization.

“Fucking great. Yippee.” Grace shivered, her brothers glancing down sympathetically, although amusement shone bright in both of their light eyes. If only they knew why she was so afraid, there wouldn’t be an ounce of amusement glistening through their green stares, but she wasn’t ready to disclose hidden moments of the past just yet, and they weren’t ready to hear it.

Another handful of hours later, all three siblings were once again crammed into the car, although this time Sam was behind the wheel and Dean was nose deep in a book in the passenger seat. Grace was curled up in the backseat, forcing herself to go through a million different breathing exercises as her brothers discussed insects and creepy crawlies at distributing lengths. Her hair was dry, her clothes weren’t damp in the slightest, but she swore she could feel rain pelting her skin and turning her bones to frozen ice as she sat in the backseat, her mind half present and half far away in the first memory of her father being truly cruel and unforgiving. He’d raised his voice at her before that moment. He’d grabbed her wrist too hard, tied her braids too tight, but never had he done something like lock her out of the car in the middle of the woods. She can still remember the way her little heart had lept in her chest with overwhelming fear as spiders crawled over her clothes, and mosquitos leeched onto any part of her body that they could draw blood from. After that hunt, she’d been covered in at least thirty mosquito bites that had bled for weeks before they healed. Dean and Sam never knew how she got them, and John had made sure they never had the chance to ask.

“You know, I’ve heard of killer bees, but killer beetles? What is it that could make different bugs attack?” Dean questioned, flipping to another page in the book, although Grace is certain that he’s already read the same pages three times over, but she doesn’t comment on it, more than content to let the boys take the lead on this case while she focuses on not succumbing to violent memories at the forefront of her mind.

“Well, haunting sometimes includes bug manifestations.” Sam suggested, but Dean didn’t even let that sit in the air for a second before he was arguing its legitimacy, his eyes scanning the pages between his fingers intently.

“Yeah, but I didn’t see any evidence of ghost activity.” He explained, and with pursed lips Sam agreed, effectively sending them both back to the drawing board. “Maybe they’re being controlled somehow you know, but something or someone.”

Sam frowned, looking over at Dean, his eyes flickering to Grace for only a second before he was focusing back on the road, the Impala’s headlights shining bright in the expanse of darkness that surrounded them. “You mean like Willard?”

“Yeah. Bugs instead of rats.” Grace would be more than okay if it were rats that they were questioning right now, even if she desperately despised those creatures too. Nothing was worse than bugs. She’d been scared of them before that night in Palm Springs, but now all they do is stir wild anxiety in her belly. John Winchester hated her weaknesses, but he’d been the one to give her most of them.

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals. Elementals, telepaths.” Sam explained away what he could, ideas bouncing off of Dean who took them in with only mild scrutiny.

“Yeah, the whole Timmy-Lassie thing.” Dean hummed thoughtfully before he found a connection, his right hand jutting outward in a motion of understanding as he craned his head to glance at both Grace and Sam. “Larry’s kid. Got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam questioned, nodding in agreement with Dean as he recalled the events of the barbeque. “He did try to scare Gracie and the realtor with a tarantula.”

“Don’t mention it.” Grace shivered, grabbing at the silver chain around her neck instinctively, clutching the cold pendant between her warm palms, desperately trying to keep herself from overthinking how close the spider had been to her hand. Dean reaches back, patting her knee affectionately though he said nothing to ease her discomfort, not-so-subtly enjoying the way she squirmed in her seat like a terrified child.

“Think he’s our Willard?”

Sam sighed, both hands on the wheel now. “I don’t know. Anything’s possible, I guess.”

Dean inclined his head in contemplation, but quickly pointed out a house on the side of the road, his finger tapping against the window as he directed Sam to slow down. “Oh, hey, pull over here.”

Grace frowned in confusion, and Sam shared the same expression as he pulled into the driveway of the house. “What are we doing here?” He questioned, craning his head to glance out the window as Dean began to peel himself out of the car wordlessly.

Grace crawled into the front seat when Dean reached for the garage door handle, “It’s too late to talk to anybody else.” His only defense as he began to pull the door open, revealing an empty garage.

“We’re gonna squat in an empty house?” Sam called out in disbelief, but it wasn’t the most insane thing they’d done while seeking shelter on an active case, so Grace remained silent, emotionally drained from the long day behind her now.

“I wanna try the steam shower. Come on.” Dean encouraged, but Sam remained unconvinced, simply staring at him through the open window. Grace, however, smiled in amusement, always the one to make the most out of whatever cards they were dealt, and spending a night in a bed of her own – a real bed, on top of everything else – well that didn’t seem so bad at all. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her own space to sleep in, certain that if it had happened at all, it had been years ago. “Come on!”

Grace batted her hand against Sam’s bicep, silently encouraging him to pull the car into the garage before anybody still lingering around the development could notice them. Sam rolled his eyes but obliged by the request, smirking in fond amusement when the side mirror crashed into Dean’s hand, their brother wincing in pain before he pulled the garage door down and into place, concealing the Impala for the night.

She climbed out of the car eagerly, brushing strands of hair off of her shoulders before she was heading to the back of the car in search of her own duffle bag. Dean already had the trunk open, her navy blue duffle over his shoulder and his own black bag held up on the other one. Sam rolled his eyes when he realized that Dean had no intention of grabbing his bag, and shoved his older brother out of the way so that he could retrieve it himself.

“Better sleep with one eye open, Gracie. Wouldn’t want any spiders in your bed, would you?” Dean taunted, his smirk electric and jesting, but it fell away quickly when Grace tensed at his side, her eyes widening with fear that was more than just irrational. Her breath caught, her lips beginning to tremble before teeth sank into soft skin, willing them to remain unmoving and neutral, though everything about her expression seeped genuine terror.

Her eyes refused to meet Deans, but weakly she pleaded with him to ease up on the jokes. “Can you not? Please?” She grabbed her duffle off of his shoulder, stalking past both him and Sam before either one of them could say anything to either remedy the situation or make it worse. It wasn’t the first time Dean had threatened her with bugs, he was the stereotypical annoying older brother that exploited any lighthearted weakness his siblings expressed, but all of the times when he’d teased her about spiders in the past had been out of pocket. Now, there were actual bugs that were potentially killing people, and Grace was in no condition to just let the joke roll off of her shoulders like she’d always done before.

Dean frowned in confusion as he watched her walk away and enter the house, Sam standing right beside him wearing the same expression of uncertainty. “She’s being weird, right?”

“She’s scared of bugs, dude. I think she has every right to be a little on edge.” Sam defended, but even he was skeptical.

Dean shook his head, and for a moment, Sam could see the genuine concern in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide at any given moment. “No. The way she held onto my sleeve at the barbeque… she’s not telling us something.”

“Think it has to do with Dad?” Sam questioned as he closed the trunk, not without grabbing a blanket from the back that he knew Grace wouldn’t be able to sleep without. She was always cold at night, and he doubted that the house would have the best heat circulation – or any at all – with only the necessary furniture piled into it.

“When doesn’t it with her?” Dean sighed sadly, nodding toward the door, desperate to leave the day behind and turn in for at least a couple hours of rest. Sam didn’t argue, following after his older brother and stepping past the threshold. For a moment, he wondered what their lives would’ve turned out to be if they’d never left Lawrence, but there was no point dwelling on what would never be known, so as quickly as he considered it, he moved on, just wanting to turn in for the night.

The next morning, Grace was already up and ready for whatever challenges they faced while trying to uncover the mysteries of Oasis Plains. The sun had risen over the development, and with the birds chirping outside, all of the siblings were gathering themselves in preparation, although Dean had skewed priorities.

Grace was sitting in the hallway, her back against the wall, and her knees pulled up to her chin as she waited around for her brothers to get a move on. She was in no rush to get back into bug infested territory, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t going restless. She’d never been good at keeping still, always in search of something to keep her mind alert and her hands busy, but there was absolutely nothing to do in a house that only had the basic necessities. The refrigerator wasn’t even plugged in downstairs, still covered in plastic that protected the stainless steel from scratches.

Sam knocked on the bathroom door minutes later, annoyance set into his jaw as he heard the water still running. “You ever coming out of there?” He asked, only receiving a grumbled ‘What’ in response as Dean stayed beneath the stream of hot water. Grace had already showered, and her hair was still slightly damp as it fell over her left shoulder in a loose braid. “Dean, a police call came in on the scanner. Someone was found dead three blocks from here. Come on.”

“More bugs?” Grace questioned from the floor, her light eyes revealing vulnerability that she just didn’t have the energy to conceal anymore. She’d hardly gotten even an hour of sleep, unable to move on from the phantom sensation of bugs crawling up her skin enough to actually rest, and that was evident in her dim eyes and timid demeanor.

“Looks like it.” Sam smiled sympathetically, knowing that even if he suggested Grace stay here instead of join them out in the town and upcoming development, she’d never agree to those conditions. He wouldn’t either. Not when the both of them grew up being expected to perform under any conditions and restraints.

The door cracked open, and Dean grinned widely. “This shower is awesome.” He concluded, a towel wrapped around his hair as steam slipped out from the crack in the door. Grace could only scoff her amusement, rolling her eyes at his fascination with simple pleasantries.

“Come on.” Sam rolled his eyes, strutting away from the bathroom door in exasperation. Dean had an amusing way of always getting beneath his skin. He played the same tricks every time, but somehow Sam never learned to just ignore him. If Grace didn’t know any better, she’d suggest that Sam likes being annoyed by Dean. It certainly makes her day interesting.

She stood up from her spot in the hallway, following Sam down the stairs. She’d already explored every inch of the house, but her eyes still scanned the layout as she descended the staircase, making note of all the subtle details and elements that further exonerated the vibe of the house. It wasn’t anything elaborate despite the size and favorable amenities, and she quite liked how nonchalant it felt to walk the halls in a pair of black leggings and a sweatshirt. It felt comfortable, easy. If she had been given the chance, she would’ve loved to grow up in a house like this.

“Gracie?” Sam questioned as the youngest Wincheter came to stand in the kitchen. Grace hummed her attention, soft eyes trailing over Sam as she inspected his body for injuries. “Yesterday–” He began, trailing off as he scratched at his chin, unsure of how to broach the topic without upsetting his sister who notoriously wanted nothing to do with conversations about their fathers behavior. “You’re scared of bugs because of Dad, aren’t you?” He decided that blunt was the best option, but immediately regretted it when Grace reeled back like she’d been physically struck, her eyes widening for only a second before she masked the expression like she’d always had to do whenever John was around.

“You don’t want to go there, Sammy. Just leave it alone.” That was answer enough, and Sam nodded, knowing that he wasn’t going to get anymore information out of Grace without further prying, and that wasn’t something he was interested in or ever wanted to do. Dean was the one who pushed them to open up, who fought to know every secret they kept close to their hearts. Sam and Grace, however, had the mutual understanding that they’d share when they were ready, and it was okay if they never were.

“Right.” He hummed, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he accepted the end of the conversion; not that it had even started to begin with. He wasn’t trying to get more information out of her, more than willing to leave it alone, but Grace still softened at the sight of him so caught up in his head, and her shoulders deflated as she leaned against the granite countertop.

“You were seven. I was five. We were in Palm Springs chasing that spirit that killed the two girls. Dad took me out to burn the bones, told you and Dean that we’d be back by sunrise with breakfast from that dumbass diner with the dinosaur in the parking lot. We came back soaked, and Dean was pissed off that Dad let me stand in the rain, because he got in trouble for going out during a storm the week before. Dad just agreed, let him think that I wanted to be out there with him, but he– god, that’s not even close to what happened. I tripped over a branch, fell in the mud. Dad was pissed that the new shirt I’d gotten from Bobby was already ruined. After he made me salt the bones, he told me to stay where I was, to make sure that the bones actually burned. He went back to the car, I thought he was coming back, but then he didn’t. It was the middle of spring, and humid, and it just started pouring out of nowhere. I came back covered in mosquito bites and you were mad that they kept bleeding onto the bed sheets. Dad told you I got bit while we burned the bones, and I mean, yeah I guess I probably did, but he didn’t tell you that he locked me out of the car for two hours as a punishment for ‘fucking things up like always’. At one point, there was a spider on me. I freaked out, I mean, I hated bugs to begin with, but being out in the rain, in the middle of the night, still able to smell the gasoline from the fire– I don’t know. It sounds stupid. Honestly, it is stupid. But that was when he really started to change. When the little comments he made turned into being backhanded, when any minor mistake was suddenly reason enough to hit me until I couldn’t get up without help. There is so much you don’t know, Sammy, and I’m not ready to talk about it. And, as much as you think you’re ready to hear it, you’re not. So yes, I’m scared of bugs because of Dad, but just… drop it, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ve always been fine.” Grace wasn’t even aware of the fact that she was rambling, anxiously pulling at her fingers as she disclosed the first night John Winchester had ever shown her his true colors. She’d idolized him at the time; been able to overlook the comments he made and the ways in which he treated her differently than the boys. She’d loved him, even afterwards, but now, now she’s not so sure whether she hates him with a burning passion, or still wants to try and impress him even slightly.

Grace could see the gears turning in Sam’s head. She could see him piecing together snippets of the past that had made no sense at the time, but now had a different meaning. “You let Dean and I torment you with bugs for years…” He trailed off, an unspoken apology in his saddened eyes that Grace only shrugged off, harboring no hard feelings for her brother's actions.

“You didn’t know, and I’m pretty sure most little girls hate bugs, Sammy. You were kids, acting like kids. It’s not your fault I was never allowed to be one too.”

Despite the fear of bugs that came from that night out in Palm Springs, Grace Winchester still adored the rain, and how it gave whatever streets it fell upon a chance to start fresh when the clouds cleared. Droplets of cold rainwater pelted the ground beneath the Impala, the wipers working fast to clear away the drops that pattered against the windshield without a rhythm. She had stolen one of Dean’s sweatshirts for a change, wanting something heavier than her own clothes, and the material threatened to drown her frame as she shoved her hands into the front pocket, pulling at her fingers as she coached herself into bravery, wanting to prove to herself more than anyone else that she was capable of still doing her job even when fear ran down to the very center of her bones.

Lights glimmered in the distance, an ambulance and squad cars pulled up to the house where Lynda Bloome had mysteriously died hours earlier. Sam was behind the wheel once again, Dean in the backseat for a change, not that he’d had any choice in the matter. Sam and Grace had already been in the car when he’d finally come out of the bathroom, and as if he could sense that something of importance had been discussed without him present, he’d slid into the backseat with only a huff of annoyance. Grace had craned her head to grin at him as Sam backed out of the garage, and all Dean had done was roll her eyes and mumble something about how she was a ‘princess’ beneath his breath.

She stepped out of the car in time with Sam, pulling the hood of the sweatshirt over her hair and sticking close to Dean, not wanting to drag yet another umbrella out of the trunk. Dean didn’t mind, holding the pole just slightly at an angle, letting it cover her entirely. Rain pelted his shoulder, but if he cared, he didn’t even grimace as the leather of his jacket became slick with tracks. They walked up to Larry who was on the phone, an umbrella in his hands that was similar to their own. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he noticed them, shoving the phone into his pocket before giving over his attention.

“Hello, you’re, uh, back early.” He commented, clearly frazzled by their unexpected appearance. At the end of the day, it wasn’t the death of Lynda that bothered him, it was the fact that he could lose business over it. Grace had to resist rolling her eyes at his attitude, wondering how somebody could become so detached from reality that they prioritized a sales deal over real relationships. Twenty years working a job like this, and even she still shed tears over the victims they couldn’t save.

“Yeah, we, uh, just drove in. Wanted to take another look at the neighborhood.” Dean explained away their sudden appearance, his eyes scanning over the houses that filled the block.

“What’s going on?” Sam questioned.

Larry sighed, his eyes darting in the direction of the house that Lynda had passed within before they found the siblings again. He looked straight at Sam, hardly even acknowledging Grace. “You guys met, uh, Lynda Bloome at the barbecue?” He questioned, glancing at the body bag that was being placed into the back of an ambulance just a few feet away.

“The realtor.” Sam nodded, establishing that the connection had been made.

“Well, she, uh, passed away last night.” Larry explained, and for the first time, Grace saw a wrinkle of despair in his expression, proving that beneath the businessman persona, Larry did have a heart in some capacity.

“What happened?” She asked softly, eyes saddened and understanding as she fit into her role of concerned young woman well. It wasn’t all a fabrication however, because at the end of the day, that was the true question that remained unanswered across all of their books.

“I’m still trying to find out.” Larry shrugged, his voice wavering as he glanced back at the house for a third time. “Identified the body for the police. Look, I’m– I’m sorry. This isn’t a good time.”

Grace shook her head, waving Larry’s apology off with a soft smile that conveyed her understanding. “It’s okay.” She assured, watching as he nodded before excusing himself, stalking up to the front door where an officer loomed, in the process of roping off the entry points.

“You know what we have to do, right?” Dean questioned, turning to look at Sam.

“Yeah, get in that house.” Sam sighed, already mapping out possible entry points that excluded the front door. Grace’s eyes lingered on the wooden fence, knowing that they’ve scaled more challenging fences in their past, and that it would certainly be easy enough if they could catch a minute without bustling crowds of law enforcement watching.

“See if we got a bug problem.” Dean prattled off, his hand that wasn’t wrapped around the pole of the umbrella jutting out toward the center of Grace’s back. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his fingers crawled up her cotton covered body, her eyes wide and full of fear as she flinched away from the sensation.

“Dean!” She hissed, her heart racing as she shivered involuntarily. She’d only just stopped feeling like there were beetles and spiders all over her body, but now that feeling was back tenfold, and her face flushed with anxiety as she tried to quell the brewing storm of memories as the rain seemed to splash harder against the ground beneath her feet.

Sam shook his head, pulling Grace into his side, his arm slinking around her shoulders protectively as his fingers brushed against her comfortingly. “Not cool man.” He directed the comment at Dean, his jaw set as he watched Grace swim within her own head, her pupils dilated with fear that he now knew wasn’t as baseless and irrational as he’d previously thought. How many times had they triggered her without knowing? How many times had she brushed off and forgiven their jokes when it stirred nothing but panic and fear inside of her? Sam hated to think about what those answers would be if he asked.

“It’s fine, Sammy.” She brushed it off, not wanting to dwell on the situation when Dean had no reason to think that his jokes were beyond insensitive and triggering. Her attempt to derail the conversation was futile though, because he’d already begun to figure that something was going on, and his jaw clenched with annoyance as he glanced between Grace and Sam.

“What’s going on with you two?” He questioned, but Grace only brushed him off.

“Nothing.” She excused. “Once some of these idiots leave, we can definitely scale that fence and go in through the window. Place like this, it’s definitely unlocked.” She explained, nodding toward the corner of the street. Sam agreed, saying nothing further, and for once, Dean let the topic drop without arguing.

They retreated back toward the car, Grace climbing into the backseat without even acknowledging Dean, who was ready and willing to take that seat for himself again. She only smiled softly when he glanced back at her questioningly, and for a second, his eyes softened and he smiled back. “Figure these idiots’ll be out here for at least another hour. There’s a diner up the road, you hungry?”

“I could eat.” Sam shrugged, leaving the decision up to Grace, who nodded in the affirmative.

An hour later, all three siblings were standing outside of Lynda’s house with full bellies. Grace had ordered a mac n cheese from the kids menu after deciding she wasn’t hungry enough to finish anything bigger, and Dean hadn’t let her hear the end of it since the waiter served her her food on a small plate with a fond smile; equally amused herself. As they stood on the sidewalk, assessing the best plan of action for how they were going to get into the window, he was still snickering quietly to himself, and both Sam and Grace had had enough.

“Shut up!” She groaned, slapping her palm against his head, rolling her eyes when he recoiled in mock offense. “Not everyone lives off of cheeseburgers, asshole. And don’t think I didn’t realize you stole I bite when I went to pee!”

“I had to make sure you weren’t being poisoned!” Dean rebutted, his eyes glimmering with amusement that had Grace breaking into a smile as well, the anxiety that had gripped her in the earlier hours of the morning no longer so heavy and paralyzing. “Alright, Sammy goes in first. You follow, and I’ll be right behind you. Got it?”

Both Sam and Grace nodded, accepting the game plan without complaint. Sam leapt up onto the fence, making it look far easier than it actually was as he shoved his foot into one of the holes and reached for the shutters on the side of the house, holding on with one hand while his other pried open the window. Grace, who’d temporarily been referred to as monkey when she was three and climbed anything in sight, had no trouble following his movements, even daring to laugh as she stumbled through the window and into Sam who steadied her with fond amusement etched across his green stare.

“Remember that time you and Jess scaled the fire escape at that frat house?” Sam laughed, recalling a night that felt like years ago, but was really only a couple of months ago as they waited for Dean to climb up the fence and join them in the bathroom.

“Oh my god, yeah!” Grace laughed softly, shaking her head at the memory she’d more or less buried since leaving Stanford behind, “She kept freaking out about falling. I was sure she was going to pass out.” She continued on, but her smile wilted as she and Sam connected eyes, both suddenly sobered up from their momentary bout of nostalgia as reality came crashing in on them once more. “I miss her too, you know.”

“I know.” Sam sighed, patting Grace’s shoulder before he pulled away from the embrace looking toward the window as Dean stumbled in. Sam was quick to turn around and pull the window closed, all three of them focusing on the crime scene beneath their feet now. The black tape on the floor in the shape of an unconscious body was eerie, but a definite sign that they were in the right place.

“This looks like the right place.” Dean affirmed what they’d already gathered, and began to lead the way into the bathroom, leaning down to pick up a rag that was crumpled on the floor. Grace stepped just over the threshold separating the bedroom and bathroom, moving just slightly to the side so that Sam could see as well, not willing to get any closer than she absolutely had to to what she desperately hoped wasn’t a pile of dead beetles. Her face paled when Dean picked the rag up and dead spiders fell onto the floor, their lifeless bodies shriveled up in odd positions that sent shivers down Grace’s spine. “Spiders. From spider boy?” Dean questioned, turning to look at Sam and Grace, the washcloth still between his grasp.

“Matt.” Sam corrected, adamant that Dean refer to the kid by his name, but his efforts were beginning to prove that they only lead to even more taunting. “Maybe.” He reluctantly agreed, sighing heavily as he stared down at the pile of spiders, desperately wanting to be wrong about even considering Matt’s involvement.

Grace had begun to slowly pull away from where Dean was crouched down on the blood stained tile, hardly noticing that she was stumbling backwards at all until her back hit the wall. Her breath hitched just slightly, eyes trained to the pile of arthropods that she could swear was moving toward her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when something thudded against her shoulder, and she definitely did when she glanced down, finding a spider just slightly caught within wild strands of her braid.

“Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!” Her entire body was frozen in fear, eyes wide and pleading as they flickered between both of her brothers, although she wasn’t really seeing them at all. Her hands flailed frantically at her sides, breath hitching as she became hyper aware of every minor sensation happening against her skin, almost certain that she could feel something crawling up her calf despite her pants being tight around her ankles.

Suddenly something was pressing against either side of her face, gentle but gruff against her skin that felt disgustingly clammy as the circulating air brushed through the room. Her unfocused eyes eventually focused again, becoming less glassy as she recognized Sam’s face in front of hers, blocking her sight from the spiders on the floor. His voice felt like it was years away, but she could make out the rushed words nonetheless.“Hey, hey. You’re good. It’s good. It’s gone. It’s gone.”

Grace shoved him away from her panickedly, batting against his chest with her palm when he hardly even budged, looking down at her with concerned confusion. He eventually got the hint and backed out of her way, just in time for her hands to seek out the ledge of the sink and expel everything she’d managed to eat at lunch. She groaned after a minute, reaching for the faucet with trembling hands, letting the water run until the bowl cleared and she could reach in and cup a handful, bringing it to her mouth quickly. When she spat it out, she didn’t look up right away, keeping her head craned above the sink and her eyes pinched shut, forcing herself to remember that she wasn’t stranded in the woods, nor was John even around to see her break like this at all.

When her chest didn’t feel so tight anymore, she stood up fully, reaching for the faucet and turning it off. She pulled Dean’s sleeve over her hand, wiping at her mouth. “You good?” Her eyes trailed to find Dean, his voice the one that had called out for her attention. His eyes were clouded with mixed emotions, his cluelessness conflicting with his natural response which was amusement. Grace could tell he was getting suspicious, connecting dots that had been in front of his face the entire time, but wasn’t entirely sure how the picture he had all the pieces to was supposed to look.

“I really fucking hate spiders.” She groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes, attempting to relieve some of the pressure that was building at the front of her head. “I need to get out of here.” She didn’t wait for her brothers to agree, stepping past Sam and heading for the window without so much as a glance back.

Grace woke up to someone tapping her shoulder with gentle urgency, and instinctively she leaned away from the disruption, her green eyes squinting open as she attempted to avoid the blinding brightness beyond the Impala’s backseat. She groaned quietly in exhaustion, but took in her surroundings just enough to recognize that the car was parked on a busy street corner directly beside a high school, and it was Dean who was standing in front of the car door, attempting to rouse her from sleep.

She shrugged off his hand, straightening her posture as she furrowed her eyebrows. She’d fallen asleep shortly after climbing into the backseat back at Oasis Plains, but more than a few hours had passed since then and the dirt caked beneath Dean’s fingernails insinuated that something had happened whilst she was essentially dead to the world. In any other case, she would’ve been pissed that they didn’t wake her, but she wasn’t too perturbed about missing out on even more conversations about killer insects.

“Hey, switch with me.” Dean inclined his head toward the high school, stepping out of the way so that Grace could climb out of the car. She didn’t question why he wanted to switch, figuring that whatever the reason was, it wasn’t a topic for others to overhear, let alone adolescent children getting out of school.

She slid into the passenger seat, pulling it forward so he wasn’t as crammed, and only then did she notice that Sam was on the other side of the car, putting a box down on the leather seats beside Dean. Curiously, she leaned over to peak inside, immediately regretting that decision when she found a bunch of dirt covered skeletons and worms. She groaned, pulling her head away and instead focusing on the road in front of her, beyond ready to finish this case and get moving onto the next, even if that meant they were just one step closer to locating John.

“Do I even want to know what I missed?” Grace questioned, pulling her legs together as she sat criss-cross applesauce in the passenger seat, something her brothers couldn’t even imagine being able to do. Even with the seat pushed up as far as it could be without Grace practically eating the dashboard, Dean’s knees hit the back of the chair and he shifted slightly in an attempt to find a comfortable position.

“Uh, not really.” Sam grimaced as he closed the drivers side door, starting the engine and peeling away from the curb. “Moral of the story is we think these bones are what’s attracting all the bugs.”

“And the kid? Matt?” Grace turned to look at Sam, having figured that they were at the high school he attended, and they’d most likely talked to him at some point.

“Not connected. Smart, though. Figured out something was going on, just didn’t know what.” Grace hummed as she nodded, accepting that her brothers had a good grip on the case without her help. “You okay now?” Sam asked after a beat of silence, his eyes shining with concern that made Grace’s chest clench. She hates when she’s the reason they’re worried; hates that half of what they worry about isn’t even in her control at all.

She nods her head, but the way she bites at her nails tells both of her brothers that she’s lying. “I mean, this case isn’t all sunshine and rainbows to begin with, Sammy. Given the circumstances, I’m as good as I can be.”

“Yeah, and what are those circumstances?” Dean calls from the backseat, finally having had enough of the apparent secrecy that was happening between his two youngest siblings. Grace sighs softly, soft eyes flickering to Dean in the rearview mirror, but Sam’s jack locks, and he shakes his head.

“Nothing, dude.” He defends, but Grace just shakes her head, knowing that Dean’s not going to relent until they tell him something believable.

“No, it’s not nothing. You two have been weird all day. I mean, really, what’s going on?” There was an edge to Dean’s tone that had Grace inching closer to the passenger door, a thickness in the air between Sam and Dean that she didn’t want to be included in at all. She sighed again, green eyes falling shut as she drew in a deep breath.

“Why can you never drop anything, dude?” Sam continues to try and go at Dean, but Grace puts her hand up, ending their arguing before it could really begin.

“It’s fine, Sammy.” She shrugged off his glance, craning her head to look back at Dean who was sitting in the middle of the leather row, his jaw locked, impatience etched across his features. “You remember the hunt in Palm Springs something like fourteen years ago? The spirit that killed those two girls? Dad took me out to salt the bones for the first time?”

“Yeah, and? What about it?” Dean questioned, evidently still annoyed as he barely even glanced at Grace. She bristled at the clip in his tone, sighing softly as she turned her gaze back to the road. The rain had stopped at some point, but the ground still glistened as the Impala’s headlights reflected off of puddles.

“Why do you even care if you’re just going to be an asshole about it?” She huffed, sinking down into the seat, suddenly not so willing to share moments of her troubled past with him. Dean sighed regretfully, letting his shoulders drop as he glanced at Grace softly, but the damage had already been done. The woman in the front of the car had dealt with irrational anger being directed at her for the entirety of her life, and although she still had trouble asserting her own personal boundaries, she wasn’t about to deal with Dean’s anger when whatever his problem was had to do with Sam and not her. “Just forget it. Where are we going?”

“Somehow, whatever’s happening here is connected to these bones. Figured we should probably find out where they came from.” Sam flicked the left blinker on, turning down a street that evidently led to a college campus if the swarms of young adults with backpacks walking around was any indication.

“Right.” Grace hummed, climbing out of the car when Sam pulled over, pulling the keys out of the ignition without saying anything more. Dean caught her wrist before she could follow Sam, keeping her on the sidewalk as he basically pleaded with her to forgive his earlier attitude. “Not now.” She pulled her arm free from his grasp, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over her hands as she caught up with Sam.

“So a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave, maybe it is a haunting?” Grace questioned as they trekked toward the anthropology department. “I mean, pissed off spirits, not a far fetch to say at least one of them has some unfinished business.”

“Yeah, maybe. Question is, why bugs?” Sam nodded at the suggestion, fixing his jacket over the box, not wanting to draw attention to the bones he carted around with effortless nonchalance like they were only a collection of old textbooks. “And why now?”

“Uh, that’s two questions.” Dean muttered, something clearly on his mind as he matched Grace and Sam’s pace but contributed nothing to their back and forth. “Hey, so with that kid back there how could you tell him to just ditch his family like that?”

“Just, uh, I know what the kid’s going through.” Sam explained, not seeing where Dean was going with his line of questioning, although Grace figured that they’d already butted heads about the topic while she’d been asleep in the car. Dean’s aggravation made a lot more sense now, but she still didn’t feel like divulging pieces of her past even if his temperament was called for. He’d burned that bridge and she didn’t know when she’d ever be ready to rebuild it.

“How about telling him to respect his old man? How’s that for advice?” Dean kept pushing, kept trying to make his opinion of Sam’s decision known, though it wasn’t like neither he nor Grace ever even had a chance to forget about his feelings toward Stanford when almost every conversation led back to the topic in some capacity. Grace understood both of their perspectives, probably more than either of her brothers realized, but Dean’s unwilting loyalty to John was even too much for her to be okay with. She’d give him her patience, allow him to unmake every memory of childhood at his own pace, but pushing his own experiences onto Sam was far more than she could tolerate. One day, Dean would have to accept and understand that all three of them were treated differently by John, and for that they were each entitled to their own feelings about him.

“Dean, come on. This isn’t about his old man. You think I didn’t respect dad. That’s what this is about.” Sam fought, stopping right in front of the department building, his jaw tight as he glanced down at their older brother.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Just forget it, okay? Sorry I brought it up.”

“I respected him. Even when he beat the shit out of Gracie. Even when he bailed on us for a fight he wasn’t even sure he could win. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.” Grace hates that she respected him too, hates that maybe she still does. He was the first person to show her how cruel the world could be to someone smaller, weaker, kinder, but he’s also the man that raised her. The man that raised her brothers, and despite everything, kept a rough over their heads; even if it was an ever changing one. She hates that after everything, the smallest part of her heart still yearns to win over his pride.

“So what are you saying, that dad was disappointed in you?” Dean asks, stopping a few feet ahead.

“Was?” Sam scoffs, a perturbed smile crossing his lips as he shakes his head. “Is. Always has been.”

“Why would you think that?” He genuinely doesn’t understand where Sam’s coming from, because even if he hates John Winchester for how he treated his only daughter, just like Grace, there are pieces of him that only want to remember the good. And, there was good. Not for Grace, never for her, but for him and Sam, there had been undeniable good mixed into the unavoidable bad.

“Because I didn’t wanna bowhunt or hustle pool because I wanted to go to school and live my life which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.” Sam defended, his palm slapping against his thigh as he tried to keep his frustration at bay, but with each quip from Dean, his reserve was breaking more and more.

“Yeah, you were kind of like that blonde chick in The Munsters.” Dean’s smile only further annoys Sam, and Grace can only roll her eyes at her eldest brother's inability to ever have a serious conversation about Sam’s very real resentment towards John. There was only black and white in Dean’s world, but Sam had long ago discovered that life was more gray than anything else.

“Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud.” Sam sighs, his voice softening as he begins to break, not possessing the energy to keep having the same conversation over and over again with little to no understanding from their brother. Grace frowns, knowing how much it had hurt Sam that John couldn’t have cared less about his scholarship. She’d been proud, unbelievably so, but she understands that her pride would never be enough to fill the hole in his heart that John had left empty. “Most dads don’t toss their kids out of the house.”

“I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases coming out of your mouth.” Dean rebutted, and Grace wanted to facepalm at that moment. Dean’s perception of family dynamics was so beyond tainted that even years later, he couldn’t even begin to recognize that it wasn’t Sam’s job to keep the peace between himself and John. She couldn’t blame Dean, he’d never known anything other than this life and surviving by whatever means necessary, but she wouldn’t agree with him either.

“You know, truth is, when we finally do find dad I don’t know if he’s even gonna want to see me.” Sam admits, and Grace has to refrain from drawing in a heavy breath at the mention of reconnecting with John. Ultimately, that was the goal, the reason they were even working this case – or any case – at all, but it was easy to forget about the pending reunion when every lead they followed came back empty. She didn’t know if she’d make it out alive once she was back beneath his thumb, but that wasn’t what she needed to put her energy into right now.

Dean bristles, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Grace, who frowns at his conflicted expression. Where she could see both of her brothers' sides in the argument, neither of them could ever seem to meet eyes on their own opinions; both of them too stubborn and fueled by trauma to recognize that all they’d ever been trying to do was survive by whatever means necessary, with whatever cards they were given. Grace knew that Dean had it harder than Sam, she recognized that, but Sam just couldn’t grasp how much Dean had sacrificed to practically raise them on his own whenever John was working a case. He followed orders because it kept them safe. He defended Dad because he desperately wanted them to feel like their lives weren’t so unorthodox and out of control. He didn’t know how to stop fighting the battle because the battle was all he’d ever known. “Sam, dad was never disappointed in you. Never.” Dean shook his head, and Grace could hear the sincerity in his tone, but Sam couldn’t – he didn’t want to, not yet anyways. That was the problem with them. Everything had to be at their own pace, in their own time. “He was scared,”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head as he cut Dean off, who for once was being painfully genuine and transparent. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s afraid of what could’ve happened to you if he wasn’t around.” Dean filled in the blanks, and Grace’s heart thumped in her chest. “But even when you two weren’t talking he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe.”

“What?” Grace froze, eyes wide as she looked at Dean for answers. Nausea pools in her belly, her chest tightening as she realizes that she had never fully been out from beneath her fathers thumb. She’d been with Sam for almost a year. It had taken her months to feel like she could be whoever she wanted without word traveling back to John, but now she was confronted with the fact that he’d always been there, always lurking, watching. Maybe he was there for Sam, maybe he never hid within the shadows to check up on her specifically, but he’d still been there. He’d still been there as she did all of the things he’d always told her she couldn’t do. Would he be pissed off when they found him? Would he punish her tenfold because not only had she left him behind in the middle of the night, but she’d gone and made a mockery of their family name? Her mind flashes to moments when she’d been less than perfect. When Jessica had dared her to do shots at a party, and she’d ended up so drunk that she puked in the bushes on the walk back to the apartment. When Sam had dragged her out to the fountain in the middle of the night, and they’d jumped in still in their clothes, claiming that it was a rite of passage at Stanford. Had he been there in those moments? Had he watched as she shed layers of scar tissue to instead embrace freedom and comfortability? Was she ever going to fully be free of his presence, or was she cursed to always be looking over her shoulder?

“Why didn’t he tell me any of that?” Sam craned his head, eyes flickering to Grace for only a moment before his attention fell back to Dean, needing to know why John had never tried to reach out to him when he was apparently worried enough to drive out to Stanford.

“Well, it’s a two way street dude. You could have picked up the phone.” Dean answered, and Grace wanted to scoff at the excuse, but she was frozen in fear, her mind racing a million miles an hour as she overanalyzed all of the times when she’d felt like somebody was watching her but had chalked it up to (valid) paranoia. They may be adults now, but it was never going to be their job to fix the relationships they had with John. “Come on, we're going to be late to our appointment.” He inclined his head toward the doors, stepping forward to keep moving, but Grace remained frozen, her eyes blurred with tears that stung and threatened to fall as she blinked. “Gracie, come on.”

“Um, I’ll, uh, meet you at the car. I need– I’m gonna go find food.” Grace could barely get the words past her lips, but by the time that she had constructed the sentence, she was turning on her heels, putting distance between herself and her brothers without even waiting to see their responses.

She’d spent eleven months and seven days – yes, she counted every last one – at Stanford with Sam. It had taken her a month to even leave the apartment for the first time after showing up on his doorstep in tears, and three months to stop looking over her shoulder every time she did. She’d put in the effort to reinvent herself however felt authentic and right, and there had been something sacred built on the promise that John Winchester would never know who she had become without his influence and restrictions. She’d never had a lot of things in life, but she’d at least had the chance to live her own way. But, now she was finding out that it wasn’t really her own at all. The nights she’d walked home from the part time job she’d gotten at the diner in town, and she’d clutched her bag tighter out of instinct when it had felt like eyes watched her closely. The days when she’d be out with Jessica, laughing and talking like her spirit had never been weighed down by fear, only to shrink into herself when the memories came back and learned instincts took over. Wherever she went, John Winchester followed her. She’d known that, but Sam had promised she was free of his control. She doubted that, but she’d trusted him anyway. Sam was wrong. She was naive. No matter how far she ran. No matter how hidden she made herself. She would never be unpinned.

Her chest tightened as she glanced around the campus square. Was he here now? Had it become something of a game to him? How were they to know if he lurked in the shadows? Suddenly Grace couldn’t breath, and she stumbled her way to a bench across from the department building. Her body crumbled onto the wooden boards, feeling heavy and tense as her vision blurred. For a moment, the sounds around her faded, but then they all came rushing back seemingly louder than they’d been before. She wheezed, blunt nails digging into the wood beneath her, clawing at any chance of finding solid ground to focus on.

Minutes later, the bench shifted beneath additional weight, and Grace’s gaze snapped to the right. She half expected to see her father glaring back at her, but instead, she met the eyes of a student who was probably her age, if not just a few years older. His face was kind, but tired, and his shoulders slumped to accommodate the heavy weight of his backpack.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya.” He apologized, having clearly noticed the way her grip tightened on the wooden boards beneath her thighs.

“No, you’re okay. Just got lost for a minute there.” She brushed him off weakly, her voice hoarse as a result of the emotions that had accumulated in her chest within such a short span of time.

“What classes are you taking?” The student questioned, expecting Grace’s stress to be related to coursework, which wasn’t the farthest fetched conclusion given they were in the heart of a lively campus.

“Oh, I’m not a student here. I’m not even from Oklahoma.” She laughed softly, the tightness in her chest ebbing away as she focused her energy on the casual conversation at hand, glad to be talking about something mindless and surface level for a change. She was getting really tired of long emotionally demanding conversations.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Where are you from?” Grace hadn’t meant for her earlier remark to come across any kind of way, but she can’t help but smile regardless. Something tells her the boy beside her knows a thing or two about fishing for conversations, and she can’t say she minds using him as a distraction.

“Kansas. But, I’ve lived practically everywhere. New York’s probably my favorite.” She doesn’t remember the last time she’s gotten to talk about something like this; probably months ago when Jessica was still around, but the sentiment remains. There was no need to have these conversations with her brothers, they’d all been there when moments happened, they all knew each other enough to just know these things based on body language, but it was nice to feel like someone was seeing her for a change. It got to be draining when all you ever were to anybody was a brush of wind in the night. Their lives were meaningful, she knew that, but that didn’t mean it was easy never having anyone around that cared about who you were as a person, not just an asset or an ally.

She doesn’t know how much time elapsed on that bench, but she knows that Sam and Dean came back far too quickly for her liking. She stood when Sam came into her line of sight, offering Weston an apologetic smile as she pulled at the hem of her hoodie, preparing to join the boys at the car. Weston, who had turned out to be a third year communications major from a town not even twenty minutes north, waved as she turned to leave, laughing beneath his breath when she stumbled over her untied laces and tried to play the entire thing off with nonchalance.

She gave him one last glance before she dunked into the backseat, sighing softly as she closed the door behind her, not even getting the chance to consider putting her seatbelt on before she sped away.

“Gracie–” Dean started, but she shook her head.

“If it’s about Dad, or a bullshit apology for being an asshole earlier, I really don’t care. What did you find out?” She questioned, not in the mood to have another conversation tethered to their father in some capacity. This case was enough without Dean’s remarks.

“The bones are Native American. There’s a Euchee tribe in Sapulpa that might know more.” He sighed, backing down from what was originally going to be his point of conversation. Grace nodded, saying nothing more as she crossed her legs, looking out the window as the scenery blurred together.

They walked into the diner after asking around, and immediately Dean led the way toward a man at a table, laying out playing cards. “Joe Whitetree?” He asked, receiving the slightest nod of confirmation from the long haired man.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?” Sam tucked his hands into his pockets, keeping his voice even and unarmed as he approached. Grace stood between them, a kind and welcoming expression on her face despite how utterly done with the case she was. She wanted something different, something that was more guns blazing and literature. She hated when all there was to do was flounder around until they found something that stuck. And, she especially hated that everything they stumbled upon related back to their father as if the very premise of the case wasn’t enough for her wounded heart.

“We’re students from the university.” Dean began, but Joe was quick to dismantle that lie. Dean bristled at the confrontation, beginning again with another lie he’d thought up, but Joe didn’t take the bait for even a second.

“You know who starts sentence with truth is? Liars.” Grace couldn’t help but smirk a little at the man’s persistence for the truth, and instinctively she stepped out from behind Dean, facing Joe with a soft smile.

“Mr. Whitetree, have you heard of Oasis Plains?” She asked softly, glancing down at his playing cards for only a second before she was searching his eyes again. “It’s a housing development near the Atoka Valley.”

Whitetree’s eyes met hers with fondness, and his lips curved into a jesting smirk as he flicked his gaze to Dean’s. “I like her. She’s not a liar.” Grace only smiled more, a soft laugh falling off of her lips as she glanced at Dean to see him pull a palm down his face, clearly exasperated. “I know the area.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about the history there?” She asked cautiously, preparing for this to be dangerous water with the older man, but he only inclined his head curiously.

“Why do you want to know?” He fired back at her, though there was no defensiveness in his tone, and for that Grace was grateful. She couldn’t handle another hostile man on this case.

“Somethings happening there, and well, I think it might have something to do with some old bones we found down there.” She answered, being honest with the man, but still keeping the full truth closer to their inner circle. “The bones… they’re Native American.”

“I’ll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him. Two hundred years ago a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant. Cavalry, impatient. As my grandfather put it, on a night the moon and the sun shared the sky as equals the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again and the next and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time and by the time the sun rose every man, woman and child still in the village was dead.” Grace didn’t break her stare with Whitetree, but she was highly aware of her brothers connecting eyes behind her, and with their attention diverted, she tried not to draw attention to the way her body tightened at the details of the retelling of events. Enough secrets had slipped into the air already, there were just some that didn’t need to see the light of day along with the others. “They say on the sixth night as the chief of the village lay dying he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley and it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.”

“Insects. Sounds like nature to me.” Dean muttered to Sam, before looking back at Whitetree, who had finally allowed his gaze to leave Grace’s. “Six days?” He double checked, earning a nod from Joe.

“And on the night of the sixth day none would survive.” Joe reaffirmed what he’d already mentioned, and the siblings nodded acceptingly.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitetree.” Grace smiled appreciatively before she followed her brothers out of the small diner, their minds reeling as they pieced together the information they’d just learned and what they already knew.

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam questioned as they stepped outside, heading back to the Impala to hopefully finish all of this once and for all.

“Friday.” Grace hummed, not even having to think about it. She was good with dates, she always had been. It was one of the few strengths that John Winchester saw in her.

“March 20th. That’s the Spring Equinox.” Sam pieced together the information that had been staring them in the face since the start. Grace wanted to bash her head into the wall for not considering the connection beforehand.

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals.” Dean hummed, and Sam nodded, confirming that he was correct.

“So every year about this time anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land.”

“Uh, the sixth night would be tonight.” Grace piped up, looking at Sam with evident concern in her eyes.

“If we don’t do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?” Sam questioned, standing at the passenger side door of the Impala, not in the mood to be the one to drive. Grace didn’t even try to claim the position, just following him along to the left side of the car, waiting for Dean to unlock the latches so that she could slip into the backseat.

“You don’t break a curse. You get out of its way.” Dean shook his head, unlocking the car and beginning to sink into the driver's seat, but not without voicing the urgency that they all knew they faced. “We gotta get those people out now.”

Hours later, they were still on the way back to Oasis Plains, but Dean wasn’t taking his chances with the family. As headlights reflected off of damp roads, he held his phone up to his ear. “Yes Mr. Pike there’s a gas leak in your neighborhood.” He explained, but without the call being switched to speaker phone, neither Grace nor Sam could hear what Larry was saying on the other end. They simply waited with baited breath to hear Dean’s responses, desperately hoping that Larry didn’t prove hard to convince. “Well, it’s fairly extensive. I don’t wanna alarm you, but, uh, we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so just to be safe.” By the way Dean was answering questions, Grace knew that they weren’t going to stand a chance with convincing Larry to leave Oasis Plains behind. “Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power.” There was a beat of silence before Dean stuttered, pulling the device away from his ear and flipping it closed in frustration.

Grace sank back against the backseat, sighing in exasperation for headstrong men that didn’t know how to help themselves any. She watched as Sam reached for the phone next, hurriedly typing numbers into the keypad. “Matt, it’s Sam. Matt, just listen, you have to get your family out of that house right now, okay?” There was undeniable urgency in Sam’s tone, and Grace could only hope that it didn’t freak the teenager out to a point where he became less than helpful. “Because something’s coming.”

Grace looked out the window, watching the world pass by in the form of blurred together hues and shades. Dean was going as fast as he could, but even that was proving to not be enough as the night dragged on later and later and there was still distance to cover before they got to the Pike’s residence.

“You gotta make him listen, okay?” Sam stressed, but that wasn’t enough for Dean, who reached for the device, pulling it up to his ear as his voice hardened.

“Matt, under no circumstances are you to tell the truth. He’ll just think you’re nuts. Tell him you have a sharp pain in your right side and you gotta go to the hospital, okay?” Dean barked his orders sharply, and for a minute, all Grace saw was John telling her and the boys how to weasel their way into a case as children and young teenagers. Once they’d been embraced into the hunting world, John had no shame in using his children as bait. She couldn’t even recall how many times he’d told her to approach random strangers and get them talking, nor how many times he disregarded her safety to pull information out of a case. She knew Dean had good intentions, knew that this was for Matt’s benefit, but she couldn’t help but think that all of this had started for them as little white lies constructed by their father.

Evidently, Matt agreed because Dean slapped the phone closed for a second time and turned his attention to Sam. “Make him listen? What are you thinking?”

Grace rolled her eyes, not bothering to tune into their bickering. She’d had enough of the squabbling for a day, and so instead of paying attention to the way Sam clapped back defensively, she pressed her head against the window, watching the trees blur together as they passed.

When they eventually pulled up to Oasis Plains, making a sharp left before they approached the Pike household, all three of them sighed at the front lights turned on and cars still in the driveway. “Damn it, they’re still here. Come on.” They got out of the car with efficiency, and for the first time ever, Grace desperately wished that this was one of those hunts that could be handled with a gun. She was a near perfect shot, but that wouldn’t do her any good against what they were facing, and she felt entirely too vulnerable going in with only her senses.

As they approached the front door, Larry came storming out, his finger jutted out in their direction threateningly. “Get off my property before I call the cops!” He demanded.

“Mr. Pike, listen.”

“Dad, they’re just trying to help.” Matt interjected from the front porch, but Larry swung to address him quickly, his tone still raised and sharp as he turned his wagging finger to his song.

“Get in the house!” He demanded, and Grace couldn’t help but bristle at the sharpness of his order, her chin dropping to her chest as she recalled the many times John had yelled that same command at her before she’d been met with a world of pain from his bare hands.

“S-Sorry. I told him the truth.” The kid said apologetically, and suddenly Larry’s anger made a lot more sense. Grace sighed, but she couldn’t blame him either. Dean had been asking a lot of him and hadn’t even considered how Matt would feel about lying to the person that only ever saw his worst assets.

“We had a plan, Matt. What happened to the plan?” Dean snapped, his frustration bubbling over and being directed at the first person it could be. Unfortunately, that was Matt. Grace smiled softly at the boy, hoping that she could ease the guilt pooling in his stomach even slightly with the simple expression.

“Look, it’s twelve am. They are coming any minute now. You need to get your family and go before it’s too late.” Sam continued to try and plead, but Larry wanted to hear none of it. Grace hated that she couldn’t blame him for being defensive and critical, but it was in moments like this where she wished people had more blind faith in others.

“Oh, yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm.” The man rolled his eyes, and Dean had finally had enough.

“Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy? You don’t think something weird's going on around here?” He laid out the facts as blandly as he could, not having the time to stand there and hold Larry’s hand as he fought to prove the legitimacy of their claims.

“Look, I don’t know who you are but you’re crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, we’re gonna have a problem.” The man threatened, but it wasn’t anything that the siblings hadn’t heard a few hundred times already when they were working cases that involved real people and families.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we got a problem right now.” Dean fought back, his tone level as he tried to break through the man's strong reserve.

“Dad, they’re right. We’re in danger.” Matt tried again, persistent in his efforts to sway Larry’s decision to remain in Oasis Plains. Grace could only appreciate his courage, especially when Larry turned to yell at him again, and he didn’t even bristle in the face of confrontation. She knows that she would’ve backed down and scampered away the second John so much as turned his head to look at her. She could face monsters and things that went bump in the night, but put her in a room with her father and she was nothing more than a terrified little girl just wanting to avoid any additional pain and torment. “Why won’t you listen to me?” His voice raised, trembling as he finally broke, not able to act like Larry’s constant shoving aside and berating didn’t bother him.

“Because this is crazy! It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Look, this land is cursed! People have died here! Now are you gonna really take that risk with your family?” Sam raised his voice, but Grace wasn’t focused on the fight at hand, rather the distinct buzzing that was happening on all sides of her. Her chest tightened as she realized they were too late; that the insects were already here.

“Wait!” She called out, voice trembling despite every nerve in her body screaming to keep it together. “Do you hear it?”

Larry snapped his head toward the bug catcher on the porch, his eyes squinting as he took in the sound of audible buzzing, noticing that the electric trap zapped more frequently than it had been all night. “What the hell.” He commented, reality finally beginning to sink in as he snapped his gaze back to the siblings.

“Alright, it’s time to go. Larry, get your wife. Sam.” Dean turned to address his siblings, but he was cut off by Matt calling for their attention, his head craned toward the sky as they watched a swarm of insects rise over the treetops and make their way toward the house.

Grace felt her chest tightened even more, her hands beginning to shake at her sides as she realized that she was out in the open, vulnerable to whatever assault would come. For a moment she was frozen, her gaze turned toward the sky as her breathing became uneven and labored, but then something was grabbing her hand, and before she could really recognize what was happening, she was being dragged up the porch steps and into the house.

“No, no, no.” She mumbled on a loop, her hands tangling into her hair as she pulled at the roots, pacing back and forth as commotion ensued around her. She didn’t pay it any attention, she couldn’t, not with the way her mind was going blank and all she could think of was that night in Palm Springs when everything had changed. She wished she could go back to then, to hours before she’d ever gotten in the car with her father and headed off toward the woods. Things hadn’t been good, but they hadn’t been terrible either. That day in 1991 was the last time that Grace Winchester had ever really been a kid, and she could feel herself slipping into the vulnerable defenselessness that she felt then as she forced herself to remember that there was nothing they could do about the fate they’d found themselves tangled into. All that there was to do was wait and hope for the best, but the best had never found her easily or at all.

“Gracie, hey! Hey, come on! Now’s not the time, okay, sweetheart? I need you with me right now. I need you here.” Dean held her face in his hands tenderly, but unrelentingly. He pulled her hands away from her hair, his eyes filled with determined urgency that only just barely managed to sober her up from her state of panic. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she nodded, breathless as she raced alongside him to where Larry and Joanie kept their spare towels and linens.

She grabbed a towel from his hands with numb fingers, forcing it beneath the gap in the front door as efficiently as she could with the trembling in her knuckles that just wouldn't stop. Her body was moving, but there weren’t any thoughts in her head besides survival. She knew that the Pikes were yelling, that frantic conversations were being had, but it was all static noise in her head as she tried to keep her breathing even and her senses as alert as they could be. She didn’t even register the fact that Sam had come downstairs or that Dean had grabbed a can of bug spray from the kitchen until there was an incessant rattling coming from the fireplace and in seconds a swarm of bees rushed in. Every breathing exercise that she’d even known failed her in that moment, and the composure she’d managed to grab onto left within seconds. She whimpered pathetically, stuttering over soft cries as she panicked, right back in those California woods.

“Come on, Gracie! Come on!” Sam grabbed her hand, dragging her up the stairs with efficiency. She could follow him, that was what she could do, but her feet thudded on the steps as she climbed them and her chest only tightened as she tried to draw in even a single breath.

Somehow she made it up into the attic, and the second Sam’s hand left hers, she was falling to the floor with a thud, scooting back until her back hit a wall. She curled up into herself, her head between her knees as she rocked back and forth, muttering desperate pleas and frantic apologies beneath her breath that were drowned out by the frantic yelling of the Pikes. Somewhere between the first swarm of termites chewing through the wood and the second, she’d passed out, slumping against the boards of the house in a useless pile on the floor. In a single moment of distraction, Sam shrugged his jacket off, throwing it over her exposed face before he went back to trying to find a solution with Dean. Every instinct in his body told him to go over and check on her, rouse her back to consciousness, but that wouldn’t do any good if they were dead by morning anyways. Instead, all he could do was hope that the insects had a harder time getting to exposed inches of her vulnerable body.

It was minutes later when she roused, and the swarm of termites was still attempting to cleanse the land of their presence. She glanced to her left, scrambling into the corner of the attic where her brothers were crouched desperately. She threw herself at whoever was closest, letting out heartbreaking and raspy sobs as she dug her face into their neck, the hood of the hood pulled over her face just enough to keep the bugs from bouncing off of her skin, but she could still feel the thud of their dense bodies hit the fabric on her body. And then, it stopped. She didn’t move, didn’t loosen her hold, but eventually it became clear that the swarm had left, and her chin was guided upward by gruff hands that she knew to be Deans.

“You’re okay, Gracie. It’s okay.” Dean coaxed softly, holding the back of her head as he analyzed her face for any bites or injuries. He frowned softly when he noticed three red blotches on her cheek and another on her forehead, but considering the circumstances, she’d come out relatively unscathed. “It’s over. It's done.”

The very next morning, when the Impala pulled up to the Pike residence, there was a moving truck parked at the curb and Larry was standing beside the bed, packing up the little belongings that they’d moved into the house. She climbed out of the car with her brothers, walking up to where he stood in casual attire as opposed to the suits she’d typically seen him wearing during the daytime.

“What? No goodbye?” Dean called out sarcastically, catching Larry’s attention.

“Good timing. Another hour and we’d have been gone.” Larry hummed, reaching out to shake Dean’s hand in silent thanks.

“For good?” Sam questioned, shaking Larry’s hand next. Grace could only offer a small smile, still reeling from the events from the early morning hours. Her chest still ached, her breathing was still wheezy, and every time she closed her eyes she constructed a scene of Palm Springs that looked eerily similar to the night's endeavors.

“Yeah. The, uh, developments been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I’m gonna make damn sure no one lives here again.” Larry explained, and the Winchesters nodded understandingly.

“You don’t seem too upset about it.” Sam noted.

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…somehow…I really don’t care.” Larry’s gaze flickered to Matt, and Grace couldn’t help the weak smile that pulled at the corners of her lips as she watched him finally recognize what was most important in life.

She laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, nodding toward the car. “I’m gonna go wait in the car.” She explained, her voice hoarse and quiet, hardly louder than a whisper and she honestly couldn’t say if it was a result of her sobbing, or a learned instinct after years of forcing herself to be invisible. Either way, she tried not to think too much about the weakness she was showing in front of Larry and her brothers. “Don’t take too long. Please.”

Dean nodded, patting her back as she passed him. Whatever happens next, all he hopes is that Grace could finally catch a break.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x ofc #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x ofc #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x sister!reader #supernatural x ofc #john winchester

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lokigonnakmsforbucky · 1 year ago

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Perfect (S.W.)

Sam Winchester x Plus sized F! Reader

Request: maybe some s1/2 sam? it’s the reader's first time, and sam js is really sweet to her, focusing on her pleasure, guiding her through everything, and noticing how she reacts to his touches and teasing her, just like body worship lol. nicknames, Sam being lowkey an oral god🤭 lol. maybe the reader is just a little bit shy because she is more chubby? idk if this makes sense but yeah!! I hope you can do this, have a lovely day <3 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Rating: Mature (minors DNI)

Warning: Some violence, p n v, unprotected (Wrap it before you tap it!), Sam Is an oral god 🤧, talk of insecurities, loss of virginity.

Gif, not mine*

A/N I am accepting requests and making a supernatural tag list!

The lock behind you clicking locked sounded like music to your ears. Working straight after class from 4-12 was exhausting, to say the least, at a bar nonetheless. Annoying college frat boys, creepy old men, prostitutes (get the bag sis), you get it though life is hard.

“Only two more months then Im out of here…” You whispered under your breath. You were right though, only two more months at Standford and you were off to do big things in the world.

The walk back to your small apartment outside of campus was cold and damp. You could feel how moist the air was and the cold breeze hit your face and your legs, yet you loved this weather. Not too hot nor too cold just a bit chilly. The trees around you had orange leaves and every house you pass had pumpkins outside carved with scary or funny faces. Halloween was just around the corner. You were ready for it.

For the first time in two years, you were ready for this Halloween. After everything that happened.

Jess.

You couldn’t believe what happened when you found out that Jessica, one of your closest friends from elementary school was killed in a freak fire accident and her boyfriend Sam found her.

You, Sam, and Jess were inseparable at Stanford. Even days before her death you guys were at a bar celebrating Halloween. Well, jess was. You and Sam were wearing the most boring casual clothes ever. You both didn’t like the attention.

The Party scene, the crazy frat boys, insane sorority girls. Wasn’t your thing. It wasn’t his. But it was all for Jess. Which made the arrangement work.

You lost contact with Sam shortly after Jess’s death. Which stung. Thinking he was one of your best friends and you lost your other to the crazy fire. Yet, life goes on.

The door to your apartment was dull, no sign on the door. No welcome mat. Nothing that indicated a human living there. Thats how you liked it.

You opened the door to find it pitch black in the room before you.

Thats odd. Did I turn the lights off? I swear I don't remember turning them off before I left.

Your mind was racing with questions, you reached towards the left, using the dim hallway lighting to shine just enough for you to see your light switch. You flick it and your apartment shines.

Your apartment was dull. School textbooks on the counter, your backpack on the chair. Your small tv looked dusty in the living room from the lack of use, and the sad couches that hardly were sat on.

You were never home hardly, from working shifts at the bar and school. The only downtime you had was in your bedroom in the comfort of your bed with the latest Stephen King book at your disposal.

You hang your jacket on the hanger and throw your keys on the counter. You sigh loudly, your body was ready for that date to the bed.

A bang in your room made you break your train of thought. You turn your head towards your room and grab a kitchen knife. Slowly making your way towards your room, your heartbeat was picking up slowly.

Your door was open like it was before, but you could feel that something was off. You flicked the light on and nothing was there. But, you discovered that your window was wide open and your books from your end table were on the floor.

You walk towards the window and slide it shut and look out. Nothing seemed to be different yet...something felt off.

You took another breath before you felt arms lock your upper half. You scream and thrash to no avail.

"Please don't be scared...I'm just very hungry. You will come back...don't worry." The voice belonged to a man, you know. You thrashed again and looked up to see yourself looking back. Your mirror showed the man behind you.

He was a kid...maybe only 19? Looked like a freshman in college in his Standford Sweatshirt. But, his teeth were sharp. You kicked the wall and to your surprise, you broke his hold on you as you both fell to the ground.

This was your chance.

You collected yourself quickly running through the door and into the living room grabbing the closest thing to you for cover. Which in this case was a light fixture.

The boy walked through the door, his breaths were heavy. "Look I didn't want to hurt you. "

"Well, I really wanna hurt you."

Sam? That voice couldn't have been him.

A bang of a shotgun went off from your right, you looked to your side to not only see Sam but another guy with him with the shotgun. The man beside Sam seemed to notice you staring at him. His green eyes piercing into yours.

“Get behind me!” He yelled.

You didn’t have to think twice, you ran behind him and Sam while they took care of the deranged man.

“Close your eyes y/n.” Sam finally spoke to you, a machete in his hand. The man beside him was above the man that was kneeling down in pain with a shotgun pointed at his head. You looked back up at Sam, and his face was still just as handsome as it always was.

“Please.”

You finally closed your eyes. Hearing Sam’s footsteps move in front of you. I could hear the deranged man grunting, “Damn you Winchesters. One of these days. We will Kill you.”

“Well, good thing today isn’t the day then.” You could hear Sam’s voice and then a grunt following with a thud.

“Y/n keep your eyes closed. I don’t want you seeing this.”

You kept your eyes closed, tempted to open them. Just to see Sam. He is finally back… after everything that happened. He’s back.

Maybe this is just a dream?

What felt like hours of your eyes being closed was mere minutes as you heard grunting and a door close soon after.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You slowly opened your eyes, your eyes stung from the bright lights, your vision blurry. You reached your hand up and rubbed your eye one by one. The room was still lit with your lamps on the sides of the couch, but you could see the traces of dark red blood on the floor. You could see they were smeared like they were trying to clean it.

“You…. Killed that boy?” You looked up at Sam, the person you hung out with the most, missed the most after everything that has happened.

“He.. wasn’t a human. He was a vampire and he was gonna turn you Y/n.” Sam’s voice was so quiet, like he was afraid you would be scared of him. But, you knew Sam. He would never lie about this.

“This can’t be real…” You looked around and walked towards the couch. Sam following behind. Sitting beside you.

“It is…everything in the supernatural is. My family has hunted them for years…after my mother died from the yellowed eyed demon. Like Jess.” Sam’s voice cracked of mentioning Jess. You slide you hand in his and squeezed.

“A demon killed her?” You didn’t want to believe it, but it explains how weird her death was.

Sam took a breathe and looked at you, “Yes. He did. But, we are going to kill him. The guy that was with me, thats Dean. My brother. He basically raised me while dad hunted to avenge my mother. Now… it’s just me and him.”

Sam never talked about his family much, but he always mentioned his brother a few times. Which explains the facial similarities of the green eyed hunter.

I took a breathe and let his hand go and rubbed my arm,“Why was the Vampire coming for me?”

Sam sighed, “Me and Dean found leads from recent vampire attacks a few towns over. Has to be a nearby the university. Says why a lot of students went missing too.” You grabbed my phone to see it was now 1:45 am, how has it been almost two hours sense this all happened? “The boy that attacked you, went missing a few weeks back. He was sent to take you.”

“To be a vampire?” Your voice cracked a little in fear. Sam nodded, “I wouldn’t have let that happen. You deserve a good life.”

You finally did what you wanted to do for so long, you wrapped your arms around Sam and gave him a hug.

“Sam Winchester you deserve a good life too. Don’t sell yourself short. Thank you for saving my life.”

Sam hugged you back tight, like you were going to disappear any moment.

“Your not safe here Y/n. I got a motel room downtown. Pack clothes and bring a book. I need to know you will be safe.”

————————————————————————

2 weeks later

The last few weeks have been eventful to say the least… Sam came back, you met his Metallica loving brother, they rid of the vampire nest and overall you finally felt at ease after the two years of not knowing what happened to Jess.

Sam and Dean stayed near Stanford to keep an eye on you and make sure all is well. Coming down any other day and eating at the diner or having a drink at the bar, (which meant free drinks while your manager wasn’t working since you were the bartender), and having a new friend and your best friend back. All was well.

Yet, you could feel some tension between you and Sam. You’ve always had a small crush on him, who hasn’t though? His thick hair, his height, his hazel eyes, plus his personality? People would be crazy to not have a tiny crush on him.

But, with this small crush you could feel the guilt in the back of your mind. This man was one of your best friend’s boyfriend.

What would Jess think if she was alive?

“Y/n!” Sam’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up at him, your popcorn still in your lap as you we’re watching Scream on the Tv with Sam.

You came back home a few days ago and Sam wanted to spend a night over, since tomorrow he and Dean will be heading to South Dakota to see a friend of the family’s.

“Yeah?”

“You okay? You’ve been quiet for 30 minutes and you usually never shut up about Billy and Stu.”

“I’m just thinking…”

Sam paused the movie and turned towards me. “Spill it.”

You sighed and laugh a little. “Sam, it’s nothing.”

Sam took the popcorn out of my hands and scooted closed towards me, “Must be something if you are quiet for a long period of time.”

You took a breathe, Sam wasn’t gonna give up until you told him what was on your mind, “I’m just thinking about my future. I guess.” You laughed nervously.

“Your future? What about it?”

“Just thinking about everything, what I’m gonna be doing, Where I will be, If I would marry. Stuff like that.” Sam looked at you seriously after you mentioning marriage.

“Y/n, if someone wouldn’t marry you. I would be very surprised. Who wouldn’t? Your funny, down to earth, strong and plus your personality is amazing.”

You laughed, “Yeah. No. I’m not the looks of someone to be married.”

Moments passed, The silence thickened. You could hear your own breathing and Sam set down the popcorn on the table and took the blanket off of me and him. “Get up and come with me.”

“What?”

Sam grabbed my hands and pulled me up towards him. “Come with me. I have to show you something.” As he said that he took your right hand in his and walked towards your room and opened the door.

Your room looked the same as it always did. Bed maid, your window closed, your books on the table.

Sam took you in front of the mirror, him standing behind you.

“What do you see?”

You look at him through the mirror and give him an odd look.

“What?”

Sam took a breath, “In the mirror, what do you see?”

“I see me…. We done?”

“No. You see yourself, what do you see about you? What do you like or dislike?”

You rolled your eyes, “What’s your point, Sam?”

"I want you to see the beautiful woman, I see."

Beautiful? He was talking about me? Your mind was spiraling in thoughts. Years of self-doubt, men leaving you since you didn't fit into their "desires". Just to have Sam, your best friend and crush call you beautiful looking at you with no makeup, shorts that showed your curve, thick thighs touching each other, and a tank top that didn't hide your bloated stomach.

Beautiful.

"I want you to see how perfect you are to me. Your personality, your smile, how you change the room. " Sam chuckles, "Even your weird obsession with old 90 movies." Sam's hands gently roam down your body to be around your waist.

Beautiful. Perfect.

Not in a million years those two words would fall out of anyone's mouth. Not Sam's at least, You never would have thought that he would talk about you like that.

“Everything of yours is perfect. Your curves, your hips, your smile. " As he said that his hands were all over your body...touching every inch gently. You look at Sam through the mirror, "Sam..." Seeing his hands on your body felt fantastic and right.

"I know the past two years have been hard, I wish I was here for you. Things happened...but I am here now." Sam said his hand was now on my cheek caressing softly. "Let me have this chance."

You took a deep breath, this felt like a dream. Sam Winchester really said that and meant that.

You look up at Sam and nod your head. Instantly his lips met yours.

The kiss was full of passion yet gentle. Like You were a fragile art piece in a museum. His hand was on your waist and he pulled you in closer as he finished the kiss.

"Is this okay?" His hand had my shirt. You nodded your head and he took your shirt off revealing your black bra.

You covered your stomach as Sam looked at you, he wrapped his hands on your arms and moved them away, "I told you that you are beautiful, don't hide yourself from me.

Sam pinned your arms to your side and from your lips down to your stomach near the top of your pants. He kissed every scar, and stretch mark as he went. Whispering all sorts of sweet nothings, while he kissed you.

Sam looked up at you and smiled, "Take your pants off and lay on the bed baby girl."

You took a deep breath and turned from Sam, slipping your pants off and laying down on the bed. Sam was now shirtless and working on his pants.

Once he was left in his boxers he walked towards you and climbed on top of you, his face above yours. He gave you a small kiss on the forehead, the tip of the nose, and finally your lips.

It felt euphoric, the amount of times you never thought this would happen or even think you would be alone for all your life was out of the equation. You were happy.

With his small kisses, Sam cupped your breasts in his hands and softly squeezed them. Making you moan out softly. He lifted you up and unclipped your bra. You slipped out of your bra and allowed him to throw it on the floor. He kissed you once more before fondling your breasts and using his mouth on your nipple, swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud.

You softly moan and hold his head. Yanking his hair softly, Sam releases your nipple and looks up at you, "Better be careful Y/n. I want to take my time, but I will take you right now if you want."

Sam kissed your breasts and went down to your clothed pussy. Kissing the top of your underwear. His dirty talk made you feel excited for what's to come. Your underwear was soaked and Sam knew it, he rubbed your clothed pussy up and down making you moan out loud.

This was really happening. You were going to lose your virginity to Sam.

"Sam... I've never done this before." You admitted to him. He looked up at you and kissed your lips softly, "If you wanna stop we-" Before he could finish his sentence you cut him off with another kiss.

"I want you Sam."

You kissed Sam once more, deepening this kiss. His hands go back to your underwear and easily slide them off.

He breaks the kiss and goes down to my pussy, looking up at you before licking up and sucking on my clit. You moan out loud feeling the sensation of his tongue, Sam licked up and down and sucked on your clit before using a finger and thrusting in your pussy.

His one finger felt amazing inside, yet it stretched you out. If you couldn't take a finger. When he finally goes inside it may not fit. But, no matter the pleasure right now was overwhelming. You didn't want it to stop.

Sam does stop abusing your clit, rubbing your pussy, and adding another finger. You close your eyes and arch your back up, moaning out.

He was paying attention to everything that made you feel nothing but pleasure. He used his two fingers in a scissoring motion and that plus his mouth on you took you over the edge.

Your eyes feel blurry and your breaths are heavy, you could feel Sam's eyes on you. He leans up and kisses you. "Feel good baby girl?"

You smile and nod, "Yes."

You never noticed that Sam slipped his boxers off, his length hitting your thigh. You look down and take a breath.

It's a lot bigger than I thought...I don't think it would fit.

Your mind was spiraling and you could feel your nerves go through the roof.

"Don't overthink, keep your eyes on me. It will be uncomfortable but I am right here." Sam noticed you were in your head. His hands were rubbing your legs comfortably to make you relax. He kissed you gently and pulled you close to him as he rubbed his cock near your entrance.

Sam pulled away looking at you in your eyes, "You ready?"

A moment passed and you finally nodded your head. You wanted it You leaned up and kissed Sam once more. The head of his cock rubbing against your cunt.

During the kiss Sam thrusted in, You gasped in the kiss and he stopped moving while you looked like you were in discomfort.

When your face relaxed he thrusted again slowly until you told him to go faster.

The pleasure felt amazing, nothing felt better than being with Sam. You didn't want anyone else but him, the feel of his kisses, his touch. Was the most amazing thing you have ever felt.

The feeling of his cock filling you up to the brim felt amazing, how you stretched around to fit him and only him.

Sam was grunting as he thrusted, he started to moan softly kissing you while he thrusted into you. He gripped the sheets beside you as you gripped his shoulders filling him into you.

Sam pulled out and came on your stomach, "Sorry.." He chuckled and grabbed his shirt and cleaned you up, You smiled and looked down at him cleaning you up.

The one thing you knew for sure was that not only Sam was your first love, but no matter what he would always be your last.

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 5 months ago

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Samnesia by PrincessMisery666 [PodFic Version]

Podfic Time – Samnesia (Prologue and Chapter 1)

Are you ready for a legit romance with all the fluff, angst, hurt/comfort… and a smattering of smut, with one Sam Winchester?

The care and time @princessmisery666 spent on this beautifully crafted story are evident right from the start. It checks all the boxes for me regarding a great romance with a happily ever after.

Run to read this fic here if you haven't already!

~ Sandra

#sam winchester #sam winchester x ofc #spn fanfiction #idlingintheimpala #podcast #podfic

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spn-fanfic-reblog-writes · 2 years ago

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Smile

Rated: Gen (Fluffy)

Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

A/N: i finally wrote something!! Comments welcome!

Sam looks over his shoulder to find Y/N sitting at the one of the library tables, cheek in her fist, barely a profile seen, as they lazily flipped through pages of a tomb. He walks over to them watching their face as he goes unnoticed.

Y/N is actually lost in thought, the desire to move as their brain processes whatever is on their mind.

Tall, lithe Sam in his usual jeans a flannel stands next to their chair, commanding them, “Stop thinking that.”

Flinching, Y/N looks up at him confused and almost squeaks, “What?”

He looks into their eyes and smiles. “What you’re thinking about, stop.”

They open their mouth and close it, brow furrowed in continued confusion, and repeats opening and closing their mouth a few more times before slumping in the chair.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says and with a squeal of the chair on the wooden floor, rotates them to face him. His hands on the armrests and leans down. He gets straight into their face, noses touching and rubs slightly.

A brilliant, wide and gummy smile grows upon their lips into their now bright eyes as their cheeks pinken at the small, almost shy affection.

Tag: @riley-phoenix @myloversgone

#sam winchester x ofc #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x s/i #supernatural #spn #sam winchester #elle em bee #sam x reader #sam Winchester x y/n #sam x y/n #sam x you #smile

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miss-madness67 · 1 year ago

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Unwanted LAST CHAPTER 12/12 (Sam)

Sam Winchester has been in love with her ever since forever. He has known her for his whole life. Their parents were friends, and they have been too from the moment they were born. She has seen his bad and good days, they've shared thousands of memories and first times. Their first steps, their first day of school, their first prom, their first kiss, and even their first time. Going to the same college was a no-brainer, why would he separate from his best friend? Because, well, that's all that Sam is; her best friend. When his unrequited feelings come to light, what will he do?

Complete story

You could have called your mother for advice, or maybe a friend, like Charlie. You really don’t know what possessed you to ring Mary Winchester. Sure, she’s been sort of like a mother to you ever since you can remember, but she’s also Sam’s mother. A normal person would’ve been embarrassed to expose themselves like that to someone so close to the cause of their distress. However, these aren’t normal circumstances, and you’ve always had a good relationship with Mary. Besides, she gives better romantic advice than your mother.

It’s late at night when you call her. You would have waited for the next day, but you don’t seem to be able to sleep since the conversation with Sam. After he bared his feelings for you, you remained quiet for the rest of the meal. It had nothing to do with the fact that you don’t feel the same way, but more of the fact that you weren’t sure exactly what your heart wants. It’s a mess, honestly, because, despite the fact that Sam didn’t push for a response, the remaining outing was filled with tension. Expectancy for the response downed the atmosphere but also opened new possibilities.

Taglist: @stilinskisthings @deamus-liv @abbygraceasd @sojuxxi

#supernatural #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn x reader #spn fanfic #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x ofc

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stusbunker · 2 years ago

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Just Another Daydream

For Better or Worst: Chapter Fourteen

Featuring: Sam x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC

Other Characters: Naomi, Bandit (dog OC)

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 2450

Summary: Someone comes to tea.

Series Masterlist

The days chugged along with little change and less news. Summer burned bright around them, cookouts, car washes, and farmers’ markets bursting with new wares every weekend. Trudy, designer stroller in tow, passed by each morning while Emery lounged thoughtfully with Bandit in the hammock on the front porch. Jason each night with the dogs’ leashes locked on his belt as Sam pulled into the driveway, blocking the meager traffic as Mox inevitably goaded Bandit through the window. The stretching days were heavy on their thoughts, which were kept mostly to themselves.

The break between semesters held little diversion for Emery, especially as Sam continued a work-week routine. Days that had been spent with video game marathons, reading lakeside, or being lost in a museum during her past life held little validation now. The once upon a time when her daily schedule was dictated by Georgie’s smile was unimaginable now. Usually the biggest perk of teaching; weeks of freedom, now only reverberated the quiet like a vacated room, emptied of purpose.

She forced herself to ignore it.

Sam had no idea what they were going to do. They waited on news from Cas, while Sam spent half of his working hours digging through the university’s limited source material. Though the digitally shared archive network was compelling, his searches remained fruitless for their current circumstances. Which wasn’t surprising, theirs was a perfect storm of unprecedented desperation. The weight of it all (the deals, Emery’s son’s soul and Dean’s mental state) was forging him into someone he didn’t quite recognize. Functionally and consciously closed off from those he loved, Sam Winchester was relearning what loneliness meant.

An aching Sam told himself he was justified in sticking his heels into.

Though he and Emery hadn’t stopped sharing a room, Sam generally slept in the den. Emery kept to her side of their bed when he came through for his clothing each morning. The space left open a reminder of the man he could have been for her. The man he almost was. The lie he had lived and had to overcome. It hadn’t gotten any easier being in their manner of partnership with their truths exposed; mix-matched baggage that only seemed to clutter the proverbial waiting room more.

Western real estate was of little consequence to angels in general, but Naomi prided herself on the procurement of the fully updated bungalow that had been home to Sam Winchester and Emery Simmons for the past seven months. She was oddly relieved by the level of care they had taken to maintain it as she climbed the front steps one Wednesday afternoon, just before three. The dog, naturally, announced her arrival before she could knock.

Naomi straightened her shoulders and tried to calm her vessel. She wasn’t used to delivering messages to those on Earth, not that this was a grand proclamation. But overseeing the frail structure of Heaven had slowly eroded her previous righteous confidence. She still had a job to do; Naomi needed to be certain her ducks were in a row.

The woman’s face fell the moment she opened the door, eyes aghast and chest rising with a deep inhale. Naomi wasn’t sure if fear was the appropriate response to her arrival, but humans had always been overly dramatic.

“Good afternoon, Emery. I hope I’m not interrupting,” Naomi gave her her best mild interest.

Emery swallowed and shook her head. “Not at all, come in.”

“Thank you,” Naomi replied, bowing her head slightly as she stepped through the doorway.

“I made some sun tea, if you’d like?” Emery continued to breathe deeply, and she tripped over the syllables.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” Naomi smiled, trying to keep up the human pleasantries, before easing into business at hand. She followed Emery to the back of the house where a large glass pitcher waited on the kitchen island. The dog groaned from beside the refrigerator at her presence, Naomi eyed him thoughtfully. Canines were incredibly intuitive creatures, but generally left for the humans to manage. She had never understood their appeal.

“So, are you just passing through? Or is there something I should be worried about nearby?” Emery attempted humor, “Got some smiting happening? Oooo, or maybe a miracle? Is that your department?”

Naomi bit her tongue and plastered on a reassuring smile. Emery froze on the spot.

“What’s wrong?”

Naomi shook her head, keeping her expression soft, pleasant even. “I stopped by to check on things here.”

They sat at the island, a stool between them for companionable distance. Emery clutched her glass and forced a smile on her face. “Good, I mean, I’m a bit bored in the summer, but things have been--- good. Why do you ask?”

Naomi hesitated, but not long enough to draw out any alarm, just enough to gather her thoughts. “There have been some--- developments--- and I wanted to ensure that things here are stable and unencumbered.”

Emery tried to hold back her excitement. “What kind of developments?”

Naomi looked at Emery like she would her students, asking questions they should know the answer to already or those she couldn’t give them. “Sources have located your son and we are monitoring him through a network, but it appears he has been taken in by a pack.”

Emery froze, skin prickling in the dry afternoon air. Months with nothing and this news should be a blessing, but it just sits lopsided on the desktop of her mind. Sam’s distrust of Heaven fights against her relief at Georgie's safety and then the reality that her son has been adopted by another family. A family who is not her, afterlife or no, that burns through her, jealousy certainly, but also the deep unfaltering need to protect her own. That’s her job.

“A pack.”

Naomi really tried to be delicate, but she didn’t have the humanity to be. “Purgatory is a land of viciousness. The fact that he was taken in by some of his own kind gives him the best chance at survival.”

Survival. Emery could still lose Georgie. She could fail him further. “Oh. That’s--- okay, thank you. That makes more sense.”

“It’s hard for you--- without your powers,” Naomi tells her more than asks.

Bandit shifts on the floor, tags brushing against the laminate. Emery scoffs.

“I know you want to see what I’m telling you, but you need to trust me. It’s safer this way.”

‘You’re safer this way’ Emery couldn’t help but think. Brushing away the internal snark, she softened her face and nodded at Naomi. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

Bandit stood and stretched, disrupting the intensity of the conversation as he strolled out of the kitchen and down into the den. Naomi sipped her tea, nose scrunching under the chemical combination that made up the drink. Emery looked away, taking her own drink to blatantly taste it for herself. Perfect.

“Emery, how’s Sam?”

Emery chokes on her swallow. Naomi’s stare only deepens.

Sam stepped out of the side exit and nearly collided with a pair of students vaping in the seclusion between buildings and the well trimmed bushes. The mid afternoon sun nearly blinding, Sam cleared his throat and turned in the opposite direction, keeping his thoughts and annoyance to himself. There weren’t that many summer courses, why were they even hanging around this late in the day? He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath and upped his pace, taking the long way around to the parking lot. His arms full of books and notes, his satchel heavy at his side, he approached the car. Sam didn’t stop himself from glancing in the backseat with lingering hope of news from Cas.

Hot from the workday, Sam aired out the vehicle as he put his things in the backseat. He chose to work from home for the rest of the week, unable to gain any more information on the spell or the concept of true marriage that Cas had mentioned at the library. What he wouldn’t give to have his real books to comb through. Or, the Men of Letters’ books at least. Sam huffed at himself because he knew Dean would have teased him for that notion. It made the hole inside his chest throb with remembrance, with purpose.

He rubbed his hand down his bearded face and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Bandit wasn’t in the yard to greet him. Sam brushed off the prickle of paranoia and reminded himself that he was home earlier than usual. Overburdened, Sam walked in the backdoor, but it wasn’t until he heard voices speaking in hushed tones that he realized his instincts were right. Sam carefully unloaded his research materials onto the dryer and listened. Silently, Bandit found him, forlorn the dog accepted his pets and gave a lackluster wag of his tail. With a deep breath and a wrench from the toolbox left in the mudroom, Sam walked into the kitchen.

What he saw confused him: Emery smirking at Naomi, a plate of cookies between them and a tension so thick he could have hit with his impromptu weapon.

“Speak of the Devil,” Emery teased, eyes wide, but smile still intact.

“I’d rather not,” Naomi muttered, tossing back the last of her tea.

Sam’s face and reasoning went through a journey, landing on confused, yet comical indignation. Was he supposed to know that jab was literal? Does Naomi know he knows who he is? The topic of Lucifer is never Sam’s favorite. But, now, he had a guest in his house. Good thing he used to lie professionally. Sam begrudgingly set the futile wrench on the counter behind the speaker dock, out of view.

“Hey! I didn’t realize you were coming over.” Sam looked to his wife as he walked around the island, planting himself in her bubble and playing nice. “What brings you?”

Naomi, clearly surprised by Sam’s warm welcome, chewed on her words.

Sam continued, arm draping over Emery’s shoulders. “I know I’m home early, but Emery didn’t mention you were in town. I’m not intruding on work talk, am I?”

The moment lengthened as Sam tried to pull up more of the false memories he had been fed. Emery and Naomi looked at each other with mutual suspicion.

Emery laughed, patting Sam’s forearm, unable to clear the awkwardness. “You! We were, um, actually talking about you. Were your ears burning?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, taking time to tuck Emery tighter to his side. “All good things I hope?”

Emery spoke to Sam in the little alcove created by their proximity, both very aware of each other in an immediate and physical sense. “Now why would we be saying good things? That’s much too boring.”

Sam understood. “Uh-huh, well I should have known,” the tease in the inflection for their guest only. He held Emery’s eyes, squeezing her arm to reassure her the only way he could.

“You seem to be adjusting well,” Naomi interrupted their pretense of flirting. Meanwhile, Bandit slumped off to the den, feeling his people were safe enough to be left alone.

“What? Oh-- the house? Yeah, wasn’t too hard, helps to have somebody to help fill the space with,” Sam replied casually. “Bandit is an awesome roommate.”

Emery elbowed Sam.

“What?! He is.”

Emery shook her head and muttered threats at her husband.

“I was just stopping by to check on things. Make sure you are both on track,” Naomi continued, eyes boring into the side of Sam’s face.

He turned towards the Angel, dawning confusion apparent on his features. “Is there something we should be doing?”

Naomi glanced at Emery in wistful solidarity. Sam was internally vibrating with the need to act, outside he was nearly playful. If Emery hadn’t lived with him as long as she had, she wouldn’t have been able to notice it, but his smirk was more hostile than she liked.

“You should be showering, stinky!” Emery teased. “We’re just catching up. Go on, seriously, I’ll be here when you’re presentable for dinner, young man.”

Naomi watched the humans with mild amusement, they seemed so oblivious to everything, and yet she knew what they each were capable of. She couldn’t leave without ensuring the bond was secure. She waited, watching them verbally dance around the topic at hand and through the need for personal hygiene around guests. Emery won and Sam, in mock defeat, left them to continue.

“I never thought I’d see the day when a Winchester was housebroken,” Naomi said with a hint of admiration in her tone. “Nonetheless, I want to make it clear to you, if anything happens on your end, the whole thing will fall apart. And not just your deals, with George and Dean, but Heaven itself. Keep him on his leash, or we all lose.”

Emery exhaled and looked to the stairs, where she knew Sam was still listening in, despite the shower running in their bathroom. “I don’t know what you did, Naomi. But Sam’s been… different. It’s like he was never a hunter at all. If there is a kink in the wire, it isn’t from Sam--- or me.”

Naomi bit her tongue, literally injuring her vessel as the news of Sam’s mangled memories sunk in. She knew something was off, but she didn’t know who to blame for it now. It seemed convenient, too convenient. She smiled, terrifyingly rapt, “I see. Let’s keep it that way, shall me?”

Emery agreed. The pretense of tea and cookies long over, Naomi stood. With what little niceties Emery had left, she followed the Angel back out the front door. Bandit had silently returned to their heels.

“I’ll be in touch, but if anything comes up or if Sam starts acting like himself again, call me?” Naomi produced a business card from her inside breast pocket.

Emery took it without breaking eye contact. “I will. And I hope you will honor your promises as well.”

Naomi’s bright eyes clouded in anger. “I stand by my word. Make sure you do the same.”

Emery watched her march down the steps and back onto the sidewalk. It was oddly gratifying to watch a wingless Angel resort to human modes of transportation. Slowly she backed into the house and closed the door before bolting up the stairs to talk to Sam. She rounded the corner into their bedroom and was stopped with two large hands encasing her shoulders.

Sam looked down at her with a stern silence. Scared, Emery glanced up at him, almost in shame. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sam carefully shook his head. He tapped his watch. And she knew he was right. She nodded in agreement, yet still terrified.

The time had come.

Tell me what you think!

It’s been so long, I’m not tagging anyone.

#supernartural fanfiction #for better or worst #sam/emery #sam winchester x ofc #sam winchester angst #fbow14 #sam winchester x emery simmons-winchester #spn fanfic

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 3 months ago

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I loved the opportunity to narrate some of PrincessMisery’s awesome story. A true labor of love and I enjoyed the entire read. A romance mystery with all the thrills and feels!

Samnesia - Master List

Summary: Brooke is a calming distraction from the chaotic mess of Sam's life. When a hunt keeps them separated for over a month, Sam returns to find she no longer remembers him. The need to find out what happened while he was gone sends Sam on a case that will change the course of his life. What he discovers along the way will change the way he looks at love.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, slow burn, language, stalking, mentions of cheating, kidnapping, shitty friend, canon level violence mentioned.

W/C: 54k (11 Chapters)

Rating: E (explicit - 18+)

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Rowena McLeod, brief - Mary Winchester, OFC, OC’s.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x OFC (Brooke)

Notes: set around season 14. Chapters 1-8 flick between “then” and “now” but all in timeline order and labelled.

A/N: This has been a labor of love since 2019. I wanted it to be perfect and finished before I started posting. Thanks to @slytherkins it's perfect to me and finally finished.

Betas: @slytherkins // @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own.

Special shoutout to: @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba // @manawhaat - who took a look, offered encouragement and helped at some point during the creation.

Graphics: all made by the wonderful and talented @talesmaniac89

Series Complete

Listen to the Prologue + Chapter 1 narrated by the wonderful @talltalesandbedtimestories for the @idlingintheimpalapodcast here.

Prologue - Questionable Decisions

Now: Sam has to explain to Brooke and Dean why he kidnapped her.

W/C: 1.9k Warnings: angst, language, kidnapping.

Chapter 1 - Photographs

Now: Sam has to convince Brooke that he kidnapped her for her safety.

Then: Sam wants a quiet night but ends up rescuing Brooke.

W/C: 4.2k Warnings: angst, fluff, kidnapping, shitty friend.

Chapter 2 - The Cheek

Now: Brooke decides to trust Sam.

Then: Brooke gets stood up, but Sam is there to save her night.

W/C: 5k Warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn, language, stood up.

Chapter 3 - Girls' Night

Now: Sam and Dean try to narrow down the cause of Brooke’s memory loss.

Then: Sam and Brooke share their first kiss and get to know each other a little better.

W/C: 5.4k Warnings: slow burn, fluff, angst.

Chapter 4 - Expectations

Then: Sam makes Brooke dinner, and they discuss what they want from their relationship. Dean invites himself to meet Brooke.

W/C: 7k Warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn, very mild smut.

Chapter 5 - Confessions

Now: Brooke hints at knowing there’s something Sam isn’t telling her but she doesn’t want to deal with it right now, instead wanting to hear more about her and Sam. Sam tells Brooke the truth about the Supernatural, how will she take it?

Then: Free of all interruptions Sam and Brooke finally get to be intimate.

W/C: 7.6k Warnings: smut, slow burn, fluff, angst.

Chapter 6 - Calm The Chaos

Then: Settled into a sporadic routine Sam and Brooke spend as much time together as they can. Until Brooke realizes her stalker isn’t who she suspected, and it all becomes too much.

W/C: 4.4k Warnings: angst, stalking, fluff.

Chapter 7 - Cold Shoulder

Now: The timing is off and Sam doesn’t want to tell Brooke how he feels but actions speak louder than words.

Then: Drunk phone calls lead to a confession, but Brooke unexpectedly gives Sam the cold shoulder.

W/C: 4.8k Warnings: angst, fluff, argument, love confessions.

Chapter 8 - Poker Face

Now: Sam’s frustrated that he’s no closer to figuring out the cause of Brooke’s amnesia. Could a friendly game of poker with Dean reveal the answer?

Then: Sam tracks down Brooke to find out why she’s giving him the cold shoulder, and he doesn’t like what he finds.

W/C: 4.6k Warnings: angst, confrontation, kidnapping.

Chapter 9 - Misplaced Intentions

Now: Brooke loses more than her memory, but finally, they have answers. How is Rowena connected? And more importantly, can she restore Brooke’s memory?

W/C: 5.5k Warnings: house fire, shitty friend, angst, fluff, Rowena being the badass she is, canon-type violence.

Chapter 10 - Magical

Now: Sam has to make the decision of how much he wants Brooke to remember. Is it too much of a risk to have her remember everything?

W/C: 4.3k Warnings: mostly fluff, bit of angst, happy ending.

Master Lists: Sam Winchester // All The Fandoms

#sam winchester x ofc #samnesia #romance #mystery #sam winchester fanfiction #amazing writer

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zepskies · 7 days ago

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Outlander - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won?

AN: Ready for some more Cowboy Dean? Here we go with Outlander Part 1! This is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

This sequel series will be 4 parts! 💜

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Suggestiveness/implied smut and spice, hunting (in the more traditional sense), angst, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. **Pronunciation guide at the end!

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Two Worlds

Her people call this river Little Cheyenne. It’s because Big Cheyenne cuts through the land of the Sioux Indians by half, but Little Cheyenne almost meets it in the south, stretching all the way up to the Black Hills.

Mila’s tribe has always lived near this river. Its waters have bled red during battles with other tribes, and sometimes during battles with White Men.

The White Men’s fort, the one her husband came from, lies farther down in the south. The tribe had to move their village higher north along the river after Mila returned with Dean Winchester, just to be safe.

On a cloudy afternoon, Mila scrubs at a bundle of dirty clothes until they’re clean. She rinses them off in the river and is thorough about her work, but she knows she can’t be here much longer. She has a stew simmering on hot coals in her tipi…

Well, the one she now shares with her husband.

Unconsciously, she smiles. She remembers leading Dean through the tribe, to the place where she hoped he would find rest. They stopped at the foot of her tipi.

“This one’s yours?” he asked.

She paused, giving him another small smile.

“Ours.”

Mila continues scrubbing, though she frowns when her fingers slip through a tear in one of the new tunics she made for him (even though he keeps calling it a shirt). The tear was made by a blade, or maybe an arrowhead, she realizes.

The crunch of feet on the riverbed’s gravel makes her raise her head and look over her shoulder. Unease prickles down her spine. She braces herself for a familiar shadow, come to disturb her peace.

But then she relaxes. She’s being joined by two of the older women in her tribe. Mila has known them her whole life, and so she calls them tunwin. Aunt. They both greet her kindly and kneel beside her with their own bundles of clothes for washing, but Eyota, the older one, has a sharper eye. She is their tribe’s medicine woman.

“Your husband wears out his clothes,” she remarks.

“He’s been working hard training with Šóta and the other men,” Mila explains.

“He seems to be learning quickly,” says Misae. She has a more playful glint in her eyes. “Who knew that you could catch and tame a White Man. Looks like they are no different from wild horses.”

Mila smiles slightly, but it’s not genuine. She nods in agreement. “He’s learning quickly.”

She holds her tongue from saying anything else, even though she wants to. Dean isn’t a man to be tamed, any more than she was, in his people’s eyes. She aims to change the subject.

“Do you have any good herbs or spices for wahonpi? I’ve had the stew simmering all morning,” she asks Eyota. Not only is she a gifted healer, but Eyota is also one of the best cooks, and she knows it. She nods and straightens her shoulders the way she always does when someone asks her for advice—and even when they don’t ask for it.

“Of course, child. What you need is…”

“Goddamn it,” Dean huffs under his breath.

The jackrabbit flees from him again, or more accurately, from his terribly aimed arrow. He’s an excellent marksman…just not with a bow, it seems.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong here, and he’s not likely to figure it out. Not by the way Takoda, Šóta, and the other men are laughing at him.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows when he’s being hazed.

These men are bare-chested warriors, each of them richly tanned under the sun. Most of them wear their hair long, half of it gathered high on their heads, or braided in some way. Šóta is his wife’s cousin, and as the Chief’s son, he wears a small adornment of eagle feathers threaded into his hair. His closest friends are Takoda and Otaktay. Both of them laugh at Dean the most, and in their language, using just enough gestures and body language that Dean knows he’s being talked about. They point at his boots and his brown Stetson hat—two of the only things he’s kept of his own that make him feel comfortable in his own skin.

Finally, Šóta goes over to him. “Good try,” he says, in his usual patronizing tone.

Dean knows he can’t punch out Mila’s cousin, no matter how bad he’s asking for it. Somehow, Dean manages to hold onto his temper.

“What’re they saying?” he asks lowly, gesturing at the two chuckle brothers.

Šóta’s lips twitch. He glances down at Dean’s feet. “They say your…shoes are loud on the earth. You give yourself away before the animal even catches your scent.”

Dean’s given up a lot of things, but his boots won’t be one of them. He wants to learn. He wants to belong here, in Mila’s world, but he also wants to stay himself.

So the men move on, mounting their horses. Dean rides with Baby at a plodding clip. Her black coat ripples with a healthy sheen. He thinks she’s come to enjoy the more natural surroundings and freer pasture of the grasslands, and he can’t deny, this part of it all feels right. The sun peeks through between the dappled leaves of oak trees, painting the ground in red, green, and gold. It’s quiet and beautiful here as Šóta leads the pack through the forest, just southwest of the village.

Eventually, he stops them between a denser thatch of trees and shrub. He raises a hand signal that Dean’s come to recognize. He raises his bow belatedly after the others though. He follows Šóta’s line of vision, and there is a deer grazing in a small clearing. A young buck.

Šóta signals at Dean. Try again, his eyes say.

Dean takes in a deep, quiet breath through his nose, and he takes aim.

He really misses his damn rifle.

Dean shoulders the sting of failure while he makes his way through the camp, leading Baby by the reigns. He drops her off at the large horse pen. There he feeds her and brushes her long coat, all while murmuring soft affectionate things. She’s still one of his only friends here.

But even she leaves him short to join her new friend, Mato. The two have become thick as thieves. Mato greets the black mare with a friendly whinny. Their noses touch in affection, and Mato playfully nips at her ear.

Dean raises his brows. “Well, that’s a little more friendly than usual. You guys start courting when I wasn’t looking?”

He walks over to Mato, who’s softened up to him in recent weeks.

“You sly dog,” Dean remarks, smirking. “Didn’t even ask me for her hand.”

Mato blows a hot breath through his nose at Dean, who has to blink, wiping his face.

“Now that’s just rude.” Still, he offers the mustang an apple from his pocket. Mato takes it from his palm, letting Dean rub his neck while he munches on his snack. “As fathers-in-law go, you lucked out, pal. See? I’m a delight.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Baby had her first foal by spring. Dean grins at the thought, but it soon falls. If only his father-in-law were so easy to please.

His mind dwells on it as he starts making his way back to the heart of the village. Chatan, Mila’s father, hasn’t warmed up to him any better than Šóta or the other men. Tahatan is the only one of them who treats Dean civilly, and overall, he seems to be a good leader.

Dean has that thought, just when he sees the older man himself walking with a woman Dean sort of recognizes. She wears a long necklace made of blue beads and seashells. Tahatan goes into her tipi, even though Dean knows…that woman isn’t the Chief’s wife.

Dean raises his brows, but he subtly pivots on his heel and takes a different route back to his own tipi. Whatever he just saw, it’s definitely not his business.

“Honey, I’m home,” he teases.

She welcomes him into her arms, her hands traveling warmly up his shoulders. He bends to kiss her, soft and slow at first. And then deeper, sucking on her lower lip and teasing her with a sensuous tongue. She hums in surprise into his mouth, making him smile.

He’s exhausted and feeling low, but he doesn’t want to let on to her. He just wants to forget about his day, and hopefully recharge with a better night.

“How did it go today?” she asks, after he allows her to breathe.

Dean nods (and lies). “Pretty good.”

She waits for him to continue. When he just continues to hold her, she raises her brows up at him.

“Dean?”

“What? I’m workin’ on archery. Lots of progress.”

She eyes him in suspicion, and he knows he doesn’t have her fooled. Actually, she looks like she’s going to press him about it, so he releases her from his hold and goes to change out of his dirty clothes to avoid her gaze.

“Hey, uh, maybe it’s none of my business, but I saw the Chief go into some other woman’s tent today. Holding hands, bedroom eyes, the whole deal,” he says while he changes. He glances back at her and waggles his brows. Mila smiles slightly.

“Did she wear her hair in a half-braid, or did she wear a necklace made of seashells?” she asks.

Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised, but he thinks back to what he saw.

“Uh, seashells. Yeah, she wore seashells,” he says.

Mila nods. “Yes, that woman is also his…the chiefs of my people are known to take more than one wife.”

At that, Dean becomes even more surprised. He finishes dressing and leaves his boots by the tipi’s entrance. His raised brows even out into a smirk.

“Well, okay. Guess it’s good to be Chief,” he says.

Mila’s lips purse as she eyes him narrowly. She goes back to stirring the stew with a wide, wooden spoon. Dean doesn’t see her reaction, but he does notices that something’s missing from his side of the bedding. He frowns.

“Hey, where’s my gun?” He asks Mila, who shakes her head without looking at him.

“I moved it,” she curtly replies.

Dean’s frown deepens. He touches her arm to get her attention.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, baby,” he says. He’s made sure that she knows the basics of a gun well enough, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of her hurting herself.

“Don’t leave it out, then,” she snips back. “It shouldn’t go where we sleep.”

Dean tilts his head at her. He’s a bit confused at her tone, especially because they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have it there just in case something happens at night,” he reminds her. His pistol is really just for emergencies though. There are only three bullets left in it, and he can’t exactly go shopping for more.

Dean realizes then that Mila’s mood has shifted. He approaches her from behind.

“What’s wrong, huh?” His hands find familiar purchase along the curve of her waist. He swipes her braid away and presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. More teasingly, he asks, “What’d I do now?”

Mila remains tight-lipped, until she glances at him over her shoulder.

“Do you want another woman?” she asks.

It’s a simple question, but it succeeds in completely tripping him up. He blinks at her, incredulous and bewildered.

“What?”

She continues shredding another herb to put into the stew. Somehow, it makes the broth smell a bit worse.

“You seem to admire the Chief for having three wives, so you must want another one too,” she says.

Holy shit, three wives? Dean wonders. The man must be a saint. Look at the hell I’m catching with one.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep belly chuckle that does nothing to take away Mila’s ire. She glares at him now, genuinely upset, and Dean knows he’s starting to shit the bed on this one. He sobers up and raises his hands in surrender.

“Sweetheart,” he says, in a placating tone.

Despite her annoyance, she allows him to hold her again. He plies her with more tantalizing kisses along her neck. He breathes in the sweet-smelling oil she uses on her hair.

“You’re more than enough woman for me. You know that, right?” he whispers against her skin. It earns her slight shudder, and he smiles. He teases the spot just under her ear, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with his tongue. She can’t help but writhe against him a bit. It stirs a well of desire in his lower belly, especially when he squeezes her hips, pressing himself to her from behind.

She tries to remain strong as she clears her throat, no doubt feeling his growing hardness against her. She starts to blush hotly.

“It’s all I can do just to make sure you stay sweet for me,” Dean says, a hint of teasing returned to his voice.

Mila finally breaks into a laugh. She reaches back to swat him on the head, but his ministrations work. Once she manages to escape from his grasp with a teasing smile of her own, she more happily serves him a bowl of stew.

Dean smirks. Fine, he can be patient. He’ll just have to wait until dessert, then. After a moment to calm himself, he sits down on the ground beside her and brings a large spoonful of stew to his lips. There, he pauses. The strange taste that assaults his tongue nearly makes him choke, but he does his best to swallow it down. The meat’s tough as nails, for Christ’s sake…

Hearing a spoon clatter against the bowl, he chances glancing at Mila. She sits stock still, her brows furrowed as she frowns. Slowly, she sets the bowl down and says,

“Stop eating.”

She looks angry at herself. Dean feels bad for her, his sympathy striking at his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry,” he says, and gamely takes another couple of bites.

She just watches him. Her upset worsens while he tries and fails to cover up a hacking cough.

Finally, Mila can stand no more. She takes the bowl from him, making some of the foul broth slosh over their hands and onto the ground. She tried to make wahonpi, one of the most basic soups in her people’s culture, made from bison, potatoes, corn, and carrots stewed in the broth.

Eyota told me it was simple! she thinks in dismay. How did it go so wrong?

“It’s no good,” she says, her voice hard. “I will go to my mother and see what she cooked. She may have extra for us.”

She rises to her feet, and Dean quickly follows her. He catches sight of her tears, even though she turns her face away from him to grab her shoes. He reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. He tugs her back to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why’re you getting so upset?” he says. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Or maybe next time, I’ll try doing the cooking, he thinks.

“Because!” she blurts. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to slip down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to brush them away. “Because you shouldn’t have to eat it. Because it should be good. You deserve to eat something good!”

Mila finally realizes why her mother tried so hard to teach her these things. She’s embarrassed, feeling sorry for herself, but it’s also far worse than that. Her heart hurts knowing what Dean has gone through, and what he continues to go through for her sake. The least she could do is make sure he eats well, and it seems she can’t even do that.

“Mila,” he says with a sigh. He guides her into his embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She can’t allow herself to be comforted. She pushes at his chest to look up at him.

“You think I don’t know what happens outside?” she says. “It’s a small village, and people talk when they think I’m not listening. I know what the men are doing to you.”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You should not have to,” she insists, resting a hand over his heart. “You have proven yourself to be a man of honor. Tahatan said it himself. They should not be this way.”

Dean smiles ruefully. “I can handle it.”

He bows his head and captures her lips, plying her with a deeper kiss. The heat of it grows and becomes more than a distraction, more than comfort. It strips everything else away, until it’s just the two of them again, like the night she found him at the riverbank and held him until he woke up in her arms.

What they eat doesn’t matter. Other people don’t matter. All that matters is this.

He squeezes her hips and presses her harder against him, so she can feel every part of his desire. She moans into his mouth, curling her fingers into his shirt. So he guides her down to the bedding, where he shows her what he’d rather get a taste of.

Later that evening, Mila and Dean have dinner with her parents. Her mother, Weaya, is a gracious host, treating Dean both like a guest and a proper son-in-law. She gives him a special cut of braised bison meat, not to mention extra corn and potato hash. Chatan says nothing to him and eats in gruff, stoic silence.

Dean can tell it both hurts and annoys his wife, but he has to focus on answering Weaya’s many questions about his life—mainly about his family and the farm he grew up on. In some ways, raising crops and rearing up cows, chickens, and horses there isn’t so different from the Lakota village.

“You must miss that place. Your home,” she says. Dean meets his mother-in-law’s eyes, pausing in polishing off the meat sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. Chatan looks up from his meal, and so does Mila, who hesitates too. He sees the thread of her concern there, behind her eyes, so Dean hides the stab of sadness that hits him every time he thinks of Lawrence.

“Sometimes,” he admits. He looks over at Mila. “But I’m not alone. That’s what matters.”

She smiles at him softly. Dean has the urge to take her hand, maybe raise it up to his lips, but he’ll leave that for when they’re alone. He doesn’t want to upset her father any more than he has just by sitting in Chatan’s house. Tent…whatever.

He’s glad when, after almost another hour and a round of hot tea, Mila finishes chatting with her mother and stands. It means they can finally get the hell out of here. No disrespect to her parents, but with so much change happening so quickly, Dean had been able to put Lawrence out of his mind for a while. Tonight he thinks about his mom and his brother more than makes him comfortable on their way through the village. He follows Mila inside their tipi, then starts up a candle while she gets ready to rest for the evening.

Living here is like going back in time—before the lantern, before indoor plumbing and the water heater. It’s not a huge hardship for Dean, who’s spent a lot of his life sleeping on hard, dusty ground, or military bases with less than most modern amenities, but it’s still another adjustment.

He undresses down to his pants and settles down to the bedding and furs, waiting for his wife. She kneels beside him after undressing down to just her shift. He lays on his back with an arm tucked behind his head, and he watches her unbind her long, dark hair, undoing the braid from the bottom strands. She has this concentrated look on her face, like her mind is far away, even though she’s right here next to him. He threads his fingers through her loose hair while she works, giving her a smile.

“You okay?” he asks.

Mila pauses. She lets her tresses escape from her fingers and reaches for him, laying her hand on his chest. Dean holds it there and finally allows himself to press a kiss into her palm.

I’m sorry, is what she wants to say, but she knows he’ll only reply, For what?

So she lowers down and slips into his warm embrace, as if this can make them both forget the day. She rests her cheek over his beating heart.

“You will never be alone,” she promises.

Dean quirks a smile. Instead of answering, he brushes her cheek tenderly with his hand, and he closes his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he finds sleep.

The candle slowly flickers out.

On most nights, Mila falls asleep before Dean, and so his light snores don’t bother her. Tonight, even though she’s tried, she can’t tune out his rumbles. Or maybe it’s her own mind she can’t tune out.

She carefully maneuvers out of his hold and slips on her shoes. Maybe the moon will give her clarity tonight.

She pushes open the front flap of the tent and steps out into the cooler air. She looks up at the moon’s white-blue glow, a wide crescent peeking out from between two large clouds. A strong breeze tugs at her hair and flutters her lashes when she closes her eyes. She crosses her arms when goosebumps spread across her tan skin.

“What troubles you, Kimmímila?”

The voice is steady and male, and all too familiar. Still, the intrusion startles her. Her eyes fly open wide and she jolts, inhaling sharply. She frowns when she realizes it’s him.

“What are you doing? It’s late,” she says.

He steps out from the shadows with his pipe in hand. He smells strongly of tobacco. Her father and uncle smoke as well, but she doesn’t like it herself. She’s glad Dean doesn’t either.

“Easing my mind,” he says, raising his pipe. “I see you’re up to the same thing.”

Mila shakes her head. She returns her attention to the moon. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Are we not friends, Mila?” he says. “Can’t we talk and share like we used to?”

His voice is disheartened enough that it earns her gaze. She sighs at him.

“I am sorry, but I can’t give you what you want,” she says. “Don’t test me anymore.”

He pauses with his pipe in hand. It drops to his side, and he takes measured steps closer, until he’s looking down at her. Even with the litheness of his form, he’s still taller and broader than her. His long, dark hair is half pulled onto the top of his head, threaded together with a beaded leather string she made for him when they were children. He has used it ever since. The rest of his hair lays loose down his back, brushing his arms.

“If you actually loved him, it wouldn’t be a test,” he teases.

He tries to touch her cheek, but she guides his hand down. She shakes her head and steps away from him.

“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You know I mean what I say.”

His anger and frustration surfaces, with a sharp exhale of breath and the crunch of his dark brows.

“You would choose the Outlander over your own people,” he accuses.

Mila’s gaze is firm as she heads back to her tipi. If he will not be reasonable, then she will make it clear enough to hurt.

“I choose him over you,” she says.

Then, she slips back inside.

The shadow outside remains, just long enough for the moon to become clear past the moving clouds.

In the morning, Mila goes to her uncle, Chief Tahatan. She finds her parents there in his tipi as well, all of them sharing breakfast. Her aunt passes around more bread and wojapi, a sweet mixed berry sauce, while her father is resting a broken ankle. He’s complaining again, even though it happened over a week ago now.

“If you hadn’t let the horse buck you off, you wouldn’t be hurting,” she says sharply now. She’s become annoyed with his griping. “Or better yet, you can finally admit that you’re beyond the years of breaking young stallions.”

Chatan is the Horsemaster of their tribe, and has been since Mila was a little girl, inheriting the position from her great uncle, the former chief’s younger brother. Mila knows, however, that Chatan is getting too old to do the harder work. Many years have meant many battles too, and they’ve taken their toll on his bones.

An idea grows in her mind, and she goes to sit beside her father. She applies the poultice Eyota gives Weaya for him, before rewrapping his ankle.

“Father,” she begins, imploring him gently, “perhaps Dean could help you care for the horses.”

Chatan eyes her with a frown. “Your husband already has his hands filled with training.”

“Šóta and Takoda can’t do it all themselves, and Dean has experience with breaking young horses,” she reasons.

Chatan ignores her and hefts himself to his feet without her or his wife’s help. He leaves with her mother on his heels, even though she looks back at her daughter apologetically. You know your father, her eyes say.

Mila frowns at his back, both frustrated and upset. When they’re gone, she heaves a sigh. She remains determined though.

She goes to Chief Tahatan next. He sits in his chair of whicker and wood while he smokes his pipe. Her aunt has gone to help the other women harvesting chokeberries and wild onions. Mila will go there soon, but first, she has business here.

“Uncle,” she says.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, crossed between a grunt and a groan. He knows what's coming. She kneels at his feet and touches his hand in a sign of humbleness, reverence, and familial love all at once.

“Uncle,” she repeats. “Dean has done nothing but try to please Father, but still, he’s being stubborn…will you talk to him? Please?”

Tahatan sighs deeply. “You must understand your father, child. The decision you’ve made affects us all.”

“I do understand, Uncle. But the truth of it is, none of you have given Dean a chance to prove himself.”

“His chance is right now,” Tahatan says, his tone more stern. “Have I not been gracious? Did I not allow him to stay and live among us?”

“Yes, but you continue to judge him in your mind, like everyone else,” she says. The Chief remains quiet. She moves to stand before him, holding his gaze directly. “Let us perform the Huŋkápi.”

Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. Her people first created the tradition to make peace between Lakota and rival tribes, like the Ree. It can even be used to unite extended families within the tribe, especially in times of marriage. There is no better time for it, she thinks.

The Chief shakes his head. “Kimmímila.”

“Is he not my husband?” she says. “In the eyes of our people, this is the joining of two families, and accepting an outsider into our tribe. That is exactly what the ceremony is for.”

“He has no family,” Tahatan snaps. “It is not exactly the tradition.”

“Then let us make it new,” she argues.

Tahatan hesitates. He shakes his head and rubs at his chin in a gesture of long-suffering. He thanks the spirits that he never had daughters. While he loves his niece, he has never envied his brother.

“I will think on it,” he says.

Mila frowns, but she tries her best to accept this, for now. She thanks him respectfully and leans in to kiss his cheek. Tahatan grunts an acknowledgement and watches her go with another shake of his head, despite a small smile. Between her and his sons, they will keep adding years to his life.

On her way out of the Chief’s tipi, she runs into her cousin, Šóta. He walks with all the comfortable cockiness of a rooster among his harem.

“Good morning, sister,” he greets, even as he playfully pulls at her braid and tosses it into her face.

She flicks it away and meets him with an irritated frown. She’s in no mood to be teased, especially by him. “You’re still a child.”

“Ho-ho, hey now,” he chuckles, and he cuts off her path by standing in her way, crossing his arms. “Watch it. When I become Chief, don’t think I’ll let you talk to me so disrespectfully, my sister.”

“Just because you will be Chief one day does not make you wise,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as the snap of a blackberry vine. “And don’t call me sister. You have lost that right.”

Šóta finally becomes serious; he realizes that she means what she says.

“What are you talking about? What have I done?” he asks, more earnestly.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Mila snaps. “If you were a good leader, you would take your father’s words to heart when he accepted my husband into our tribe. If you were my brother, you wouldn’t let the men mock him. If you were a man at all, you would do what is right. You would be guiding him right now, instead of letting the others ‘train’ him.”

She storms away from him, leaving Šóta feeling irritated, but also with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in his gut.

Mila moves brusquely through the camp until she reaches the clearing edged by the forest. There the horses are fenced in. They’ve been given their food and water for the morning, so they’re rather frisky as they clop around and graze.

She looks for Mato. Baby is no doubt with Dean today, so the Kiger mustang keeps to himself underneath a large sycamore tree. His tail flicks when she approaches, and he turns to her with a sound of greeting. She allows her hand to run along his dun-colored coat as she draws closer.

“I need you, my friend,” she whispers.

She holds his snout, pressing her forehead against his as she squeezes her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears. Mato bumps her shoulder with his nose, softly whinnying. She smiles, sniffling, and rubs his cheek.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

AN: Well, here we go! Sorry for ending on some angst, but here we've got the pieces in motion for a fun-filled, four-part sequel. 😂💜 Dean and Mila are both struggling in their own ways while he tries to navigate this new world he's trying to live in.

And how do you think he's gonna react to the "mystery man" trying to win her back? 😬

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

Next Time:

But she feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They are getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring.

However, she pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name.

She gasps and whips around. He is there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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the-offside-rule · 16 days ago

Text

Sam & Dean Winchester (Supernatural) - Merry Christmas, Kid

Christmas: From The Vault

25 Days of Christmas

Warnings: mentions of k!lling

Italics - flashback

The wind howled outside the rundown motel as the Winchester siblings trudged through the door, cold and weary after a long hunt. Y/n tossed her bag near the door and collapsed onto the creaky sofa couch. She reached down to untie her boots, her fingers fumbling with the laces as she half-listened to her brothers’ banter. "Man, that werewolf had some nerve trying to take a chunk out of me." Dean grumbled, pulling off his jacket and throwing it over a chair. "You mean after you tripped over that log and practically served yourself up on a platter?" Sam shot back, grinning as he dropped his duffle by the table. "Hey, I had it handled!" Dean huffed.

"Sure, Dean." Y/n murmured, her words slurred with sleep as she kicked off her boots. She stretched out on the couch, her eyes fluttering shut despite the conversation flowing around her. "How are you not passed out already?" Sam asked, glancing her way. "Superpower." She mumbled, a small smile tugging at her lips before she succumbed to sleep.

The creaky motel door opened, and the Winchester boys stepped inside, tired and sore after the hunt. The familiar musty smell of cheap furniture and stale air filled the room, but something unexpected caught their attention. "Well, would you look at that." Dean said softly, dropping his duffle bag by the door.

In the middle of the small, cluttered living room, Y/n was sprawled across the ratty sofa, fast asleep. Scraps of colorful wrapping paper were scattered everywhere, along with a half-empty roll of tape and a pair of blunt scissors. A couple of oddly shaped presents sat on the table, wrapped with the enthusiasm of a child but not much skill. Sam chuckled lightly. "She really went all out, huh?"

Before Dean could reply, the door swung open behind them, and John Winchester entered, his boots heavy on the worn carpet. His sharp eyes swept over the scene, landing on the mess. "For crying out loud." He muttered, running a hand through his graying hair. "Now I gotta clean all this up." Dean frowned, his jaw tightening. "It’s fine, Dad. She was just trying to do something nice."

"Yeah, well, maybe she should’ve stayed awake to finish it." John snapped, shaking his head. Sam scoffed, unable to hold back. "You can always count on you to ruin a nice thing." John froze, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Watch your tone, Sammy." He growled, his voice low and warning. But Sam didn’t back down. "It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t you let it go for once?"

John’s face darkened, and without another word, he grabbed his jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The room shook with the force of it, and an uneasy silence followed. Dean sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. "Well, that went great." From the sofa, a small voice broke the quiet. "Did I ruin Christmas?"

Y/n stirred sometime later to the faint sound of rustling. She cracked an eye open, barely moving, and saw her brothers. Sam was by the window, arranging something on a spindly pine tree that looked like it had been hacked from the woods outside. He was stringing it with mismatched odds and ends—charms, bottle caps, and even a shoelace. Dean stood at the kitchenette, muttering curses under his breath as he fumbled with the microwave. "Quiet, Dean." Sam whispered sharply. "You're gonna wake her."

"It's not my fault this thing's ancient!" Dean hissed back, shaking a packet of hot cocoa mix like it had personally offended him. Sam rolled his eyes and stalked over. "Give me that. You're hopeless."

"No, you're hopeless!" Dean relatialted. "Me? I'm devorating and you cant even make a simple cup of hot cocoa." Sam whisper shouted. "Its not the making it, its the opening it!" A scuffle broke out, hushed but no less ridiculous, as they wrestled over the cocoa packet. Dean jabbed at Sam with an elbow, Sam retaliated with a swat to Dean’s head, and the powder burst open, spilling onto the counter. Y/n bit her lip to stifle a laugh, deciding not to ruin the surprise. She closed her eyes and drifted back into sleep.

Dean quickly shook his head and walked over, kneeling in front of her. "No way, kiddo. You didn’t ruin anything. Dad’s just…stressed, that’s all." Sam came to sit beside her, nudging her shoulder gently. "Dean’s right. You did great." She hesitated, then reached for the gifts on the table. "I, um… I got you guys something."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look before sitting down on either side of her. She handed them each a package, wrapped with far too much tape and uneven folds. Dean tore into his first, pulling out a comb. He raised an eyebrow before realizing it doubled as a pocket knife when he slid the end off. He let out a low whistle. "This is awesome, Y/n. How’d you manage this?"

Sam opened his next, revealing a thick book. He ran a hand over the cover, his lips quirking into a smile when he read the title: Law Basics for Beginners. "I know you want to go to college and be a lawyer." Y/n said shyly. "So I figured… this might help." Sam looked at her with a mix of pride and surprise. "It’s perfect. But seriously, how’d you afford all this?" She grinned mischievously. "I went caroling on doorsteps. The suckers gave me money." Dean burst out laughing, ruffling her hair. "That’s my girl."

As Dean laughed, his gaze drifted to the table. Among the mess of wrapping supplies, he saw a small handmade frame, carefully constructed from sticks and twine. Inside was a family photo—John, Mary, young Dean, and Sam. Dean picked it up, his throat tightening. "Is this… for Dad?" Y/n nodded. "I thought he might like it. I know I’m not in it, but—"

Dean cut her off, pulling her into a hug. "It’s perfect. He’ll love it." Pulling back, Dean reached into his jacket pocket. "Speaking of gifts, I got you something too." He pulled out a small amulet on a leather cord and dangled it in front of her. "What’s it do?" she asked, turning it over in her fingers. "It’s anti-possession. Keeps demons out. And it looks cool, too." Dean said with a grin as he placed it around the neck. Y/n beamed, immediately putting it on. "I’ll wear it forever."

Sam reached into his own bag and handed her a small flask. "Here. It’s for holy water. You know, just in case you ever go on a hunt with us." She hugged them both tightly. "I love you guys."

"We love you too, squirt." Dean said, ruffling her hair again. "You should probably go to bed though. It's getting late." Y/n nodded. "But this is my bed." She replied. "You know what, just for tonight you can sleep in mine. Too comfy for me anyway." She grinned and gave her brothers a kiss on the cheek before she hopped off the couch and into Dean's bed, promptly shutting her eyes and falling back to sleep.

When she woke again, it was to the smell of cocoa and the sight of her brothers seated at the rickety motel table. Dean had on a slightly askew Santa hat, and Sam’s was tilted just right, naturally. Between them sat steaming mugs of hot chocolate, the pine tree now proudly decorated in all its patchwork glory. Y/n sat up, blinking in mock surprise. "Wow. What’s all this?" Dean squinted at her. "You didn’t already see this, did you?"

"What? No!" Y/n said, her voice a little too high-pitched. Sam raised an eyebrow. "Liar." She sighed. "Okay, fine, I might’ve peeked. A little." Sam grinned and reached behind him, pulling out a hastily wrapped present. "Here. We picked this up in the last town."

Y/n tore into the paper to reveal a Barbie. Sam's face dropped as he saw the gift, Dean cluld only look on amused. "I'm a little old for Barbie, dont you think?" She looked up, her heart swelling at the effort they’d made. "I- I didn't think it'd be that." Sam replied awkwardly. "And what's you think it would be? Maybe a Ken doll instead-" Sam nudged him hard. "I love it." She said sincerely. Dean laughed. "Yeah, well, thank Sam. He’s the one who thought visiting a mall Santa was a good idea." Sam shrugged. "Hey, it worked, didn’t it?"

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. "Here, kid. Merry Christmas."

"Dean!" Sam scolded, nudging him hard. "What? It's practical!" Y/n laughed, cradling both the doll and the gun. "Thanks, guys." She got up and joined them at the table, wrapping her hands around the warm mug of cocoa. "So-" She said after a sip. "When are we heading out to catch that vampire?" Dean arched a brow as he put his cup down. "We’re not. It’s Christmas. Even bloodsuckers get the day off." Sam nodded. "It’s probably not much of a threat today. People won’t be out."

Y/n shook her head firmly. "The sooner we kill it, the sooner we get back here. Let’s go." Dean and Sam exchanged a look, one of those unspoken moments of agreement that only siblings could share. Dean chuckled and shook his head. "No DNA test needed. You’re definitely a Winchester."

When John finally returned, he reeked of alcohol, his steps heavy and uneven. He stopped short when he saw Dean sitting at the table, the handmade frame in front of him. "What’s your problem?" John asked, his tone gruff. Dean stood, holding up the frame. "This. This is my problem. You nearly ruined her Christmas like always."

John’s face hardened. "I didn’t—"

"She’s not even in this picture, but she still made it for you." Dean snapped. "The least you could do is not be so selfish for once." John stared at the frame, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he sighed and walked over to Y/n’s bed. Gently, he shook her awake. "Hey, kiddo." He said softly. She blinked up at him, surprised.

"I’m sorry." John said, holding up the frame. "This… this is really nice. Thank you." Her face lit up, and he smiled faintly before pulling a pristine white-handled gun from his bag. "This is for you." He said, placing it in her hands. "It’s to protect you. Tomorrow morning, I’ll teach you how to make salt-lined bullets."

Y/n’s excitement was palpable. "Really? Thanks, Dad!" She hugged him before settling back into bed, clutching her new gun like it was a teddy bear. John turned to Dean, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Happy now?" Dean sighed. "A little."

"Good. Merry Christmas, Dean." John said as he walked over to his bed and lay down, almost immediately falling asleep. Dean sighed and stared at the frame on the table. He missed how Christmas used to be; his mom, dad and Sam just enjoying Christmas, laughing, no demons or monsters. He wpuld give anything to go back to those days. His gaze shufted to Y/n asleep. He thought that maybe- just maybe- Y/n is the only reason he wouldn't go back. Because what would be Christmas without his little sister?

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virtualreader · 1 year ago

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broken hearts and healing souls

deanwinchesterxfem!reader

summary: carrying the ruins of the broken heart the death of his father had left behind, Dean pushes you away, fearing hurting you as well. or perhaps he’s just scared of being hurt himself, one more time.

word count: 3,3k. (does not include lyrics)

warnings: alleged age gap, fierce anger, heated argument, drinking out of spite, supressed feelings, cursing, yelling, not the happiest end, and lots and lots of angst.

part 2

a/n: i started watching supernatural about a month ago and I'm loving it so far. and god, i couldn't help but fall truly, madly, deeply in love with dean winchester. this scenario came to my mind while listening someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic, so this one shot is based on this song. feedback is always appreciated. please, comment if you think I should write a part 2 to this one!

"You can't boss me around, Dean! I'm not a child anymore!" you barked at the hunter standing by the motel room's door.

"I can't? Watch me!" Dean retorted, breathing heavily and extending his arms upward to appear bigger. "As the eldest here, it's my call to make the hard decisions. And I've decided that you won't come on any more hunts, end of story. You're risking your life out there—it's dangerous, y/n. What's not clear about that?!"

You and Dean had been arguing for a while. He came into the motel room the three of you—Sam, Dean and yourself—were forced to share, stringently declaring you were not allowed to go with them on hunts anymore.

After the previous mission ended with you being kidnapped by the demon you were after and tied to a chair in an old building's basement, the oldest brother wasted no time in making a decision. Despite your eagerness to rid the world of evil, Dean prioritized your safety, even if you didn't see it that way.

Dean Winchester was an undaunted and confident man, he had been since his mother died, he had to be, for his family's sake, for his own sake. Yet, when it came to you, potential bad outcomes constantly assaulted his mind. He could not afford to lose another loved one, so he did not take a gamble.

"It is my life that I am endangering, so I strongly believe that I get to choose whether I want to expose myself to hunting hazards or not. You are not my dad and cannot give me orders, Winchester!" you declared, raising your voice with anger and trembling as you pointed your index finger at him.

You were hurt and confused. Hunting had been your life for as long as you could remember and now he was taking that away from you. You tried to plead your case, but he had already made up his mind.

In response to your defiance, Dean raised his chin, pursed his lips, and clenched his jaw. Yet, even in his anger, he maintained steady eye contact with you. It was clear he was not going to back down easily.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he queried exasperated. “That demon back there, could have killed you, and you know that. This is not some inoffensive deer we’re going after.”

He was undoubtedly referring to the incident that happened earlier that day, when he was able to free you from the grasp of the demon. It was the same demon that mercilessly took your father’s life, leaving you fatherless at the tender age of twelve and subsequently placed under the care of the Winchesters.

Growing up with them, you learned to navigate the dangerous world of hunting and the supernatural. From hours-long road trips and campfires to cozy movie-evenings and pancake Sundays, your memories with your new family included a wide variety of experiences that left a lasting impact on you.

The bond you formed with the Winchesters was one built on mutual respect and a shared purpose, making them more than just your guardians; they were your family, and you were theirs.

"God, what a pig-headed dude you are," you muttered, oozing frustration, as you let out a peeved sigh. "So you, old man, can risk being killed by these heartless creatures, but I can't? Is it just because I'm younger than you guys? ‘Cause I already told you, I am as much of an adult as you are.”

Clearly, you would not be swayed by Dean's demands. You were your own person, with your own will and your own desires. You were determined to stand up for yourself and live your life on your own terms.

He took a moment to observe your bruised appearance as he pondered his answer. The blood that had previously emerged from the wound above your eyebrow was already dry, while the cut on your lip was still struggling to form a scab.

He noticed the swelling around your left eye, a tell-tale sign of the force of the blow that had landed on your face. And as he looked at you, he could not help but feel responsible for your emaciated state.

"If you're such an adult, you'll be fine on your own. You don't need me, do you?" the hunter sassed back, towering over you, tilting his head and upturning his brows.

Dean's words hurt you deeply, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. But you refused to let him see you cry. You straightened your back and met his gaze with a fierce determination.

"Do you want me to leave?” you said, your voice shaking a little. “Fine. If that's what you want, I'll leave. But don't expect me to come back."

You walked past him, feeling his eyes on your back. You didn't turn around, didn't give in to the urge to look at him again. You needed to be strong, to show him that you could make it on your own. But deep down, you knew that you didn't want to be alone. You needed Dean, more than you wanted to admit.

"Hey, girl!" you called out to the waitress, raising your voice above the noise of the tavern to get her attention. "Can I get a refill, please?”

You were alone, left out in the cold Clinging to the ruin of your broken home Too lost and hurting to carry your load We all need someone to hold

As you waited for your drink, you couldn't help but replay the argument with Dean in your mind. You felt hurt and betrayed by his words. You were mad at him for not understanding your desire to be by his side, no matter the risks.

You were lost in thought when a voice snapped you out of your reverie.

"Rough night?" inquired a gold-haired man as he took a seat on the adjoining stool.

The man seemed to be a bit younger than Dean, possibly in his mid-twenties, closer to your own age. He wore a white crewneck t-shirt that hugged his muscular arms around the biceps, and his dark slim fit jeans matched the black pattern printed on his shirt's front.

It was difficult to determine whether it was the effect of the second-rate alcohol or your personal taste in men, but it was safe to say he was far from unattractive and he was, in fact, quite handsome.

"You could say so." you answered his question with a touch of apathy but still flashed a slight smile his way.

You've been fighting the memory, all on your own Nothing worsens, nothing grows I know how it feels being by yourself in the rain We all need someone to stay We all need someone to stay

The man took a slow, deliberate sip from his beer bottle and leaned back, his eyes fixed intently on you. His gaze seemed to linger for a moment, as if he were trying to gauge your reaction to what he had just said.

"You know," he said, his voice low and suggestive, "I can make it better for you, pretty."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks at the man's brazen suggestion, and you couldn't help but feel a little intrigued by his offer.

You glanced around the dimly lit tavern, taking in the smoky air and the clinking of glasses. It was the kind of place where people came to drown their sorrows and forget about the troubles of the day-to-day life. And in that moment, you couldn't help but feel like you were just another lost soul adrift in the sea of humanity.

The man's eyes were still fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be waiting for your response, as if he knew that his offer had the power to change the course of your night—or maybe even your life.

You took a deep breath and met his gaze head-on, feeling a sense of daring that you hadn't felt in a long time.

"And how, exactly, do you plan on doing that?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

The man smiled, a slow, confident grin that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let's just say that I know a thing or two about making a woman feel good," he replied, his voice dripping with innuendo.

It was abundantly clear what his intentions were at this point in time, and to be entirely candid, it did not annoy you at all.

You eagerly accepted the charming man's alluring offer. And with a sense of anticipation, you followed him out of the sleazy bar, seeking shelter from the gentle patter of the light rain under the protective eaves.

As you walked alongside him, you found yourself captivated by his confident stride and the way his eyes sparkled in the dim light emanating from the street lamps.

You could feel his hand slowly making its way towards your hip, until it rested there, just barely grazing the upper part of your buttocks. This subtle touch sent a sparkling feeling coursing through your body, starting from the core and reaching all the way up to your chest. It created a warm whirlwind of expectancy, causing your heart to beat faster in anticipation.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice asked, a hint of pain in it.

Hear the fallen and lonely, cry out Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope? At the end of the day you were helpless Can you keep me close? Can you love me most?

Dean narrowed his eyes, anguishedly taking in the sight in front of him.

As you stood there, drenched from the rain and your mind clouded by the alcohol, Dean's sudden appearance caught you off guard. He was directly facing you, his eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the pain and anger etched upon his features.

"What the hell are you doing here, y/n?" Dean asked incredulously, his voice laced with anger and hurt. “And who the fuck is that jerk?”

You froze, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. You had been so caught up in your own emotions that you hadn't even considered how your actions might affect Dean.

You've drunk it down and you've spat it out And nothing tastes like the things you had So tear it off, why don't you let them go? We all need someone to stay We all need someone to stay

"I didn't know she was taken, mate. I didn't mean to meddle in your relationship," the guy standing next to you apologized, his voice trembling as Dean's contempting gaze threatened to pierce his soul. Green eyes—usually a symbol of grace—had never held such a look of hatred. “She’s all yours, mate.”

Once the man marched back into the tavern, with tail between legs, the hunter’s emerald orbs landed on you. And as he beamed down at you, you noticed how much woe his gaze held. He wasn’t someone to let his emotions surface, not at all, that would leave his feelings too exposed, too unguarded.

He didn't seem to mind the rain dribbling over his leather jacket or his well-styled hair as he approached you. Although you had a defiant demeanor, you took a step backward in response, and your back met the wall covered in graffiti.

“Thought you said ‘I’d be fine on my own’.” you tried to sound confident as you quoted him, yet the alcohol running through your veins caused your words to slur together.

"Yeah, I said on your own! Not with some opportunistic macho man!" he said, referring to your previous companion.

He looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and anger, his eyes scanning your face as if he was trying to find some kind of explanation for what he was seeing.

And then, his anger boiled over, and he let out a shout that echoed through the empty streets. "No way. Are you fucking drunk?!" he yelled. "Are you nuts?!"

The force of his outburst hit you like a physical blow, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest. You had never seen Dean like this before, and it was clear that he was at his breaking point.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other in silence, the rain pouring down around you like a curtain. And then, slowly, you began to speak, your words tumbling out of you in a jumbled mess.

"You're one to talk. You, my dear friend, are the very reason I'm here, drinking my sorrows away." you scoffed at him.

Your eyes darted around, looking at anything but Dean. You felt intimidated—what with Dean’s tall figure and the disappointment you could discern in his expression.

“Drinking won’t solve anything, y/n. You know better than this.”

"Do I really?” you uttered, struggling to keep at bay your wobbly lip. “Last time I checked, I was just a kid to you.”

Hear the fallen and lonely, cry out Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope? At the end of the day we're helpless Can you keep me close? Can you love me most? Can you keep me close? Can you love me most? Can you keep me close? Can you love me most?

As the rain continued to fall, the rhythmic clattering of the water drops mixed with the sound of cars cruising over the wet pavement, creating an overwhelming melody.

The droplets seemed to grow in size and force. You welcomed the heavier rain, grateful for the way it obscured the tears that threatened to overflow from your eyes.

You knew that if he saw you crying, he would only see you as weak and immature, even more than he already saw you. You had always been strong and independent, and you didn't want him to think any less of you.

So you stood there, letting the rain soak into your clothes and hair, hoping that it would wash away the pain and sorrow you felt inside.

“I don’t think of you as a kid. I just prefer you staying away from those creatures. You know better than anyone what that demon is capable of. It killed your father, and you could’ve died today too, y/n!”

“Do not act like you care! And do not dare mentioning my dad ever again! You are too self-centered to take others’ needs into account.”

With a trembling voice, you lashed out at Dean, your emotions running high and your patience wearing thin. You couldn't stand the way Dean tried to control your life, always telling you what to do and what not to do.

You had grown up fast in the world of hunting, learning to fend for yourself and to take care of others. You had seen things that most people couldn't even imagine, and you had faced danger and death head-on. You were not some delicate flower that needed to be protected at all costs.

And yet, Dean seemed to think otherwise. He was always trying to shield you from harm, even if it meant keeping you from doing what you loved most.

"Do you even hear yourself, Dean?" you continued, your voice rising with every word. "You act like you're the only one who knows what's best for me. You don't trust me to make my own decisions, although I've been hunting just as long as you have. You're so wrapped up in your own fears and insecurities that you can't see how much you're hurting me."

"You're part of my family now, and as such, I must protect you," Dean declared, helplessness building up inside his chest. "Why do you find it so hard to understand?”

You were alone, left out in the cold Clinging to the ruin of your broken home Hear the falling and lonely, cry out Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope? The end of the day and we're helpless Can you keep me close? Can you love me?

“I-…Just…leave me alone. Please, Dean.”

And it was then when, acting on your most primitive impulses, you took off, walking away from Dean with no determined destination.

It was not that you were afraid of Dean, no, you had spent too many years among the Winchesters to know he would never voluntarily hurt you, at least not physically. You found him sort of intimidating, more like it.

It was well known among the Winchesters' acquaintances that Dean, although not often, could become livid if you pressed the right buttons. And no one would ever want that fatal rage to be directed at them, unless they wanted to know what hell felt like.

However, the emotion the hunter was feeling now was not anger. It was something else, something both mysterious and intriguing. Although his muscles remained tight, his eyes shone with unshed tears, and a pinched expression was plastered on his face.

You fought against the urge to turn back and run into his embrace, to apologize to him and leave this dispute behind. It was a struggle to hold onto your never-so-fragile pride when your love for him had never felt as powerful as it did now. Not since you had first fallen in love with him, at least, back when you were a silly, naive teenager.

A hand grabbed firmly onto your arm, forcing you into a halt. You did not have the courage to turn around and face him with a trail of tears cascading over your cheeks, even if the drizzling rain disguised it somewhat. There was no need for that, however, when he began speaking, not waiting for you to look at him.

"I'm sorry, y/n," he apologized in a small voice, unaccustomed to saying such words. "I didn't mean to push you away. I... I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. I'm scared, y/n. Scared of losing you like I lost my father, like I lost my mother," Dean confessed, his voice softening, dropping in pitch.

You turned to look at him, really look at him, and saw the pain and fear written in his face.

You felt a lump form in your throat at the raw emotion in Dean's words. You had always known that he cared about you, but you had never realized just how much you meant to him.

"Dean," you said, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his arm. "I'm not going to die. I'm strong, and I know how to take care of myself. But I need you to trust me. I need you to let me make my own decisions, even if it means taking risks sometimes."

You stopped, taking a big deep breath before continuing.

“What you said back at the motel, it hurt me, a lot. I have nothing left, Dean. My family is dead, I have no place to stay, no job, no nothing. I’ve lost everything.”

“You have me.” He took a step towards you, getting closer, and caressed your feathery cheek with his large hand. “You always have and always will have me.”

Dean wiped away a tear from your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin softly. "I'm sorry for pushing you away, y/n. I was just so afraid of losing you. But I promise, from now on, I'll trust you to make your own decisions. We'll face everything together, as a team."

A turmoil of heartfelt emotions whirled its way down to your very core as Dean's words sank in. And, as you looked up at him, you saw the love and devotion in his eyes, and you felt grateful like never before to the Winchesters for taking you in.

Seizing the proximity, you took a moment to admire him. The softness on his eyes only adding to his already perfectly alluring features. The green orbs standing out his face had never shone as bright, and his nose glowed as red as his eyes, probably from the cold air of the drizzly night.

Yet the part you spent the longest time observing was his lips. Sultry pouty lips, that rested slightly parted.

And as if in a dream, he leaned in intertwining his lips with yours in a genuine kiss. Sliding the hand that previously laid on your cheek to the back of your neck, bringing you nearer to his own body.

His grip was both firm and steady, but no less gentle, just so as if he never wanted to let go of you. Your movements kept in step with each other's, as your mouths melted in a much-needed dance.

None of you cared about the rain soaking your clothes or the idling engine of the precious impala of Dean’s, nor about the small crowd by the tavern’s entrance looking at you. You were in a deep immersion into the depths of the moment, and all you saw, all you could regard was the man in front of you - the man you’ve always loved.

The idyllic moment was short-lived, much to your dismay, as Dean pulled away and apprehensively took a step backwards. But the pain you felt then was nothing compared to the stabbing sensation in your heart when he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

part 2

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starrylanex · 4 months ago

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I Think He Knows - Sam Winchester.

pairing- sam w. x fem!reader; summary - inspired by miss swift’s song; warnings - nothing really, lower case intended; word count - 1,4k

———

the impala's engine rumbled beneath you as the car sped down the long, empty highway. dean was behind the wheel, as usual, focused on the road ahead, while sam sat next to him in the passenger seat, flipping through a book on ancient symbols. you sat in the back, trying to keep your thoughts in check, but it was almost impossible when sam winchester was in the car, just a few feet away.

it was ridiculous, really. the way your heart picked up speed whenever he was around, the way your eyes seemed to follow his every move, even when you tried to play it cool. sam probably had no idea how he affected you. he was always so wrapped up in the hunt, in research, in the next big case.

but lately, there had been moments—fleeting glances, subtle touches, small smiles—that made you think *maybe* he knew. maybe he could feel it too, the energy between you, the way the air seemed to hum when the two of you were close. maybe he wasn't as oblivious as you thought.

as if on cue, sam glanced up, his eyes catching yours in the rearview mirror. it was just for a second, but the look sent a rush of warmth through you, making your heart skip a beat. you quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in the passing scenery, but the way his gaze lingered made it clear that you weren't the only one feeling this.

the impala slowed as dean pulled into a small, rundown motel on the outskirts of some nowhere town. "alright, this is home for the night," dean announced, killing the engine and stretching as he got out of the car.

you followed suit, grabbing your bag from the trunk and trying to ignore the fact that your hands were shaking just a little. it was ridiculous how much sam affected you, how just being around him turned you into a bundle of nervous energy.

"two rooms," dean said, tossing you and sam each a key. "guess it's you and me tonight, sammy. sweetheart, you're on your own."

you felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment at dean's words. relief because you needed some space to collect yourself, but disappointment because part of you had hoped—well, maybe more than part of you—that you and sam would end up sharing a room.

"sounds good," sam said, though his eyes flickered toward you as he spoke, like maybe he wasn't entirely happy with the arrangement either.

the three of you made your way inside, and after a quick exchange of goodnights, you found yourself in your small, dimly lit room. the bed was lumpy, the walls were thin, and the air smelled faintly of stale cigarettes, but you didn't care. all you could think about was the way sam had looked at you back in the car, the way his gaze had lingered just a little too long.

you sighed, flopping down onto the bed and staring up at the cracked ceiling. this was getting out of hand. if you didn't do something soon, you were going to drive yourself crazy wondering if sam felt the same way you did.

meanwhile, while you dwelled in your thoughts, in the room next door, a soft ‘ow’ was heard as a brunette hunter brought a hand up to back of his head and massaged it a little, “dean what the hell,”

“you are an idiot, thats what” dean says, dropping his bag next to his bed and going down with it.

“i have no idea what you are talking about” sam mutters, glancing away from his brother’s narrowed eyes.

“have no idea my ass,” dean presses on, “if you dont do anything about your girl, someone else will and dont give me that ‘i have no idea what you are talking about’ crap again, or i swear” dean pitches up his voice to mock sam.

sam freezes, not knowing what to say or do. because dean is right, he knows that the two of you have been having these stare offs, these moments for weeks now, and dean admitting it now, made it sound even more real than feeling like it was all in his head.

“i’ll be right back” sam says, now sounding determined. he doesn’t know what he plans on doing, but he knows he needs to get it off his chest before its too late.

a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, and your heart leaped into your throat. you knew who it was before you even answered.

when you opened the door, there stood sam, his tall frame filling the doorway. his hair was slightly tousled, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made your pulse quicken.

"hey," he said softly, his voice low and careful. "you mind if i come in for a minute?"

you nodded, stepping aside to let him in. he walked in slowly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his flannel shirt, like he was trying to play it cool. but you could see it in his eyes, in the tension in his shoulders—he was feeling it too.

"what's up?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding.

sam didn't answer right away. instead, he moved to stand by the window, looking out at the dark, empty parking lot. for a moment, you thought he was going to say something about the case, or ask you for help with research—something safe, something normal. but then he turned around, and the look in his eyes was anything but normal.

"i've been thinking," he started, his voice still soft, but there was an intensity behind it now. "about... us."

your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your pulse racing in your ears. *us.* the word hung in the air between you, heavy with all the unspoken feelings you'd been trying to ignore for weeks.

"sam—"

"I think you know," he interrupted, taking a step closer. his eyes locked onto yours, and suddenly, there was no space between you, no distance to hide behind. "i think you've known for a while now."

you swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool, but it was useless. the way he was looking at you—the way his eyes traced your face, the way his voice had dropped to a near whisper—it was overwhelming.

"what do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sam smiled softly, but there was something serious in his expression, something that made your stomach flip. he reached out, his hand brushing against yours, a light touch that sent a jolt of electricity through your whole body.

"you know exactly what I mean," he said, his voice low and full of meaning. "the way you look at me... the way I look at you. we've been going around it for weeks now."

your heart was racing, your mind spinning, but you couldn't look away from him. because he was right. you had known. maybe not from the very beginning, but somewhere along the way, you had realized it—that he saw you the same way you saw him.

"and now?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly as you looked up at him. "what happens now?"

sam's hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. he smiled, that soft, almost shy smile with dimples that made your heart melt.

"now," he said, stepping closer until there was no space left between you, "we stop pretending."

before you could say another word, sam leaned in, grabbing your jaw, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that felt both familiar and brand new. your heart soared as you kissed him back, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, sam rested his forehead against yours, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

"i think i knew," you whispered, your voice light and teasing, even though your heart was pounding in your chest.

aam chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. "yeah. i think i knew too."

and in that moment, with sam's hand in yours and the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, everything felt right. you didn't have to wonder anymore. you didn't have to pretend.

because now, you both knew.

#fanfic #x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x ofc #sam winchester x you #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural one shot #sammy winchester #dean winchester

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glimmeringwinchester · 14 days ago

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hell house

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — grace winchester has more skeletons in the closet than she and her can fight, and as they race against the clock to find their missing father, slowly but surely everything unknown comes into the light

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) — canon supernatural violence, gore, and themes. mentions of past abuse, ptsd, anxiety, indications of claustrophobia, sickness, john winchester being an absolute asshole. deans a dick (what’s new) but he’s soft with his sister, oc au

Grace Winchester rolls her eyes as she watches Dean reach across the car with a disposable spoon in hand, his smile wide and a little too mischievous as he wedges the thin plastic into their brother's slightly agape mouth. Sam is passed out in the passenger seat, his seat reclined despite the person that sits behind him, and his head is falling slack to the side as he catches up on much needed rest. The days had been long in the seven months that had played out since Dean had pulled them both away from life at Stanford, and instead back to the lives they’d lived before, though not by choice. Grace remembers how long the days used to feel when she was only a kid, but for whatever reason, the last seven months have felt excruciating. She can only sympathize with Sam as she watches him sleep, light colored eyes ghosting across the subtle motions of his breathing – the only indication he’s actually alive up there.

She would’ve found the energy to smile in wry amusement if her head didn’t feel so heavy on her shoulders. Her body is slouched against the door, her knees pulled up to her chest if only to allow Sam the space he needs to sleep, and her head cheek pressed against the window somewhat uncomfortably; though she appreciates the coolness that spreads across her flushed skin too much to adjust her position. Her eyes are glassy, bloodshot and stinging, but she blinks rapidly despite the pain, determined to keep herself awake as nausea pools in her lower belly.

She manages a weak eye roll as Dean finagles his phone into a specific position, peeling his eyes away from the road to snap a picture that will certainly be used as leverage in the next battle over music choice. She barely has the time to prepare for him cranking up the volume, an involuntary wince making her aware of the sudden soreness in her muscles as she leans away from the abrupt sound, unable to deny the way it seems to pierce through her skull like pinpricks.

Sam bolts awake, his eyes wide and panicked for a handful of seconds before he’s batting at the spoon between his lips, a grimace of utter annoyance overtaking his once relaxed expression. Dean couldn’t care less, grinning with pride in the driver's seat as he drums along to the chorus of a song Grace has heard too many times since only last week. He turns his head to Sam, eyes squinted as he beams, though Sam’s not easily amused by Dean’s clear enjoyment.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” He huffs, fixing the position of his seat with one hand while the other reaches for the stereo, turning the music down to an acceptable decibel, though Grace still thinks it's too loud as she barely conceals another involuntary wince.

“Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in East Texas. You kinda gotta make your own.” Dean apologizes, though both of his siblings know he’s not being the slightest bit sincere. Grace wants to roll her eyes, but a deep and incessant pressure at the front of her temple prevents her from so much as looking to her left.

“Man, we’re not kids anymore, Dean. We’re not gonna start that crap up again.” Sam scoffs, his jaw clenched as he expresses his annoyance, his eyes trailing toward the backseat as he searches for signs of life from Grace, hardly reacting when he finds her curled up into a tight ball, blanket ditched around her ankles, and her eyes closed as she gnaws on her lower lip. He can see exhaustion rolling off of her body – her eyes sunken, her face flush – and so he assumes she’s annoyed, not treading any deeper into that isolated spiral of thoughts.

“Start what up?” Dean, ever the antagonistic older brother, reaches into the backseat, his palm tapping against Grace’s blanket covered ankles in a silent greeting. He can only chuckle beneath his breath when her foot kicks out at him in response, an annoyed huff rolling off of her lips as she curls further toward the seats, just out of reach from his assault should he try again.

“That prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates.” Sam groans, slapping Dean’s hand when he reaches out for Grace again, his eyes rolling when Dean only shakes his shoulder in admitted defeat, looking entirely too smug about irritating his younger siblings for his own entertainment.

“What’s the matter, Sammy? You afraid you’re gonna get a little nair in your shampoo again, huh?” Grace doesn’t even have to see her brothers to know that one quip was enough to entirely change Sam’s attitude, his ego still bruised from the epic nair prank of 1990. Grace can only wonder how boys never mature past the age of fourteen, unable to believe they’re actually considering rehashing ‘prank wars’.

“All right. Just remember, you started it.” Sam can barely conceal his smirk as he shakes his head, eyes now glancing out the window, watching as rows of lush trees blur together into evergreen flashes.

“Oh, bring it on, Baldy.” Dean smirks, though his eyes flicker to Grace in the rear view mirror, “You in, G?” He sings smugly, only able to laugh in amusement when he receives nothing more than Grace throwing the bird his way in response. She’d never wanted to be part of their prank wars as a kid either, but Dean was never so quick to relent, always effectively dragging her into them whether that be by deception, or simply pranking her anyways.

“Where are we, anyway?” Sam asks, changing the topic as he glances out at the passing scenery.

Dean glances out the window, his face a neutral expression as he assesses the road surrounding them, never able to truly be secure in the temporary safety they find between places. Grace pretends not to notice the fault in Dean’s stoic persona as she shifts in the backseat, tugging off the sweatshirt that’s only trapping in unwanted heat. “A few hours outside of Richardson. Give me the lowdown again.” Dean reaches into the backseat again, although this time his gesture isn’t so playful, but softly he catches his sister's attention as Sam rustles through their current case information. “You should get some sleep. Need you at your best.” Grace wants to remind Dean of all the sleepless nights that haunt their pasts, but instead she nods, finally finding a moment of ease where not every part of her body is aching and churning at once.

She just barely hears Sam begin his refresher when her head lulls to the side, resting just below the leather headrest as she finally submits to the exhaustion that’s been crushing her for hours.

When she wakes, the Impala is parked in front of a record store, and Sam is ruffling through his bag that’s on the floor beside her feet. Grace bats his hand away with an exasperated eye roll, ignoring the wave of simultaneous nausea and dizziness that hits her as she sits up. Her muscles ache at the change in position, and she’s vaguely aware of her shoulder cracking as she rustles through the bag instead, pulling out the worn leather wallet she knows her idiot brother was searching for. Sam offers a bashful smile, his eyebrows furrowing after a handful of seconds as he takes in her appearance, but Grace only shrugs him off, cracking her fingers as she waits for Dean to make the first move, able to grasp why they’re here without the step-by-step break down she knows Sam wants to give her.

“Let's roll, Gracie.” Dean whistles as he opens the door, only acknowledging his younger sister, aware of how Sam wants to roll his eyes in annoyance every time he’s singled out. Grace follows his motions, though unlike her brother who has entirely reframed his mannerisms by the time their doors close in tandem, it takes her a minute to gain her bearings, only managing to deflect the discomfort radiating through her body as she steps ahead of Sam, through the door he’s holding open for her with that same stupid furrow in his eyebrow.

Her eyes are immediately drawn to a vinyl on one of the farthest shelves from the door, and naturally she lets herself float towards it, aware of how Dean and Sam are trailing behind her instinctively, though Dean’s eyes are definitely wandering as he gathers his critiques.

Grace looks up as a young looking guy approaches, a beat up record in his hands that he flips with indifference, his eyes scanning the black and white labels that differentiate the slots on the shelves. She picks up the record she’d been eyeing, effortlessly playing the role of inquisitive customer. “Gentlemen, ma’am, help you with anything?” The man asks, his eyes trailing over Grace an unnecessary second time, though he seems innocent enough as he lingers on the design against her chest. She’s only vaguely aware of the fact that she’d never changed out of her Spice Girls t-shirt, and that she’s holding one of their albums in her hands; definitely a conversation starter when standing in the middle of a music store.

“Yeah. Are you Craig Thurston?” Sam asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he analyzes the employee. Grace turns the vinyl over in her hands, reading over the tracklist as she tunes into the conversation happening in front of her.

“I am.” Craig nods, reaching over the rack as he shuffles through alphabetized slots. Grace can only roll her eyes at the sight, her thought of how boys never mature past puberty coming back once again.

“Oh. Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News. I’m Dean. This is Sam. Grace.” Grace brings her eyes away from the vinyl at the mention of her name, offering Craig a polite smile as she fights to stay balanced on her feet, even the slightest movement amplifying the dizziness that’s fogging up her senses.

Craig smiles at the information, his posture relaxing as he nods along to Dean’s fabrication. “No way. Yeah, I’m a writer, too. I write for my school’s lit magazine.” Despite his earlier display of reaching over the shelves, Craig peels from his post, stalking around the shelves as he grabs a seemingly sought after vinyl, showing no indication of contemplation as he reaches for the slot and pulls one up.

“Well, good for you, Morrison.” Dean huffs out a laugh, his smile entirely insincere as she gazes down at the vinyls, batting Grace’s arm when he notices one of his favorite bands at the very front, his fascination somewhat amusing as Grace’s lips quirk into a smirk.

“Um, we’re doing an article on local haunting, and rumor has it you might know about one.” Sam sways slightly, appearing hesitant, uncertain even, but both Grace and Dean know he’s anything but. They’ve learned a thing or two in the decades they’ve been doing this job, and one of those things is people are always more inclined to help you out when they think they have an opportunity to gossip or gloat.

“You mean the Hell House?” There’s a certain tick in Craig’s eyebrow that has Grace hooked, her eyes analyzing his movements because she knows her brothers won’t focus so much on the physical. They’ve always focused more on voice inflection, but Grace has always known a thing or two about body language.

“That’s the one.” Dean nods, his smirk almost condescending as he stares Craig down, but the employee hardly bristles, a subtle glint of arrogance in his eyes as he inclines his body just the slightest inch towards Dean, like he’s fascinated, or maybe transfixed, by the things that he knows – or thinks he knows.

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story.”

“So why don’t you tell us the story?” Grace smiles sweetly, her head tilting to the side, allowing her thin hair to spill over her shoulder. She’s aware of how her voice wavered in the middle, and how it feels like hellfire’s tearing through her throat as she swallows, but she makes no indication that anything’s wrong, keeping her eyes fixed on Craig.

“Well, supposedly back in the ‘30s, this farmer, Mordechai Morduch, used to live in the house with his six daughters. It was during the depression, his crops were failing. Didn’t have enough money to even feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end.” Grace tries not to wince at the mention of hungry children, but the grimace that wrinkles her upper lip is a dead give away that it strikes her. Sam doesn’t notice, his interest entirely in Craig, much to her relief.

“How?”

Grace rolls her eyes as Dean sneaks up beside her, throwing his arm over her shoulder as he tugs her into his side annoyingly. She has to fight the nausea that threatens to climb up her throat at his jostling, elbowing him between the ribs as she pulls herself away.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick rather than starve to death…so he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop. But he just strung them up, one after another. And then when he was all finished, he turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl who goes inside.” Craig looks entirely too fascinated with the harrowing details of the story, his eyes becoming wide as he loses himself in the details like a kid fascinated by a fairytale. Grace only barely hides her grimace as she continues to analyze his posture.

“Where’d you learn all this?” Dean inclines his head interestingly, squaring his shoulders as he stares Craig down.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it from. You gotta realize, I didn’t believe this for a second.” There’s a quip in his tone that has Sam shifting on his feet, and Grace isn’t blind to the way Craig’s fists clench in his pockets, that gleam of fascination slowly becoming a mixture of terror and uncertainty.

“But now you do?” Sam questions, his tone somewhat incredulous though there’s a hitch toward the end that keeps Craig hooked and spilling.

“Guys, I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to god, I don’t want to go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?” Grace understands the fear that becomes fascination all too well, and she offers Craig a sympathetic smile as Dean and Sam lock eyes, the elder of the two extending his appreciation toward Craig before he tapped Grace’s forearm, already beginning to lead the way back to the door.

She wobbles on her feet as she follows after him, looking over at Sam when his fingers ghost across the small of her back, reaching to catch her if she fell. She ignores the questioning look in his eyes, picking up the pace as she aims to catch up with Dean, eager to get away from Sam and his incessant questioning and analyzing.

She breathes a sigh of relief when the cool air hits her as she exits the music store, her flush face seemingly burning as its assaulted by the chilly wind around them, but all she does is deflate at the exposure, temporary relief settling in before she’s rushing into the backseat, not wanting to hold up the boys or raise anymore suspicion than she already has.

Despite how warm she feels, she reaches for the hoodie she’d thrown on the floor hours earlier, knowing Dean’ll grow suspicious if she doesn’t react to the cold soon. For men that rarely pay any attention to minor details, somehow they always pick up on the things that Grace wants to be left alone. She flips Sam off when she catches his eye in the rear view mirror, pleased when she watches his lips quirk into an amused smirk, his eyes no longer so clouded by concern. She hates that lying to them comes so easily.

Sometime later, the Winchesters are trekking through the Tennessee woods, searching for the so-called Hell House that Craig informed them of. The warmth that had once felt suffocating had fully abandoned Grace, and she shivers as she pulls the sleeves of her hoodie over her fingers, trying to keep out as much of the chill as she could manage without her jacket that’s buried in the trunk of the Impala. She looks up questioningly when Dean nudges her shoulder, but soon a grateful smile spreads across her lips as she realizes he’s extending his jacket. She slips it on eagerly, zipping it all the way up to her chin before she’s pulling the drawstrings of her hoodie even tighter, creating a barricade around her face that has Sam laughing.

“It’s not even that cold, G.” Sam rolls his eyes at her dramatics, unaware of the chills that are rolling down Grace’s spine and her arms, or that she’s fighting off a violent wave of nausea that has her practically seeing white from the discomfort.

“Do I need to remind you that women’s bodies and men's bodies interpret temperature differently because of our core temperatures?” She huffs, beyond irritable as she fights off the stinging sensation in her eyes, the burning sensation in her throat, the foggy pounding in her head, and the churning in her stomach. She’d been hopeful that those symptoms were just a result of her exhaustion, but she’s not so sure anymore, though she’s also not willing to admit that she’s sick. Definitely not willing to admit that she’s sick.

“Let’s go, nerd.” Dean only rolls his eyes at her snarky comment, nudging her forward with his shoulder. Grace stumbles on her feet, eyes becoming unfocused as her vision blurs for a second. She fights the urge to grab at her temple, instead keeping her hands in the pockets of Dean’s jacket as she steadies her balance.

Sam frowns, only steps behind her. “Dude, you okay?” He finally brings himself to ask, but all he gets in response is a huff from Grace and an indifferent shrug from Dean.

“Shark week?” The elder Winchester suggests, his expression neutral though there’s the slightest quirk in his lip that suggests he’s a little too smug about the suggestion.

Grace wants to cry in frustration, her eyes stinging with tears she refuses to let her brothers see. Her head is pounding, black spots dance in her vision if she turns her head too quickly, her stomach is in knots, but she refuses to accept that she’s sick. She refuses to even acknowledge the possibility. Instead, she scoffs, shaking her head as she moves past Dean, now being the one to lead the way through the wooded area.

“Definitely shark week.” Dean nods, to which Grace flips him off, her footsteps heavy as she quickens her pace, not sure if she’s aiming to lose them in the trees or simply express every emotion that's overwhelming her.

“Can’t say I blame the kid.” Sam comments, his eyes trailing over Grace’s frame before he turns his attention to the abandoned houses around them, an eerie feeling creeping up his spine as the miles of land around them appear barren and worn down.

“Yeah. So much for curb appeal.” Dean scoffs, finally catching up to Grace who isn’t so intent on ‘accidentally’ losing her brothers anymore. He slings an arm over her shoulder, but she shrugs him off, her glare unwavering as she looks over at him.

She sticks closer to Sam as they continue down the gravel path, annoyance rolling off of her body in thick waves that has Dean shaking his head as if he’d not been the one to agitate her. Twenty years with a little sister and he still doesn’t know how to not be a dick around women. Grace hates to think that she loses more and more hope in men every time her brothers get too comfortable with their precious masculinity.

When they come up to a specific house, she peels away from them both, her eyes squinting as she approaches the abandoned building cautiously. Neither Sam or Dean attempt to stop her, blindly following her onto the dying blades of grass, equally as curious. Sam kicks around at broken branches, but Dean hangs back, the EMF detector in hand, his fingers tapping at the small device incessantly.

“You got something?” Sam questions, walking closer to where Dean is standing, having abandoned the corner of the house where he’d initially been searching, coming up with nothing of importance to them or the case at hand.

“Yeah. The EMF’s no good.” Dean sighs, the machine buzzing in his hand. “I think that things still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing with all the readings.” His eyes glance toward the power lines, and both Grace and Sam follow the motion, looking at the wires that cross over their heads.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Sam agrees quietly, only looking down at Grace for a second as she comes to stand beside them, not finding anything important on her end of the house.

“Come on, let's go.” Dean nods towards the house, and both Grace and Sam follow. For an instant, Grace almost wishes that they had even the slightest bit of reluctance to be entering an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, but it's certainly not the creepiest of settings they’ve wandered into with less information than what they currently have. She’ll never understand how this became her life, but she’s too far into it to start asking questions now.

The house is somehow colder inside than it is outside, and she shivers as she steps over the threshold, pulling the leather jacket tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes sweep over the interior, noting the cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings, and insignificant piles of debris scattered around the baseboards.

“Looks like old man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger during his time.” Dean comments as they walk farther into the house, eyes scanning over the decor that’s still sitting on shelves and pinned to walls.

Sam follows Dean’s line of sight, looking straight at the reverse cross that Grace had already set her gaze on, her thoughts spiraling in every possible direction as she pulls on everything she’s ever learned about religion and its branches. “And after his time, too.”

“The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries, but the sigil of sulfur–” Grace starts, looking directly at Sam, who knows exactly where she’s going with that specific train of thought. He doesn’t hesitate before jumping in, their brains attempting to unscramble the puzzle in front of them in tandem. “–didn’t show up in San Francisco until the ‘60s.” He finished, eyebroward furrowed as they shared a single glance before Sam was lifting his phone, snapping a picture of the cross.

“This is why you never get laid.” Dean scoffs, never above making a dig at Sam about his lack of sexual activity, though he seems to bristle when he realizes he’s unintentionally looped Grace into the insult, and the slightest grimace of disgust that crosses his features at the insinuation of his little sister having random hookups is enough satisfaction for the woman, not feeling it necessary to call him a pig when he’s already regretting his choice words. “What about this one? You seen this one before?” Dean nods toward the opposite wall, stepping away from Sam and Grace who are still trying to memorize the image of the cross.

“No.” Grace shakes her head, stalking closer to where Dean is standing, his head tilted like he’s trying to remember something just out of reach. She shuffles closer to him out of instinct, their arms brushing at the newfound proximity, but if Dean thinks anything of it, he doesn’t comment on it. Sam comes up on the other side of Grace, his phone already raised as he snaps a picture of the symbol on the wall.

Dean keeps his eyes on the symbol, his head turning as he further analyzes it. “I have… somewhere.”

Sam reaches out inquisitively, brushing the pads of his fingers over the markings. “It’s paint.” He notes as he pulls his fingers away, glancing at the residue that comes off on his hand. “Seems pretty fresh, too.”

“I don’t know. I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but the cops might be right about this one.” Dean sighs, turning away from the symbol on the wall as he takes in everything else in sight, Sam trailing after him as he contemplates the truth in that statement. Grace doesn’t move, her head lulling on her shoulders as fights off a sniffle, suddenly congested despite the fresh air that streams into the house from beneath window sills and door frames.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Sam agrees.

Just as the three Winchesters let their guard down, a crash comes from somewhere in the house, instantaneously raising their guards. Sam and Dean take initiative, stalking through the house until they come upon a closed door where the sound seemed to have come from. Grace stands to the side, her eyes on both of her brothers who wait a single second before nodding at her, Dean reaching for his gun just as Grace reaches for the handle and pushes it open. She’s immediately blinded by a shining light, her eyes squinting as she quietly groans and backs away. Sam pulls her behind him, equally as frazzled but ever the protective older brother.

“God!” A man choirs, his heart undoubtedly racing as he glances at the siblings in front of him. “Ugh. Cut!” He calls, posture deflating as he regains his bearing, the flashlight lowering and no longer blinding Grace who thinks the black spots in her vision have doubled now. Still, she makes no indication that she’s not at her best, keeping her chin high and her shoulders square despite how Sam’s wide frame keeps her concealed. “Just a couple humans. What are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean throws back at them, his eyes watching Grace as she steps away from Sam, though he makes no indication that he sees the way she closes her eyes tightly and masks a wince of discomfort. His theory on her odd behavior being a symptom of shark week is dwindling by the minute, but he’s not brave enough to quiz her again, still highly aware of the fact that he has to be in a car with her later on, and he does not want a pissed off little sister on his ass in confined spaces.

“Um, we belong here. We’re professionals.” The man with the camera explains like its obvious, his hands waving at his sides as he addresses Dean.

“Professional what?”

“Paranormal investigators?” Grace notes how the frames of his glasses do little to compliment his features, the blue button down he wears only another factor that aids in her analysis of his character; and whether he’s going to be a royal pain in their ass throughout the duration of the case. She’s not always so quick to judge, but nerdy men who think they have a chance at social redemption have a thing or two in common. She scoffs quickly beneath her breath when he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a card with a little too much finesse to be authentic. Her analysis is quickly proven correct, his air of false confidence already annoying her as she watches the scene unfold, not willing to help her brothers out with this one. “Here you go. Take a look at that, boys.” He entirely ignores her presence, and she can only roll her eyes. Not all men are the same, she knows and appreciates that, but most of the ones she stumbles across in this line of work do not fall very far from the same misogynistic tree.

She glances down at the card in Dean’s hands, rolling her eyes as she reads over the blocky black text. “You got to be kidding me.” Dean comments, not an ounce of humor in his tone.

“Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spengler, hellhoundslair.com – You guys run that website.” Sam looks up at them, disbelief in his expression though Ed and Harry take it for what it's not, pride filling their features as their shoulders square and their chins rise the slightest inch.

“Yeah.” Ed hums.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re huge fans.” Dean mumbles as he passes them, Grace following behind him, eager to find something to look at that isnt the two men who couldn’t care less about her presence. For once, she’s thankful that they have no interest in her, not sure if she’d be able to handle the high levels of masculinity that twinge the air with something almost hostile.

“And, uh, we know who you guys are, too.” There’s a stiff beat of silence that elapses as Dean and Grace lock eyes, their gazes trailing toward Ed and Harry curiously, though cautiously.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam questions, being the only one to find his voice quick enough.

Ed clears his throat, “Amatures looking for ghosts and cheap thrills.” Grace rolls her eyes, opening a cupboard on the left of her body, not so entertained by the conversation anymore. She grips at the hinges for support when a wave of dizziness crashes over her, knuckles becoming white from the intensity of her grip as she forces herself steady and coherent.

“Yeah, so, if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here.” Harry not-so-subtly attempts to get the Winchesters to leave, his eyes trailing across Grace’s petite frame as she searches through the cabinets for something undisclosed. She’s entirely unaware, but Dean’s not, and his body quickly shields her from sight as he turns around to look at the men fully.

“Yeah? What do you got so far?” He picks up a camera, playing it cool despite the annoyance thats radiating off of him.

“Har, why don’t you tell them about EMF?” Ed looks entirely too smug, and when Sam questions it, Harry only beams with arrogance, his smirk deeply unsettling as he nods like he knows everything that the Winchesters couldn’t even dream of one day finding out. Grace really wants to punch him, but she’s aware of the fact that she’s more irritable than she usually is as she wipes at her nose with the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, only slightly apologetic about the action that he’s not at all aware of.

“Electromagnetic field.” He boasts, and Sam can only smile as he scratches at his head, enjoying this far too much. “Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector like this bad boy right here.” Harry pulls an EMF detector out of his duffle bag on the counter, and Grace can only roll her eyes as she moves through the space, standing beside Dean now as they watch Sam lead the conversation. “Woah, woah. It’s a 2.8 mG. It’s hot in here.”

“Wow.” Sam fakes interest, his lips curving downward into an impressed expression as he glances at Grace and Dean, amusement sparkling in his eyes that only his siblings can pick up on.

“Huh. So, have you guys ever really seen a ghost before?” Dean questions, hands vaguely gesturing around the room they’re occupying.

“Once.” Ed nods, “We were investigating this old house, and we saw a vase fall right off the table–”

“ –by itself.” Harry adds, though the statement is quickly undermined by Ed who snaps his gaze to meet his partners.

“We didn’t actually see it, but we heard it. And something like that, it– it changes you.” Grace wants to bash her head into the wall as she listens to Ed talk, his tone entirely too filled with pride for something so insignificant.

“I think I get the picture.” Dean nods, “We should go, let them get back to work.” Nothing has ever sounded better to Grace, the woman desperately craving to seek warmth from the Impala, hoping to get another few hours of rest as well, though that's not looking too promising anymore.

Grace Winchester is definitely sick. She grimaces at the aftertaste on her tongue as she walks down the street balancing three hot drinks. While Sam and Dean had gone off to gather more intel on the case, she’d sought out a local coffee shop, thinking it was time that they put a little something in their bodies other than dust and debris. She hadn’t expected to make a b-line for the bathroom as soon as she’d entered the quaint little shop, but she was glad her brothers weren’t around to hear her wretch over the toilet, wanting to keep her sudden illness far off their radars, although she knew she was off to a terrible start already. She sneezed for the third time in the last five minutes as she approached Dean and Sam on the corner, standing outside of the Impala waiting for her to return, though they look to be having a pretty in depth conversation as Sam grips a handful of papers and pamphlets in his hands. Grace is painfully aware of how her eyes are glassy and swollen, her cheeks flush and yet somehow also pale, but she hopes that they think nothing of it, willing to lie and say she’s simply cold if they start to ask too many questions.

“I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals.” She only hears the tail end of their conversation, and a pout forms on her lips instantaneously as she glances down at the cups of coffee in her hands for the both of them. Sam winces sympathetically, taking one from her as she steps up to him softly.

“Thanks, Gracie.” He smiles softly, but his eyes stay fixed on her face for longer than necessary, and she sighs as she anticipates his next question. “You okay?”

“Fine. Definitely inhaled too much dust.” She plays it off, though the excuse is timed perfectly with another soft sneeze, and for once Sam doesn’t question it any further, nodding as he offers a quiet bless you. She’s about to get into the car, but Sam stops her with a hand on her forearm, a smirk on his lips that tells her everything she needs to know.

“What the–” Dean startles easily when he turns the car on and a spanish song starts blaring through the speakers. Sam can only laugh, entirely unaware of how Grace flinches at the sudden noise, her eyes pinching shut as she attempts to focus on her breathing and not throw up for the second time in ten minutes.

She gets into the car when Sam opens the passenger door, handing Dean his coffee before she’s making herself comfortable in the back, her cup of hot chocolate held between her kneecaps as she curls up tight, reaching for the blanket that’s crumpled up in a heap toward the other end of the seat. She tunes out their conversation, already half asleep by the time Dean puts the gear in drive and peels away from the curb.

She’s passed out when Sam glances back at her, his eyes filled with concern. He reaches for the hot chocolate that’s still between her knees, pulling it away from her unconscious body before it has the chance to spill and burn her. He frowns when he realizes she’s hardly even taken a single sip from it, his eyes immediately trailing toward Dean who isn’t so subtly watching her through the rearview mirror. “She’s sick.” He notes.

“Knew that the second she started with her ‘womens bodies run hotter than mens’ bullshit.” Dean rolls his eyes, though there's a twinge of concern etched across his brows as he reaches for the stereo, turning the music down despite it already being practically inaudible. “Just– don’t say anything. Don’t need her slashing my tires.” He’s only partly joking, and Sam knows that, but still they both can’t help but dread the anxiety and fear that plagues Grace whenever she comes down with something. Guilt pools in Dean’s chest, his heart hammering as he questions how their lives turned out so shittily that his sister can’t even find it within herself to admit to being sick.

The next morning, Grace somehow feels worse than she did the day before, and it's evident in the way she winces with every move she makes, soft sneezing filling the backseat as she masks groans of discomfort every time her muscles tense. After the seventh sneeze, Sam can’t take it anymore, his eyes trailing over her frame that’s partly concealed by the thick blanket she has pulled up to her chin.

“I know that you’re sick.” He comments, not blind to the way Grace tenses with fear, her eyes wide and vulnerable as she shakes her head, attempting to deny the truth they’re all aware of.

“I’m not sick.” She denies the accusation, her voice wavering, though whether it's a result of the fear that grips at her belly and twists it into knots, or the throbbing ache in her throat that’s not quelled by any amount of honey or tea, not even Grace is certain. All that she knows is that it most definitely does not help her case, and that’s evident in the way Sam’s lips twitch with sympathy.

“Gracie–” He starts, only to cut himself off, shaking his head as Dean pulls up to the Hell House, seeing officers and squad members surrounding the abandoned foundation. “It’s okay if you are. Dean and I got this.”

“I’m not fucking sick, Sammy. Would you just get the fuck out of the car already?” There’s a clip in her tone that neither of her brothers have heard in a while, years even, and they can only sigh as they agree to her demands, straightening out their jackets before they push the Impala’s doors open and step out into the awaiting cold. Whoever said Texas was warm year round was most definitely lying through their teeth.

Despite the soreness in her muscles and the way her head begs for reprieve from the constant moving, Grace climbs out of the car after Sam, not even glancing back at her brothers for a loose game plan before she’s stalking up to one of the officers in the yard, an air of confidence surrounding her as she moves, though its not at all genuine, rather, fabricated from the deep-rooted fear that just won’t relent no matter how hard she pleads with herself to just breathe.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 1999

Grace Winchester pants for breath as she looks over at her father, her green eyes glassy and incoherent as she lays limp on damp grass. She can’t remember how she got here – sprawled out in Bobby’s yard, covered in blood and what she thinks is monster goo – nor how long she’s been here. John stands in front of the Impala, arms crossed over his chest as he seethes. It was meant to be an easy fight, a sure fire win, but when he’d handed Grace the gun, when he’d told her to shoot the thing without a single second to prepare herself, all hell broke loose for both Winchesters involved.

Grace’s chest throbs as she hyperventilates on the grass, not sure if the ache in her ribs is from the monster she’d been pit up against, or her fathers assault. It doesn’t matter why she hurts, it only matters that she can’t pull herself up and John is waiting; waiting for her to get up, to dust herself off, to put up her fists and prove that she’s worth keeping around. Grace can’t move though. She can’t even lift her hands off the ground, let alone raise her entire body. Her head is pounding, but it has been pounding for days at this point, her throat is raw, and her eyes sting so horrendously that she thinks it might just be better to keep them closed forever, but that’s not an option. It will never be an option so long as John Winchester expects obedience from her.

“Get up, girl.” He demands, and another rock is hurled in her direction. It thumps against her thigh and becomes yet another sensation for Grace to try and ignore as she continues to try and stay conscious. She knows she’s in even more trouble if she faints, but she hasn’t eaten in days, she’s thrown up every ounce of water John’s let her consume, and she’s practically numb after trying to hold her own against her own father just hours after being thrown against a wall by whatever monster she’d been tasked with ending. “I said, Get. Up.” John growls, pushing himself off of the Impala with impatience. Grace can barely even flinch as he comes closer, too close, and before she knows it, or even has time to prepare, his steel toed boots are crashing into her ribcage, and the pain that she’d been dealing with before suddenly triples.

Grace tries to stand, attempting to get her limbs working again, but just as she lifts her head up off of the rain-soaked grass, she’s throwing up all over herself and John’s shoes. It’s not just stomach acid and water anymore either, and she cringes as she feels blood drip from her lips onto the blades beside her head. She can only whimper when her father grabs her by the collar of her blood soaked t-shirt, pulling her up off the ground without a moment of hesitation. Nothing’s broken. She’d know if something was broken, but that doesn’t mean everythings right either. Her face is flush, her throat is on fire, her stomach churns and not just because she’s terrified. Three days ago, she’d come home from school sick. The flu had been going around her dusty, and very temporary, middle school, and it came as no surprise to anyone that she’d been unlucky enough to catch it. John hadn’t taken kindly to her complaining, though all Grace had done was cough into her elbow at dinner, but apparently that was enough to put her on his chopping block – not that she ever left the very top of that list. He’d dragged her out to South Dakota that very next day, something about a strange death and a monster to hunt slipping past his lips when he’d informed Dean of the case. It wasn’t often that John took Grace on a hunt without her brothers, but it wasn’t uncommon either, and with that logic in mind, neither Sam nor Dean questioned why John wanted only Grace with him, naively assuming it was to keep them away from the flu that had her practically bedridden and imobile until he’d dragged her out by her wrist.

The only thing keeping Grace on her feet is John’s hand around her neck, and when he lets go, when he finally relents and allows her to breathe, she crumbles to the ground, landing in the pile of sick that's already begun to cool. She whimpers, both in pain and disgust, and attempts to get to her feet again, but John’s hand on her shoulder keeps her where she is. She’s little, only thirteen years old and barely half the height of her youngest older brother, but that’s never stopped her father from treating her like an adult. She moans in pain when he backhands her, but headlights shine brightly in the distance, and Grace knows it's the end, at least for now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bobby rushes out of his car, his breath visible in the air as he races to where Grace is, her blood laced vomit smeared into her hair and her clothes tattered and stained as she succumbs to darkness, finally passing out. The last thing she can hear is John saying something about her being useless, needing to teach her that even a fever doesn’t exempt her from earning her keep in the family; his family.

Present

Grace tries not to panic as she crouches behind wilting shrubbery, the jacket around her shoulders zipped all the way up, though it barely does her any good as she continues to shiver. She has a fever, she doesn’t need a thermometer to tell, but she refuses to let Sam and Dean see this through on their own. She refuses to be a waste of space and air when there’s good to be done, evil to be ganked. It’s been years since she’s seen her father, but his words still echo through her head, and his irrational anger that only increased whenever she came down with something still flashes against her eyelids whenever she lets herself rest.

Her brothers still don’t know half of what she endured at the hands of John Winchester, but with the pieces of the puzzle that they have, Sam especially, they aren’t surprised by Grace’s reaction. None of their childhoods were ideal, none of them had white picket fences and lovey-dovey moments to steal, but Grace had the shortest stick there was to draw, and neither of her brothers can – or try to – deny it. It’s a miracle that she’s even here with them at all, searching for a man that put her through hell for the first eighteen years of her life, but she’s always known a thing or two about loyalty, and Dean hates to think that she’s faithful to a fault. She’ll get herself killed doing this job before she ever lets them go off without her.

“Guess the cops don’t want anymore kids screwing around in there.” Sam notes, watching as flashlights shine bright on the expanse of land surrounding them. For a moment, Grace is back in South Dakota, she’s sprawled out on rain-soaked grass and on the cusp of unconsciousness from a fever and physical injuries, but she forces the memory away, biting down on her bottom lip to focus on something other than the trauma circling through her mind.

“Yeah, but we still got to get in there.” Dean sighs, looking out past the branches, only to snap his gaze to the side when a twig breaks in the distance, leaves crunching beneath footsteps that approach as a pair. Grace follows his line of sigh, her hand falling onto Sam’s thigh as she steadies herself. She doesn’t make a big deal out of needing Sam’s support to find balance, and thankfully, neither does he. “I don’t believe it.” Dean scoffs, all three siblings watching as Ed and Harry stumble up the hill, headlamps shining bright against the night sky.

“I got an idea.” Dean mumbles before he rises off the ground just slightly, and while he’s preoccupied with whatever master plan he's thought up, Sam forces Grace closer to his chest, one arm looping around her waist to keep her close, knowing she’ll struggle.

“Sammy, would you quit it already!” Grace seethes lowly, her voice hushed and weak as she bats at his arm, trying not to panic at the sensation of being trapped; unable to defend herself against someone bigger than herself, stronger than she will ever be. “I told you I’m fine.”

“You’re burning up!” His voice is hushed, a whisper in the night, but still loud enough for Dean to acknowledge as he scoops out the stance of the officers on the front lawn, further curating his plan of distraction, though he’s still fully tuned into the conversation Sam is trying – and failing – to have with Grace. “Dad’s not here, Gracie! You don’t have to pretend like you're not sick!”

“You don’t know what your talking about, so why don’t you just shut up and let me do my fucking job.” She snaps, elbowing him in the gut, putting distance between herself and him. Neither brother notices how she grabs at her throat, or how she seems to heave for breath like she can’t physically draw anything into her lungs. They might be looking for John Winchester, but the effects of his torment and torture have never left Grace, not even for a second.

“Who you gonna call?” Dean bellows, tapping Grace’s side as he nods toward the house. The two officers posted outside bolted toward Ed and Harry, leaving a clear point of entry open for the Winchesters to strike. Grace can only shake her head at their stupidity, but doesn’t harp on how truly terrible they are at their job, thankful that it makes her life easier for once.

The siblings rush through the cover of darkness as the two county officers further chase Ed and Harry back down the hill. Grace gets into the house first, her heart stuttering in her chest as she forces her body to keep going, keep moving, keep being worth something to her brothers. She brushes strands of hair out of her face, sighing in annoyance when she finds that the reason her hair is loose and unruly in the first place is because the elastic band around her tresses has snapped. She looks to Dean when he hits her shoulder, ready to snap, to deny the fever that’s clouding her judgement, but all he does is offer her another hairtie, not saying a single word about how her breathing comes out wheezy, or how her face is flush and she looks somewhat green even beneath the cover nightfall they’ve chosen to sneak around beneath. She doesn’t ask why he even had a hair tie around his wrist to begin with, just takes it gratefully and redoes the ponytail that swings with every crane of her head. She feels better, just slightly, but with cold air hitting the back of her neck now, she hopes that some of the fog over her senses will fall away and become a problem for later on when there aren’t innocent lives to save and monsters to put an end to.

Sam hands Dean a shotgun first, before reaching into the duffle again to hand one to Grace. She barely bristles as she cocks the gun, the metal familiar beneath her fingertips despite how much she hates these weapons. She doesn’t waste a second, because they don’t have a second to waste, before she’s approaching the wall where the unknown symbol remains, Dean’s flashlight illuminating the dried paint as well as it can.

“Where have I seen that symbol before? It’s killing me.” He grumbles, but Sam isn’t waiting around for their brother to figure it out, sneaking up beside Dean and Grace before he’s making a move of his own, peeling away from the post they’ve created beside the wall.

“Come on. We don’t have much time.” He directs them farther into the house, his flashlight illuminating corners they don’t even touch as he searches for the basement. Grace sighs as she follows her brothers, but when Sam stops in front of the staircase, shining his flashlight down the steps, she’s quick to snake her way between them, outright refusing to be the first to descend the rickety stairs or the last last. Sam looks back at her, rolling his eyes, though he’s anything but surprised. She’s always been terrified of basements, and neither Dean nor Sam know why. It’s one of the only fears that Grace can’t explain either, though she’s sure something has happened over the course of her life that would warrant such a fear, but off the top of her head, she always comes up blank.

A sneeze catches both of her brothers off guard, their flashlights temporarily blinding her as they snap their gaze in her direction, expecting to see a shadow or another idiot kid, their shoulders squared and ready for anything that may come at them. She blushes sheepishly, apologizing meekly as she wipes at her nose with the sleeve of her jacket as a precaution. Growing up with two brothers that never learned how to actually be mature adults means she’s constantly worrying about having something on her face, and she knows neither of them would tell her if she did, though she holds a little bit of hope in Sammy now, but even he’s guilty of omitting the truth for a prank.

Dean’s the first to pull away from the interaction, his flashlight sweeping across the expanse of the basement before he dwells on a single shelf with mason jars of ominous liquid laid out in a neat row. He picks one up that has an off-putting orange tinge to it, a smirk curving his lips upward. “Hey, Sam, I dare you to take a swig of this.” He teases.

Grace rolls her eyes, staying silent, but Sam was never one to just ignore Dean’s wit. “The hell would I do that for?” He rebuttals, features unamused despite giving Dean exactly what he wanted in the first place, which was any kind of response at all.

“I double dare you.” Dean’s entirely too giddy about the situation, but that ends just as quickly as it began when there’s a scratching noise behind them. Instinctively, he reaches for Grace, tugging her further behind him as all three of them turn to address the sudden sound.

They stalk up to the cupboard where the sound came from with intent, shotguns raised and aimed at the cabinet as Sam ever so cautiously inches to pull it open. Grace braces herself for whatever they may face, but ultimately its not needed, rats scampering out of the cupboard the second the door is cracked open.

“I hate rats.” Dean groans, and Grace can only agree, inching backward as the rats run in all directions around her.

“You’d rather it was a ghost?” Sam questions, and Grace nods eagerly, a shriek escaping her lips when a rat tail flicks at her ankle.

“Yes.” Dean grimaces, flashlight still shining on the floor, illuminating the creatures that scamper around.

Grace is still inching backwards, away from the rats when something eerie creeps up her spine. All she has to follow is intuition, but she listens to her instincts without second thought, thankful that she did, because behind her is the shadow of a spirit, an axe held high above her head. Her gun goes off first, aimed directly at the ghost's chest. She doesn’t miss, she hardly ever misses, but even with the echoes of her brothers shooting at it too, the ghost disappears, hardly phased by the ambush.

“What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam bellows in surprise, his eyes flickering to Dean as Grace steps back into line with them, no longer wanting to be out in the open steps ahead of them. Her chest is racing, her lungs ache. She’s never been a fan of jumpscares, but it's not panic that fills her body with discomfort, it's the reminder that despite wanting to pretend like she’s at her best, there’s still a fever and nausea plaguing her.

“I don’t know! Come on, come on, come on!” Dean chirps with efficiency, all three siblings keeping their shotguns cocked as they peel away from the corner of the basement, rushing toward the stairs, hoping to escape the spirit to regroup the information that they have – which isn’t much of anything – but before they can climb the steps, the shelves are being smashed, and something knocks Grace on the ground, her head bashing against the banister as she falls.

She hardly manages to get to her feet before Dean’s grabbing the back of her jacket and pulling her with him. There’s blood dripping down her head, sticky and warm as it coats her eyebrow and drips farther down her face. She can only grimace as she runs, both hands on her shotgun ready to aim at whatever comes at them. Dean barrels through the front door still holding onto Grace’s jacket, and the both of them tumble to the ground as she loses her footing on the stairs and Dean trips over himself. They’re back up on their feet in seconds, Dean shoving past Harry and Ed who are stupidly holding up cameras that won’t do them any good.

They’re heading to the Impala, the cold air hitting Grace as she races past her brothers and toward the car, desperate for a minute to breathe without fearing for her life. She wipes at the blood dripping down her face, grimacing at the familiar feeling beneath her fingertips and the stain to her white long sleeved shirt but that's the least of her worries as the throbbing in her head only grows, and the wave of nausea intensifies. Somehow she gets into the car without losing any of the lunch she’d barely been able to stomach, and she’s practically dead to the world when Sam and Dean climb in, peeling away from the scene like a bat out of hell, the engine revving as Dean books it back to the motel.

“You okay back there, G?” Dean calls once they are a safe distance away, adrenaline no longer coursing through their veins so intently. Grace can’t say she’s thankful for that, because without the fight or flight instincts taking the reins, she’s aware of how tired she is.

“Peachy.” She chokes out, grimacing as the strain in her throat. “Give me that.” She leans forward, stealing a rag from the passenger seat that Sam had been using to polish his knives. She doesn’t care about what chemicals have touched the rag, or that it’s been trampled on by both her shoes and Sam’s. All she wants is for the blood to stop pouring down her face, not sure how much more she can take before she’s thrown head first into a panic attack that neither of her brothers should need to deal with. “Fucking hell.” She winces, pressing the rag to the cut on her temple. It’s not nearly deep enough for stitches, she’s beyond grateful for that, but it's still deep enough to be a pain in the ass as she puts pressure on the wound. “My brain better not have a fucking splinter.”

Grace moans as she slumps against the wall in the bathroom, the porcelain of the toilet seat cold beneath her cheek as he heaves over the bowl once more. She’s been bent over the toilet for the last twelve minutes, not that she was counting, throwing up everything that she’d consumed that day. Her head is pounding, and tears blur in her vision as the breakdown she’d been desperately trying to ignore overcomes her in a moment of weakness. She bashes her fist against the wall, but even the pain in her fingers can’t distract her from the panic attack that’s climbing up her throat. A dry sob falls off her lips, tears falling down her cheeks, mixing with the blood that still smeared across her face.

A knock on the door sends her scrambling back against the wall, swallowing the bile that’s raising in her throat as she stares at the door with wide, terrified eyes. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, or better yet, who she’s expecting, but when Dean jiggles the handle, finding it unlocked, she can only sob in terror that’s wildly misplaced. He has a cup of hot tea in his hands, but quickly he sets it on the sink, crouching in front of Grace who shrinks away from him in fear, her breathes wheezy and shallow as she shakes her head, fingers tangling into her hair as she pulls and pulls at her tangled locks.

“No! No, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m fine! I promise!” She mumbles, eyes pleading with Dean to believe her, to spare her anymore pain. She’s not seeing Dean, not in the slightest. The fevers made her delirious, the panic’s turned reality to old memories. She’s in a bathroom, a crappy motel bathroom, but its not the one she shares alone with her brothers. It’s one that her father rented.

West Reading, Pennsylvania. 1997

Grace heaves over the toilet bowl, coughing and spluttering as she expells everything she had at lunch that day. John isn’t with them, but he’s coming back soon, Dean told her as much when she came home early with a fever. It’s not the first time she’s gotten sick at school, not the first time she’s picked up a virus or a bug from hanging around kids her own age. It’s not her fault, not really. All of her classmates get the vaccines and the boosters, all of her classmates are exposed to illness and viruses year round as they socialize and develop their personalities based on the small towns they occupy. Grace has never had the luxury. Grace isn’t even sure she’s ever had the flu shot.

The last time she was sick, John had told her not to let it happen again. That she was already weak enough without a fever and vomiting; that she was no good to any of them if she was hunched over a toilet. He’d told her the only reason he keeps her around at all is to have an extra set of hands, and what good are her hands if she can’t even lift her head up. Grace knows the kids at her school don’t have to worry about their father killing them if they come home with a cough, but she can’t help but think that this may be the reason she dies. She doesn’t want to believe that John will kill her over a stomach bug, but she can’t deny the possibility. Not when he’s hurt her for less. Not when he told her the next time she gets sick, they’ll be a bullet between her eyes before she can even plead for her life.

Her fingers tighten around the seat of the toilet as she retches, the motel door slamming as John comes back. She knows it's him because of the way his boots echo despite the carpeted floors. She knows its him because Dean is sputtering excuses, practically begging John to take him to the diner, claiming he needs a beer. Dean’s not even old enough to drink, Sam’s not even old enough to drive, and Grace is definitely not old enough to be panicking over whether this is the last thing she’ll ever do; throw up in a shitty motel bathroom.

The bathroom door wasn’t locked. It’s never locked. Not when Grace uses it at least. She wishes she locked it when the door knob slams into the wall, almost hard enough to dent it, but it's like John’s showing restraint, not wanting to be questioned at check out if somebody happens to notice the damage before he can peel away from the parking lot. She whimpers, eyes staring straight back at her father who looms over her like a predator. Her friends at school don’t see their dad’s as the enemy. Well, Carrie does, but that’s only because he took away her favorite body spray after her brother tried to start a fire after learning about chemicals in his high school science class. Grace knows this isn’t normal. She understands that now. But understanding something doesn’t mean that it’ll stop, only that it becomes a best kept secret.

“What the hell did I tell you, girl!” John bellows, backhanding her without remorse. Her head slams into the wall, and she starts to vomit again, but this time it falls onto her chest, and she whimpers in humiliation as she stares up at her father with glassy eyes. Sam and Dean stand in the center of the room between the two beds that all four of them share. Dean watches silently, his hand on Sam’s wrist keeping him from getting between John and Grace. Nothing good happens when they do that; when they protect her, but still Sammy always tries anyways.

John doesn’t say anything else as he grabs a fistful of Grace’s hair, pulling her in close to the toilet that she hasn’t had the chance to flush. She doesn’t know where this is going, doesn’t know what to brace herself for, but when her father forces her head into the toilet, into the contaminated water that’s not just water anymore, she desperately tries to get herself free. Dean winces as he watches, Sam flinches. There’s nothing they can do. If they so much as ask him to stop, he’ll only go on longer. If Sam tries to get in the middle, tries to help his baby sister that’s drowning in her own sick, John’ll only hit her harder. They’re trapped. Forced to watch as their father that devotes his life to killing monsters, turns into one any time his youngest child so much as breathes too loud.

The toilet flushes with Grace’s head still in the bowl, her hair wet now as it falls into the water. John only relents when Grace can’t struggle anymore, but he doesn’t give her the chance to catch her breath before he’s pulling her to her feet by the handful of hair that he has. She knows where this is going. Sam and Dean know where this is going. Both brothers watch as their little sister is dragged to the closet, her body, already weak and barely functioning, thrown into it with a venomous force. She’s coughing up water, desperately wiping at her face that is covered in her own sick. She doesn’t have the strength to plead with John, but Dean knows that she wants to; that she would’ve had there not been water in her lungs she’s continuously coughing up. The door slams and the lock clicks, and it's silent for a handful of minutes before John nods toward the door, suddenly interested in that beer Dean suggested.

“Wh-What if she gets sick again? S-She’ll– Dad, she could die if she chokes on it.” Sam glances back at the closet as John demands that he steps outside and comes with them. He knows his little sister is in a ball on the floor, panicking and probably puking, but he knows if he reaches for the handle, if he opens the door now, John’ll only shove Grace right back in and force him outside and on a hunt. He knows that if either he or Dean open that closet before at least a handful of hours have elapsed, it’ll only be worse for Grace.

“You disobeying me, boy?” John narrows his eyes, Dean silently pleading with Sam to drop the subject and get moving, knowing the quicker they leave, the quicker they grab dinner and drinks at the local diner, the quicker they’ll be able to come back and let Grace out. John never has any objections when they let her out after they’ve come back from somewhere. They just need to get through the hour or so they’ll be away first.

“No, sir.” Sam sighs, glancing at the closet one last time before he’s following after his brother, fear pooling in his belly as he tries not to think about what’s happening in the closet, or if his little sister will still be alive when they come back.

Present

“Hey, hey. Hey, Gracie girl.” Dean’s tone is unbelievably soft as he steps closer to his sister, his hands extended toward her, though he doesn’t think he’s really seeing him at all. Her face is flush, her eyes are glassy and rimmed red, swollen from crying and the minutes she’s spent hunched over the toilet. He can still remember that night in Pennsylvania. He can still remember how John held her head in the toilet for what felt like hours, and his heart hammers with guilt for not being able to protect her then, but he can do something about it now, even if it is years too late. “You’re okay. Gonna be sick again?” He’s always been soft with her, always been kind and gentle, but it only shows itself in moments like these. Moments when they’re not hunters, just siblings that have only ever had each other to look out for and count on. Grace might be twenty, she might not be this little girl who doesn’t know how to defend herself anymore, but she’s still his baby sister. She’s still the only piece of Mary that he and Sammy have left.

Grace shakes her head, swallowing thickly. She’s out of it, the fever she’s been ignoring finally getting the best of her. She whimpers when he steps closer, when he brushes hair out of her face that’s damp from the pearls of sweat that drip down her neck. She thinks he’s going for her hair, thinks he’s going to pull her up to her feet and force her into a closet, and she whimpers, flinching away. Dean’s strong, he always has been, he doesn’t care to show emotion, doesn’t care to express his feelings, but he can’t help the frown the pulls at his lips as he finally realizes why his sisters so scared right now. It’s not that he forgot, he could never forget, but when it was all happening, when John was still around and Grace hadn’t yet bailed to find peace with Sam at Stanford, he’d been partly blinded by his fathers dysfunctional style of discipline. He’d always known that the way John treated Grace was abusive, he wasn’t that easily manipulated, but until now, until John wasn’t here to chastise and terrorize her anymore, he’d never realized just how much it had all affected her, and unfortunately, he’s no longer blinded by the false hope that when John pulled her away form them for solo hunts, he wasn’t doing his absolute worse.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed then.” He helps her to her feet, guiding her out of the bathroom, trying not to wince when her head falls onto his shoulder and he can feel the heat radiating off of her forehead. She’s burning up, and he can only sympathize. She’s always been the one to catch an illness, and although he was only six when Mary died, he vaguely remembers how his mother would always fret over her health. John used to worry too, used to tell the boys to wash their hands and never touch her face, always tell them that because she was born so early, her little body couldn’t fight illnesses as well as theirs. He doesn’t know when his father stopped caring. Doesn’t know when Grace became the person he hates most, when she was once his favorite child, but he hates it. He hates that his sister is the sweetest, kindnessest, most trusting and loving person he knows, and their father could never recognize that. He hates that after nineteen years of torture and pain, Grace still has her heart. She’s one of the best damn hunters Dean has ever crossed paths with, but at the end of the day, she’s just a woman with a whole lot of love to give, and somehow she always ends up hurt.

“I need– I need to h-help. Need to– to be worth keeping ‘round.” She wheezes, allowing Dean to lay her down in his bed. He’s a real bitch whenever they get into their motel rooms, always claiming a bed to himself, never willing to share. Usually that means Sam and Grace are bunked together, or on the rare hunts when they can splurge for a bigger room, Sam takes the couch. Grace barely even recognizes that she’s being laid down in Dean’s bed, her fever taking the reins of her consciousness despite how hard she’s trying to fight it.

“You’re worth keeping around, Gracie girl.” That nickname, something so soft, so sweet and slightly abnormal, isn’t one that she hears a lot, but in moments like this, moments when she’s just Dean’s baby sister and not a hunter with near perfect aim, it slips out. “Just take these, and get some sleep, yeah? Sammy and I’ll finish this thing up. We just need you resting.”

He hands her three different pills, and Grace takes them without fuss, not coherent enough to really fight him anyway. She’s only getting hotter by the second, her complexion pale and gauntly as she sinks into the mattress. She’s asleep within seconds, and Sam can only shake his head.

“What are we doing man? Dragging her back into this– I mean, I know she can handle this. The hunts, the monsters… but Dean, you didn’t see her when she turned up to my place at Stanford. She barely left her room for the first month, terrified that Dad would find her, drag her back to some crappy motel and beat the shit out of her for trying to leave. Are we really just going to walk her back into his life?” Sam pulls a hand down her face, and for a moment Dean falters, torn between wanting to find out what happened to their father, and keeping Grace far from him. They don’t have time to sit here and discuss the trauma that still affects their sister who isn’t so far off from still being a kid.

“It’ll be different this time.” Is all Dean says before he’s out the door, and Sam can only follow him, stealing one last glance at Grace before he’s closing the motel door, desperately hoping that Dean’s right, that this time really is different.

It's hours later when they return, and despite expecting to see Grace still asleep in bed, she’s sitting up against the wall, a takeaway container of chicken tenders in her lap. The sun is just beginning to rise again, though the sky is unwilling to let light fan across the endless expanse just yet.

“Hey.” She greets them, holding the box out for Dean, grinning when he doesn’t hesitate to grab a fry and throw it into his mouth.

“Hey. You look better.” Sam comments, already starting to pack his shit up, both him and Dean eager to get the hell out of town and hit the road to somewhere new.

“Took a nap, a shower, went out for some actual meds… and there’s nothing chicken fingers can’t fix. Had to bribe the chef at the dinner to make me some.” She’d be lying if she said her head didn’t still throb, but everything else seems to have faded now that she’s medicated, rested, and actually eating something that’s not a twix bar Dean lifted from a gas station.

“Of course you did.” Dean rolls his eyes, reaching for another fry before he’s scrambling to get his own shit together, not that any of them brought much inside, but there’s still precious items they wouldn't’ dream of just abandoning scattered around the room. “Everything’s good. Dude was a freaking Tulpa.”

Grace nods, but there’s an edge in her eyes that tells Dean he’s on his sister's chopping block. “Next time you leave me here to finish a hunt, I’ll cut your balls off.”

“What were you gonna do, puke on the spirits' feet?” Dean can only laugh when a chicken finger is thrown at his head, Grace huffing as she stands to start packing her own shit, though she’s considerably less disorganized than her brothers who are scrounging around every corner of the room for things.

“Asshole.” Grace mutters beneath her breath, though she’s just glad the world has finally stopped spinning.

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