#and kill the headless horseman. sarah he's all yours

[slashingdisneypasta]

Fuck, Marry, Kill?

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[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Three

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room

The sounds of the festive music rise up from the first floor as Sam unpacks his bags. He carefully arranges his books, then empties his medical case, making sure that all his instruments survived the trip unharmed.

There’s a knock at the door, and Sam looks up to find the face of the young woman from the porch. He watches as she sets a pitcher of water on his washstand, her cheeks blushed pink.

“Thank you.” Sam offers her a kind word. “Please tell Mr. Van Tassel we’ll be down in a moment.” “I will, sir.” She bows her head, moving toward the door. She stops for a moment, looking as if she’s summoning all her courage. “Thank God you are here!” Sam watches her leave, surprised by her emotion. This place is full of the unexpected.

Dean’s room is next to his, they’re tucked away into guest bedrooms on the third floor. There’s a thought fluttering in the recesses of his brain, he wonders where you sleep. If you’ll be near and if he’ll get a chance to speak with you again.

There’s a rap at the door and Dean saunters in, looking around, seemingly displeased. “Your room is larger than mine.”

Van Tassel House - Parlor

The Winchesters make their way downstairs, stopping in the hall.

“Did you see the reaction when we announced the reason we’re here?” Dean cocks an eyebrow.

“They’re not even attempting subtlety.” Sam shrugs, listening to the raised voices.

“What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?” Dean whispers, looking behind him, ensuring their privacy. They’re just outside the parlor, collecting themselves before they meet with the village council.

“I have no idea.” Sam raises his brow.

“All the way from New York!”

The voices can be heard from inside the room, the brothers falling silent to listen.

“A waste of time!”

“What can they do for us?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” comes the familiar tone of Baltus Van Tassel, apparently the only voice of reason.

“Time to find out,” Sam nods, making his way into the room.

“Excellent! Come in!” Baltus motions to Sam and Dean when he spots them in the doorway.

Lady Van Tassel is pouring drinks and the servant girl who was in Sam’s room, Sarah, is placing a pipe in its cradle next to Baltus.

As Sarah goes to leave the room she walks past the man she was on the porch with when they arrived. He’s already introduced himself as Doctor Lancaster. He trails his hand against her buttocks, believing that he’s acting stealthily, but Lady Van Tassel catches the touch, as do the Winchesters.

The music from the party is faintly audible, and all five men in the room are sporting sour expressions, save for Balthus.

Balthus turns to his wife, patting her arm. “Leave us, my dear. Please check on Y/N.” Sam looks to Dean, who cocks his head.

“I’m Constable Dean Winchester,” Dean instroces him with a sweep of his hand. “This is my brother, Constable Sam Winchester.”

“So,” Sam begins, looking around the room. “Three persons murdered. First, Peter Van Garrett and his son Dirk Van Garrett, both of them strong capable men, found together, decapitated. A week later, the Widow Winship, also decapitated. We will need to ask you many questions, but first let me ask - is anyone suspected?”

Baltus looks at Sam as if he’s speaking another language. “I don’t understand you.”

Dean clears his throat and Sam glances to his brother. “I said, is any one person suspect in these acts?” The men in the room stir in their seats looking at each other as if to say I told you so.

“Constables, how much have your superiors explained to you?” Baltus asks.

Dean leans forward, “Only that the three were slain in open ground and their heads found severed from their bodies.”

“The heads were not found severed,” Reverend Steenwyck interjects. “The heads were not found at all.”

“The heads are gone?” Sam clarifies, surprised by this new detail.

Hardenbrook, the town notary, stomps his foot, getting the attention of the Constables. His voice is broken as he explains. “They were taken. Taken by the Headless Horseman. Taken back to hell.”

Sam pauses, starting to speak, then stopping as he looks to his brother. “Pardon me?”

“Perhaps you both should sit down.” Baltus gestures to the open spots on the sofa. He methodically pours the Constables glasses of whiskey, taking his pipe in hand as he begins his tale.

“The Horseman was a Hessian mercenary, sent to our shores by German princes to keep Americans under the yoke of England. But unlike his compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came for love of carnage and he was not like the others…” “He rode a giant black steed named Daredevil. He was infamous for taking his horse hard into battle… chopping off heads at full gallop. To look upon him made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to sharp points, to add to the ferocity of his appearance.” “This butcher did not meet his final end till the winter of seventy-nine. It was not far from here in our Western Woods. He happened upon two young girls gathering firewood. The girls stood frozen in fear but one managed to make enough noise to alert the soldier’s encamped nearby to his presence. The soldiers and the Hessian battled, steel against steel, head’s rolling. One of the soldiers managed a debilitating blow. They cut off his head with his own sword. To this day, the Western Woods is a haunted place where brave men will not venture, for what was planted in the ground that day was a seed of evil. And so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian has awoken, he is on a rampage, cutting off heads where he finds them.” Sam sits back, shakes off the reverie of the tale. Dean takes a gulp from his glass, mouth forming a tight line as he holds back a chuckle.

“Are you…” Sam starts looking from one man to the next. “Are you saying this is what you believe?” “Seeing is believing!” Hardenbrook thrusts his finger into the air, his body shaking. Baltus places a hand on his shoulder to calm him.  

Doctor Lancaster raises his brow. “No one knows why the Hessian has chosen this time to return from the grave.” “Satan has called forth one of his own,” Reverend Steenwyck chimes in. He’s standing next to a side table and picks up the hefty Van Tassel family bible. “They tell me you have brought books Constable Winchester, and trappings of scientific investigation. This is the only book I recommend you study.” He drops the Bible on the table in front of Dean who gingerly lifts the front cover -- revealing a page covered with ink. Writing which he will remember to look at later -- then he snaps out of all this nonsense. “Reverend Steenwyck,” Dean smiles good-naturedly, patting his own chest. “Gentlemen,  murder needs no ghost come from the grave. Which of you have laid eyes on this Headless Horsemen?” “Others have,” Hardenbrook points a shaky finger toward them. “Many others.” Sam allows himself a skeptical smirk. “You will see him too if he comes again. The men of the village are posted to watch for him.” Baltus assures the constables. “With due respect,” Sam chuckles. “We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.” “You are a long way from New York, sir,” sighs Baltus who seems to be losing steam. “A century at least. The assassin is a man of flesh and blood, and we will discover him.” Sam’s promise short, no one is the room appears convinced.

“How do you propose to do so?” the Reverend persists, indignant. “By discovering his reason. It is what we call the motive," Dean explains.

Sam’s nodding in agreement. “This mystery will not resist investigation by the Winchesters.” Van Tassel House - Y/N’s Room

You’re sitting in front of your vanity mirror. Lady Van Tassel is brushing your hair, counting the strokes. This is something your mother used to do for you, and it’s a comfort to have your stepmother perform the same task. “I must admit, I am a bit disappointed.” You stare into the mirror. “Our first visitors from New York and their time here is to be occupied by nothing but murder and mayhem.”

“I’m sure there will be time for conversation regarding other topics.” The two of you lock eyes in the mirror, grinning for a moment before there’s a soft knock at the door and Lady Van Tassel gives you the hairbrush, going to answer it. She opens the door to Sarah. “That constable, the tall one, he wants the Bible, mum.”

“Bible?” Lady Van Tassel asks, face blank. “I’ll bring it to him.” You take the opportunity that presents itself. Sarah dips a curtsy and goes. Lady Van Tassel gives you a friendly raised eyebrow. “What? I’m curious.”

“Curiosity can be dangerous.” She warns, her tone still playful. “Don’t let your father catch you in his room.”

“I won’t.”

Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room Sam is surrounded by his books, including his father’s journal, none of which are helping, there has been no early breakthrough.

There are two soft knocks on the door but he doesn’t look up, focused on the text in front of him. “Yes, come in.” You inch into the room, carrying the family bible. He’s engrossed in whatever he’s reading, this handsome stranger here to save the village, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. He is even more handsome now that you have time to give him the inspection he deserves.

“Thank you, just leave it on the reading stand,” he instructs and you set the bible down as directed. “That will be all - no, tell me about that big brute who seems to be Miss Y/N's-”

Sam glances up, seeing you and has a physical reaction. His feet crash to the floor as he sits up quickly, knocking papers to the floor as his cheeks flush pink. “Forgive me, I-I asked Sarah to bring me…”

“So your clever books have failed and you turn to the bible after all,” you smile, watching as he stands up, taking stock of his large frame and broad shoulders. He scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “I see we are talked about downstairs.” “In passing only. We have many things to talk about even in this backward place,” you volley back, letting your eyes linger long enough to indicate interest. “I am sorry,” Sam places a hand over his heart. “Please excuse my manners. I am not used to-”

“Female company?” you finish.   “I was going to say the niceties of society.” He chuckles, flustered but seemingly happy at your presence, a smile plastered across his face. “How can you avoid society in New York? How I should love the opera and theaters and to go dancing. Is it wonderful?” you ask, unable to hide your unbridled enthusiasm. You’ve always craved to be part of the modern world. “Perhaps.” There is a sadness in his smile. “If one has a someone to enjoy it with.”

“Surely there are things to do on one’s own,” you ponder. “The art museum as an example?” “If you’re so inclined,” Sam agrees, nodding softly. “I would have thought you more well versed, do you have nothing to teach me?” There’s a deliberate playfulness in your question and his eyebrows shoot up as the realization hits him.

But he ignores your implications like the good gentleman that he is. “Perhaps I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, do you believe the Van Garretts and the Widow Winship were murdered by a headless horseman?”

You’re unable to resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Not everyone here believes it is the Horseman.”

He seems to like that response, his sparkling eyes falling over your body, before recovering. “Good.”

“Some say it is the witch of the Western Woods who has made a pact with Lucifer,” you offer matter-of-factly. Sam sighs, shaking his head. “There are no witches or galloping ghosts either! Is everyone in this village in thrall to superstition?”

“Why are you so frightened of magic Constable Winchester? Not all magic is black. There are ancient truths in these woods which have been forgotten in your city parks.” “If they are truths they are not magic.” His expression falls serious.

“You are foolish.” You’ve got more argument in you, not ready to leave him just yet. “When there is a fever in the house, it is well known that willow-herb roots and a crow's foot must be boiled in the milk of a pure white goat with special charms uttered over the fire and the fever abates,” you counter, roused by his willingness to debate you. “Next time try the herbs without the rest.” He glances at the clock, seeing the time and shifts uncomfortably. “Now I must ask you to excuse me, it’s very late and I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be in my room at such an hour.” “I will gladly take my leave. I should not have interrupted our town's savior. Good night. And as to your first question, that big brute you were asking about has proposed to me.” You cross your arms over your chest. Sam’s face stiffens, Adam's apple bobbing. “I am happy for you.” “Proposed to me several times,” you follow up with a faint smile, watching as he processes this ambiguous statement. You turn on your heels, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you. He watches you go, staring at the door after it’s closed. He never expected a woman as beautiful as you to be hidden away in this quiet little village. And he certainly didn’t expect your quick tongue and forceful opinions. It’s been a long time since someone of the fairer sex has piqued his interest.

He moves on to the business of the Bible, opening the front cover. On the endpaper is a family tree going back a hundred years in various faded inks and handwriting.

He studies this new information. You were born in 1777 to Baltus's first wife who died in 1797. It appears that Lady Van Tassel is Baltus’s second wife. He continues reading, coming to something even more interesting. The family tree has a Van Garrett in it, the husband of Baltus’s father’s sister.

“Van Garrett,” he mutters, walking over and pounding a fist on the wall to the next room. “Dean!”

There’s a faint sound coming from somewhere in the distance, he listens intently but there’s nothing more. The Fields The streets are empty. There’s nary a sound, except a sinister rumbling in the distance.

Jonathan Masbath looks out from the wooden bunker, feeling the rumble of the ground beneath his feet. The torches burn bright along the forest line. Several deer stampede out from the forest and across the field. Jonathan watches, wide-eyed as a horrible, silent stillness falls over the field. A thick fog is creeping from out of the woods, rolling outward, overtaking each torch as the mist snakes up snuffing out the flames one by one, darkness descending along the forest edge.   He picks up his rifle, the sight trained along the treeline. “Come out, devil...come,” he whispers, hands shaking.

He senses the devil before he sees him, his rifle firing at nothing as he takes off in the opposite direction on foot. Fleeing across the field to the opposite edge, he sprints through the forest glancing back in terror, thunderous hoofbeats behind him.

Well behind him he gets a glimpse of a huge black horse that’s gone almost before he can be sure he saw it. He pushes forward through thorny bushes, jagged branches catching his skin and bloodying his clothes.

He bursts forward from the brier patch, tumbling out onto a trail. The hooves of the black horse rip through the underbrush, hoofbeats deafening . A spur digs into the snorting steed's already bleeding flank. The pursuer's gloved hand draws a sword, blade blazing in the moonlight. On the trail, Jonathan runs onward. The shrill whistle of a sword swing swooshing through the night as the steed gallops past. Jonathan is still running when his head lolls back at an impossible angle and tumbles off his shoulders as his headless body hits the dirt.

[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Eleven

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room Sam awakes, rolling over to find Lady Van Tassel at his bedside with food and drink. He shifts, pulling the covers up over his waist, still naked from the night before.

“You slept like the dead,” she affirms mouth pinched in a tight expression. “You are too kind to me.” Sam clears his throat, sitting up. “I do not look to be served by the lady of the house.” She smiles and shrugs. “Nor would you be but that the servant girl has vanished.” “Sarah?” Sam confirms, thinking about how pleased she was to have him here, to solve this dark mystery. “Run away, like many more people are leaving, in fear, without ceremony.” Lady Van Tassel waves her hand as if swatting at wafting annoyance. “Where is Y/N?” Sam asks, immediately regretting the question. He can still smell you on the bedclothes. “She watched over you till dawn, I dare say.” Her eyes narrow, something playful sparkling. “Now it is her turn to sleep and I am here. I doubt, however, that I will provide the same level of care my stepdaughter has.”

“I am grateful.” Sam ignores her implication.

“I’ll leave you to dress, constable.” She leaves the room as Young Masbath enters. “I am fit for another day.” Sam’s careful to keep the sheets around his waist as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Get my brother.” “I’m already here.” Dean saunters through the door, tugging his sleeves into place.

“You’re awake early,” Sam comments, pulling on his trousers.

“There wasn’t much sleep to be had while Y/N was providing you such vigorous care.” Dean grimaces and Sam nearly chokes on his own spit.

“The walls are thin?” Sam grins despite the blush rising in his cheeks.

“Thin enough to know she took great care of you...twice.” Dean remains unamused.

“Miss Van Tassell tended to me when I had the flu.” Young Masbath adds, looking from Sam to Dean. “She is a gifted caregiver.”

Dean chuckles, placing a hand on Young Masbath’s shoulder. “I have no doubt she is.���

“Where are we going?” “To the Notary's office,” Sam offers and Dean nods in agreement. “Why?” Young Masbath asks. “Because that is where I expect to find deposited...the last will and testament of the elder Van Garrett,” Sam explains, looking at his brother. Dean nods at him. “You’ve thought of something.”

“Of something Young Masbath said.” Sam gestures to the boy. “The Widow Winship came many a day with a basket of eggs to Van Garrett, who I understand had hens to spare. I begin to see. It was Van Garrett's child that the widow was carrying.” “I heard someone leaving last night,” Young Masbath interjects. “Looked like they were headed into town, but I lost them in the woods.” “You didn't see who?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. “All I saw was their lantern.” The brothers ponder this new information, troubled, as Young Masbath brings Sam a shirt. “The Horseman does the killing but, I believe, at the bidding of a mortal, someone of flesh and blood.” Sam pulls the shirt over his head. “What makes you say that?” Masbath looks at Sam like he’s insane. “The witch,” Dean confirms.

“Indeed, the crone, when I happened upon her corpse, she lay in a pool of blood. Blood poured hard from her neck. The wound was not cauterized.” “Then, she was not killed by the Hessian. Someone tried to make it seem so.” The boy is getting it now. “Perhaps it was the settling of a private score,” Dean offers.

“That would make more sense,” Sam agrees, gathering his things. “The Horseman cuts heads to a different drum. The crone pointed us to what drives the Hessian - his skull has been stolen from his grave. The person who stole it has power over the Hessian. Here is why the Headless One has returned through the gate of the Tree of the Dead. He chops heads until his own is restored to him.”

“But what person?” Young Masbath looks from Sam to Dean. Dean is silent for a moment then chuckles, watching the knowing grin on his brother's face. “What person has something to gain from all three murders?”

Town Square - Church

Wagons, horses and townspeople swarm. A crowd empties the town's general store. Provisions are passed along, man to man, and loaded onto wheelbarrows. Sam, Dean and Young Masbath ride, passing by many angry faces who leer up at them. All up and down the long straight road, homeowners board up windows with lumber. The three stop, tying their horses in front of the "NOTARY." Sam looks down the road, people are headed to the church.

“Sanctuary.” Sam looks to Dean. “Or, so they hope.”

“The hysteria will only build from here.” Dean claps a hand on Young Masbath’s shoulder. People carry supplies into the church, within the bordering wrought iron fence. Others work to build and erect massive wooden crosses. In the crowd here, Reverend Steenwyck spots the constables and Young Masbath, pushes past people, shouting... “There they are! There!” The reverend hollers. People begin to pay attention to Steenwyck as he climbs atop a crate, pointing toward the Winchesters. “The desecrators of Christian burial! Twice they met the Horseman, and kept their heads! How is it so?” Turning toward the notary Sam tries to ignore the scene before him and heads inside, as a clod of earth hits him on the shoulder. In the churchyard, Steenwyck continues his rant. “The Devil protects his own!” Inside they find themselves in a small, untidy room with piles of dusty documents in great disorder. The Notary Hardenbrook looks at Sam with his one good eye. Young Masbath stands nearer to Dean. “I take it, Mr. Hardenbrook, that wills and testaments are held here on public record?” Sam inquires, pulling off his riding gloves one at a time. Hardenbrook is in a funk, trying to act calm. He knows what they’ve come for and passes a document across the desk. “I believe this is what you wish to see. Take it and go!” Sam and Dean lean in,  scanning the will of Peter Van Garrett. “Van Garrett Senior left his estate to his next of kin, that is to say, to his only son. However, the son was also murdered.” Hardenbrook explains. “The next of kin after the son would be the eldest of the line from Van Garrett's father's sister...none other than the Baltus Van Tassel: something else no one thought to mention?” Sam’s eyes flick up to the man, ignoring Dean shifting beside him. “Well, you have found your way to it, and I hope you will leave now before my windows are broken.”

The crowd murmurs outside like angry bees. Sam flourishes the will in his hand. “My brother is not ready to leave,” Dean smirks widening his stance. Hardenbrook starts moaning and wringing his hands. “A brick through your window is not what puts you in terror, Hardenbrook - there is something else. I saw your fear, and Steenwyck's, and the doctor's when you met at Philipse's house... Philipse paid with his head, and you fear for your own,” Sam surmises much to the notary’s horror. “Yes, it's true!” Hardenbrook shouts. “But we did not know it was a murdering plot when we were drawn in!” Dean steps forward. “Drawn in by whom?!” “Mercy upon me!” Hardenbrook exclaims, clasping his hands. “We meant no harm to come to her!” “No harm to come to whom?” Sam leans in.

“But the marriage made her next of kin…” Hardenbrook babbles on as Sam is losing his patience. “Made who next of kin to whom?!” Sam shouts. “You’ve yet to offer any real answer.” “He means old Van Garrett secretly married the Widow Winship.” Young Masbath is the one to clarify. “Of course!” Sam is starting to catch on. “And Van Garrett made a new will, leaving everything to her and his unborn child... So she stood between Baltus and the legacy! Where is the will?” Hardenbrook is beginning to panic, looking around the room, eyes wild. “I cannot be seen to help you! The Horseman will come for me!” “We will not leave without the very last will and testament in question.” The younger Winchester stands his ground as Dean crosses his arms over his chest. Hardenbrook digs into a mountain of documents, hurling handfuls into the air and flings the second will at Sam. Young Masbath nervously checks the door. “Go, then! I am a dead man!” The old man cries, he starts to sob. “Sir-” Young Masbath starts. “Young Masbath...I know why your father died. That night when Van Garrett quarreled with his son, Jonathan Masbath was summoned upstairs to witness the new Will. Here is your father's signature. It was his death warrant.” Young Masbath takes the document and looks at it tearfully. “But the secret was not safe. Mrs. Killian the midwife was forewarned the baby was coming -- and so she, too, had to die.” One of the other hurled documents fluttered down fortuitously in front of Sam. Dean picks it up. “The marriage certificate,” Dean confirms. “Parson Steenwyck married them. Doctor Lancaster confirmed the widow was pregnant. She told the secret to Magistrate Philipse. Notary Hardenbrook concealed the documents.” Hardenbrook snivels and moans and wrings his hands. “And you all kept silence!” Sam turns to the notary. “Why? For some nameless dread of the man who stood to gain by it - Baltus Van Tassel!”

VAN TASSEL HOUSE

Sam, Dean and Young Masbath start up the stairs, noticing Baltus, alone, with a glass of liquor, is brooding over an oak coffer of silver, running coins through his fingers. The constables continue with Young Masbath, speaking quietly. “I think there is some error in your reasoning,” Young Masbath interjects.

“Really?” Sam looks to his brother. “Do give us the benefit of your insight.” “All these murders, just so that Baltus Van Tassel should inherit yet more land and property?” Masbath shakes his head. “Precisely,” Dean confirms. “Men murder for profit. Possibly you don't know New York?”

“If you had seen the things we have young man you would not hesitate to believe-” Sam stops short seeing his bedroom door ajar. He carefully pushes the door open, surprised to find you at his desk, reading his ledger.

“Y/N, why are you in my room?” “Because it is yours.” You smile softly, eyes darting to your handsome constable. “Is it wicked of me?” “No,” Sam can’t help the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth at the sight of you. “Of course not.” “I missed you. Where did you go?” “To the Notary.” Sam forces an even expression, dreading the idea of telling you that he suspects your father. “I had questions to ask Hardenbrook.” “And did you learn anything of interest?” You crane your neck to look at him like the prettiest flower trying to arch closer to the warm sun and Sam feels ill. Sam and Dean exchange a glance. “Well...perhaps.” Sam falters, heat rising in his cheeks. “My father-” you start and Sam nearly jumps out of his boots. “Your father...?”

“Yes,” you nod, eyes narrowing at his strange disposition. Perhaps a night with you has set him on edge. “My father thinks you should return to New York.” “Really?” Sam balks, as Dean sucks in a breath. “Why is that?” “I don't know,” you smirk, looking at Sam’s handsome face. “Perhaps he looked in your ledger and did not like what he saw.” You leave the ledger open on the desk. Sam steps over to look. Dean follows in tandem. It is a page of doodles with the name "Y/N" written several times, and a sketch of you, beautifully intricate.

Embarrassed, Sam slams the ledger closed. “He believes townsfolk and country do not mix,” you offer. Sam opens the drawer in the desk and puts away the document he took from the Notary. He is nervous because he knows they point to complicity by Y/N's father. Young Masbath, watching, understands this, Sam locks the drawer and pockets the key. “What have you there?” you inquire. “Evidence,” Sam explains. “I'm sorry, I must ask for a few moments of privacy.” “Then I will leave you to your thoughts. Sleep well, Constable.” You brush past him, letting your hand brush over his, a subtle invitation. You leave and Sam looks to Dean, saving his commentary for when they’re truly alone.

“Look at that.” Sam points to a huge spider scuttling under his bed. Dean takes a step back, wincing at the sight of it. He’s never liked them. “It's only a spider.” Young Masbath smiles at the older constable. “Why don’t you keep an eye on it. Make sure it doesn’t crawl its way into my room.”

“I saw where it went.” Young Masbath kneels down, looking under Sam’s bed. He turns back to the constables. “There’s something under here.” “Kill it!” Dean offers.

“Why don’t we simply put it outside.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Let me help you move the bed.” Young Masbath and Sam move the bed only to reveal a strange pentagram drawn in chalk on the floorboards. “The Evil Eye!” The boy backs away. “What is it?” Dean inquires, leaning down to inspect the sigil.

“It is someone casting spells against you.” The boy confirms, looking away as if the mark might take hold of him if he inspects it too closely. “An evil eye,” Sam repeats, staring at the spider sitting in the middle of the Pentagram.

Van Tassel House - Y/N’s Room

“Shhh,” Sam hisses, his nose pressed into your cheek. “Someone will hear us if you keep on like this.”

While he’s right, there’s also a hint of pride in his voice as he takes you from behind, half bent over the heavy wooden vanity. You’re standing on shaky legs with your nightgown around your waist, unable to stifle the desperate pants flowing from between your lips.

“I’ll try to control myself,” you gasp, reaching up and behind to fist a hand in his hair. Twisting to the side you catch his mouth is a sweet, lingering kiss. He’s feeling better, he must be, because he’s fucking you so hard it’s taking the breath right out of your lungs. There’s nothing but lust and unbridled pleasure as his cock moves inside you, again and again, slick running down your thighs. Curling forward he deepens a second kiss as a hand snakes between your legs, finding your bud with sinful precision. He swallows your gasp, nearly growling in response.

Your breath hastens as he strums your body like a well-trained musician. It’s his expert touch combined with the deep stretch of his hard prick that sends you over the edge into ecstasy. You cum with a muffled shout, his hand clapping over your mouth as you arch backward, cunt clutching and squeezing him inside you.

“Perfect,” he mutters, jaw tightening. Grabbing your hips he moves faster and faster, his strokes unrelenting as you shake and shutter. He chases his own release, hips smacking into your backside until he lets out a long, low moan and pulls out. He cums over your buttocks, shooting warm and thick, stroking himself until he’s fully satisfied.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” he chuckles breathlessly, placing a kiss just behind your ear.

“I don’t mind one bit,” you laugh, blissfully exhausted. Using a handkerchief he wipes you clean, before tucking himself back into his pants. The moment you turn around his arms engulf your waist, twisting together at the small of your back. There’s such a familiar feeling when he holds you close. Being with Sam feels like a safe, happy place that you find yourself longing for when he’s not near.

“I can’t stay,” he explains softly. He’s beautiful in the candlelight, the small lines around his eyes wrinkling when he smiles at you.

“But you must!” you whine, sliding both hands over his chest.

“I wish I could.” One hand abandons your hips in favor of your cheek, thumb stroking back and forth. “But while the Horseman is at large I don’t have the luxury of spending my nights in your bed.”  

“Please be careful,” you insist, searching his eyes. “I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. I know you’re healing but-”

“I’ll be fine,” he counters, dipping down for a soft kiss. He presses his nose into your cheek, squeezes you as close as he can, nearly taking your feet off the floor. “I have Dean to look after me. There’s no one better suited for the job.”

“I have to admit I’m interested to know what you find out.” You grin, watching as the corners of his mouth twitch. You’re curious by nature and truly eager to find out more about this mystery that’s consumed your life.

“All will be revealed.”

Sam leaves you with one last kiss. And then another. By the time he finally leaves, your lips are swollen and heart bursting with the promise of what’s to come.

Later That Night... Sam and Dean are sitting awake in Dean’s room, silently waiting as the hands of the clock tick past midnight.

“Are you sure you want the answer you may find, brother?” Dean asks, rubbing his finger over the amulet in his hand, a token from their uncle.

“What does that mean?” Sam’s eyes shoot up, back straightening.

“You know full well what I mean. There are layers of secrets here, secrets that may put a stop to your romance.” Dean grins slyly at his brother. “We could leave, go back to New York. You could take the girl with you.”

“If she and I are meant to be she will come with us when the time comes regardless of what puzzles we may solve.” Sam nods firmly, trying to convince himself as much as Dean.

The truth is you are all he thinks about. And he is afraid that their investigation may drive a wedge between you but he can’t stop now. His scrupulous morals won’t let him.

They hear a door creak open and then the creak of the stairs. Sam motions to Dean as he lights a candle. They wait for a few moments and then carefully open the door and sneak out of the room.

They remove their shoes when they come to the stairs, wary of alerting anyone to their presence. A floorboard creaks in a room at the end of the hallway and they freeze as Sam blows out the candle in his lantern. There’s a light coming from under the door as they inch closer. Footsteps are heard, then a door opening and closing. “Outside,” Dean whispers as he and Sam creep outside in the pitch black of night in their stocking feet. They follow a faint lantern light moving in the distance. “What do you think we’re about to come upon?” Sam questions, stopping on the hillside as his eyes adjust to the dark. “I have no idea.” Dean shakes his head and they advance, both men peering forward to look through the thicket of trees. There’s a lantern sitting on a rock and on the ground, on a blanket are a man and woman in the midst of rather rough sex.

Sam’s eyes widen and Dean cocks his head as they move closer. The couple continues to fuck, oblivious to their audience. The man is on top of the woman, grunting desperately.  He’s giving it to the woman as hard he can. The woman lies back and her face is revealed as Lady Van Tassel. Dean reaches over and slaps Sam who shoos his hand away. Lady Van Tassel pulls down the man's shirt, exposing his flesh. She raises a small, sharp knife behind his back. Sam is about to shout a warning but Dean stops him.

They watch as Lady Van Tassel brings the blade down to her own hand, slicing deep into her palm. Blood flows and she rubs the cut over her partners back, smearing red blood. She then caresses the man’s chest, neck, and face, trailing blood until he’s covered. The man lifts his head, in apparent ecstasy as he sucks on the woman’s fingers revealing he’s none other than the Reverend Steenwyck.

The constables back away, having seen more than enough. When they return to the house Young Masbath is waiting for them. “What was there?” the boy asks Dean.

“Something I wish I had not seen. A beast with two backs.” “A beast with two backs?” Young Masbath mumbles in amazement. “What is next in these bewitched woods?!”

“Dean,” Sam shoots a warning shot. “Don’t tease the boy.” The three of them make their way back to Sam’s room. His desk drawer is visibly open, and he inspects it already knowing the worst. The documents have been taken. Young Masbath suddenly sniffs the air. He signals to Dean. He sniffs again, pointing to the grate in the fireplace as the source of the smell: the documents burned to ashes. “Someone is working against us.” Sam ticks his jaw, anger bubbling to the surface.