#sam winchester reader insert
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deanâs outlook on his little sammy falling in love :(
reader is hungover in this!
dean was never one to believe in romantic love. his entire life has been surround by loss and heartbreak, so believing in something good, and pure, was difficult for him. sure, he knew familial love. he believes in the kind of love that was given from the moment he was born, the kind that is an obligation.
but when he sees you, curled into his brotherâs side, fast asleep in a cheap, uncomfortable motel bed, he thinks, just for a moment, maybe romantic love is good.
from the moment the winchester brothers found you, covered in vampire blood, sitting outside of a nest, cussing to yourself about your car not starting, you and sam had a different kind of bond. despite dean being the one to handle your carâs issues, all of your thanks were thrown to sam. sam sat on the curb with you as dean checked under your hood, and worked whatever magic he could to get it up and running again. not that it lasted very long, shutting down again about a mile away from the nest. sam was the one who told you get into deanâs beloved impala. you shared the story of how you took care of the nest, but that one of the vamps, in a last ditch effort to keep you from a pressing the blade you held against his neck any further, mentioned something more dangerous that his nest that was lurking outside of town.
which led to your first hunt with the winchester boys, and the rest was history.
dean let out a sigh at the sight of you two. you were laying on your side, tucked right into samâs shoulder. he was on his back, with a protective arm tracing down your back. your arm thrown over his waist, holding him close. you two fit together like two puzzle pieces would, dean observed, before heading out to pick up something greasy for breakfast.
âyou awake?â sam mumbled, just a few minutes after he woke up himself. you let a mumble that sounded vaguely like a âyesâ, before pressing yourself closer to sam. âhey hey,â he ushered you away, putting a slight gap between your face and his chest. just a small one.
âyour nose is cold,â he complained, but pressed his arm against you. ââm sorry,â you mumbled again.
sam let out a chuckle, before moving to get himself up. he looked over to deanâs bed where a small piece of paper was left. âwent to get some grubâ was written across it, in deanâs messy handwriting. âdean went to get breakfast,â he informed you. you let out a noise of agreement, not mustering the energy for anything more. âhopefully itâs something greasy for ya,â sam called out as he made his way into the bathroom. if your hangover wasnât so bad, youâd have flipped him off.
as the water from the shower turned on, you started to release yourself from the uncomfy confines of the motel bed. your head was pounding before dean slammed the motel door opened, and hammering afterwards. âchill,â was all you could say, hoping dean understood that you needed him to calm down some. âhere ya go,â he said as a he passed you a bag with a greasy breakfast sandwich. âthanks,â you mumbled, sitting it on the bed next to you. you didnât know if your stomach could handle it right now, so you decided to wait for sam.
âyouâre not eatinâ?â dean asked as he opened his own bag, sitting down at the little corner in the table. âwaitinâ for sam,â you informed with a small gesture to the bathroom. ââcourse you are,â dean huffed as if he was annoyed about it, but his chest felt a little bit lighter knowing that there was someone else in this world who loved sam enough to wait for him.
#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester#sam winchester imagine#sam winchester x you#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester blurb#sam winchester drabble#sam winchester comfort#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester fic#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester headcanon#sam winchester oneshot#sam winchester reader insert#supernatural imagine#supernatural blurb#supernatural drabble#supernatural x reader#supernatural x you
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amberw4vess presents:
loving sam winchester â
âŚâŚ,`°.â˝âŚâ˝.âŚ.â˝âŚâ˝.°`,âŚâŚ










#aesthetic#supernatural sam winchester#supernatural#sam#sam winchester#love#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester imagine#sam winchester icons#sam winchester reader insert#sam winchester moodboard#sam winchester my beloved#sam winchester blurb#amberw4vess#amberw4vess presents
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The new Mrs. Winchester (20)
Word count: 3.1K
Pairing: Sam X Reader AU
Chapter warnings:Â Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary:Â After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N:Â Guys, I so hope you like this chapter! It was a pleasure to write :)
Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

âYou are the most frustrating thing in the world,â you said to the burner phone standing silently on the tabletop. Only one person called or messaged on the phone and it had stayed quiet for a whole week. The longer it remained silent, the sadder you became. Samâs desperation to prove his innocence must have turned into frustration and then anger. After all, heâd done everything right and had still been accused of something heinous by you. Anger would be natural. But you were scared that maybe the anger was turning into apathy now. Samâs silence was proof.
Abbyâs mother had fallen ill, and with a tight hug, she had bid you goodbye for the weekend. You felt lonelier than ever in the house. No Abby, no Jack, and no Han to wait for you at the pier when you lit a lamp. But most of all, no Sam.
The terror that had gripped you since first seeing Nick had dissipated some, but you were still afraid that he might turn up in the mansion and you would have to face him again. So, you spent most of your days in Marthaâs kitchen, reading Wordsworth and his sad poetry.
However, after a week of skulking around the house like a phantom, you decided to open the forbidden connecting door to Samâs room. Maybe seeing his pictures, trophies and books would bring some solace. The room looked as benign as the last time you had seen it, on the day before the gallery opening. The pictures were all there on Samâs nightstand, now with a thin film of dust over them. Sam had locked the room from outside when heâd left, so no staff could get in, not a soul⌠except you.Â
The sheets on his bed were perfectly made and you wondered if this is how he treated all the hotel rooms in the world, too, leaving them just as he had found them as if heâd never been there. But these sheets had held him close in nights, wrapping their silk around his body in a way you could only dream of. Quietly, you lifted a well-made corner and slipped underneath, hoping to envelop yourself in some trace of him. The sheets did not smell of him anymore. Despite all your efforts, the room did not seem like his at all with him gone. You remembered the line from your story of Eros and Psyche. When Psyche lost her trust in her husband, Eros, left in anger and despair⌠All love and beauty seemed to evaporate from the world in its entirety.Â
You curled up on your side, twisting in the sheets, feeling Psycheâs frustration in every bone. Everything had been going smoothly, but you had let doubt corrupt your head and now Sam was gone. As you twisted on the bed, your hand touched something rough beneath the sheet. You sat up, discarding the sheets completely and reached out to find an envelope. You turned it around to see your name etched on top in Samâs elegant handwriting.
You nearly tore the envelope in your hurry to get the contents out. Inside was a letter addressed to you.
Y/N,
I wanted to come clean. I wanted to tell you everything, but Iâd be damned if I overstepped my boundaries and crossed the line of your consent. Not again. But if you are reading this, it means youâve chosen to come to my room, and climbed into my bed of your own volition. It means that your consent was involved.
So, let me tell you how you ended up here in my bed, in this moment. Let me tell you everything from the very beginning.
Joâs pie was still fresh on the table when we set out to find her, and thatâs where we found it three days later when we returned. Dean took one look at it and his knees gave out. Weâve been through some tough times, Dean and I, but never had I seen him so scared in my entire life. When they found Joâs body, Dean drove his car into a cliffside three days later. You probably donât know this, but he loves that car and it came back wrecked, but still less wrecked than him. You told me about the days when your dad returned home between tours and he had this haunted look in his eyes, the look of witnessing death, causing it⌠seeing the people you love suddenly die. I might have looked that way, too. Jo was like a sister to me growing up and she was dead, and Dean wasnât just my brother, he was my whole world. Slowly, but surely, I was watching him waste away right in front of my eyes.
I didnât see my mother dieâ another person who died because of me; died for meâ but I was old enough to watch my father slowly kill himself. Heâd return from these long trips and I would run to him, but he never spared me a glance. After all, I was the reason his wife wasnât with him. Heâd loved that woman more than anything in the world. I believe Dean reminded him of all the good times heâd shared with his wife, but I was a reminder of the peace heâd lost. If she hadnât run in to save me from the fire, sheâd be alive and breathing with him. No, he wasnât outright cruel, but slowly as he drowned himself in whiskey, the whiskey truly drowned him. Dean found him like that in his study one night, without a heartbeat, but a drink still in his hand.
Dean became just like that in the months after Joâs death, always clutching a bottle, eyes red and out of his mind. I canât count the number of times Iâd picked him up from bars with bloody knuckles and a bruised face, and I felt helpless watching my brother go the same way as my father, wishing, just wishing I could go back in time to stop Jo from leaving alone. One day my life had been good, not perfect, but good, and the next day it had been dragged to hell.
The first time I saw a light in Deanâs eyes was when the sheriff, Jody Mills, came back with some definitive proof. Before Jo, two other bodies had been recovered from Lincoln lake. And though they bore signs of more heinous abuse, the MO appeared to be the same, similar disappearances, similar disposal. There had been other disappearances as well, but no trace of the bodies and more than half of those could be traced directly to the estate. It was easy to put together the story⌠a human trafficking ring was active in the area.Â
I saw my brother go from the edge of destruction to grasping at the threads of hope for justice. He threw himself into Jodyâs investigation with this feverish energy. But no matter how hard he tried, or anybody tried, eventually, we all hit roadblocks. No one could get on top of the ring, and it got worse when Jody found out that even her superiors in the police were involved. She didnât have any pull with federal law enforcement. Not then anyway. I was just starting to worry that I would lose my brother all over again when Jody came up with the plan⌠with this plan.
The plan was easy enough and by now Iâm sure you know most of it, though, I didnât think it would work. No one who has seen us growing up would believe I could throw him out, but Dean had a solution to that as well. âJust replace all staffâ heâd said. At first, I went along just in desperation to save Dean from the abyss he was in danger of falling into. Finding out who did this to Jo had become his lifeâs mission. I couldnât take it away from him without losing him, too, but I didnât really believe he and Jody would manage to implement it. But then there came a day when I had to make the decision, to be in or out.
Iâd have died before letting Dean down, but that night he made me promise that I would go along. He had already transferred all his property and estate rights save for the shares, but that night he begged me to say yes⌠to do this abhorrent thing of paying money to own a human being. He justified it with fancy words⌠said Iâd be saving a girl from life in hell, but I knew it for the depraved act it truly was. I donât remember the things I said to my brother that night or the wreckage I left of the door and furniture, but in the end, I had to give in. How could I not?Â
And so, before the day break Dean left, and the very next day, I assumed power of the board and estate. The first to go was Deanâs portrait from the gallery, and then every last item that could be associated with him was purged from this God-forsaken house. I moved in a week later and then within a month, the staff was replaced. Being cold and detached from them was hardly even work once Dean left. I was heartbroken enough to shut myself within me. But still, selfishly, I couldnât let go of Jack and Martha, I was scared that I would be lost to even myself without them. After all, do you even exist if no one around you knows you?
So far the plan was working, but then suddenly it worked too well. The whispers that we had planted were taking root now. The word that I was looking to buy finally reached the right ears and one day, a man accosted me outside the office, offering the deal. He handed me a card with a location and asked me to be there at eleven the next morning. There, he had a photo book ready for me to pick from. Up until then, I had never hated myself more. To even look at the pictures, as if I was some kind of God to choose which one to save⌠which of these women was eligible to be rescued from this prison, and put into a different one. My prison wouldnât have the torture of this one, but a place where she would be dragged to without her own free will would be a prison nonetheless.
I had to choose. One. I closed my eyes, gulped and vowing to come back for the rest after this one, I opened that photo book. And there you were on the 5th page. I stopped there and did not flip further. The man said you were not up for sale, that you were Bossâs favourite. I doubled the price, he wouldnât agree still, I tripled the price. He made a call, and when I offered to pay five times the amount, the man on the other end of the line must have agreed because we sealed the deal. I got to keep the photo.
And Y/N, this is what I donât get⌠I could have decided to keep flipping through those horrifying pictures and picked another, but once I saw you, there was no one else. Something about the look in your eyes⌠At least thatâs what I told myself as I signed the cheque and asked to keep the picture. But the truth was, I didnât want another man to ever look at your picture again. Iâve never looked at it again, myself. I came back and nearly burnt it, but then decided against it. Youâll find it in a brown diary on the top of the cupboard. Do what you please with it, only you should have that right.
You accused me of not looking you in the eye because I thought less of you, but how could I? After what I had done, I could barely stand to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I keep telling myself itâs the look in your eyes in the picture that made me stop, but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair. In that moment I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips. How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that? How could I stand next to you on a podium and not want to die from the guilt of it all? How could I even breathe the same air? So, yes, Y/N, I didnât meet your eyes. At the wedding, I didnât look at you, didnât touch your skin, because you deserved better than a depraved person like me even existing in the same room as you.
Thereâs one other thing I never told you. The night after the wedding, I opened the connecting door. I had to tell you the truth, fall at your feet and apologise profusely for the dastardly act, so my conscience could know some peace. The guilt of what I had done wouldnât let me be, and when I did push that handle, I found you curled up on the floor, clutching your body. Thatâs when I knew that as long as I lived, I would never forgive myself for it, never hate myself more than I did in that moment. I vowed to never open the door again. Every night following that one, I would pace to the door, stand inches away, grazing the handle but never opening it. The routine reminded me of Pandoraâs story. How in the end after unleashing all kinds of pain on the world, her box only held hope. Hope remained. Opening the door felt like that, it felt like giving up the little hope that someday you might forgive me.
Meeting your eyes in the dining hall that first time might be the bravest thing Iâve ever done, Y/N. It took all the courage in the world to hand you that portfolio, when I donât even deserve to touch the sheets on which you drew. But each time you looked at me, smiled, or said yes to my beseeching efforts to take you around the property knowing youâd had several tours already, I let that hope bloom and when you agreed to be my friend, I vowed to never be untruthful to you. Ever.
So, no, I didnât know you had already met Dean, that he was your friend. I hope you believe me.
From the very first attempt to speak with you, my only wish has been to gain your trust. Not to elicit information, but to become worthy of your faith, to be the confidant you confided in of your own free will and not out of a trick. I can see how wrong I was. I am sorry.
Youâve barged out on me twice now and locked yourself behind the door. But you shouldnât have to put yourself in prison again and again. This letter might be a prelude to proving that Dean and I never colluded against you, but weâve both had our interests in play. Youâre the only party here thatâs entirely faultless. You shall not be bound to a prison again. I will not allow it. And if the only way of setting you free from the bars of your room is for me to be out of sight, then thatâs no price to pay at all.Â
I wonât be back for a couple of weeks, and even when I am, Iâll make sure to be out of your way.Â
I made you a promise, Y/N, that you will be safe in this house. That promise stands, even if itâs me you seek safety from. I may not be what you need. But I am still a man of my word.Â
You WILL be safe.
-Sam
A drop fell on Samâs name at the end and you hurriedly shirked the paper before any more drops ruined the letter. Rapidly, blinking at the wetness on your lashes, you rushed to Samâs cupboard, throwing the doors open. Blindly, you patted the topmost drawer and found the leather-bound diary. The picture was wedged right in the middle. You stared at your own nearly naked form, kneeling with your knees splayed wide, torso bent forward and eyes staring into the camera. With a shock you realised, you barely recognised the face.Â
The girl in the picture did not look anything like you. She had primmed eyebrows and a thin, perfect face full of make-up. Her wide eyes held not an invitation, but almost a challenge: Come find out for yourself.Â
Is that what Sam saw?
You moved to the mirror in Samâs room to check your face, with fuller, unkempt eyebrows and hair that had long outgrown the coiffed cut. The skin didnât have the perfect complexion but held faint splashes from where the sun had touched it. There were also the hints of wrinkles at the corner of your eyesâ laugh lines.
Thinking back, everything seemed abundantly clear as to why Samâs footsteps had always sounded so close to the door. You had assumed a cupboard or a desk there, but all those nights it was just him hovering, torn between guilt and self-hate. Why when youâd had the workers move his things to your room before the renovation, Sam had panicked about who touched his things, because he was scared of someone seeing the picture you now held in your hands.
Now that it was in your hands, you didnât know what to do with it any more than Sam did. You should be feeling pity for that girl, chaffing her bare knees on the floor, but all you felt was a strange hatred. She was your past, but she would be your future, too. The imperfect but happy girl in the mirror would soon become a memory.
One week had passed and with one more week to go until Sam returned, you vowed to the girl in the mirror, that as long as she was your present, you would do everything in your power to keep her happy.
As far as Sam was concerned, heâd had his chance to get his truth out. It was your turn now.
*****************************
A/N 2:Â I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam's admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?
Oh, I can't wait to share what's coming with you!
Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!
If you want to be tagged, you can send me an ask or you can add yourself to the taglist here.
Or hereâs my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.
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#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fanfiction#spn fanfiction#sam winchester reader insert#spn reader insert#sam x reader#reader x sam winchester#sam winchester x you#sam winchester x y/n#supernatural#spn#supernatural fanfiction#Ana writes Sam#anawritesspn#anawrites#Ana writes TNMW#tnmw20
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Sam Winchester Fingering You
đđŞđđ đĄđ¤đđ¤: Sam fingering you
đđ đŁđ âđ đŚđđĽ: 159
đđđŁđđđđđ¤: Fingering, Praise, Fem Reader, Dom Sam, Established Relationship, Porn Without Plot
đ¸/â:
đźđ¸đ˝đžđđ đłđž đ˝đžđ đ¸đ˝đđ´đđ°đ˛đ {đˇđž+}

You're sitting on Sam's lap, your back on his chest, your legs spread open, Sam's left hand playing with your sensitive nipples. His right hand slips between your panties, and his middle finger slowly slides up and down your slippery folds.
"D-don't tease me Sam." You whined as you bucked your hips against his hand. "Always so needy for me sweetheart." You moaned as Sam's middle finger entered your tight cunt. Sam groaned as he felt your cunt sucking on his finger. Sam inserted another finger and started massaging your g spot. "Oh, S-Sam, I'm going to cum," you cried out. "Go ahead baby make a mess all over my fingers." Your back arched, while you moaned loudly as you came on Sam's fingers.
Sam removed his fingers from your cunt, and you complained about the absence of contact. "Good girl, you did so good for me baby," Sam muttered in your ear as he kissed your temple.
#spn#supernatural#sam winchester#sam winchester smut#sam winchester drabble#sam winchester blurb#sam winchester reader insert#sam winchester fic#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester x you#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester x female reader
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Powerful Magic
Title: Powerful Magic
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 13.7k
Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff
Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, theyâre forced into an impossible situation with no way out.Â
A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
You arenât expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but lifeâs been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldnât be surprised. Itâs been years since youâve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someoneâs way, which is often because heâs always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.
Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. Thereâs no sign of Sam or Dean.
Damnit.
âSo, howâve you been?â Jason asks. âYou look good, Y/N.â
You nod. âGood, fine. How about you? Are you stillâŚ?â You donât dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.
âStill in pest control. It keeps me busy.â He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, itâs not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you donât remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, heâd done it at some point⌠Right? Or maybe youâd just gotten used to the stench.
âThere you are,â Samâs voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. âI was looking for you.â He pauses. âWhoâs this?â
You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesnât smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that youâre always grateful for, even if itâs being wasted. You know that heâs amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. Heâs always a little more protective when he thinks youâre getting hit on by some creep. You canât count the number of times heâs pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that heâs stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesnât do it because he doesnât think youâre capable. Sam does it because you shouldnât have to fend them off on your own. You shouldnât have to be in that position, but because you are, heâs not going to let you be there alone.
âThis is Jason. Heâs an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is myâŚâ
You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldnât. You and Sam are just friends. It doesnât matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesnât matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesnât matter what Sam said the one time youâve seen him really, truly drunk. Youâre just friends.
ââfriend,â Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell itâs fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. âSam.â
Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. âSam. And⌠Dean?â He glances between you and Sam. âAs inâŚ?â
You cut him off with a quick, âIâm so sorry, Jason, but weâre really cutting it close on time.â His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.
âSheâs right. Deanâs waiting on us, and weâve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,â Sam adds. âAny friend of Y/Nâs is a friend of mine.â His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.
With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you wonât, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesnât say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?
Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards heâll need to ditch soon.
Youâre going to make this worse if you donât relax.
You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you wonât run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.
âEverything okay?â Dean asks.
Before you can answer, Sam nods. âYeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.â
Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and youâre careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.
âWhat happened?â Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags youâve put onto the trunkâs false bottom. Though thereâs plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam wonât be able to hear it through the backseat.Â
You donât meet his eyes. âNothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, thatâs all.â
âPartner?â You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.
âNot like that,â you huff. âWe were just⌠partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.â
âWhy not?â
Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. Heâs only got two bags in hand, but thereâs a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.
âIf thatâs him, I can see why.â
âBe nice,â you tell him.
âWas he at least a good guy?âÂ
You shrug. âHe wasnât bad. Just kinda gross, thatâs all.â
Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and heâs watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.
âDid he hurt you?â he asks, and you shake your head. âDid he say something to you in there?â
âNo. Thatâs not why it was weird.â
âI gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If Iâm gonna ride in the car with the two of youââ
âI hesitated, okay?â you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and itâs not the sun. Itâs still cloudy from last nightâs storm. âI went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.â
Dean is staring at you like youâve just broken into song. âYou hesitated?â
Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldnât be this big of a deal.Â
âYes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, âThis is Sam, myâŚ.ââ You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.
His face twists. âOh. Rookie move, Y/N.â
âGee, thanks.â
âSo what did you end up saying?â Dean asks.
âI didnât. Sam finished and said he was my friend.â
âAnd you want to be more than friends.â
âI didnât say that,â you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.
âWhy donât you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. Iâm going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.â
You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Deanâs already in the driverâs seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesnât say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but thatâs all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book heâs loaned you. It isnât one youâre particularly interested in, but youâve traded books for the trip. Youâre fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you donât take his.
The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself.Â
Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, youâll most likely end up at the morgue. Youâre not really in the mood for a dead body. Youâll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.
Youâre in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.
âAre you okay?â he asks, and you look up from the patron log youâve been carefully sorting through.
âYeah, why?â You try not to seem surprised that heâs asking, considering he hasnât said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.
âYouâve been quiet since we ran into Jason.â
You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. âIâve been reading the book you loaned me.â
âItâs not that,â he says. âThis is your âI made a mistakeâ quiet.â
Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.
âI donât want to pressââ
âI havenât seen him in a while,â you finally say, still not looking up. Itâs the truth, even if itâs not the whole truth. âIt just⌠caught me off guard, thatâs all. Itâs not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.â
Heâs quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.
âWhat?â you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. âIâm sorry, I really didnât meanââ
âNo, thatâs not it,â Sam interrupts, shaking his head. âIâm not offended, Y/N. I donât think you could ever offend me.â
The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. âOh yeah? Not ever?â
He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where heâs sitting. âWell, maybe if youââ
âNo, you canât take it back now!â you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.
You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.
âSo, you and Jason,â he starts, and you close the logbook. Thereâs nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books youâve finished.
âWhat about me and Jason?â
âWere you ever⌠together?â
You raise an eyebrow at him. âLike, dating?â Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, âYeah, for a little while, right before we split.â
âAh.â
âMm-hmm.â You open the book, silently hoping he doesnât ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. Itâs a sore subject for Sam, so youâve respected the territory, even though youâve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually donât mind, considering youâd have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if youâre lying.
âYou said he almost got you killed,â Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.
You look up from the book and heâs watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and youâre in public. Itâs not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.
After a second, you nod. âYeah. He⌠He used me as bait, and I didnât know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.â
You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes.Â
âI promise to never do that to you,â he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.
You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. âI know.â
âI will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?â
Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Samâs expression doesnât change. Heâs not smiling back at you. Instead, heâs staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.
âI know,â you gently reply. âIâve never doubted that.â
You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rugâs been pulled out from underneath your feet.Â
What was that all about?
You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but itâs never felt like this before. Heâs never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and heâs never asked about your past love life. Samâs a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.
âDeanâs got a lead,â Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way theyâd come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You donât mind.
As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you wonât be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.
âReady?â Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.
You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the âpotionsâ you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. Itâs one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels.Â
Thereâs another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadnât heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, youâre lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.
âWhat are you doing?â Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.
âShe okay?â Sam whispers.Â
âI have toâŚâ You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that itâs dangerous and that youâre being affected by whatever spell sheâs performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way.Â
Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but itâs as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. Theyâre useless against the effects of the witchâs magic.
Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. Itâs an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.
She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. Youâre in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screamingâevery hunterâs instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead.Â
Chanting louder, the witchâs eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight.Â
This is wrong!
She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step.Â
âY/N!â
Deanâs voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.
âThatâs it,â the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. âItâs alright, dear one.â
âY/N, donât!â Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. Youâre almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and youâll be within her reach.
Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoeverâs holding you. Youâre torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witchâs eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.
âDean,â you croak. You canât see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if youâve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. âDean!âÂ
Thereâs a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witchâs shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then thereâs a heavy thud.
âSammy!â Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees.Â
You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that youâve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You shouldâve been able to resist the witchâs magic.
Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.
âY/N!â
Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, whoâs laid out on his side. Samâs eyes are closed and your chest tightens.
âSam!â you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witchâs sigil.
Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.
âSam? Sam, wake up,â you plead.
âHeâs still breathing,â Dean tells you. âShe knocked him out with whatever that was.â
âPlease, Sam. Please, open your eyes.â
You stare at him, your heart pounding, and youâre crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.
âThank God,â you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Samâs hand comes up to pat at your back.
âYou okay?â Dean asks.
Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. âI think so,â he says after a second. âDid you get her?â
You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, âShe got away, but she hit you with something. Iâm so sorry. This is all my fault.â
He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. âItâs not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,â he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.
âYou sure youâre okay?â Dean asks. âYou hit the floor pretty hard.â
âJust give me a minute.â
After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but youâre on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything thatâs even slightly out of character.
âWeâll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you donât have a concussion,â Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.
âI definitely have a headache,â Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you donât blame him. Youâve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.
âIâll take first shift,â you tell Dean. âClean up and get some rest.â
He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.
âItâs a good thing weâre friends,â Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.
âHuh?â Your heart skips a beat. Whatâs he talking about?
âIt would really suck staying up with me,â he clarifies. âIf we werenât friends, that is.â
âOh. Yeah.â You smile a little before plugging in your phone. âYou want some water?â
âAre you okay, Y/N?â
You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. Youâve got your back to him, so he canât see the way you close your eyes, but heâs caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.
âIâm fine,â you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. âJust tired. Iâm gonna go get some ice.â
Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.
âIâll come with you,â he says.
âYou already took your shoes off.â
âWhatâs a little tetanus between friends?â He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. Heâs fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.
Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. Youâre already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.
âWhat happened back at the hotel?â Sam asks.
You know he wonât judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You donât want to see his expression.
When you havenât replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, âY/N?â
âI donât know,â you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. Youâre glad you kept it on. Thereâs a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, âWhatever spell she was doing⌠Itâs like it was directed at me. I didnât even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldnât stop it. I couldnât control myself. I was justââ
You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. Youâre blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel.Â
âItâs not your fault,â he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. âShe was more powerful than we anticipated.â
Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. âI know.â
âYouâre still you,â Sam says.
âWhat?â
âYouâre still you,â he repeats. âNo matter how her magic affected you, youâre still you. Youâre not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.â
Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. âHow is it that you know exactly what to say?â You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.
When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, âBecause I know you better than anyone else, and because Iâve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap Iâve been through?â
You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation youâd had months ago after heâd had a particularly awful nightmare. âThat youâre still you,â you repeat. âAnd that weâll always be friends, no matter what.â
Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.
You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that heâs had so many that a few hours in front of a screen wonât kill him at this point.
Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if youâre going to find the witch sooner rather than later.
âYou sure youâre okay?â
âIâm fine, Dean. Just tired.â
âMaybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.â
You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.
âGood morning to you too,â he teases, stepping into your line of vision.
You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.
âHowâd you sleep?â Sam asks.
Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than youâve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.
âWeâre heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,â he says. âYou wanna come with?â
âYouâre not going anywhere,â Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. âExcept back to bed.â
You sit up a little more, frowning. âYou sure youâre not sick?â you ask Sam. âI mean, Iâve seen you when youâre tired, but you lookâŚâ
âLike heâs been hit with a spell,â finishes Dean. âIâve already told him that, but he says that the witch didnât say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.â
âIâm fine, Dean,â Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. Youâre on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.
âMaybe you should stay here,â you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.
âIâll be in the car,â Dean tells you, and you nod.Â
You and Sam stand in silence until Deanâs gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.
âBe honest.â
âIâm tired.â
âSam.â
He sighs.
âSam.â
âIâm⌠exhausted. I donât think Iâve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but Iâm scared,â he admits.
Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. âWhy are you scared?â
âThe witch didnât say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,â Sam says. âIf she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.â
You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. âWhat if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if thereâs any kind of lingering effect we havenât seen yet?â
Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. âWe already owe her.â
âItâs a price Iâm willing to pay. Youâre my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure youâre okay.â
Because I wouldnât know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.
Nodding, Sam replies, âOkay. Okay. Iâll⌠Iâll give her a call.â
âNo, Iâll do it. You should rest. Iâll keep an eye on you,â you assure him. âIâll make sure youâre safe, Sam.â
He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell itâs only for your sake. âYou always do.â
You get up to grab your phone from where youâd left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadnât said something, or if youâve just forgotten it.
âIâm gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?â you ask. He doesnât reply. âSam? Did you hearââ
Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that heâs dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.
Heâs okay, you reassure yourself. Heâs going to be just fine.
You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as youâre done. Sheâs nearby.Â
The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats donât seem to help him at all. Itâs hard to tell since heâs been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner.Â
Deanâs pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and youâre in even worse condition. Youâre pretty sure that if sheâd shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.
Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Samâs chest. Heâs awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.
âWell?â Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. âIs he alright?â
She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasnât slept in days. Youâve seen him look like this before, but itâs never been this concerning. Heâs never managed to look this ragged so quickly.
âItâs a siphoning curse,â she explains, adjusting the jacket sheâs wearing over her black jumpsuit.Â
âSiphoning?â Dean questions. âSiphoning what?â
âLife.â
You suck in a breath. Itâs cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. Thereâs recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.
âLife?â you ask her. âBut⌠ThenâŚâ
âIâll die,â Sam finishes.
You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.
âNo,â Dean says, shaking his head. âNo. Thereâs got to be a way.â
Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.
âTell us,â you demand. âTell us!â
You donât mean to screamâyou really donâtâbut it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesnât react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didnât know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Deanâs tells you that heâs awake and listening.
Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. âHow long?â you croak.Â
âA week, at most,â Rowena adds. âItâs likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.â
Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. âNo. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?â
Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. âIâm afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.â
You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.
âCan you reverse it?â
âIâm sorry, dear,â she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. Itâs the first show of genuine emotion youâve seen from her, and itâs not enough. âBut this is beyond even me.â
âAnd if we killed her?â Dean asks.
âIt wonât have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once itâs taken hold.â
âThen what are we supposed to do?â
âGo home,â Sam finally says. Itâs so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. âWe go home.â
âBullshit. Iâm not taking you home just so you can die!â
âDean. Enough. You heard what she said.â
Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, âI need a moment alone with Samuel here.â
Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and youâre not even on the receiving end of his glare.
âI might be able to give him some more time,â she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Deanâs arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.
âOne of us stays,â Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction.Â
Rowena nods, agreeing, âY/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.â
âI need to know what youâre doing before you do it. No funny business,â he adds.
She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. âLetâs talk outside.â
You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.
You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and youâre able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Samâs been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since youâve been away from the bunker more and more often.
As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. Heâs watching you.
âWhat?â you ask after a second.
âNothing.â
âItâs not nothing.â You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadnât initially registered. âI probably look a mess right now.â
âNot any more than me, Iâm sure,â he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, âYouâre gonna be okay, you know.â
âWhat?â Your voice cracks. You hate it.
âWithout me.â
You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. âDonâtâ Donât talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. Weâll find something, Sam. Youâre not going to die.â
âI was going to die eventually. Everyone does.â
âThatâs not the point.â
âThen what is the point?â he asks.
You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. Youâre lucky it hasnât rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but itâs not enough to steady yourself.
âI donât want to live without you,â you finally say, your voice trembling.
Sam doesnât answer, and when you look down at him, heâs wiping tears from his own face. Itâs the first time youâve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.
Maybe itâs just finally settling in, you think.
His chest shudders as he takes a breath and itâs enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than heâs shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.
âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry, Sam,â you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until youâre sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesnât ask you to stop, and for that, youâre grateful.
Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You canât bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Samâs life. Itâs a complex spell, one youâve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where heâll become comatose, but itâs more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.
âYouâll have to move for the spell, dear,â Rowena gently instructs.
Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Samâs lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.
âStay,â he says. âPlease.â
After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl theyâve retrieved from the Impala.
She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.
Stay strong, you urge yourself. He canât help it.
The glow of Rowenaâs eyes grows so bright itâs blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.
You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.
âSam?âÂ
âSam!â Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. âWhat the hell did you do to him?â
She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. âYour precious brother will be fine,â she soothes, a small smile on her face. âThe spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. Heâll look better when heâs awake again.â
âAnd weâre supposed to believe you? Just like that?â Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.
Rowena scoffs. âDonât forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.â
Youâre gentle as you check to make sure Samâs still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.
âSheâs right,â you say. âHeâs still breathing.â
Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands.Â
âNow,â she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. âI believe some payment is in order.â
Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. Thatâs when you know that heâs fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasnât is because Samâs life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.
âGo,â you quietly urge. âIâve got him.â You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.
You carefully move Samâs hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever heâs giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You donât interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you canât save Sam. Deanâs jaw is still clenched, and you know heâs doing the same.
âWeââ He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. âY/N, we have to find something.â His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Deanâs eyes.
You nod. âI know.â
âWeâllâ Iâll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe theyâll know of another witch that can help us.â
You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Samâs t-shirt.
âIâm gonna take him home,â you tell Dean, not looking up.
âWhat?â
âHe said he wanted to go home. Iâm gonna take him home.â
âLike hell you are!â
Finally, you look up and meet Deanâs eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. Youâve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but heâs never looked this afraid. Heâs a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.
âWe have to try, Y/N,â Dean says, and heâs staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. âI canât just let him die. Not like this.â
You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isnât one to prolong the inevitable. It doesnât matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If heâs made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.
Even if it kills me too, you think.
âOkay,â you murmur. âOkay.â
Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. âIâll start calling. See what I can find.â Heâs just looking for a reason to leave the room so you canât see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you donât argue.Â
You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where heâd been standing, as he starts to leave. Heâs made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.
âDean?â
âYeah?â
âSomeone needs to be in the bunker. Itâs better if he goes with me than with you.â Before he can argue, you continue, âWhat if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we donât keep in the car? Whatâs your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and heâll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.â
Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.
âOkay,â he agrees. âThen you two should get going. The sooner youâre there, the better.â
Youâd driven together in the Impala, but it doesnât take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. Youâre lucky that itâs getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.
Dean loads your backpack and Samâs duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, âDrive safe,â and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but youâre not opposed. Itâs nice to know that youâre not alone in this.
The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowenaâs spell, heâs lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as heâs in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, youâre thankful.
You, on the other hand, donât sleep much. You probably should, considering you havenât slept in 24 hours, but your brain wonât turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.
Heâs getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. Youâve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just donât have the energy.
Itâs not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you canât help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You donât have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when heâs grieving. Youâre not sure if heâll go off on his own or if youâll be able to stick together.
When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Samâs eyes. His face, which youâve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. Itâs a harsh reminder that youâre losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowenaâs spell seem to have been short-lived.
âGood morning.â Heâs leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and heâs managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt.Â
You try not to let your bad mood show. âMorning. Howâre you feeling?â you ask.
Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much youâve slept. Youâre lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.
âSame as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?â asks Sam.
Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension.Â
âOhio,â you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the timeâitâs after eight, and youâve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. âWeâve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. Itâs about twelve hours.â
âWe can take shifts.â
You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesnât react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.
âIâm not letting you drive, Sam.â
âI can do it. Iâll be fine.â
âIâm not risking it,â you say, shaking your head. âI canât risk it.â
âYou canât? Or you wonât?â
You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you donât look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching.Â
âDoes it matter?â you finally ask.
He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesnât say anything, and he doesnât move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. Theyâre just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you canât look away.
âIf I only have a weekââ
âYou donât know that, Rowena cast that spellââ
ââthen I want to spend it with you,â Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know itâs not worth it, not if Samâs made up his mind.
He continues, âI want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. Youâre my best friend, Y/N.â
You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesnât see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. Youâve never felt this helpless before, not even when youâd been held captive for a week. In that situation, youâd known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.
âI wantâŚâ Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed.Â
I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.
âWhat are you thinking?â Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.
âThis is all my fault,â you reply. You canât tell him what youâre really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. Itâs really not that much better, if youâre being honest.
âDonât say that,â he says. He squeezes you once. âThis isnât your fault. Itâs not anybodyâs fault.â
âSamââ
âNo, I love you, and Iâm not going to let you beat yourself up over this. Itâs not your fault, Y/N. Okay?â
You nod. âOkay,â you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he doesâheâs your best friend, of course he loves youâbut it hurts to know that heâll never love you the way that you love him. He doesnât have time to love you that way.
âI love you too,â you say after a moment. âI donâtâŚâ
I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as heâs not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people youâve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.
I canât do this. Heâll just feel guilty.
âYou donât what?â Sam asks, and you look away.
âNever mind. I should get dressed,â you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach.Â
Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. âTalk to me.â
âSamâŚâ
âPlease. I donât want you to hide things from me because you think itâll make me feel even worse. Trust meââhe lets out a wry laughââdying is the least of my worries right now.â
You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.
âThat really doesnât make this situation better,â you scoff. âI mean, come on, Sam! Iâm about to lose the love of my life and he says that heâs not even worried about it? Howâs that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, âOh, okay! Let me tell you all about how Iâve had a massive crush on youââ
You stop talking the second you realize what youâre saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists.Â
Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.
âIâm gonna shower,â you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, youâre locking the bathroom door behind yourself.Â
Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret youâve been holding so closely for years, but instead itâs only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Samâs feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that youâre the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think youâre in? A hunterâs life doesnât allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.
A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.
âYeah?â Your voice is shakier than youâd like. You squeeze your eyes shut.
âCan I come in?â Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.
âUm..â Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a ratâs nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt youâve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.
âYou can say no,â Sam adds. âI can wait out here for you.â
Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when youâd been by the bed just a minute before.
Itâs probably just the lighting. He canât be dying that quickly, right?
He doesnât speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower.Â
âIâm sorry,â he finally says. âI reacted to that poorly.â
âI didnât mean to say all that,â you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You donât dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. âItâs not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since itâs too late.â
He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You donât.
âWho says itâs too late? I know itâs not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.â
You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.
âThis is my worst nightmare,â you tell him. âI didnât even know it was, but it is.â
âWhat? Spending time with me?â
A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. âDonât make me laugh.â
Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.
âYou didnât let me finish,â he says, and you look back at him.Â
The bathroom is tiny. Itâs barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. Heâs taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.
âFinish what?â you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? Heâs not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunterâs life. You donât deserve that kind of happy ending.
Then again, itâs not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.
He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.
âI love you, Y/N.â
âI know,â you reply. âI love you too. And itâs okay if you donât love me the same way. You donât have to pretend to try and make me feel better. Iâm not offended.â
Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. âI love you, Y/N. Iââ He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping itâs enough to let him know that youâre there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, thereâs blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.
âIâve always loved you,â Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.
âWhat?â
âIâveââ
You quickly shake your head. âNo, I heard you. I just donât understand.â
He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that youâre making this difficult for him. Heâs balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.
âYou should sit,â you urge, and he shakes his head again.
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre not fine, Sam. You look like youâre about to fall over.â
âIâm not going to fall over. Thereâs no place to fall in here.â
âYou could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,â you argue. âYou could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldnât have the chance to catchââ
Youâre cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than youâve seen him move in since the curse, and youâre so shocked that it takes you a second to process whatâs happening.
Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you.Â
When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.
âSam,â you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. Itâs shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.
âYou kissed me,â you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss.Â
âSam,â you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.
Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Youâve always loved the way Sam looksâyouâd be crazy not toâbut itâs the first time youâve felt itâs okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but heâs also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe itâs a testament to how well you know him, or maybe heâs just that beautiful.Â
Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. Itâs definitely both.
âWhat?â Sam asks, impatience clear, though heâs not angry. âWhatâs so important that I had to stop kissing you?â
âYou kissed me!â
âI know,â he answers. He leans into your space a little more. âIâd like to do it again.â
Thereâs heat in your cheeks now. Itâs hard to tell if itâs from how heâs making you feel or if itâs from his proximity, but youâre not complaining about either of those things.
âWhy?â
He gives you a look, one that asks if youâre serious, but you donât rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,
âBecause I love you, Y/N. Iâm not sure how much clearer I can be.â
You gape at him. âSo when you said that youâve always loved meâŚâ
âI meant it.â
Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.
âSo youâŚâ You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. âYou like-like me?â
Samâs eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. Itâs almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like youâre a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.
âLike-like you?â he asks. âDefinitely.â
He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. Itâs something youâve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but youâre grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if heâs not.Â
Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if heâs just asleep.
âSam?â you ask. He doesnât respond, and panic replaces the giddiness youâd felt only moments before. âSam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.â
You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm thatâs still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isnât any.
Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, youâre sweating.
âPlease wake up,â you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but heâs just as comatose as he was before.
After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Deanâs number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Samâs still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks.
âI donât know. Something happened, we were justââ You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what youâd been doing, but Dean beats you to it.
âYou were what, Y/N? What happened?â Heâs shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.
âIâm sorry, I donât know what I did,â you choke out. âThis is all my fault.â
âWhat the hell did you do?â
âNothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!â
Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. Youâre on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm youâd felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.
âHeâs still breathing normally and I made sure he didnât bump his head or anythingââ
âYouâre supposed to be taking care of him!â Dean shouts. âWhere are you?â
âOhio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.â
âI remember. Iâm on my way.â
You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, heâs pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.
âHow far away are you?â you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Samâs breathing while at the same time listening for his response.
Dean answers, but you donât hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like heâs been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. Youâre flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.
âEasy,â you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. Thereâs no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.
âIâm okay,â he wheezes.Â
Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.
âHow are you feeling? Are you in pain?â you question.
He rolls backwards until heâs flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.
âSam?â
âY/N! Damnit, whatâs going on over there?â Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that youâve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.
âHeâs awake,â you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. âHeâs okay. Heâs alright.â
âHeâsâ Heâs okay okay, or just okay?â Dean asks.
You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.
âHey, Dean,â he says, and he listens for a second before answering, âIâm fine. I think itâs gone.â He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. âNo, Iâm not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and Iâll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?â
âTell him Iâll text him the address,â you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.
âJerk,â he says. He smiles wider at Deanâs response. You donât have to hear it to know what he says.
Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.
âAre you really feeling okay?â you ask.
He nods. âI think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I donât feel tired, and Iâm not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?â
You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when youâd made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.
âYou look a lot better,â you tell him, beginning to smile. âLike nothing even happened.â
Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.
âI love you,â he says. âI know I said it before, but I mean it.â
Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. âI know. I love you too.â
He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.
âDonât ever scare me like that again,â you murmur once youâve caught your breath. âOkay?â
He nods, his forehead resting against yours. âOkay.â
You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Samâs shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one heâd been using to prop himself up.
The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.
âI hear that Samuelâs on the mend,â Rowena says in lieu of greeting.
âIâm cured,â Sam answers. âOr at least we think I am.â
She hums in acknowledgement. âIâll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but Iâm not a mind reader.â
You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, âHe was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.â
âDid you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?â
Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. âNo. We were just talking and thenââ He stops.
âAnd then you what?â Rowena prompts.
Samâs eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. Heâs smiling again, and you smile back. Itâs contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why heâs smiling.
âWe kissed,â Sam tells her, not looking away.Â
âI see.â Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. âWhen itâs reciprocated by both, true loveâs kiss is a very powerful form of magic. Itâs one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.â
You grin. âWe will.â
She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again.Â
âWe definitely will,â he says.
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Close Behind- Sam Winchester x GN!Reader
Summary: Youâre the best thing thatâs ever happened to Sam- and that scares the hell out of him. Based on the song âClose Behindâ by Noah Kahan.Â
Warnings: Very very angst heavy. A poor, poor, messed up Sammy. Very slight reference to suicide. No uses of Y/N, completely gn
Word Count: 1.6k
A/N: Got the idea for this fic, sat down to write it, and posted it all in one sitting. This idea hurt my soul so bad that I had to share it with you all. I'll make sure to get some happy Sammy fluff in the works very soon because I literally broke my own heart writing this :'( PLEASE PLEASE listen to the song before or while reading this. If you don't already know it, you're welcome. Such a beautiful song and so Winchester coded, in my humble opinion. I hope you enjoy <3
-
I think I found a fear of mine
That you might love for no reason
You know I worry only luck brought me to you
Samâs favorite sound in the world was born out of a successful hunt. It was a quiet hum, comprised of the steady rumble of the Impalaâs engine, the subtle rhythm of Deanâs more subdued playlist, and the soft breaths that escaped his loveâs sleeping lips. Over the years, he had begun to associate this sound with momentary comfort and safety- threats eliminated, civilians saved, and his most important people alive and well. It was the sound of a job well done and the only thing that could pull his system out of fight-or-flight for a short while. On this particular night, Bobby had joined the team for the hunt, so Sam had conceded the passenger seat to him and happily slipped into the back to share space and warmth with you. It didnât take the lonely highway long to lull you into a peaceful sleep, and for Samâs mind to drag itself into a million directions. The rear seat was a rare vantage point for him, the unfamiliar setting disrupting the routine settlement of his thoughts and stirring them to the surface like sediment rising from the bottom of a lake.Â
Most people would say that their beloved was their peace, the one who kept them grounded and made them feel like everything would be okay. For Sam, this was partially true. You were the tether that anchored him to reality, but reality was scary. Simply knowing the name Sam Winchester put you in the line of fire, and that ate away at his conscience every single day. He knew he was so lucky to have you, but sometimes he wondered about the nature of luckâs intentions. When, in the past, had luck been truly on his side? He feared that was all that tied your heart to him- a fleeting, miraculous moment of luck that would expire any moment and pluck you out of his clutches. Someone to heal his soul and repair his damaged pieces, only so it would hurt even more when life stole you away and broke him back apart.Â
I'm half awake most of the time
It's just the timing of the seasons
So you know I worry that you're all I have to lose
These were the thoughts that Sam fought to keep at bay as best he could, but his mind was weary and his fears knew his every weakness. It was hard to ignore these worries when they were self created- his very demise was an inside job. You were the only easy thing in his life, a flickering candle in a dark, damp space- bright, and warm, and magnetically inviting. But Sam felt that when he got too close, when he reached out to touch you and his fingers lingered too long, he would burn himself and extinguish your flame in the process.
This didnât stop him from loving you, and loving you well, but it made the act a burden. Caring for you was the hardest thing he had ever done. It was always his job to take care of those around him, but for everyone else he protected, he could breathe easy once the bodies hit the floor. For you, there was no safe. There was never an end to the threats that faced you, because there was never an end to the threats that faced him. And because of this, Sam Winchester never felt worthy of you. He could never truly protect you. The very act of loving him was a death sentence, and yet he couldnât bring himself to free you from it.Â
And I should change this way of thinking
That all my fears are facts of life
But I could die tomorrow, you'd be close behind
I hate that you think of yourself that way, you would tell him. Every day I think how lucky I am to love, and to be loved by, you. You couldnât keep me away if you tried. Iâve never felt safer than I do with you. Sam recognized the arsenal of responses you had developed to address his concerns- no worry he threw your way was ever left unanswered. But Sam was stubborn. His fears were informed by everything he had ever known, every loss he had ever faced. His life had been an uphill battle, and try as you might, there was never rest in a soldierâs mind. And for Sam, there was no way to win the war. Because if he lost you, he would lose everything. And if he died to protect you, there would be no one left to keep you safe. So all he could do was fight as hard as he could around the clock, destroying himself for the sake of your preservation.Â
I live my life in years to come
To prepare myself for sorrow
So I won't worry when I crumble at your feet
Losing you was always in the back of Samâs mind. Sometimes when he let his mind wander too far, he would try to make plans for what he would do, how he would handle it, but he could never quite wrap his head around a desire to live even a minute longer than you. These were the thoughts that plagued his mind when he would roll over to hold you a little tighter at night. He would stir and you would wake, whispering reassurances that he would never accept. Still, it was nice to hold you close. It was a reminder that you were still here, that he could savor you for as many minutes as he was blessed with.Â
It wasnât uncommon for Sam to break down in front of you. It was a heavy load he carried, and you told him time and time again to let you into his heart and mind. You do so much to care for me, Sam. Let me care for you. So every so often, when things got so dark that he lost his way, you were the one to try to coax him back to the light.Â
It's something sinister to love
Without regard for dear Tomorrow
To search for worry is to love without deceit
Dean would tell him he needed to stop worrying so much, that he was ruining the love he had right in front of him by not letting himself enjoy it. Live in the moment, heâd say. Enjoy what you have right now. But that was never an option for Sam. If he let his guard down, if he let himself become distracted, weak, he could lose you. It was because he truly loved you that he piled the world atop his shoulders. It was all he felt he could do to earn the right to be loved by you. Dean would shake his head, but he knew deep down that there was nothing he could do to change his brotherâs line of thinking. As long as there were monsters to hunt, there would be danger. And as long as there was danger, Sam would throw himself in the line of fire to keep you safe- whether the enemy was a ghost, a demon, or his own mind.Â
So I fill my days with thinking
Though, I'm years from my true time
I could die tomorrow, you'd be close behind
Close behind.Â
Hey, hey. Sam. Itâs okay, breathe with me.Â
Sam, I know you still worry, but we havenât hunted for years now. Thereâs no more danger.Â
You and me? Weâre safe and sound. You can breathe easy, you can relax.Â
Iâm not going anywhere.Â
Sam would be lying if he said he didnât still think about losing you every day. Though you had been out of the hunting game for years, though the world had found a new peace and many of the threats had been eliminated, the worry was too far engrained into his mind. He tried to hide it from you because there was nothing you could do to help. This was a burden Sam knew he would carry for the rest of his life. His eyes would always dart around a new room for escape routes. He would always carry holy water in case he got suspicious. He would skim through old lore books in secret to keep his knowledge sharp. He still slept with his gun in his nightstand, kept as far away from him as he could bear, out of fear that you would notice its presence and recognize his fear. But you already knew all of these things. You were so attuned to everything that weighed heavy on Samâs heart- this had always been your own burden to carry.Â
I canât wait to grow old with you, youâd hum, running your fingers through his hair or tracing circles on his forearm. Sam would nod, he would smile, he would humor you as you chatted about marriage and kids and retirement and everything he knew you deserved. You two built a beautiful, normal life together- dinner dates and romantic vacations and even a big white wedding one day. But even as he stood at the altar and watched you walk down the aisle, there was a pistol tucked into his waistband of his tux. When you moved into your first home, he would sneak out of your room in the middle of the night to stencil warding symbols underneath the paint youâd picked out for the living room. And when you were setting up the nursery before bringing home your first childâŚÂ
Sam would grow old with you, but his heart would never grow any less weary.Â
#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester x you#sam winchester one shot#sam winchester angst#sam winchester reader insert#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester fic#sam winchester#supernatural#supernatural reader insert#supernatural one shot#supernatural x reader#supernatural x y/n#sam winchester x gn!reader
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Secrets and Lies: Chapter 12 - Absolution
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Word Count: 5,280
Summary: âI canât change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolutionâorâor salvation⌠Just⌠forgiveness.â
Series Rating: Explicit/18+ TW: Rape/Non-con
Previous chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Sevenandahalf Eight Nine Ten Eleven
A/N: I hope you all like this chapter and if my story makes you feel something, reblogs, comments, asks, etc are always welcome <3 Alsooo don't worry. This is not the end. I felt like this seemed like an ending so I wanted to be clear. I feel like I've been giving y'all blue balls so don't worry, we're gonna get our smut on real soon, folks! ;) Most likely the next part will also wrap everything up and will be the last part but I'm already working on a new sam x reader fic that takes place at the beginning of s.10 but is a continuation of the same relationship that is present in all my fics.
Tag list: @lauraashley93 @stoneyggirl2 @tiggytaylor @park-simphwa @dottirose
When you first woke sometime later, you continued to drift in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. You were faintly aware of Samâs presence on the other side of youâyour feet tangled with his legs as he curved around you. But the meds Dean gave you were strong and continued to pull you back down into unconsciousness.Â
In the hazy moments of awareness, you could hear Sam and Dean talking quietly to each other. Their voices lulled you back into a comforted sleep. Another moment, despite your back to him, you could feel Sam sitting back against the headboard, reading. Each rustle of the pages turning was a quiet thrill that made you smile unconsciously in your sleep, even more so when he began using his free hand to casually caress figure eights onto your back.
Sometime after that, you found Sam alongside you, over the blankets but still snuggled against you, his flanneled arm draped over you. Heâd laced fingers with yours and held your hand over your heart. You felt him nuzzle his nose into your hair and inhale deeply before gently pressing his lips to the crown of your head. This, combined with the sun shining in from the window by the door and your desperate thirst, was enough to finally push you fully into consciousness.Â
The ice bag rested heavily on top of your cheek and was as cold as ever. Dean must have made a fresh one.Â
You whined softly as you stretched your legs and let out a yawn. Instinctively, you moved your arms and Sam withdrew his, allowing you to stretch them out in front of you, noticing with each shift the aches in parts of you that you didnât even know could ache. Your lungs felt bruised, somehow, from the strain the shifter had put on them in its attempt to suffocate you. The large bruises on the back of your arms, your waist, and your thighs where it had coiled itself tightly around you pulsed out painful reminders.
You turned over, taking the ice bag with you, and nestled it between your cheek and the pillow. Each movement brought on more frustration, stirring you further from your sleep as you wrestled with your appendages in a vain attempt to settle into a position that didnât hurt.. Grasping the top sheet in your fingers, you pulled your hands together and rested them beneath your chin.
You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted to the light.
Sam was right there, watching you. His face lit up as your eyes settled on his. His shaggy, brown hair was tucked behind his ears and he was dressed in jeans and an old grey and blue flannel. You took stock of the bandages on his neck and cheek and chin and wondered how many more there were that you couldnât see.
âHey,â he whispered.
âHey,â you croaked. A beat passed before you painfully cleared your throat and asked, âWhen was the last time you laid in bed this late?âÂ
Sam smirked as he thought about it for a moment. âLaid in bed with you, like this? At three in the afternoon? HmmâŚ,â his eyes narrowed on you as he thought. âProbably a few months⌠Was it New Year's Day? ⌠Certainly not often enough.â
Your heart raced and you took as deep a breath as you could manage. Sam wouldnât be talking to you like this if he hadnât decided to stay, right?
âNew resolution: stay in bed more,â you rasped with a careful smile before a tiny cough caught in your throat and you pulled the sheet over your mouth as you let it out.
âI can get on board with that,â Sam said grinning broadly as he climbed off the bed and made his way around. He grabbed the full cup from the nightstand as you carefully pulled yourself back to rest against the headboard. A groan or a hiss escaped your lips with each painful movement. Sam leaned over you, careful not to spill the water, and adjusted the pillow behind your back before moving the ice bag to the nightstand. He crouched down and handed you the cup which you drank down in seconds, stopping once to cover a painful cough.Â
Samâs brow furrowed as he tried to force his concerned frown into a smile. He grabbed Deanâs steel water container and refilled your cup as you held it out for him. Once he was sure you werenât going to chug the second cup as well, he joined you back on the bed. This time he sat with his legs crossed under him and faced you.Â
You glanced around the room. âDean?â
âSupply run,â Sam said. You nodded before taking a sip of water. He watched you for several long moments before looking away, as if steeling his nerves. He took a deep breath and when he turned back you saw that his eyes were glistening again, like last night, and you were back in that old place, the place where your heart ached and begged to stop all of his pain and guilt and regret and longed to remind him how worthy and caring and honorable he was and how all the bullshit heâd endured wasnât on him...
You took another sip and closed that door in your mind. You werenât sure Sam still wanted you to take care of him in that way and until you were, that wasnât a weight you could take on⌠not right now.
âY/n⌠Iâm so-âÂ
âIâm okay, Sam,â you said, cutting him off. The corners of your lips twitched up into your best attempt at a reassuring smile. âDean stopped it. Iâm still here. Youâre still here. Everythingâs okay.âÂ
Okay, so maybe that door didnât close so easilyâŚ
âPlease, y/n, just let me say this,â he said before inhaling sharply. âIâ I never should have left.âÂ
You shook your head at him. âPlease donât do that.â
âWhat?â
âWe both know by now that shit just happens and all any of us can do is be there to help pick up the pieces, maybe stop it if weâre lucky. Weâre not always going to be lucky,â you shrugged. âSo donât act like you should have done somethingâlike you could have done something⌠because clearly, life doesnât work that way.âÂ
Sam swallowed hard and looked away from you. âI never should have taken that damn case. I should have given it to Dean. I should have come straight home,â he muttered.Â
âSam,â you said before biting anxiously at your bottom lip. The thing that had been gnawing at the edge of your thoughts was finally ready to bubble out. âLook, I know this has thrown a wrench in your, uh, plans. I still mean what I said the other nightâif youâre not ready to come back, donât do it just because ofâbecause of all this. Iâll be okay for a bit. Awhile even. If you have any doubts⌠aboutâabout usâI need you to deal with them before youâif you decide toâŚâ You stumbled over your words and took a sharp breath, ready to push past the one word you couldnât get your mouth to utter. âif you canâ if you can forgive me.âÂ
Sam dragged his hand down his face as the tears started to slip down his cheeks. He pinched his bottom lip anxiously like he did when research was beginning to fail him. Normally, when you caught him doing that, youâd walk up behind him and pull his hands into yours as you leaned over and pecked little kisses down the side of his face until you found his lips, andâstill grasping his hand in yoursâtilted his face up and pressed your lips to his, taking a long, silent moment before opening your mouth to him and slipping your tongue gently and momentarily between his lips. Your breath turned shallow from the memories and you quickly wiped away a tear as you wondered how youâd ever be able to keep yourself from him.Â
Sam stared up at the ceiling a moment before looking back and studying you for a long moment. His brows knit together and suddenly he leaned toward you and pulled you into his arms as he lifted you with an almost disconcerting ease. You fought through the ache in your muscles as you shifted your legs and nestled yourself around his hips before resting your chin on his shoulder and encircling him in your arms. He slowly caressed his fingers up and down your back.
âSamâŚ,â you said softly against his ear, your chin pushing into his shoulder as you spoke.Â
âYou know⌠when I was out in the woods, setting up my tent, hiking the trails, just trying to clear my mindâthat plan completely backfired. All I could think about was you. I watched the creeks flowing, saw little pools of minnows and frogs and swimming ducks and I thought of you and how much youâd love it. I saw an owl up high in a tree and I wished I could show you. I watched the sunset and I wished you were there holding my hand, telling me what the colors reminded you of. I stared up at the stars and I swear I saw your face. The moon was a beautiful, clear, perfect crescentâjust like you always love to point out to me when you see it. You were everywhere. It was so much that I almost prayed to Cass, sure that he was doing this to me on purpose. But I knew better. It wasnât Cass or any other magic. It was just⌠you. My love for you.âÂ
Your heart caught in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks as he spoke. You pulled your chin down to the fabric above his clavicle and pressed a kiss into him as you shifted your grip on your forearm, squeezing him tighter as your tears dripped onto Samâs back.Â
âI couldnât sleep. I debated calling youâdebated if I should just pack up and drive back home to you. Then I got news from a hunter about a case close to home and decided I could wrap it up quick and be home in a couple of days and that way youâd still get your spaceâin case you needed it nowâafterâafter the way Iâd treated you that night.âÂ
âSam,â you said, whispering his name again. That wasnât your favorite memory but you didnât want it to be something he berated himself for forever.
âI know, just let me finish. I need to say this.âÂ
You loosened your embrace on him and trailed your fingers up his neck, unintentionally eliciting a soft gasp from him at your touch. Your fingers found your target as you brushed themâopened and closedâaround his crown, gliding slowly through his hair. His chest, pressed to you, fell and rose shallower now.Â
âOh my god⌠you're making this⌠more difficult than I imagined,â he said, his voice strained. Â
âSorry,â you said, the small smile evident in your tone. âItâs just⌠this last week has been incrediblyâexcessivelyâunbearably shitty and I needed you so badânot needed you, needed youâjustâyou knowâneeded you. Dean did his bestâthe best friend I could ever ask forâbut when you hold meâI feel⌠healed⌠salvageable⌠Iâm not-â
âShhâŚ,â Sam soothed you as he gripped your shoulders and pulled you away from him so that he could look into your eyes. âIâm here and I got you and Iâm not going anywhere. Now, listen to me. Of course I forgive you, okay? I forgive you a million times over. Tell me youâd make the same choice again and again and Iâll say, âYes, do itâ. Tell me you need to wipe my mind again right now and Iâll say, âPleaseâ without giving it another thought. If you made a call then it was the right one. Full stop. I know you, and you know me,â he said, squeezing your shoulders before letting go and cupping either side of your face in his wide palms, ensuring you couldnât look away from him as he spoke but careful to avoid the laceration on your cheek.
âIt took me a little bit to sort through the memories of that night after Cass gave them back to me. At first all I could see was youâbloody, screaming in agony as I lifted youâI woke up hearing that scream in my nightmares, y/n⌠but then, there it was, a thought that prickled at the back of my mind as I held you so still that my arms were crampingâyou didnât deserve this life and Dean and I were monsters for pulling you into itâfor keeping you in it. This is why we donât do attachments in this life. Itâs not safe. And loving me was going to be the death of you.âÂ
You shook your head and he let go of you, dropping his hands to find yours, weaving each finger with his.
âYou were right, y/n,â he said. âDonât you see? You were right.âÂ
âNo, Sam,â you said, still shaking your head. âDonât do that. I was wrong, okay? My choices were wrong. I canât change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolutionâorâor salvation⌠Just⌠forgiveness.
Sam closed his eyes and was silent for several long seconds as your words washed over him. Finally, he whispered, âI love you,â and leaned forward to press his lips chastely against yours before he pulled back just enough for his heavy breath to warm your skin. âIs this okay?â he asked.Â
You paused, surprised at yourself for not immediately responding, âyesâ. And realized you were not sure what to make of it, of him. And his beautiful words were too much. It was all overwhelming.
âY/n?â
âIâm so sorry,â you said as you dropped your head into your hands and squeezed your eyes shut. Fresh tears dripped into your palms as you quietly sobbed.
âI donât know whatâs wrong with meâI know youâre Sam. You are Sam. You are my Sam. And I adore you, too. You know that, right?â you asked. âI canât find all the words right now to convey it the way you did. Iâm soâitâs just been aâa shitty fucking week,â you said as you lifted your red, blotchy face up to look at him and took in several slow, deep breaths.Â
Samâs eyes widened with concern and you saw his chest rise and fall rapidly with panicked breaths. âI doâI do know that,â he said as fresh tears misted his eyes. You could see he wanted to comfort you, to hold you, but he wasnât sure anymore if that was right, so he pulled himself away.Â
Your tears came harder then and you gripped the comforter into a ball. You were furious, you wanted to scream out in anguish. You wanted to stop. fucking. crying. But you couldnât. It all just spilled out and all you wanted was for Sam to wrap you in a hug and hold you and kiss your forehead and stroke your back, but there was another part of you that wanted him to stay away from youâto leave you the fuck alone.Â
You felt like you were being torn in two and it was an emotional agony that paled in comparison to what you felt the night you and Sam fought or even the misery of the days after. You stood and fumbled around your boots and clothing, looking for your phone. Samâs voice sounded like it was being carried over a pool of water that sat above you as he called your name. You ignored him. You found your phone on the nightstand, no doubt plugged in and charged thanks to the ever thoughtful Sam, and made your way to the bathroom where you shut the door behind you, too scared to look back at him. It broke your heart to imagine his expression upon hearing the soft click of the lock but you did it all the same.
You turned the cold knob on the sink and tried to focus on the sound of the rushing water as you cupped your hands under the stream and watched the water rush across your skin in airy streams. It was cool and calming and you splashed several handfuls over your face before patting it dry with the hand towel, careful of your cut.Â
You unlocked your phone and called Dean.Â
âY/n?â Dean asked as he answered the phone before the first ring had even finished.
âDean?âÂ
âYou good?â
âI, uhâyeah, Iâm good,â you lied.Â
Dean could hear the congestion in your voice and knew youâd been crying.Â
In an instant his tone turned gravelly and flat. âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
âI just, um, I know itâs Sam butâI donât know why but I suddenly wasnât so sureâbut that doesnât make sense because I do knowâI do know thatâs Sam,â you choked back your tears and swallowed hard. âHeâI justâŚ,â you trailed off. There was a silence between you for a moment.
âY/n, the shifterâs dead, okay? I killed it. And I just got the other one into the trunk so we can burn it, too. Iâll be there in ten but in the meantime, Iâm sure Sam wonât mind if you have to test him again to be sure, okay, kiddo?âÂ
You nodded to yourself. âOkay,â you whispered before sniffing and wiping your nose with the back of your hand.Â
âDeep breaths,â Dean reminded you.Â
You took a deep breath and winced at the sharp pain in your lungs as you inhaled.
âSorry,â you said as a guilty tear spilled down your cheek.
âDonât be. Iâll stay on the phone with you âtil Iâm back,â he said.
You took another deep breath and counted to five before letting it out and counted to five again as you exhaled, ignoring the pain.Â
âThanks, but I think Iâll be okay, Dean,â you said as you hung up the phone before he could counter you.
You glanced in the mirror for the first time since you werenât even sure when. Your hair was a crazy, tangled mess and your face was stamped with a bright splotch of red across your cheek, an almost perfect handprint. The two butterfly closures held the broken skin together. There was a big, dark bruise forming beneath your eye, above the cut. The shifter really had hit you as hard as it could, which was saying something for a monster. You quickly brushed through your hair with your fingers and pulled it into a manageable but loose bun. You turned to face the door and shut your eyes as you gently shook your whole self, before slowly opening the door. Sam sat at the edge of the bed, waiting quietly as he fidgeted with his fingers.
âYou scared me,â he murmured as he looked up at you.
âSorry,â you said as you hesitated in the doorway. âI know youâre notâŚ,â you trailed off and took a slow step toward him. âYour whole beingâyour whole presence is the opposite of it so I know you���re notâbut for a second a part of me was there again andâwell, without Dean hereâIâm sorry. Not that youââ you said, fumbling over your words before Sam cut you off.
âYou donât have to explain it to me,â Sam said. âI know exactly what itâs like to have no idea whatâs real and whatâs in your head.â
Of course Sam would know; heâd told you vague stories of the torture heâd endured in the cage before youâd met him. The other pieces Dean filled in, about his visions of Lucifer taunting him, and the scar on his palm that reminded him he was safe. When Sam was having a really bad day youâd sometimes gently trace a finger across that scar to remind him of that fact. And on even worse days, when you had a moment alone, youâd peck small kisses to it.
He held his hand out and waited for you to take it as you approached him. When you did, he pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around your hips as he nestled his face into your waist. You twisted your fingers in his hair as he sighed a ragged breath into you. You stood there just like that, silent, as Sam breathed in and out, comforted by your fingers tracing up and down his scalp and twisting idly in his hair.Â
âWill it help if you tell me about it?â he asked after a minute.Â
You considered the idea. âMaybeâlater though, or tomorrowânot yetâand besides, Deanâs gonna be back soon,â you said. He looked up at you. Those big, pitifulâbeautiful eyes that youâd walk across shattered glass and hot coals to see just one more time. You didnât need to cut his arm to know he wasnât a shifter. This was all Sam. You disentangled a hand from his hair and lightly prodded at his left arm causing him to release you. You slid your fingers down the length of his arm as he bent it up to you. When you reached his wrist you gently grasped it in your palm and pulled it up to your lips so you could press a kiss to his scarred palm.Â
âI love you,â you murmured as you released his wrist. He glided his palm across your jaw and cupped it as he rose to his feet. Your other arm slid down and you slipped it under the back of his shirt to hold him just above his hip, urging him to stay close.
âLove you,â he whispered back. He held fastly, now, to either side of your face as he ducked down and pressed his lips to yours. You released his hip and lifted your hands, resting them over his as he held you, ensuring he didnât release you before you were ready. You opened your lips to him and he hesitated for the briefest second before deepening the kiss and slipped his tongue momentarily along yours. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you as he started to pull back. You leaned forward and captured his lips with yours.Â
âMore,â you murmured against his mouth. Obedient as always, Sam kissed you back, hungrily now, like he needed your lips on his to sustain himself. He angled your face up and deepened the kiss with his tongue. Gently, he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it and going back to your lips for more. You sighed into him as you released his hands. He let one trail over your neck as the other gripped your waist, pulling you closer and eliciting a low gasp from your lips. You cupped the side of his face with one hand as you let the other one return to his hair, just behind his ear where you drew light circles with your thumb.Â
âI should shower,â you said, remembering Dean was on his way.
âIâm the one that needs the cold shower,â he whispered with a smirk as you rested your hands on his chest.Â
âOh please, it takes way more than that to get you going.âÂ
âDonât be so sure,â he said as he gently grasped your hand and pulled it down so that you could feel his partially stiffened cock beneath his jeans. He smiled at the blush that flushed your cheeks as he shifted sideways, turning his back to the door and walked you backwards toward the bathroom.Â
âI really missed you,â he said as he pressed his lips to the juncture of your neck and jaw.Â
The roar of the Impala broke the trance and you broke apart. You listened as Dean pulled the car to the door and cut the engine off. Dean entered the room in a rush, not even bothering to shut the car door behind him. He looked to you and then to Sam and arched an eyebrow. You made your way to Dean as Sam sat uncomfortably down at the edge of the bed, tugging at his jeans as he crouched.
âYou good, sweetheart?â
âSomething like that,â you said as you hugged him. âThanks forââÂ
â âCourse,â he said as he continued to study you before glancing again to Sam. âOkay, well, you two ready to put this place in the rearview after we eat a quick bite? Because I sure as shit am,â he said as he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. He turned and made his way back out the motel door, leaving it hanging open as he rifled through the back seat before returning with a plastic bag and a paper tray with three sweating cups of ice cold soda in one hand and a brown paper bag that smelled greasy and warm and delicious in the other. The smell awakened your appetite and your stomach rumbled in response.Â
âHoly shit, Iâm fucking hungry,â you said, eliciting a small chuckle from Sam.Â
âGood, cause I got your favorite cheeseburger: extra mustard, extra pepper, add jalapenos,â Dean said as he kicked the door shut behind him and set the drinks down on the table.Â
Your mouth watered as you took the bag from Dean and set it on the table, hungrily pulling a fistful of fries from the bag, and stuffing them in your mouth as you took a seat. You didnât have the heart to tell him your throat may be too sore to enjoy mustard and jalapenos and you were too hungry to really care.
âHey, those better not be my fries!â Dean shouted. You stiffened and glanced hesitantly in his direction. Samâs lips twitched up into a small smile at you before he saw that Dean was handing him the plastic bag.Â
âOh, thanks,â he said hesitantly as he squinted at the bag.Â
âOnly thing around here was a wally-world so thoseâll have to do,â Dean said as he made his way back to the table and sat across from you. He pulled one of the cups from the tray and took a long pull.Â
You were already three bites into your burger and had dumped the fries on to the paper wrapping when Dean fished his food out of the bag. You turned and watched as Sam pulled a large shoe box from the bag and lifted one of the boots out. They were steel-toe, dark brown work boots. âTheyâll definitely do,â he said as he pulled them on and fussed with the laces. To you, they looked closer to something Dean would choose for himself than what Sam normally wore but the options were surely slim.
âYou gonna eat, Sammy?â Dean asked a moment later. You looked back to see Sam was still at the edge of the bed, watching you and Dean devour your meals. There was a hesitancy in his eyes that confused you and you furrowed your brows at him. He shook his head and smiled as he stood up.
âSo, the bunkers good?â you asked Dean after handing Sam his burger. There were only two seats at the small dinette table so Sam sat at the foot of Deanâs bed and took a careful bite of his cheeseburger.Â
âGood as it can be,â he said as he chewed a large bite. âCass said everything was fine. Had to have been some kind of spellâa cloaking spell or an entry spellâthat either the shifter already knew or got from, you know, Samâs beautiful mind,â he said before taking another pull from his soda.
You grimaced at the thought. Sam let out a guilty huff before leaning his long body off the bed and over to the table and to take one of your fries as he kissed your cheek.Â
âSâokay,â you said as he sat back down. You lifted your leg and rubbed your pointed toe along the side of his calf. A pained smile crossed his face as he looked to you.
You finished the last bite of your cheeseburger and took a giant gulp from the soda, tossed a few fries quickly in your mouth and stood up, wiping your hands off with a napkin. âFinish my fries for me, Sam,â you said. âGonna shower real quick.âÂ
Samâs palm rested on his knee and you made sure to pass him closely enough that you could graze two fingers over the back of his hand. His hand twitched reflexively from the sudden, unexpected touch.Â
âBe careful of your cut,â he whispered. You smiled tenderly at him from the doorway before turning and shutting the door.
You showeredâfor the first time sinceâand it felt so good to finally, really wash the shifter off. You let the hot water relax the tension in your shoulders and neck and scrubbed gently at your scalp with the motel shampoo. You paid extra attention with the sudsy washcloth, trying to make sure you scrubbed every part of you that the shifter touched. It wasnât enough, you could still feel it and as the memories started to enter your mind, you hurried through the rest of your shower, not comfortable to be alone with your own thoughts.Â
When you were done, you put on fresh clothes you had tucked away in your go-bag. More plaid flannel, t-shirts and dark-washed jeans. The clothing was just practical for hunting, more than anything. Although, it was nice to look like you actually belonged with Sam and Dean when you went anywhere. Sometimes you would see other girls in their crop tops or chunky sweaters, baggy jeans and sneakers, floral dresses that cinched at the waist paired with platform bootsâall things with even the vaguest whiff of a âfashion senseâ and youâd feel a pang of jealousy for yours long lost.Â
You brushed gently through your wet hair and pulled it into a quick braid, easy and out of the way, the short pieces fell loose around your face. You peered out of the bathroom. Sam was packing his bag on top of his side of the bed.
He looked up when he heard the door open and turned back to smile at you. The front door hung open and you could hear Dean packing up the Impala.
âYouâre so cute,â he said. You shrugged as you slung your duffel over your shoulder.Â
You arched a brow at him. âI look like I went three rounds with a lawnmower,â you said with a huff of laughter as you sat at the edge of the bed to pull on your boots, dropping your bag back to the floor.
âI like when you braid your hair,â he said as he brushed one of the loose pieces back and tucked it behind your ear.Â
âCut to meâpracticing a dutch braidâthenâcue the montageâas I perfect the waterfall braid, the half-up half-down twist, the mermaid, the fishtail and the low plait as âEvery Little Thing She Does is Magicâ by The Police plays,â you said with a grin as you laced your boots.Â
Sam playfully rolled his eyes as he slung his bag over his shoulder before picking up yours and doing the same.Â
âI can carry it,â you said, as you stood up and slipped your phone into your back pocket.Â
âI know you can,â he said as he indicated for you to walk on in front of him. You shook your head before walking to the car and climbed in the backseat. Dean didnât protest as Sam, too, climbed in back. You fell asleep, slumped against Samâs shoulder, hands laced together over his knee as CCR crackled through the speakers.
#sam winchester x reader#supernatural fan fiction#reader insert#sam winchester#spn#sam winchester/reader#supernatural#supernatural reader insert#supernatural fan fic#supernatural fanfiction#sam/reader#sam x reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester/you#scribeofwinchesters#sam winchester reader insert
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Hi i'm new to writing but i was wondering if you would give me some prompts please :)

#sam winchester imagines#reader x sam winchester#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester headcanon#sam winchester imagine#sam winchester reader insert#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x y/n#dean fanfiction#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean x y/n
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Grace For Sale
Sam Winchester x Reader
Synopsis: Your town could definitely handle themselves, but a little help isnât something youâd willingly turn down. When the Winchesters show up - do things get better, or worse?
Warnings: language, anti-religious sentiments, slight religious inner conflict, angst? If you squint?, smut, Under 18 keep faaaar away.
A/N: Takes place during s5:e17 - 99 Problems. So funny story, I actually AM a preacherâs kid so this episode kinda made me laugh then gave me the idea for this. Title comes from The Devilâs Carnival. Also, this has been sitting in my drafts for literal years, guess itâs about time I post it. As always, I donât have a beta so please excuse any typos. Iâll fix any that are pointed out to me.
Enjoy!
Sam and Dean arenât exactly sure what to make of your little town.
The welcome wagon was a little more off the wall than they were used to - what with a firetruck full of holy water, a portable exorcism, and a group of civilians that actually knew about the things that go bump in the night. Still, it wasnâtâŚthe strangest introduction theyâd encountered.
âSo, are we gonna talk about that?â Â Sam asks as Dean steers impala into town - right on the tail of the Sacrament Lutheran Militiaâs truck. Â What kind of a name was that anyway?
A church looms overhead, answering Samâs unspoken question, and he wishes he hadnât even asked.
Itâs definitely the apocalypse, what with the devilâs trap brandishing the walkway up to the church door.
Samâs eyes are heavy - spending the wee hours of the night fighting hellspawn will do that to you. Â Especially when youâre bleeding out. Â At least the militia had some quick fix first aid handy.
The first thing the brothers notice upon entering the sacred building is the couples standing at the alter, all facing the priest who prattles on about finding something special amidst the impending doom.  The second thing they notice is all of the townsfolk holding shotguns.
Sam scoffs.
âA wedding?  Seriously?â  How in Godâs name - no, yâknow what, scratch that - how in the Hell were they hosting a wedding at a time like this?
âYup. Â Weâve had 8 so far this week.â Â The man to his right, Paul, says and itâs obvious Sam isnât the only one whoâs less than impressed. Â At least theyâre in good company.
Itâs definitely the first time the brothers can be completely transparent in their introductions. Â Sure, sometimes theyâre found out, or sometimes theyâre among other hunters. Â But to tell an entire town - and a priest, no less - that they are demon hunters? Â Yeah, that may take a little getting used to.
So is the priest toting a gun and the children packing salt rounds in the basement of the church. Dean makes a quip about running scared or sticking around and making a home out of the place and Sam thinks heâd be leaning toward the later if the end of the world wasnât resting on their shoulders.
But none of that explained how a whole town had taken up hunting.
Well, until the mystery prophet is introduced in the form of the âPacking Preacherâsâ daughter - Leah.
WellâŚheâd been through stranger.
Dean makes a pass at her - right in front of her father.  The father. Sam just rolls his eyes, gaze landing on the corner where another figure lurks.
Oh.
This oneâŚhe thinksâŚthis one is much more his speed.
âAh, my other daughter.â Pastor Gideon says, holding a hand out to beckon you forward. Sam watches as you push off the wall and approach the group. Thereâs little family resemblance, he notes, but definitely isnât complaining. While your sister is clad in muted colors, baggy sweater, and tennis shoes - you opt for something a little form-fitting under your dark leather jacket with the combat boots to match. You scream âhunterâ, âcapableâ, and âdangerâ more than anyone else in this town and he has trouble tearing his eyes off of you. Now, youâre not complaining. In fact, your eyes linger on Sam just as much as he does on you. And when he realizes this, the mountain of a man becomes a flustered mess.  It brings a smirk to your face and a blush to his.  âY/N, this is Dean and Sam Winchester.â
âSo Iâve heard.â You chuckle, arms crossing in front of the very cleavage Samâs staring at beneath your open flannel. You cock a brow, baiting him, though he seems too nervous with your father present to answer the challenge.  âShame Leah never mentioned you. Though,â you cast an appreciative glance over their strong frames and Sam very nearly shivers. Beside him, Dean practically preens. âI can see why. If I knew fine specimens such as yourself were going to be crashing in our little town, Iâd keep it to myself too.â
The Father is none too amused when you wink at your sister and the two of you share a giggle. Again, Sam notes the distinct lack of resemblance but brushes it off.
âY/N,â Your father says in warning, which you completely ignore and grant the taller Winchester another ravenous once over before turning on your heel. If anyone asked, you would deny that you were overemphasizing the swing of your hips.
âIf you need me,â you tell him without so much as a glance, calling over your shoulder as you saunter up the basement stairs.  âIâll be at Paulâs!â
âââââ
The next time you see the brothers, itâs at the house Leahâs vision lead you to. Well, actually, thatâs a lie. You saw them the night before at Paulâs bar, but they seemed to be wrapped up in a very important conversation - if the concentration on their brows had anything to say about it.Â
Still, that hadnât stopped you from ordering the brothers a couple of beers. To his credit, Paul doesnât judge you - which is a lot more than you can say for your family as of late - and even brought the boys their drinks so that you could do the ever so clique cheers across the bar.
Sam merely nodded in his head in thanks, raised his own beer with a silent âcheersâ, then went back over to his brother.
So you couldnât get a better read on them that night. Thatâs ok. It gave you the perfect opportunity to ogle to your heartâs content.
They were some fine specimens, thatâs for sure. The perfect hunters. Sharp eyes, strong statures. Hell, Sam looked like he could take out multiple demons all on his own - I mean, come on. Those arms!
God, you had gotten such a perfect look at them while they brooded and planned what with the way Samâs sleeves had been rolled and pushed up to his elbows. Had you ever found forearms as attractive as you did at that moment? Probably not.
And that jawline?�� Christ, you could cut glass on that thing.
The sideburns may have been a little much, but hell, if that was all you could pin as off, youâd take it!Â
Your ogling session had been cut short by the bell tolling - another of your sisterâs visions - and after arguing with your father in front of the whole church that âyes, I am going with themâ - your hunting group was on the doorstep of the abandoned home. Most of the townspeople are toting guns full of salt or sprayers of holy water, all armed with the ridiculous incantation your sister had told you to use to exorcise them.
But not Sam. No, Sam was only wielding a knife, and God did he make it look easy. If you werenât too busy kicking ass and getting your ass kicked, youâd be drooling over that too.
Only when the dust settles do you take the opportunity to approach the brothers.
âYou really are the hunters my sister made you out to be.â Samâs perfect eyebrow arches at that, gaze flickering to the way your chest rises and falls with your heavy panting.
âYou didnât think we would be?â You mirror his smirk and shrug, ignoring the way Dean is eyeing the two of you like he knows exactly whatâs going on in your head. Honestly, he probably did. Dude seemed about as horny as you did.
 âSo,â Sam pants, following the group out of the house. You miss the way heâs eyeing your ass as youâre just steps ahead of him.  âThatâs what itâs like.â Thereâs no shortage of sexual innuendo in his voice and you decide to poke the bear a little more. Whether your father was in earshot or not.
âWhat whatâs like?â Youâre turned to him now, handing in your pockets and treading carefully backward. He meets your hungry look with one of his own and shivers absolutely rattle your body. Again he smirks, making sure the coast is clear of your father before saddling up right next to you.
âHaving back up.â He all but whispers in your ear, large hand grazing just inches above your bottom and god, how did he make such an innocent statement sound so filthy. Thereâs no way he misses the way you tremble and sigh, not with the way he smirks at you while walking away.
Youâre not sure whatâs going to kill you first. The Demons or your insatiable need for Sam fucking Winchester.
âââââ
Neither.
Neither of those things is gonna kill you first.
Because itâll be your father that kills you.
Because youâre going to fucking murder your sister.
After the Winchesters brought back a murdered DylanâŚwell, things were tense. People started to resent them and the warm welcome they had initially received turned cold. Only you and Paul would speak to them without adding to the guilt you knew they already felt.
You knew it wasnât their fault. Hell, half of you had been through it before - coming off a hunt all together too cocky and not aware of the demon that still lurked around until it was too late. Dylan was a good hunter. Dean and Sam were good hunters. It had happened to the best of you. And so you do what you always did - you held a funeral and vowed to be more vigilant next time.
But that wasnât enough for the townspeople.
Or for your sister.
No, she had to go and suck the fun out of everything.
No drinking, no gambling, no pre-marital sex.
All per the angelsâ command, of course.
âWhat a crock of shit.â The empty glass thunks against the wood of the bar - as hollow as you feel right about now. Paul only echoes your sentiments and pours you another glass. The only thing that pulls you from your ire is the bell signifying a newcomer. For the first time since Leahâs proclamation, your scowl softens as the person you wanted to see most walks right through that door.
âSo, what happened to, uh,â he makes a grand gesture to the empty bar - earning a snort from the two of you, ââthe apocalypse is good for businessâ?â
âYeah, right up until Leahâs angel pals banned the good stuff.â Paul says, earning a groan from you as you pinch the bridge of your nose at your damn sisterâs name.  âY/Nâs here helping me kill some inventory.â Sam chuckles at the glass you raise, tipping it toward him and saying âIâm only doing the good work.â  âWant to help?â
With a drink in hand, Paul pours a shot for each of you. He doesnât hold back on his opinion of the âholy rollersâ nor their hypocrisy, to which Sam calls him out for his noticeable lack of faith. Paul shrugs it off, defending his honorable lack of prayer.
âLook, thereâs sure as hell demons. and maybe there is a god, I donât know. Fine. But Iâm not a hypocrite. I never prayed before and I ainât starting now. If I go to Hell, Iâm going honest. Besides,â Paul nods to you just as you put your shot glass - empty again - back on the bar. âI figure if this one can get away with it, so can I.â Samâs eyebrows raise at that, eyes finding you.
âYou either?â
âI grew up in the church,â you explain.  âIâve seen how theâŚholiest of us all can be far worse than the âhooligansâ of the world.â You wink at Paul, air quotes bouncing as you mimic your fatherâs âpreacherâ voice. The two of you share a laugh and you miss how Samâs fingers tighten around his glass along with his jaw at the intimacy you two seem to share.  âYeah, I believe in some kind of higher power.â You continue, focus shifting to the Adonis beside you. He doesnât miss the bitter tone your voice takes on. âBut I donât believe in the church. The organized religion crap. Never been too big on it. But then, neither had Leah. And now, out of nowhere, sheâs some chosen prophet?â You scoff.  âI dunno. I just canât trust it. And like Paul said, Iâm no hypocrite. I know Iâm messed up. Wonât pretend otherwise.â
This time when you regard Paul, patting his hand as one would a brother, Samâs shoulders relax.
âYeah, I, uhâŚI know what you mean.â A moment of heavy, thick silence passes between the two of you before youâre pressing him for his thoughts with nothing more than a look.  âI believe.â But he doesnât sound so sure. More convincing himself than he is you, maybe, so you stay quiet and let him work through his thoughts. âYeah, I do.â He says, more assured this time. âIâm just pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.â
âYeah, I can see that.â A big sigh breaks from your chest, one of those sighs that comes when you feel like youâve forgotten how to breathe, and suddenly this conversation is too heavy for how drunk you are not and for how drunk you want to be.
After a few moments, a morbid, hindsight joke blooms in your head and you canât help but laugh, noting the questioning look on your drinking buddiesâ faces.
âGuess those newlyweds knew something we didnât.â You chuckle, taking a pull of your drink. âTied the knot before Leah could restrict âem. Betcha theyâre banginâ like rabbits right about now.â The liquor burns, smothering your humorless chuckle as you knock it back. âLucky bastards.â Â
Behind the bar Paul chuckles, noting the tension in the air, the sudden shift of mood, and takes his exit - mumbling something about grabbing more from the back. Neither you or Sam really hear him, though - too wrapped up in the otherâs stare you share at what youâre implying. Â
Helluva wingman, that Paul.
Once the two of you are alone, Sam swivels in his chair until his long legs drape open and you have to force yourself not to look down. A bushy, perfectly masculine brow arches. Then he speaks - voice low and sweet and pure sin.
âReally? You, uh, donât seem to have much issue with breaking the no-drinking rule.â And it isnât a question. He flicks the back of his fingers against your glass, warm eyes staring right at you as the faint tinkling tickles your ears. Your heart shutters in time with the tinkling of skin on glass and you donât realize youâre chewing on your bottom lip until his eyes flicker to it. âYou gonna draw the line at pre-marital sex?â
âNow, Sam Winchester...who said I would do that?â The look you fix him with has him adjusting his suddenly too-tight pants.
âNot afraid of being damned? Of not being one of the âchosenâ?â
âIâm no âchosenâ.â You scoff, bouncing air quotes once more. âThatâs my sister. Me? Iâm just the poor little preacherâs kid who lost her faith a long time ago.â  It isnât seductive talk - in fact, itâs dark as hell. But he asked, and like youâd said before - you were no liar, and you were no hypocrite. You turn to your companion, renewed .  âBut you knowâŚthere is a curfew.â
The tonal shift isnât subtle, but that doesnât keep the space between you from growing ever smaller, Samâs large hand sliding up your thigh and again you must fight off the urge to shiver. Especially when he lowers his voice once more, those big hazel eyes glancing at you from under his full, coal black lashes.
âIs that so?â A squeeze to your thigh, and you jolt just the tiniest bit, to Samâs great amusement.
âMy place is right around the corner.â You explain with a shrug, that damn lip caught between your teeth again. And suddenly in the dark, empty bar, you donât care if you are damning yourself to hell. As long as itâs at the hands of Sam Winchester, youâll go willingly.
âââââ
The wall of your entryway meets your back sharply, a hiss of pain escaping you momentarily before itâs silenced by Samâs eager lips.
Hurried hands rid you of your clothes, his own falling like breadcrumbs alongside yours until the two of you are falling on to the bed. Fingers skilled at far more than knife-wielding ghost up your thighs, featherlight touches leaving a fire under your skin. Heâs slow in his undoing of you. Reverent even. Watches the way you keen beneath him, begging for his fingers. Holds your eyes as he drags those fingers through his lips before trailing the wet tips down your front. When he finally gives them to you, one long digit sliding right up to the knuckle, your teeth break the skin of your lip just enough to hurt and youâre gasping - begging for more - which he gives to you, gladly. Working you until youâre ready for him and at the precipice of falling over the edge.
He had looked good in his clothes, sure, but god damn heâs ten times more beautiful out of them. Infinite smooth, golden skin lays beneath your greedy fingers, a dusting of fine hair contouring the plane of his chest and down below his waistband. Your mouth waters and you tug impatiently at his jeans.
âSomeoneâs eager.â He chuckles, low and husky, standing to drop both pants and boxers.  Oh. Good God.
âOh, you have no idea.â You only break your eyes away to grab a condom before you shove him on his back and straddle those strong thighs. "I've been wanting to get your clothes off since the second I laid eyes on you."
"Trust me," he breathes - no, borderline growls - and you shutter, walls fluttering at how fucking empty you are and just how fucking bad you need him inside of you right now. "The feeling's mutual."
Heâs big all over, just like you expected, and even rolling the latex over his thick shaft has you shivering in anticipation. The action doesnât go unnoticed by the gigantic man beneath you and before you can react, heâs rolling his hips with a moan that takes your breath away. It takes immense focus to speak through your gasp.
âDonât finish this before itâs even started, Winchester.â He laughs at your warning, fingers digging into your thighs and ass. Oh, this man is going to wreck you, you just know it.
âYou have so little faith in me?â A quip lies on your tongue, something about having no faith at all, but that melts into a strangled moan the second his fat head presses past your opening. âOh, Christ.â He hisses, teeth clenched and head thrown back in unadulterated pleasure at the feel of you, your hips rolling slowly as you try your best to take the overwhelming size of him. Your fingers digging into supple pecs does nothing to ebb the overwhelming feeling of Sam spearing you open.
âLeave him outta this.â You quip, sinking down the rest of the way - finally. You both shiver at the feeling of him fully seated in you before you start rocking against him.
Not much else is said - not much else needed to be said - as the two of you chase relief and distraction in each other.
The stretch burns in the best way and you realize you're going to be feeling this for days. Every step, every shift is going to take you right back here - your hands splayed out on sculpted pecs, Sam's angelic and angular face contorted in ecstasy as he does his best to keep his eyes open and watch you ride him for everything he's worth. Those big hazel eyes blink up at you, fluttering and rolling at a particularly deep stroke before they're suddenly open - fiery and determined. There's no time to even tease or question before he's pistoning up into you, his marble body rubbing yours in such a way that has you gasping for air, his massive hands splayed over your ass to keep you exactly where he wants you. Sloppy thrusts turn to rocking hips and the new angle has your toes curling.
His cock grazes just the right spot with every rock of his hips, both of you whispering moans and groans of the otherâs name. You do your best to keep up, rolling your tired hips when you can, nails biting into his skin when you have to focus solely on not imploding right where you are.
Your orgasm crests, and you beg him to go faster - to take control - and he does, practically throwing you onto your back to angle you the exact way he wants to. The height difference is dizzying - even with you on your back and him on his haunches - all you can see while he hammers into you is the brand on his chest. You itch to bite into the ink, to make him mewl against your skin once more but all rational thought flies out the window when his thumb reaches between your splayed legs, presses in tight, dizzying circles, and sends you spiraling into oblivion as aftershock after aftershock rocks your nerves.
In the aftermath of it all - after youâve seen white from the intense pleasure he milked out of you - you lie in a daze. Memorizing the way his hands feel as he wipes some of his spend off your chest. Jesus, the sounds that man had made when he came...you have half a mind to tie him down and never let him leave - your sister's 'orders' be damned.
âItâs past curfew, y'know?â You remind him, fingers tracing the divots and curves of his abdomen. God, heâs perfect. You could spend hours memorizing every inch of skin.  Pity said skin disappears behind thick flannel once more. You bite back a disappointed groan, casting your eyes over his massive stature. You don't think you'll ever get over just how small he makes you feel - in the best possible way, of course. Especially when he flashes that perfect fucking smile at you, dimples and all.
âYeah? What about it?â He urges, a shit-eating grin playing at his lips as he dares you to ask him to stay. You sit up on your knees then, leveling yourself with his chest and drag your fingers down once more. "Something you want to say, Y/N?" If possible, his grin grows wider when you crook an eyebrow at him, beckoning him to your level with a come hither finger to match.
âIf youâre waiting for me to ask you to stay, Sam Winchester," you whisper, lips ghosting over his own and you take great pride in the way his sinfully long lashes flutter against the tops of his sharp cheeks.  "You can keep waiting.â The low groan that escapes his throat when you cup him once more makes you ache in the absolute best way. You're seconds away from throwing your pride to the wind and pulling him back into bed with you. But this is the end of the world after all. No doubt he has other pressing matters to attend to.
âYeah, well, as much as I would love toâŚI should get back before Dean gets worried.â Disappointment laces his words, but youâre both too grown-up for any fairytale crap. Your life felt like more a horror lately than a fantasy, anyway. So, with incredibly gentle fingers, he pulls your hand toward his lips, grazing them over your knuckles as his eyes bore into yours. Hmm, he plays dirty.
âYeahâŚmy dadâs probably expecting me at the church.â You offer lamely, though there's probably some truth to it. Not one night goes by without a demon attack or a vision from the chosen sister. You're surprised you haven't been interrupted by a frantic call from your father already, as a matter a fact. He smiles at you again, your heart running rampant as he's tossing the towel down to wrap his arms around your waist once more. The look in his eyes and the hardness pressing into your belly are tempting enough, but you manage to grit out a warning "Sam..."
âAnd here you are, sinning with the outsider.â He rumbles, smirking as his eyes drink in your face for - most likely - the last time. You return his smile, reeling him in for one last kiss...or twelve.
âYeah, well, if Iâm going to hell anyway, may as well make the road there fun.â
If only you knew the literal hell that awaited you in the next few hoursâŚ
FIN
#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester#sam winchester x you#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester reader insert#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic#spn reader insert#reader insert#lena writes#sam winchester smut#supernatural smut#supernatural fanfic#smut#fanfiction#sam winchester fanfiction
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âĽÂ Sam Winchester and Y/N Master list âĽÂ
Hello dear reader, welcome to my Sam and Y/N master list. Sam Winchester and Supernatural were the first fandoms I wrote Y/N stories for! It certainly holds a special place in my shipper heart!
Smut = đĽ Romance = đ Fluff = đ¸ Angst = đ§ Prompt = ⨠Episode = đś One-shot = đą Multi chaptered = đ˛ Collection = đŞ´
The Power of Three đđ¸đ§đśđ˛ Once upon a time, there were two brothers who saved the world - but who would be there to save them? What would have happened if Season 7 was different? What would have happened if the boys had met Y/N? - heavily focused on Y/N and Sam's relationship.
The Diner and The Bar đđ¸đą Sammy used to work on the docks, heâs down on his luck, itâs tough, so tough. Y/N works the diner all day. She brings home her pay, for love, for love. - What happens when one hunter finds himself ordering from the diner Y/N works at?
Celebrating Life đđ¸đą After a rough hunt, leaving the boys tired and with little hope, they return to the bunker filled with decorations and music. Lead by Y/N, Jack and Castiel helped turn the bunker into the perfect scene for the hunters to celebrate New Year's Eve properly! And it's just what the boys needed.
November Morning đđ¸đą Y/N wakes up one morning and there is a very strong chill in the air of the bunker. Since there are no monster hunts to distract them from fixing the plumbing, the boys get to work to fixing the heat whilst Y/N sets up a warming sanctuary in the meantime.
Coming Up Easy đđ¸đą Sam and Y/N wake up in the same bed and are thrown into the consequences of the morning after. When Dean makes a sudden return they have to think quickly on their feet. Will big brother approve of their recent relationship development? Be ready for rom-com cliche moments and tooth-rotting fluff!
The Mystery Dilemma đđ§đśđą Y/N gets a phone call from Bobby who is worried about Sam. Since Dean was killed, Sam has been on a mission to find The Trickster, but in doing so, heâs pushed everyone away. When Bobby canât get through to Sam, he pulls out the big guns. Unlucky for Sam. Set during 3X11 âMystery Spot.
Lust in a Coffee Cup đĽđą After a series of adultery based deaths, Y/N, Sam and Dean investigate. It seems one of the seven deadly sins has escaped hell and is looking for revenge. What happens when Lust curses both Sam and Y/N?
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Twisted luck masterlist
Sam Winchester x reader rewrite
supernatural masterlist









Season 1
Prologue
S1E1: Woman in white
Not alone - important chapter
S1E2: Wendigo
S1E3: Dead in the water
#s0urw00lf#sam Winchester#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester reader insert#sam winchester rewrite#sam x reader#sam winchester x you#Dean Winchester x best friend!reader#dean winchester x reader fluff#supernaturalfamily#supernatural reader insert#supernatural fluff#sam winchester supernatural#supernatural fic
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I'll Crawl Home
Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist
Read on A03!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n
Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.
Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!
Title from Work Song by Hozier
Word Count: 8.6k
You donât know who these men are.Â
There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out whatâs wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he canât, because the object was guarded against outside interference.Â
The third one is silent. Heâs a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, heâs less lanky, and heâs touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and youâd⌠barely even noticed. Not because heâs almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadnât seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadnât been worried at all.
But youâre worried. As your brain starts to kick into gearâdragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludgeâyou are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying youâre sickâyouâre tired, but overall you feel fineâand why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why heâs so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.
Why when you yank your arm from Handsomeâs grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord.Â
âNo!â You shout, and itâs more at yourself, but Handsomeâs whole face falls, and he looks like heâs been shot, stabbed, and bled out.
âShit, sheâs talking- Hey,â Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. âCan you- Wait, where are you going-â
âShe seems to be experiencing panic.â Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. âShe is likely trying to get to Dean.â
You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where HandsomeâDean?âhad backed away.
âFuck!â You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.
All three men shout your name, but Deanâs deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one whoâs holding you upright.
Your body is slumped into him. Itâs the same way youâve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because sheâd felt like the safest place to be in the world.
But you donât know Dean.Â
âDonât- donât touch me-â You try to shake him off, but he doesnât let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you donât understand. âWho are you people?!â
Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. âItâs just us, itâs-â Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.
At least you still know how to flinch away.Â
âI donât knowwho the fuck you are,â you hiss at him. âOr what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.â You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. âPlease let me go home.â
Trench Coat nods. âI am able to-â
âCas.â Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench CoatâCasâfrowns at him. âDonât.â
âShe has requested something I can assist with-â
âShe doesnât fucking know who you are.â Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. âWhat the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesnât remember?â
Tall shakes his head. âWe donât know that she doesnât remember the bunker-â
âYeah? Hey,â Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. âYou believe in angels?â
You blink. âLike, with wings?â
Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.
âThat doesnât prove anything-â
âIt proves enough, Sammy.âÂ
âNo, it doesnât!â TallâSammyâcrosses his arms, glaring at Dean. âShe remembers her own name, itâs not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!â
âThatâs cause her name is her name! She doesnât remember who we are! Sheâs not going to remember anything else-â
âIt may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.â Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. Youâre impressed. Dean seems scary.
Even if your body doesnât seem to agree.Â
âGood idea, Cas, letâs just-â Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. âHi, Iâm-â
âSammy?âÂ
âItâs actually Sam- wait.â Sam blinks at you. âYou remember my name?â
âNo.â You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. âHe said it.â
âOh.â Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. âDo you know his name?â
âItâs Dean.â You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Deanâs face. âBut I donât remember it, I just heard it. Iâm sorry.â
Deanâs jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.
âDonât apologize, weâre just- Itâs complicated.â Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. âCan I ask you a few questions?â
You nodâyou donât seem to have a choice, and youâre not nearly as panicked as you should beâand Sam swallows.
âOkay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?â
You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.
âWhatâs wrong?â You look between their identical expressions of worry. âThatâs where I-â
Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. âYou havenât lived there in almost six years.â
You blink at him. âNo⌠I- I live there now.â
âNo, you-â Sam lets out a long breath. âHow about this, do you know what your job is?â
âYeah, Iâm a librarian.â
That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. âOkay, what kind of car do you drive?â
âI donât drive.â You glance up at Cas and Dean, and theyâre exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. âI, um, I take the bus.â
âFuck!â Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. Itâs making you agitated. âGoddamnit, she doesnât remember anything-â
âActually, she seems to remember selective things.â Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. âAre you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?â
You arenât. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the menâs questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.
Dean keeps looking at you. Heâs not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know themâthat theyâre your friends, and youâre cursed, and theyâre taking you somewhere safe to help youâand your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.
You really want to touch him. Heâs beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now itâs really just Dean in the whole universe.Â
Just Dean. Here. With you.
The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.
Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide.Â
Heâs warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-
Cas says your name, and you blink at him. Youâre not sure what the fuck just happened.
âAre you experiencing memory recall?â
âI, um, what?â
âYour eyes.â He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passengerâs seat. âThey began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?â
âI, uh,â you glance in the rearview mirror. Deanâs suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. âHave I been in this car before?â
âYeah, you have.â Samâs words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. âA lot. Cas, you donât think-â
âI do. I believe it may be our best shot.â
And thatâs how it begins. The moment you return to the bunkerâa strange, underground building they claim youâve lived in for yearsâyouâre rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.
Youâd consider it useless if it wasnât working. If your hands didnât already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didnât get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesnât show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.
Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. Youâre going to kill him. Heâs being obvious, and a little mean.
It doesnât stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.
âYouâve got something?â Samâs almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile.Â
âYou drink smoothies.â
âTheyâre healthy.â Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. âCas! Itâs working!â
Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. âCas left. Said heâs going to look for a better fix.â
Sam frowns. âWhy didnât he tell me?â
âHe told me. And you should bring her to her room.â
Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
âShit, yeah, good idea. Câmon,â Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. âThis should be good for you.â
When you see your room, it does seem like your room. Itâs decorated how youâd decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how youâd paint them, but thereâs also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.
âShit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, whereâd you find it?â
You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. âIt was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.â
âHell yeah,â he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. Itâs adorable.
You wish heâd stop.
âDean?â
He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.
âAre we going to talk about it?â
Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.
âI donât think thereâs anything to talk about. I mean, itâs us. We can be cool.â
âCool.â
âYeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,â he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.
âOkay.â
âAwesome.â
âYeah.â You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, youâre going to let it. âAwesome.â
âYou got anything?â Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much.Â
And none of it is making any make sense at all.
The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but donât recognizeâtheir dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the streetâall as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.
But you think youâve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. Youâve trailed after himâholding onto the sleeve of his jacketâin the corner store. Youâve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.
And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.
He still wonât look at you. He doesnât even acknowledge you anymore. Heâs locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.
Sam is worried.
âThis⌠isnât like Dean.â He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. âI donât know whatâs up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.â He gives you an odd look. Youâve been getting a lot of those lately. âThere was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-â He shakes his head, cutting himself off. âNever mind. Iâll talk to him later.â
You sleep in your room again. Itâs felt strange, because your body doesnât seem to like your mattress. It doesnât relax into it like it should, if youâve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off.Â
Heâs still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck.Â
You shouldâve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. Itâs cruel to you.
Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. Youâll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you.Â
When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater.Â
Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. Heâs peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps.Â
As he has no way to know that heâs doing it.
Heâs vulnerable. Deanâs body is letting him rest with you at his side. Itâs letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though thereâs something foreign pressed against him.
And thatâs why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that heâd chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.
Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else youâve ever had.
And he will not love you.
And this is cruel.
But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep.Â
And you just watch him.Â
You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.
Itâs not foreign.Â
It feels like you.
And youâre so lost.Â
You donât ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions youâd really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about whyâif youâre as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are trueâhe wonât even look at you. About how heâd looked at you before.
About how youâd looked at him.
But Samâs too busy for you to even really consider it. Heâs calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, heâs researching day and night to try and fix you, and heâs coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.
âSit there.â He points to the driverâs seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. âYouâre driving.â
You shake your head. âI donât know how to drive stick-â
âYeah, you do, Dean- fuck.â Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. âWell, letâs try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?â
You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You donât even have to think about it, you just can.Â
It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you driveâtelling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinationsâand whenever you try to actually dwell on what youâre doing, you make a mistake.Â
So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.
âHuh.â Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. âIâve never been here before. I know itâs a stupid question, but do you know where you are?â
âNo,â you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. âNot at all.â
âShit.â He mutters. âWell, you want a drink while weâre here?â
You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.
âThis isâŚâ Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. âIâm really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? Iâm- I donât even know where to start here.â He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. âAll weâve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but heâs being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. Weâre going to fix this, I promise, but...â
He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You havenât just sat with Sam since thisâwhatever this isâstarted. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesnât make your skull cave in and your heart burn.
âCan I ask you some stuff?â
Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.
âHow did I end up here? Doing,â you gesture vaguely to the air. âThis.â
A small smile ghosts over Samâs lips. âDean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there youâd kind of saved yourself. Youâd covered yourself in dead manâs blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you havenât left since.â
âAnd weâre⌠friends?â
âWe are.â Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. âI mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that heâs bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say youâre never running again. Youâre the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-â
You blink at him. âYou have a girlfriend?â
âYeah, Eileen. Youâre friends with her too. Youâre friends with everybody.â Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. âEven Rowena likes you. We didnât have to threaten her to help us out here.â
Even as you return Samâs smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and youâre too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.
âWhat about Dean?â You whisper. âAm I friends with him?â
Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot.Â
âYes. Kind of. I⌠I donât know.â He mutters, frowning at the pavement. âItâs complicated. Iâm not- This isnât really my place, you know?â
You swallow. âDoes he hate me?â
Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot.Â
âNo.â He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you donât understand. âI donât think either of you could hate each other if you-â
âI fucking hate you!â You scream, shoving his chest. He doesnât flinch. He never flinches.Â
Asshole.
âYouâre drunk.â Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. âWe need to go home.â
âIâm not going anywhere with you, Winchester-â
âYeah, you are.â
Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when heâs gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns.Â
Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he canât return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.
âYouâre going to sleep it off.â Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him thatâs impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep.Â
âI donât need to sleep it off!â You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. âJust leave me alone, Dean.â
âI am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-â
âWhy not?â You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. âAfraid Iâll find someone else? That Iâll crawl into another bed, and theyâll actually like me, and youâll lose your favorite pet?â
He scowls. âWeâre not having this conversation right now-â
âWhy not?! You know itâs the truth, Dean! Iâm just, Iâm your fucking toy and you hate sharing-â
He says your name in a low warning, but you canât stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that itâs out itâs volcanic. You couldnât keep it in if you tried.
âBut youâll never actually care about me! Iâm easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! Weâre easy for each other and thatâs it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-â
âYouâre not trying to get over me.â He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. âYou donât have anything to get over. Youâre just fucking wasted-â
âYeah, I am, because you wonât just say that I matter to you-â
âOf course you matter to me, youâre my friend-â
âYouâre not my friend!â You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. âFriends donât do this to each other!â
Youâre dizzy. You feel a little faint.Â
And youâd just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But heâs still grabbing you and keeping you steady.
You really wish he wouldnât. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didnât make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didnât really care.Â
âYou done?â He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.
âI hate you, Dean.â You mumble, even as you slump into him. âI fucking hate you.â
He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. âI know you do, babygirl.â He mutters, and you donât think he knows youâre still awake. âLetâs go home.â
Samâs frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that youâd really like to leave, he doesnât ask questions. He doesnât even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window.Â
He doesnât push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you donât see Dean at all.Â
But heâs everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. Heâd made jokes, and youâd giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly youâre laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and heâs at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you canât actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.Â
His whole face is set in that memory, but itâs all hazy. You donât know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you werenât sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didnât actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice.Â
You donât know. You donât know anything. Youâve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where itâs supposed to be, but your brain isnât. Itâs restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.
Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you donât know why. You donât know him. Every time youâve seen Cas since youâve returned, heâs asked you questions you donât know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you donât. You want to, you want to so bad, but youâre adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you canât even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like thereâs a lifeline, just out of reach, but you canât grab it. Itâs not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. Itâs nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.
You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now itâs missing. Vanished from your hands.Â
And now youâre lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse youâre not sure exists.
You walk into the War Room, and Deanâs already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones youâd gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesnât flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles.Â
âHi.â You whisper, and he grins.
âHey.â
âItâs late.â You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. Heâs amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. âItâs bad for your back to sleep in a chair.â
âBad for my back?â He chuckles. âIâm not that old, sweetheart-â
âItâs bad for everyoneâs back-â
âSam sleeps in his chair all the time.â Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. âYouâre not on his ass about it.â
You sigh. You donât want to entertain this. Youâre too tired for the fight that it will lead to. âPlease just go sleep in your bed, Dean.â
He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until youâre standing between his legs.
âMaybe I will, if youâre there with me.â
âDonât say that.â You whisper, unable to move away. Heâs going to break your heart again. Youâre going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. âPlease.â
He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesnât say another word.Â
But he doesnât go to bed either. He stands up until youâre trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. Heâs scanning over your face with an expression like heâs lost, like heâs looking for something heâs desperate to find but terrified to see.
You donât know if he finds it.Â
All you know is that heâs touching you, and youâre molding into him, and whatever he does to you, youâll allow.Â
As long as itâs Dean doing it.
He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didnât think heâd own a song like this. Itâs slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.
He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon youâre dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didnât think heâd know how to do this. You didnât think heâd ever do it with you.
But youâre lost in him, and youâve never felt like youâve belonged anywhere else. Youâre drowning in the song, but Deanâs drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Deanâs eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever youâll need to be.
When he leans in to kiss you, you donât push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Deanâs taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.
And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. Itâs not desperate and needy, itâs long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, itâs like heâs trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like itâs more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever.Â
When he pulls awayâthe song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your earsâhe still doesnât speak. And you donât move. Youâll be a statue until Deanâs command brings your back to life. Youâll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.
And thatâs pathetic.
But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you donât even try not to follow him.
Because Dean would never let you stray from where youâre safe. Next to him.
Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you donât. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They donât seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like itâs an anesthetic.Â
This must be Deanâs room. If your body couldnât tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. Itâs obviously lived inâclothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresserâand thereâs only one lived in room you havenât entered before. Deanâs.
Sam hadnât even shown you where it was.
Apparently he hadnât needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.
And thatâs your shirt, on the bedside table-
Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your bodyâheâs already explored it, found places you didnât even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of youâand Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.
Neither of you are speaking. Thereâs nothing to say that hasnât already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasnât been moaned or mumbled or whispered.Â
All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and youâll leave, but you know you wonât. Deanâs changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.
You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you canât get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, youâd never stop him.
Thatâs another taste youâll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he canât take back.
But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering youâve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.
And he always takes it. Deanâs eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But itâs never like youâre prey. Never like youâre just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost.Â
Itâs like youâre something heâs trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him heâs trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. Itâs why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until youâre writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lipsâpressing his tongue flat against you and suckingâa coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.
Your body only ever does that for Dean.
You donât think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, heâs always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like itâs a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more.Â
He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his timeâteasing and edging you until youâre a whining messâbut tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isnât taunting or lustful, itâs relaxed. And he still doesnât speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chestâstopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because heâs Dean and he canât help himselfâitâs louder than anything else in the world. Heâs taking him time because heâs trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, youâll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.
So heâs giving you a reason to stay.
He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where youâre begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours.Â
Heâs kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.
And he falls right back into you.
From there itâs only Dean. Fucking you until youâre scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until youâre just a squirming, whining mess and heâs slamming into you at a brutal pace.Â
He doesnât slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. Youâll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, youâll never push him away.
He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.
Dean rolls you over until heâs beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesnât pull outâletting his cum drip down and dry on your thighsâand when your look up at him heâs staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression.Â
His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now youâre going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean���s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but heâs still not yours to have.
Yet, you canât move.
And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost donât hear it. Youâre not sure you did hear it.
âDean?â
He repeats your name, and itâs barely a breath.Â
âWha-â
âI love you.â He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesnât even know heâs speaking. ââm sorry. Love you. Donât leave.â He buries his face in your hair, and he wonât remember this in the morning. âPlease donât leave me.â
âWhat are you doing in here.âÂ
You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. Heâs not glaring at you, even though youâve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.
âIâm sorry.â You whisper, rooted to the spot. âI donât⌠I donât know.â
Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.
âWhatever.â He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. âGet out.â
âNo.â
You donât know why you said that. This isnât your place to be, especially when Dean doesnât want anything to do with you. When he doesnât want you here. But you donât feel adrift here. And you donât want to go.
Dean stares at you. âWhat.â
âIâm not going.â You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. âThatâs my shirt.â
He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. âSo a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.â
You swallow. âWhy do you have my shirt, Dean.â
He goes rigid, but doesnât speak, so you keep going.
âWhy wonât you talk to me?â You donât realize youâre walking forward heâs closer. It feels right. âSam said-â
âSam doesnât know what the hell heâs talking about.â Dean grunts, but he doesnât move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.
âThen you tell me.â You sound like youâre pleading. You kind of are. âEvery time I remember something youâre there, but you wonât even look at me! I donât know who I am, I donât know whatâs going on, and I keep thinking about you but youâre acting like you want nothing to do with me-â
Deanâs jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. âThatâs not true.â
âIt is! You canât even stand to be in the same room as me!â You feel like youâre going to cry. You havenât even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.
Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.
âIâm, Iâm so lost, and I donât know whatâs going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I donât know who you are! You wonât tell me who you are, Sam wonât tell me who you are, and I feel like Iâm supposed to know but I donât! I know who I am but I feel like Iâm missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-â
Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.
Youâre sick of being lost. Youâre sick of not knowing. And when you meet Deanâs eyes theyâre like a beacon, and you canât help but float into them.Â
âWho am I to you, Dean?â
âYouâre the love of my life.â His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You donât think he expected it.Â
âIâm-â
His hands grab your faceâholding you so carefully, like heâs practiced this a million timeâand you melt into his touch.Â
âYouâre everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.â Deanâs thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. âI canât fix it. Iâve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you Iâd try, but I canât. I- I canât. I need your help but youâre-â He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. âI canât do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now youâre-â
Deanâs whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like youâre going to vanish, and-
âYou donât have to do this.â Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you donât care. Maybe heâll leave an indent on your body. âWe can just fucking destroy it-â
âBecause trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.â You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head.Â
âThereâs another way. Thereâs always another way-â
âWe donât have time for another way. And it wonât be permanent. All curses can be cured.â
âBut we donât even know what the hell this one does!â He shouts, and you donât wince. Heâs not mad at you. ââTaking what you value mostâ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-â
âI know. But it will kill you if I donât-â
âWe donât know that-â
You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And youâll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.
âListen.â You hold Deanâs gaze, making your voice firm. âDonât tell Sam and Cas. Theyâll get caught on what happened, and youâll all start fighting, and we canât afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and Iâll be okay. Got it?â
Dean shakes his head. âHow am I supposed to know what you value if you wonât tell me-â
âI donât know.â You sigh. âI- I honestly canât think of what I value most, but hopefully youâll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.â You give him a soft smile. âI believe in you, Dean. And if Iâm awake, Iâll try to help you.â
âYou wonât remember-â
âIt should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably wonât even know anything is wrong.â
âBut Iâll know.â He mutters. âAnd what if I donât get the thing back to you-â
âYou will get it back to me.â You say simply. Heâs Dean. You trust him with more than your life. âAnd Iâll be okay.â
You start to move away, but he doesnât let you go. Heâs pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but heâs still strong. And you donât really want to leave him at all.Â
âDonât. Please.â He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. âIâm not worth this, baby.â
âOf course you are.â You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. âI love you.â
His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.
So you turn away.
Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany thatâif your hand wasnât already pressed on the objectâs cool surfaceâwould have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.
But itâs too late. And everything goes dark.
âDean.â
He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and itâs destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.
But Dean is good.
âYou love me?â
He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like youâre going to push him away and heâll have to just take it.
He wonât. Because you do the only thing youâre certain you know how to do.
You kiss him.
Itâs like fireworks, but thereâs no electrically you havenât felt before, no colors youâve never seen. Youâre swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. Youâve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.
Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesnât crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain.Â
Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.
âHi,â you whisper, and he grins.Â
âHey,â Dean says your name, and youâve done this dance before. Â âAre you-â
You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him.Â
You are.
And heâs built the same way for you.
End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
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The new Mrs. Winchester (18)
Word count: 3.1K
Pairing: Sam X Reader AU
Chapter warnings:Â Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary:Â After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N:Â Really slowly, but we are getting there ;)
Beta:Â My darling @deanssweetheart23

With your back to the damp wall, you stared at the mouldy ceiling. Sick green patches had bloomed all over it, giving the appearance of an ugly, mossy carpet. A guard had thrown two blankets over your body. Amazing the difference that warmth could make to the mindâs functioning.Â
Thirteen men so far.Â
The pins had been removed from your heels, and now littered on the cellâs floor. Using the sharp point of one you made thirteen lines on the wall, then a fourteenth one. The guard from the first night should also count. But so should Nick, then.
Rage, the sort that could scorch the earth whole erupted inside you. A few days was all it took for the shock to turn into horror, then grief and finally rage. That monster was the reason Danny and Jamie were being held hostage. But they were safe. You had gathered your marbles and spent every minute since your recapture vigorously trying to understand the extent of your situation to the last detail. First: You were a commodity, with investment already put in place. If you behaved as instructed, you could avoid the worst of bodily harm, at least, from the captorsâ side. The bossâ a shudder ran through your body, in cold fearâ wouldnât let his men touch you⌠only the clients and him. The first assault from a guard was a one-time thing and would never be repeated, now that you knew all the rules. So, as an investment, you would be taken care of. Physical injuries would obviously reduce the value of the goods.Â
Second: The kids were safe for now. The business didnât deal with murdering children for fun, they were only a security and not a purposeful target. No one would ever go out of their way to hurt them. As long as you followed instructions, they would be untouched and well-educated.Â
Third: You could manage and escape, but you wouldnât even try now and everyone knew that. They managed high-end clientele and you were specifically chosen for being well-educated, where you could entertain body and mind.Â
A possibility emerged from all the analysis. If you managed to stay alive for a few decades here, they wouldnât want anything to do with a wrinkled woman. Then, instead of killing you, they might turn you onto the streets.Â
A rattling cough sounded from the adjoining cell. In the afternoon, when theyâd taken you upstairs for the man in the hideous purple suit, the cell had been empty. Noises could only mean one thingâ you werenât the newest piece for sale anymore.Â
Gripping the bars, you hoisted yourself up, still in pain, and banged on the wall. No one was on duty in the passageways at that time. The girl must have mirrored you, for you could see the tips of her fingers if you craned your neck.
âDonât resist,â you whispered. âTheyâll get you one way or another. Itâs no use.â
She spat. âYou can give up. But I wonât. Iâll find a way of getting out of here.â
You didnât mind her derision. Rather, a sadness gripped your heart at her confidence, at the fight she harboured. You were just the same once.
Sliding back, you bit back a shriek of pain. Everything hurt and you didnât know if you would be ready to deal with more by tomorrow.
âWhere⌠where are we?â She asked, voice shaky. âWhich way is the exit?â
âWeâre in Texas, near the border to New Mexico. This is the second basement and the exit is on the third right by the parallel passageway. Two guards are always stationed there. If you get past it, youâll exit on a mile-long driveway and about two miles to the east of its end, youâll find a bus stop.â
A sharp intake of breath.
âI managed to escape once,â you told her. âAlmost made it into the bus, too.â
âSo, there is a way out?â
You didnât want to repeat words of hopelessness to her. In her own time, she would know how impossible it was.
Michael came rattling the bars and you pressed up against the wall, scared of the smirk on his face. But he stopped before your cell, in front of hers.Â
âCâmon, Darling, itâs showtime,â he sneered. She must have spat in his face because the next minute you heard the clanging of the door being opened and then a slap, followed by a crash.Â
âYou better watch it, bitch!âÂ
âMy boyfriend will rip you to pieces!â She screamed.
âOh, really?â Another slap.
A sob broke free of your lips. That poor girl had also trusted a man and ended up here. You knew the drill, the water hoses, followed by nights of torment where she would worry sick about the guy before they would drop the truth on her of who really sold her.
âT-Take me!â The words left your lips, and then you couldnât take them back. âLeave her. Iâll go again tonight.â
âMy⌠my⌠how touching,,.â Michael came around to your cell. âSuch a princess move! You know Iâm not picky. If you want to get some more tonight, be my guest.â He opened your door and yanked you out. Slowly, you moved past her and registered nothing but her big brown eyes, before Michael poked you in the back. âAfter you, your royal highness.â
*****
âWould you like honey in your coffee, Miss?â
You craned your neck up to squint at her. âHoney? In coffee?â
âYes,â said Abby. âMr. Winchester has been taking it in his and it seems to have made all the difference.â
âAbby, the only thing that could make any difference to his coffee is throwing that whole jar away.â
She giggled quietly and added a single sugar cube to yours. You registered her mild tone. There seemed to have been a colossal shift in her attitude towards Sam. You wouldnât be the one to complain, but regretted having missed the phenomenon.
âMrs Winchester!â Sarah, the other maid on Wednesdayâs wait staff barged into the room. âMaâam, you need to come down, people have come asking for Mr Winchester.â
Sharing a confused look with Abby, you followed Sarah downstairs and then steeled yourself to find most of the board in the dining room, seated at the table.
âMr Singer, it's wonderful to see you here,â you greeted Bobby and then the other members, most of whom were Samâs cousins. âSam isnât home at the moment. What can I help you with?â
Sam hadnât been home for a while now, away on business as he was.
âYou canât help here,â said Christian, but he didnât appear surprised in the least to not find Sam at home. âItâs a board matter.â
None of the Campbells had ever spoken to you directly. Not Christian or even Gwen, but she was glaring at you now.
âWhy, I think I deserve to know.â
âIf you insist then,â he said, tilting his head. âThe board has decided by a majority to remove Sam Winchester as the CEO. Considering the share of all present parties, the majority percentage agrees to instant dismissal.â
Your heart started pumping faster in your chest, but you managed to murmur, âHow does that work?â
Christian seemed to be the spokesperson here. âRemoving Samâs forty per cent leaves sixty per cent. Bobby here refuses to agreeââ a sneer in his directionâ â That leaves a majority of the shares with us! Is it simple enough for you, Y/N?â
You jerked at being called by your name by anyone other than Sam. However, you held your ground. âDoesnât leave sixty per cent.â
âExcuse me?â Gwen stepped up.
âI said, removing Samâs share, doesnât leave sixty per cent. It leaves eighty. A week ago he transferred half of his shares to mine.â
A rumble ran through the assembled men. Apparently, the share transfer hadnât been put up on a bulletin board.Â
âThatâs still what? Twenty toââ
âTwenty-five,â grumbled Bobby. âDonât go forgetting this old man, Campbell.â
Christian was losing it now. âFine, big deal. Itâs still twenty-five to thirty-five. About time that Sam and his new bride packed up and left.âÂ
At your startled look, Gwen grinned. âDidnât you know, Darlinâ? The mansionâs run by a trust, no majority, no house.â
You looked about yourself, missing Sam in your bones. Insanely, while sitting at the dining table, of all people you thought of Han. The snapping, the hostile looks in everyoneâs eyes reminded you of his words: âLady, if you run into the wolves, Iâll be afraid for them.â You wanted to be that brave girl now, the one unafraid of wolves. And just like that you were homesick for him. Heâd promised to come when you needed help, needed himâ lamp or no lamp.
And here you were about to be thrown out when Sam wasnât even home.
The doors of the dining hall were thrown open and you jerked up in your seat. As if in a fever dream you saw Han saunter into the living room, boots, leather jacket, muddy jeans and all, as if he didnât have a care in the world.
As he passed by your chair, he lightly ruffled the top of your hair briefly, then pulled the chair beside yours and fell on it. âHey, Chewie!â He grinned, completely disregarding that every chair apart from his and yours had scraped and now everyone else was on their feet, emotions ranging from shock to being thunderstruck. He put his muddy boots up on the table over crossed ankles. The soles directly faced Christian.
You made a move to get up as well, but he placed a hand on yours to hold you there. You couldnât help but gauge everyoneâs reaction. Out by the brook, on your pier, holding Hanâs hand would be the most natural thing in the world, but not only did he seem completely out of place here amidst these men in suits, but he also didnât seem to care⌠at all. And you didnât know if you did, as Mark Campbellâs eyes moved from Hanâs face to his hand on yours. Be that as it may, you were still magnanimously glad that he was here for you.
âSo, Christian, I heard you were harassing this young lady?â Said Han, eyes sharp. âOld habits die hard, huh?â
A slight panic started to rise in your throat. You didnât want any of these people to be disrespectful to your friend, be horrible to him, because they were perfectly capable of it.Â
âHaââ you started, but he tightened the grip on your hand, and you understood his signal to be quiet.
No one had found their voices yet and were still gawking at Han as if he were some extra-terrestrial being.
In the end, Bobby cleared his throat and put a hand on your friendâs shoulder. âItâs good to see you, son.âÂ
Han turned his face to meet Bobbyâs gaze and you couldnât see the expression on it anymore, but Bobbyâs eyes became tender and he let go. When Han faced Christian again, the steel was back in his voice. â Explain the math to me again, will you?â
âY-you canât just come back again and⌠andâŚâ
âAnd what? Explain it like a five-year-old to you?â Han smirked. âDid you leave all of my twenty per cent out? Guess it doesnât take the MBA that you donât have to figure out forty-five is a bigger number than thirty-five, huh?â
âYou, son of a bitch,â hissed Christian, putting his palms on the table. âYou think you can disappear to God knows where and then turn up now toââ
For the second time, the door to the dining room opened and Sam stumbled in. At first, his gaze fell on the assembly as a whole, then he did a double take at Han, eyes going wide and wider by the second, until they dropped to your entwined hands and back up again, at your face first and back to the man next to you. You saw him rock a little on his feet and then go very still.
You yanked your hand back, but you neednât have because Han let go, too, and got to his feet. You fully appreciated how tall he was, also. It seemed like an eternity passed between them as they stood staring at one another and slowly, very slowly the situation truly sank in your comprehension.Â
Castiel followed after Sam and froze, too, then exclaimed, âDean!â
With shaky feet, you stood up, realising how wrongly you had interpreted the entire situation. The board members werenât shocked at the appearance of an alien person in their midst. Rather they were incensed at the entry of the strongest contender in the game save for Sam himself.
This man was Dean. Your Han was Dean Winchester.
âCas,â Bobby warned, and Castiel schooled his expression. âMove along then, people,â Bobby raised his voice. âI believe the matter is settled. Let the family have some privacy.â But the men didnât seem to want to move, as if they were also caught in the power of the unbroken gaze, expecting a shouting match⌠eager for it. And maybe they werenât far off, because you knew Samâs clenched jaw and Deanâs steely eyes.Â
âMove now!â Bobby snapped and slowly the board filed out of the room. Cas, the last to leave, closed the door behind him with a look of apprehension.
Your breath caught.
Time unfroze then.
Suddenly, Sam crossed the room and closed the distance in between to engulf his brother in a tight hug. Dean hugged him back fiercely, eyes an ocean of emotionsâ pain, longing, love. And Sam? You had seen him stressed, worried, even vulnerable⌠but never like this, never seen him close his eyes so tight and simply let go. The weight he seemed to carry on his shoulders all the time, seemed to evaporate in a second and you could see in him the man who was only twenty-nine, without the responsibility of the world to pull him down.
They broke apart, eyes still roving each other's faces for a minute, before Sam turned to you, grinning. âDean,â he said, voice lighter than a breeze, âThis is Y/N. And Y/N, this⌠this is my brother, Dean.â
He took a step in your direction, but you moved back, flattening yourself against the wall. âDonât⌠donât come close to me.â
âY/N?â
Samâs brow furrowed.Â
You inched further away, pointing a finger at him. âYou got me good, Sam. You got me real good. You and your brother. Did you plan every second of it? And for how long? For two years, is it? For two years youâve made a fool of the whole world⌠no bigger fool than me, though. Brilliantly executed good cop- bad cop routine.â
You felt disgusted at yourself for falling for the manipulation. Had anything been real at all?Â
âYou wouldnât even look at me in the beginning. In⌠In the chapel, you wouldnât even turn your head in my direction, as if I was something disgusting stuck to your shoe, and you treated me like an invisible ghost in your house. And then you graced me with your attention, your care, your⌠yourâŚâ You broke down crying. âAll to get me talking. I know that now. Iâm not stupid.â
Knees bucking, you fell to the ground, unable to stop the pitiful crying.Â
Both brothers moved, but Dean was quicker to get on his knees.
âChewieââ
âDonât you fucking call me that,â you screamed. âI trusted you. I thought you were my friend.â
Over you, Sam started, worried eyes shifting between you and his brother in confusion.
âYouâre an asshole,â you pointed at the man before you and then above. âYou, too, Sam. You violated my trust. What you did is no better than any of those hundred men.â
Sam flinched. You might have slapped him.
Shakily, you got to your feet. âIâll never forgive you.âÂ
The run up the stairs and straight into your room ended when you threw yourself onto the bed. The silk hangings mocked you. You had been blinded by the false promises and reassurances, but you were still nothing more than a piece for sale, to be used⌠had never been anything more.
Slowly the past few months started to feel like a dream⌠one that had always felt too good to be true because it was.
The girl in the next cell jumped up from the floor as you were nearly dragged back to the basement that night, having completely lost the will and ability to walk. You heard the clatter of steel bowl as she rushed, but couldnât find the energy to meet her gaze. Then it was too late as the door to your cell opened and you were unceremoniously flung inside. The birds outside were just starting to twitter, signaling the early hours of morning, little rodents scurrying to get back into their holes now that the night had ended. How you wanted to crawl in a hole, too, and just⌠die.
âWhy did you do that?â She asked, voice strangled.
You didnât have an answer for her. Getting slapped six times was nearly the same as getting slapped five times, right? Tonight, you were beaten anyway and she wasnât. You understood the difference.
âThank you.â Her voice held all the gratitude.
With the last vestiges of strength, you dragged yourself up onto the cot and pulled the two blankets over your body. âItâs alright.â Maybe she heard the whisper. Maybe she didnât.
âDonât worry,â she said. âIâm gonna get us out of here. Get you out, if itâs the last thing I do.â
She was brave that one. You wanted to tell her to hold on to that spirit because men knew nothing but to hammer against it. Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women, but you were too tired to open your mouth.
Maybe having her in the next cell, you might not feel so lonely anymore, you thought as your eyes closed.
The banging woke you up. Sam was hammering on the connecting door of your room. Pulling your hands up, you shut your ears tightly until the banging stopped. Sam didnât rest, as the desperate banging gave way to structured knocks.
L-E-TÂ M-EÂ A-T-L-E-A-S-TÂ E-X-P-L-A-I-N
P-L-E-A-S-E
Y-N
One last loud bang against the door, as if he had banged his fists against it in frustration.
You must have fallen asleep or were nearly under when softer knocks sounded right over your headboard on the wall:
I-MÂ S-O-R-R-Y
But you didnât have it in you now. All along you had been right: Men knew nothing but to take advantage of women.
*****************************
A/N 2:Â I am struggling to write. Encouragement is the only thing keeping me going at this point. Please chat me up/ message me/ share your thoughts on this chapter!
Please do let me know if you liked this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!
If you want to be tagged, you can send me an ask or you can add yourself to the taglist here.
Or hereâs my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.
Tag list:
@cosicas-cuquis @daughterleftbehind @maliburenee @spn730015@aeo10fan @stoneyggirl @houseforwhores @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @linki-locks11 @cookiechipdough @impalaimagining @gabavaldman @multifandom-slxt @chalicia @mrswhozeewhatsis @mackiemcb @qveenmikaelson @lightchesters @deanwanddamons @mlovesstories @sams-bubblegum-bitch @chinosherlock @hoboal87 @sandlee44 @mariaenchanted @little-x-wolf @theanniewisegirl @supraveng @i-is-for-inspiring @fandom-princess-forevermore @sammedeansandwhich @trexrambling @strawberryycoww @joseyrw @lacilou @giggles1029 @perpetuallyoverwhelmed @borhapparker @wafflezo @sammysgirl@goodbyemilkyway @winnifredburkleismyhero @impalaspixie @edwardsfangirl1712 @fandomoniumflurry @pbandjellly @sammysgirl1997 @aloneatpeace @spnexploration @sojuxxi @vickyfarley @esoltis280 @mayafatimakhan
#sam x reader#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester reader insert#sam winchester fanfiction#spn fanfiction#sam winchester#spn reader insert#tnmw18#Ana writes Sam#Ana writes tnmw#anawrites
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corinthianism's fic recs
here are my personal favorite fanfics! idk how often i'll update this, but i hope you like them as much as i do :) *indicates smut
last updated: march 26, 2024
MARVEL
loki laufeyson - from the void, with love â by whirlybirbs (my fav fanfic of all time!!! i think about this fic several times in a day bro) - riptide â by starks-hero - the tailor* (series) â by birdofhermes (ao3) - time after time (series) â by goldencherriess (ao3) - a friend from work â by cozy_the_overlord (ao3)
thor odinson - god of fertility* (request) â by charnelhouse - highway don't care (but i do, i do)* (part one, part two, part three) â by spacelabrathor
peter parker (andrew garfield) - agree to disagree â by delicate-dorothea - nerdy peter (request) â by webslingingslasher - good boy x bad girl trope (request) â by webslingingslasher - hold you here, my loveliest friend* â by p3mybeloved - your friendly neighborhood sensitive spider* â by jin0 - glad you're home â by withahappyrefrain - the mechanics of a soul â by irndad - 3 is the magic number* â by withahappyrefrain - crush â by ptersparkers - as it goes â by forever-rogue - here comes the sun (part one, part two, part three) â by withahappyrefrain - stability, reciprocity, and a romance for the ages (series) â by privateanxieties (ao3 - need an account to read)
steven grant (moon knight) - hold me close â by stormkobra-5 - gift of min* â by astroboots - puzzles* â by stormkobra-5 - first time* â by luvpedropascal - domestic adonis* â by peterman-spideyparker - where it starts â by silversweetpea - fallen from heaven, grown on earth* (series) â by davosmymaster (ao3) - call me poe* â by kittyfandom (ao3) - elemental â by batsingotham (ao3) - the boy with the thorn in his side â by eating_flowers (ao3)
marc spector (moon knight) - not him â by loud-mouth-loser - it's worth it, it's divine* â by the-archxr - i'm getting to know someone â by davosmymaster (ao3)
wade wilson (deadpool) - tea and sympathy (series) â by bucketsoffrogs (ao3)
SHERLOCK (BBC)
sherlock holmes - your hidden strength â by okay-j-hannah - sublime dexterity* (part one, part two) â by daydreamtofiction - literally everything by starks-hero
SUPERNATURAL
sam winchester - playing house (part one, part two) â by uncouth-the-fifth - baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) â by uncouth-the-fifth - move over.* â by ggwritesstuff - where's your head at?* â by beau55515 - birthdays: sam winchester style* â by karleekarma (ao3) - the comforts of home â by zepskies - under the hood* â by shawslut
dean winchester - whether you like it or not â by kbeautimous (ao3) - reading you wrong â by zepskies - cherished â by thatonewriter15 (ao3) - soft touch â by wearywinchester - i love her, that's why* â by kaleldobrev - drivin' me crazy* â by lis-likes-fics
castiel - salt n' lick* â by aperfectgrace (ao3) - a bite of apple pie (series) â by ac_deanc (ao3)
THE SANDMAN
the corinthian - bring me a dream* (series, ongoing) â by placeinthemiddleofnowhere - nihil â by lis-likes-fics
dream/morpheus - sweet dreams (are made of this) â by stranger-nightmare
CRIMINAL MINDS
aaron hotchner - from eden â by heliotropehotch - gold star â by honeypiehotchner - love, an abstract concept â by luveline - honeymoon phase* (series) â by hotchsbitch (ao3)
THE BOYS
soldier boy (he's absolutely horrible but so. so. hot.) - break me down* (series) â by zepskies (go read their other stuff too!) - talk to me â by zepskies
homelander (also absolutely horrible. would sleep with him.) - if i can't have you â by watchstarscollide - milky white* â by after-witch
GAME OF THRONES
jaime lannister - i'm not made by design â by ichorai (this legitimately changed my brain chemistry)
STAR WARS
obi-wan kenobi - like turning on the light* â by full-time-make-believer (deactivated acc) (this also changed the trajectory of my life) - where it wasn't* â by 221bshrlocked - your thoughts are loud â by spidersbane - empty me out* â by 221bshrlocked - house of memories* (series) â by meshlasolus - bad idea, right?* (series) â by mischiefling (ao3) - you make me feel like dancing â by saradika (ao3) - it's a wonderful lie â by firstofficerwiggles (ao3) - temptation's kiss â by karasong (ao3) - you make my dreams* â by wickedscribbles (ao3) - like a living mirage â by karasong (ao3) - broken drought* â by rosalindbeatrice (ao3) - never grow up â by doihavetoloseyoutoo (ao3) - never ending story â by kybercrystal (ao3) - volverĂŠ* â by kxnobi (ao3)
din djarin (the mandalorian) - the savior* (part one, part two, part three) â by dindjiarin - significant â by softlyspector - touching din â by archieimagines - uncharted territory* â by pedrito-friskito - creed* â by wheresarizona - home is wherever i'm with you* (part one, part two, part three) â by saradika
DRACULA (BBC)
count dracula - the szĂŠkely* (series) â by theplumsoldier
LOTR/THE HOBBIT
thranduil oropherion - a boon* (series) â by inksplots (ao3) - beauty and the beast (series) â by tamurilofrivendell (ao3)
DOCTOR SLEEP
dan torrance - of monsters and men* â by helaintoloki & obitwo - domestic life (headcanons) â by thornsinmycrown - smut alphabet* â by daincrediblegg
#corinthianism fic rec#fanfic rec#tasm peter parker x reader#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader#loki x reader#thor x reader#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader#castiel x reader#the corinthian x reader#soldier boy x reader#homelander x reader#thranduil x reader#dracula x reader#jaime lannister x reader#aaron hotchner x reader#deadpool x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#supernatural#obi wan kenobi x reader#dan torrance x reader#star wars fanfic#reader insert#x reader
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i could never give you peace- sam winchester x reader


summary: as the world ends, you and sam share comfort and fears
warnings: none, no use of y/n, gn!reader
word count: 1.8k (including the song lyrics)
song: peace by taylor swift
a/n: thank you so so so much for requesting this! i reference a lot of canon events but like very loosely and very much so for the sake of this plot. so there are probably a few inconsistencies you may have to overlook or canon plot points you may have to disregard hahaha. i really hope you enjoy <333
our coming-of-age has come and gone, suddenly the summer, it's clear
You sat, perched on the trunk of the Impala. The metal was warm under your legs as it seeped into your core, its temperature battling against the chilly breeze that was sending shivers across your upper body. It was as if summer was fighting desperately to hold on, but autumn was gaining ground by the minute. The air already felt different, a clear sign that things were changing around you and there was nothing you could do about it.Â
As your arms pulled your knees inwards toward your chest and your chin found a home to rest atop them, another body brushed against yours. Sam leaned against the trunk next to you, snaking a hand around your waist before joining your comfortable silence. It was as close to a moment of peace as you three had experienced in a while, pulled over to the side of a gorgeous mountain highway to rest as Dean tinkered with something under the hood of the car- a moment of escape for you all.
While Samâs eyes settled on the picturesque landscape in front of you, tinged so perfectly with a sweeping brushstroke of sunset colors, you found your own gaze resting on him. At first glance, you saw Sam, the same Sam you spent every hour of every day with. The Sam you loved, the Sam you knew intimately, as if he was an extension of your own soul. You smiled to yourself, awash with the familiar comfort of his presence. You sat like this for a while.
âBeautiful, isnât it?â he remarked after some time, turning his head towards you. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got caught somewhere on their journey to escape your lips. You blinked in a slight disbelief. One minute, you were looking at the same Sam who had sat down next to you, but with the flash of his big, cheesy smile, all of a sudden he was someone else. For a fleeting moment, captured in that look of pure joy, you saw Sammy. The long, tired years melted off his face for a fraction of a second and you were transported back all those years ago, when you had just met, when things werenât as heavy, when there was still hope and peace in the world.Â
âYeah. Itâs beautiful, Sam,â you whispered. You blinked away the tears that began to well in your eyes, and as they melted back into a gloss that coated your vision, the moment was gone. It was just Sam again. It was then you realized just how much you two had grown up together- just how different things had become.Â
i never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near and it's just around the corner, darling, 'cause it lives in me no, i could never give you peace
Your journey with Sam had been a long one. Every trial and tribulation, every vampire and demon and werewolf, every run-in with heaven or hell, the devil himself, the two of you were hand-in-hand.Â
You had met Sam back when things were simple- when life was solving cases and looking for his father. Finding Sam had been like finding a missing piece of your soul. You fit together so easily, so effortlessly, it was as if you were meant for each other. The two of you fell hard and fast, inseparable from the moment you locked eyes the first time. You knew it in your heart, and Sam did too.
Then, things began to change, and quickly. Right before your eyes, your sweet, dorky boyfriend became the eye of the storm. Wherever he went, death and destruction followed close behind. And that terrified Sam to his very core. He pulled back, pushed away, but you persisted. Each attempt he made to evade your love, to distance himself, to keep from endangering you, you remained starkly at his side. If it was truly the end of the world, like everyone said, youâd go down swinging. Youâd go down with Sam.Â
but i'm a fire, and iâll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean wave blues come
Times were tough for a long time. Things never really got easier, but the two of you got used to the chaos. As guilty as Sam felt for putting you in danger, he was so grateful that you chose to stick around. After each obstacle, each battle, he would thank his lucky stars that he had you there to give him the strength to go on. You were the lighthouse that guided him home through rough seas. And anytime he lost faith, one look at you reminded him what he was fighting for. There were many times where the world felt cold and dark, unforgiving. But then there was you- the warmth and light you radiated was enough to light a spark, to bring joy back to his world.Â
all these people think love's for show but i would die for you in secret
Sam Winchester was a lot of things. The boy with the demon blood, Luciferâs vessel, bringer of the apocalypse, saver of the world. But none of these things mattered, because behind closed doors, Sam Winchester was nothing but yours. In quiet moments, Sam would hold you close, reveling in the chance to have something truly good that he didnât have to fight tooth and nail for. You would be there for Sam no matter what, willing to lay your life on the line to save him- the world be damned. There was no world without Sam Winchester. And Sam saw no world worth living in without you.Â
the devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me would it be enough if i could never give you peace?
The one thing you could never help Sam through was his guilt. You grounded him through hell and back, quelling his fears and lifting his spirits. But each time you found yourself in the line of fire, ever in the slightest hint of danger, a heavy weight pressed in Samâs stomach, and he would never accept your attempts at absolution.Â
âYou just⌠You deserve a normal life. Some peace, after all these years. Iâm stuck in this, itâs in my blood, but you? You could have so much more. I wish you would see that.âÂ
In these moments, you would sit with him, murmur in his ear all the reasons you loved him, all the reasons you stayed. You would remind him that the same duty that compelled him to save the world, time and time again, compelled you to save him. To care for him, to love him. Any soft, quiet, comfortable days, hours, minutes, however few and far between, were your peace. He was your peace.Â
and you know that I'd swing with you for the fences sit with you in the trenches give you my wild, give you a child
The highs were high and the lows were low, but with you, nothing was impossible for Sam to bear. You were there to shout victories from the rooftops, always the first to sing praises and raise toasts. And you were there to pick up broken pieces, to sit crosslegged on the bedroom floor and put things back together. No weight was ever carried alone- every burden was shared to lighten the load.Â
There was so much you were willing to offer Sam, and him you. On hunts and in battles, the two of you could be reckless, wild, throwing your bodies in front of each other to spare even the smallest hurt. And when you got home, you protected each other in gentler ways. When it was too hard to think about the things going on beyond your bedroom door, you and Sam would talk about your future life- about when this was all over, if it ever could be. You had big dreams- at least, they felt big to the two of you, but they were nothing out of the ordinary. That was the goal- ordinary. Youâd trade questions- âWhat color should we paint the living room?â âWhere will we go on our honeymoon?â âWhat do you think our daughter will be like?âÂ
give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other
Other times, it was easier not to speak at all. To anyone else, the silence you often shared may have felt heavy and imposing. But for the two of you, it was an unparalleled comfort. You would turn all the lights off and lay in your bed in the dark, listening to the sound of each other breathing, watching each other intensely. These were times where you could simply be. Times where your eyes and souls and hands did all the talking- a kind of communication that transcended language, but provided so much understanding.Â
family that I chose, now that i see your brother as my brother is it enough?
Over the years, you had settled together into a little family. The love you felt for Sam extended in many ways to Dean- the only other person in this world that tethered Sam to reality. Dean was your brother just as much as he was Samâs. And Dean saw what you meant to his younger brother- he knew you were the lifevest keeping him afloat more often than not. You and Dean shared a special kind of understanding that manifested in knowing glances and whispered comments behind Samâs back. Sam was both of your number one priority at all times, a powerful force that brought you two together in the early days, and kept you two close over the years.Â
but there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west iâd give you my sunshine, give you my best but the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me
Sometimes it felt like you were surrounded. There was no way out- nowhere to turn, to take cover, to make an escape. Heaven, hell, everyone was hot on your trail. Sam and Dean had their roles to play in the end of the world, so you dutifully settled into yours, trying every day to bring the light into Samâs days. But there was only so far tender kisses and sweet words could go when your lives were crashing down around you. It didnât matter, though. This was your duty, your sense of fulfillment. If you could bring a moment of levity in the darkness, or take on even the smallest ounce of his burden, you felt a sense of meaning. It was an uphill battle, day after day.Â
would it be enough if i could never give you peace?
You werenât sure you were going to make it out of this alive. Any of you. And thatâs what hurt the most. As much as Sam worried about you, you were the one who could never give him peace. But no matter what, you would go down swinging, fighting to show him the love that he so desperately deserved and so defiantly denied himself. Maybe it would be enough to save him. Maybe it would make it all worthwhile.
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Sam sank down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't resist gently running his hand over your shoulder in a loving gesture and smiling at your tousled hair on the pillow. You immediately stirred at his touch and blinked awake, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.
"Hi," he whispered, smiling.
You stretched a little and snuggled back under the covers, not tearing your eyes from him. "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?" you said, pouting.
He laughed lightly. "I was gone two days," he said.
"Yeah. So long," you repeated.
"I'm so sorry. Let me try again." Sam cleared his throat dramatically and affected a bad British accent. "My love, my darling, my dearest, I missed you so much I thought I would die. May I please come to bed so I can hold you all night? You are the wind beneath my wings and the sugar in my tea!"
You couldn't help giggling a little. "I guess so," you sighed.
"You guess so?!" he laughed. "I just did all that and I get an 'I guess so'?!"
"I'm sorry, my love, my darling, my dearest," you responded, laughing.
"Alright," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Move over." You obliged and he slipped in under the covers with you, immediately pulling you into him and wrapping his arm around you.
"Sam?"
"Hmm?"
"I really did miss you."
He smiled and planted a kiss on your forehead, holding you more tightly. "I missed you too." Prompt: "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?"
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