#sam winchester-centric

[lukesfrag]

"Ultimate" fanfic - chapter 12 "AXis" preview:

"[...] As the trio sprinted towards the front of the casino, the chaos and noise grew louder. They emerged from the side of the casino, only to see a battle unfolding before them—Division X vs a demon. Through the smoke and debris, Sam’s eyes locked onto the giant figure: it was Mammon, his form was a grotesque amalgamation of shadows and fire, eyes glowing with an unsettling orange light. “Get back!” Sam shouted, pushing civilians away from the danger zone. Using his telekinesis, he lift debris and hurling it to shield bystanders from Mammon’s rampage “Everyone, stay low and keep moving!” [...]"

[kinning-sammy]

pov: you told sam you can't get him pregnant

[homehauntsyou]

powers | sam winchester

(also on youtube !)

[preseriesdean]

You think I'm bad? Wait 'til you meet the other one.

SAM WEEK 2023 6.22, “THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH”

[seasononesam]

Supernatural (2005-2020) + favorite episode per season 

in/sp

[mothgardens]

Super cute of Dean to give permission to an angel and a demon to possess his younger brother. Then, instead of apologizing, he began talking about how much people are hurt when they are around him.

Super adorable how he didn’t even let Sam get his frustrations out or even really talk the situation through. Super sweet how he immediately turned the situation around to be a Dean moment.

[samwinjarpadbigbang]

Hey everyone,

Sign-ups will go live at 4am PST right here on Tumblr on Friday November 22, 2024.

So excited to get started on this!

[missjackil]

Supernatural Battle of the Episodes!!

CONGRATULATIONS TO RED MEAT!! For taking home your 10th win and retiring to The Hall of Fame!! 🍻🎉

Taking its place, the episode that gave it the best fight, Keep Calm and Carry On! Let's see who it's up against!

Chuck: Next up we have American Nightmare - When a Social Worker dies in a church by bleeding to death from Stigmata, Sam and Dean dress up as Priests 🔥 🔥 to find out what happened. They're led to a very religious family, living off the grid and hiding and abusing their psychic daughter, Magda, in the basement!

[ponyxaviors]

Sam Winchester Appreciation Week | Day 1 | Sam-centric episode(s) | 7x17, The Born-Again Identity

[genderqueersammy]

The way that out of all Winchester family tags, the one with Sam have the least amount of fics (except for with Dean which blow the others out of the water)………. Sickening…….

[lukesfrag]

"Ultimate" fanfic - chapter 11 "Born Under a Bad Sign" preview:

"[...] “You know, you’ve always been a good guy to me,” Protégé said softly. Sam nodded, his voice breaking. “I know.” Protégé shook his head. “I can’t. I’d rather die.” He dropped the gun on the bed and pushed past Sam.  “No. You’ll live.” Sam picked up the gun as Protégé turned to face him. “You’ll live to regret this.” He pistol-whipped Protégé, who fell to the floor unconscious. [...]"

[soulmates-for-real-tranquility]

Sam Winchester Week

Day 1 - Favourite Sam Centric Episodes

Kripke Era

Dabb Era

[hahahahahangst]

"Dean, I'm sick. It's over for me. It doesn't have to be for you." "No?" "No, you can keep going." "Who says I want to?"

[Supernatural 2x09 - Croatoan]

[soulonfirewriter]

Ghosts of Our Past, Pt. 1 - Chapter 2

~~ Chapter 1

I’m wiping down an empty table at the diner the next morning when in walks a customer, beelining for me.

“Are you Caroline Jacobs?

I freeze. “Yeah…?”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Shouldn’t take up too much of your time.”

My arm is sprawled out across the table, scrubbing it clean with a rag, so I twist my body upward to see who has spoken. Before me stands a sharply tailored suit and a blue tie. A badge reading Peter Johnson, Federal Bureau of Investigation.

And familiar hazel eyes. The guy from the library. He lied to me.

“You’re FBI?” I choke out. He gets a bit sheepish.

“Well, I’m not exactly a journalist…”

I furrow my brow, removing my rag from the table and standing up straighter. “Then what exactly is this about? Were you spying on me yesterday?”

“No, what happened yesterday was completely coincidental. I’m here to investigate a house down the street from here, and I’m told you used to live there.”

My heart sinks, and it’s like there’s now a cold draught in the building. I swallow thickly. “What… what do you mean? What house?” But I already know exactly what this has to be about.

“702 Forest Hills Drive.”

When he speaks the address, it’s as if the world begins to swim around me.

He knows.

The man, Peter, can clearly tell this is bothering me, so he reaches out for my shoulder, trying to comfort me, but I shift away from him.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t… I have to get back to work.”

 He grabs my shoulder firmly, though, forcing steady eye contact with me. “It’s okay. Meet me on one of the benches outside, after your shift, okay? I just need some information about the accident. I’m here investigating a recent murder in connection with that address, and your perspective can really help me.”

I pause, taking a moment to let this sink in. A murder? I haven’t lived there in years. I can’t think of how this would have anything to do with me. But there’s something off about this man. Something very non-FBI about him. It’s the way he holds my gaze with emotion in his eyes. I can tell this is serious. Maybe if I cooperate, I can put all of this behind me, once and for all.

“Okay,” I say, breathing out slowly. “Okay. I get off at eleven and I have a break before I go to the library.”

“Perfect.”

And just like that, Peter disappears out of the diner doors. I’m left to finish my shift, mind reeling, spiraling with worry…

This isn’t supposed to happen. The accident was never supposed to be brought up to me again. I am supposed to be able to move on. But now, the skeletons in my closet are crawling back out… and if I allow myself to think too hard about it, it feels like I’m suffocating.

Fortunately, there’s a few hours where I can push all that aside and focus on the busyness of work, taking orders and serving food. I rush around, not giving myself enough time to dwell on anything. But it’s in the back of my mind all day.

When it hits eleven o’clock, I push open the door of the diner and am immediately met by the man sitting at one of the outdoor tables right outside the building. He’s wearing sunglasses, and carefully removes them when he spots me.

I approach the seat across from him with trepidation, taking off my work apron and folding it into my lap. It’s intimidating, sitting down with a man who’s going to interrogate me about my past, dressed like one of those FBI agents from TV.

His expression is apologetic. “I know this seems formal, but this isn’t an investigation about you. You’ve already been cleared, so you don’t have to worry. I’m just here to get as much information about the house as I can.”

I blink at Peter. “What does the house have to do with anything?”

He hesitates. “A few days ago, a man was found inside the house. Dead. It appears he’d been stabbed to death by an unidentified weapon.”

“Like… by something that’s not a knife?”

Peter shakes his head. “The wounds aren’t as clean as a knife would make.”

“And you’re coming to me to find out what I know about the house, which is nothing. I haven’t lived there for eight years. I have no way of knowing who could have killed that man. As far as I knew that house has been abandoned this whole time.”

The man across from me appears to be collecting his next thoughts. “Then I guess I’m asking what you know about the accident that happened on April twenty-fourth, nineteen-ninety-seven.”

My jaw drops a bit, and I grow extremely uneasy. “Are you suggesting that the two murders are connected?”

Peter gives a slight shrug. “Just covering all my bases.”

My heart rate picks up. “Listen, I’m going to tell you all I know, okay? April twenty-fourth, I was asleep in my bed. Just a normal thirteen-year-old kid. I heard my mother screaming, and I ran out to the living room. I found her… I found her stabbed to death. No culprit around. That’s all I know.”

The air between us grows thick at the mention of my mom’s death. I’m breathing more heavily than before. The topic is starting to trigger me. I look Peter straight in the eyes and ask,

“Are we done here?”

It’s more of me begging to leave than really being finished with this conversation.

“Not exactly,” he begins. He’s clearly wary of how uneasy I seem. “Look, I just wanna know what you saw that night. Are you saying you didn’t see anything unusual, like a figure? Or smell anything strange, or get a weird feeling, like… a cold spot, or something? I just have to ask.”

I blink at him a few more times, feeling both disbelieving and nervous because of his question.

“So, are you here to make fun of me, or something?”

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re suggesting that what, a ghost could have killed my mom? That’s ridiculous.”

“You tell me.”

He knows.

“Who exactly did you talk to about this? Huh? Who gave you my information?” I demand.

Peter pauses, reluctant to respond. “After I heard the news about the murder, I visited the county clerk’s office to get the property information. You know, its owner history. Then I researched your mom and talked to the police about her death. They pointed me in your direction.”

“And told you I’m crazy, right?” I ask grimly.

“Why would they say that?”

I roll my eyes, sighing in exasperation. I have to act angry to keep from crying, and luckily, there’s enough underlying rage inside me that it just starts pouring out.

“Local thirteen-year-old girl claims to see a figure stab her mother to death with a fire poker, insisting that a ghost killed her and then disappeared into thin air,” I say, with a voice dripping in sarcasm. “Big news headline, right? They had to cart me off to the psych ward once it was ruled that I couldn’t have killed my own mother. And then, after months of therapy, it was straight to foster care because my dad left me as a baby and then died years later. I had no one to back me up. I went through foster homes, therapy, the works. And the last thing I need at the end of all this is for a man in a suit to come dig up my past and once again make me look stupid. I know the truth now. I was a traumatized little girl who made up a story because she couldn’t process that her mom had been randomly murdered. Okay?”

I stand abruptly from the table, in a huff, deciding to remove myself from the situation before any more harm can be done, to the case or to my mental stability.

And, more than anything, it’s to keep from completely breaking down in front of this stranger.

But Peter speaks up as I turn around to go.

“What if I said I believed you?”

I stop dead in my tracks. I don’t even turn back to face him.

“What?” But I don’t let myself fall for it. “No. If you said that, I’d tell you you’re delusional. You’re just trying to get me to admit something, but I was just a kid. I didn’t see anything that night.”

I’m repeating back to him the exact words I’ve heard my whole life.

“I’d beg to differ,” he says. “I think you were right this whole time. You just needed someone to come along, who knows the truth. You didn’t make up a story to explain away the truth. You know what happened.”

No matter how much I try to ignore it, his words are cutting through all the walls I have put up. No one has ever told me they believed me about this. What makes him any different?

Peter stands from the table as well and approaches me, until he is right behind me, leaning down to say quietly in my ear,

“My name’s not Peter Johnson. And I’m not FBI.”

My heart starts to race again. I still can’t bring myself to look back at him. So apparently, he’s not a journalist, or a federal agent.

“I knew you were lying to me,” I hiss. “Who are you, then?”

I start to spiral. What if he’s undercover? What if he’s from the psych ward, and he’s come to trick me into admitting that I’m crazy, and he’s going to ship me back there?

I need to get out of here.

I can feel his smirk radiating from behind me, and before I can move, he speaks.

“My name is Sam Winchester. And I hunt the supernatural.”

~~ Chapter 3

[arcanespillo]

“The End”

Supernatural S5E04