#samwinchesterfluff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

Can We Talk

Summary: This story is about the five moments that changed the course of Sam and Hayley’s lives that always started with; “Can we talk?”

Warnings: fluff, smidge of angst, Bobby’s death mentioned, friends to lovers, slow-ish burn.

W/C: 5.6k

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OFC (Hayley) Mentioned: Bobby, Jody, Donna, Alex, Claire, The Fitzgeralds.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x OFC (Hayley)

Notes: Set season 8 onwards.

Bingo: @anyfandomfluffbingo Square Filled: Drinking Buddies.

A/N: I tried to write this in omniscient third but it didn't work out how I wanted. I changed it to limited third but there's probably still a sprinkling of omniscient third left here too. Also, I have intentionally switched between both character POV's in each scene.

Special Credits: @writethelifeyouwant for helping me work out the ending and @slytherkins whose help is always invaluable and she wrote some sections.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch - I can never thank you enough // all mistakes are my own.

Graphics: pics found on google. Title card made by me. Dividers @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Sam Winchester // AF Fluff Bingo

“Can we talk?”

That's the way it usually started. The answer was always yes, and what followed usually changed the course of their lives.

Sam and Hayley had become fast friends when they first met in Bobby Singer's kitchen, having more misfortune in common than two eight-year-olds had any business having. Hayley had been dumped at her Uncle Bobby's by her junkie mother, Sam, by his revenge-obsessed dad. Hayley had never met her father. Sam's mother was dead. It had helped both of them to have someone who understood, someone to talk to.

"Can we talk?" Hayley had asked when they were sixteen before asking Sam, who was already dreaming of Law school, to help her file for emancipation. When the judge granted it, Sam believed - for the first time - that he could be something more than his father, and it was freeing in a way he could never have imagined. Hayley's literal/legal freedom carried her away from Sam, but only physically. They stayed in touch, and she occasionally visited him at Stanford when she passed through. They were both looking for their place in the world. For Hayley, that meant being on the move. For Sam, that meant, for once in his life, staying put.

Life always drew them back together eventually, though.

The backstreet bar was so small it could barely be called that. It was more like a hole in the wall; dark, musty, with the stench of old men and filled with so much smoke, Sam didn’t want to stay inside any longer than he had to.

Though it had been eight years since they’d seen one another, Sam recognized Hayley immediately, even though her hair was long and a chocolatey shade of brown instead of the short, light blonde he remembered. A new nose piercing and a few tattoos on her arms didn’t detract from her smile, which, though not pointed at him, radiated kindness and warmth, reminding Sam that, for a time, that warmth had been the only good thing in his life.

That was why he hesitated to approach her. He wasn’t bringing good news, and as soon as he delivered it, that smile would descend into misery. He wanted to give her a moment longer of peace - and himself a second more to relive the memories of the times that kindness had been directed at him - before she noticed him.

For her part, cleaning glasses behind the bar, Hayley could be forgiven for not spotting the looming giant standing by the door right away, as the smoke in the room was so thick, most of the patrons couldn’t see beyond the person immediately next to them. Large as he was, her friend wasn’t a man who demanded attention. In fact, he quite often shied from it. But once she finally caught sight of him, she grinned brightly, until he shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans and shuffled toward her almost reluctantly. Hayley was familiar with that apologetic posture, was unaccustomed to not being met with a beaming smile and an enveloping hug, and when she understood what their absence meant, her grin fell.

“Hey, Sam,” she said, and her smile that time was fleeting and small, “you grew up.”

He’d been about to say the exact same thing to her, and it made him chuckle because somehow, it would have sounded lame coming from him. “That’s what happens when you don’t see someone for a while, stranger,” he said, leaning over the bar to meet her halfway in a semi-awkward hug. “Can we talk?”

Hayley called out she was taking a break to no one in particular and led Sam through the rarely-used kitchen. No one ate there anymore; the stench of cigarettes and body odor was not the most appealing of aromas to be surrounded by while chomping down on a ten-dollar steak.

The alleyway, littered with cigarette butts and large, overflowing dumpsters, smelled marginally better than the bar but still wasn’t the location Sam would have chosen to tell Hayley this news. However, he wasn’t going to prolong the situation by asking her to go somewhere else, and in the grand scheme of things, what did the location matter? The outcome would remain the same.

The door closed behind them, and she took a seat on an old chair that was more rot than wood. Sam seemed to be wrestling with something, so she patiently waited while he took the deepest of breaths, searching. Hayley had always viewed Sam as a formidable warrior; he’d told her the stories of both victories and failures, but watching him try to make himself appear smaller, shoulders hunched, hands still in his pockets, was unsettling. His unannounced appearance was enough for her to know something was wrong, but it seemed only yesterday the Winchester’s had prevented the apocalypse. Surely there couldn’t be another one looming.

This would be a moment they both carried with them for the rest of their lives. Hayley would remember this day as long as she lived, where she was, what she wore, the words Sam used. Sam would look back on it with a weird sense of fondness in the years to come, knowing this was the moment that planted the seed for their relationship to grow to what it eventually became.

So, in the end, the heartbreak was unavoidable. The way in which Sam delivered it was what mattered, and as long as he didn’t deliver the news in a song and dance, he couldn’t get it wrong.

“Bobby’s gone,” he said with a heavy sigh. “He passed a week ago. I’d been trying to track you down, but I was too late. I’m sorry.”

Of all the things she could have thought about, her mind worked backward, trying to figure out where she had been? What had she been doing while her Uncle was dying? She recalled seeing a missed call from an unknown number, and guilt numbed her.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, out of reflex and a reminder to herself more so than Sam. She had no idea whether or not Sam held any blame. She only knew her Uncle, and the selfless life he led had a short shelf life. “How did he...did he suffer?”

Hayley recalled asking the same question of the police officer who informed her of her mother’s death; the only difference this time was that she hoped that the answer was no. Hayley knew the hunting life, so she wasn’t asking if Bobby had been in pain. That, unfortunately, was a given. She was asking if he’d suffered, in the sense of, had he been ripped apart by some monster and bled out or possessed by a demon so that he was aware but not in control?

Sam had expected the question. It was the morbid detail every victim of loss wanted to know when they lost someone unexpectedly. He shook his head vehemently, “No, no. He died in a hospital. Dean and I were with him.”

It was partly true. Bobby hadn’t suffered; a bullet to the head courtesy of Dick Roman had put him in a coma. She didn’t need to know he’d run from his reaper and ended up a spirit with unfinished business, tied to the boys by Dean carrying his flask. The information wouldn’t bring her peace or comfort, so Sam omitted it. Sam didn’t mention that his brother and Cas had disappeared when Dick exploded, mainly because he didn’t want to burden her further with that fact, and he was also afraid that she’d insist on helping find them. Though she’d dabbled in hunting before, this life really wasn’t for her, and Sam had made a promise to Dean not to look for him, after all.

She nodded, and her shoulders slumped with relief, but her eyes darted back and forth, her mind in a distant memory of Bobby making a big deal of passing down his secret banana bread recipe. She’d begged him for years to show her, and when the old man caved in, they spent the afternoon hunting Sioux Falls for ‘the perfect bananas’. It took two years for her to work out that the reason Bobby had been reluctant to give her the recipe was because he used it as an excuse to entice her home every once in a while. Now there was no home to be enticed back to, and the realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Sam saw her fold in on herself, and he rushed to kneel at her feet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as she wept into his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised, not knowing if it were true but feeling responsible for the weeping woman.

The wet concrete had seeped into the denim of his jeans by the time her sobs subsided, but neither of them moved from the embrace for a long time.

Eventually, when his joints ached, and Hayley seemed to have run out of tears, he asked, “Hey, wanna get out of here? Grab some dinner?”

She nodded wordlessly, head still buried in his shoulder, and he had to be the one to pull back enough to wipe her tears. Soon enough, they found themselves in a small diner with sticky floors and faded leather booths. They reminisced about the man that raised them both and toasted in his honor. Then, when the owners shut off the lights and locked them out on the street, after a lingering hug and promises of being just a phone call away, they went their separate ways once again.

A few years later, Hayley, ‘Agent Carter’, strolled onto a crime scene in Wisconsin, flashed her Ginko’s-courtesy badge at the locals, and took charge. If she acted like she belonged, as Bobby had taught her - “you can get anywhere with a badge and a confident attitude, kid.” - then everyone would believe she did. Forty percent of hunting was getting into places she wasn’t allowed to be, and her Uncle’s advice had never steered her wrong.

A rookie deputy, who she’d already chewed out for trampling her crime scene, timidly lifted the tarp covering the corpse. She’d barely crouched to examine it when someone from behind her called. “Agent Carter, you know these guys, Agents Tyler and Sambora?”

Fortunately, the squeamish deputy holding the tarp wasn’t looking at her, so the panic that swept through her went unnoticed. It was one thing to deal with local law enforcement, but agents trained to detect bullshit was another matter altogether. She’d only been hunting for a few years, and she’d been lucky until now. However, when she whirled to face them, the panic dissolved to relief.

Agent Carter stood, turning in a way that made her hair swish around her shoulders like a shampoo commercial, and both men were caught off guard. Dean’s smile oozed confidence, and he was so clearly going to play the flirty angle. Sam was seemingly able to read his brother’s thoughts in his expression, and he silently willed him not to go there with a tight smile and subtle roll of his eyes. She smiled at them, more friendly and inviting than one might expect given the circumstances, and Hayley watched them size her up.

Sam frowned slightly as if there was a niggling thought he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It hadn’t been that long since she’d last seen Sam, but enough time that his hair had grown a few inches. It had been longer since she’d seen the eldest Winchester, and he’d aged like fine wine. They were instantly recognizable, but apparently, the same could not be said of her. She supposed it stood to reason. She looked pretty different from when either of them had last seen her. Her hair was blonde again, there was a little more weight on her face, and her piercing was gone - too hard to sell the image with it in. Though, she couldn't deny she was a little hurt that that was all it took for Sam, of all people, to fail to recognize her.

It was undoubtedly the context. They wouldn't expect to find her here, of all places. They must not know that she'd taken up hunting after her Uncle died. Hayley knew she could never fill his shoes, Bobby had been more to the community than a mere hunter, but she'd felt a sense of duty. Someone had to take up the slack he’d left with his passing, even if just a portion of it.

“Agent Carter,” Dean greeted her as he approached with a self-assured, ‘I belong here’ bow-legged strut. “What do we have here?” he asked, gesturing toward the covered corpse at their feet.

He was good; she had to give him that. Hayley wasn’t about to make things easy on him, though. Dean had played his share of pranks on her when they were kids, and besides, she was annoyed they still hadn’t recognized her, even this close up.

“Can we talk, Agents?” she asked pointedly, beckoning them over toward a police cruiser and, hopefully, out of earshot of the other officers.

Sam had an uneasy feeling as they followed her, it was written all over his face, and she pondered how he managed to convince real law enforcement. Or perhaps it was the knowing look in her eyes and something about the way she’d said ‘agents’ that caused the expression.

Dean asked, “Wanna tell me what this is about, Agent Carter?”

“Well, let’s see,” she said, a hard set to her features, “there are the mass murder charges, grave desecration, impersonating an officer of the law, credit card fraud...and that’s just in three states.”

Dean's stomach seemed to drop to his ankles with his thick swallow, but he quickly recovered. He gave his most charming smile and a long-suffering sigh. “Ah, I see what's going on here. You’re mistaking us for those two brothers who went on the murder spree a few years ago. Honestly, you’d think they’d give us different partners after the fifth or so time someone on an assignment called to turn us in,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “but I swear the lieutenant just thinks it’s funny.”

Sam could see she wasn’t buying it and reached into his pocket. “Speaking of, you’re welcome to call our office if you’d like,” he said with a polite smile, pulling out a business card.

Hayley took the card dutifully and studied it. The number, she knew, belonged to Garth. The card was identical to the one she carried in her own pocket. She looked between the two, stern expression still in place, waiting for them to see her. Really see her.

Sam’s unease hadn’t lessened, but the cause was beginning to shift, and he looked at Agent Carter as steadily as she looked at him. She hadn’t believed a word, and it was obvious he could tell, but he was waiting for her to make a move before revealing anything else. His eyes creased at the corners, and they seemed to ask the question he wasn’t airing; ‘have we met before? You look so familiar…’

Dean, meanwhile, was evidently growing increasingly uncomfortable with the staring contest they were engaged in. He looked back and forth between the two of them, desperately trying to get Sam’s attention subtly. What the hell was Sam doing, acting so suspicious? If she were an actual Fed, they’d be in serious trouble. Even Dean’s flirting might not be able to salvage things if Sam didn’t get with the freakin’ program.

“Look, if we’re stepping on your toes,” Dean interjected, hands raised, “we can back off. Maybe there was some sort of mix-up at Headquarters.”

Hayley could see Dean was finally starting to sweat, and, satisfied, she decided to take pity on them. “Calm down, Winchester,” she said with a grin, slapping Dean playfully on the shoulder. “I’m busting your balls, idjit.”

Dean blinked at her. He looked at her as closely as Sam had been, and recognition dawned.

“Wow,” he said, a smile creeping across his face, “Hayley Singer. Goddamn.” He shook his head and looked her up and down. “You certainly grew up.”

Neither Sam nor Hayley failed to catch his suggestive tone, and Sam stepped in before Dean could say something worse. “That’s what happens when you don’t see someone for ten plus years, Dean,” he reminded him with an apologetic smile to Hayley.

The apology in his eyes was on his own behalf, now, instead of Dean’s, and she accepted it when she smiled and said, “Well, seeing as we’re all here, shall we work this one together, boys?”

Sam nodded without even a glance to Dean to get his thoughts on the matter. Now that he knew who she was, Sam was so happy to see her.

Destiny, fate, or coincidence intervened three times, and Hayley and the Winchester’s appeared at the same job; a ghoul, a salt and burn, and a vetala. The other six times, before the relationship dynamic changed again, Sam had explicitly asked for Hayley’s help.

The bunker was the base of operations. Hayley would meet the boys there, leaving her car in the garage before traveling together in the Impala. It saved on gas and parking, and of course, it meant Dean got to pick the music. Whenever they returned, if it were late or they’d driven for an extended period of time, Hayley would spend the night. No one likes to overstay their welcome, though, so Hayley always made sure to be up and gone by midday the following day.

Dean had been the instigator of the next important moment, as it had been his idea to ask Hayley to move into the bunker on a more permanent basis. He had thought about it once or twice while they’d worked together, and once he realized his brother had more than a professional interest in her, it made total sense to give Sam the best shot at happiness he could. Besides, Hayley was practically family, and Bobby would have wanted the boys looking out for her.

The morning was ticking away, and soon after breakfast, Hayley would leave the Men of Letters Bunker. So Sam was prolonging breakfast as much as he could. He’d taken his time making his smoothie while she had devoured a stack of pancakes and teased him for his ‘clean’ living.

“C’mon, Sam,” she coaxed, waving a forkful of pancake in his face from across the table, “I’ve never seen you eat something ‘naughty’,” she concluded with full-on air quotes. “I promise I make the best pancakes.”

A bold statement that Dean quickly backed up.

“She’s not lying, dude,” Dean chimed in on his way past the kitchen door. He’d already made a not-so-subtle point of leaving them alone, so Sam didn’t have an audience.

“Go on,” she begged, pouting, “for me.”

The pout was too cute to deny, not that he would have ever denied her anything. Sam feigned a sense of confidence to distract from the puddle of mush her pout made him into and grabbed her hand along with the fork. He imagined it, he must have, but it felt like a shock went through him at the touch of her hand, or maybe it was a static shock.

He guided the food to his mouth and unexpectedly hummed around the chunk of pancake; it really was good.

“See,” she said, sitting straighter, a proud smile smoothing out the pout. She leaned closer and lowered her voice, “don’t tell Dean, but they’re vegan pancakes, totally healthy.”

“Except the half-pint of syrup he drenches them in,” he chuckled, unable to stop staring at her proud smile.

Later, standing outside her room, he tried to find that same fake sense of confidence, but he was so nervous he thought he might throw up. He raised his hand, ready to knock, and while he took a deep breath to prepare, she pulled it open. A duffle bag slung over her shoulder, and a larger one she’d been holding fell to the floor as she stumbled back and yelped in surprise.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” said Sam, “I was gonna knock...” taking a step forward with his arms raised in an attempt to steady her before she fell, he tripped over the bag she’d dropped. Rather than save her, he managed to throw the whole two hundred and twenty-pound weight of his body directly at her. Effectively doing the opposite of what he’d intended and knocking her on her ass. And, in an effort not to land on top of her, he twisted his ankle and landed so hard on his shoulder he damn near dislocated it.

“Oh god, Sam, are you okay?”

Except wanting to die from the sheer embarrassment, he was fine, and as soon as he convinced her that he was, they both almost coughed up a lung from laughing.

There was no way he could possibly make any more of an ass of himself, and he still hadn’t explained his presence, so sitting right there on the floor, watching Hayley blot tears of laughter from her eyes, he asked, “Can we talk?”

Those anxiety-inducing words sobered her fast, and it hadn’t been his intention to sound so serious, but it was serious. He was about to change their entire relationship, and that wasn’t a decision he had taken lightly.

“Sounds like it’s a good thing I’m already sitting down,” she quipped, but it fell flat in her tone.

Sam took a deep breath. It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was, but at that moment, he knew it was because he felt something so strongly for her, and it scared him half to death.

In some ways, Hayley was like Dean. There was always an underlying itch to be on the road; staying put in one place too long sometimes felt like growing soft. For a moment doubt overtook him. What if what he was about to do wasn't as nice a gesture as he hoped it would be? What if she was more like Dean than he realized, and putting down roots wasn't a plan she had for her future?

“Dean and I have been talking, and well…” Nervousness got the better of him, and he had to laugh to clear the emotion away. “We, um, we like having you around, not just for hunts but here too, and we thought maybe you could stay?”

She looked at him for the longest time, so long that he thought maybe she’d hit her head when he’d knocked her down.

“Permanently,” he elaborated. “Make this your home, too?”

Luckily they were still on the floor because she threw herself so hard at him, arms looped around his neck, that she knocked him flat on his back.

The town was irrelevant, but the possession case had been a tough one for them all. A young girl couldn’t be saved, and the three hunters each walked away with bruises and a wound that required stitches. Once the blood had been cleaned off, and with fresh clothes on their backs, they all stalked off to the nearest bar to drown their sorrows the best way they knew how.

Dean found a target within fifteen minutes of entering the bar, and he left Sam and Hayley in the booth to catch his prey.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar scenario; they were predisposed to being drinking buddies. They often made a game of it, watching Dean work his magic and dubbing the words he exchanged with whichever pretty girl took his fancy.

But this particular night, the mood wasn’t right for games, and the quiet was born of reflection. What could they have done differently? How could they do better next time? What if they had tried this instead of that?

Hayley observed Sam across the table while he stared into a void and peeled the edge of the label from his beer bottle. His expressive eyes clouded with regret. He felt personally responsible for their failure.

“Can we talk?” Hayley asked with a heavy sigh.

She hadn’t asked because there was a particular subject she wanted to discuss; she simply didn’t want the silence of their thoughts to devour them. The question had the desired effect of pulling Sam from the toll of his memories.

He flashed a rueful smile, and the gesture transported her back to the hours before when he’d given her a similar one. He’d lain unconscious on the floor with Dean worrying over him, begging him to wake up. Hayley had been immobilized by panic, staring at Sam’s limp body and wondering if the force of the demon’s power throwing him into the wall had been the last his body could handle. When he’d finally come around, he’d given her the same smile.

The torment she wrestled with took control of her face and caused Sam’s brow to crease with concern. Forever the comforter, he slipped a hand over hers, squeezing gently to bring her back to the room.

“Hey,” he said softly. A single tear slipped from her left eye, and Sam rushed to switch sides and sit beside her. He thumbed it away before it traveled to her lip. “Hey, hey,” he lulled, “talk to me, what’s wrong?”

She hadn’t intended to discuss any heavy subjects, but at that moment, with Sam’s large body shielding her from the rest of the bar, his warm hands cupping her face to keep her focus solely on him, she decided it was time to speak a truth she’d been holding back.

“Today really scared me,” she began, “there was a second that I thought you were done for, and it…” She sighed the longest sigh and grimaced when she continued, “I don’t want to make an ass of myself here, but I can’t keep ignoring it either.”

“Ignore what?”

“This whole thing isn’t working for me anymore,” she admitted.

Sam forced himself to swallow the taste of bile, berating himself for not seeing it sooner. Hunting was a burden; it took its toll on everyone, and today had been the last Hayley could endure. He dropped his hands and twisted to face forward so she wouldn’t see the hurt and disappointment so clearly etched on his face.

She saw it regardless, and panic pinched her breath temporarily while she raced through her thoughts of Sam knowing where the conversation was heading and preparing himself to reject her. He had to have known how she felt, or so she thought. She flirted with him; she favored him over Dean when it came to working together, sharing a bed, or any other task that involved choosing a Winchester. So he had to know, right?

Sam had short-lived notions of there being something between them, something more than colleagues or friends, but he always talked himself down before he did anything about it. The disappointment he felt wasn’t directed at her; it was at himself that he hadn’t taken any of the million opportunities to tell her how he felt because he’d been afraid. Afraid of rejection, scared of giving her his heart and ultimately the control to break it. But now, any chance of her feeling the same or loving her and losing her was gone.

He reached for his bottle across the table, took a long drink to give himself a moment to figure out what to say. He contemplated telling her then that he felt something more than friendship for her, that he wanted to explore where that could go, but it wouldn’t have been fair of him, not when he assumed she was telling him she’d had enough. He didn’t want to potentially manipulate her into staying.

“Screw it!” she declared, and with a newfound blast of confidence, she used a not so gentle grip under his chin to turn his face to hers to better crush her mouth to his.

Sam had been so convinced she was telling him that she was leaving it took him a full fifteen seconds or so to register what was happening, and before he could react, she’d pulled back.

His expression was one of pure shock, as if someone had thrown ice-cold water in his face, and it evaporated the confidence Hayley had as if they were in the humidity of New Orleans at the height of summer.

“If that was totally out of line, just say the word, and I’mma pretend it never happened, and we can go back to being hunting and drinking buddies; just keeping each other company while Dean screws his way through all fifty states,” she rambled and raised her glass as if to toast. “Okay, great.” she clinked her bottle against his when he didn’t move to do the same, and she swallowed the remaining three quarters in loud breathless gulps.

“Not okay,” he finally managed to say.

“I’m sorry, Sam, I shouldn’t have…”

He didn’t allow her to finish the apology, following her lead; an overzealous forceful pinch of her chin turned her face to his so he could kiss her again. Hayley, more prepared than he had been, reacted instantly. She twisted her body to him, put her hand on his cheek, and relaxed against him. She tasted like beer, and her tongue was cold when it met Sam’s, but it didn’t matter because she also tasted like possibilities and happiness.

Life took the inevitable twists and turns, some good and some not so good but Sam and Hayley remained together. Chuck was eventually defeated, and life slowed down, so much so, Sam finally allowed himself to believe there was a future beyond apocalypses and evil. The possibilities were endless.

Especially so when they were surrounded by their family and friends celebrating the birth of Garth’s fourth child. Jody, Alex, Claire, and Donna had made the trip to the bunker to join the Fitzgeralds, Cas, Jack, Dean, Hayley, and Sam.

Sam watched the scene propped against the library door, a glass of eighty-year-old whiskey in hand, a content smile glued to his lips. Everyone was happy, and he’d never felt more at peace. Yet, he was increasingly frustrated.

He’d made three plans for his proposal, and each time something had gone wrong; Hayley got sick; only the flu nothing serious, but still plan one was out. Plan two; Baby broke down a few miles from their destination, and Dean had to rescue them, so plan two’s mood was ruined. Plan three; a vamp nest needed taking out, and Dean had been injured, almost fatally, so, until today, the focus had been on Dean’s recovery.

Hayley’s schemes were also ruined. The first plan had been ruined by a two-day storm that wreaked havoc on Lawrence. Her second had been thwarted by Sam inviting Dean and Cas to dinner with them. After that, she decided she didn’t need a plan; the right moment would present itself eventually. Like now.

Hayley walked toward Sam, a smile that matched his own on her lips, but there was a deeper meaning than pure happiness behind her eyes that made Sam wonder what she would ask. Before she could, he kissed her. He’d never been one for public displays of affection, but he didn’t care; her smile required a kiss, and he was loath to deny any of his urges when it came to her.

“Ew,” Dean called out, “get a room.”

They pulled apart laughing, and without a word uttered, they collectively flipped Dean off. His jesting smile beamed back at them, though it went unnoticed as the couple only had eyes for each other.

They stared at one another; love and admiration reflected back, and simultaneously much like the rude gesture toward Dean; they asked, “Can we talk?”

Another chuckle shared, and in an attempt to break the nervous tension he felt, Sam kissed her again. In anticipation of another request for them to ‘get a room’ from Dean, Sam decided that was probably the best location for their talk. He took her hand, and without question, she followed.

This was it.

This was the moment he’d been waiting for; there didn’t need to be fancy dinners or a meaningful location of fond memories shared. He just needed Hayley. And she had decided the same.

Ever the gentleman, he allowed her to enter the room first, and he followed after silently closing the door behind them.

While his back was turned, Hayley prepared herself. She thought she’d be anxious, but all she felt was excitement.

Shock took Sam’s breath when he turned back to face her. Hayley was in the middle of the room, on one knee, her earlier smile broader but tinged with a hint of nerves. In her hand, a small velvet box held out to him, and the light glinted off the polished platinum ring.

“Sam, will you marry me?” she asked.

“NO!” he yelled. Perhaps too aggressively, and her smile quickly fell. Sam rushed closer and dropped to his knee so close there was not a breath of air between them. “I was going to ask you! You can’t ask me,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the princess cut diamond ring that had been metaphorically cutting a hole in his pocket for months. “Hayley, will you marry me?”

It was a running joke for years to come about who asked who. Dean always insisted it didn’t matter, that he’d been the catalyst to start their relationship as he’d been the one to suggest she move into the bunker.

And so the argument went, round and round.

Nevertheless, it always ended the same; Hayley pinned beneath Sam squirming to get away while he tickled her breathless and then kissed the air back into her lungs before whoever was present - usually Dean - told them to get a room. They’d stare at one another for a beat and then ask, “Can we talk?” which was code for something that required very few words.

Super Supernatural: @denimbex1986 / @avanatural / @deanwanddamons / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @flamencodiva / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @petitgateau911 / @waywardbaby / @xoxabs88xox / @cockslut-padalecki / @stoneyggirl2

So Get This - Sam Winchester: @supernaturalgrandma / @samfreakingwinchester /

#SamWinchester #anyfandomfluffbingo #sam winchester #samwinchester #spn #fluff #samwinchesterfluff #DeanWinchester #Dean Winchester #deanwinchester #dean winchester #samwinchesterangst #samwinchesterappreciation #Supernatural #Supernatural Fanfic #slow burn #fanfic #spnfanfic #supernaturalfanfic

42 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

Spell On Me - A Flash Fic

Summary: Sam questions why he’s so in love, sort of.

Warnings: fluff.

W/C: 99

Rating: T (teen+)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader (she/her)

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fiction 4 Prompt: I Put A Spell On You by Annie Lennox

Beta: none

Graphics: dividers @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Main //

From across the library, Sam drank her in. Lip caught between her teeth, concentration creasing her brow, wayward strands of hair sticking out, overly worn sweatpants sitting on her fuller hips - the elasticity long ago faded, t-shirt so washed out he’s not sure what color it ever was, and a hole in her sock.

Beautiful.

“Can I ask you something?” he said when she came back to the table.

She smiled, “Shoot.”

“Have you put a spell on me?” he pulled her into his lap, kissing her, “cause no one should love someone as much as I love you.”

#flash fic challenge 4 #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #sam winchester x reader #samwinchester #fluff #samwinchesterfluff

17 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

Shared Grief - Part 2 of 3

The wonderfulness that is Rowena appears courtesy of the amazing @fangirlxwritesx67 - 😍

Summary: Dean and Emily seek comfort together in their shared grief over losing Sam. In their desperation, they may be doing more hurt than healing. Disaster and salvation surprise them both. But all choices come with a price.

Part 2 Warnings: smut, angst, grieving, cheating (sort of), bad decisions, betrayal, thoughts suicide mentioned (section is labelled), fluff, language, alcoholism, show level violence mentioned.

W/C: 6k

Part 2 Characters: Dean Winchester, OFC (Emily), Sam Winchester, Rowena.

Pairing: Dean x OFC, Sam x OFC.

Notes: sequel to Need Me

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch - seriously I cannot thank you enough for all your help, this fic wouldn't be what it is without you 😘// all mistakes are my own.

Master Lists: Series // Fangirlxwritesx67

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

The library echoed their amusement long after it died off naturally. Dean had recounted a prank war he and Sam partook in, and he and Emily celebrated Sam’s smarts with laughter and shots of whisky.

Dean yawned, a wide mouth, eye-watering yawn that made his eyes shimmer, and Emily’s gut fizzled with anxiety. She didn’t want him to announce he was calling it a night; she didn’t want to be alone. She still wasn’t ready to sleep in any room of the bunker. It had been part of the reason she’d fled days before. The salt and burn had simply been an excuse to stay in a motel.

Dean swallowed a small sip of burning liquor and sighed loudly. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

She nodded and tried to keep the disappointment from her face and tone. “Yeah, me too, just gonna sit for a minute,” she lied. “It’s been a long day.”

The turmoil of their argument had taken a toll, and she was exhausted. Still, she knew any bed she lay in would be too big without Sam and she’d toss and turn. She needed somewhere that didn’t feel like it belonged to Sam.

Dean rounded the table and placed a kiss in her hair, “Goodnight, Em,” before walking away.

She inhaled his scent a moment longer than necessary and called goodnight before he disappeared around the corner. Emily had had a eureka moment but needed to wait. The plan was to take some blankets and a pillow from one of the spare rooms and sleep in the back of the Impala.

Baby was Dean’s, through and through, it felt safe in the same way his arms did. The ghost of Sam would always be riding shotgun, but essentially she believed it was Dean’s and she’d be able to sleep there.

After what she estimated to be ten minutes, she took both glasses and swilled them out under the faucet, trying to waste a few more minutes. She’d need clean pajamas, but she needed to psych herself up to be able to go into her room.

Frozen with her hand wrapped around the handle, she couldn’t enter the room; she knew Sam’s scent would assault her, and she wouldn’t be able to deal with it. Her mind reeled, and without even opening the door, it played a memory she hadn’t been ready to relive.

*Flashback*

Being cocooned in Sam’s arms never failed to make Emily feel safe. The outside world didn’t matter; the only world that existed was the one where they were as close as they could be. The heat from their lovemaking lingered, still burning her up. The twinge of pain between her thighs served as a delectable reminder that Sam had left his mark, and the tickle of his lazy kisses behind her ear spread like wildfire through her entire body. It was heaven.

“Sam,” she murmured, the fight against slumber slowly being lost.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, though the deliberate roll of his hips to rub his swelling cock against her ass said differently. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“I need sleep,” she whined, “just give me a couple of hours.”

His chuckled breath tickled her ear, and it sent another wave of goosebumps across her skin. “Good night, baby. I love you.”

Her eyes sprang open and shock made her entire body rigid. She knew Sam felt it, there was no way he couldn’t have, but she couldn’t get herself to relax or form a thought to respond to him.

She had been with the Winchesters for four months. On paper, it wasn’t a vast amount of time, but she’d come to realize, in their world, it was a lifetime.

“Em,” Sam said, gently tugging her shoulder.

After a breathless moment, she allowed him to roll her onto her back. He propped himself up on his elbow to hover over her. His thumb stroked her cheek, kaleidoscope eyes shining with understanding, not disappointment as she’d feared.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he assured her. “I get it. We’re reading the same book; I’m just a couple chapters ahead of you.”

*End Flashback*

She hadn’t said it back that day; she’d kissed him and promised she’d catch up soon enough. Sam had understood, as he always did. Hand still frozen on the doorknob, she wished she had said it back that day, and a million other times, when she’d had the chance.

“Emily,” Dean’s voice startled her, and she jumped back as if the rounded brass had scorched her hand.

“Hey, hi,” she said, swatting at the tears dampening her cheeks. “I thought you were hitting the hay.”

“I am,” he nodded, approaching her slowly. “I just wanted to check on you first, make sure you were okay with going in there.”

She pushed her shoulders back, stepped closer to the door, and once again gripped the handle. Her body language oozed confidence, but it was lacking in her tone. “I’ll be fine.”

Dean’s hand encased hers, and he gently pried it off the polished metal. “You don’t have to go in there; you can sleep with me.” Her eyebrows rose high, but Dean butted in before she could make a snarky remark. “That’s not what I meant. I mean actually sleep. The Impala isn’t the comfiest.”

“How did you know?”

“Cause it’s what I would’ve done,” he smiled softly. “C’mon,” Dean said, leading her down the corridor.

Emily had purposely dawdled in Lawrence. She had no intention of buying anything from the farmer’s market, but she had browsed every stall, wasting as much time as she could to delay the inevitable. They had been back at the bunker for almost two weeks, and she still hadn’t plucked up the courage to enter her and Sam’s room.

She had been washing and wearing the clothes from her duffle. The hunt that had taken Sam’s life had had the potential to last more than a few days, so she’d overpacked. Perhaps that had been an omen. But her favorite pair of jeans were beginning to fray on the left knee, and she knew they weren’t likely to last another wash and wear cycle.

She had promised herself that when she returned, she’d go into the room and take out all her things even if she had to hold her breath the whole time to stop Sam’s scent from seeping into her brain and forcing her to relive, now tainted memories.

She’d slept in Dean’s room every night - with one exception after a particularly nasty argument she could no longer recall the cause or resolution for - but she wouldn’t be moving her things there. The room across the hall, where she’d slept after that argument, would do. The bed wasn’t as spongy as the sullen hunter’s memory foam, but it was comfy enough, and Dean’s closet contained way too many flannels to leave any space for Emily’s stuff. Essentially, she suspected, the spare room would serve as a dressing-slash-storage room rather than a bedroom.

Having wasted enough time as possible at the market, she drove slightly below the speed limit but was still pulling in the bunker garage in what felt like record time. On the path to ripping her heart out, again, she dropped the bounty from her supply run in the kitchen.

“Homemade jalapeño burgers for dinner?” Dean asked. The question was moot; he was already knuckles deep, flour sprinkled on his cheeks, kneading a large batch of dough to make the buns.

They were her favorite. It had to be pure coincidence that he was making them on the day she vowed to put on her metaphorical big girl pants. She hadn’t told him her plan. Either way, it would be a nice reward waiting for her at the end of the dreaded task.

She tried a smile on for size, but as much as she forced her lips up, it wasn’t wide enough to convince anyone. “Sounds good, thanks.”

“Can you grab me a shirt from my closet? It’s gotten a little chilly in here.” He shuddered to emphasize his point.

Any other time she’d have asked him what ailment his last slave died from or enquired why he was uncharacteristically only wearing one layer, but it was another delay, and so she simply nodded and walked out.

As she made her way to his room, she had the wicked idea of messing up the bed. It would be in pristine condition, tight military corners - how he’d been taught - not a wrinkle to be found. She’d done it a few times to rile him up, and he’d punished her in a wonderful, leg buckling way. That would also be a nice reward to look forward to.

She twisted the handle but paused. Dean wasn’t likely to have followed her, but just to be sure, and ever the hunter, she checked over her shoulder. Coast clear, she pushed into the room, a mischievous smile drawing her lips back.

A gasp escaped her, and tears pooled in her eyes as she stumbled forward. The bed was, in fact, pristine as she had expected but, neatly laid at the bottom, on the left side where she usually slept, was a silky pyjama shorts set that had been in Sam’s room.

He was so light on his feet, she sensed, rather than heard him enter behind her. “I cleared a drawer out, for the essentials,” he said, quieter than she’d ever heard him talk without whispering. “The rest of it is across the hall.”

She spun on her heels to face him, unashamedly crying bittersweet tears. He pushed off the doorframe and met her halfway.

The relief puffed out of her in a heavy sigh as she tiptoed to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” he snaked his arms around her waist and held her tightly against him.

She placed a soft kiss on his neck, absorbing his scent in a deep inhale; flour, beer, his cheap but surprisingly sweet-smelling cologne. Now that she wouldn’t have to spend the afternoon battling to block out her many memories of Sam, she wanted to create a new one. She wanted this very moment cemented to her memory.

He hummed contentedly after her third featherlight kiss. “You keep that up, and we’re gonna end up with burnt burgers.”

She laughed but pulled back to kiss him once more. “Oh, we shouldn’t waste food,” she reprimanded as she walked around him and out the door. “How about I make a pie for after?”

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” He jested, following after her.

⚠ thoughts of suicide mentioned

*Flashback*

Emily stirred, involuntarily groaned, bringing the heel of her hand to her head. Her memory was hazy, not able to recall what had happened, only that she’d been afraid. She didn’t know if the threat had passed, if the remnants of fear were her fight or flight response still in effect after being knocked unconscious or if her body sensed danger.

She willed herself to keep quiet, but her head throbbed; the light in the room was too bright. She tried to get up to shut off the offending beam, and another pained moan escaped her. The binds tugged, pinching the skin on her wrists, and then she began to panic. Silence was no longer an option, and she whimpered and huffed, trying to yank her wrists free, to no avail.

The memories came flooding back. Her family - oh god - her family. Emily had returned home from a double shift at the restaurant. Her parents, younger sister, and brother had been sat at the kitchen table, food long ago grown cold, her father’s face was bleeding, her mother sobbing, siblings shaking with fear. They all turned fearful expressions to her when she entered the dining room. She hadn’t had time to ask what was going on before she’d been attacked from behind.

The rope burned, and her struggles served only to tighten. She heard a commotion outside the door and feared her captors were returning now that they knew she was awake.

The commotion grew closer, huffed breaths, snarls filled with fury, and then her ex-boyfriend, Jake, backed into the room. His arms held up high, protecting his face. It seemed impossible he could talk with his mouth overflowing with razor-sharp teeth and not cut his lips, yet somehow he managed to growl, “Come on, hunter!”

A man she’d never seen before stalked into the room after him. The stalker held a large machete like a baseball bat. He was absolutely ready to swing, and he looked like he never missed a shot. Blood dripped from the blade, and Emily prayed it was Jake’s and not her family’s.

Jake threw a right hook, but the man dodged it and swung the knife in the same motion, slicing through Jake’s neck. Blood splashed her cheek as his head hit the floor before it rolled out of view under the bed.

The silence that followed was surreal. The knife-wielding man panted for breath for a moment before he seemed to remember himself and began cutting her binds.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

That seemed an odd statement, considering he’d just decapitated her ex-boyfriend, but what was odder was that she believed him.

“I’m Dean; I’m here to help you,” he explained, cutting the last of the rope from her legs. “Can you sit up?”

She nodded and swung her legs off the bed. “What’s going on?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but the guy under the bed…”

“Jake,” she provided.

“Yeah, Jake, he was a vampire. But you’re safe now.”

Safe. It spurred her into action, and she stood quickly, whimpering, “my family!”

Standing proved too much for her concussed brain, and she immediately felt woozy. Emily swayed, but Dean grabbed her bicep before she could fall.

“Okay, I think you need to sit back down.”

She took the advice, but only because the room was spinning. Dean knelt beside her, and the intensity of his stare compelled her to look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I was too late to save your family,” he turned his gaze away, looking toward the open door, and his eyes reflected the horrors that lay beyond it. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she cried, “what do you mean too late? Jake came for me; he only wanted me, he said so.”

Again she tried to stand, but this time Dean forced her to a seat. “They’re all gone. I’m sorry I couldn’t help them,” he regretfully told her. He gave her a second to take it in, to understand he wasn’t playing some cruel trick. “We need to get out of here, one of them got away, and I don’t know if he went to get back-up. Can you stand?”

She nodded slowly through her tears, “I think so.”

He helped her to her feet, encouraging her to lean on him. He put an arm around her waist and tucked her into his shoulder. “Listen, I want you to stay close to me, close your eyes, I’ll guide you out. Believe me; you don’t want to see what’s out there.”

She trusted him; perhaps it was the concussion or the fact she was pretty sure he had just saved her life, even if he hadn’t been able to save her family. She held onto him tightly, maybe a little too tightly, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Emily focused on her savior—the smell of leather, a hint of bourbon, the odor of sweat mixed with a sweet cologne, the vibrations of his soothing words against her ear. “You’re doing great, almost there. I got you.”

*End flashback*

“You okay over there?” Dean asked, squeezing Emily’s knee before returning it to the steering wheel. “You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet; you haven’t once moaned about my music or speeding.”

Those things seemed trivial now. The hunt they were returning from had been a particularly bad one. Before they could stop the creature, an entire family had been torn apart. Emily had had the misfortune of finding the mutilated bodies.

She flashed him a wry smile and lied, “thought I’d give you a break from my nagging.”

“Liar,” he said. He waited for a beat to allow her to deny it or tell him she didn’t want to talk about it, as she often did. But she didn’t have it in her to fight him on either count. “The daughter,” he began cautiously, “she looked like your sister.”

“You mean the sole survivor?” she sardonically said. “She could have been my sister.”

“It stirred up memories?”

“No, it’s not that, well it is that but also,” Emily paused, unsure exactly how to say what it was without sounding heartless. “We didn’t save her, Dean.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, brow creased with confusion. He glanced at her before putting his eyes back on the road. “We dropped her off two states away at her aunt’s house, and she was very much alive when we did.”

“She was breathing, sure, but she wasn’t alive. I could see it in her eyes when we said goodbye. She won’t survive losing them, the guilt and grief will eat her up, and she’ll hurt herself.”

“You don’t know that,” he said, “people are resilient.”

“I do know that ‘cause it’s the exact same look I had in my eyes that made Sam make you take me on the road with you.”

“For the record, Sam didn’t make me do anything,” he informed her with a cocky tone. “I wanted to track down the vamp that got away. He had your scent; there was no way he was going to give up. I did want to stash you at Bobby’s while we hunted, but Sam convinced me you were better off with us, on the move.”

She didn’t need the reminder that Jake had done a thorough job of wiping out her family tree before he went to her home. But Dean’s words made the images of everyone he’d killed flash through her mind, and she needed to close her eyes to remind herself to breathe.

He lowered his voice, just above a whisper, as if he was telling a secret that he was afraid would escape the confines of the car. “You’d lost so much. I didn’t want you to have to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life, too.”

He reached across the seat for her hand, and when she gave it to him, he tugged her closer. He waited until she was tucked under his arm again, head resting over his heart, the same way he’d walked her out of her house all those years ago.

“You lost everyone you ever knew, and you survived.”

“Only thanks to you and Sam.”

“I think it was more Sam,” he corrected.

That was true. Sam had played a more significant part in her survival than Dean. Though at one time, she’d wanted Dean in his place. She had harbored a crush on the eldest Winchester for a long time. Sam had teased her about it, though she had later learned his teasing had been a cover for his envy. Ultimately, it had been the catalyst for bringing Sam and Emily closer.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Dean suggested, “we’ve got a few hours before we’re home.”

She shook her head enough for him to feel it. “I don’t want to close my eyes.” She choked down a sob, but it vibrated through her chest. “I don’t want to see it all again.”

“Hey, hey,” he coaxed. He lifted her head to look at him with a gentle finger under her chin and interrupted the stream of tears with his thumb, waiting until she’d bested them enough to open her eyes again. He kissed her quickly, a sly smile curling his lips upward when he pulled away. “When we get back, I promise to fuck you so thoroughly that when your head finally hits the pillow, you won’t have the energy to dream.”

She wiggled her brow, “I like the sound of that.” she kissed him hard, and he reciprocated as best he could without driving them off the road.

Dean swirled his hips while Emily rode his cock. She looked exquisite, flushed cheeks, sweat-drenched hair clung to the side of her face, her breasts bounced as she lifted and fell back down. The sound of flesh on flesh as her ass met his pelvis was obscene but nothing compared to the borderline illegal noises she made while she used Dean in all the ways he needed.

She’d made him cum once already with her mouth. While he recovered, he returned the favor, using his tongue and fingers to draw two orgasms out of her. She’d been riding him for a little while now, and he was close to his second climax, but he knew she wasn’t ready to stop.

She braced herself with one hand on his chest, teeth sunken into her bottom lip. “Fuck, Dean.”

The telltale hitch in her voice let him know she was speeding toward another climax. He knew exactly what she needed to get her there.

“Em,” he said breathlessly, sitting up to bury his face in her breasts. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, used his fingers to pinch and pull the other. Her rhythm faltered when she slid down his length this time, her walls clamped around him, and he released her nipple to loudly groan as he mixed his cum with hers.

There was no sound, no door opened, no light flashed, but something displaced the air in the room, and Dean knew before he opened his eyes, they weren’t alone. He felt Emily’s body tense when she sensed it too. Without breaking the kiss, Emily tapped the tip of her finger on his bicep, a countdown... three...two…one.

They both exploded off the bed. In the same movement, each snatching a gun that sat on the nightstand. Dean cocked his gun and took a step in front of Emily to partly shield her with his own body.

Though neither of them had touched the switch, the room’s main light illuminated, and Rowena stood just inside the door in a form-fitting purple gown that flowed to the floor. Magic glittered like gold sparks in the air around her.

“Well,” she smiled, white teeth gleaming behind her flawlessly applied plum lipstick. “That was awfully dramatic.”

Dean kept his gun trained on the little witch but glanced sideways to watch Em wrap up in the nearest thing she could find -- his discarded flannel.

“Finding comfort in the arms of your lost lover’s older brother? I can’t say that I blame you.” Rowena approached Em, but her eyes raked over Dean, across his shoulders, and down to his half-hard member.

“I’ll admit, you surprised even me, but it will work nicely with my plans. Very nice indeed.” Rowena laid one small hand on Em’s shoulder and let it trail down to settle on her waist.

Em stared at her, defiant, never breaking eye contact. That made Rowena smile as she stepped back and looked between the two of them.

“Speaking of surprises,” she leaned forward, “I have one for the two of you in the library. Clean up, put some clothes on, and I’ll see you there.” With that, the petite redhead turned and glided out of the room—the door opening before her and her long purple gown billowing behind her as if enchanted.

Once she was gone, the two of them dressed quickly. Dean grumbled about leaving the weapons in the war room to be cleaned, but Emily was more concerned with being caught. How much did Rowena know?

Dean handed her a gun and a knife without speaking. She followed his lead, tucking the knife into her boot and the gun into the waistband of her jeans. He grabbed another weapon from his nightstand and checked the magazine.

“Wait,” Em said softly, one hand on his arm. He looked from her hand to her face. “Let’s see what Rowena has brought us before we go in, guns blazing.”

Dean nodded and tucked that gun away somewhere on his person. “I know you asked her for help. I still don’t trust her as far as I could throw her.”

“That wouldn’t be very far,” Em couldn’t help laughing. The corner of Dean’s lips quirked up before he shook his head again.

He led the way to the library, making sure Em was safe behind the width of his shoulders.

The two of them rounded the corner at the same time to see Rowena seated in one of the leather library chairs, legs crossed, purple gown pooling on the floor. She had a cut crystal glass in her hand, and when she saw them, she raised it as if toasting.

“To surprises!” She exclaimed before tipping the glass back and swallowing half the amber contents.

Em looked at Dean and back at Rowena, hardly able to breathe. Just then, Sam stepped out from behind a bookcase.

“Sam!” She cried, taking a step towards him. Sam lifted his hands to meet hers before Dean stepped between them.

“Wait,” he growled. “How do we know this isn't one of her tricks?” He bobbed his head to where Rowena sat, smug and serene.

“You ask for my help and then doubt me when I give it. What kind of thanks is this?” Rowena pouted and rolled her eyes.

“Sam,” he turned to his younger brother. “You know the drill. The tests.”

Sam looked at him, baffled. “But why --?”

“You were dead, dude.”

Sam looked to Em for confirmation. She said nothing, but her eyes filled with tears. That was when he seemed to believe it. He heaved a sigh, shoulders falling in resignation.

Dean watched, eagle-eyed, while his brother sliced a small cut on the inside of his arm with a silver blade and drank a shot of holy water. Sam didn't complain again.

Over and over, his eyes sought Em’s. She could see his impatience. She felt the longing for him deep in her belly, but there, at the same time, was the heavy weight of what she had just done with Dean.

When Sam had fulfilled the final one, Dean stepped forward and swept him up in a back-slapping hug. Whatever the two brothers whispered then would remain for their ears only.

Next, he turned toward Emily and held out his arms. She eagerly ran to him, desperate to be in his embrace again. She tucked her face into the curve of his neck and let her tears flow as he stroked her hair with one big hand.

“How long was I gone?” He murmured, his voice low in her ear.

“Too long,” she sobbed.

“Just long enough,” Rowena answered. How had she heard?!

“You look like you’ve been fighting. Is everything okay?” Sam pulled back, held Em at arm’s length, and looked her straight in the eye.

“Oh, I found her and Dean blowing off some steam. It seems they missed you terribly.” Rowena winked and downed the rest of her glass.

“Yeah, in the gym! Sparring!” Dean stepped forward, slinging an arm around his younger, taller brothers’ shoulders. “C’mon. Enough of that.”

“Wait --” Sam turned to Emily again. “So if I was dead, and Rowena is here…” His brow furrowed as his words trailed off, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened.

“I asked for her help,” Em admitted softly.

“But, at what price?” Sam slipped a hand under her chin and tilted her face to meet his. She looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Oh, the price she offers is quite enough,” Rowena answered. “She will pay, every drop, in time.”

“So many questions, Sammy!” Dean cut in. “You’re here; that’s all that matters. Let’s go make dinner, huh?”

Emily lingered in the library, waiting for a moment with Rowena. When the two of them were alone, the little witch raised her brows.

“Yes?” She cooed, part invitation and part challenge.

Em dropped to her knees beside Rowena. “Please --” She heard her voice crack. She stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Please tell me you didn't bring Sam back just to tear him away again. I'll lose him all over if he finds out…"

She let her words trail off as if naming what had happened would make it more real.

"Oh, my dear." Rowena shook her head. "Sam won't hear a word from my lips about what you and Dean have got up to. You'll tell him yourself."

"Never!" Em gasped. "I love him too much."

"And what is grief if not love lost?" Rowena's smile was inscrutable. "In time, truth will tell."

“Thank you,” Em murmured, her eyes filling with tears again. “Thank you. How can I ever thank you enough?”

“As I said, truth will tell.” Rowena cupped Emily’s chin in her hand, painted nails grazing her cheek. “I’ll collect what I’m owed when the time is right.”

Em swallowed hard and let her eyes flutter closed for just a moment, so she didn’t see Rowena disappear. She only felt the rush of wind and heard the glass as it fell to the floor and shattered. When she opened her eyes, all she saw were sharp-edged and fading sparks.

Em waited for a bit before she stood up. Without looking back, she headed towards the kitchen. She could clean up the mess later.

Sam looked between the two of them, confusion and gratitude mingling on his face. “I was so confused when Rowena brought me back. I still don’t know everything that has happened. But now I’m here, and I just -- I missed you both so much. I’m so happy.”

His voice cracked, and he held his arms out for a hug. Both Dean and Em answered, and for once, the three of them were close without any questions or doubts.

After dinner, she followed Sam to his room. The two of them undressed without speaking, Emily careful to keep the visible reminders of her indiscretions from being seen. When he climbed into bed, he lifted the covers and patted the mattress next to him. She went without thinking and settled into the shelter of his embrace.

There was time later to sort things out. Surely, there would be. For tonight, it was enough to be tucked against the warm length of his body, one long arm around her waist, and his even breathing in her ear as he drifted off to sleep, and she soon followed.

Emily woke early the next morning, surprised by how rested she was. Though the moment she opened her eyes, a blanket of sadness settled over her, knowing Dean had slept alone for the first time in - how long had it been? She worked the numbers in her head.

Damn!

It had been a few days shy of two and a half months. She did the math again, just to be sure, but knew she was right. Her fling - could it even be called that - with Dean had been going on for a few months. The sadness lingered, and soon shame jostled for space in her mixed emotions because even laying with his brother’s chest pressed to her back, she missed Dean.

She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face, and she felt Sam stir.

He hummed, stretching slightly before tugging her closer. “I don’t remember being gone,” he whispered, nuzzling into her neck. “But I know I missed this.”

“I missed you too, baby.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, and she heard the telling smile in his voice. He nibbled her earlobe, his mouth ghosting over the shell of her ear. “What exactly did you miss?”

She hadn’t missed sex, that was for sure; she’d been getting plenty of that. She chuckled and hoped it hid the nerves she felt. She couldn’t let him see her naked he’d see the marks Dean left on her thighs yesterday and the fading bruises of all their other times together. Sam wouldn’t know it had been Dean’s hands that created them but would that matter?

“You’ve always had an insatiable hunger,” he said, using a grip on her chin to turn her face so he could kiss her. “How did you manage without me?” Sam swirled his hips, pushing his semi-hard erection against her leg, and she felt the pressure grind into one of the aforementioned bruises she couldn’t allow him to see.

“My vibrator worked overtime,” she winked and kissed him again. The less she had to talk, the less chance she had of saying something she shouldn’t.

“Well, let’s give it a day off,” suggested Sam, running a hand down her body.

She grabbed his wrist before he made it to the waistband of her pyjamas, “I can’t,” she said, quickly and mentally kicked herself that she couldn’t think of an excuse as to why. They lied as part of their jobs, practically every day, yet she had nothing in her arsenal right now.

Staring into his eyes, she had no other thought than if she hoped to keep Sam from finding out about Dean, she’d need to get better at lying to him.

The rejection shone in his eyes for a split second before he found the reason for her. “Ah, it’s the seventeenth,” he figured, “you have your period. Sorry baby,” he kissed her softly, “my days are all jumbled.”

“Well, you were dead,” she jested, “you can be forgiven for forgetting my cycle.” Though, she had no excuse for forgetting.

He hummed a happy groan against her mouth and waited until she was breathless to pull back.

“Why don’t the three of us go out for breakfast?” he asked.

“That’d be nice,” she lied again. It wouldn’t be nice; it would be excruciatingly awkward, but the alleviation of having avoided sex felt like a huge success. She’d deal with the next hurdle when she had to.

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Sam’s hand was magnetized and Emily’s body was the pull. Since inviting him out to breakfast, Sam had been touching her in some way, holding her hand, arm around her shoulder, resting on her knee, fingers on the small of her back.

Sam had always been affectionate; public displays of affection never offended him. But the grimace Emily wore as if his touch was painful in some way, was going to alert Sam that something was wrong. She wasn’t acting like herself. Had she forgotten how she used to be around him? Forgotten how to love Sam? She’d barely acknowledged Dean, kept her eyes downcast, like some dutiful servant not permitted to look a man in the eye. Her behavior was suspicious at best, and Dean knew it was because she felt immeasurable guilt, he did too, but she was doing a damn lousy job at hiding it.

“Okay, what happened between you two?” Sam asked.

Dean had tried unsuccessfully, for the third time, to engage Emily in a normal conversation. She’d given a short, sharp answer and looked around the room like an immature child avoiding eye contact.

“Nothing,” grumbled Dean.

“Nothing, my ass,” Sam disagreed, “you two have barely said a word to each other since I’ve been back. What happened while I was gone? Did you finally come to blows ‘cause I wasn’t there to stop it?”

It was true; they’d had some pretty heated arguments over the years. They knew how to push each other's buttons to the point of breaking. There had even been a few instances that had Sam not stepped in, that would have resulted in trading punches and bruised cheeks. But they had found common ground in their grief. They traded orgasms instead of punches, and bruised cheeks had been brokered into bruised thighs and bite marks.

Sam looked from Dean to Emily. Dean fixed his stern gaze to Emily’s, almost challengingly. If ever there was a time for her to break, it would be now. He watched in muted horror as her eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip trembled.

Please don’t. He begged silently. Please don’t let me lose my brother again. Not like that.

“Em?” Sam queried, breaking her concentration on his brother. He rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Tell me what happened.”

“Yeah, we had a fight,” she finally said, voice cracking. Her fingers fidgeted on the table. “A few, actually, so many I lost count.”

“I said some stuff I shouldn’t have,” Dean chimed in, eyes latched on Emily, willing her to look up at him again. “I was an idiot and out of line. I never should’ve…I regret every single fight we had. Em, I’m sorry. ”

This wasn’t the way to have the conversation he needed to have with her. Innuendo and metaphors, but what choice did he have?

“Really?” she sneered, “cause you seemed to like to come back for more and were quite convincing in everything you said.”

“What did you say?” Sam asked, and Dean saw the anger he was barely containing.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Emily, quickly, “it’s over now. Let’s just forget it.”

Part 3

65 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

Be Mine - a flash fic

Summary: Sam asks her for forever.

Warnings: fluff.

W/C: 99

Rating: T (teen+)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader (she/her - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Challenge: @justagirlinafandomworld Flash Fiction 4 Prompt: I Wanna Be With You By Mandy Moore

Beta: none

Graphics: dividers @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Main //

Sam had tried distracting himself. Think of anything else. But she consumed his every waking moment. Every touch set his skin ablaze, he savored every sip she allowed him to taste, every conversation - idle or otherwise - played on a loop in his head.

One night wasn’t enough. He’d made that clear from the start, she agreed a million nights would never be enough.

He chanted, “I love you,” reigning kisses over body.

She answered each with a declaration of her own.

“I want you to be mine,” Sam said.

“I am yours.”

Presenting the ring box, he asked, “Forever?”

#flash fic challenge 4 #sam winchester #fluff #drabble #be mine #supernatural #spn #samwinchesterfluff #samwinchester

13 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

Coming Soon - Help me decide the order

I have 3 fics that fill a few bingo squares that I can't decide which order to post in.

Let me know if you have any preference to which I post first.

1st - 4th Nov

2nd - 11th Nov

3rd - 18th Nov

Dates subject to change depending on my wonderful beta's schedules 😍

Tagged the tag lists (sorry if I'm bugging you)

Warnings (detailed warnings on fics) -

🥰Fluff // 💔Angst // 💀Death // 🤬Language // 🔞Smut // 💋Cheating // 👊🏻Violence // 🍺Alcoholism // 🥵Implied Smut // ⚠Trigger Warning

Can We Talk

Fluff bingo - Square filled: Drinking Buddies.

W/C: 3k Warnings:🥰💔💀🤬 Pairing: Sam Winchester x OFC

Summary: Five moments that changed the course of Sam and Hayley’s lives that always started with; “Can we talk?”

Come Join The Murder

Angst Bingo - Squares Filled: Come Join The Murder - The White Buffalo

W/C: 1.4k Warnings:💔💋🤬👊🏻Pairing: Sam Winchester x Ruby, Sam Winchester x OFC

Summary: When Dean goes to hell, he tasks Nikki with keeping an eye on Sam. She doesn’t anticipate the pain that comes with it.

Pleasure In Illusions

Angst Bingo Square Filled: Am I A Psycho? - Tech N9ne. Fluff Bingo Square Filled: coitus interruptus

W/C: 1.6k Warnings: 🔞💔🤬💋 Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader, Sam Winchester x fem!reader. (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Summary: Sequel to Stay. You try and work things out with Dean, but sometimes loving someone just isn’t enough.

Tag Lists are open

Driving Baby, Whisky & Leather - Dean Winchester: @deanwinchesterswitch / @krazykelly / @deandreamernp / @akshi8278

So Get This - Sam Winchester: @supernaturalgrandma / @samfreakingwinchester /

#SPN #supernatural #samwinchester #deanwinchester #newfics #comingsoon #angst #fluff #smut #samwinchestersmut #deanwinchesterangst #deanwinchestersmut #samwinchesterfluff #samwinchesterangst

24 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

Don't Pull This Thread - Part 2 of 8

Series Summary: Sam receives a call to tell him that his best friend from Stanford is in hospital. He rushes to her side and discovers she has secrets similar to his. Sam and Dean help her seek revenge until they discover her life is bound to the very thing they are helping her hunt.

Part 2

Summary: Sam and Dean take care of Lexie while she heals; Sam learns more about her habits than he likes.

Warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn, infidelity mentioned, Dean flirting.

W/C: 4k.

Notes: switches between Sam and OC POV. Canon divergent.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, OFC, other needed OC’s..

Pairing: they are getting closer buuuuut….

Beta: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes belong to me, before I knew better.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Series (inc. Prologue) // Main

Lexie POV

A week later.

I had been going stir crazy. I spent three days in the hospital before being allowed home, with a promise to the doctor from Sam that he would take care of me. Sam has kept his promise and has had me on house arrest.

I’m not complaining; having the undivided attention of the youngest Winchester isn’t exactly a hardship. He cooked, cocooned me in blankets on the couch when I fell asleep, and carried me to my bed when I was too sleepy and worn out to walk the short distance. But staring at the same four walls and barely being able to walk from the living room to the bathroom without Sam hovering over me was wearing thin.

I have broken ribs; I’m not an invalid. I stopped taking my prescribed painkillers yesterday and convinced Sam to go to Mike’s Bar after a lot of pouting and fluttering eyelashes.

I work at Mike’s, and I haven’t seen him or the other two waitresses I had become fast friends with since I had left the hospital. I wanted to catch up with friends and have a drink with Sam and Dean outside the stifling confines of my apartment.

Mike enveloped me in a tight hug before I even made it three steps into the bar and kissed both my cheeks. I choked down the whimper that Mike’s crushing embrace caused, not wanting Sam to see I was in pain and insisting on taking me home to rest.

I introduced Mike to Sam and Dean as we walked to sit at a table near the bar. “Drinks are on me tonight, boys,” I tell them with a broad smile, “it’s the least I can do for taking care of me.”

“In that case.” Dean grins, rubbing his hands together looking at Mike, who’s waiting to take our order. “I’ll have a bottle of Johnny Walker, and Sam here will take a glass of milk.”

Sam sneers at his brother while ordering a beer, and I ask for my usual vodka and coke.

Mike returns with our drinks and joins us. “So when are you coming back, Lex?” Mike asks with an exaggerated sad face. “I miss you.”

“Hopefully at the end of next week.”

Sam adds, “Doc said light duties only. No heavy lifting.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll look after her. But in the meantime, Lex,” Mike’s eyes sparkle mischievously, “if you want to make a little extra cash. The guy at the pool table with the expensive Rolex has been here for almost three hours and is up by about eight hundred bucks. But I think you can take him.”

“You hustle people at pool?” Dean asks, his voice full of surprise.

Mike scoffs loudly, “it’s how I met her.”

I point a warning finger at Mike, “do not tell that story!”

“Oh no, you gotta tell us now,” Sam says, shuffling forward in his chair to be closer to the conversation.

Mike looks at me with pleading eyes, “come on; it’s my favorite story to tell.”

Mike turns to Sam and opens his mouth to speak, but I jump at him, clasping a hand over his mouth. “Mike,” I warn, “remember I saved your life; you owe me.”

Mike mumbles against my hand and rolls his eyes, “fine.”

Sam POV

Dean, Mike, and I sit talking while Lexie plays pool with Mr. Rolex. I have a perfect view of her over Mike’s shoulder, and I’m trying my hardest not to keep staring at her. I know I’ve been overprotective and overbearing the past few days, but I haven’t been able to stop. Having Lexie back in my life on what is shaping up to be a permanent basis and knowing her secret has changed something between us.

Maybe it’s the relief she is okay, the close quarters of living together, or that nothing is holding us back anymore. No secrets we have to keep from one another.

I feel the shift, the difference in her eyes when she looks at me when she thinks I’m not looking. The way she lingers when she kisses my cheek in greeting or the way her body relaxes when I kiss her goodnight. The way she fits herself into my body every night we share a bed. There’s definitely been a change in our relationship, and I like it.

Lexie is flirting with Mr. Rolex, touching his arm when she talks to him, allowing him to bend over her to help her with her shot. I know it’s all part of the hustle, but it doesn’t help stifle my jealousy.

They finish their second game, and Lexie comes back to the table to pour herself a glass of Dean’s Johnny Walker. “How’s it going over there?” Dean asks.

“Best of three, we’re one apiece so far.”

“What are the stakes?”

Lexie shoots back the burning alcohol, “I win, I get a thousand bucks. He wins, he gets me for the night.”

Dean laughs through his nose and sits back in his chair so he can get a better view of her, “just when you think you know a person,” he grins stupidly at her.

Lexie chuckles, shrugging her shoulders unfazed. “He’s a man, give him the promise of sex, and he stops using his brain and starts thinking with other parts of his body. I’m playing the man,” she winks at Dean.

Mike looks over his shoulder at Lexie’s opponent. He’s six feet, athletically built, with large hands. Mike turns his attention back to Lexie, high-fiving her as he croons, “though if you lose, it’s still a win, honey.”

“How about you play me after?” Dean asks, wetting his lips, “same stakes?”

Lexie rolls her eyes enough for both of us as she pours herself another drink from the half-empty bottle. “Sorry, Winchester, you’re not my type.”

“Please, I’m everyone’s type!”

Lexie shakes her head. She’s not into his cock-sure attitude. She’s always hated cocky, egotistical, over-confident men. She’s told me she finds it to be a total turn-off. She shrugs again, “I prefer my men less...”

“Manly,” Dean interrupts.

“Promiscuous.”

“Ouch,” Dean feigns offense, clutching his heart dramatically. “Low blow, sweetheart.”

Lexie pinches his cheek like an over-zealous Aunt at thanksgiving. “Truth hurts, sweetie.” She skips away back toward her handsome adversary before Dean can respond.

I slap Dean’s arm to get his attention from Lexie’s ass. “Dude, stop hitting on her.”

It’s not the first time Dean has hit on her, and I’ve had enough. Partly because I’m tired of Lexie having to politely reject him and partly because maybe I am a little worried Lexie would cave and fall for my brother’s charm.

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean grins, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Didn’t know I was stepping on your toes.”

I roll my eyes hoping it's enough to convince him that’s not the reason. “It’s not even like that,” I deny. “It’s getting a little embarrassing seeing her reject you over and over again.”

“Okay, baby brother,” Dean agrees, a telling smirk on his mouth while taking a sip of his drink.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, sweetie,” Mike interrupts us, “you’re both a little too available for her anyway.”

My brow creases at Mike’s vague comment, and Dean’s expression asks for further explanation.

“She prefers her men attached,” Mike says, nodding over his shoulder at Mr. Rolex.

We both understand as soon as we each clock Mr. Rolex’s shiny wedding band. Mike elaborates anyway, “I don’t know what happened to that girl, but whatever it is, she only goes with guys who are attached or unavailable somehow. I guess it’s her way of ensuring it’s just about the sex.”

Mike closes the bar at midnight, chucking out the last of the drunk customers, leaving me, Dean, Lexie, Rachel, and himself to drink and catch up.

Lexie counts two hundred dollars from her earlier winnings and hands it off to Mike, who accepts it with a thankful smile.

Rachel, a new team member at Mike’s, watches the transaction with young, innocent eyes. “You let her hustle people in your bar for a cut of the winnings?”

It’s not an accusation, just a simple observation.

Mike smirks, shrugging, “It pays for damages.”

Lexie protests loudly, “Hey, I still stand by my story that that guy broke his own arm!”

“You broke his arm because he was a sore loser,” Mike concludes, earning a laugh from the crowd.

I smirk, thinking about that poor guy. I’ve seen Lexie lose her temper; our road trip was pretty much a tour of America’s bars. I know she can handle herself against the unwanted affections of a drunk, and I would never like to be on that side of her.

Dean wonders aloud, “where did you learn to hustle anyway?”

Lexie pats me on the back, winking, “Sam taught me everything I know.”

I shrug my shoulders at Dean taking a swig of my beer. He huffs out a breath smiling wickedly at me, and I know he’s going to embarrass me before he speaks. Dean gives me his shit-eating grin. “So you’ll let my brother bend you over a table but not me?”

“If you’re giving me the choice of Winchesters,” Lexie says, looking at Dean with a raise of her eyebrows, and runs her hands over my shoulders as she leans against me, “I’d pick Sam, every time.”

I mask my happy chuckle with a swig of my beer but can’t fight off the small, proud, smug tug on my lips as they curl into a grin. Dean pouts and sneers comically at us both.

“Ah, don’t worry, baby, I’d pick you.” Mike retorts, leaning closer to Dean.

Lexie POV

Dean’s awkward throat-clearing makes us all crack into fits of laughter. This is just what I needed.

Rachel seems to be a bit in awe of me like I’m some kind of a role model. If only she knew. “Have you ever lost and had to go home with someone?” Rachel asks, young and a little naive; she seems excited and yet fearful at the prospect.

I feel the blush heat my cheeks and sip my drink, so Mike answers for me, sighing dreamily, “ah, Wyatt.”

“Who’s Wyatt?” Sam asks.

I swallow my drink and can't keep the satisfied grin from my mouth at the memory. “He hustled me the third or fourth night I started working here. He’d watched me play other people and played me at my own game.”

Rachel’s excitement lights her eyes. “So you went home with him?”

“I may have lost the bet, but I won multiple times that night,” I quip, clinking my glass against Mike’s in an appreciative toast.

Rachel’s curiosity gets the better of her, and she wants to know more. She asks me questions about Wyatt. Where had he taken me? Had I seen him again?

I answer all the eager girl’s questions. Wyatt had rolled into Mike’s bar two days after I arrived in town. It was my first night waitressing there, and I had fended off a lot of unwanted attention. Wyatt hadn’t tried groping me the first time he spoke to me, and we exchanged a few friendly words, then I went off to hustle some college kids.

Wyatt came to Mike’s three consecutive nights, and on the third, he challenged me to a game of pool, claiming to be rusty from his time overseas. Wyatt was a soldier; I assumed special operations though he had never specifically told me that. He was home visiting his family until his next deployment.

He was nice, charming, and gorgeous. Short brown hair, trimmed and sculpted beard, broad shoulders, and an ass that marble sculptures could never replicate. I had not been bothered about losing to him one bit.

“We spent a week and a half together, six dates and forty-eight consecutive hours in bed.” I finish with a dreamy exhale. “We text each other and talk on the phone sometimes, but I haven’t seen him since.”

I’m smiling broadly; Wyatt is a good memory in an ever-expanding ocean of bad ones. I catch Sam smiling at me, and I ask what he’s looking at.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head without breaking eye contact, “it’s just nice to see you smiling.”

I’m lying in my bed with my head on Sam’s chest. He’s shared my bed every night since he heroically charged into my room to save me from my nightmare. Sam’s flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and I know from his breathing he’s not asleep. His hand strokes up and down my shoulder blade a few times, and I draw myself closer to him.

I’ve known him long enough to know he has something on his mind, and he’s not going to sleep until he gets it out. I say his name, and even though I whisper, he jumps a little in surprise. “I can practically hear you thinking. What’s on your mind?”

His mouth is resting against my forehead and curls into a smile; he knows I know him too well. But then maybe I don’t know him all that well as his question surprises me. “Would you really have left with that guy tonight if you had lost?”

I sound robotic and devoid of emotion when I reply. “Yes. A bet is a bet.” I don’t make bets I can’t cash.

“But he was married.” He sounds almost disgusted; he’s disappointed in me. My body stiffens, and he must know he’s struck a nerve because he quickly adds his reasoning. “You could have your pick of guys, so why?”

I roll onto my back, and the cold absence of my body against his goes deeper than my skin. “It’s easier. No risk of emotions, no complications.”

Sam corrects my answer. “You mean no risk of them sticking around.”

“I’m not exactly the safest person to be around,” I whisper sadly. “Zak makes a point of hurting anyone I get close to.”

I have never felt guilt or remorse for sleeping with any of the men I have slept with, married or otherwise. But Sam’s disappointment in me is palpable, and I despise the thought of him thinking less of me, judging me if only for a fleeting second.

Sam finds my hand on the bed and interlocks our fingers. “What if you met someone who wanted to stick around?”

He phrases it like a question, but it isn’t. He’s telling me he wants to be the one to stick around. So now I know he feels the change in us too. We both want to be more than friends; we want to share a bed and lose the clothes we wear every night. We both want the kisses that have been exchanged a thousand times between our eyes but never reached our lips.

I won’t put Sam in harm's way because of how I feel about him. I gently take my hand back, it’s a rejection, but I solidify it by saying, “I’d run as far and as fast as I could.”

“Lex,” tries Sam.

I present my back to him, effectively ending the conversation. “I think you should go sleep in your bed.”

“Lexie, I’m…”

I raise my voice, “please, Sam!”

I feel the bed spring back up after his weight leaves it, and I manage to hold off the tears until he closes the door with a soft click after exiting.

I sleepily shuffle my feet from the bathroom down the small corridor and into the kitchen. The clock on the wall reads two fifteen a.m. I’d like to believe it was just my aching ribs that woke me, but it’s more than that. The vacant Sam-shaped spot in my bed, missing his warmth, the deafening silence without the sound of Sam’s light snoring had woken me too.

I took some aspirin in the bathroom, which are nowhere near as strong as the prescribed painkillers I was on, so they will be slow to take effect. I won’t be able to find sleep again until the pain ebbs.

I take an ice pack from the freezer and gently hold it against my ribs under the loose-fitting t-shirt, trying not to wince or jolt as the cold touches my skin. I lean against the countertop savoring the almost immediate relief the cold provides.

I hear the boy’s bedroom door open and listen to ascertain if they are going to the bathroom or if I’ve woken them even though I made every effort to be as silent as possible. Bare feet pad across the tiled floor, and know from the sound of the footsteps it’s Dean. It’s funny how quickly I've become accustomed to having the boys living with me.

A shirtless Dean enters the kitchen rubbing the remnants of sleep from his pretty hazel eyes. “Hey,” he greets in a sleepy voice squinting at the attack of light after walking through the darkened apartment. “You okay?”

I clear my throat and wet my lips subconsciously, taking in his chiseled physique, running my eyes over his scars and the tattoo on his chest, before meeting his eyes. I smile widely. “I’m fine, just needed some aspirin,” I explain, hoping he missed my ogling. “Did I wake you?”

Dean smiles cockily, leaning against the doorframe, telling me, “Sam’s snoring woke me.”

Sam has slept in my bed every night since he woke me from my nightmare. Dean has got used to sleeping in the room alone. I tell myself to focus on his face and not his shirtless body or let my eyes roam further down to assess his package in the thin sweatpants he wears as pajamas.

Dean isn’t my type, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate him.

His eyes roam my body, and I’m suddenly acutely aware I’m wearing a pair of black cotton shorts and a loose-fitting light grey t-shirt. I know the t-shirt shows the shape of my braless breasts, and I’m a little self-conscious that the way I’m holding the ice pack to my ribs means my shirt had ridden up to reveal my stomach.

I cough to get Dean’s attention, fighting off the urge to readjust my shirt to cover up as his eyes travel from my toes up. We both laugh somewhat awkwardly, knowing each other’s thoughts and seeing the appreciation of each other’s bodies.

“Well, I’m not going to sleep again anytime soon. You’re welcome to take my snoring-free bed,” I tell him to break the moment.

Dean raises his eyebrows enticingly, walking to stand in front of me. “That an invitation?”

I giggle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his advance. “Keep it in your pants, Winchester.”

He holds his hands in the air, surrendering. “Understood, Walker.”

I offer to make coffee, and he accepts but tells me to sit while he makes it because I should be resting. I stop my roll eye and sit down. He makes us both coffee and then sits across the table from me, and I scan his scars.

“How’d you get this one?” I ask curiously, running a finger down the three-centimeter scar just below his collar bone.

“Knife wound, courtesy of a poltergeist.”

“And this one?” I feel a rounded scar that is obviously a bite mark from something with an excess number of sharp teeth.

“Wendigo took a chunk out of me before I put it down.”

“Wendigo?”

Dean smiles, amused. “I keep forgetting you’re new to all this.”

I nod my head laughing. “I can handle a suck-head and a vengeful spirit or two, but anything other than that, I’m out of my league.”

“If there were only vampires and vengeful spirits out there, I could have a day job.”

I chuckle, “what would Dean Winchester do as a day job?”

Dean smirks cheekily. “Oh, I’d totally be a model.” He sits up straight and puffs out his chest. “With these rugged good looks, I’d be rich and famous.”

We share a whole-hearted laugh.

“The tattoo, does it mean something?”

“Anti-possession symbol.”

I contemplate Dean’s scars and wonder how many Sam has. I’ve never seen Sam’s body long enough to examine it closely. I try to imagine all the things they have faced, the sheer amount of times their lives have been in peril, the occasions they have put themselves in harm's way to help other people, strangers they don't know.

They are in harm's way now. I put them on Zak’s radar by simply being in their presence. I pick at a chip on my coffee mug, thinking about how they have been lucky so far. Zak hasn’t made his feelings on the Winchester’s known yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Zak will send a message soon enough. I’m sure of it.

Dean touches my hand, and it brings me out of my head. I smile up at him, but it’s not convincing enough, and he asks, “where’d you go just now?”

“I was just thinking I’m kind of in awe of you and Sam,” I admit, a genuine proud smile on my lips. “All the things you must have seen, all the people you have saved. You're kind of amazing; you know that.”

Dean grins bashfully. “Just kind of amazing?” he questions with a wink.

“Well, if you were humble as well, then you’d be totally amazing,” I joke, laughing with him. “Seriously, it scares me to think of all the things out there that I don’t know about. You and Sam fight them all the time while I’m hellbent on revenge, selfishly focusing on my own mission.”

“It’s not selfish to want revenge,” Dean assures me. “Hell, me and Sam have done the same thing.”

“Only you’re not,” I point out. Here’s my chance, maybe I can convince Dean to leave me, get Sam to go before anything serious happens. “You’re here with me; you’ve stopped.”

“Don’t do that!” Dean warns.

I feel like my big brother is telling me off, but I don’t stop. “Don’t what?” I ask, frustration seeping from my voice. “You know as well as I do you’re going to have to leave me alone at some point. Sam won’t listen to me, but he might listen to you. You could convince him to go.”

He raises his voice, pissed that I’m trying to talk him out of helping me. “Don’t bat your eyelashes and try to manipulate me.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you unless it's working,” I test with a quick grin. “But I’m not some quick fix case, Dean. This isn’t something that’s going to be resolved in a few days so that you can move on to the next one.”

“It takes as long as it takes,” he tells me calmly.

“Oh, come on,” I groan, “when was the last time you spent this long in any one place? You’ve both put your life on hold for me, and it isn’t fair to either of you.”

Dean stands, taking his half-empty coffee cup to the sink, and pours the remaining liquid down the drain. I’m right, and he can’t deny it.

“You ever consider we like being here?” he asks without turning. “That it’s nice to know we can go do a job and we have somewhere to come back to? That it’s nice to see Sam smile, genuinely smile, not fake it for my benefit?”

My breath catches in my throat. I had never thought that being around me was good for them too. Take Zak out of the equation, and we could be a small hunting family.

Dean likes to have the option of having somewhere to come home to, a reason to return to a town he normally would have put in his rear-view mirror and forgotten about. He likes that Sam is happy, and he is when he’s around me.

I cross the kitchen and wrap my arms around his waist, hugging myself to his back. I can let it go for now. The prospect of having the Winchester’s around to help me while I heal, and maybe after, isn’t so terrible.

“You wanna try and get some sleep?” I offer, unwrapping myself from him.

Dean huffs a laugh turning to face me. “With Sam’s snoring, not likely.”

“The offer of my bed is still valid.”

“With you in it?”

I roll my eyes. Sensitive, vulnerable Dean’s appearance had been sweet but short. “Go to bed, Winchester,” I grin, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek.

“Worth a shot,” he smirks with a wink walking out of the kitchen.

Part 3

#Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #OFC #Fluff #Angst #Flangst #Don't Pull This Thread #SamW #DeanW #SamWinchester #DeanWinchester #SamWinchesterFluff #Supernatural #SPN #SamWinchesterAngst #DeanWinchesterFlirting

37 notes · View notes

princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

A Sweet Dream or A Beautiful Nightmare - 2/2

Co-wrote with @slytherkins

Summary: A year after saving Erin, Sam proposes again, will they make it down the aisle or will her nightmares of hell consume her?

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mentions of hell, mentions of depression, Crowley being awesomely Crowley, Aunt Mimi deserves a warning for how wonderful she is, language.

W/C: part 2 - 5k

Notes: Epilogue for The Secrets We Keep Series - don’t necessarily need to have read that but I recommend that you do, only because it’s a masterpiece (yes I said it) of angst.

Characters: Sam Winchester, OFC (Erin Best), Dean Winchester, Crowley, Aunt Mimi (she deserves a special mention). Small Parts/Mentions: Jody Mills, Donna Hasscum, Charlie Bradbury, Cas, OC’s.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x OFC (Erin).

Beta: @petitgateau911

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Part 1 is here.

Master Lists: Main // Sam Winchester // Slytherkins

Crowley popped up behind a moldy shed in the woods surrounding Jody Mills’ cabin. He had the decency to arrive relatively on time and not just appear in the middle of the ceremony. The path leading to the cabin had been decorated beautifully with candles, fairy lights, and white and blue flowers entwined around thick trunks. A midnight blue carpet led the way from where he assumed was the designated parking area to the large clearing behind the cabin. It was quaint and a bit rustic but tasteful, and Crowley approved. The nip in the air made the decision to have an outdoor wedding on the cusp of Autumn questionable, but he was at least relieved he wasn’t being made to spend the next hour or so sitting in a church pew.

Dean stood at the edge of the seating area, greeting guests and instructing them where to sit. Sam stood beside him, practically vibrating with nerves.

“It’s about time,” Dean growled as Crowley approached.

He wasn’t exactly late, though he seemed to be one of the last arrivals. Most of the seats had been taken. “I see manners have been reserved for the human guests,” said Crowley making no effort to lower his voice.

“We weren’t sure you’d show,” Sam explained, ushering him aside, far enough away that human ears wouldn’t overhear.

“Why ever not?” Crowley asked, bordering on offended. “I’d never miss the opportunity to see the final flourishment of the fruits of my labour. After all, I'm the reason this is all happening.”

“Oh, you’re the one!” a woman exclaimed with a surprised gasp. Crowley turned to the brunette behind him and knew without being told she was Erin’s mother. She grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek, which elicited a delighted smile from the King of Hell. “It’s so very lovely to meet you. Erin told us all about you.”

“Let us hope not everything,” Crowley remarked with a mischievous wink. His new companion batted him playfully on the arm and tittered an, ‘oh, you,’ but Dean politely cut her off.

“Mrs. Best, you’d better take your seat,” he smiled. Dean offered his arm for her to take, “It’s almost time.”

“Oh, of course,” she agreed, linking her arm with his, “Just had to powder my nose.”

Dean quickly escorted her back toward the seating area, and Crowley lifted an eyebrow at Sam in inquiry. “We kept it as close to the truth as we could,” said Sam. “They think Erin worked for you, at a real estate firm, and that you introduced us. They...think you’re our Uncle.”

Crowley’s eyes grew wide, less in astonishment than in absolute mirth. “I’m touched,” Crowley said with insincere solemnity, his hand to his heart. Though, secretly he was. To be an honouree Winchester, if only for the day. He’d have burst into laughter if he hadn’t known it would be misunderstood and badly received. “I’d have preferred 'eldest brother', though,” he critiqued.

Sam’s jaw ticked, his patience running thin. “For the record, I didn’t want you here. You're only here because Erin insisted on keeping her end of the deal.”

“So, let’s set some ground rules,” Dean interjected firmly, standing beside his brother once again.

Crowley had no ill intentions. Truth be told, he’d been looking forward to the day for a while. But he’d at least listen to their rules. After all, there were bound to be loopholes. “I wait with bated breath.”

Dean scowled but listed his rules, counting them off on his fingers as he spoke. “One, no deal making. Two, no flashing your red eyes. And C, no goading the hunters.”

“And the most important,” Sam took a step toward him, lowered his head to stare into his eyes, trying to look menacing, but Crowley had seen the look before. It didn’t scare him. “Don’t do anything or say anything to fuck up her big day. It’s bad enough she’s been having nightmares about you.”

Crowley’s brow creased. “Nightmares?”

“Let me guess, you want us to believe you don’t have anything to do with that,” Dean accused.

Sam looked less certain of the assertion and interrupted before Crowley could declare his innocence, “Just find a seat and behave.”

Crowley tsked but scanned the rows of chairs. An elderly woman in a burgundy pantsuit with a matching hair fastener was staring intently at him. Did he know her? She seemed to know him. He estimated her to be in her late seventies, early eighties. It stood to reason he may have crossed paths with her when he was King of the Crossroads.

He decided he’d take up residence in the second to last row on the end, but as he made his way around the Winchesters, he watched the woman rise from her seat and make her way toward him.

“What are you doing back here? My niece tells me you're the boys' Uncle Crowley. Family sits up front, of course.” she said, slipping her arm into his and leading him away, “I’m Erin’s Great Aunt Mimi, by the way.”

“Ah, Mimi,” Dean rushed to stand in their path. “I’m sure my Uncle would prefer to sit at the back,” he said, giving Crowley a meaningful look.

Every time someone referred to him as ‘uncle’, the harder it was for Crowley to contain his glee. The boys, however, were far less amused.

“Yes, my dear,” he agreed, turning to face Aunt Mimi, “I don’t get along with the other guests on the groom’s side. Some business deals turned sour, shall we say.”

“Then you come and sit with me on the Bride's side,” Mimi told him, completely undeterred and shoving Dean aside. “There's an extra chair, and I've decided it's for you. You look much too stylish to be sitting with all those ruffians anyway.”

Crowley gave the boys a helpless shrug and subtle smile over his shoulder - if shit-eating grins could be considered subtle - as he was led away. Even Dean looked loath to argue with the elderly lady.

The day had been perfect, filled with family and friends, a good portion of them hunters. Everyone had gathered at Jody’s cabin for the ceremony. The weather had cooperated and stayed warm and bright, so the outdoor set up had been perfect. Castiel officiated - it didn’t get more official than an Angel of the Lord. Sam looked dashing in his midnight blue three-piece suit. Dean was as dapper as ever in his matching get up, even if he did keep tugging at his collar. The bridesmaids (Jody, Alex, Claire and Donna), and the maid of honour (Erin’s sister, Emma) were beautiful in dresses that matched the colour of the boys’ suits.

And then there was Erin. She felt beautiful as she walked out in the one-shoulder, black and grey lace dress. She’d applied minimal make-up, and Emma had pinned her hair back. When she’d seen Sam staring back at her from the end of the aisle, she’d felt stunning. Even without a white dress, she felt like a Princess in a Fairytale. Even if their story had begun as a horror, today they had their happily ever after.

The ceremony was everything she had imagined and more. As soon as Sam had taken her hands and gazed lovingly into her eyes, she managed to forget about their least favorite guest, who for some unknown reason was seated next to her Aunt Mimi.

The cabin wasn’t big enough for a party, so they took the reception to a bar in town. The owner, Mike, a friend of Jody’s, had closed the place down for them. Though, he was making his money’s worth, as the hunters, just as much as Erin’s Aunt Mimi, took any excuse to celebrate and were throwing money at him quicker than he and his staff could pour the drinks.

Erin stood at the end of the bar, surveying the room. How had she gotten everything she wanted? Her sister Emma, in perfect health, sat with Donna, Jody, Alex and Claire, laughing hysterically and sipping wine. Sam, her husband, was at the other end of the bar talking to Garth and his wife. Sam had removed his jacket but still looked delightfully smart and classy in his white shirt and midnight blue tie. Yes, she had gotten every single thing she wanted.

“Taking it all in, sweetheart?” asked Dean, offering her a glass of champagne as he walked up from behind her.

“Just counting my blessings,” Erin smiled thankfully, “which includes you. Now you’re officially my brother.”

Dean smirked, slightly bashful, and tipped his glass toward her in a silent toast. She took an elegant sip of the golden bubbly.

“Damn, that’s good.”

The five hundred dollar per bottle Krug Brut Vintage 1988 champagne had been a gift from Crowley. As per the stipulation of freeing Erin’s soul, he had been invited, albeit reluctantly, and of course he’d shown up. He may have been the King of Hell, but he understood the human etiquette of not arriving empty-handed - though he had argued to her parents that he had already gifted the couple, being as he was the one who had introduced them. Nevertheless, he had arrived in a timely manner, leaving the grand entrance to the bride, and brought along twenty bottles of expensive bubbly.

The champagne went untouched for the first three hours of the party. No one quite trusted the red-eyed demon to not have ulterior motives, so Crowley had drunk two bottles himself before the rest of the party joined in.

“Right?” Dean agreed, wide-eyed, taking another sip. “I stashed a couple bottles to take home. Y’know, for the next big occasion.”

Erin laughed at his enthused look, and jested, “You looking to get hitched?”

He shrugged, chortling, “Ah, you know me. I'm a rollin’ stone. I was thinking more along the lines of celebrating you and Sam having a rugrat, or one year of you putting up with his dorky ass as Mrs. Winchester.”

The sentiment was nice, but the slurred way in which Dean delivered it made Erin laugh whole-heartedly. He had clearly had too much of Crowley’s gift. She clinked her glass against his and they simultaneously polished off their drinks.

Erin watched Crowley sway his way toward them over Dean’s shoulder. The King of Hell was drunk. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused by it or worried. He was hard to handle at the best of times, let alone sloshed on five hundred dollar champagne.

Crowley had been on his best behaviour, at least. Dean had been tasked with ensuring the King Of Hell was a model guest. Ground rules had been set but someone was still required to supervise the demon.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Crowley drawled, seemingly apropo nothing. His inebriated state seemed to have done nothing to squash his inhuman hearing. “You should hyphenate your name, darling. Then you’d be the Best-Winchester.”

Dean scoffed, around a mouthful of beer, “Excuse you. I’m an original, ain’t no replacing me. She’d be like top ten. Maybe.” Erin scowled and shoved him playfully, and Dean chuckled, “Okay, top five.”

“Please,” Crowley ridiculed, scowling at Dean before turning his attention back to Erin.

Sam wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. Though Dean was between her and the demon, she knew Sam disliked that she had to endure his nonsense. He wanted to protect her, even if she didn’t necessarily need it right then. She sighed contently and settled her head against his shoulder while she listened to Crowley’s reasoning of her Winchester rank.

“Even before Jolly Green proposed, she was the Winchesterest Winchester to ever Winchester. ”

Erin couldn’t help but snigger at Crowley. Was it more worrisome that what he had said made total sense to her? Was there something in the champagne after all?

“She’s got all the essential Winchester qualities. She’s stubborn, intelligent, foolhardy, self-sacrificing, sickeningly attractive...”

All three sets of eyebrows raised in question. “How much have you had to drink?” asked Sam.

“I’m a demon, Moose, not a monk. Neither am I blind. Do you really think I’d have put up with the two of you all this time if you weren’t so easy on the eyes? Oh, don’t worry, poppet,” he said to Erin’s challenging lift of an eyebrow, “yours is perfectly safe. I prefer this one by miles,” he confided, tapping Dean smartly on the backside.

Dean bristled and turned, shifting his bottom out of easy reach. “Listen, man, I don’t care how good this bubbly is or how much of it you’ve had to drink, you touch my ass again and-”

“I know, I know,” Crowley muttered, raising his hands in surrender, “we broke up ages ago. Doesn’t mean I can’t still carry a flame, now does it? Can I help it if I have fond memories of that bare bum peeking from between triplets?”

Sam and Erin shot shocked looks at Dean.

“Bare bum?” asked Erin.

“Triplets?” sneered Sam.

Dean threw Crowley a dirty look, spluttering his indignation.

Crowley was no fool. He knew he was being ‘baby sat’ and it was proving to be some of the most fun he had had in a long time to have the eldest Winchester be his shadow and rile up the youngest on the same day. Not much else could have made the deal sweeter. Or so he thought, until Dean’s blush tinged the tops of his ears and he stuttered around an explanation of not remembering his time as a demon.

“I have video footage,” Crowley supplied, reaching into his inside pocket, “if you require a visual reminder.”

Dean’s mouth fell slack, but before he could attack Crowley, either verbally or physically - he couldn’t quite tell which one Dean was leaning toward - Aunt Mimi walked to stand beside him.

“There’s my ravishing date,” said Crowley. “Why have you not danced with me?”

Mimi’s met his eyes, eyes that had been flirting with him from the moment he arrived. Crowley hadn’t been the only one to notice. Sam had already warned him off, and Dean had done a particularly good job of keeping the two of them separated.

“Because you've yet to ask, you sly devil you.” Her choice of words tickled him, and he saw Sam’s throat bob nervously. But Mimi’s suggestive brow twitch deepened his intrigue. One dance would surely be acceptable.

“Well, young lady,” Crowley offered his arm, “would you care to dance?”

“NO!” chorused Sam, Dean, and Erin.

“Why ever not?” Mimi asked, turning her attention to Erin. “My dear, you may have been born for the storm, but I assure you I know better,” Mimi explained. “And now that you’ve found the eye of the storm,” she smiled affectionately at Sam, “I would hope you know better, too.” Mimi accepted Crowley’s outstretched arm and allowed him to lead her to the dancefloor.

He smirked wickedly over Mimi’s shoulder at the three sets of eyes gawking at them. Even if he didn’t possess superior hearing and couldn’t hear them while he made small talk with Mimi, he could have guessed their conversation from their predictable facial expressions.

Moose looked confused and out of sorts, “Does Mimi know about…?”

Moose’s wife - he’d have to think of a more suitable nickname - seemed to be unsure and somewhat bewildered. “No, she doesn’t. At least...Dean?”

“I’m on it,” Squirrel sighed, swigging the last of his beer then walking away to interrupt the dancing pair.

“You, my dear,” Crowley smiled, “are an enigma, and I must know more about you.”

“Oh please,” Mimi chided, batting his arm affectionately, “of the two of us you are by far the most interesting. If you weren’t so inebriated I’d have stolen you away to pick your brains.”

“Can you keep a secret?” Crowley smirked and leaned closer to her ear without waiting for a response. “I’m not actually drunk.”

“You cheeky little fox,” Mimi cooed. “Though I don’t blame you one bit. I’d have enjoyed having that chiselled jawed, handsome charmer follow me around all day, too.”

“You mean my babysitter.”

“Think we can ditch him?”

Crowley observed Dean’s bow-legged, half-drunk strut as he approached. When Dean made it within range of being able to put a hand on his shoulder to interrupt, Crowley purposefully and gracefully twirled Mimi so her back was to the drunken hunter. Dean stepped left. Crowley swung Mimi in his path. Dean jumped right. Crowley danced away from him.

“Crowley!” Dean growled, unwilling to play cat and mouse around the dancefloor.

Mimi looked over her shoulder, “Oh, I’m too much woman for you, handsome.” She winked and turned her focus back to Crowley.

“Crowley,” Dean demanded again as the pair swirled around him, now obviously taunting him, their joined hands caressing his back as they glided past. “We had a deal,” he reminded him.

Crowley shook his head, ready to apologise to Mimi for the neanderthal’s utter lack of decency, when he caught her intense focus on Dean. Mimi’s lips twitched into a mischievous smirk, and Crowley watched as Dean’s eyes lost focus. He looked around him as if confused to find himself there, surrounded by dancing couples, and eventually, he turned to wander off, shaking his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. Crowley looked down at his dance partner, demonstratively impressed.

“That ought to buy us a few songs, at least. So, Crowley, that’s an interesting name. Why does it sound so familiar?”

“Most people are put in mind of the occultist.”

“Oh, heavens no. I knew Aleister. Odd little man,” her eyes wandered to a corner of the room while her memory took her somewhere else. Crowley took the moment to study her closely, unsure of what to make of her. “What’s your last name, dear?”

“Winchester?”

She scoffed. “Don’t lie to an old woman. Don’t lie to any woman. We’re used to it and likely to see through you. Intuition and all that.”

“When you say woman, I can’t help but think you mean to say witch.”

“What’s the difference, really? But you haven’t answered my question.”

“Once upon a time, I was known by MacLeod, if you must know, but I haven’t used that name in literal ages.”

“Oh, you’re Rowena’s boy!” exclaimed Mimi, much to Crowley’s dismay. “The tales I’ve heard about you. Of course. Makes sense now how you’ve gotten mixed up with a couple of hunters. Wouldn’t have expected the relationship to be so cozy, though. Between you and me, when I stepped out of the car and saw all that plaid sitting on the groom’s side, I had half a mind to turn myself right around.”

“You’re friends with my mother?” asked Crowley, disconcerted and suddenly wondering if it were time to draw the encounter to a close. Or if it would be possible to do so gracefully. Mostly, if Mimi would allow it. There wasn’t a witch alive that could best him, but the dancefloor at Moose’s wedding reception was not the place to test that theory.

Still, Crowley shuddered to think what stories Rowena might have thought it prudent to share, and he was preemptively mortified, though he hid it well enough.

“Friend might be too strong a word,” Mimi confided, and Crowley relaxed somewhat. “We run in the same circles, is all. Rowena doesn’t have many friends that I can tell. Perhaps the biggest bitch I’ve ever met. Though I mean that in the warmest way possible, of course. No offence intended.”

Crowley twirled Mimi under his arm and pulled her back in, once again delighted by her company. “Trust me, none taken.”

“Yes. I can’t imagine she was much of a mother. One hell of a witch, though. Speaking of Hell…Rowena’s been saying you run the place,” said Mimi with a lift of her brow that seems to say she doubted it but not completely. “Been trying to throw her weight around, but there aren’t many who believe her. Is it true?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

Crowley took her skepticism in stride, “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll keep dancing with me if I tell you it is,” said Crowley with an impish gleam in his eyes, guiding them into a spin that seemed to leave Mimi light-headed, though she didn’t miss a beat.

“Who better to dance with than the devil? Especially such a handsome one,” she winked.

Oh, this one was dangerous, all right. Crowley was having a ball. “Not your first time?”

“Likely my last,” she sighed. “Family does that to you. Settling down. Deciding to grow old.”

“I take it Erin doesn’t know about your….proclivities?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly been a consistent presence in the poor dear’s life. After my husband died, I spent a good deal of time abroad.”

Crowley nodded. “Explains why she came to me about her sister.”

“She didn’t,” gasped Mimi. Their dance came to a halt, but she didn’t release his hand. Rather, her grip subtly tightened and she leaned closer to whisper, “‘Uncle’ or not, if you mean my nieces any ill will-”

“Quite the contrary. I have nothing but respect for Erin, I assure you. After all, she bested me at my own game, which is the highest qualification for the Winchester name I can think of. Not that I don’t still enjoy playing with them, you understand. The stakes just aren’t as high these days. Taking them off the board would eliminate all the fun.”

“I was so relieved to hear Emma was on the mend,” fretted Mimi, tentatively resuming their dance. “I suppose I have you to thank for that. But Erin...she’s not...in your debt, is she? Because I might have something to say about that.”

“No worries, my dear,” Crowley assured. “Clean slate, she and I.”

“Well, that’s alright, then. I don’t mind you keeping Erin on her toes, but give her a rest, won’t you? I’m looking forward to bouncing a couple of little Best-Winchesters on my knee before I die.”

“I could not agree with you more on that count. In fact, I’ve gifted the happy couple a nursery suite. But speaking of Erin’s rest, there’s something that’s come to my attention recently, and I think you may be just the person to help me address it…”

“The nightmares?” asked Mimi, seemingly reading his mind.

“Precisely.”

He had a feeling this had been Mimi’s plan all along, but he couldn’t say he minded the slight deception. Their dance had been enchanting. She was intriguing, and powerful friends - or people who might owe him a favor - were something Crowley was always in the market for.

He dipped her back. Leaning over her, he said, “Lead the way.”

Mimi guided him off the dancefloor toward the fire exit, and Crowley heard Dean shudder, “I am not going to break up that,” before the door swung shut behind them.

The night eventually drew to a close. Many of the guests had left, retiring to their beds with fuzzy heads full of expensive champagne bubbles. The last remaining bottle of Crowley’s present sat in a bucket of ice on the table that Jody, Donna, Erin, Sam and Mimi surrounded. The women shared stories that Sam wasn’t really listening to. There had been pointedly no mention of Mimi’s brief disappearance or who it was with, and that was just fine by Sam. Erin was in his lap, her head nuzzled into his neck, her fingertips tracing invisible patterns on his arm.

She was his wife. Wife - he didn’t know a simple term could have such an effect on him. From the moment he’d kissed her for the first time after Cas gave him permission to do as his bride, the four-letter word had made his heart thud happily, and he felt like he needed to take a deep breath every couple of minutes to stop a giddy laugh bursting up from his chest. He hoped he’d never lose the feeling, he wanted to ride the high as long as he could.

He turned his head into her, used his nose to brush her hair from her neck, his own falling over his face, cocooning them from the world around them. “You okay Mrs. Winchester?” He grinned broadly, “Not falling asleep on me, are you?”

She inhaled sharply and shook her head slightly. Her exhale tickled his neck as she raised her head to place a featherlight kiss under his jawline. But Sam understood her laboured breath was more than excitement at the use of her new name. The lukewarm drop of her tears seeped into the skin of his shoulder, “E, baby, what’s wrong?”

Sam waited, it took her more than a minute before she was able to lift her head to look in his eye. She kissed him, a small assurance she was okay. “Nothing, I’m happy. I’m sorry, I just...I’m being ridiculous.” Her lips pursed as she released a long breath, “I don’t want to go to sleep, not tonight,” she admitted, one hand stroking his cheek. “I’m afraid. I’m scared if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up and this won’t be real.”

“Feel that?” asked Sam and squeezed the top of her thigh to emphasise his point. He waited for her to nod. “It’s real,” he assured her before he loosened his grip. Erin clasped her hand over his and encouraged his fingers to grasp her a little tighter than before. He dug his fingers into her, pushed the heel of his palm as hard as he dared not wanting to bruise her. He knew she needed the pressure to tether her to reality. “We’re real,” he stole a chaste kiss, “all of it is. We’re real Erin, and I’ll do whatever you need me to do to show you.”

“Oh, I know right now is real,” she laughed, “because even my fucked up head couldn’t possibly dream up this awful rendition of a classic.” She grimaced, offended, as she turned to look toward the karaoke stage.

Dean had sung a few tunes, and with the assistance of Crowley, was wrapping up a very warbled rendition of Bon Jovi’s Living On a Prayer. If it hadn’t been so ironically hilarious, it may have been unnerving.

The pair, clearly deep in a drunken haze of bromance, stumbled off the stage, Dean’s arm slung over Crowley’s shoulder as they staggered toward the table. For every two wobbled steps forward they took, they seemed to sway back one before regaining their balance and continuing forward again. Erin and Sam laughed, prompting the other occupants of the table to watch them approach.

“So, I guess time really does heal all wounds,” Jody remarked, eyeing Dean’s arm around Crowley.

Dean followed her line of sight, as if it wasn’t his own arm embracing the King of Hell. When the connection finally made it to his brain, he smiled apologetically at Jody and shoved Crowley aside.

Crowley, caught off guard, stumbled and caught himself on a vacant chair before dropping into it and clasping his hands in earnest entreaty.

“Oh, dear, dear Jody. Can you ever forgive this misguided man for his indiscretions?” He reached out. Maybe it was her shock at his grovelling, but Jody allowed him to take her hand without a fight. “I really did have a wonderful time on our date...before the murder attempt, that is.” He shrugged, “And you must know, my dear, that was never anything personal.”

“Come on, on your feet,” Dean coaxed, trying and failing to lift Crowley from the chair.

“Not until she forgives me,” Crowley insisted, struggling just enough to foil the attempt. “Surely if the infamously stubborn Winchesters can do so, you can find it in your beautiful heart to do the same, Dear Jody.”

She snatched her arm back before he could decide to do something more persuasive with it than clasping it. “Okay, okay,” Jody conceded. “Just get up already.”

It wasn’t as gracious as Crowley seemed to hope, but he appeared satisfied with her reply nonetheless. Crowley rose to his feet and dusted off his suit. “Well, now that’s done, there’s only one thing left,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a small vial with swirling purple liquid that almost looked alive.

Sam expected him to smash the vial and disappear in a puff of purple smoke. After Crowley’s mundane arrival, he expected some flamboyant show for his exit. Instead, Crowley offered the vial to Erin.

Sam felt her entire body tense against him. He whispered reassurances and squeezed her thigh again.

“A parting gift,” Crowley explained.

“It’s okay,” Mimi spoke up, offering a fond smile. “I promise it’s nothing to be afraid of. I helped cook it up.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Mimi, unsure what to make of the comment...or the woman herself, if he were honest, but Erin didn’t seem bothered by the implications. She sat up straighter as if drawing courage from Mimi’s words, but she only stared at her intriguing Aunt. Sam was the one to reach out to take the glass tube from Crowley.

Crowley’s grin, though still seemingly devious, held a promise of sincerity. “She only need drink it.”

Sam nodded and watched the dancing liquid as he tipped the vial up and down. Mimi’s words, though different, seemed to echo Crowley’s sentiment, “Sweet dreams, my dear.”

When Sam raised his eyes again, Mimi and Crowley were strolling arm in arm toward the exit.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, Erin registered faint voices and that the room was brighter than she expected. The sun was higher than it should be for the early hour she thought it was, casting shadows around the honeymoon suite when her eyes fluttered open. Sam returned from the hallway, pushing a room service cart, all three shelves full of covered dishes.

“Morning dearest wife,” Sam’s dimpled smile greeted her warmly when she sat up and rubbed at her face.

“Morning dearest husband,” she cooed, watching him abandon the cart in the middle of the room to greet her with a tender kiss.

Sam hummed contently against her mouth, taking a seat on the bed and smoothing his hand on her cheek. He pulled away after too little time.

“I was worried for a second you weren’t ever going to wake up,” he confessed sheepishly. “You haven’t slept this late since that time Dean got you drunk on rum.” She groaned as if the reminder was enough to give her a hangover. “It’s after eleven-thirty.”

“Shit, really?” she asked and received a nod of confirmation from Sam when she tried to find a clock in the room. “I’m sorry, baby,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. “I didn’t mean to waste half of our first day as man and wife.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he assured her. “Besides, I did keep you up pretty late.”

Erin murmured a sound of approval, climbing from under the covers to straddle his lap. She dipped to kiss his neck. Sam groaned when she reached his collar bone and pulled her face up to level with his. “As much as I’d like to continue,” his tone became apologetic, “you might need to call Mimi before she does some witchy voodoo thing to Crowley.”

Erin laughed loudly. Sam had been so worried but thoughtful. Instead of waking her, he’d called Mimi to ask about the potion.

Sam’s eyebrows raised high, and he chuckled along with her, but he sounded partly worried when he told Erin, “I swear she started speaking in tongues.”

“I’m sure whatever she does can be undone,” she assured him. “We’ve already wasted the morning.” She pushed at his shoulders to make him lie flat.

“It wasn’t wasted,” said Sam, sincerely smiling up at her, his hands running up her legs to her thighs. “You slept without nightmares for the first time in three months.”

“If this is a nightmare, it’s a beautiful nightmare,” she shrugged, bending down to close the gap between them. “As long as I get to wake up to you,” she whispered, her lips ghosting over his.

“Every day, forever,” he promised, just as quietly, before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss and wrapping her tightly in his arms.

End

38 notes · View notes

stardusttkachuk-main · 8 years

Text

Down With The Flu

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 3,460

Warnings: mentions of vomiting, the flu, things associated with the flu, sam being a total sweetheart, fluff

Prompt: When the reader comes down with the flu, Sam’s right by her side, nursing her back to health even if it means seeing some of the worst sides of the girl he’s been falling for.

A/N: I finally decided to finish this fic and post it. I wrote this back on New Years when I got sick, so everything in this is what I experienced then. This is also slightly dedicated to @impala-dreamer as she is down with the flu right now. Get well soon Beka and enjoy some Sammy taking care of you. (:

This is is. This is how you were going to die: tossing and turning in bed with what felt like a balloon swelling in your stomach. You were going to die, alone, at three a.m and nobody would discover you until probably late afternoon. You’d be rotting for probably 12 hours before someone found you. You were sure of it.

Between the constant tossing and turning and general uncomfortableness you had managed to doze off for another couple of hours. “Surely,” you thought the second you woke up and everything felt okay, “I’m dead.” And then the upset stomach returned.

You figured a bathroom trip would help. Maybe you were just gassy from all that questionable food you ate on the last trip. Or maybe it was food poisoning from the same culprit. You were thinking it was the later by the time you had sat down to do your business.

You hadn’t even had a chance to wash your hands after finishing up. You were headed there, eyes shut tight and mouth closed, biting down on the inside of your cheek, when you could feel what little was left in your stomach coming up.

You dropped to the floor, squatting in front of the toilet as your stomach expelled it’s contents once more, or what was left of them anyway. By the third heave, you were throwing up nothing but acid and air and neither felt good coming up.

A shiver ran through your body and soon enough, you were freezing cold in the t-shirt and leggings you had worn to bed. “A fever, great,” you mused, resting your hot head against your cool arm.

When you were sure it was over, and actually sure, you stood up, flushing the toilet and grabbing a rag from the cabinet. You ran the rag under warm water before rubbing it across your face, ridding yourself of the sweat and tears you’d produced from vomiting. You rinsed it out, then soaked it in cold water and laid it on the back of your neck.

With the rag still resting on your neck, you drug yourself back to your room, instantly collapsing into the full sized bed and curling up underneath the heap of blankets. Your shaky hands reached for your phone next to your table, checking the time. Seven a.m. No one should be awake at this time, not when it’s their day off and they want to relax. No one should be awake at this time, but you knew someone who was.

“Sam I’m dying please help,” you sent the text without thinking too much about it. Though, you realized you should’ve given it more thought when the 6’4 man burst through your door, gun held tight in his hands and shouting “where is it! I swear to god I’ll kill the son of a bitch!”

He lowered his gun seeing you curled up under the pile of blankets, and tucked it back into his jeans. “Y/N what’s going on? Are you hurt?” He moved to sit beside your bed, placing one large hand to your cheek. “You’re warm.”

“I’m sick,” you admitted, trying to shoo his hand away. “I dunno, it’s probably food poisoning. I knew we shouldn’t have trusted that crap gas station food.”

“Uh, two things,” he began, “You don’t get fevers with food poisoning and if it was food poisoning, Dean and I would be sick too. I think you’ve got a stomach bug, kiddo,” he soothed, his hand brushing back your sweaty locks.

“‘M not a kiddo,” you mumbled, pushing his hand away once again. “I’m only four months younger than you.”

He let out a lighthearted chuckle, moving his hands away. “Can I get you anything? Tylenol? Pepto Bismol? Some water?”

“Water would be lovely please and thank you.”

“Okay. You want anything to eat?” You grimaced at his question, feeling your stomach churn and face drain of color. “Or not. Just the water. I’ll be back.”

Sam sat on the side of your bed as you sipped the water. He simply waited until you were done and when you were he placed the cup on you nightstand. “Can I get you anything else?”

You shook your head, the action making you slightly dizzy. “I think i’m just gonna try to get some more sleep.”

“Were you up all night with this?” He asked, his hand brushing gently through your hair.

“Since about three this morning, yeah. I didn’t actually get sick until now though,” you informed him. “Hey actually, could you do one more thing?” When he gave a confirming nod, you continued, “will you put my hair up? I don’t know if i’m gonna throw up again but I don’t want my hair in the way if I do.”

“Sure darling.” Sam scooted behind you, letting you rest against his chest as he gathered your hair into a messy bun, securing it all with a hair tie. “Good?”

You nodded, the bun moving slightly on your head. “Perfect. Thanks Sam.”

“If you need anything else, I’m in the library. I’ll keep my phone close by. Get some rest.”

“I will do just that,” you hummed, already settling in for a nap.

“So much for a nap,” you thought when you woke up at 8:15. You were hoping to get three or four hours in but instead you barely got one.

You decided that getting up and trying to walk around would be the best idea but you could barely make it to the bedroom door before your stomach started to protest against going anywhere but the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before you were throwing up again. Acid and air, mostly, but you thought that was worse than actual food. It all sucked though and you were hoping this was just a 24 hour thing.

You were finally done and getting ready to leave when you felt a cool rag against your neck, sighing at the feeling. You hadn’t even realized Sam had come in until he was standing right beside you.

“I was passing by to check on you and heard you. Here, come here.” He pulled you up slowly, supporting most of your weight as he washed your face off quickly and returned the rag to your neck. “Better?”

You nodded, swallowing down the minor wave of nausea that had come again. “A little,” you told him.

He helped you back into bed, pulling the covers around you loosely. “Want some more water?” He asked, grabbing the empty cup.

“Will you bring me some toast or applesauce or something too?”

“You bet,” he grinned.

It had only been half a minute or so before he was returning to your room, a big tumbler cup filled with ice water in one hand and a packet of applesauce and a spoon in another. “Feelin’ any better?” he asked, handing you the cup and sitting on the edge of your bed again. He began to open the packet of applesauce, sticking the spoon inside and waiting to trade you - the water for the applesauce.

“Not exactly,” you said, taking another little sip before handing him the cup back.

“I sent Dean off to the store. He’s going to pick up some Gatorade and some more applesauce for you. Oh, and Lysol. He said he was going to get Lysol too,” Sam chuckled, trading you once again when you motioned for the cup back.

You swallowed the sip and let out a little sigh, “might as well. I really hope neither of you catch this.”

“I’m sure we could handle it if we did,” he shrugged. “I mean, you’re handling it like a rock star, and if Dean or I get knocked down by the flu and you don’t, that’s really saying something,” he teased.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, taking the applesauce back from him.

Sam placed his hand to your head again, this time smiling a bit. “You’re not warm anymore. You feel feverish at all?” You shook your head at his question and traded him one last time: your now empty applesauce packet for the cup of water. “Need anything else?”

“To feel better,” you joked, producing a small smile, which caused Sam to smile too.

“I’m trying,” he chuckled halfheartedly. “I’m gonna work out. I’ll have my phone with me so don’t hesitate to text or call, alright?”

“Okie dokie,” you hummed, settling back down in bed. You felt Sam’s lips on your forehead, making your cheeks burn. He had never done that before. He’d hug you a lot, big squishy bear hugs that ended in you being spun around before being set down, but he’d never kissed you. You passed it off as Sam feeling sorry for you. You were just friends anyway and you knew that it could be a friendly gesture too. You didn’t have time to question it much before your eyes grew heavy and you fell into a semi-peaceful sleep.

You had woken up fully by about noon, just in time for Sam to walk in to check on you.

“He sleepy head,” he whispered coming forward to sit on your bed. “Need anything? Dean’s back with some Gatorade and ginger ale if you want that.”

“I think I’m gonna take a bath, maybe see if that’ll help settle my stomach.” You could remember doing that as a kid and it always seemed to make you feel better even if just for an hour.

You pushed yourself up slowly, reminding yourself to relax and breathe and not jar your stomach too much. Sam helped you to stand and while you headed for the bathroom, he collected your water and phone for you, meeting you there and helping you get settled by turning the water on for you and grabbing you a towel.

“I’ll be in my room just down the hall. Holler if you need anything. And I brought your phone if you need to text me. And some water, in case you get sick again.”

“Thank you, Sam,” you hummed, shutting the door behind him.

Once out of your clothes, you settled into the ever rising bath water. The warm feeling washed over you quickly and you were beginning to relax and let your stomach calm down. You didn’t wash anything, just simply lay there. You’d be sure to take a shower once you were feeling better.

You lay there for close to 45 minutes before the water turned cold and you turned to a prune. You eased yourself out of the tub, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself. Unfortunately, you were not in the clear as the nausea set in again and you were doubled over the toilet, heaving up what you had just eaten.

It took you a few minutes to calm down but once you had you made slow work in getting back into your pajamas. You stood up again, hanging your towel on the hook when your vision began to go spotty.

You slid down the wall, realizing that you were lacking a lot of fluids. You had just thrown up the sips of water and the applesauce you had, which meant you were back to having nothing in your stomach. You took a long drink from the tumbler before yelling for Sam.

“I’m decent,” you said when he had knocked on the door and poked his head in with his eyes closed tight. “Even if I wasn’t I’m not sure how or why you’d want me right now,” you mumbled mostly to yourself.

“Because you’re beautiful either way.” Obviously your last comment was not as too yourself as you hoped, but Sam’s reply did make you smile a bit. “What’s up? Did you get sick again?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t the reason you needed him in here. “Will you help me to my room?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, “is everything okay?”

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out,” you informed him, hanging your head between your knees like you had been taught to do if you ever got that feeling.

“Hey, okay,” he soothed, kneeling in front of you. “Let’s not get up then. Let’s hang out here for a minute and let your body fix itself.” Sam reached for your water, positioning the straw in front of your mouth. “Take some drinks, relax, breathe,” he reminded you.

Sam sat with you for a few minutes, his hand gently rubbing your back and arms. You weren’t even sure how long you had been sitting there but you could’ve dozed off had Sam not spoke up. “You look like you’re gaining color back,” he commented. “Ready to stand up?”

You nodded, letting Sam take most of your weight as he helped you up. Unfortunately, even with Sam supporting your weight, you still felt faint. “I gotta sit back down,” you sighed, tightening your grip on him to keep yourself from swaying.

Sam began to worry. He wondered if he should take you to the hospital. Usually after some water most people were okay to get up again, but with you swaying in his arms, he panicked. “Hey, okay. Just hang in there. I’m gonna get you back to your room, alright?”

“S-Sam I won’t be able to make it. Just let me sit down a minute,” you pleaded.

“Just… hold on, Y/N, okay? I’m going to pick you up but I need you to hold on,” he asked gently. He set your water cup down, then easily scooped you up into his arms. “I got you. Just hold on,” he whispered, one hand grabbing the water and the other shutting off the bathroom light.

Sam gently laid you on your bed, tucking you under the duvet. “Wait here,” he commanded. Like you were really going to get up anyway. You weren’t even sure you could get up without falling back over.

You heard Sam yell to Dean, and then there were two sets of very quick footsteps. From there, it was a blur, but suddenly you could feel a cold wetness against your forehead. “You feel sleepy, Y/N?” Sam asked, and you could tell he was right beside you, dragging what you assumed was a washcloth over your face. You nodded, your throat suddenly feeling dry and cottony. “Dean’s gonna bring you some Gatorade, okay?”

“I don’t feel well,” you told him, straining to open your eyes. You had been thrown into walls and glass. You’ve been cut and stitched up and had dislocated shoulders and twisted or sprained ankles and nothing was as bad as this.

“I know,” he shushed, “just try and relax.”

Before you knew it, a straw was being pressed to your lips and Sam was urging you to sip from it. He held what you could only assume was the bottle of Gatorade and still drug the wet rag across your forehead and down your cheeks.

“She okay?” you heard Dean ask, much further away from Sam, so you guessed that he was by the door.

“I think so. It’s just the flu, it’ll be over before you know it.” You weren’t sure if Sam was saying that to reassure you, Dean, or himself, but it was comforting.

“Well, don’t you get sick too. I ain’t babying you,” Dean huffed, and you could almost hear the smile on his face. “I’m in my bedroom if you need me.”

Sam thanked Dean and pretty soon you could hear his heavy footsteps heading further and further away.

“Feeling any better?” Sam asked, and you nodded in response. “Still tired?” another nod. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he hummed. “Gatorade and water are on the bedside table, and if you need anything else just yell, okay?”

You felt the bed shift as he got up and you quickly grabbed onto his wrist, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Will you stay with me?” You asked. “I don’t want to get you sick, but will you just sit here with me… incase something happens?”

“Sure,” he happily stated. “Do you want me to lay down with you?”

“I don’t want to get you sick,” you admitted shyly, but the truth was, yes, you wanted him to lay down with you and hold you and just somehow make you feel better by being with you.

“That’s not what I asked, darlin’,” he chuckled. “Do you want me to lay down with you?”

You nodded your head bashfully, “yes, please.”

Sam was in your bed just moments later. He shifted quite a bit to get comfortable, then waited for you to shift as well. Eventually, you rested with your head on his chest and his arm around you. One of his hands was resting on your hip, while the other was gently stroking the now damp rag over your forehead and cheeks again. Soon, the washcloth was rested against your forehead and his hands locked over your waist, holding you tightly to him.

You woke up hours later with your head still plastered against Sam’s chest. His arms were still locked around you and he was peacefully sleeping underneath you. His chest rose and fell with his steady breaths, and every so often you’d hear an almost inaudible snore leave his lips.

You shifted, trying to ease yourself out of the giant man’s arms, but, the slightest movement woke him. Hunter trait. “Y/N?” he hummed, peeking his eyes open and looking down at you. “Hey. You okay?”

You nodded, shifting again and bringing your hands up to rub your eyes. “What time is it?”

Sam hummed, shifting from underneath you to grab his phone. “Little after eight. You feel okay?” He asked turning back to you and slinging his arms over you again.

“‘M kinda hungry…” you mentioned, looking up at him.

Sam smiled a bit and nodded. He removed his arms from around you then stretched them over his head, groaning as he did. “What d’you want to eat?” He rolled off of your bed to be standing beside it, running his fingers through his tussled hair.

You slowly sat yourself up, stretching your arms and legs out. You moaned, twisting to the side and feeling your sore stomach muscles. You knew they hurt from how much heaving you did earlier.

“You alright?” Sam asked quickly as he heard you moan, coming by your side in an instant.

“My sides hurt,” you said with a low chuckle, cringing at the pain again.

“Mmh. Yeah you were heaving pretty hard,” Sam teased, chuckling himself. “I’ll get you a heating pad and… how do you feel about chicken noodle soup?”

“Both sound wonderful, Sam.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Hey wait,” you spoke up as Sam was nearing the door. “I’m gonna come with you.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed, pushing yourself up slowly.

Sam walked back to you, holding you steady as you stood. “You sure? I don’t want you to almost pass out again.”

You smiled a bit, holding onto his outstretched hand for support. “I feel fine. I just wanna walk around a bit. I haven’t left my bed unless it was to puke and i’m getting antsy.”

Sam walked you at a slow pace to the kitchen. You were feeling significantly better, just starving and your stomach was making that well known with its growls. Every time it did, Sam would chuckle, which would make you giggle too and then moan at the aching pain in your sides.

You sat down at the table, per Sam’s request, and watched as he moved around the room, pouring the canned soup in a pan and then setting it on the burner before sitting across from you.

“You look much better. You scared me…” he paused, “a-and Dean. Me and Dean,” he corrected himself. “I was worried we might’ve had to take you to the hospital.”

Hesitantly, you leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered. You weren’t sure if you’d still be functioning right now had he not kept up with you and did his best to make you feel better.

Sam’s cheeks reddened and he bowed his head to hide the blush. “Yeah.” He drug a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head nervously. “All I expect is that you’ll take care of me if I end up getting what you had.”

“I promise. But I don’t think I’ll be able to lift you from the floor if you almost pass out,” you chuckled, hands flying to your sides.

Lucky for you both, Sam didn’t end up getting what you had. Dean, however, did and you never heard the end of it.

Tags: @iwantthedean @lipstickandwhiskey @impalaimagining @supernatural-jackles @hasta-impalasta @anoril @mrswhozeewhatsis @growningupgeek @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @that1seniorchick @wildfirewinchester @d-s-winchester @livelovelike555 @blackcatstiel @coyotesmate @idreamofhazel @theulimatefangirll @kristaparadowski @writingbeautifulmen @summer-binging-spn @ashleychinrock @britt-spn @oriona75 @impala-dreamer @demonic-meatball @w4yn0t @itstheprincess @jotink78 @alcpegasus22 @fangirl1802 @mysteriouslyme81 @jensen-jarpad @jared-padaloveme @elliewinchesterr @supernaturalyobessed @winchestersnco @frankiea1998 @lenawiinchester @27bmm @poukothenerd

455 notes · View notes

stardusttkachuk-main · 8 years

Text

90 Days of Autumn (Part 12)

Title: Christmas

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 5,175

Warnings: A couple swear words, but all fluff

Prompt: Sam and Y/N spend their first Christmas together, complete with silly pajamas, many of presents, and special confessions.

Master List

A/N: Well, this was supposed to come out on Christmas, but I failed. I’m just getting back into writing after my mini break, so forgive me for how long this is. And you’re welcome for all the fluff that’s come from this.

You woke up with Sam by your side. Per his request, and to your excitement, you spent the night. He was still sleeping when you woke up, which surprised you because you were the one who rolled in late.

You had all morning to spend with Sam and after you were heading to your dad's house for dinner and presents with your family. You and Sam had skipped the whole “let's not get each other a gift” discussion, knowing you’d break that agreement anyway. You did agree though that nothing could exceed 50 dollars. It gave you a good price range and you knew you could get multiple gifts without going over that amount.

Sam stirred beside you, stretching his arm over your side to hook around your back and pull you closer to him, soaking in the warmth of your body. “Merry Christmas Eve, Y/N,” he whispered sleepily.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Sam,” you replied brushing your nose against his in hopes to wake him up a bit more, but if anything, it only seemed to make him more tired.

You were very close to falling asleep again when Sam broke the silence. “Thank you for staying over. I’m sure by Sunday night we’ll be sick of each other.”

“Never,” you confessed, “I'm very happy to be spending these next two days with you.”

“Mmh. Me too,” he agreed and it wasn't long after that comment that you were drifting off again with Sam following short behind.

Sam had hung his mistletoe in the doorway of his room and he didn’t hesitate to pull you in for a kiss when you finally drug yourselves out of bed at nearly two in the afternoon. You weren't sleeping they entire time, just relaxing with each other and talking, enjoying it being just the two of you for the time being.

Sam made pancakes while you showered and got ready for the day, you ate together at his table, enjoying the calm and quiet of each other's company. When Sam went up to shower, you cleaned the dishes and when he was done, it was just about time to head out for a celebration with your family.

“Auntie Y/N!” You nephew yelled as he sprinted to the door, barreling right into your legs. “Merry Cwismas!”

“Merry Christmas Bryce,” you sang, lifting him onto your hip.

“Sam!” He yelled, noticing the man who had followed you in. “Gracie! Unca Sammy is here with Auntie Y/N!”

Right on cue, the toddler came running to the front door, requesting to be held the second she saw Sam. You were so happy that your family had taken well to Sam, and not just the little ones.

Your brother was first to step into the living room from his space in the kitchen, greeting you with a hug and one for Sam as well. “Merry Christmas,” he spoke.

“Merry Christmas,” the two of you told him, following him into the kitchen where you were greeted by your dad and Ava.

You set your bag on the table as you took a seat on the chair with Bryce still in your lap. Sam sat beside you and Gracie situated herself on Sam’s lap, making herself comfortable and making you and Sam both chuckle.

“Dada and Grampa are makin’ ham,” Bryce announced, “and botatoes, and salad.” You grinned at the face the four-year-old made when it came to the word salad.

“Sounds delicious.” You smiled down at your nephew, pushing his long locks away from his eyes. “Are you excited for Santa to come tonight?”

“Yes!” He beamed, staring at you with wide eyes. “Gracie and I have been really really good this year, huh mommy?” He turned to his mother then, looking at her with the same big eyes he stared at you with. You knew he got that look from his father, a trait that he taught himself when he was about Bryce’s age.

“Very good,” Ava confirmed, nodding to you.

“Oh good! You know Santa once gave your daddy coal,” you teased.

“Hey, quit tellin’ my kid lies!” Jake warned, waving a spoon in your direction. “It was your Auntie Y/N who got coal, not me.”

Sam gasped and you turned to him and rolled your eyes. “It was Jake-”

“It was not! Dad, who got coal me or Y/N?” The two of you sounded like kids again, arguing over just about everything: who got the last bit of cereal, who got the toy in the Cracker Jack, who's turn it was to do dishes…

“You both did. Santa hung it on Jake’s stocking, but I remember the note saying it was for both of you,” your dad piped in to calm the storm that was your arguing. He was best at that, growing up, Dad’s specialty was making sure you and Jake didn’t kill each other.

Jake scoffed, turning his attention back to salad he was currently working on throwing together. With a bit of a victorious smirk, even though the coal was for both of you, you turned your attention back to your niece and nephew.

“Gracie, are you excited for santa to come?” you heard Sam ask the little girl.

She nodded her head, blonde curls bouncing in excitement. “Awe you esited for Sana ta come?”

“Of course I’m excited for Santa to come!” Sam responded, “You think I’ve been good this year?” he asked Gracie, who nodded again.

“Etsept, you stolded Auntie’s heart. Steawing is mean.”

The whole room erupted into laughter at little Gracie’s comment. A blush rose on your cheeks too, as you were sure she remembered hearing that from her father when you last saw them. At least she knew that stealing was wrong, that was all that really mattered.

Sam cleared his throat, settling the room down before speaking, “this is one case where stealing isn’t bad. If I stole her heart, it means she really likes me. And I really like her. She stole my heart too,” he clarified, making your cheeks darken in color still.

“Oh,” she noted.

Bryce cocked his head in confusion, looking between you and Sam, “Does that mean you traded hearts?”

You laughed, shaking your head. You shot a quick ‘see what you started’ look to your brother before turning to face Bryce. “No sweetie. It’s just a saying for when you really like someone. He didn’t actually take my heart and I didn’t take his.”

There was no more talk about you and Sam’s love life after dinner. The kids had become so distracted with eating that there wasn’t much time for talking, at least, not unless their mouths were full and it was about how excited they were for santa and presents and snow.

Before you even knew it, the sun had gone down and you were settling down in the living room for another family tradition, watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas on Christmas Eve. Gracie had conked out just minutes into the short movie, but Bryce held through the entire thing.

“Should we wake Gracie up for presents?” you asked, remembering the bag you had set by the table earlier that held the presents you and Sam would be giving to the kids. Of course, you had included one for Jake and Ava and for your dad too, but most of it was for the kids.

Bryce couldn’t contain his excitement at the mention of presents, quickly hopping off the couch and sprinting to the kitchen to grab your bag. You, Jake and Sam all worked to wake the sleeping toddler, who really was less than excited about being up so late, but when Bryce came back with the presents and you told little Gracie you wanted her to open her gifts, she was more than happy to deal with being woken up.

You watched the two tore into their gifts. If you didn’t know any better you’d say they were more excited to rip the paper off than to actually get the gift. They made a mess, that was one thing you were sure of.

Sam had gotten the two of them books. You told him they loved reading, and he was more than happy to pick up some children’s books for them. Bryce had been really into sports lately, so you got him a plastic t-ball set, which he was ecstatic about. You got Gracie an art set, as she had become obsessed with drawing and painting. You also got each of the kids their own little bag of chocolates, not that they needed it but who could resist christmas candy?

You got your dad a book, one that he’d been talking about for quite some time now. He still gave you the spiel on how you didn’t have to get him anything, but graciously accepted the gift anyway.

Of course, you couldn’t get away without receiving some gifts of your own. You dad had given you some movies you’d been wanting to see, and gave Sam a six pack of his homebrewed beer. He also gave you two some money for a date night, which you knew would be put to good use, as Sam was already planning some winter themed dates.

You decided to head out shortly after, wanting to beat the storm that was supposed to come in that night. After goodbyes were said, you headed out to Sam’s truck, realizing that you hadn’t quite missed the storm. The snow was falling heavily outside, already sticking to the ground.

“At least it’ll be a white Christmas,” you giggled, blowing on your cold hands as you hopped into Sam’s even colder truck.

“That means Mom’s gonna make Dean and me shovel first thing in the morning,” he groaned, though he was just as happy about the snow as you were.

When you got to the Winchester’s house, the lights were still on, and everyone seemed to still be awake. It surprised you at first, realizing that it was nearing ten o’clock, but it was Christmas Eve and you were sure they were waiting up to make sure you and Sam made it there safely.

Sam grabbed your hand, helping you out of his truck as you arrived. The ground was wet and slippery, and you had a death latch on Sam’s arm as you made your way up the tiny hill to the front door.

Sam, with full knowledge that everyone was still awake, walked inside, announcing his and your presence. You found the family in the living room, gathered around the TV and watching was looked to be The Polar Express.

“Just in time,” Mary announced, turning the volume down on the movie that was playing. She crossed the room, pulling her youngest son into a hug first and then giving you one as well. “We’re so happy to have you here for Christmas, Y/N,” she told you, and you could tell that she meant it.

“Can we do the present now?” Dean asked, sounding like a little kid who so desperately wanted to look at his presents.

“Present?” You inquired. Sam had said nothing about presents.

Sam put his hand on your lower back, pushing you further into the main room. “Every year, mom and dad give us a Christmas Eve box. It’s nothing big, just something special for the night before Christmas.”

“Don’t worry,” Mary assured, “there is a box for you too.”

You sat down with Sam in front of the tree, the three of you forming a little half circle. Mary handed you each a box, about the size of a shoebox. Dean and Sam both opened theirs quickly, and from the looks of it, each box was roughly the same, with a few minor differences. In yours were christmas themed pajamas, some cookie mix in a jar, a few packets of hot chocolate, popcorn, and an ornament. “Thank you, Mary,” you grinned, standing up to hug her.

“We have to wear these tonight you know,” Sam chuckled, already pulling his pajamas out of his box.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else!” You laughed.

You headed for the bathroom as Sam and Dean headed for their bedroom’s to change. You couldn’t help but laugh at the pajamas. It was a red onesie, zipping up in the front with a little bear claw on the chest pocket, but the back of it was a button velcro flap on the butt, that read “bear bottom” on it.

You giggled, emerging from the bathroom at the same time Sam and Dean came out of their bedrooms. Dean was in a blue onesie, similar to yours, but his read “tail end” on the back and had a hoofprint on the front. Sam had a moose hoofprint on his front and the back of his read “moose caboose.”

The giggles and chuckles continued all the way down the stairs, mostly at each other, but the good thing was that you could all laugh at yourselves too. Mary and John joined in upon seeing the pajamas they had purchased. Mary even commented saying, “best Christmas present yet,” which had the laughter growing louder.

Once pictures were taken, and everyone had dried their tears from laughter, you all decided to turn in for the night, but not before Mary gave you a rundown of the bedroom rules. “We won’t spy on you and I don’t care if you kiss and cuddle, but there will be absolutely no sex in this house from you two,” she warned, which made you blush because truthfully, you hadn’t even thought that far ahead. “The door cannot be shut all the way and the nightlight in the hall needs to stay on. If you get cold, there are extra blankets in the hall closet and the bathroom is right beside it. Good?”

“Good,” you nodded, partially intimidated by the rules, but you had no reason to be. The most you have done, or would do with Sam at this point was kissing. You were happy that Mary was letting you two sleep in the same room in the first place.

“Understood. Goodnight, mom.” Sam leaned forward, wrapping his mother into a tight hug. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bright and early, Samuel. The walks are going to be bad.”

“Goodnight, Mary.” You took your turn in hugging her. “And thank you for the pajamas. They’re very comfortable.” You shared a laugh, before she was returning your goodnights and headed down to her own room to sleep.

It took a minute to get comfortable. Sam’s childhood bed was much different than the one at his place, or yours. It was smaller, not as soft and you were surprised it fit the two of you, but soon enough you found yourself wrapped around each other, right in the middle of the bed, with just enough wiggle room on each side - there was more on Sam’s, but you had the wall, so you weren’t complaining.

Sam’s fingers gently brushed up and down your arm, soothing you and himself. It was quiet for quite some time before Sam let out a low chuckle. You heard it rumble in his chest, then exhale past his lips and when it did, you turned your face up to his. “What?”

“I’ve never had a girl in this bed before,” he chuckled again, his cheeks reddening at his own statement. You couldn’t help but blush too. Surely, he had brought girls home to meet his parents, and surely he had brought girls home to his own home before, but something about being the only girl to ever sleep in this bed with him, was special.

“Never?” You challenged. You wanted to know more and hopefully he was comfortable with sharing more. You wondered if he had indeed brought a girl here to stay the night but she slept in a spare room or on the couch. You were curious, especially now that he had opened up the floor to questions with his statement.

Sam shook his head, well prepared to give an answer, almost like he knew you would ask. “Never. Not even Jessica. She used to stay over really late, especially when we were off for the breaks, but she always said she felt uncomfortable sleeping next to me when my family was just down the hall. Mom’s always been okay with her staying, and gave me and Jess the same rules she just gave you and I but Jess never wanted to,” he paused, clearing his throat, “we didn't even spend Christmas together ‘til our last one. She was usually with her parents and I was with mine. We didn't do presents on Christmas day; it would usually be the day after, or whenever I saw her next.”

You rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him when you spoke, “I’m very happy to be spending Christmas with you.”

Sam smiled, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Me too,” another kiss. “So can I ask, what about you and Corbin, did you two spend every Christmas together?”

“Pretty much,” you nodded, “our first Christmas we spent together we were in our own house, so we invited both our families over for dinner that night. That ended up just being what we did every year. We did gifts, hung out with our families and then the night was over.”

“Well, I’m glad we get to do something christmasy with both our families, together. Spending the afternoon with your family was a lot of fun, and I’m glad you’re here tonight and you’ll be here tomorrow for Christmas with my family. Though, with all the time I’ve spent with you, I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go come Sunday night.” He nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head as his arms tightened around your waist.

You giggled, feeling the slight scruff on his cheeks brush against your hair. “Duty calls, Sam. It’s just something you’re going to have to deal with, y’know dating a doctor and all,” you bragged.

“As long as I get to tell everyone I’m dating a hot doctor, I guess I’m okay with it,” he yawned, “besides, those babies need you more than I do.”

“Goodnight, Sam,” you hummed, resting your ear against his chest, hearing the faint beat of his heart as the two of you drifted off.

You woke up to the smell of coffee and a cold bed on Christmas morning. The sheets were neatly tucked around you, but the warm figure you had been curled up against all night long was no longer there. Instead, the side of the bed was cold, like he had been gone for a little while now.

Pulling yourself out of the warm covers, you quickly picked up your phone from the nightstand. It was just about 8 o’clock, and you figured Sam was already downstairs with his family. You were a little embarrassed, as you padded down the stairs, though when you entered the living room, it was empty, save for the tree and the gifts that were scattered underneath it.

Your nose led you to the kitchen, where Mary Winchester was standing next to the stove, a pot of coffee brewing beside her. “Good morning,” you spoke, hoping not to startle the older woman.

“Morning, Y/N. Sam and John are outside shoveling. Coffee?” she asked, but before you could answer she was turning around and placing a warm cup in your hands. “Sam made it earlier for you and asked me to keep it warm. I just reheated it, so it should be nice and hot.”

“Thank you,” you responded, taking a sip of the warm beverage, made just how you like it with a bit of cream and sugar. “I’ll be sure to thank Sam later as well. Where’s Dean at?” you asked, realizing she had yet to mention her oldest son.

“Presumably, asleep. If that boy has a day off, he likes to sleep in. I’m surprised Sam’s not still asleep too, or at least still in bed with you,” Mary answered, coming around to sit with you at the table.

“He was pretty set on helping John this morning, especially after you warned him last night that he’d have to shovel.”

Mary laughed, sipping from her own cup of coffee. “At least he listens, right?” You giggled, agreeing with her. “Would you like some kringle? There’s kringle on the counter, if you’re hungry,” she offered.

“I’ve never had kringle before, so I promised Sam he could be around when I tried some for the first time. And, as hungry as I am, I’ll just wait until they’re done,” you assured. You wanted to keep your promise to Sam, and hopefully the kringle would be as good as he had made it seem to be. You didn’t want to try it just to not like it.

“They should be in soon. They started around 7:30, and it’s not that big of a driveway, or sidewalk.”

As if they had been by the door, waiting, the two men walked in, red faced and breathing heavy. “Speak of the devils,” you chuckled, taking in Sam’s appearance as he began stripping out of his jacket and gloves and boots.

“Good morning,” Sam grinned, making his way to you and planting a chastile kiss to your lips. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, but you were quick to pull away from the cold touch.

“Your hands are like ice,” you commented.

Sam huffed out a laugh, nodding, “I know! I was outside shoveling, thank you very much.” Sam reached over you and snatched up your coffee cup, cupping his hands around the warm mug before taking a drink.

“Hey! That was mine, thank you very much!” you mocked, trying to reach up for it, but his height got the best of you.

“I made it,” he retorted, taking one more drink before setting it down. “Thank you, very much.” This time he sounded sincere, like he was actually thanking you for sharing - against your will, you might add.

“You two bicker like an old married couple,” a grumpy Dean sounded from the doorway, clothed in his pajamas from last night and a green robe. “Oooh, kringle!” His bitterness was over as he went straight for the pastry and started pile piece after piece into his hands.

“Wait!” Sam interrupted, “save some for Y/N, she’s never even had kringle before!”

“Never had kringle? Well, what’re you waiting for, eat!” Dean placed a rather large piece in front of you, finding himself a seat at the table to enjoy his own pieces.

Sam let go of your shoulders, “no, not yet! I need my camera!” You groaned and rolled your eyes. Obviously whatever this dessert treat was, it was a big deal to have your first bite.

And it was no wonder they were making a big deal out of it, because when you took your first bite, you realized why. The almond filling, plus the icing on top all threaded together with the pastry dough was heaven in your mouth. You were now seeing why Dean piled his hand high with the sweet treat. You gave Sam a thumbs up, with your mouth still full, trying not to laugh when Sam took a picture of you like that.

Presents were next. You all had moved into the living room with your respective cups of coffee and gathered around the tree. John had turned the tv on, noticing that A Christmas Story was just starting. “Another Winchester family tradition is to watch this movie while opening presents,” Sam informed you.

You, Sam, and Dean separated the presents into their respective piles. One for John, one for Mary, one for Sam, one for Dean and one for you.

“Go ahead, open ‘em up,” Mary announced, and you watched as Sam and Dean both picked up a present, reading off who it was from before tearing into the paper. “You too, Y/N,” she nudged, and you nodded, grabbing one of your presents too to open.

Mary had gotten you a few clothes - you assumed Sam had let her know what size you wore - as well as a new planner for the next year, something you had mentioned to Sam you wanted, and were very happy to receive from his mom. John had got some pens and paper clips to go with the journal. He was unsure what to get you, so besides the pens, he got you a gift card to your favorite store, and you were more than happy with just that. As a joke, Dean had given you a new stethoscope, but you informed him you had been needing a new one, and he was very pleased with himself for getting it. “Santa” had gotten each of you a new calendar, as well as some chocolate to eat.

You were most excited for Sam’s gifts though, but that was a bit of a given. With five gifts total, he reminded you that he didn’t go over 50 dollars when you became a bit suspicious. The first gift you opened was some fruit flavored chewy candy, something sugary that you could eat to stay up during your long days. He got you a wintery scented candle to go with the throw blanket and book he got you as well. The last thing Sam got you was a necklace, a stereotypical romantic gift, but you loved it. It was a small gold leaf, with a pearl attached to a gold chain. It wasn’t hard to realize why he had bought it; Autumn was what brought you two together.

“Thank you, Sam,” you gushed, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. “I love them.”

You had gotten Mary some new hand towels and some lotion she had once mentioned was her favorite. You gave John some of your fathers homebrewed beer and a beer glass to go with it. Not too soon after, John was putting a bottle in the fridge, letting you know he’d be drinking it later. Dean received a bottle of his favorite whiskey from you, and the both of you thanked Sam for helping you pick that out for him.

You waited eagerly as Sam opened his presents from you. You felt a bit bad, having only gotten him three things. The first was a new case for his laptop, as he mentioned needed one. His old one was starting to tear, and the zipper on it had broken too. You bought him another SD card for his camera, this one less gigabytes than his other, but it still gave him two instead of just one. The last thing you got him was a bit cheesy, but you thought it was cute. It was a jar filled with chocolate kisses and under the lid you had written, “kisses for when I’m not around.” His face reddened and he smiled at that one. “Well, since you are around,” he began and then leaned over to kiss you. “Thank you, baby.”

Night came sooner than you hoped, and you did have to go back to work at 11. You ate a simple dinner with Sam’s family and thanked them one last time for the wonderful Christmas, before he was driving you to your apartment.

After spending the last two days with him, you really did not want to tell him goodbye. It was the best Christmas Eve and Christmas you had ever had, or at least the best you’d had in years. You invited Sam in, though it was nearing 9:30 and you really needed to shower and get yourself ready to go.

You drug out the final goodbye for twenty minutes before he announced that he really should let you get ready. With a sad laugh, you agreed. “Thank you for a wonderful Christmas. I was very happy to spend it with you and your family,” you said, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“And thank you for a wonderful Christmas Eve. I’m glad you could stay the night and I’m glad we could spend some time with your family as well. Those kids are just darling, and I was happy to get to see your brother and dad again.”

You stood on your toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. You listened to him chuckle shortly after you had pulled away. “God, and I was so sure you’d be sick of me by now,” you mentioned.

“No,” Sam breathed, shaking his head, “if anything, I’m more in love with you now than before.” Without realizing it, Sam had just admitted to you that he loved you. It didn’t register until he caught a glimpse of your face: shocked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and your mouth slightly agape. “Y/N… sh-shit, I didn’t… I mean, I did, I do mean that, I just- I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have said it yet, I’m s-”

“Wait,” you interrupted, noticing that he was trying to pull himself away from you. His cheeks were flushed, though the rest of his face was pale. “S-Sam, I… I love you too, you just caught me off guard.”

“Really?” His face began to regain color with your confession. “You’re not just saying that because I said it first, right?”

“N-No!” you stammered, “Not at all. Sam, I really do love you, I just wasn’t sure you loved me back. I didn’t want to rush into anything. I’ve known since the night you came to the hospital after I called you, upset, and you stayed with me.”

“Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving was when I realized I loved you. Watching you bond with my whole family, and watching you with your niece and nephew, I knew I loved you then.” He threw his head back, chuckling lightly before he looked at you again. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Sam,” you responded, your eyes tearing up slightly from his confession. Before tears could fall, you pressed your lips to his. His hand cupped the back of your head while his free arm fitted around your waist, pulling you flush against him. It was probably only thirty seconds, but felt like five minutes by the time you two had pulled away. “I really have to get ready to go though,” you breathed out, making him sigh.

“I guess I should head home. I’ll call you, tomorrow, sweetheart,” he said, pulling himself away from you.

You nodded, your hands the only thing that were still connected now. “Goodnight, Sam,” you murmured, frowning a bit when his hand finally slipped free of yours as he opened the door.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

When you were sure Sam was out of earshot, you screeched, bouncing up and down softly on your feet. You felt like a million butterflies were free in your stomach, and you were sure your heart was racing. You simply couldn’t wait to tell Josie about this news.

Tags: @anoril @supernatural-jackles @iwantthedean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @d-s-winchester @hasta-impalasta @winchestersnco @lipstickandwhiskey @mrswhozeewhatsis @growningupgeek @that1seniorchick @wildfirewinchester @livelovelike555 @feelmyroarrrr @escapiingeverythiing @supernaturallymarvellous @spirallingdownfandoms @winter-in-wakanda @munlis @acklesdowneyandhiddles-ohmy @authentic-winchester @captainradicalpassion @blackcatstiel @waiting4thedoctor @thisisthelilith @idreamofhazel @coyotesmate @exploratiionist @20secspnfam4 @sdavid09 @theulimatefangirll @lunarsaturn88 @isis278 @plaidstiel-wormstache @impossiblydparklynightmare @impalaimagining @loveitsallineed @writingbeautifulmen @summer-binging-spn @ashleychinrock @britt-spn @oriona75 @mortallymagicalobject @impala-dreamer @demonic-meatball @jotink78 @owritever @w4yn0t @itstheprincess @alcpegasus22 @fangirl1802 @smoothdogsgirl @my-lil-bit-of-everything @screamingparadox @classicteenagenothing @mysteriouslyme81 @jensen-jarpad @jared-padaloveme @elliewinchesterr @supernaturalyobessed @frankiea1998 @lenawiinchester @27bmm @poukothenerd

110 notes · View notes