#spn fanfictio

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part six Word count: ±3400 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part six summary: Sam goes back to Zoë’s hotel to pick up his lost phone, but the state he finds her in is both shocking and familiar. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Preparing himself for a rant, Sam knocks on the door of room 17. He’s standing in the corridor of the Hampton Inn after the receptionist allowed him upstairs, recognizing him from the night before and believing his story when he gave her an excuse. It takes a while before someone grants him access to the suite, but when he’s about to knock for the second time, the door opens.      “Sam...” Zoë grunts, sounding like a sixty year old whiskey drinker who smokes at least a pack a day. 

     As he enters the room, he notices the gun in her right hand, which she held behind the door in case she had bad company. The music playlist from last night is still playing, 2+2= by Bob Seger currently on. Zoë adjusts her PJ shorts, the Nirvana shirt hanging from one shoulder and her wavy hair a bird’s nest; she looks like she’s experiencing the worst hangover ever.      “Are you alright?” Sam checks, carefully.      “Yeah, just a bad night,” she mutters.      “You were fine when I left,” he recalls, surprised by her state.      She doesn’t respond and drags her feet to the bathroom. Sam hears the water falling down in the sink. She’s probably attempting to freshen up a little.      “I left my phone here somewhere,” Sam informs, before Zoë asks about his visit.      No answer, not even a smart comment. Somewhat worried, Sam peeks around the corner. Zoë is leaning on the sink with one hand, pressuring her other palm against her forehead. She has her eyes firmly shut, every muscle in her body tenses; she’s in pain.      “You’re not alright,” Sam notices and walks in to support her, but she shrugs him off.      “It’s nothing, just leave me alone,” the huntress snaps.

     Without granting Sam another second of her attention, Zoë saunters into the room and turns down the music, annoyed by the sound of the guitar that only amplifies the throbbing inside her skull. Instead, she switches on the TV while rubbing her face, steadying herself against the back of the sofa. 

     As Sam observes her, the gears in his head start to turn. She seems ill, feverish almost, as if she’s fighting off an infection. Something about her conditions is familiar. Unable to catch a breath, clammy skin, dizziness. The feeling of being run over by a sixteen wheeler, a bass drum pounding through one’s head, as if they were inches from an amplifier at a concert all night long. Then it clicks. 

     “You had a vision.”

     Startled, Zoë looks aside. Shit. How the hell did he pick up on that? Surely she’s a mess, but Sam must have the exact same symptoms in order for him to figure it out this fast. She cannot let him know, though, and so she recovers quickly.      “No, I didn’t. It's migraines.” She shrugs it off and looks back at the television.      Sam keeps reading her while the local TV station brings them the latest news. She tries to concentrate on the screen, but feels Sam’s burning eyes. Then she snaps at him.      “Stop trying to find things that aren’t there, Sam.”      “You’re lying.” Sam knows.      She sighs with an eye roll and turns up the volume.      “No, I’m not. Now drop it.”      “I’m not gonna drop it.” He steps between her and the TV, blocking her view. “You were dying to know about my visions from the moment you learned I have them.”      “I’m watching that,” she voices, annoyed with his intrusion.      “And I’m talking to you,” Sam returns with an attitude.

     She gives him a look that could kill and steps around him to have a clear view of the screen again, trying her best to ignore the hunter and not blow up on the guy. He better not push her, because he has no idea what would be coming for him.      “Headaches, black spots, nausea right after you wake up,” Sam sums up. “You have them.”      “Would you shut the fuck up for one second?!” Zoë hushes him violently.

     It’s just now that the news on the TV catches Sam’s attention. She’s not just agitated with him because she doesn’t want to talk about the paranormal powers they have in common; there’s actually something on the local news that’s worth their attention.

“In Paragould, the body of a man has been discovered. This morning, Bill Van Dyke was found deceased in his own home, and the Paragould Police Department are considering his death to be suspicious. Local authorities claim that the family were home during the time of death.”

     “Shit,” Zoë spats.      “What is it?” Sam glances aside.      She sighs, still watching the screen as another reporter at the scene gives more information about the incident. “He died the same way Robert Shire did.”      “The girl’s father?” Sam checks, remembering the surname of ‘Shire’ engraved on Laura’s tombstone.      Zoë nods in confirmation as the reporter in the studio takes over again.

“Bill Van Dyke, the principal of Woodrow Wilson Elementary in Paragould, was a pillar of  support to the local community--”

     Zoë doesn’t hear the rest of the report, the sound fading out as her gaze locks on the school building, which is shown on the screen. She recognizes that building.      “It’s her,” she knows.      “That can’t be. You salted and burned her bones,” Sam brings to mind.      “I’m aware of that, Sam. I dug her up myself,” she hisses, as she opens her closet and takes out her suit, her actions hasty and on the edge of aggressive. “Something is keeping her here, an object maybe. Fuck!”      “Guess you’re staying in town a bit longer than expected,” he concludes.      “Guess so, but I don’t have time for this shit.” Zoë mutters and takes off her shirt, putting on a white blouse as if she’s alone in the room.      Sam averts his eyes, awkwardly, but the huntress isn't bothered.      “Nothing you haven't seen, Sam,” she comments, perky.      Nevertheless he turns away from her, uneasily staring out the window. For a second he considers offering their help on this job, but he’s quite sure she will reject anyway. Besides, they have their own case to deal with.

     Rushing, Zoë gets into her dress pants, which she just pulled out of dry cleaner plastic a moment ago.      “How can you be so sure it’s Laura?” Sam wonders.      “Laura was a 4th grader at Woodrow Wilson Elementary” she explains.      He shrugs. “So? What did Van Dyke ever do to her?”      “Her gym teacher knew about the abuse. My guess is that the principal knew too and didn’t do anything,” Zoë presumes, pulling a thin leather belt through the loops.      “How do you even know that her teacher was aware? You couldn’t have seen her already, not in his short amount of time. Admit it; you see things,” Sam’s pushes.

     Zoë huffs, half shaking her head and well aware that Sam will not buy the bullshit. She wasn't planning on telling him, but the younger Winchester brother might be the one person she can trust when it comes to her abilities. He’s special, just like she is, and neither of them have a clue what is going on. He’s in the dark, just like her. Telling him would involve certain risks, though. Afterall, he is a hunter, one who she just met.      “Zo, start talking,” Sam coerces.      “Alright! I see things! There, I said it. Happy now?” she cries out.

     The confession is as much as a surprise to Sam as it is to Zoë; did she just say that out loud? Shocked, Sam stares at her, but he’s not sure if he’s so stunned by the information of the statement itself or because of the fact that Zoë just told him the truth. Disoriented, his eyes wander off as it slowly starts to sink in what this means; he’s not alone.

     “You have visions, just like me?” he recaps.      “Not entirely,” Zoë says as she buttons her jacket. “You dream about the future, I dream about the past.”      “Like flashbacks?” Sam questions.      “Something like that, yeah. But there’s no possible way I could know these things, you know? Most of the time I don’t even know the people who are involved,” she explains, frustration evident in her voice.      “Tell me ‘bout it,” Sam replies with a chuckle.

     A glint of a smile pulls at Zoë’s lips as she looks up. A feeling she hasn’t experienced in quite a while comes to her. Relief, recognition, as if a weight just fell off her shoulders now that she finally told someone about the secret she has been carrying around for so long. She wishes she could just get it all out of her system, tell him about the other issues that she’s involved in, but she can’t. Besides, there’s little time and still a lot to do. 

     Zoë slips into her pumps, takes her FBI identification out of her duffel and puts it in her inside pocket.      “That’s how you pick your cases, isn’t it?” Sam now understands how Zoë can get to a scene with not much visual evidence, at least not visible to outsiders.      “First I didn’t, because I didn’t understand what was happening to me. But then I thought: Hey, I’m having these flashbacks for a reason, I might as well check it out,” she elaborates before she steps into the bathroom and starts applying makeup.      Sam nods at that, agreeing. “Good point.” Maybe he should start seeing the dreams as clues, too. If he had listened to the visions in the first place, Jessica might still be alive right now. 

     He watches how the woman of many faces basically shapeshifts, going from the groggy, hungover girl in PJ’s to an autorical, tough as nails federal agent. Zoë ties her hair back into a tight ponytail, the look really sending the message that she will take absolutely no bullshit. But under that facade, the role she takes on and hides behind, Sam sees something else; she is nervous, restless, anxious even.      “What’s going on, Zo?” Sam confronts her, his tone supportive, however.

     For a moment she stops fixing her hair and places her hands on her hips. The huntress takes a breath as she searches for words, deciding what she can tell him without giving him too much information.      “I’m on a bit of a time schedule,” she admits. “I need to finish this case before tonight.”      Sam narrows his eyes, concerned, trying to read her. “What kind of time schedule?”      “It’s personal,” she cuts off, immediately.

     Her eyes bore into his, warning him not to ask another question. It’s clear as day that she is not going to give him an inch on this. Intimidated by her gaze, he decides not to dig further.      “What happens if you can’t put her spirit to rest in time?”      “I’ll make it,” Zoë responds, sure of herself.      “You don't know that,” he argues.      “I’ll have to leave town, case closed or not,” she adds simply, walking around the bed to pick up her phone from her nightstand.      “What?! You’re just gonna give up a case?” Sam disapproves.      “I’ve seen hunters do it before,” she says with a tone, straightening her back and standing a little taller.      “So? Then they suck!” Sam exclaims.      Zoë snorts, not disagreeing with him there, but the young Winchester isn’t finished yet.      “Laura will keep haunting this town and every one who might have the slightest connection to her death. Do you have any idea how many could end up dead?” Sam tries to make her see.      “I don’t. Have. A choice,” she states, pronouncing her words slowly and loud, as if Sam suffers hearing loss.      “You do,” Sam corrects. “You always have a choice.”      “You should have a poster made with those words, Gandhi,” Zoë responds sassy. 

     She has gathered her keys and her motorcycle helmet now, ready to head out. Sam doesn’t seize his plea, though.      “Let us help you,” he offers.      After halting abruptly, the huntress slowly turns her head and stares at him for a brief moment, then she laughs out loud.

     “No way in hell,” she chuckles, apparently finding the proposition ridiculous.      “Why not?” Sam wants to know.      “Because I don’t team up with others. The moment you depend on someone other than yourself, you’re vulnerable. You start to trust people you shouldn’t trust and when it all goes wrong, people die,”  she states.      “What about covering each other’s backs? Looking out for your partner?” Sam brings up the bright side of cooperation.      “Apparently that isn’t for me, and believe me; I’ve experienced it,” Zoë comments, a speck of pain edging her voice.

     Sam is not sure what the young huntress means by that, but he can read from her eyes that whatever happened, it still hurts her. He keeps quiet for a moment, but then continues with a calm tone.      “Hear me out. We can take over the case completely and you can go wherever you need to go. We’re in the same hunting fields, so why shoot at each other in order to get rid of the competition when we can split up. Dean and I can handle this,” Sam ensures.      “I believe you can, but I’m not the type who lets someone else do the dirty jobs. I got this one, I just need to make good time,” Zoë assures as she heads for the door. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a crime scene to investigate.”

     She holds the door for Sam, her piercing eyes telling him without words to get out of her suite. The younger Winchester lets a sigh slip from his lips as he looks up at the ceiling for a moment. There’s absolutely no way to get through to that woman, he thinks to himself as he walks outside before she locks the door. The sharp thumps of her heels echo through the lobby, when she hastily parades to the parking lot while taking out her shades. Just before she walks out, Sam stops her by laying her hand on her shoulder.

     “Zoë…”      She spins around, not keen on the physical contact.      “If you need help, call me,” he insists.      “You know I won’t, Sammy,” she reacts, pushing the sunglasses onto her nose.      “Don’t - don’t call me Sammy,” he mumbles under his breath, watching her stride away to her Harley Davidson.      After putting on her helmet, she starts the engine and rides off, not even bothering to say goodbye. 

     Defeated, Sam turns to the Impala, which is parked on one of the taxi spots. A thin layer of dust covers the black car, which seems to boil in the early morning sun. It’s awfully quiet. No ear blasting rock tunes from the radio, no Dean jamming on his air guitar. Sam peeks through the window of the passenger’s side and finds his brother fast asleep. He can’t see Dean’s eyes because of the sunglasses he’s wearing to cut out the light his hungover brain cannot tolerate, but his head rests half against the window, tilted slightly backwards. Sam’s thoughts go back to the day before yesterday, when they parked the car in front of the pharmacy and Dean scared the shit out of him by slamming his fist against the window. Of course, Sam can’t resist doing the same thing and hits the window right on the spot where Dean’s leaning against on the other side.

     “Kelly Clarkson!” Dean cries out spooked, as he bumps his head up against the hardtop of the car.      With a big smirk on his face, Sam walks around the car just as victoriously as his brother did the other day, and settles in the driver's seat. When he sees his brother’s confused expression, he can’t help but laugh.      “Man, that’s so not cool,” Dean mutters with a raspy voice as he rubs his face.

     “Got what I came for.” Sam holds up his Blackberry.      “Did you have to wake me up for that?” Dean takes off his shades and narrows his eyes against the bright sun.      “No, that was just for fun,” Sam grins.      “Bitch,” Dean grumbles.      “Jerk,” Sam returns with a smile. “I have another update by the way.”      “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Dean wonders, carelessly, resting his head against the cool glass again.      “We’re staying in town for a couple more days,”  Sam informs.

     He got Dean’s attention with that notification, all right. His older brother looks up at him and although he can barely keep his eyes open, Sam can tell that he’s curious for more info.      “What? Werewolf turned out to be a coyote?” Dean assumes.      “Not really, but there’s still a case here,” Sam begins to explain, while taking the car keys from his pocket.      “So? It’s Sullivan’s case, I ain’t touching that with a ten foot pole,” Dean makes clear.      “Aren’t you happy you can hang out with Denise?” Sam persuades, hoping to change his mind.      “Oh, no. I know what you’re doing.” Dean sits up straight and smirks, on to his little brother’s persuasiveness. “You’re trying to make this seem brochure perfect, but this isn’t about Denise. Spill it.”

     Sam sighs. Damn, there goes his master plan. Although he gets the impression that Dean can't stand the female hunter, Sam decides to tell the truth.      “I think Zoë needs help,” he admits.      “The last time you thought that I ended up in a bridal suite with a shapeshifter and you got dumped in a septic tank with our damsel in distress,” Dean recalls. “Did she ask for your help?”      “No, not re--”      “- Did she accept your offer?” Dean asks again.      “No, but --”      “- Then we ain’t helping her,” Dean decides.

     “Come on, Dean. We can’t leave her like that,” Sam tries.      “She’s a big girl, Sam. And a damn good hunter too. She’ll be fine,” Dean assures.      “I don’t know, man. Something doesn’t seem right,” Sam ponders. “She told me she’s on some sort of time schedule or something.”      “Yeah, her period. Guessing it’s coming up to that time of the month,” Dean grumbles, sarcastically.      He has lost interest in the conversation and crosses his arms in front of his chest, tugging deeper into the seat.

     “She’s gonna leave town tonight, case closed or not,” Sam clarifies.      Dean opens his eyes and looks aside. “You really think she would leave a job unfinished?” Dean wonders.      Sam shrugs. “Apparently.”      “That deadline must be pretty damn important,” the oldest brother concludes. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if we stay until tonight, see if she manages to wrap up the case in time. But after that, we’re off to Texas. I was looking forward to that wolf hunt.”

     Satisfied with that compromise, Sam starts the engine. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Looking Out My Back Door sounds from the radio of the classic car, built around the same time that this song was hitting the charts.      By the time the Chevrolet leaves the parking lot, Dean has looked up Denise’s number and is on the phone with her. Fuck the appropriate time to wait until reaching out. This is a booty call; the regular rules of dating don’t apply.

     “Hey… No, you didn’t forget anything. I just couldn’t wait to call you…. Yeah, I’d love to get together again. I’ll probably have to leave town in a few days, so… tonight? Alright, sounds great.” Dean gives Sam an exaggerated wink.      “At her place,” Sam half mouths, half whispers, making sure Denise doesn’t pick up on his words.      “One sec, sweetheart.” Dean presses his hand on the microphone and looks aside. “Having plans for tonight, Romeo?”      Sam glares at him and Dean returns his attention back to Denise, who started talking to him again.      “Your place, you say? At eight? Cool, I’ll see you tonight then… looking forward to it, too… Alright, bye.” They both hang up and Dean smirks satisfied.      “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Sam comments while shaking his head.      "Oh, I'm unbelievably irresistible,” his brother replies, victoriously.

     Just as Sam decides to turn right, a weird soft roar sounds from inside the car.      “What the hell was that?” Sam looks around.      “My GPS is telling you to make a left,” Dean explains.      The youngest of the two looks aside at his brother who’s pressing his hand on his hungry stomach. Now Sam looks over to the left and spots the yellow zigzag arrow above an In-N-Out restaurant. He laughs, he should have known.      “I see,” he grins and makes the turn. “Drive thru?”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page). 

Read chapter seven here  

[thing-you-do-with-that-thing]

The Girl On the Rocks

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Square Filled: Fisherman!Dean

Warnings: None

Rating: General

Word Count: 347

A/N: This one is written for @spnaubingo and it is betaed by my sweet wonderful lil sis @mysupernaturalfics.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

SPN AU BINGO MASTERLIST

She had been like a mirage to Dean at first; a beautiful young woman appearing on the rocks every morning as he took to sea. Every night he returned home, without fail she was there to greet him. She never waved, he never truly saw her face. She was just there, his guardian angel to lead him home, when the seas were rough.

The girl he had never met became his lighthouse and his beacon and he could have sworn he heard her song lead him and his crew safely back to shore the day he was sure would have been his last. The day the heaven and sea seemed to be joined in a black furious pit, but he got back safely. And just like always she was there on the rocks, watching his return.

Even if he had never seen her face, only her silhouette as her beautiful song carried across the oceans, he knew her two weeks later when he laid eyes on her on land for the first time. She was circling the marking, shopping for fish and vegetables and when she looked up, locking eyes with his a genuine, bright smile spread across her face. She knew him just as well as her knew her.

That was the story Dean Winchester told his kids every night as he put them to bed. The story of the beautiful mirage, his guardian angel and siren that became his wife and the mother of his little Mermaid and Starbuck. Every morning before the sun rose Dean would kiss her goodbye, returning to the sea. She would barely ever even stir, but smile a little in her sleep, causing Dean’s head to sore and he knew. No matter how hard his beautiful siren worked or how tired she was, he would see her on the rocks as he passed by their house on the bay. She would smile and sing to him as he disappeared into the blue and just like always her song would guide him safely back home to her loving arms every night.

Please reblog; help me spread my work - Leave a comment. Feedback is fuel

Dean Tag Team CLOSED

@mizzzpink @emoryhemsworth @not-moose-one-shots @roxyspearing @blacktithe7 @atc74 @mogaruke @mysupernaturalfics @fatalcrossbow @mrswhozeewhatsis  @crushing83 @arryn-nyxx @superapplepie @salvachester @docharleythegeekqueen @ruined-by-destiel @blushingdean  @winchasterdean @peaceloveancolor @theoriginalvicki @feelmyroarrrr  @shamelesslydean @katymacsupernatural @jensen-gal @mysterious-398  @ericaprice2008 @adriellej @ashleydivine @waywardmoeyy  @canadianjelly @percywinchester27 @featherleaf12 @percussiongirl2017 @sis-tafics @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester   @ruprecht0420 @jayankles @torn-and-frayed @its-not-a-tulpa  @spn-fan-girl-173 @ryantherandomhero @lupine-princess @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @sylverminx @kathaswings @becs-bunker @mery-magizoologist @sandlee44  @sillesworldofwriting    @bebravekeeponfighting @smoothdogsgirl  @winchester-writes @amotleyworld @winchester-wannabe99  @keepcalmandbeajunkie @19agbrown  @evansrogerskitten @wayward-and-worn @impalaimagining @babyismyspiritanimal @caitthejourno @love-kittykat21 @thelittleredwhocould @destielsangelss  @there-must-be-a-lock  @born-to-be-his-baby88 @carryonmyswansong @super100012 @khelmatic @imanunbrokenfangirl @jadalecki-jackles @cassieraider @curedean @iwantthedean @aubreystilinski @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @kristendanwayne @akshi8278 @sleep4eternity @ambermei  @jackasaurus-strax @whimsicalrobots @rebeccathefangirl @read-the-reid @grace-for-sale @tia58 @ria132love @-lovepeacenhope-  @starry-chaos @angelofwinchester17 @holyfuckloueh @multifanworld @destielhoneybee @plaid-lover-bay25 @jessyackles  @sea040561 @heyitscam99 @petra-arkanian-1497 @applepielyf @sleepretreat @serienjunkiegirl

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Dazed and Confused (Part 2)

Summary: Dean Winchester grew up wanting to be a cop. When he gets kicked out of the police academy on a fluke though, he turns to a life of crime. After breaking up with Dean and seeing him committing a crime in the act, the reader becomes an officer herself and eventually a detective. Four years after that day, the reader is sent undercover to figure out what Dean is up to. Only she has no idea how far Dean is willing to go to keep her from finding out the truth…

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,500ish

Warnings: language, scary situations, violence, murder, etc.

A/N: This series has been on Ao3 only for awhile now and I am finally reposting here as well. It’s not new but it may be new to you. Please enjoy!...

______

It didn’t take long in a town as small as Elk Ridge, Washington to figure out where Dean was staying. There were parts of the place that were laid out as you expected. Suburbia was near the one school. The main street housed almost all of the businesses. The lumber mill where probably most people worked was nestled near the east outskirts of town. There wasn’t a whole lot else there. If you wanted some peace and quiet, it was probably a quaint little place to stay.

Some homes were spread out far and wide though. The feds had set you up in place that made your college dorm room seem like a mansion, located on the west side of town. You had a few neighbors but they were nearly a mile down the road. It had plenty of privacy which was great for investigating but you weren’t a huge fan of the isolation personally.

Dean was to the north, in some old hunting cabin that he was slowly fixing up. At least that’s what Kat, the town gossip, told you. She’d always say hello to Dean when she saw him around and he was cordial back but he kept to himself for the most part. He worked at the mill and frequented the one garage that would special order car parts for him. For the most part though, you had no leads.

“Well,” you said, sitting in your car shortly after lunch, the sound of an Impala driving back towards the mill giving you an idea. “I don’t think you’ll mind if I do a little poking around, Dean.”

You drove to his place in less than ten minutes, seeing nothing in terms of security around the property. You parked your car a ways down the road and doubled back through the tree line and to the home. You went to the backdoor first and found it unlocked, opening straight into a laundry room that smelled of sweaty clothes.

“You really better not be some psychopath, Dean,” you mumbled, walking into his kitchen, finding it sparse but Dean had always liked to keep his spaces clean. You opened a cupboard, finding it crammed full, a smile on your face. “That’s more like it.”

“I told you to stay away,” said Dean, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You turned your head over your shoulder, Dean right behind you, arms crossed. You stood up, spinning around and finding his hand in your jacket, shoving you through the backdoor.

“Dean, I-”

“I told you to leave me alone,” he said, clenching his one hand, twisting his body back like…

You dodged most of the punch but Dean had some weight behind it, knocking you to the ground regardless as he grazed your cheek. You stared up at him, moving to hit him in the groin when he dodged, getting his feet under your legs and flipping you onto your stomach. His hand caught your jacket collar and started dragging you on the ground, pulling your hood over your face.

“Be quiet,” he grunted, moving one hand away for you in time to see him open a shed door and push you inside.

“Dean!” you shouted, throwing your shoulder against the door the second it shut, the metal not budging. You were barely there more than a minute before you heard the Impala in the background tearing out of there.

Lawrence, Kansas

Two Days Later

“You’re off the case in case no one’s told you yet,” said John in the conference room at the station, sliding a cup of coffee over to you.

“I fucked up. I get it,” you said, staring at your statement for the hundredth time that morning. “I should resign.”

“You should take a leave of absence,” said John, taking the file away. “And go find Dean on your own.”

“Excuse me?” you said, John’s face hard set. “What-”

“He knew you were there. He had to. You checked in before you went to Dean’s place and somehow he randomly went home in the middle of his shift? I think he got tipped off. I don’t think we were ever supposed to catch Dean, kid. Just help give him a bigger rap sheet,” said John, leaning back in his seat. “Assaulted a detective. That’s not something people ignore. It gives him credibility for something bigger.”

“Yeah, and I’m the zodiac killer,” you said, John rolling his eyes. “Why would the feds-”

“Because we’re small town cops and they think we’re dumbasses,” said John. “Maybe we were but think about it. He saw you first on the street you said. An anonymous call came in saying where you were in that shed. He could have hurt you, killed you, but I think he’s the one that made sure you were found.”

“It’s too early in the day for a conspiracy theory, John,” you said, running your hands over your face, reaching for your coffee.

“Did Dean seem like the guy in his file?” asked John.

“Sorry, I didn’t think about it too much after he punched me in the face ,” you growled.

“He could have killed you Y/N,” said John.

“You know what? I’m calling in sick today,” you said, standing up and storming out.

“Y/N,” he said, grabbing your arm in the hall.

“I am done with the Winchester family. Leave me the hell alone.”

“Hey, open up,” Sam said for the tenth time that night, banging on your apartment door relentlessly. You growled as you got up from the couch and flung it open. “Good. You’re home.”

“Go away Sam,” you said, trying to shut the door, Sam simply pushing it back open. You groaned and walked back inside, Sam shutting the door behind him, dropping a bag on your table.

“I got you some of those Italian dessert things you like,” said Sam, leaning over the back of your couch, rubbing your shoulders. “I heard Dad gave you shit at the station today.”

“Dean didn’t kill me so he must be a good guy,” you said, glancing up at Sam, your swollen and bruised cheek on full display. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“You sarcasm is duly noted,” said Sam, moving around and taking a seat next to you. “You got scared again, didn’t you, with dad saying that stuff.”

“Fuck, Sam, is that why you’re here? You think I need a babysitter?” you spat back at him, Sam keeping his face soft.

“Not every Winchester is trying to be an asshole to you this week,” said Sam, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I’m sorry Dean scared you. I’m sorry my dad doesn’t understand that. He wants to believe that Dean is good so badly, he didn’t realize he was willing to let you get hurt along the way.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m taking his advice and taking a leave of absence while I figure out what to do with my life because I sure as shit suck at this job,” you said, grabbing a pillow but Sam ripping it away.

“Don’t hide. And don’t quit either. You like helping people, Y/N,” said Sam.

“I’m scared again, Sam. I can’t be scared and do my job. It doesn’t work that way. All thanks to your stupid jackass of a brother,” you said.

“Get pissed then. Shove it to Dean,” said Sam, your head cocking. “You heard me right. Catch him. He’s wanted now for an actual crime, right? Bring him in.”

“He’s your brother Sam,” you said.

“My brother who hurt us both badly, who did that to your face. You’re like my sister, Y/N. He doesn’t get to push us around and make us feel like crap anymore. We aren’t a pair of little kids,” said Sam.

“Alright,” you said with a sigh, Sam ruffling your hair. “You want to order a pizza and have one of our Dean bitch fests?”

“You read my mind.”

It wasn’t until Sam was passed out on your couch and you were crawling into bed hours later that no matter which way this thing turned out, you knew you had to find Dean. You grabbed your phone, typing out an email to John, requesting your leave of absence while you got your head on straight.

A text popped up as you put the phone down, your eyes glued to it.

Meet me at the place I told you I loved you. 15 minutes.

You swallowed hard, knowing it could be from anyone, could be meant for anyone.

The place you said it back.

“Fuck, Dean,” you said, running your hand through your hair, climbing out of bed. You tossed on jeans and a tee, pulling your jacket and sneakers on, staring at your bedside drawer. “Dammit.”

You opened it up, pulling out your gun and shoving it in the back of your pants, grabbing your phone and walking into your living room quietly. Sam was snoring heavily as you thought about waking him up. The thought quickly disappeared as you went past, slipping out of the apartment and out of the building.

It was cool, the streets quiet at nearly 3 in the morning. You were on edge the whole way down the few blocks to the park, walking as fast as possible towards the only playground in Lawrence. You didn’t spot him which was troubling. There was barely any cover there apart from the enclosed tower by the slide. He was either up there or you were early enough that you could use it for yourself.

A quiet whistle punched a gasp from you, your gun in your hands in the next second. You took a wide sweep, approaching over the bridge you remember falling off of and scraping up your knee as you laughed, climbing up the steps you’d sat on for hours talking with him…

You paused and took a deep breath, raising your gun up as you spun up the last step, staring into the dark tower top.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” said Dean, flicking a lighter on, a small light filling the space, showing his hard face, body sat in the corner all in black. “I’m not-”

“Turn around. Hands on your head. Cross your ankles,” you said, Dean staring blankly at you. “Now.”

“Am I being arrested?” he asked with a chuckle, setting the lighter down, crossing his arms.

“Yes. You have the right to remain-”

“I’ve been silent for four years. I’m getting tired of it to be honest,” he said, glancing at the empty spot across from him. “I figured this would be a safe place to meet up...considering you’re on leave now and everything, I don’t have to worry about keeping you up too late for work.”

“How do you-”

“We need to talk,” said Dean, nodding again. “If you want to cuff me to do that-”

“Turn around, hands behind your back,” you said, Dean glaring up but nodding his head. He did as told, his body more muscular than you remembered. You slid a pair of thick zip ties around his wrists, Dean turning back around as you backed up, sliding down into the spot nearby.

“You don’t need to keep pointing that gun at me,” said Dean. “I am cuffed.”

“Considering what happened last time I was with you, I’ll keep the gun out,” you said, Dean’s eyes flickering to your healing cheek, scrunching up his nose.

“Sorry for that,” said Dean. “I can’t be too careful nowadays.”

“Poor you,” you said, Dean straightening his shoulders. “Start talking.”

“How’s Sammy doing? He’s in his third year of law school, right?” asked Dean, your eyes blinking fast. “He’s okay?”

“Why do you give a shit about him?” you asked. “After what you said. It took him two years to tell me what you-”

“He’s my little brother. Of course I give a shit about him. You too. I never stopped,” said Dean, staring at your cheek. “You really don’t know how awful I feel about hitting you.”

“You got two minutes before I drag you down to the station,” you said, Dean leaning his head back against the plastic wall, wearing a sad smile.

“You became a cop. Junior Detective. Top of your class. Perfect scores on your exams. Your arrest record is flawless and you bring in bagels on Fridays from the shop on fourth with the little-”

“Are you a fucking stalker or what, Dean?” you asked, Dean shaking his head.

“It’s how I knew you sent that email to dad,” said Dean, glancing down. “I...I didn’t get kicked out of the academy, Y/N. I...transferred if you want to think of it like that.”

“Transferred to what,” you growled, Dean scrunching up his face.

“Agent Winchester. FBI. Special Undercover Unit. It’s not really common knowledge it exists. We don’t go through the normal training academy. You work undercover so they keep you separate from almost everything. It’s why the FBI, the people I work for, sent you after me,” said Dean. “Well, they needed to build up my credibility but that’s not the point.”

“You’re saying you’re a federal agent,” you said, Dean nodding. “I’m Mary fucking Poppins while we’re at it.”

“How do you think I know shit I shouldn’t Y/N? I can hack into your computer, accounts. Your credit score is 740 by the way,” said Dean, cocking his head.

“You work for the government,” you said.

“I’ve been working one job for four years now, Y/N. I’ve done bad things but I’ve never hurt anyone. But I got a bit of a promotion recently and...somebody on my team is dirty. They’re working with the guy we’re trying to catch and I’m about to throw years of my life away to catch the dirtball. I need help. From someone I can trust,” said Dean.

“They teach officers to know when people are lying you know,” you said, Dean laughing.

“Then you know I’m telling you the truth,” said Dean. “I had to cut myself off from my life and hurting you and Sammy was the one sure fire way to stop you two from coming after me. I’m not asking for forgiveness, Y/N. I just need to bring down this guy and then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of your life.”

“Sam gets fucking nightmares over the shit you said to him about your mom, Dean. You fucked him up. Both of us up,” you said. “Everyone you ever cared about over what? A job?”

“I agreed to do this on one condition and only one fucking condition so you can back the fuck off,” spat back Dean, trying his best to relax. “The guy I’m trying to stop, the guy I’ve been trying to stop for four years? He’s the one that killed our mother. I know I have done a lot of things but she deserves that the guy who killed her goes down. That is why I am doing this.”

“How can I believe any of this, Dean? How?” you asked. “What proof do you have?”

“If you don’t believe me, feel free to shoot me right here and now. Say whatever story you want, no one will care. Hell, dump my body if you want. I threw away everything to try and do the right thing for her, to stop this guy from doing it to someone else. If you think I’m nuts or making it up, go ahead and pull the trigger. I can’t do this on my own. Not when I can’t trust my team. I don’t deserve your help. But I’m begging for it, Y/N,” said Dean. “Just help me catch the son of a bitch.”

“Was it you at the bank four years ago?” you asked, Dean nodding his head. “Why’d you say you’d kill me?”

“I thought you’d understand,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t a threat, Y/N. I knew once I saw you looking at me you’d figure out it was me. I was...don’t you remember that movie? We watched it a million times. The bank heist one. The undercover cop says it to his girlfriend at the bank...it was code that he’d make sure nothing happened to her, she’d be okay.”

“You expected me to remember a stupid movie scene during one of the most frightening moments of my life?” you barked, Dean shrugging. “I didn’t get that message, Dean.”

“I know. I know,” he said. “I couldn’t say, ‘hi honey, long time no see. I’m working this super secret undercover job and I gotta do some bad stuff for a little while but I love you and I’m not going to hurt you and I’m not the bad guy. Bye!’ It’s not how this works.”

“What were you doing in Washington,” you said.

“Testing a theory. I was trying to figure out who on my team is responsible. Nobody showed any tells though so nothing came of it,” he said. “I didn’t know they’d put you on it. Hoped but couldn’t know for sure. You just went through your secondary undercover training so I played the odds on that one.”

You lowered your gun, letting it rest by your side, tucking your knees into your chest.

“It wasn’t your fault either,” he said, your chin resting on your knees, eyes darting over to meet his. “Telling you and Sam those things...that was one of the worst days of my life.”

“Why did we meet here Dean,” you said quietly, Dean smiling.

“This was stop number four on the best date ever. I told you I loved you for the first time over by those swings. You said it back when you remembered how to speak,” he said, staring at his lap. “Figured this place is lucky for me. Less odds of you shooting me on sight.”

“There are so many things I should do right now,” you said, grabbing your gun in one hand, his arm in the other.

“Y/N,” said Dean, a crack in his voice as you pulled him down the stairs and onto the wood chip covered ground below. “Please don’t turn me in. I have to…”

You snipped his zip ties, grabbed them and walked over to a nearby trash can, tossing them inside. Dean was staring slack jawed at you, stuck in place while you wandered over to the swings, taking a seat on one.

“Y/N,” said Dean, standing in front of you while you kicked at the ground.

“You know, Sam and I have this sort of vent session about you sometimes. We basically bitch about everything we hate about you,” you said, Dean gulping. “Every single time, just like the one we had tonight, we always end up talking about good memories and how we hope we’re both so wrong and that you’re still good and something crazy is going on. Now that’s it happening, I can’t believe it’s real.”

“Y/N, I’m-” said Dean, letting out a oomph before he hit the ground, your gaze moving from the ground upwards, Sam panting over Dean’s unconscious body.

“Sam what-”

“He’s a dumbass,” said Sam, bending down, tossing Dean over his shoulder. “We got to move to a secure location.”

“Sam! What is going on?” you asked, Sam nodding for you to follow. “Sam!”

“Dean’s a good guy, Y/N. Loyal to a fault. To a fault, Y/N . He’s getting setup,” said Sam, walking away from the playground, you hot on his tail.

“Sam,” you said, tugging on his arm.

“Dean’s got his facts wrong. He never should have dragged you into this,” said Sam. “But you’re in it now so you better come with us.”

“He had nowhere to turn he said. He-”

“The guy at the FBI Dean is investigating? It’s the guy who killed our mom. He works for them. He’s on the team Dean works on. He’s setting Dean up to take the fall for everything he’s ever done,” said Sam.

“How do you even know that?” you asked, a million more questions flooding your mind.

“Y/N. You weren’t the only one that went into law enforcement when Dean went off the rails,” said Sam, your head cocking, Sam breaking into a soft smile for a brief moment. “Agent Winchester. FBI. Internal Investigations.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

[sourw0lf]

Alpha!Sam Headcanons

Sam presented usually early at tn Twelve years old. He went into his first rut in the middle of P.E. and Dean had to come pick him up and take him home. John was working a case so it was up to Dean to make sure Sam ate and maintained some kind of hygiene for the next couple of days. Though John was out of state at the time, when Dean called to give him the news he was very pleased. He was happy to have an alpha carrying on the family business.

Sam tends to spend his heats in seclusion. He had spent a handful of them with Jess and another with Amelia but other than that he spent his time alone. He usually holes up in a motel for a few days to ride it out.

Sam always had his cycles (and Dean’s because the man was irresponsible and abused suppressants and tried to ignore his heats) down to an exact science. He always knew the date of his next rut and was almost never wrong.

Sam was never really a very dominating alpha. He was very responsible and respectable as far as alpha’s go. Whenever anyone said anything about it he blamed Dean for yelling about respecting omegas and consent his entire childhood. It really did help that he was raised and lived with an omega, it made him into a better alpha.

Sam’s alpha instinct did get the best of him sometimes. He scented Dean clothes sometimes, some shirts or his coat and usually when they’re either leaving or arriving at a new place. And Dean’s a very stressed out human being, and he ends up smelling like stress and anger most of the time and it bother’s Sam’s alpha side to no end. So sometimes Dean will be doing something, maybe going over a case or eating or doing research or whatever, and Sam will come up and just wrap his arms around the omega and squeeze as hard as he can. He’s been doing it since he was little and Dean’s grown less and less fond of it - “it was cute when you were twelve, Sam, now it’s just weird.”

Feel free to send in headcanons or requests!

[sammys-carhartt-jacket]

Preword: OK???? So i think I did a thing. This started off as me doing a little rant post but somehow now it’s a fanfictio? oops. anyways this is going to be a multichapter fic (I’ve never been able to follow through on this before, so we’ll see how this goes.

also should I make an ao3 account and post there?

——————— So anyways, just thinking once again about how much Sam must have stuck out at like literally any school he went to.

I mean, maybe not so blatantly, but the few that he gets assigned to sit next to in class or some kids that feel like making a friend in him, they get to know him beyond the reserved, smart, friendly but guarded kid they see at school.

In high school, the differences become more prominent.

Sam is invited to an end of school rager his freshman year. He’s new to this type of shit, but when it comes time for the drinking games, he decides to join in.

Sam downs 9 shots straight in a row standing one foot on the barstool the host brought out.

The previous record was 5.

When he’s hopped off and done, impaired only by a slight stumble, the classmates sober enough to process it are looking on in disbelief, a bit of awe mixed in- but as always, he can see if in their eyes.

god, this kid is some kind of freak.

of course, they don’t realize that he’s been drinking on a regular basis since he was eleven.

———————

Four months later in a different town, this time the trio tracking down a potential witch coven, Sam goes to get a drink during lunch period, a group of other sophomores loitering by the water fountains and in a world of their own. Sam had approached their spot to refill his water bottle, and glanced down into the lap of one of the guys’ lap (Cameron, he later found out). He was reading a book on montana history, and happened to be flipped to a page on the beartooth highway. Sam had been there once when he was about eight or so, when dad had taken him and dean scoping out the area for remains of a woman who had slipped off of the edge after a truck had edged her off, and remained to kill similar drivers.

“Hey,” Sam spoke to the guy, and he looked up expectantly at him.

“Uh,” Sam crouched down next to him, hoping this wouldn’t be awkward. “Y’know, what they don’t tell you is that there’s a small grouping of forts in the forest around mile 36.”

Sam should know. He built them.

“It’s pretty cool,” he said, giving an awkward grin. And it was cool. Sam had had a lot of downtime on that hunt, and hey, a kid had to occupy himself somehow.

He’d built them out of spare sticks he found, bark, some old rusted sheets of metal from the past crashes (even though John had told him not to go fucking around back there, lest Sophie-the-spirit decided to make a reappearance), and whatever spare tarp he could grab from bubmbling passerby campers.

They were wobbly and barren, teetering on its weak stick side supports, but for a week, it was Sam’s escape, where he could pretend that he was a normal kid in a normal neighborhood, in a clubhouse that his dad had made for him and his brother to spend time on while their dad was away at his normal, 9 to 5 job. Not a shitty stack of crap he used to escape his dad who was constantly in a foul mood, in the middle of god-knows-fucking-where, Montana.

Meanwhile the guy just looked up, a blink of intrigue in his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam gave another half-smile.

He stood up from the ground, his other girl friend with the dark brown bob and sideswept bangs giving a small wave from the grimy tiled floor.

“I’m Joline,” she greeted, extending a hand.

Sam shook it.

She nudged the girl next to her, who wore athletic shorts, a hoodie, and her thick black hair in a messy bun.

“This is Maria,” bun girl gave a small nod, which said hey, I don’t know you just yet, but I think we’ve got something to work with here.

“I’m Cameron,” floor guy supplied before Joline could beat him to it.

“You new around here? I don’t recall seeing you before.” Cameron asked, brows furrowed and eyes squinted a bit as if that would unlock any memory of meeting Sam before in his brain.

“Yeah,” Sam shrugged. “My dad moves us around a lot. We just got here Saturday.”

“Oh, I guess you’ve seen a lot of different places then.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam said, voice guarded.

Joline ignored the first half of what he said.

“Saturday? Oh jeez, I bet you barley know anything about Burkesville-,”

She was wrong. Researching witches meant a lot of traveling around and interviewing, and gossip, grits, and dirty laundry was often included in that deal.

“-we totally have to take you out and show you around then. Tuesday night work?”

Maria nudged Joline. “I’ve got volleyball practice tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh,” Joline scrunched up her nose. “Damn volleyball. Wednesday then?”

Sam went for the awkward nod and afterthought smile combo. “Sure. Uh, see you guys, I’ve got to get to class.”

Cameron gave a short nod. “See you dude.”

With that, Sam walked to Chemistry.

Two periods later he has Spanish with Maria and she slips him a note telling him to meet at the 7/11 on Marsh street at 6:00.

He pockets the note for later.

————————

Joline scratches her wrist impatiently, shiny green watch band doing nothing helpful except to itch the hell out of her. She needs a new one.

She’s standing underneath the neon 7/11 sign, Cameron beside her, watching the cars go by.

It’s about seven more minutes before Maria finally makes it to the parking lot to sit and wait for the last member of their small little party.

Maria is standing, arms crossed, looking particularly concerned. It was then 6:12, and Sam was still a no-show.

“Listen.” Maria bites her lip and faces towards the two. “My mama is cooking tamales tonight, so if he doesn’t show soon, I think I’ll just go home and eat there. I’m getting tired of waiting and hungry.”

Joline frowns, but nods her head in understanding nonetheless. Prospects aren’t looking great right now. Not even a minute later though, there’s the obnoxious growl of a gas-guzzler car, and Cameron perks his head up to try and catch a glimpse down the road. He lets out an appreciative whistle as he makes out that it’s a Chevy impala, then a soft ‘holy shit’ as the car turns into their parking lot.

“Dude!” He exclaims at Sam as he pops the passenger side door and stands up. “You have a fucking 1967 Chevy Impala and you didn’t tell me?”

Fucking car nerd.

Inside the sleek black vintage, a man, the driver, holds his hand out for a fist bump that

“Not Sammy,” he says, letting out a playboy smirk. “Yours truly, Dean Winchester.”

He’s cocky enough to even wink.

Sam just rolls his eyes in exasperation as he walks around the car and towards Maria and Joline. He mumbles a hey, and apologizes for his tardiness.

“He’s 20 now, but me, my dad, and him are still living out of each other’s pockets. It’s impossible for him to be on time”

Joline smiled politely, but something about what Sam had said made her take a moment and process. The lack of a mother, the nomad lifestyle- it was just a life so far from what she led, she had a hard time wrapping her head about what that would be like.

———————

thanks for sticking around I geuss! This is actually the second spn fanfic I’ve wrote (I guess I can post the other here as well!)

chapter two sometime next week maybe