The One That Got Away
𖦹 summary for as long as you could remember, you have always had the rest of your life planned out and at the center of it all was sam winchester. all your heart desired was to fill your days with his company. and if he gets to have a future, he wants it to be with you. one thing after other leads to a heated argument and thoughts buried deep down get brought up to the surface. with a painful goodbye, he leaves you behind and sets off for college. as the years pass you move on. until while on the job you spot the eyes you once so deeply loved, and you start to question wether you’d been lying to yourself the whole time. 𖦹 pairing sam winchester x gn!reader 𖦹 content/tags angst, slight mention of childhood abuse, happy ending? i could do a pt2 ;), no use of y/n 𖦹 w/c 2.5k
The first and only boy you’ve ever loved is Sam Winchester.
You’re not sure exactly when it happened. No certain thing that you can pinpoint as the reason why your heart has only ever belonged to him.
You guess its been a gradual thing—like the slow turning of seasons you never quite notice until the air feels different.
It was in the quiet moments.
In the almosts.
You think, maybe, you fell in love with him in pieces.
Playing together as children as the only light in a childhood which was filled by darkness. Hiding from your parents, fantasizing about one day running away from it all—running far enough that the bad things wouldn’t be able to find you.
Because back then, it felt possible and beautiful. Even if it was for a moment.
But it felt like it would last forever. Like if you had him, nothing else mattered. Not the monsters, not the life you were brought up in, not even the battles you were fighting in your mind. All you needed was him, and he would love your shame away.
He’d whisper plans into the dark, mapping out a future that felt so real you could almost touch it. A small place somewhere no one knew your names. Sunlight through open windows. Peace.
Always peace.
And you would listen—really listen—nodding along, adding little details here and there, like you were just as desperate to believe in it as he was.
Like you needed it just as much.
But even then, there were cracks. The truth creeping into the crevices of your mind the closer this possibility came to a reality.
Deep down inside of you the feeling that you could never leave this life gnawed at you. You were too submerged into it, it’s all you’ve ever known. It's what was beaten into you as a child. It isn’t easy to leave a habit you’ve had your whole life.
A burnt child loves the fire.
And you could tell that Sam was the opposite. He couldn’t wait to leave behind the nightmares he was forced to fight —to trade blood and bruises for books and something that resembled normal.
You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on campus brochures like they were lifelines. In how his voice would soften when he talked about lectures and libraries, about a life where the biggest problem was an exam and not whether you’d make it through the night.
He wanted out.
Not just to run—but to escape.
And you… you didn’t know how to want that.
Out there, in the world he dreamed of, you weren’t sure who you’d be.
Or if you'd be anything at all.
But maybe loving him would be enough. Because you loved him more than you loved living. So, really, it should be easy to learn how to accept something that he wants, right? You were made up of bits and pieces of things he adores that you've incorporated into yourself anyway.
You'll never recover from that kind of devotion.
But one thing Sam was good at was noticing. He was so tuned into you that he could read you just by your breathing.
So, he noticed how you would slowly get quieter each time you talked about your future. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone. He could tell you were reluctant, but he also knew that in your heart, buried deep inside, you wanted it.
He tried to slowly change your mind. Make you more used to the idea of a simple, boring life.
But it was futile.
Because the more he tried to reshape the future, the more you felt yourself slipping out of it.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want what he wanted.
It was that you didn’t know how to exist in it.
A life without constant vigilance felt foreign, almost wrong. Like stepping into a story that wasn’t written for you. And no matter how gently Sam tried to guide you there, no matter how carefully he painted it out for you—soft mornings, quiet nights, safety—you couldn’t stop the voice in your head that whispered you didn’t belong in something that peaceful.
That you’d ruin it.
That you’d ruin him.
And Sam… he could see that, too.
And you could see that he was drifting away from you. Not that he was falling out of love, just disconnecting.
The flickers of frustration in his eyes that he tried to hide when you hesitated. He understood you, he really did. He slowly started to want a free life more than he wanted a life chained down by hunting with you. Maybe sometimes love wasn't enough.
Some things are meant to happen but not to last.
But like you didn’t know a life outside of hunting, you didn’t know a life outside of him.
You forced yourself to put on a face every time he’d talk about college, nodded your head like you were listening and understood. But you didn’t. Didn’t understand how he could so easily think about leaving the job behind him.
You told yourself to love was to sacrifice.
You could turn yourself into what he needed.
But love, you would come to learn, isn’t supposed to feel like slowly erasing yourself.
And Sam…
Sam was starting to realize that, too.
He loved you too much to push you into being miserable, it was far too cruel a fate for you.
He couldn't imagine a life for himself where he dies at the hands of the job instead of old age either.
It happens slowly at first. He stopped talking of the future as often. He wouldn’t mention anything past the next day. A small part of you hoped that it was because he changed his mind. But you knew he would never close that window, the view was too beautiful.
One night, the invisible string that intertwined the two of you together snapped.
It wasn't even anything big.
That’s the worst part.
Just another hopeless conversation about the future—his future.
You’re sitting across from him, knees almost touching, but it feels like there’s miles between you.
“You didn’t even read it, did you?” he asks, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.
You blink. “I did—”
“No, you looked at it.” His jaw tightens, fingers tapping restlessly against his leg. “You do this every time. You shut down.”
“I’m not shutting down.”
“Then what is it?” His voice lifts, not quite yelling, but close enough that it makes your chest tighten. “Because every time I try to talk about this, it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”
“I listen. I enjoy listening to you talk about it.” You protested.
“You’re not supposed to just listen; you have to communicate with me. It’s your future too.” He knew it stopped being yours a long time ago. One last attempt.
You hesitate for a second. A second is all it takes to break everything apart.
Sam blinks.
You both realize this is the last conversation you’ll have about this one way or another.
You cant force the stars to align when they’ve already died.
“You’re just telling me what you think I want to hear.” He snaps.
He never snaps.
It hits you harder than you expected.
“Maybe because every time I tell you the truth, you look at me like I’m the problem.”
His expression falters for just a second, but it’s enough.
“I never said you were the problem.”
“You don’t have to say it,” you shoot back, your voice breaking despite your best efforts. “I can see it, Sam. Every time I hesitate, every time I don’t jump at the idea of leaving everything behind, you look at me like I’m holding you back.”
“Because you are!” The words come out sharp, immediate—and the second they’re in the air, you both freeze.
The silence is deafening.
How unfair that you're physically closer than your souls have been in months.
Sam runs a hand through his hair. “That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that.”
“But you did.” Your voice is quieter now. Not angry. Just… tired. “You meant it exactly like that.”
He has for a while. You figure he’s been checked out for longer than you thought.
He looks at you like he’s trying to understand why you can’t overcome your fear for him.
But then again, he was choosing freedom over you, so maybe he wasn’t much different.
“I can’t stay here,” he says, softer this time, but somehow it hurts more. “I can’t keep doing this. This life—it’s killing me. And I thought…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I thought you’d understand.”
“I do understand,” you whisper a lie. “I just can’t be what you need.”
In a way, you’re the one who ruined this. You did it yourself.
Why couldn’t you change for him?
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then don’t leave.”
It comes out too fast. Too desperate.
But you already know what he’s going to say.
He made the choice long before this.
“I have to. For me”
“Why can’t you stay for me?” You know that isn’t fair. But you’ve always been selfish. And you knew it. That was the worst part. You knew.
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t make it sound like I’m choosing to—”
“You are choosing,” you cut him off, tears blurring your vision. “Just not me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this!”
Your voice echoes in the silence that follows, louder than you intended, but you don’t take it back.
Because it’s true.
It’s all true.
Sam looks at you like he wants to say something—like there are a thousand words sitting on the tip of his tongue—but none of them come out.
Because there’s nothing left to say.
Not when the truth is already laid bare between you.
“I’m leaving”
Of course he is. You knew this too.
It doesn’t make it easier to accept.
He waits for a moment. For you to stop him. To say something that will make him stay.
But you don’t.
You never did.
You love each other, you do, and here’s the tragedy. It isn’t enough.
The story still ends.
The first few days feel unreal.
Like you’re suspended in something that hasn’t quite settled yet. You still expect to hear his voice, still catch yourself turning to tell him things that don’t matter—small, insignificant details that somehow always felt important when he was there to listen.
But he isn’t.
How weird it is to be haunted by someone that is still alive.
And slowly, painfully, that absence starts to take shape.
You’re forced to live in the after him. Learn how to untangle him from your day to day.
The hardest thing you’ve both done is walk away still madly in love.
Missing him comes in waves and most nights you’re drowning.
But you continue fighting. Continue doing the thing that tore you apart.
Because the only thing you ever knew besides him was hunting and especially now you needed a constant in your life.
Days blur into weeks. Weeks into months. You keep moving because that’s what you’ve always done.
But your memory loves him. It asks about him all the time.
You have something in your heart for him that will die only when you do.
Every corner you turn reminds you of a time when you still had him. He haunts you at all places.
He’s everywhere.
And you try to trick your mind into believing that this was okay. That your life was normal, nothing was missing.
You tell yourself you’ve moved on.
You get good at saying it, too.
Good enough that eventually, it almost sounds like the truth.
Years pass.
You grow into yourself in ways you never thought you would. The life you once believed you could never leave behind becomes something you navigate with ease. You get sharper. Colder, maybe. Less willing to hold onto things that aren’t meant to stay.
You stop looking for him in crowded rooms.
Stop expecting to see him where he doesn’t belong anymore.
And when you finally start to think that it isn’t just convincing yourself anymore, that you’ve truly gotten over him, right when you stop looking for him, he shows up.
It’s just another hunt. Another constant.
You hear it before you see him—the familiar scuffle, the unmistakable sound of someone struggling against something not quite human. Instinct takes over. You move without thinking, weapon raised, you swipe, cut, another creature hits the ground and then you realize.
You recognize him, you know him. It feels like from a dream or another life where you haven’t finished loving each other.
For a second, neither of you move.
It’s like the world narrows down to just the two of you, everything else fading into the background. He looks older. Harder. The softness you once knew still lingers somewhere beneath the surface, but it’s buried now, hidden behind something worn and weathered.
Too familiar.
Because you recognize it.
It’s the same look you see in the mirror.
The look created by something that means too much to let go.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathe, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
Sam blinks, like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. “I could say the same thing.”
And there it is.
That voice.
Older, deeper—but still his.
Still yours, in a way that makes your chest ache.
“You’re—” Your eyes flick over him quickly, taking in the weapons, the stance, the way he holds himself. “You’re hunting.”
It’s not a question.
His jaw tightens slightly. “Yeah.”
And it stings. The feeling that all the years lost between you were for no reason.
He fought so hard for what he wanted, hard enough to lose you in the process, just for him to circle back.
He left you behind to live his dream, yet he still came back to where you were stuck.
Of course this is how it ends up.
There are a million and one questions on your tongue.
Why did you come back?
Was it worth it?
Did you ever think about me?
But you couldn’t speak. It felt like you were trapped in a loop of the past.
But despite everything—despite the years, the distance, the way you’ve both changed—some things haven’t.
The tension. The pull. The way your heart betrays you instantly, like no time has passed at all.
Like he didn’t leave.
Like you didn’t learn how to live without him.
Like you’ve traveled back in time and you’d just finished a hunt, together, and you’re going to go back to the motel you would call home for a week and lose yourself in each other.
But you’re not going to. All you’d go home to was the hum of the fridge.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
You swallow, steadying yourself, forcing your grip tighter around your weapon.
“Yeah,” you say quietly.“Me neither.”
But the truth lingers between you, unspoken and undeniable—some things don’t stay buried.
No matter how hard you try.
And slowly, you could feel the invisible strings start to tie themselves back between you.