This is calm

Z | 22 | multiple Fandoms FF writer | will take requests one day

[drspencyreid]

Guardian Between Two Worlds

Sam Winchester x Reader fanfic

Series summary: A girl who’s never watched Supernatural suddenly wakes up in another world, living above a library as a librarian — her dream life. After months of adjusting to this strange new reality, everything changes when she meets Sam Winchester. The next morning, she awakens with glowing violet eyes and the ability to control silver daggers with her mind. As supernatural creatures begin taking notice of her, she uncovers a terrifying truth: her soul was created for one purpose — to protect someone.

Warnings: this is something I've made up so it might not be 100% accurate to the show but I will try my best. It will include fluff, angst, and maybe smut, never been able to write good smut before but I'll try!

Chapter 1: Between Pages and Portals

Chapter 2: When the Lore Runs Out

Coming Soon

[drspencyreid]

Guardian Between Two Worlds:

Chapter 2: When the Lore Runs Out

Sam Winchester x reader

Word Count: 2665

A/n: hello everyone! Sorry for taking a while to post chapter two. I have been busy with a lot of spring course work! I will try to manage both from now on! Hope you enjoy!

On the outside, her face held the usual smile—her customer service face—but on the inside, (Y/N) was freaking the fuck out.

“This has to be a dream!”

“How the fuck is he here?”

“Is this Jared Padalecki in 2012, or am I actually in Supernatural?”

“AHHH, WHY ME?!”

After her mental freak-out, she stared at the man who looked exactly like Sam Winchester. From the long hair and the stubble to that iconic, gorgeous flannel, she could tell this Sam was older. If this really was 2012, then that meant she’d landed somewhere in the later seasons of the show.

The bad thing for her? She had no fucking idea what happens in these seasons.

She only realized afterward that she’d been staring for a while when she saw him walking toward her area—customer service.

Aw, fuck, she thought, forcing herself to wave and smile like everything was normal. She took a breath as she prepared to speak to THE Sam Winchester.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you today?”

Sam gave a small smile as he spoke. “Good day, (Y/N),” he added after reading her name tag. “This may be a weird ask… I… never mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and started to turn away. (Y/N) figured he wanted to ask about something for a hunt, but didn’t know how to say it.

She stepped in before he could retreat, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. We all have different tastes in literature—that’s what makes each of us unique,” she said.

Sam’s bright smile nearly made (Y/N) faint right there, but she forced herself to focus and listen.

“It may be weird… um… I’m looking for any books on demon lore…”

She smiled brightly and opened your mouth to speak, but Katelyn cut you off with a teasing grin.

“You asked the perfect librarian for that. (Y/N) here is a total mythology nerd.”

“KATE!” you yelped, face burning as you heard Sam chuckle. You glanced back at him and rubbed the back of your neck, mortified.

“Um, yeah, I may be a little into mythology,” you admitted. “We’ve got a bunch of different books on what you’re looking for. I’d be happy to show you.”

Sam smiled and nodded, “That would be great, thanks.”

(Y/N) smiled as she rose from her chair, stepping out from behind the customer service desk to guide Sam toward the mythology section. Sam fell into step beside her, deciding to make a little small talk.

“So, what kind of mythology do you like to read?” he asked.

Surprised by his question, she looks at him and speaks,

“Umm… well, I love Egyptian mythology. Greek and Roman, too, obviously, but those are the common ones. I like to read about different cultures and different pantheons—old gods people have mostly forgotten about. Creation stories, underworlds, all the weird little monsters that only show up in one line of some dusty old book. I don’t know, there’s just something comforting about knowing every culture had its own way of explaining the dark. It makes the world feel… bigger, I guess.”

(Y/N) shrugs, eyes dropping to her hands for a second before flicking back up to him. “Most people think it’s nerdy or creepy. I just think it’s honest. Our fears say a lot about us.”

(Y/N) realizes she’s said more than she meant to and laughs softly. “Sorry. That was a lot. I just really like myths.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then adds, a little quieter, “Especially the ones where the monsters aren’t really monsters.”

Sam studies her for a moment, that little half–smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I get that.”

He falls into step beside her, one hand tucked in his pocket, thumb absently tracing the corner of the book’s checkout slip. “Most people just want happy endings. Heroes in white hats, monsters in the dark, so you know who to shoot.” He huffs a soft laugh, gaze drifting over the spines they pass. “But it’s never that simple, is it? Not in the real stories.”

He doesn’t quite look at her when he says it, but there’s a hint of curiosity there now—like he’s starting to wonder what kind of story she belongs to.

His eyes flick up to hers, something knowing in them. “The old myths… they understood that. Gods that messed up more than humans, monsters that were made, not born. Punishments that didn’t fit the crime. It’s messy. Honest.”

He pauses, studying her like he’s seeing more than she said out loud. “The ones where the monsters aren’t really monsters,” he repeats, a little softer. “Those are my favourites too.”

Sam shrugs, like he’s brushing it off, but his voice stays gentle. “People don’t think that’s creepy. They just don’t get it. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

He gives her a small, earnest smile. “For what it’s worth… I think it’s pretty cool.”

They walk in step down the narrow aisle, fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. The air is cooler back here, the smell of old paper stronger, like dust and ink and something that’s been waiting a long time.

“This is my favourite part,” she says, slowing as the shelves shift from bright glossy covers to older, duller spines. The placard at the end reads: Mythology & Occult Studies.

Sam’s eyes flick over the titles, that familiar hunter’s focus sliding into place beneath the casual curiosity. She stops halfway down, reaching up to tug a thick black hardcover free.

“This one’s a classic,” she says, handing it to him. “The Dictionary of Demons: Names of the Damned by M. Belanger. It’s more modern, but it’s thorough. Cross-references, alternate names… the whole thing.”

Sam takes it, thumb running over the title. He flips it open, scanning a page, then another. His brow furrows a little. “It’s good,” he murmurs, “but it’s not quite what I’m looking for.”

“Okay,” she says easily, already turning to the next shelf. “So… level up.”

She pulls out a thick, slightly yellowed volume. “The Encyclopedia of Demons and Demonology by Rosemary Ellen Guiley. This one’s broader—covers folklore, history, ritual use, that kind of thing.” She passes it to him, watching his face. “You get some weird stories in there.”

Sam balances both books in his hands, flipping through the encyclopedia. A few pages catch his eye, old woodcut illustrations and dense text. He lingers a second, then gently closes it, shaking his head. “Closer,” he says, “but still not it.”

She hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her lips. “All right. Going old-school, then.” She reaches down, crouching to the lowest shelf and dragging out a worn, brown-spined book that looks like it’s survived more than a few decades. “Demonology and Devil-Lore by Moncure Daniel Conway,” she announces. “Two volumes. Covered in odd little theories and Victorian drama. My kind of fun.”

He can’t help but smile at that. He takes the book, flipping carefully through its brittle pages. There’s depth here, strange stories and cross-cultural comparisons, but after a minute, he exhales slowly and shuts it.

“What you’re looking for,” she says, watching him now instead of the books, “it’s not just names and summaries, is it?”

Sam hesitates, then shakes his head. “No. I need something… primary. Old. Specific. Not just someone talking about it—someone who believed in it enough to write like it was real.”

A slow, almost conspiratorial smile curves her lips. She glances down the aisle, then up toward the front desk—empty. When she looks back at him, her eyes are brighter.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “Then these aren’t going to cut it.”

She slides the last book back into place and steps past him, motioning with a tilt of her head. “Come on.”

She leads him past the main mythology shelves, where the overhead lights thin out and the air feels cooler. At the end of the row, a small waist‑high gate blocks off a narrow corridor of older, heavier books. A brass sign reads: Restricted Collection – Authorized Access Only.

Sam slows, eyeing the sign. “Restricted, huh?”

“Yeah.” She glances back at him, a faint, conspiratorial smile tugging at her mouth. “The stuff they don’t want undergrads ‘accidentally’ walking off with.”

He looks from the sign to her name tag—already familiar to him now—and raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Perks of being staff?”

“Perks of being the librarian who actually comes back here,” she corrects lightly.

She slips a small, worn brass key off the ring clipped behind her badge. The motion is practiced, casual, like she’s done this a hundred times. The key turns in the lock with a soft metallic click, and the gate swings open on a low creak.

“They gave you a key to the restricted section?” he asks, more impressed than surprised.

“They like to pretend it’s about security,” she says, stepping aside to let him through first. “Really, it’s because nobody else wants to inventory seventeenth‑century demonology in a musty back hall.” She tilts her head toward the dim row of shelves. “Lucky for you, I do.”

“After you,” she says.

Sam steps through, and the air changes. It feels denser somehow, heavier with age. The books here are older, leather and cloth, spines cracked and titles worn half-invisible. Handwritten labels peek out where the original ones have long since faded.

She moves with purpose now, weaving between the shelves until they reach a section where the labels shift from Occult Miscellany to Demonologia and Witchcraft Trials. Her fingers trail lightly along the spines, reading titles by touch as much as sight, until she stops.

“Here,” she murmurs.

She reaches up and carefully pulls out a dark, weathered volume. The leather cover is stiff, the title pressed in faded gold: Daemonologie. Beneath it, in smaller, cramped letters: By King James VI and I.

She holds it for a moment before turning to him, cradling it like something fragile and dangerous all at once.

“This is the one I thought of when you were talking,” she says softly. “It’s not… academic, exactly. It’s more like a man trying very hard to convince the world his nightmares are justified.”

Sam looks at the book, and something shifts in his expression—a flicker of recognition, of wary respect. He takes it carefully from her hands, the weight of it settling into his palms.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “This might be exactly what I need.”

She searches his face, curiosity and concern mingling. “You’re really sure you want to read that?”

Sam glances down at the cracked leather, thumb brushing the faded title, then back at her.

“I’ve read worse,” he says with a faint, humourless smile. “But… thanks. For trusting me with it.”

Her gaze softens. “Just bring it back in one piece,” she says. “You and the book.”

He huffs a small, genuine laugh at that, then shifts the volume under his arm, the edges of the old pages rough against his jacket.

“Deal.”

Y/N) hadn’t even realized she’d been flirting until he actually said yes. The simple word sent a quiet rush of happiness through her. She led him out from the stacks and over to the front desk, the old floor creaking softly beneath their steps. Because the book was restricted, she handled the checkout herself.

She took his library card, pretending that was the only way to learn his name. “So… Sam,” she said, letting the sound of it linger for a second, “you should be good to go. The book’s due back in two weeks.”

She handed the book back to him, and their fingers brushed—just an accidental touch, but enough to send a flicker of warmth up her arm.

It felt tingly. Maybe just goosebumps.

Sam smiled softly as he took the book from her. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I live nearby—I’ll probably have it done even sooner,” he said, his voice low and gentle. He gave her a little wave goodbye before turning toward the doors.

(Y/N) watched him go, a smile tugging at her lips and that strange warmth still buzzing under her skin.

Katlyn elbowed her the second he was out of earshot. “Dude, I help you get a hot guy and you don’t even get his number?”

(Y/N)’s cheeks burned as she struggled not to look back at the doors. “Shut up,” she muttered, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

What (Y/N) didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that Sam Winchester didn’t really live out of motels anymore.

The days of bouncing from one cheap room to another were mostly over. Now he had the Men of Letters bunker: a fully stocked, sprawling underground home with a library that could put most universities to shame.

Which only made one thing stranger.

If the bunker had everything… why had he needed a tiny town library at all?

Sam flipped the cover of the restricted book open with his thumb as he walked down the bunker’s hallway, the familiar hum of overhead lights buzzing softly above him. The place smelled like dust, old paper, and coffee left on the warmer too long.

He shouldn’t have needed this book. The bunker’s archive was massive. Lore, history, obscure supernatural footnotes—if it existed, there was probably a copy somewhere down here.

But when he’d gone looking for this exact title, there had been a gap on the shelf. No mis-shelved copy. No second edition. No alternate text. Just a space where it should’ve been.

So he’d gone to the town library.

And now, hours later, back in a place filled with more books than he could ever read in one lifetime… it wasn’t the pages he kept thinking about.

It was her.

Sam let the book rest on one of the war room tables, his fingers still hooked around the spine like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. He stared at the cover, but all he could see was the way she’d smiled when she said his name.

Sam. Like she was testing how it felt in her mouth.

He exhaled, annoyed at himself.

“Get it together,” he muttered under his breath.

He’d gone in for a reference text, not a crush.

She was just a librarian. Just a stranger who’d stamped a date on a slip and handed him a book.

So why did he remember the exact sound of her laugh when Katlyn teased her?

Why did he remember the way her fingers had brushed his when she passed him the book—just a second of contact, but enough to send a weird little spark up his arm?

He dropped into one of the chairs and flipped the book open, forcing his eyes onto the text.

Latin. Ritual notes. Marginalia.

None of it wanted to stick.

Instead, his mind kept replaying the bell over the library door, the quiet shuffle of her footsteps between the stacks, the way she’d tried to sound professional even though he could see the faint pink on her cheeks.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“She’s just a girl who checked you out a book,” he told himself. “That’s it.”

The argument felt flimsy even to his own ears.

Because deep down, Sam knew there had to be some reason the bunker—this impossible, endless archive—was missing this one book.

And for some reason why, out of every face he saw in passing, hers refused to fade from his mind.

(Y/N) yawned as she locked up the library for the night. Just seeing Sam had drained the last of her energy. She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open.

After saying goodbye, she trudged up the stairs to her apartment and went straight to bed.

Too tired to eat.

Too tired to change.

Too tired to notice the five silver daggers that had appeared, silently and impossibly, on her bedside table.

[drspencyreid]

Guardian Between Two Worlds:

Chapter One: Between Pages and Portals

Sam Winchester x reader

Word count: 3219

A/n: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your interest! This is the first chapter in the series! It took me a couple days because I was a bit busy with a couple things. I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Thank you!

It started off as a normal night—just her, her phone, and a bowl of popcorn. The room was dark, lit only by her phone’s screen. (Y/N) flicked a piece of popcorn toward her mouth; it missed and dropped onto the bed.

It was one of those nights when she couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t tired, even though the reason was right there in her hand: her phone, and the endless scroll through social media. The edits were getting way too good—especially the ones with Sam and Dean.

She hadn’t planned on becoming obsessed. One day, an edit slipped onto her feed, and something just clicked. After that, it was all she wanted to watch. Her favourite was Sam. Dean was gorgeous too, and his edits were works of art, but something about Sam made her heart stutter.

At first, she didn’t know much about him. Then she saw that one edit where some guy was trying to kill him, and Sam was so calm and clever that she had to know more. She searched him up and realized he was a smart, bookish nerd just like her. That sealed the deal. It didn’t help that he seemed like a complete sweetheart.

(Y/N) knew that once she fell into Supernatural, there was no getting out. She knew it was fictional, that Jared and Jensen were just incredible actors. Still, for once, she let herself wonder what it would be like… what it would be to live in a world where all mythological stories were true.

She sighs and forces herself to look away from her phone, finally coming back to reality—the reality of a brutal job market, a world where aggression is everywhere, where society keeps trying to force you into being someone you’re not.

Her eyes drift around her tiny apartment, barely bigger than her old college dorm. At least today, she doesn’t have to drag herself to that mind-numbing, minimum-wage shift at some no-name store in the mall. Instead, she thinks as she studies her phone, she’s finally going to start Supernatural and figure out what everyone online won’t shut up about.

(Y/N) smiled, tugging her blanket up around her shoulders as she unlocked her phone, only for the sudden glare of the screen to stab at her eyes.

Y/N winced as pain throbbed behind her eyes. “Ow… goddamn it, it always happens,” she muttered, rubbing them with the heels of her palms—then stilled. The blanket felt wrong.

This wasn’t her usual thin, cheap throw. The fabric under her fingers was thicker, heavier… padded?

“What the fuck…” she whispered, flinging it off. Spread across her legs was a huge, luxurious comforter, the kind that only came with those expensive bed sets. Her bed wasn’t big enough for that. Wait—her bed.

Her gaze snapped to the mattress, and her breath caught. Her narrow single bed was gone, replaced by a queen-sized bed with an ornate wooden frame, intricate designs carved into the headboard. Above it hung a framed painting—definitely not the band posters she used to have.

“What the fuck happened to my bed? Wait—MY APARTMENT!” she shouted, though her voice came out more like a strangled half-yell. The more she looked, the more wrong everything became. Her tiny studio had somehow turned into a massive place, and she was in a completely separate room. A separate bedroom.

Who would have thought she’d ever have something like this?

She scrambled out of bed, feet sinking into soft flooring as she turned in place, taking in the space. Her eyes landed on two tall bookshelves, both crammed with her favourite books—mythology and romance, every title she loved staring back at her.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, hurrying to the window. The world outside was just as unfamiliar as the room. Gone was her noisy city, the crowded streets and neon signs. Instead, a quiet, small town stretched out before her, one she had never seen in her life. She looked up at the sky, seeing a beautiful sunrise with nature in the background that she had never gotten to enjoy in her city.

“This has to be a dream, right…?” (Y/n) mutters, eyes darting around for any clue about what’s happening or where she is. She opens her bedroom door—and freezes. Instead of the cramped space she’s used to, there’s a huge, open living room connected to a gleaming kitchen.

This can’t be real, she thinks. Nobody making minimum wage could afford all this.

Her gaze lands on her purse, resting on the arm of the couch, exactly the way she remembers it. She snatches it up and sinks into the cushions. Damn, it’s comfy, she thinks, as she starts unloading everything.

Inside are her wallet, her keys, another set of keys labelled “Library,” and her phone. Only… It’s not her Samsung Flip anymore. It’s an iPhone 5c—the same model she had back in 2012.

“No way,” (Y/n) whispers. Did she go back to 2012? But why? Sure, it was economically better, but still—why?

“Wait… library?” she mutters, picking up the extra keys again. She looks around the apartment. There’s no library anywhere. So what are these for?

She puts that question aside and opens her wallet. Credit cards, gift cards, punch cards… and a driver’s license. She studies it closely. The photo is definitely her. Same birthday. Age: 29. Yeah, almost 30 with a minimum wage job—thanks for the reminder, universe.

Then she notices the city: Lebanon, Kansas.

So she’s in the US. In some town called Lebanon. Great.

She still has no idea what she’s supposed to do, but her stomach is starting to complain. She heads to the kitchen to make breakfast. Even without any sleep, she doesn’t feel tired at all. Maybe her body’s already adjusted to… wherever this is.

She looked around the kitchen, taking stock of everything. Simple pancakes seemed like the perfect choice for breakfast—who could go wrong with pancakes?

(Y/N) smiled when she realized the stove wasn’t broken and happily started to cook. If this was a dream, she definitely didn’t want to wake up. Once the pancakes were done, she plated them, drizzled on some syrup, added a handful of berries, and took a bite. Man, fresh ingredients really did make everything taste better.

She was in the middle of enjoying her breakfast when a knock sounded at the door. (Y/N) froze. She didn’t know anyone here, so who could that be? Setting her plate in the sink, she wiped her hands and went to answer it.

A young blonde woman stood on the other side, and somehow (Y/N) just knew her name was Bianca.

“(Y/N)! You’re awake! You know you have the library keys today. Why are you late?” Bianca asked.

(Y/N) could only blink. Late for what? She stared for a second before managing, “Sorry, Bianca. I had a weird dream and woke up late. Let me get dressed, and I’ll meet you downstairs. We can drive to the library together.”

Bianca blinked back at her. “(Y/N)… you literally live above the library. How are you late?” she laughed, teasing. “Alright, I’ll meet you downstairs. Hurry, we have to open up soon!” she called, waving as she headed down the stairs.

(Y/N) was stunned. She was a librarian—her dream job. Wait… did Bianca say she lives above the library?

She rushed to her room, rifling through her clothes until she found something decent to wear. She settled on black pants and a black long-sleeve shirt, adding a necklace and a few rings she’d found.

She grabbed her things, shoved them into her purse, and kept the library key in her hand as she hurried down the stairs—only to be greeted by the sight of a massive library below.

“Holy shit,” (Y/N) muttered to herself, convinced for a moment that she’d died and gone to heaven.

She quickly snapped out of it and fumbled through the key ring until she found the one that unlocked the door. Pushing it open, she stepped aside to let her coworkers file in—and that’s when she noticed there were three extra people.

Somehow, she already knew their names: Mary, Katelyn, and Mark.

They were easy to tell apart. Mary had brown hair and a slight tan. Katelyn was Korean—(Y/N) didn’t know how she remembered that, but she did. And Mark was the only guy in the group, which made him impossible to miss.

As (Y/N) looked around, everything felt strangely familiar, like she already knew where everything was before she’d even seen it. Her feet seemed to move on their own, carrying her straight to her desk. She sat down, logged in, woke up her monitors, and checked to see if any books had been handed in the night before.

The system loaded slowly, the progress bar crawling like it was mocking her. While she waited, she glanced around the library. Rows of shelves stretched out in every direction, the kind of organized chaos she should have been used to by now.

But today it all felt… off. Too sharp, too vivid, like she was standing inside someone else’s life.

This has to be a dream, she thought. Or I hit my head way harder than I remember.

“So, you look weird,” a voice said from behind her.

(Y/N) turned to see Mary leaning against the edge of her desk, a stack of returned books in her arms and an easy smile on her face.

“I always look weird,” (Y/N) said automatically.

Mary huffed a laugh. “Yeah, but today you look, like, ‘I woke up in a parallel universe’ weird.” She set the books down and squinted at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… tired,” (Y/N) lied. “Feels like everything’s hitting me in HD.”

“Well, welcome to another thrilling morning at the library,” Mary said, tapping the monitor lightly. “You’re on returns, same as usual. Scan these in, check the overnight drop, and if anything’s on hold, throw it on that cart. After that, Mark’ll probably steal you for shelving.”

“Right. Got it,” (Y/N) said, even though the routine sounded like someone reading her own life back to her.

Mary drifted away toward the front desk. (Y/N) picked up the first book and scanned it in. The beep of the scanner echoed in the quiet space, oddly grounding. A few more beeps, a few more titles logged, and the motions slipped back into her hands like muscle memory.

If she focused only on the work, she could almost pretend everything was normal.

“Morning,” someone said softly from her left.

Katelyn slid a chair over, dropping into it like she did this every day—because she did. “You sure you’re okay? You walked past me earlier and didn’t even say hi. That’s, like, against the rules.”

“Sorry,” (Y/N) said. “My brain’s lagging.”

Katelyn studied her for a second. “You remember we’ve got that school group this afternoon, right? The loud one.” She gestured vaguely to the stacks. “Place is gonna go from ‘peaceful temple of knowledge’ to ‘screaming chaos’ in about six hours.”

“School group. Right.” The words clicked into place a beat late, like she was catching up to a script she was supposed to know. “Do we usually set up in the reading corner?”

Katelyn’s brows rose. “Yeah… like we always do.” Her tone wasn’t mean, just careful. “Did you not sleep or something?”

“Something like that,” (Y/N) muttered.

Katelyn leaned closer, lowering her voice. “If you’re sick, you should tell Mark. He’ll cover for you. He pretends he’s an asshole, but he actually cares.”

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) insisted. “Just… things feel weird today. Like… déjà vu, but backwards.”

Katelyn snorted. “That’s incredibly vague and mysterious of you, but okay.” She nudged one of the book stacks closer. “Anyway, system’s the same as always. Returns, holds, then shelving. Nothing here ever changes.”

Except it feels like it did, (Y/N) thought.

A few minutes later, Mark appeared, pushing an empty cart, his lanyard swinging with every step. “You almost done with those?” he asked, nodding at the returns.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) said, finishing the last scan and stacking the books neatly. “Same shelving sections as… always, right?”

Mark gave her a look. “Unless somebody rearranged the entire building overnight and didn’t tell me.” He smirked. “Come on. Let’s go pretend the Dewey Decimal System makes sense.”

She followed him between the shelves; the air was cooler and quieter back there. Mark moved on autopilot, turning down familiar aisles. He didn’t bother explaining where anything was—he didn’t need to. She’d done this with him a hundred times.

And yet, as he stopped in front of the fiction section, (Y/N) felt the same strange split in her head. One half knew exactly what to do. The other whispered that she’d never seen any of this before.

“Romance and mystery along this stretch, fantasy and sci-fi further down,” Mark said anyway, out of habit. “You know the drill.”

He slid the first book into place without even looking up. (Y/N) followed, her hand moving straight to the correct shelf. She didn’t read the labels. She just… knew.

Mark paused. “Show-off,” he said lightly. “You shelve faster than anyone here.”

“Guess I’ve had practice,” (Y/N) answered, but the words tasted strange.

They moved down the aisle together, putting books back in their homes. The repetition was soothing, the kind of mindless work that usually let her zone out.

Today, it only made her more aware of how wrong everything felt.

“Is it just me,” she asked quietly, “or does today feel… different?”

Mark shrugged one shoulder. “Different how?”

“I don’t know. Like someone turned the volume up on reality.” She hesitated. “Like I’ve been here a million times and also never at all.”

He glanced at her, expression unreadable. “You’re not gonna bail on us, are you?” he said, half joking. “Because I am not training another new person. Ever.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” (Y/N) said quickly. The conviction in her own voice surprised her. “I just… feel like I woke up in my own life and it doesn’t quite fit.”

Mark hummed thoughtfully, then nodded toward the next cart. “Well, dream or not, these books still need to go back. So if the universe is glitching, it picked a really boring backdrop.”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and grabbed another stack.

As they turned into the next aisle, she reached out without thinking and slid a fantasy novel into the exact right spot on the third shelf from the bottom, second section down.

She hadn’t even looked at the numbers.

If this is a dream, she thought, why do my hands remember more than my head does?

The day had gone smoothly so far. The class was noisy as hell, but she’d always been good with kids; she managed to calm them down and even teach them a lot about the library.

All day, she helped everyone who came in with whatever they needed. (Y/N) didn’t even realize she’d been smiling nonstop until closing time, when her jaw finally started to ache.

As the last patron left and the doors clicked shut, you started cleaning up—pushing chairs back in, stacking stray books on a cart, and erasing doodles from the whiteboard. The library felt softer now, quieter, the noise of the day fading into a warm kind of silence.

“Long day?” Katlyn asked as she wiped down the front desk.

“Busy,” she answered with a small laugh, setting a pile of storybooks back on their shelf. “But… in a good way.”

Mary rolled over with the book cart, nudging your shoulder lightly. “You’ve been smiling like that all day. Something happened that we should know about?”

From one of the aisles, Bianca called out, “Yeah, seriously. I thought your face was going to get stuck like that.” Her teasing tone made you snort.

Mark appeared from behind a stack, arms full of returns. “Leave her alone,” he said, though he was grinning too. “If she’s actually having a good day here, we should probably not scare it off.”

(Y/N) paused for a second, fingers trailing along the spines of the books before tucking one last volume into its place.

“I don’t know,” (Y/N)  said honestly. “Everything just… went right today. The kids listened, no one threw a tantrum, and I actually finished everything on time.” (Y/N) looked around at the quiet, tidy library and felt your chest tighten with a strange, glowing kind of happiness. “If this is a dream…” She smiled to herself, almost embarrassed by how soft your voice sounded. “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

Katlyn, Mary, Bianca, and Mark exchanged looks and laughed gently.

“Then let’s hope tomorrow’s the sequel,” Mark said, flicking off the last set of lights as you all headed for the door, the leftover warmth of the day still wrapped around you like a promise.

(Y/N) smiled once again as she waved goodbye to everyone and locked the library door. She turned and made her way back up the stairs to her apartment. Using her keys, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Seeing the familiar living room, she gently set her purse down, took out her phone, and headed to her bedroom. She plugged her phone in to charge, then took a quick shower before changing into her pyjamas. Finally, she lay down on her giant bed, glancing around the room as she muttered to herself,

“If this is a dream, I hope I can dream it again,” she whispered, closing her eyes and drifting back into slumber.

The sound of her alarm clock jolted (Y/N) awake. She groaned, bracing herself to see her crappy, cramped apartment—only to open her eyes and realize she was still in 2012.

“Shit,” (Y/N) muttered as she sat up. She scanned the room, heart pounding, then began to pace.

“Okay, (Y/N)… you’re trapped in 2012, in a town you don’t know… but you have your dream job, good coworkers, and, judging by this apartment, maybe decent pay. You’re okay. Everything should be fine.” She repeated the words under her breath as she got dressed, made breakfast, and headed downstairs. Right on time, she unlocked the library doors and started her shift.

What she didn’t realize was that she was about to have the greatest time of her life. She chatted with everyone who came into the library, made new friends easily, and settled into a rhythm that felt almost perfect. She couldn’t have been happier.

She lost track of how much time had passed—maybe a couple of months—but by then she had her routine down and knew everyone better. She couldn’t wish for a better life, and she honestly believed nothing could go wrong.

Then, one day, she was at her desk as usual when the bell over the door chimed. She smiled, ready to greet the new patron—until she looked up and froze.

The man who walked in was none other than Sam Winchester, in his signature outfit.

Holy crap, (Y/N) thought.

She wasn’t just trapped in 2012.

She was trapped in the world of Supernatural.

Chapter 2 will come soon hopefully

[drspencyreid]

Hello! My first post on Tumblr. I was wondering if people would be interested in a Sam Winchester fanfic i had I mind. This would be the plot:

A girl (reader) who’s never actually watched Supernatural suddenly wakes up in a world that isn’t hers — living in a quiet apartment above a library as a librarian, her dream job. Though the life feels unfamiliar at first, months pass and she slowly settles into it.

Until a nervous man named Sam Winchester walks into the restricted section looking for interesting books.

After helping him, she wakes the next morning surrounded by silver daggers she can control with her mind — and glowing violet eyes that appear whenever she uses them.

Thrown into a world of monsters and hunters she barely understands, she begins uncovering a terrifying truth: her soul in this world wasn’t natural.

It was created for one purpose.

To protect someone.

What do you think? This is something I thought about. Thinking title would be

Violet Eyes & Silver Blades

Or

The Guardian Between Worlds

Would you be interested?

Yes

No

Voting ended onMay 17

Also comment which title you prefer!

Or suggestions!