Summary: The boys have a surprise for Y/N that they hope will show how deeply they love and care for her.
Pairings: Reader x SPN Cast
Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, reluctance to accept help and gifts, mild panic, fluff, ALL of the fluff.
Word Count: 1.6k
Author’s Note: This is the second and, what I had planned to be, last chapter of a mini series, but writing all of this fluff has been a nice distraction from the real world. If there is any interest, I’d gladly consider writing more.
Part I
At nearly six months pregnant, exhaustion took on a whole new meaning. The ten to twelve hour work days you once conquered with ease now left you completely drained and lethargic. You were lying on the sofa in your trailer, contemplating how you used to manage a night out after filming, when a small slip of paper caught your eye.
You sat up, reaching toward the coffee table with some effort, and quickly recognized the handwriting.
Meet me in my trailer. - Jare
While walking across the lot, you contemplated Jared’s note. You weren’t sure of the reason for his note, but your mind had wandered to the point that you began silently praying the boys had enough common sense not to prank a woman approaching her third trimester.
Jared must have been watching for you, because his door swung open before you reached the trailer’s steps.
“Y/N/N!” Jared beamed, ushering you into the small living space where Jensen, Misha, Alex, Rob, and Rich were eagerly awaiting your arrival.
“It smells like trouble in here.” you cautioned, leery of the knowing smiles plastered on their faces.
Misha stepped forward and took both of your hands in his.
“You know we all love you, right?”
“Yes.” You squinted at him suspiciously. “What is this, an intervention?”
“No.” Misha laughed. “We’re so excited for you, Y/N/N, but we also know how much goes into raising a baby.”
“It’s exhausting.” Rob concurred from the sofa.
“They take all of your time and energy.” Rich agreed.
Misha saw a tinge of fear flash across your face.
“We’re not trying to scare you,” he soothed, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands, “We just know that you have a hard time asking for help, even when you really need it.”
“And you’re gonna really need it.” Jensen stressed.
“We weren’t kidding when we said you don’t have to do this alone.” Jared added. “We want to be with you, every step of the way.”
“And we’ve put something together to show you how serious we are.” Rich announced, proudly handing you a small scroll that was neatly tied with a thick, white ribbon.
You loosened the bow, unfurled the ivory card stock, and read the cursive heading.
“This is a binding contract, for all who have signed, detailing the ways in which we plan to care for and love Y/N and Baby Y/L/N.”
You looked up in disbelief, finding Rich’s kind expression, and he nodded for you to continue reading.
“Alex: Date Night.”
Alex stood and walked toward you.
“What are your two favorite things?” he quizzed, already knowing your answer.
“Good food, great company.” Your reply was skeptical, but a small smile tugged at your lips upon hearing everyone recite your mantra in unison.
“Now, I don’t know if I’m considered great company,” Alex quipped, trading the scroll for a small booklet, “but I can promise good food.”
You thumbed through the pages Alex handed you and noticed each one listed the name of a restaurant you had mentioned wanting to try.
“I will be waiting at your trailer, every Friday after work, until we’ve eaten our way through Vancouver.”
“This is too much.” you shook your head.
Unsure of how to accept his kindness, your gaze fell to the floor. Alex immediately dipped his head to catch your eyes.
“I know what you're thinking,” he whispered, “and you’re wrong; you deserve to have some fun.”
Alex watched you fiddle with the booklet for a moment before offering some extra reinforcement.
“It’s either dinner out or eating in, and I really don’t want to make you or the baby suffer through my cooking.”
His threat elicited a surprised laugh, and you leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
“Thanks, Alex.”
“See you Friday night?” he confirmed.
“It’s a date.”
Alex handed back the scroll, and you read the next name.
“Rich: Cravings.” You tilted your head to the side and crinkled your brow. “You all think I’m food obsessed, don’t you?”
Everyone laughed, as Rich took Alex’s place in front of you.
“This” he said, handing you a prepaid cell phone while holding up one of his own, “Is your designated snack line. Any time you have a craving, you just call or text, and I’ll be there!”
“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” you giggled, taking the phone. “I’ve already gone through three watermelons this week.”
“It’s only Tuesday!” Rich exclaimed. “That’s one watermelon a day!”
“This baby knows what they want.” you proclaimed, rubbing your belly.
“I’m serious,” Rich affirmed, his face softening with sincerity, “If you need ice cream at three o’clock in the morning, I’m your man.”
“Promise not to judge me when the requests start getting crazy?”
“Honey, you should hear some of the things Jaci ate while she was pregnant. I’ve seen it all.”
“Thank you, Rich.” You grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Who’s next?” Jensen prompted.
“Rob: Lullabies.”
You looked up to find Rob fishing for something in his backpack.
“When she was especially fussy, music was the only thing that would get Audrey to sleep.”
Rob found what he was looking for and pulled out a CD case.
“Louden Swain is putting together an album of lullabies for Baby Y/L/N, and we’ve already recorded one song.” he said, handing you the demo. “I hope you like it.”
You held the case to your heart.
“I’ll love it. The baby will love it.” You lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Thank you, Rob!”
“We’re having another session next weekend, and we’d love for you to come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
You set the CD on the counter and picked up the scroll.
“Misha: Crib.”
Misha reached out his hand, and you settled your palm against his.
“That night after you told us you were pregnant, I couldn’t sleep, so I went out to my woodshop, and eight hours later, I had this.” Misha slid his phone across the counter, revealing a photo of an ornately carved railing rung. He swiped his finger over the screen, and a dark wood headboard appeared.
“It still needs a lot of work, but it will definitely be ready by the time the little one gets here.”
“Misha,” you breathed, your eyes filling with tears, “It’s the most beautiful crib I’ve ever seen.”
Misha stood and gathered you in his arms.
“I love you, Y/N.”
“I love you, too.”
“Hey! There are other people here who love her!” Jensen joked impatiently, when you lingered in Misha’s embrace.
“Let me guess.” you teased. “You’re next?”
Jensen gave a playful shrug, and you rolled your eyes. You sent Misha back to his chair and found Jensen’s name on the scroll.
“Jensen: Classes.”
You looked at him quizzically.
“When Danneel was pregnant with JJ and the twins, she always felt more at ease when she was prepared, so we went to every class imaginable: delivery classes, breastfeeding classes, parenting classes…“ Jensen stopped suddenly, when he saw that you’d started wringing your hands.
"Y/N/N, what’s wrong?”
“Those types of classes never even crossed my mind.” You spoke quietly, as if you were merely thinking out loud, but your voice was dripping with panic.
“I’m already not doing enough. What else am I not thinking of?”
“Hey, slow down.” Jensen pulled you into his chest and cradled your head. He rubbed your back and stroked your hair while exchanging concerned glances with the group.
“I’m going to be a terrible mother.” you mumbled into Jensen’s shirt.
Jensen kissed your temple and leaned back to look at you.
“You are not going to be a terrible mother.” His voice was warm and reassuring.
Jensen brushed the hair away from your face and let out a soft chuckle.
“What are you laughing at?” you questioned, suddenly very self conscious about your hormone-induced overreaction.
“I caused the panic I was trying to prevent.” Jensen explained.
“Before she had JJ, Danneel and I were out to dinner with a couple who were also expecting their first baby. They mentioned an infant CPR course, and Dee lost it in the middle of the restaurant. She said the exact same things you just did.”
“But Dee’s a great mother.”
“And you will be too. I promise.”
Jensen’s hand found the side of your face, and you leaned into his touch.
“Thank you, Jensen.”
Jared cleared his throat behind you.
“I hate to ruin a moment, but there’s one more person on that list.”
When you turned, Jared winked, and you said his name before even picking up the scroll.
“Jared:” you skimmed down to the last line of the page, “Doctors’ Appointments.”
Your eyes widened in anticipation.
“Starting now, you are not going to a single doctor’s appointment by yourself.”
“But there are so many.” you objected, your independent nature getting the better of you.
“There are,” Jared conceded, “and I don’t want you going to any of them alone.”
You stood in silence, stunned at his generosity.
“Y/N/N, if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to go in with you, but I am at least going to drive you and wait for you until the appointment is over.”
“I…” you tried to order words in a way that would accurately expressed your gratitude, but language failed to give meaning to the love and appreciation swelling in your heart.
“I don’t know how to thank you.” You turned to the group, “All of you.”
“You can thank us by not putting up a fight when we offer to help you.” Jared’s tone was loving but firm.
“Deal.” you agreed.
You looked around the room at all of your friends and were overcome with emotion.
“I was right to think this baby won’t have a father.” you paused. “They’ll have six.”
Summary: Y/N is an actress on Supernatural. After becoming pregnant, her boyfriend leaves her, not wanting anything to do with the baby. Unsure of what the future holds, her male co-stars show her that she’s not alone.
Author’s Note: I only have two parts of this story written, and unless it gets major traction, I’m not sure I’ll be writing more. I didn’t want to be a tease and leave y’all hanging, but those who’ve responded said they don’t care and would like to read anyway. Let me know if I should keep going!
Filming had only resumed one week ago, and you were already having difficulty hiding your pregnancy. Hiatus had come at the perfect time, right when you were really starting to show, but now that you were in your fifth month, loose sweaters and baggy shirts were no longer able to conceal your constantly expanding stomach. You had told wardrobe and the show’s producers, but the life growing inside of you was still a secret to most of the cast and crew.
It had been a hectic day on set, and you were beyond grateful when Bob called for lunch. You saw some of the guys head into Jensen’s trailer and figured now was as good a time as any to tell them you were expecting. Before you could lose the gumption, you marched up to the door, pausing only briefly before knocking.
“Hey, Y/N/N!” Jensen smiled as he opened the door and stepped aside for you to come in. A loud roar of laughter filled the air.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Not at all!” Jensen picked up his plate and pulled out the chair he had been using. “Have a seat.”
Along with the featured cast, many guest actors were in town to shoot a special episode. Jared and Misha were sitting at the kitchenette table with Rob while Alex and Rich enjoyed their lunch on the sofa.
“I think I’ll stand. Thanks, though, Jay.” The palpable apprehension coursing through you was in stark contrast to the lighthearted atmosphere in Jensen’s trailer, and your mood didn’t go unnoticed.
“Everything okay, Y/N?” Misha asked. Before the break, most of the cast had noticed and even discussed your unusually reserved and distant nature. Misha wondered if your current trepidation had anything to do with your pre-hiatus behavior.
“Yes.” You answered with uncertainty.
You had shared your pregnancy with some of the women in the cast earlier that week, and while their support and advice had been immensely heartening, it was emotionally exhausting going over your story again and again. You thought it’d be easier telling all the guys at once. Now, as your eyes scanned the room, you grew increasingly anxious seeing everyone’s attention on you. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
“I have some news to share.” you said hesitantly.
“Good news, I hope?” Rob cautioned, his voice full of anticipation.
“Great news, actually.” You took a deep breath, uncrossed your arms, and opened your sweatshirt. “I’m pregnant.”
You smiled tentatively, not knowing how everyone would take the news. After what felt like ages, Alex stood to place a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“Congratulations, Y/N/N!” He beamed, kissing you on the cheek.
Rob and Rich were close behind, both of them pulling you into a warm hug.
“How far along are you?” Rob smiled as he leaned out of the embrace. He held you at arm’s length, taking in the sight of your bump.
“I’m just over five months along.”
“You look great!” Rich exclaimed.
“You really do.” Rob affirmed, giving your shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “I’m amazed you were able to hide this from us for so long. Now that I know, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!”
“The ladies in wardrobe were very helpful.” You smiled coyly.
You were relieved that Rob, Rich, and Alex seemed genuinely happy, but you couldn’t shake the deafening silence radiating from the table behind you.
Jared, Jensen, and Misha still hadn’t said anything, so you turned to face them. When your eyes met theirs you could see their shock. They were the big brothers you never had, and you told each other everything. The most painful part of keeping your pregnancy a secret was lying to the three of them, but you had to process your own feelings before telling everyone else. You never imagined you’d find yourself alone and pregnant. In an instant, you went from being a responsible twenty-something who made all of the right decisions to a statistic mothers tell their daughters to scare them into abstinence. It had taken you months to come to terms with your new future. You had no idea how the boys would react.
“Do you know who the father is?” Jared questioned, breaking through the nervous silence.
“Jare.” Jensen chastised, reaching over and smacking Jared upside the head.
“It’s okay.” You flashed them both a soft smile, trying to ease some of the tension. You knew Jared didn’t mean any harm; it was a legitimate question that came from a place of sincere curiosity and not of judgment or ridicule. You hadn’t mentioned to them that you’d been seeing someone for a few months prior to getting pregnant. Your male cast mates tended to be a little too overprotective in the boyfriend department, so you didn’t usually go out of your way to share stories about your dating life.
“I do.” you confirmed.
“Does he know?” Jared followed up.
“Now that deserves a hit.” you joked, raising your eyebrows and nodding your head toward Jared. As if rehearsed, Jensen brought his hand down across the back of Jared’s head, ruffling his hair in the process.
Everyone snickered, but their laughter quickly faded when they noticed your somber expression.
“He said he isn’t ready to be a father,” your hands instinctively moved to your stomach, “and he doesn’t want any part of this.”
“Y/N, I didn’t…”
“It’s okay, Jare.” you assured, cutting his apology short. Your heart fell at the sight of his sheepish face. The looks of pity you received when telling your story never got easier.
Jensen walked over and placed a hand on the small of your back. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Are you okay?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.
“I am.” Jensen looked at you suspiciously. “Really, I am.”
Your response was truthful. Life circumstances had taught to be strong and capable, and while you knew it would be the greatest challenge you ever faced, you felt prepared to handle life as a single mother. You were built for it.
After a moment of contemplation, you let out a deep sigh. “I just feel bad this little one won’t have a father.”
Your voice was almost a whisper, but everyone in the room heard your concern. A shadow of sadness cast over their faces, each of their hearts quietly breaking at the thought of you and your baby on your own.
“Y/N, you don’t have to do this alone.” Misha reached across the table and took your hand in his. “I will always be here for you.” His blue eyes were full of kindness.
“We will always be here for you.” Jared emphasized, standing to pull you into a hug.
Their sentiments were beyond touching, but you knew the inordinate amount of work that went into raising a baby, and it was a responsibility you had come to accept alone. You were never one to burden others with your needs, and all of these men had their own families. The last thing you wanted was to interject into their already busy lives.
Not wanting to fight their well intentions, you simply said “Thank you,” and leaned further into Jared’s comforting embrace.
The second you closed the trailer door behind you, everyone let out an audible sigh.
“That explains a lot.” Alex said.
“I’m really worried about her.” Rob confessed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Me too,” Jensen agreed, “She has such a hard time asking for help, and she’s definitely going to need it.”
“We have to show her we’re serious about being there for her and being a part of this baby’s life.” Misha asserted.
A broad smile spread across Rich’s face, and he stood up from the sofa.
Hii im going around to some of my fav writers and asking for advice on where to start on writing fics. Ilyyy💜💜
What a sweet honor! Thank you for reading my work and for your question!
Writing can be very fulfilling but also daunting. I think a great place to start (even if you are a seasoned writer) is to think of a recent or recurring dream, fantasy, or musing and put it to paper. Really expand on the setting as you see it in your mind as well as the feelings you have toward the scene. Go into as much detail as your imagination will allow. Don't worry about grammar or linguistics, just get it down on the page, and you can make edits later. This is a great way to practice world building, and a fun way to see what is currently inspiring you.
After some practice you'll find your style and you'll also find the ideal environment in which you like to write. For me, I like to listen to ambient or lofi music, and I write best at a desk in the evenings. You might prefer a coffee shop, library, or snuggled on the couch.
The most important advice I can give is to enjoy the process! If you're writing a story that no longer serves you or feels monotonous, ditch it. You're not beholden to publishers and deadlines, you're writing for fun!
I hope this is helpful, and I cannot wait to read your work! Please tag me in your stories! <3
Is it a total tease to post a series that only has two completed parts that I might never get around to finishing, or do y’all not care and want to read it anyway?
Summary: Y/N is an actress on Supernatural. After becoming pregnant, her boyfriend leaves her, not wanting anything to do with the baby. Unsure of what the future holds, her male co-stars show her that she’s not alone.
Summary: Dean takes care of the reader after a bad hunt.
Pairings: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Injury; hurt/comfort; anxiety
Word Count: <1K
Author’s Note: It’s been a long few months; I wrote this mostly for myself, but I hope you all can enjoy it too!
Dean took off his clothes before reaching into the shower. He turned on the water, and once he was satisfied with the temperature, moved to stand in front of you.
There were no words spoken as Dean gingerly unbuttoned your flannel, which was sodden with dirt and blood. The hunt had taken something from everyone, but you suffered the brunt end of a plan gone wrong. Now, your entire body ached and your mind stung like an exposed nerve.
Dean’s eyes settled on your face as he gathered the fabric and slid the shirt past your shoulders. Moving his fingers gently under your second layer, his palms grazed your stomach. You winced as you raised your arms and Dean’s heart tensed at the sight of your pain. He unclasped your bra, hooking his fingers under the straps, careful to avoid your injuries as he slid the stained lingerie down your arms.
After undressing you, he placed his hand in the small of your back and led you to the shower. You stepped in, and the water felt sharp, biting the many cuts and bruises covering your body. The painful sensation combined with your waning adrenaline sent your emotions into overdrive, and you felt tears begin to mix with the warm water.
Dean took your face in his hands and placed tender kisses at the corners of your eyes, on each cheek, and finally your lips. You met his gaze and saw in him all the comfort you’ve ever needed. Cradling your head, Dean stepped into you, and you buried your face in his chest. A strong arm wrapped around your back and pulled you close. Tears still fell, but you allowed yourself to relax into him.
You felt Dean reach behind you and the scent of your favorite soap slowly filled the shower as he lathered a washcloth. He delicately dragged the sudsy clouds across your body. Dean had bathed you in the past, but it was always sensual, pleasurable. His movements were still filled with affection, but he was hesitant, distracted by the defeat etched on your face and the fear that caused you to tremble. Desperate to alleviate your pain, Dean began to pray. As his large hands continued to clean you, he silently prayed that your anxiety and doubt would be erased. He prayed for forgiveness for not being able to protect you. He prayed that the years of trauma incurred by hunting would be sent down the drain with the dirty water. He prayed for healing. It’s unclear if his prayers were answered immediately or if you had simply acclimated to the rhythm of the water, but Dean could feel your muscles begin to release their tension.
Finishing, Dean kissed your neck and placed two strong hands on your shoulders. He turned you away from him, and having adjusted to the pressure, you let the stream of warm water hit your chest and cascade down your body. You heard Dean uncap a bottle before his long fingers worked their way through your hair. The sensation of having your scalp massaged so lovingly allowed you to release the breath you’d been holding long after everyone had reached safety. You took the opportunity to inhale slowly, basking in the sandalwood musk of Dean’s shampoo. He detached the showerhead to rinse you before making quick work of cleaning himself.
When the water began to lose some of its heat, Dean turned off the faucet, reached outside the curtain, and pulled a towel off the wall. He dried you before wrapping the towel under your arms. You held the fluffy fabric against your body while Dean grabbed a second towel. This one he used to dry your hair before wrapping it around his waist.
“Stay here,” he whispered, kissing your temple, “I’ll be right back.”
Your body felt like taffy, and you focused on grounding yourself in the lingering warmth of the shower. Dean returned moments later with your coziest pajama bottoms and one of his favorite t-shirts.
He helped you slip into the clothes before seating you in front of your vanity. He took out a brush and gently combed your hair. Running a hand over your head after each stroke. Dean then disinfected and bandaged your wounds. All of this with a towel still around his waist, wanting to make sure that you were cared for and comfortable before letting himself get dressed.
Dean planted a sweet kiss on the crown of your head before bending down to pick you up. He carried you to bed, tucking you in before moving toward his dresser. He slipped into a pair of boxers and ruffled his hair with the towel from his waist. As you let yourself sink into the soft mountain of pillows, Dean retreated back into the bathroom to hang up the towels before joining you in bed.
The mattress dipped as Dean climbed in, and you allowed yourself to fall toward him. Dean slipped an arm around you and you laid your head on his chest. He pulled the blankets over both of you and wrapped his free hand around your waist, pulling you into him. You took another intentional breath, and attempted to release some of the day with a long exhale. Dean kissed your forehead and you closed your eyes. No matter how treacherous this life could be, you were eternally thankful to always have a home in the arms of Dean Winchester.
Request: Can you write a fic where she falls down the stairs please? Like really clumsy, can hunt like a badass but still falls over her own two feet? - Anonymous
Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader
Warnings: Small injury; angsty Dean; fluffy Dean; fluffy Sam; the gang’s all here!
Word Count: 1.2k
Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, Nonnie! I had a hard time wrapping this one up, so my apologies for the disgustingly saccharine, after school special ending.
The drive back to the bunker was spent in silence, save for the frustrated grunts and sighs Dean let out every few minutes. It had been a long day. Breaking up the vamp nest hadn’t gone as planned with the leader fleeing before you were able to get the answers you needed. Dean was always agitated after an unsuccessful hunt, but he was never this theatrical with his disappointment. You had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that it was also his birthday.
“At least this hunt was close to home,” you said, trying to infuse some positivity, “We’ll be back at the bunker in no time!”
Dean scoffed at your platitude.
“We’ll be able to track them down again,” you assured, “and we know they won’t be feeding for a while.”
You could almost feel Dean gritting his teeth.
“We killed over half the nest!”
“You killed over half the nest,” Sam corrected, “you were great today, Y/N.”
He turned to face you, but his smile quickly faded when he saw your somber expression. You were clearly trying to lift Dean’s spirits, and he wouldn’t even acknowledge you. Sam turned to his brother and cleared his throat, hoping to send the message that Dean needed to cool it. Dean ignored Sam and kept his angry gaze fixed on the road.
“I made pie.” you whispered earnestly.
Your last attempt at finding a silver lining struck a chord, and you saw a smile tug at Dean’s lips. His face hardened when your eyes met in the rear view mirror, but the second he thought you weren’t looking anymore, he allowed the smirk to slide back on his face.
“Think you can take me?” you taunted, excitedly shuffling around Dean as he unloaded the Impala.
“Probably.” he spouted sarcastically.
“Bring it.”
“Y/N,” he closed the trunk, leaning on it for support, “it’s been a long day. All I want right now is a hot shower and a piece of pie.”
“But I’ve gotta work off all this adrenaline from the hunt!”
“Maybe tomorrow.” he offered, patting your shoulder.
“Oh.” you wallowed, feigning disappointment. “I see how it is.”
“Y/N/N…”
You could tell Dean felt badly by his tone of voice, and you leaned into his sympathy. After 3 years together, you knew exactly what buttons to push in order to get what you wanted.
“No, no. I get it. You’re just afraid of getting beat by a girl.”
Dean let out a submissive laugh and tossed his jacket to the ground before taking up a fighting stance.
“Okay, let’s go!”
Dean had trained you well, and your sparring was always playful; you never held back, but he was unfailingly careful with you.
Fists clenched, shoulders squared, knees slightly bent. Dean’s right hook narrowly missed your left cheek. Chin tucked, elbows down, eyes on your opponent. He lunged again, stumbling forward as you ducked beneath his punch.
He laughed at your intense concentration, which only spurred you on.
In one swift movement, you crouched and swept your foot behind Dean’s legs, successfully knocking him to the ground.
Your triumph was short lived, though, as Dean pulled you down with him. You landed on his chest, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, rolling over and pinning you to the ground. You immediately went limp.
“Y/N/N?” Dean lightly shook your shoulders, his amusement turning to fear. “Y/N!”
When you didn’t respond, he leaned into you, hovering his ear over your mouth to check your breathing. Once he was close enough, you curled your legs, hooked your feet on his hips, and pushed him over.
“Ah-ha!” you straddled him. “I win!”
“Dammit, Y/N! You scared the shit outta me.”
“That move works every time.”
You stood first, reaching out a hand to Dean.
“One of these days you’ll actually be dead, and I’m gonna think you’re faking.”
“Oh, please.” you rolled your eyes, dusting the dirt off his flannel. “You’ll always make sure I’m okay.”
Dean shook his head and smiled, knowing you were right.
“C’mon.” you grabbed his bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Let’s get you some pie.”
Summary: Dean is there to comfort his little sister after she suffers a fatal injury while hunting.
Pairings: Dean x Sister!Reader; Sam x Sister!Reader
Warnings: Angst; hurt/comfort; whump; death
Word Count: 1.3k
Author’s Note: Requested from anonymous many moons ago.
Dean. He was running toward you, screaming your name. You couldn’t comprehend his urgency; the leviathan were dead, the fight was over.
It all happened so quickly. You walked into a battle already underway. A small group of hunters also trailing the levis were first to arrive at the hideout, complicating an already dicey hunt. At the sight of their chaotic fighting, it became immediately clear that none of them had the tact or skill of a Winchester. Your brothers took action, causing two of the chompers to flee. Dean tossed one of the rookie hunters a sack of crude borax bombs and instructed them to capture the runaways. Sam crossed the warehouse, distracting one of the remaining leviathan. Dean took advantage of his brother’s diversion, driving the righteous, blood soaked bone he brandished deep into her skull.
On the other side of the abandoned stockroom, you were taking a beating from the last leviathan. He had been momentarily stunned by the bottle of borax you smashed over him, but his resiliency was remarkable. Almost immediately regaining his composure, he flung you into a pile of scrap metal. You scrambled to your feet, unsheathing your knife in the process. He made quick work of disarming you before effortlessly pinning you against a steel support beam. You winced, preparing for the worst, when suddenly, he retreated. Your eyes opened to find Sam impaling him with the bone several yards away.
High off the action, your entire body pulsed with energy. Or was it throbbing? Normally, the adrenaline of a hunt didn’t make you this… this… what was this feeling? You heard Dean shout your name again. Why did he sound so strange? A warmth spread across your stomach, and you looked down to find a mess of red. Blood? Your blood. Soaking your clothes and pooling at your feet. Bewilderment washed over you as your fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade.
Just as Dean reached your side, your legs buckled. He braced your fall and carefully lowered you to the ground.
"Sammy!" Your eldest brother’s voice was gruff and full of urgency.
Consumed with killing the leviathan, Sam had been unaware of the commotion behind him. When he turned to see you bleeding in Dean’s arms, Sam shot up and sprinted toward you. He landed hard on his knees in front of Dean.
"Just the knife?" Sam’s eyes darted rapidly up and down your trembling form, trying to assess the damage.
Not wanting to speak the words, Dean nodded, his expression telling Sam the severity of your injuries.
“The car’s too far.” Dean thought aloud.
Sam wrestled with his next move. He didn’t want to leave you. He knew your chances of surviving were slim. He heard it in Dean’s tone. He saw it on your bloodstained clothes. Still, if there was even the slightest chance of saving you, he had to try.
“I’ll see if I can catch up with the other hunters.”
Both men knew it wouldn’t be enough, but it was the best Sam had to offer. Dean nodded reluctantly.
As your brothers’ muffled voices became more clear, so did your reality. The once dull pressure was now a searing pain. Your body screamed and your face contorted.
"Y/N, look at me.” Your eyes, wide with fear and confusion, found Sam’s. "You're gonna be okay. I’m going to get help.”
Sam leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back, Y/N/N. I promise.”
Through a large, broken window, Dean watched Sam tear across the field and into the nearby woods. When he glanced back at you in his arms, your eyes were closed.
"Y/N, you gotta stay awake." Dean gently shook you until your gaze met his. "That's my girl."
"So tired, De." Your groggy voice begged for sleep.
"I know you are, kiddo, but I need you to keep your eyes on me.”
"Too hard,” you murmured, “Can’t do it."
"Yes you can, sweetheart." Dean was no longer able to mask his concern. "How can I help, Y/N/N? Tell me what to do."
Your brother’s desperation lifted the fog numbing your senses, and you clearly understood what you hadn’t before; you were dying. Anyone else would panic at this realization, beg their God for more time, cling to the last bit of life and fight. Not you. You woke every morning knowing this was a possibility. Saving people, hunting things; it was a dangerous road.
You weren’t bitter; no matter how menacing, your days were full of purpose, and that wasn’t something most people could say. You weren’t afraid; years of close calls had prepared you for this moment. You were, however, insurmountably saddened by the fact that Dean had to watch you die. You knew he would bear the weight of your absence completely despondent and guilt ridden. There was so much you wanted to say to ease his inevitable grief, but talking had grown increasingly difficult as words and breath eluded you. The most you could do was take the hand of solace Dean extended. You silently prayed that would be enough.
"Tell me a story."
Dean smiled. Between your sleepy eyes and the way you were curled in his arms, it felt like you were little again.
“Have I ever told you about the day mom and dad brought you home from the hospital?”
You shook your head “No.”
“Sammy was not happy.” Dean gave a weak laugh remembering how ornery his brother had been.
“He locked himself in his room. I tried to tell him that having a little sibling wasn’t all bad, but he wouldn’t listen. Dad had to take his door off the hinges to get him out.”
“He loves’me now.” you noted dreamily.
“He sure does.” Dean agreed, furrowing at your slurred speech. Another sign that your body was succumbing to its injuries.
“That phase lasted less than an hour,” he continued.
“Wha’happn’d?”
“He held you.” Dean’s voice was thick with nostalgia. “Mom convinced him. He sat in Dad’s chair, and she laid you in his lap. He wasn’t sure at first, but then you smiled.”
Despite your pain, a contented grin eased across your face.
“Just like that.”
“D’d you hold me?”
Dean nodded. “You were so small, but I swear your eyes were as big and Y/E/C as they are now. I stared at you for hours. I never wanted to let you go.” I still don’t want to let you go.
Dean paused to clear the sadness from his throat, but he was losing the battle against his emotions. He could see your eyes growing dim and feel your skin getting cold. You didn’t have much longer.
“I love you so much, Y/N/N.” Dean’s words were short and breathless.
“I love you too.”
Dean pulled you closer and placed a warm hand on the side of your face.
“De?” A small, crimson spot appeared at the corner of your mouth. “C’n I close m’eyes, now?"
At once, Dean felt everything and nothing. He knew the instant your eyes closed, he’d never see them again. He cursed himself for bringing you on such a risky hunt. He cursed himself for not keeping a better eye on you during the fight. He cursed Sam for still being gone. Not because he thought his younger brother would bring anything or anyone to save you, but because he knew how broken he’d be, returning to find his little sister asleep forever. He wanted to shake you, to scream, to do everything in his power to ensure your heavy lids didn’t fall, but he refrained. He knew this would be the last comfort he could ever give you. Dean surrendered to his heartache and let you slip from this world.
"Yeah, baby girl. You can rest now. I’ve got you.”
Request: Can you write a fic where she falls down the stairs please? Like really clumsy, can hunt like a badass but still falls over her own two feet? - Anonymous
Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader
Warnings: Small injury; angsty Dean; fluffy Dean; fluffy Sam; the gang’s all here!
Word Count: 1.2k
Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, Nonnie! I had a hard time wrapping this one up, so my apologies for the disgustingly saccharine, after school special ending.
The drive back to the bunker was spent in silence, save for the frustrated grunts and sighs Dean let out every few minutes. It had been a long day. Breaking up the vamp nest hadn’t gone as planned with the leader fleeing before you were able to get the answers you needed. Dean was always agitated after an unsuccessful hunt, but he was never this theatrical with his disappointment. You had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that it was also his birthday.
“At least this hunt was close to home,” you said, trying to infuse some positivity, “We’ll be back at the bunker in no time!”
Dean scoffed at your platitude.
“We’ll be able to track them down again,” you assured, “and we know they won’t be feeding for a while.”
You could almost feel Dean gritting his teeth.
“We killed over half the nest!”
“You killed over half the nest,” Sam corrected, “you were great today, Y/N.”
He turned to face you, but his smile quickly faded when he saw your somber expression. You were clearly trying to lift Dean’s spirits, and he wouldn’t even acknowledge you. Sam turned to his brother and cleared his throat, hoping to send the message that Dean needed to cool it. Dean ignored Sam and kept his angry gaze fixed on the road.
“I made pie.” you whispered earnestly.
Your last attempt at finding a silver lining struck a chord, and you saw a smile tug at Dean’s lips. His face hardened when your eyes met in the rear view mirror, but the second he thought you weren’t looking anymore, he allowed the smirk to slide back on his face.
Dean’s birthday pie balanced precariously in the palm of your right hand, the scent of sweet crust and tart cherries wafting over you as you made your way downstairs. You had baked the pie before leaving that morning, hiding it in the sitting area near the front door to ensure that Dean wouldn’t eat the entire thing before dinner. His gift was tucked under your left arm, making the descent more difficult than it needed to be. You could have taken two trips, but the boys were eager to eat.
Lost in thought over where the fugitive vamp leader could have retreated, your foot missed a step and sent you tumbling. When you moved your left hand to steady the wobbling dessert, Dean’s gift fell out from under your arm; a small sacrifice to save Dean’s precious pie. You were able to regain your balance by supporting your elbow on the railing. Satisfied that you had sufficiently steadied yourself, you let out a sigh of relief and continued making your way to the kitchen. The instant you lifted your foot and felt resistance, you knew you were doomed. In your initial stumble, the sock of one foot became caught under the other, and you were now stuck beneath yourself.
Your entire body toppled forward. Unless you let go of the pie to free your hands, you were going to fall flat on your face. In a last ditch effort to save the dessert, you lofted it over the railing to the floor below. For a moment, it looked as though you may have made the right decision, but at the last second, the pie flopped forward and landed upside down on the cold tile. You reached the bottom of the stairs with a loud thud.
Hearing the commotion, Sam and Dean came running from the kitchen. While the sight of your twisted limbs would have sent anyone else rushing to your aid, the boys had seen you like this enough times before to know that you were fine. You were an extremely skilled and agile hunter, but navigating your own two feet had always proven difficult. In day-to-day life, you were an absolute klutz.
Sam let out a soft chuckle as he stepped forward. “You okay, Y/N?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You mumbled, your ego hurting more than anything else.
As Sam moved to help you up, everyone’s eyes fell on the upside down dessert.
“It was an accident, Dean, I swear.” You scrambled to stand, not realizing you had injured your ankle in the fall. As soon as you were upright, the pain hit you and you winced, teetering forward.
“Y/N!” Sam caught you before you fell on top of the pie. He helped you sit back down and propped you up against the wall.
Dean still hadn’t said a word, and was looking at you, expressionless, from the other side of the hallway.
“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” you apologized, your eyes casting down to the floor.
Dean let out a loud sigh before turning around and walking toward the kitchen.
“Do you think he’s mad?“
"It’s just a pie, Y/N. He’ll get over it.” Sam sat down and leaned up against the wall next to you.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, almost inaudibly.
“Y/N/N, look at me.” You lifted your eyes to meet your Sma’s. They were filled with sympathy and kindness.
“It’s been a long day. You know how cranky he gets after a bad hunt. If he’s mad, it’s not because of you.” Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You knew he was right, but you couldn’t help the tears forming in your eyes.
To your surprise, Dean returned with a towel of ice. He sat next to you on the bottom step and placed the ice on your already swollen ankle. One of the tears you’d been holding back escaped and rolled down your cheek.
“Does it hurt that bad?” Dean questioned, knowing your usually high tolerance for pain.
“No,” you said to the floor, unable to look at him, “I thought you were mad at me."
"I’m not mad at you, sweetheart,” Dean confirmed, cracking his first real smile of the day, “You made me pie!"
When you still didn’t look at him, Dean sat down next to you.
"Look, I know I’ve been a crab ass all day.” You and Sam stared at Dean, both of you surprised by his admission. “We don’t get to celebrate things like a normal family. I knew I wasn’t gonna get a party or balloons, but I hoped I’d at least get vengeance for the people those vamps have been killing."
"I’m sorry today wasn’t what you wanted it to be."
"You don’t need to apologize, Y/N/N.” Dean pressed a kiss to your temple before leaning forward. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out three forks. He handed one to you and one to Sam.
“What are these for?” Sam inquired.
“Pie.” Dean stated as if Sam’s was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.
“You’re going to eat the pie off the floor?” You looked up at Dean in disbelief.
Dean crouched down next to his dilapidated dessert. He lifted the baking tin and drove his fork right into the center of the bottom of the pie. A look of ecstasy washed over his face as he shoved the piece into his mouth.
You and Sam flashed each other a look of “Why not” and crawled toward the pie. Careful to avoid the parts that had touched the floor, you took a big scoop.
“This is really good, Y/N,” Dean praised, wiping away the cherry syrup at the corners of his mouth.
The three of you sat on the floor, picking at the pie until you were too full to continue.
Dean leaned against the staircase banister and let out a satisfied chuckle.
“Turned out to be a pretty good birthday after all."
“Whatcha got there?” Dean asked, leaning against the frame of your bedroom door.
“Nothing!” you exclaimed abruptly, startled by his gruff voice.
With no time to properly stow his intended surprise, you scrambled off your bed and slipped Dean’s gift into your back pocket.
“What are you hiding?” Dean’s eyes narrowed.
He inched forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you.
“I will frisk you.” he teased, before a devilish grin spread across his face.
Distracted by Dean’s innuendo and intoxicating scent, you didn’t notice he had reached behind you until you felt him fishing in your jeans.
“Dean!”
You tried to squirm away, but it was too late. Dean held the object above his head in triumph. When a nervous expression washed over you, he lowered his hand in curiosity. In it, he found a small, wooden frame containing a tattered photo of Mary rocking a young Sam in his nursery.
“Y/N.” he questioned flatly, after a moment of silence. “Where did you get this?”
“I’m sorry.” you shook your head; Dean’s unreadable expression igniting a crisis of confidence inside you.
“I saw it sitting on your desk. It’s such a beautiful picture, I wanted to make sure it was protected. I found the frame at an antique store on our last hunt, and I…”
Dean dipped his head and gently pressed his lips to yours, interrupting your rambling apology.
“It’s perfect.” he assured, pulling you into his strong arms. “Just like you.”
Request: Can you do a reader where she is turning twenty one, and the boys don’t want to celebrate, but Claire and her sneak out and Claire ends up taking her to a club, and she gets wasted AF, and they have to sneak back into the bunker, but they get caught. - Anonymous
Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader
Warnings: Drinking; drunkenness; overly protective Dean; protective Sam; the tiniest bit of language; angst; fluff
Word Count: 2.1k
Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, Nonnie! I had fun writing this one! For the sake of this story, let’s assume Claire is also 21-years-old.
“What do you think?"
Tufts of gold lame billowed as you twirled in your birthday dress. Sam and Dean sat opposite each other at the library table, both wearing a similar shade of bitch face.
"No.” Sam stated flatly.
“Nope.” Dean agreed. “You’re not going out like that.”
“Like what?” you challenged.
“Like,” Dean struggled to find the words, “like some floozy.”
“Floozy?!” You looked down at your dress, confused and angered by Dean’s response. The skirt hit just above your knee, and while the neckline didn’t leave much to the imagination, it was far more tasteful than anything you’d ever seen on the women Dean liked to bring home.
You tried to compose yourself with a deep breath. You knew Dean’s overprotective nature could get the better of him, and his criticism of your appearance was his way of showing that he cared. Winchester men had many strengths but emotional expression was not one of them.
“I’m a 21-year-old woman,” you calmly reminded him, “I’m not asking permission to wear this dress, I’m showing it to you.”
“Don’t sass me, young lady!”
While you could appreciate Dean’s well intentions, your patience always faltered when his safeguarding shifted to defensive bickering. You knew you had to stand your ground.
“Or what?” You stared him down. “What are you gonna do about it, old man?”
“I will lock you in your room.” Dean threatened without hesitation, not even acknowledging your insult.
“I’d like to see you try.” you dared.
Sam and Dean shared a quick look before standing in tandem and marching toward you. They each grabbed one of your arms and began dragging you backward. Unable to keep up with their long strides in your heels, you lost your footing.
“Oh, come on!” you squirmed in their grip. “Let me go! I’m serious!”
Sam and Dean stopped short when they reached the entrance of your room, both of them stifling laughter.
“Thank you.” you scoffed, as they released your arms. You smoothed your hands over your dress, grateful that it wasn’t wrinkled during their antics. You stepped forward, but Sam and Dean didn’t budge.
“Go change, Y/N.” Dean’s tight smirk had been replaced with a stoic glare. You knew at that moment he was a lost cause, so you tried the puppy. You could always count on Sam to be level headed and talk Dean down when he got like this.
“Sammy, help me out here.” You flashed him the sweetest smile you could.
“I’m not gonna fight him on this one, Y/N/N.” Sam’s face was surprisingly stern.
“SAMMY!”
“Y/N, I’m not kidding around.” Dean’s voice slipped into a register not unlike his father’s. “Change, or you’re staying in.”
Dean knew he was being unreasonable, but the idea of men ogling you all night scared the living crap out of him, and if yelling was the only way to keep you from the unwanted attention of grimy bar crawlers, then so be it.
"Come with me!” you compromised. Normally you didn’t barter with the boys when they were being this difficult, but it was your 21st birthday. You didn’t want to change, you looked and felt great, and you certainly weren’t going to celebrate in the drab, concrete confines of the bunker. “You can punch any man who gets within fifteen feet of me!”
“No.” Dean said definitively. “You’re changing, or you’re staying in.”
Sam saw all of the hope and anticipation drain from you, and he quickly tried to remedy the situation.
“We can have a party here!”
“There you go!’” Dean became patronizingly excitable, hoping to reverse the tense atmosphere he created. “Sammy’ll fix you a drink, I’ll cook a nice dinner. Hell, I’ll even let you shoot my new gun!”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t really feel like celebrating anymore.” Your mouth creased in a solemn pout.
“Y/N/N, it’s your birthday!” Sam encouraged.
“Doesn’t feel like it.” You hung your head and retreated into your room, softly closing the door behind you.
Two hours later, Sam entered the kitchen to find every inch of counter space in disarray.
“What’s going on in here?”
“I was too hard on her.” Dean mumbled, whisking aggressively. His focus remained on the bowl in front of him, but Sam could still make out his expression of regret.
“I just don’t want anyone messing with her.” Dean shook his head, knowing the justification of his actions didn’t matter. He had hurt you, on your birthday no less, and he felt awful.
“So you’re mutilating all of our baking ingredients?”
Dean finally looked up to acknowledge his brother’s presence.
“I’m trying to make her a birthday cake,” he admitted with defeat.
“Softy.” Sam teased.
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
Dean surveyed the mess he’d made and sighed.
“She’ll be okay, Dean.” Sam promised, also needing to hear the words for himself.
“I don’t know, man. I’ve never been that hard on her.”
Sam understood his brother’s remorse, having been an accomplice himself.
“Why don’t you go talk to her, and I’ll start cleaning up in here.”
“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean clapped Sam on the back as he left the kitchen, leaving a perfect, hand-shaped flour imprint on his flannel.
“I can’t believe you snuck out!” Claire exclaimed, taking a swig of her beer.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very proud.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “It’s just so not you.”
“Dean went too far, this time.” you exasperated, bending forward to line up your shot. “He doesn’t get to treat me like a child anymore! I know they found me when I was young, but I’m a grown woman now!” you asserted, driving your cue into the ball for emphasis.
“At least you have someone looking out for you.” Claire demurred.
“I’m sorry, Claire.”
“No, no.” She set down her beer. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She sunk a ball into the corner pocket and turned to face you.
“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but Dean was only trying to protect you. He loves you. They both do.”
“When did you become the voice of reason?” you demanded, trying to skirt the truth.
“You know I’m right.”
“I know,” you groaned, “I just wish their love didn’t come at the cost of my freedom and mental stability!”
“Dean’s right too, you know.” Claire pointed the neck of her nearly empty beer bottle at you. “That dress does make you look like a floozy.”
“Claire!” you bellowed, playfully shoving her. “You’re the one who lent it to me.”
Claire laughed and grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the bar.
“Come on!” she cheered. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Dean, would you sit down?” Sam gestured to the chair next to him. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”
Dean had been pacing the length of the library ever since finding your empty room.
“No, Sam. I can’t sit. Y/N is missing!”
“She’s not missing.” Sam reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. “She snuck out.”
“What if someone took her? What if something took her? Why won’t she answer her phone?” Dean wondered frantically through gritted teeth.
“Might have something to do with you calling her a floozy and then locking her in her bedroom on her birthday.” Sam sassed.
Dean shot Sam a look that let his younger brother know to keep his mouth shut. Sam said nothing and returned to his book.
After a moment of strained silence, Dean stood.
“I can’t take it anymore.” he said, reaching for his coat. “I’m going to look for her.”
Just as Dean grabbed his keys, the distinct sound of a car door echoed through the bunker, followed closely by your laughter.
“Thank God.” Sam breathed.
Dean took Sam’s relief as a slight to his own grating worry, but the younger Winchester had also been quietly concerned for your safety, which became immediately clear when he dropped his book to the ground and hurried to the garage.
“Dammit, Y/N!” Claire whispered loudly. “The whole point of sneaking in is to, ya know, sneak back in.”
“Shhhh.” you mocked, crouching low to the ground. Walking in that stance proved difficult, and you toppled over, erupting into another fit of laughter.
“It’s very hard to believe you’re a trained hunter, right now.” Claire deadpanned.
You managed to hoist yourself back on your feet only to find Claire frozen in place. You followed her gaze to the other end of the garage and saw Sam and Dean leaning against the tool bench. Claire’s eyes were wide with fear, but you were too far gone to care what the boys thought of your drunken state.
“SAMMY!” you squealed, running to him. “I love you!"
You flung your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. You pulled back and were met with his bewildered expression.
"Such a pretty pony!” you marveled, stroking his hair like a mane.
“Is this your doing?” Sam asked Claire.
She held up her hands in surrender.
“DEANOSAUR!” you lightheartedly shoved Sam over, lunging at Dean.
“Hey, kiddo.” Dean couldn’t help but reciprocate your hug, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Did you have fun?”
You looked up at Dean, surprised by his lack of anger, and flashed him an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry I left without telling you.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N/N.” Dean assured. “I didn’t really leave you much of a choice. I’m sorry for being a stubborn ass.”
“It’s okay,” you ruffled his hair, “I know it’s cause you love me.”
“Now that is my doing.” Claire commented as she walked toward the group.
“Did you drive here?” Dean questioned.
“I only had one beer.” Claire defended, but Dean and Sam eyed her suspiciously.
“I’m serious!” Claire pandered to the boys, closing her eyes and touching each index finger to her nose in turn.
Sam and Dean nodded at each other in satisfaction, but you stood with a knit in your brow.
“Claire,” you rasped, “That’s the dumbest dance I’ve ever seen."
Sam could no longer hold back his laughter, and he let out a loud snicker.
"Thanks, Claire.” Dean placed a hand on her shoulder. “You wanna come in? It’s getting late, you’re welcome to stay."
"Nah, I’m okay to drive, and I’d rather sleep in my own bed."
"Claire! Are you leaving me?!” You forced a clownish frown and crossed your arms.
“You’ll see me soon!” she promised. “I had fun with you tonight!"
"Thank you for taking me out after these losers,” you held up your hand to shield the finger you were pointing at the boys, “tried to IMPRISON ME.”
Claire rolled her eyes and patted you on the head.
“Not like they could have stopped me anyway. I got these!” You held up your fists and squatted into a fighting stance.
“What are you gonna do with those Tyson?” Dean joked before noticing the knuckles on your right hand were red and raw. “Y/N, did you hit someone tonight?”
“YES!” you beamed proudly. “I punched a guy at the bar!”
“Why would you do that?” Sam interrogated, taking your hand to examine the damage.
“He tried to grab my ass."
"What?!” Dean went from amused to enraged in seconds.
“Don’t worry.” You nonchalantly waved him off. “He couldn’t."
"Why’s that?"
"Well, after I punched him, I broke his hand."
Dean and Sam looked to Claire for confirmation, and she emphatically nodded “Yes” before slipping into her car. Dean smiled proudly.
"That’s my girl."
"I broke it so good, Dean. I broke it so hard.” Sam and Dean had to bite the inside of their cheeks to refrain from laughing.
“I’m amazing.” you whispered, turning to stare at your reflection in the Impala.
As Claire drove away, Sam came to stand next to you, and your look of pride and admiration melted into one of uncertainty. You slowly turned to face Sam.
“Sammy?"
"Y/N/N, what’s wrong?”
"Sam?” This time your voice was small and scared. Sam and Dean inched closer to you, concern pushing aside their amusement.
“I’m right here, Y/N/N.” Sam took your hand in his.
“Sammy,” you swallowed, then declared with all the sincerity in the word, “There are two of you."
This time, Dean was the one who was unable to contain his laughter.
"Okay slugger,” Sam gently grabbed your wrist and lifted your arm around his neck, “Let’s get you to bed.”
The second you were in his arms, you relaxed and let out a dramatic yawn. By the time Sam reached your bedroom, you were already asleep.
Sam laid you down before taking off your shoes and tucking you in.
“Man she is entertaining when she’s drunk.” Sam remarked, joining Dean in your doorway.
“You’re telling me."
Both brothers watched your sleeping form and smiled quietly.
"I’m glad she had some fun.” Dean confessed.
“Me too.” Sam agreed.
“I’m putting a padlock on her bedroom door, though."
Request: Can you please write an asthmatic reader and Sam and Dean help calm her during an attack because they know what to do - helping her count and breathe and use the inhaler because it’s a really bad attack (I live for whump!) - Anonymous
Pairings: Sam x Asthmatic!Reader; Dean x Asthmatic!Reader
Author’s Note: Thank you for the prompt, Nonnie! I actually have asthma, so this was somewhat cathartic to write. I hope you enjoy!
Morning had always been your favorite time to run. There was something so calming about watching nature wake up: the sun rising over the treetops, birds greeting the day with their happy chirps. Living the stressful life of a hunter made you truly appreciative of these peaceful moments, and you did your best to incorporate them into your daily routine.
You were on a small trail that looped around the woods near the bunker. It stretched roughly two miles, the perfect length for a morning jog. Although you maintained a steady pace, you noticed your breathing rate increase around the one and a half mile mark. Wanting to enjoy the tranquility of the outdoors a little longer, you shrugged off the warning sign. Now, on the last leg of your run, a familiar sensation tugged at your chest.
Slowing your pace, you reached into your running belt and felt for your inhaler. When you found nothing, you tried the other pocket. It wasn’t there.
“How could I be so stupid,” you wondered. Asthma had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember, and you always had an inhaler with you in case of emergencies.
Panicking would surely make things worse, so you ran through your usual mantra of reassuring phrases:
“You can still talk, which means you’re getting enough air.”
“Your inhaler is close.”
“Sam and Dean will be able to help."
While your personal pep talk kept your mental game in check, the tightness in your chest continued to twist, and you were beginning to feel your throat constrict. By the time the bunker came into view, you were in the throes of a full-blown asthma attack.
The bunker door was twice as heavy in your current condition, but with a weak heave, you managed to nudge it open just enough to slink through. The door closed behind you with a thud, and you braced yourself against the loft railing.
"Y/N,” Sam called when he heard the bunker door close, “Dean found a hunt while you were on your run.” When you didn’t reply, Sam shouted after you again. “We’re in the library!”
No longer able to support yourself, you fell to your hands and knees gasping for air.
“Y/N?” Dean yelled a little louder, thinking you may not have heard Sam. When you still didn’t respond, the brothers exchanged a worried look.
You needed help, but you could no longer speak; there was no way you had enough breath to call downstairs. Trying to conserve what little energy you had left, you kicked over a small bucket of bullet casings sitting next to the door. At the sound of shells loudly scattering across the floor, Sam and Dean darted toward the stairs.
“Y/N!” Sam and Dean’s speed increased when they saw you on all fours. They quickly scaled the staircase and were next to you within seconds. Dean landed at your side and placed a hand on your back. Sam knelt in front of you, taking your face in his hands.
“Y/N/N, what’s wrong?” Sam’s hands moved from your cheeks to your shoulders and down your arms as he felt for injuries.
You responded by placing a hand on your chest.
“Y/N/N, are you having an asthma attack?"
Your eyes widened in confirmation and both brothers began to move on autopilot.
"Where is your inhaler?” Sam couldn’t hide the concern in his voice. He and Dean had been helping you cope with asthma ever since you joined them, but it never got any easier seeing you struggle for air, especially when an attack was this bad.
You tried to respond, but all that came out was a stifled wheeze. Sam knew they were running out of time.
“I think she keeps one on her nightstand?” Dean offered. Again, words failed you, but found the strength to nod “yes.” As soon as he had confirmation, Sam shot up and ran to your bedroom. Without Sam to lean on, you began to sway, and Dean slid behind you for support.
“Lean against me, Y/N/N.” Dean eased you into a seated position between his legs. Your fists gripped the rough material of his jeans as you fought for air.
“I know it’s hard, sweetheart, but try to relax.” Dean’s big hands enveloped your upper arms. He massaged them as he ran his thumbs across your shoulders. Your head lolled back in the crook of his neck.
“That’s my girl,” he soothed, “Try to match my breathing.” You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, but no matter how hard you focused, you could not calm the urgency coursing through your body. You were fighting a losing battle against the panic churning inside you when you heard the comforting sound of Sam’s boots growing louder as he bound up the stairs.
Sam crouched down, and you reached out a shaking hand to take your inhaler from him. “I’ve got it, baby girl.” Sam flashed you a sympathetic smile, “You just relax against Dean.”
Sam wrapped one hand behind your neck and eased the pump between your lips with the other.
“Ready?” You nodded weakly and Sam released a puff into your mouth. Sam’s heart dropped as he watched most of the medicine billow past your lips.
“I know it hurts, Y/N, but you have to do your best to take a deep breath.” Sam’s hand left your neck. “When you feel ready, squeeze my hand, and I’ll give you another puff, okay?”
You closed your eyes, mustering all of the strength you could and squeezed Sam’s hand. He discharged the medicine, and you took a shaky but complete breath.
“That’s it, Y/N/N,” Sam encouraged, “Let’s do a couple more.” After two more puffs, the tension in your throat eased. Sam set down the inhaler and grabbed your other hand.
“Slow breaths, Y/N/N,” Sam lowered his head to yours, “Look at me, baby.” Sam took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. You followed his example and took a shaky breath of your own.
“In: one, two three,” Sam coached, “Out: one, two, three, four, five.” He could see your face begin to relax as the medicine took its full effect.
Sam guided you through counting your breaths until your breathing evened and returned to a normal rate.
“How you feelin’, honey?” Dean questioned behind you, his hands still rubbing your arms.
“Better,” you replied in a raspy voice. “My chest is still tight.”
“We’ll get you downstairs to your room and set up a breathing treatment.” Sam assured. Both brothers were surprised when you shook your head “no.”
“Sweetheart,” Dean’s voice was gentle but firm, “you need a breathing treatment.”
“I know,” you wheezed, “Sammy’s room."
"You want to go to my room?” Sam asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. You usually wanted Dean after a particularly bad attack. When you nodded “yes,” his heart swelled. “Of course we can go to my room, Y/N/N. C’mere.”
Sam got on one knee and scooped you up in his arms. He carried you down to his room and laid you on the bed. He turned to go prepare your breathing treatment, but you grabbed his hand. Dean saw and smiled at his younger brother. “I’ve got it,” he mouthed across the room.
Sam walked around to the other side of the bed and propped up several pillows. He took off his boots and crawled in, leaning against the headboard. He reached over and pulled you to him, lifting you onto his chest. He used a pillow to support your back, knowing that being elevated would help your breathing.
Dean came back with your nebulizer and set it on the bed next to Sam. He filled the cartridge with medicine and attached the tubing to the mask. Dean gently lifted your head and placed the mask over your nose and mouth. He turned on the machine, and you began breathing in the mist, feeling relief almost immediately. Dean leaned in, placed a kiss on your forehead, and then looked down to his brother.
“I’m gonna get her some water, you need anything?"
Sam shook his head. All he needed was to know that you were okay. Dean left for the kitchen and Sam tightened his grip around you.
"Thank you, Sammy,” you muttered through the mask. Sam exhaled in amusement at your gratitude. As if there was anything he and Dean wouldn’t do to keep you safe.
“Anytime, Y/N/N,” he placed a kiss on top of your head, “That’s what I’m here for."
Thank you all so much for taking the time to read my work. It really means so much. I appreciate every reblog and comment! I’ve seen some requests come in, but I have yet to decide If I have the space to take them. If I do find time and inspiration strikes based off of a request, y’all will be the first to know!
Tomorrow, I’ll be posting a whumpy asthmatic reader with a very sweet, albeit worried, Sam and Dean. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!
What a wonderful family this community is. Can’t wait to hear from and start connecting with more of you!
Request: Hi! I love your writing :). Could you write one where the reader has a really high fever, increased heart rate (like Sam in the one episode) and the brothers have to bring it down and take care of her. - Anonymous
Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader
Warnings: Sick reader; hurt/comfort; fluff; the tiniest pinch of angsty Sam
Word Count: 1.8k
"Is she getting ready for a hunt or a date?" Dean paced in front of the Impala while fiddling with his gun. "These werewolves aren't gonna kill themselves."
Sam let out a soft chuckle. Dean wasn't a patient man, but he had a particularly hard time waiting on you. "I'll go see what's taking her so long."
"Y/N?" Sam called for you down the hallway. "Dean's getting antsy." He reached your room and knocked loudly. "Normally I'd enjoy watching him squirm, but we've got a head start on this pack. We should really get going."
When you didn't respond, Sam checked to see if the door was locked. It wasn't, so he nudged his way in to find you buried under your covers. "Y/N! What are you still doing in bed?"
You turned your head toward the door with a groan. Sam's tone softened when he saw your complexion.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked, walking toward your bed.
"I think it's the flu." The simple act of rolling over had the room spinning, and you squeezed your eyes shut to quell the nausea.
Sam moved his hand to your forehead and was surprised by how warm you felt. "You're burning up."
"I don't think I'm going to be much help today."
Sam knelt down to see his own puppy dog eyes looking back at him. He rubbed his thumb across your forehead and gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'll be right back."
Sam returned with a glass of water and some cold medicine. He helped you sit up and handed you two small pills. You took them quickly and set the glass of water on your nightstand.
"Dean's gonna be pissed," you remarked nervously, as you nestled back into your mountain of pillows.
"Don't worry about Dean," he assured, tucking you in. "I’ll take care of him.”
You watched through hazy eyes as Sam disappeared into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. He came back, crouching next to the bed, and placed the cool towel on your forehead. You sighed at the small relief it provided.
“We should be back in a few hours.” Sam picked up your phone from the nightstand and gave it a wave before placing it next to your pillow. “Call if you need anything"
You responded with a weak smile. Sam switched off your lamp and stood to leave. He turned back as s he closed your bedroom door and saw that you were already sleeping.
"I'm gonna get cleaned up and then check on Y/N." Sam dropped his muddy boots by the door.
"Tell her she missed a good one." Both men were covered in the evidence of their successful hunt. “Let me know if I can get her anything.” Dean gave his brother a hearty clap on the shoulder and turned to his bedroom.
A quick shower and a clean pair of clothes later, Sam was outside your room. Not bothering to knock, he pushed the door open and leaned against the frame.
"Feeling any better, Y/N/N?" Sam whispered. When you didn't say anything, he tried again, raising his voice. "Y/N/N?"
Growing concerned at your silence, Sam moved into your room, his long legs closing the distance between you in three easy strides. When he reached the bedside table, he turned on the lamp. In the light, he could see a thin layer of sweat covering your face and neck.
"Y/N." Sam lifted his hand to your forehead and was alarmed to find that your fever had worsened. When you didn't so much as stir at his touch, Sam started to vigorously rub your arm. "Y/N/N!"
Sam placed his fingers on your neck. Your heart rate was rapid, and in checking your pulse, he noticed your breathing was shallow. He tried to rouse you once more and when you still didn’t respond, panic rolled through him in waves.
“Dean!”
Dean had just shrugged a clean flannel over his shoulders when he heard Sam yell his name from the other side of the bunker. He immediately took off, haphazardly fastening buttons as he ran down the hallway. Dean heard his name a second time and followed his brother’s voice to your room. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of Sam hovered over you, trying to shake you into consciousness.
"She won't wake up." Sam's voice lilted in fear.
Dean marched toward the bed, moving Sam aside. He cupped your cheek and winced at the heat radiating off of you.
"Y/N!" Dean shouted gruffly. He knew his attempt was in vain, but he was still heartbroken when you didn't respond.
"Sammy, we have to get her fever down." Dean pressed two fingers to your neck, confirming what Sam already knew. "Her heart rate is way too high."
Dean ran through their limited options before instructing Sam to run a bath. Sam darted toward your bathroom without question.
"Not too hot, not too cold." Dean instructed at the sound of running water.
"I've got it, Dean." Sam’s tone was strained and agitated.
Dean pulled off your covers. The cool air hitting your damp skin was enough to stir you into a state of semi-consciousness. You let out a long moan.
“Y/N?” Dean held your face in his hands, willing your eyes to open.
You leaned into his touch but could only respond with another whimper. Dean sighed in defeat.
“I’m right here, Y/N/N.” Dean soothed, gathering you in his arms. “I’ve got you.”
When Dean entered the bathroom, Sam quirked his head in apology. Dean nodded knowingly; whenever you were hurt or in pain, they were both on edge.
You let out another groan and Sam immediately stood to check you.
"Is she awake?"
"Barely." Dean shifted you in his arms and motioned for Sam to take you.
Not wanting to embarrass or expose you, the brothers kept you in the tank top and sleep shorts you were wearing. Dean cuffed his jeans and straddled the side of the bathtub, one foot submerged in the water and the other securely planted on the tile floor. Once his brother was positioned, Sam gently lowered you into the tub. Dean leaned forward to help support you.
As soon as your body made contact with the water, your teeth began chattering and your intermittent whimpers became a steady cry. Both brothers could feel your body tense, and they grew concerned about your already racing heart.
“You’re okay, Y/N/N.” Sam palmed your cheek. “Can you open your eyes for me?”
It felt like someone had replaced your eyelids with steel doors, and the energy it took to try and open them made you nauseous. When your Y/E/C eyes finally appeared, they were met with Sam’s relieved face.
“Hi, baby girl.” Keeping his eyes on you, Sam took his hand from your cheek and grabbed a washcloth. He dipped it in the lukewarm water before wringing it out with both hands.
You were becoming more alert with each passing moment, and seeing Sam at the other end of the bathtub made you realize that he wasn’t the one keeping you upright. In any other instance you would have immediately assumed Dean was behind you, but the fever had made you incoherent, and your normal instincts were inaccessible. Anxiety swept through you at the thought of being held by a stranger in your vulnerable state, and you began to fight against Dean.
Sam saw you crane your neck to see who was behind you and understood your confusion.
“Y/N,” he dropped the washcloth and grabbed your hands, “Y/N/N, look at me. You’re okay. It’s Dean.”
“It’s me, sweetheart.” Dean shifted so that you could see him. “It’s just me.”
It took you a moment to register Dean’s face, but once you knew it was him, you let out a shaky breath and relaxed into his arms.
“That’s my girl.” Dean leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, relieved to feel that your feverish skin was cooling. “I’ve got you.”
Sam grabbed the floating washcloth and ran it over your face and arms. He stopped momentarily to check your pulse. The steady beat of your heart on his fingertips reassured him, and he nodded to Dean that the bath was helping.
Once he was satisfied with your temperature, Dean lifted you out of the tub and placed you in his brother’s arms. Sam wrapped you in a warm towel and held you close before sitting you on the stool in front of your vanity.
"Y/N?" Your tired eyes met his. "Do you think you can get yourself out of these wet clothes?"
You mumbled incoherently but found the strength to pull yourself to your feet. You gripped the counter top, and Sam helped steady you while you found your balance.
"I'm going to hang your robe on the door." Sam closed the door and stood vigilant on the other side, ready to charge back in at the first sign of any distress.
Gravity’s hold prayed on your weakened state, and every step, every reach was painfully exhausting. Time felt as languid as your movement, but after much effort, your wet clothes laid in a heap on the floor, and you had almost successfully wrapped yourself in your robe.
Thinking you had been quiet for too long, Sam knocked on the bathroom door, and you gave a small hum, letting him know he could enter. He opened the door to find you fumbling with the terry cloth belt.
"Let me help, Y/N/N." His voice was soft and comforting. Once he secured the knot, he lifted you in his arms and carried you back into your room.
Your head lolled to find Dean tucking clean sheets under the mattress. He smiled at the sight of you in Sam's arms, snuggled in your fluffy robe.
"Thank you, Dean." you murmured.
"Anytime." Dean winked as he pulled back the comforter, and Sam sat you on the edge of the bed. Dean handed Sam two small pills and a fresh glass of water. You took the medicine from Sam's hand, and he brought the water to your lips.
A shiver ran through your body, and Sam lifted the collar of your robe before easing you onto your pillow and pulling the covers over you.
“Sammy?” Sam smiled, thankful that you’d regained enough strength to speak. “Stay, please.”
“Of course.” Sam brushed the hair away from your face and dropped a kiss on the top of your head before moving to sit in your reading chair.
“You too, De.”
“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Dean sat down on the trunk at the end of your bed and reached up to rub your leg.
Their comforting presence allowed you to relax, and you quickly surrendered to sleep. No illness could compete with the love of Sam and Dean Winchester.
You drew in a jagged breath, catching Dean’s attention.
“Y/N?” he coaxed, his voice soft and low.
When your eyes remained fixed on the road, Dean released a sorrowful sigh. Easing Baby onto the shoulder, he put the car in park and slid across the bench seat.
Dean traced a finger over your temple, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, before settling his palm against your cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and his heart sank at the feeling of you trembling beneath his touch.
You opened your mouth to speak but were unable to order words in a way that reached the depth of your pain. Discouraged by the lack of language, you shook your head, catching a whimper in your throat.
Dean’s eyes dipped to meet yours, and the fraying rope you clung to finally fractured at the love and concern you found in his gaze. As the first sob tore through you, Dean hooked an arm under your legs, laying them over his lap.
“I know, sweetheart.” he soothed, pulling your waist into his. “I’m right here.”
You rested your head on Dean’s chest as he gently stroked your hair, allowing the measure of his heartbeat to calm you.
Request: Hi! Can you do a sister imagine where she’s driving down a long highway in the middle of the night and it’s cold and raining and black ice and stuff and the car crashes into a ditch and Sam and Dean come by maybe an hour or two later in the impala looking for her and they notice the headlights and the car turned upside down in the ditch and you know other angsty fluffy stuff. - Anonymous
Pairings: Dean x Sister!Reader; Sam x Sister!Reader
Warnings: Car accident; language; angst; fluff
Word Count: 2.1k
Author’s Note: I hope I gave you a bit of what you were looking for, Nonnie! Thank you again for the prompt! Thank y’all for reading <3
On your 16th birthday, Uncle Bobby gave you free rein over Singer Auto Salvage. It was the greatest gift you’d ever received. You spent hours wandering the lot, searching for the perfect car. Sam and Dean had enjoyed following you around and listening to your excited squeals of “Look at this one!” That is until dinner rolled around, at which point your eagerness took a backseat to their hunger. Of course, you chose to stay outside; nothing was more important in that moment than finding your Baby.
The sun was just starting to set when you saw it. A two-door, 1966 Chevy Caprice. The golden hour rays reflecting off the windshield like something out of a movie. She was beautiful. You walked up to the car, placed your hand on the hood, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. Moving only by touch, you walked around the car, your fingers dragging across the shiny, red body. When you reached the driver’s side door, you opened your eyes and let out a contented sigh. This was it. This was the car. You climbed in and the smell of dusty, old leather filled your nose. A huge smile spread across your face.
“Hi, girl!” you whispered, still giddy with excitement.
While you were surveying the interior, the glint of a shiny object in the passenger seat caught your eye. You reached across the center console and picked up a key chain the size of a silver dollar. It was a metal four leaf clover painted emerald green.
“Lucky,” you giggled, “I’ll call you Lucky.”
Exhausted from a successful hunt, you were tearing down Highway 59. Pat Benatar’s All Fired Up blasted from the car stereo, and you were drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. Your favorite part about having your own car was not catching any slack from your brothers for your taste in music. That, and the fact that Lucky smelled 1,000 times better than Baby.
It was a rainy night, but you were still cruising at a decent clip. You had been driving Lucky for over four years now and knew exactly how to handle her in any condition.
You were daydreaming about the hot shower in your near future when the light drizzle turned to heavy sleet. Taking your foot off the gas, you flipped up your turn signal and started moving into the right-hand lane. As you merged, your front wheels hit a patch of black ice and the car began to skid. Within moments, you felt the tires grip the road again, but just as you thought Lucky was evening out, you went over another strip of ice that sent you spinning.
The back of the car whipped around until you were facing oncoming traffic. Fortunately for you, there was no one on the road this late at night, but your attempts to correct the car’s trajectory were futile, and Lucky did another 180. The second turn pushed you too close to the edge of the shoulder, and you felt the car begin to slide. The embankment wasn’t steep, but it also wasn’t flush with the road, and as soon as Lucky reached the brink, she went toppling over. Everything happened in slow motion as the car made one full flip and then another half flip, landing upside down in the ditch. Lucky rocked back and forth a few times, but the instant you were sure the car had settled, your instincts kicked in, and you began to assess the situation.
Dean’s suggestion to “keep the car’s original seat belts” to maintain its “integrity” now seemed entirely idiotic as the flimsy straps had done nothing to protect you in the accident. You were in a crumpled pile on the roof of your car. Even though you’d been tossed around quite a bit, you weren’t in much pain. You had a few cuts from the shattered glass but nothing significant. The gratitude for your limited injuries was short lived when you tried to prop yourself up on your arms and felt your legs pull under the weight of something. The dashboard separated during impact and had you completely pinned. A sharp pain ran down your thigh and all the way to your toes at the change in position.
“Shit.” you seethed. It was going to take more than hunter’s savvy to get you out.
You laid your head back down in defeat as rain blew in through your broken window.
“Remind me again why we got stuck cleaning up Y/N’s mess?” Sam groaned.
“Because she saved our asses.” Dean confirmed with a chuckle.
Sam smiled in the passenger seat. You had been especially impressive on this hunt. The three of you had infiltrated a particularly nasty coven of witches, and while you were busy destroying their athames and talisman, three of them trapped Sam and Dean. You ganked each one before they could cast their spell, saving your brothers’ lives but leaving quite the mess.
“I guess you’re right,” Sam confessed, “I just hope she doesn’t use up all of the hot water before we get back.”
“Don’t count on it.” Dean rolled his eyes and both brothers laughed.
Sam turned up the radio and Dean noted that he was thankful the harsh rain had stopped. As Baby rounded a bend in the highway, both brothers saw a flickering light coming from a ditch on the opposite side of the road.
“Dean,” Sam was having a hard time ordering his thoughts, mostly because he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing,“Dean! I think that’s Y/N’s car.”
Dean slowed Baby to a crawl, his eyes widening to take in the overturned vehicle. Both brothers knew it was your car the second Lucky’s vintage rims came into view.
“Shit.” Dean exclaimed as he jerked the wheel, spinning Baby around until they were on the other side of the highway.
The car hadn’t even come to a stop when Sam swung open the passenger door and bound down the muddy hill. His heart stopped when he saw your hand hanging outside a shattered window.
“Y/N!”
“Y/N/N!” Sam yelled as he rounded the back end of your car. Your full form came into view, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he saw your open eyes.
“Y/N!” Sam knelt down next to the window and reached in, cupping your face. “Y/N/N what happened? Are you okay?”
“Lucky hit a patch of ice. I’m okay, but my legs are stuck” You winced as another shot of pain pierced your legs.
Sam couldn’t resist leaning in and placing a kiss on your forehead. And temple. And cheek. You looked up at him with a bashful smile.
“You scared me. I thought…” Sam couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “I’m just so happy you’re alive.”
“Me too, Sammy,” you chuckled softly, angling your face as best as you could to look at him, “but kisses aren’t gonna get me out of this car.”
“Well, you must be okay if you still have the energy to sass Sammy.” Dean quipped from the other side of Lucky.
You tried to shift toward the sound of your oldest brother’s voice, but the angle at which you were pinned prevented you from turning, and you let out a small yelp of pain.
“Y/N/N, don’t try to move.” Dean reached in and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay, kiddo. We’re gonna get you out of here.”
Dean saw the back of your head nod in understanding. He ran his hand up and down your arm in a soothing motion and gave your shoulder a light squeeze before gesturing for Sam to meet him at the front of the car.
“We’ll be right back okay, Y/N?” Sam leaned in and kissed your cheek again before disappearing.
Sam and Dean hastily discussed the quickest way to get you out.
“The dashboard is pinning her legs,” Sam informed Dean, “I don’t know if any part of it is still attached to the body of the car, but I can try to lift the frame. Hopefully that will give you enough space to pull her out.”
“Good by me.” Dean concurred, not one to waste words in an urgent moment.
Sam nodded once and moved to the passenger side of the car. Dean walked around the front of Lucky and crouched down next to you. He could see on your face that the pain was starting to get the better of you.
“Hiya, kid.” Dean smiled. He removed his jacket and covered the glass scattering the ground. He leaned into the car until he was hovering over you.
“Sammy’s gonna lift the other side of the car and hopefully the dash will go with it. You just hang onto me, and I’m going to pull you out, okay?”
“Got it,” you replied, reaching up and wrapping your arms around Dean’s shoulders. Dean braced himself with one arm and looped the other around your waist.
“Ready, Sammy?” Dean called.
Sam tightened his grip on the passenger door. “Ready.” he confirmed.
“On the count of three,” Dean instructed, “One. Two. Three.“ With a powerful grunt, Sam lifted the broken body of the car off the ground.
“It’s working!” you exclaimed as you felt the pressure release from your legs. Dean pulled you toward him, but you immediately shouted in pain. He eased you back down and his hands moved to cradle your face.
“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Dean questioned, frantically scanning your body for new injuries.
“It’s fine, I just…” you were having trouble talking through the pain, “I think my leg is broken.
“I can’t hold this up much longer.” Sam groaned from the other side of the car.
“It’s okay, Dean. It hurts, but I’ll be okay.” You wrapped your arms back around your brother. “Just pull me out.” Dean nodded and gathered you in his arms again.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he said as he began to maneuver you out of the window. For your brother’s sake, you did your best to contain your verbal expressions of pain, but a few whimpers and swears still escaped your lips.
“She’s out!” Dean called to Sam, and his younger brother dropped the heavy frame. As he did, the scrapping of metal on metal caused a spark. Sam saw a small fire ignite near the broken gas line.
“Dean!” he shouted, “Get her out of here!”
Dean saw the growing fire and scooped you up. He turned to run with you in his arms, making it no more than fifteen feet before the entire car was engulfed in flames.
“Lucky!” Seeing your precious car in its current condition made you momentarily forget the pain in your legs and you tried to free yourself from Dean’s arms. He did his best to restrain you, but your left leg wiggled free. The instant it hit the ground you cried out in pain. Dean lowered you both to the grass and pulled you into his lap.
“It’s okay, Y/N/N.” Dean soothed, rocking you while he held your head to his chest. Sam took a seat next to you, pulling off his jacket and wrapping it around your shaking shoulders.
You weren’t one for material objects. Hell, you didn’t even get attached to people outside of your immediate family. But seeing Lucky smashed and burning tore at your heart. You had been through everything together, and much like Baby was to the boys, she felt more like a home than a car.
“Y/N,” Sam leaned in, “we’ll help you rebuild her.”
“Yeah, kiddo. We’ll get her back to new in no time.” Dean assured.
“It won’t be the same.” you whispered through your sniffles.
“I know, sweetheart.” Dean kissed the top of your head and pulled you closer.
The boys sat with you for some time, the heat of the flames warming your faces. Eventually Sam gestured to Dean and the older brother nodded.
“Let’s get you back to the bunker and set that leg.” Sam said, taking you from Dean’s arms.
You nodded sadly knowing that spending any more time watching your car burn would only deepen the hurt. You relaxed into Sam’s arms, resting your head on his shoulder. As you all made your way back to Baby, you saw the fire reflecting off something in the grass.
“Wait!” you yelled.
“What is it, Y/N/N?” Dean rushed to you and Sam, thinking you were in pain.
“Look.” You pointed to the shiny object beside Lucky.
Dean climbed back down the embankment and followed the line of your finger. He bent down, and when he stood up, you saw a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He walked back over to you and Sam and took your hand in his. He pressed something cold into your palm. You unfurled your fingers and in your hand was the four leaf clover you found in Lucky’s passenger seat the first day you saw her.
After The Storm (Dean X Reader): Dean takes care of the reader after a bad hunt.
Birthday Pie (Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader): Dean is upset after a hunt gone wrong on his birthday. The reader tries to cheer him up with a homemade pie, but much like the hunt, her surprise doesn’t go as planned.
Everything Goes Wrong (Sister!Reader): Dean is there to comfort his litter sister after she suffers a fatal injury while hunting.
Fever (Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader) : Sam and Dean urgently care for a very sick reader.
First Date (Dean X Reader): The reader reveals to Dean that she is nervous about a night out with a Lebanon local after being assaulted by the last man she dated. Dean offers to accompany her undercover, and the feelings they’ve been hiding from each other are revealed.
Lucky (Sister!Reader): Sam and Dean come to your rescue after a car accident.
Our Spot (Dean X Reader; 18+): Dean and the reader create a new memory at their favorite spot.
Safe With Us (Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader) : The reader is an actress on Supernatural. When a routine fight scene causes you to panic and run off set, Jared and Jensen comfort you. In doing so, they learn about the abuse you’ve been suffering at the hands of your boyfriend, Nicholas.
That’s What I’m Here For (Asthmatic!Reader): Sam and Dean help the reader through an asthma attack.
When I Look At You (Sam x Reader): The reader becomes a beauty pageant contestant to lure a vengeful spirit, and her confidence falters when she realizes the competition isn’t the empty spectacle she thought it’d be. With Sam’s encouragement, she finds the gumption she needs to finish the job.
SERIES
I Don’t Feel Anything (Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader) : While comforting the reader who is recovering in the hospital after a hunt, Sam and Dean deal with the guilt of your injuries.
Part I
Part II
The Lighthouse (Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader) : A hunt takes a turn for the worse, and Sam and Dean fight to keep you alive.
Part I
Part II
This Baby Will Have A Father: Y/N is an actress on Supernatural. After becoming pregnant, her boyfriend leaves her, not wanting anything to do with the baby. Unsure of what the future holds, her male co-stars show her that she’s not alone.
