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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » In which August finds Sam weeping to himself at ungodly hours of the night and thus takes it upon herself to comfort him.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » warnings: very mild swearing, 1 (one) mention of vomit (metaphorical)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » word count: 1.9K 🥹
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » genre: fluff - Sam Winchester x OC (platonic)
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » a/n: HIIIHIHIHIIIII my first fic ever posted. The genre for this one is fluff, ofc, because I'm not confident enough in my writing to make any other genre. This might be ass, but I'm hard on my own creations so you guys honestly might think it's Not That Bad™️ please leave notes if you do like! Reposts sound rlly cool right about now hehehe. Anyway, I'll quit yapping your ear off, here's my very first ever posted fic! ✨✨✨✨
Being a hunter came with more hardships than humanly necessary. It came with self-harming character traits, such as self-sacrificing, selflessness, and stubbornness. Most (and worst) of all, it came with waiting until the last minute until you explode from the sheer pressure of everything coming at you at once; waiting til the last moment to let everything out, all at the same time. It seemed as though hunting never really gave the slightest bit of room for emotions, making you push it all down like a person shoving more and more laundry into the already-overflowing basket.
Being a Winchester meant being all of those things times a trillion.
Sam Winchester had been through literal hell and back more times than he could count on his fingers——which was a telling sign that it had been too many. In his and his brother’s line of work, there was practically no time for breaks like there were for “normal” people that had normal jobs and normal lives. No, this was their normal–his normal. Hunting things, saving people, watching those people die anyway, wash, rinse, and repeat. To say he was tired of it all was the understatement of the century. Usually to appease Dean, Cas, and August simply because he didn’t want them to worry too much about him, Sam would just tell them that he was fine any time they’d ask. August could always see right through him, considering it wasn’t humanly possible he was coping normally with everything that’s happened to him, but she’d always leave it alone knowing she’d get the same answer every time. Dean knew better than to push, and Cas was off fighting his own, more heavenly battles.
Tonight, though? Tonight was different.
It was well past three in the morning, and Sam was up, barely grasping at consciousness as he read the same paragraph of some lore book over and over and over again. He was trying his damnedest to save his brother, to get this Mark off Dean, despite the older’s protests and the loss of Charlie. Sam was practically in a psychotic state, feeling the need to put Charlie’s good, hard work that she literally died for to good use. Besides, he couldn’t just let Rowena go, not when he was this close. It was just a matter of when and how to tell Dean, if he ever did.
After the umpteenth time of reading the same damn sentence and not retaining any of its information, Sam swiped his arm across the library’s table and tossed the book across the room haphazardly. He watched it land at an odd angle–open and face down, a few of the pages bending under the weight of the old, leather-bound spine and breaking the impact of the fall. He stared at the thing as if it’d personally insulted him until he felt the familiar burn of tears moisturizing the eyes he hadn’t even realized were so dry. Sam dragged the heels of his palms down his forehead and pressed them into his eyes, moving his fingers to thread and pull at his greased locks. When was the last time he’d showered? When was the last time he properly took care of himself? Sam’s tears pittered down onto the old wood of the table, body trembling as his thoughts spiraled out of control. Soft huffs of frustrated breaths left his lips, his teeth gritted and clenched with the bite force of a bear.
Maybe five minutes later, August had woken up with the worst case of cotton-mouth she’d probably ever experienced. That was an exaggeration, but at that moment it wasn’t for her. She had to peel her tongue from the roof of her mouth when she woke up, like her tongue and the roof of her mouth were two strips of velcro.. Immediately, August threw her fluffy duvet off her body and padded out of her room to make a beeline for the kitchen. On her way there, she had to pass the library, so imagine her surprise when she stepped into the dimly lit room to find Sam silently weeping at one of the tables. There was a book and a few papers strewn across the floor beside him, like he’d thrown a tantrum trying to read a lore book–which August could relate to a little too well.
Cocking her head to the side, August took silent steps towards Sam and gently tapped on his shoulder so as not to startle him. This was, unfortunately, in vain because he did jolt upright, face lifting from the puddle that he’d created within his palms so quickly that she almost got whiplash.
“Sorry, sorry,” the girl chuckled, raising her hands up defensively and stepping back a comfortable distance. “I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.” August offered Sam a lopsided smile, to which he not even half-heartedly met with his own. “Just…wanted to make sure you were okay, is all.”
“Yeah–yup, I’m fine.” Sam inhaled deeply through his nose, the sound strained and congested from all his tears, and he pushed his fingers into his eyes as if to furiously rub them dry. His face was wet and red, and his eyes were raw and puffed. August’s heart broke at the sight, the poor man looked awful. She knew the stress he was undergoing, knew how anxious he was about not telling Dean, and she knew how it was taking a toll on him mentally just trying to find the ingredients for this cure for his big brother who was slowly losing himself more and more.
“We both know that’s not true.”
Sam flinched at her words, though he knew they didn’t hold any bite. August’s words were less accusatory and more just her bringing awareness to his mental state. She never was the one to push him into talking, but she also was conscious of the way he barely took care of himself when he was like this. He just shook his head and took another deep breath, nudging his chin in her direction.
“What about you, what’re you doing up?” he asked with a sniffle, tilting his head to the side just a tick. “Don’t change the subject,” she replied bluntly, to which he just stared at her while she stared back.
August studied his eyes, as if searching for the answer to her unspoken question within that hazel gaze of his. Truth be told, she’s been worried sick about Sam ever since Dean came back to life. Dean had come back a demon, and August’s head was still reeling from that due to just how different and violent Dean had become. However, she knew that Sam was going to do whatever it took to save his brother, no matter how many people had to die along the way. That fact scared her purely because she knew he was destructive to himself when he was like this.
Sam slumped forward in his seat with a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his already-tousled locks. “You’re, uh…not gonna leave this be, are you?” he asked in that very signature, very Sam way–all sniffles and breaths between rushed, sputtered words, corners of his mouth twitching every so often.
August shook her head, stepping that much closer to him. She was entirely serious about this, about him. She wanted him to know that she was there for him. She knew that he and Dean both struggled with unspoken problems, problems that–although she couldn’t relate to–she wanted to help understand so she could help carry this burden that hangs heavy on the brothers’ shoulders.
“You can talk about it, y’know. What’s bothering you, I mean.” A soft pause, the suggestion hanging in the air for a good beat…and then: Sam lifts his head from his hands. “I can’t burden you with that, August. You don’t understand how easy you have it not knowing the shit that life puts me–us through.”
August didn’t know why she expected anything different, really. That was always his response: you should be grateful you don’t have the same traumas as we do, you don’t understand what I go through on a daily basis, I don’t want to burden you, or any other point that was a rephrasing of the three. It broke her heart because he was so adamant on carrying this weight alone. On the other hand, she was stubborn. August didn’t want to press, but the more Sam would deny or reject her help, the more she wanted to pick at his brain to know why he didn’t want to take it. She wanted to unscrew his skull and read his mind like a book for hours and hours until they were both carrying the weight of his worries.
Despite all this, August made it clear she wasn't taking that for an answer.
"Sam, I know—I mean, I don't, like you said, but I know that you struggle a Hell of a lot more than you should. You don't talk, you don't seek out the comfort that you need but think you don't deserve. Even if it's not me right this very second, even if it is, you need to talk about things. If you keep it bottled up inside it'll just get worse until you explode. None of us want that, and I know you don't, either." August left no room for arguments with her little speech, standing up a little straighter to drive her point home. Sam just looked at her for a moment, contemplating whether or not to toss all the baggage onto her that he's been lugging around on his back for God knows how long before finally, finally opening his mouth and speaking.
The floodgates were opened, and the words that poured out could've devestated about a dozen hundred civilizations within a second. Sam's emotions, his worries, his trauma was exposed, right there onto the floor like word vomit.
And August just sat there and listened, eyes never leaving his. She listened to his every word, attentive as if she was standing in front of him with her arms open wide, receiving the metaphorical baggage weighing him down. It had been about an hour, maybe a little more than that, and he had gotten everything he wanted off his chest. Just for a moment, August stepped forward, her arms open with the silent question Sam was almost too ashamed to ask himself.
When he saw her open arms, he would've run into them if he wasn't sitting.
Sam leaned forward into August's embrace, to which she returned quickly. Her fingers threaded through his hair, imagining herself working through the knots in his tired brain. Her other hand was drawing soothing little imaginary shapes into his back. He just held onto her waist and cried into her worn sleep shirt, soaking it in the process; she didn't give any care in the damn world, and neither did he.
They stayed like this for another half-hour, with Sam reluctantly peeling himself away from August with a soft breath. As he looked up at her, eyes meeting each other, he whispered, "thank you." She nodded, moving her hands to squeeze his shoulders in response. As they parted ways—Sam finally moving to his room to get a proper night's rest, and August going to the kitchen to quench her parched throat—there was, indeed an obvious weight that'd been lifted between them, as now—rather than watch Sam carry that boulder of weight on his mind—August was helping Sam balance that weight.
And Sam couldn't be more grateful for that, a soft smile gracing his lips as his eyes close on another stress-ridden day.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » a/n: AHHHH ok ok my rlly cool fic writers that I follow how did I do? If I could get some constructive criticism on my writing that'd be preeeetty cool I think :D I do know that my ending is lacking, but I'm at a loss for what I should do with it/what I should do in the future for endings. Anywayyyyy, that's all I've got for you guys today 😋 see ya when I see ya !
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ » credits: @saradika-graphics for the border, images found on pinterest, and I sort of formatted the intro from one of @sequoia-roots's sam fics 🥹
