Summary: Dean is a demon. Sam is your boyfriend. How would Deanmon play out if you tagged along for the rescue?
“This thing is filthy,” Sam said sometime after settling into the drive. He brushed an old soda cup and a crumpled-up wrapper off the dashboard, prompting him to glance around the interior floor boards–empty Taco Bell sauce packets, beer cans, and was that… a condom wrapper? Oh, make that two condom wrappers… and there’s one of the condoms. Sam cringed.
“It's just a car, Sam,” Dean said frankly.
His words made you wince. Dean–your Dean.. the real Dean–would never say that–not in a million years. This car was never just a car to Dean. It was his closest thing to a home when he was a kid and his most cherished object after John gave it to him. Taking care of the classic car wasn’t a hobby like it was for other folks–it was the closest thing to therapy Dean would ever receive. And when you were trapped in purgatory with him, the first story of the hundreds he eventually told you, to comfort you, was about his car.
“‘It's just a— a car’? Wow,” Sam scoffed. “You really have gone dark.”
“You have no idea,” Dean said.
Your brows furrowed at the implication. Imagining all the horrible things Dean was doing while you and Sam searched for him was the source of all your nightmares lately.
“You know what, Dean? I saw what happened back there. You could have killed that guy, and you didn't. You took mercy on him,” Sam protested.
You shook your head lightly. Sam had to know better than to believe that.
“You call that mercy?” Dean sneered. “Y/n gets it, don’t you, babe? Imagine… you spend your whole life hunting down the guy that knifed your father,” Dean drawled. “When you finally find him… He whips you like a dog… How do you think that feels? That kid's gonna spend his whole life knowing that he had his shot and that he couldn't beat me. That ain't mercy. That's the worst thing I could have done to him,” Dean said as he looked wistfully out the back window.
“And what I'm gonna do to you two, Sammy... Well, that ain't gonna be mercy, either.”
Sam glanced at you briefly before turning back to the road. His jaw set like he was intent on ignoring the demon’s taunts but you could see the panic setting in as his chest quickly rose and fell with each breath. About thirty different retorts flipped threw your mind, but you were determined to listen to Sam so they went unspoken. Instead, you subtly reached over and put your hand on him with a soft squeeze.
A moment later you felt Dean’s hot breath against your exposed neck, raising goose bumps across your skin as he leaned as far forward as he could manage with his hands cuffed to the door. It was closer than you’d anticipated he could get.
“Been awhile, eh, sweetheart?” Dean murmured as he brushed his nose in a light circle against the sensitive spot just below your ear and inhaled deeply before pointing his tongue and quickly licking up the edge of your ear.
“Ew, what the fuck, Dean?” you yelped as you leaned toward Sam and motioned for him to hand over the flask of holy water. He glanced down at his sling and then the steering wheel and back to you.
“Sorry, I didn’t think…,” he mumbled. “It’s in my pocket on my left side, you’re gonna have to fish it out,” he added.
“Yeah, I’ve pulled that one a time or two, Sammy. Never knock a classic,” Dean smirked as he leaned back confidently and stared out the window.
“Should’ve brought duct tape,” you muttered, eliciting a hardy laugh from Dean. You swallowed hard. There was nothing about Dean left in that laugh and yet you couldn’t pinpoint what about it, exactly, was different.
“I’m just saying,” Dean began. “Sammy’s clipped, stressed about his big bro,” his voice quavered with a mocking tone. “Searching high and low for him… you've been dealing with a limp noodle the last couple months, huh? Couldn’t get the train into the station, Sam? Poor girl just wants her donut glazed.”
“For fucks sake,” you murmured as you reached down for your oversized purse and began rifling through it.
“Sister, I could smell the neediness on you before I even saw you. Tell ya what, when we get to the bunker, let me out of these cuffs—I’ll help you with your little problem, sweetheart. Or hell, you know what, we can keep ‘em on—I know you like it rougher than Sammy likes to give it and, well, I’m willing to oblige.”
“That’s it,” Sam said as he jerked the steering wheel and pulled the car to the side of the road.
“Yes,” you whispered as you pulled a clear spray bottle from the bag.
“Oh, I’m touching all those sensitive parts tonight, aren’t I?” Dean hollered with a grin.
You turned in your seat and pulled the trigger on the spray bottle, misting Dean’s face in holy water. He growled lowly as his skin sizzled.
Sam had opened the car door but stopped short, pulling a double take as his brows furrowed at you.
“What?” you asked.
“Don’t–don’t you use that for your hair or something?”
“Oh, yeah, sometimes,” you said frankly as you turned back in your seat and rested the bottle beside you.
Sam was still staring at you with a puzzled expression.
“So… you use holy water to fix your hair?” he asked.
You sighed. “Only when we’re on the road.”
“I–I don’t know what to make of that.”
“I just figured you can never be too careful, and if a demon comes at me when I have my purse, like in a bathroom somewhere or something, or we’re in the motel room, then I can give ‘em a little holy water spritz and that might give me time to get a better weapon or whatever,” you shrugged.
Sam smiled at you and shook his head. “You’re insane,” he cooed as he climbed out of the car.
“Did it not literally just come in handy?” you asked as you followed suit, locking eyes over the top of the Impala. It was beginning to drizzle and you brushed a wet bead from your eyebrow as your hair became dotted with droplets.
“True,” he said, pulling a bemused expression.
You both made your way to the back of the car. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shielding yourself from the wet chill. Sam popped the trunk open and began hunting for something with his one arm.
“Sam,” you began as you brushed your hand gently over his shoulder. “You know I’m okay, right? I’m not–um–needy, or whatever.”
“Well, my—my demon brother can apparently smell it on you,” he said as he turned back to look at you and flashed a teasing smile, a not-so-subtle attempt at avoiding his real feelings on the matter.
Your face twisted like you’d just swallowed cough syrup. “So gross,” you muttered as Sam turned back to the trunk and fished around in the depths of it, past where you could see in the darkness.
“I know it’s in here,” he mumbled.
“Sam,” you sighed.
“We’re not letting him get to us, remember?” he reminded you sharply. “Finally,” he exhaled as he pulled out a roll of duct tape.
“Right, and we’re both doing a bang up job of that,” you said as you took the tape from him.
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, sorry,” he said.
“It’s alright, let’s just get home and finish it. This whole thing has been fucking exhausting… and I miss him,” you finished.
“And I- I miss you,” Sam sighed as he stepped closer to you and slipped his fingers between yours.
“Oh,” you gasped under your breath. His cheeks dimpled and there was a twinkle in his eyes as he ducked down and captured your lips in his. You let out a whimper as he pulled away.
“Right… not needy at all,” he said as his hungry gaze locked on yours. He pulled your laced fingers to his lips to press a kiss to the back of your hand.
“Oh, heaven forbid your adoring girlfriend be desperate for you at all times,” you cooed.
“Oh, is that so?” Sam asked smugly as he pressed himself closer to you.
“You know so.”
Sam chewed at his bottom lip and stared down at you for a long second before squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as he stepped back. “Okay… okay, let’s get back on track. Stop doing that to me,” he said, eyes still shut tight as his lips twitched up into a smile.
“Sorry,” you murmured before inhaling deeply and clearing your head with a gentle shake. “Oh, hey, do you think if we sharpie a sigil on top of the tape that it will stop him from humming? Bastard knows all of my most hated songs and I am gonna lose it, Sam.”
“Your mind works in such mysterious ways… beautiful ways… but mysterious,” he said as he smiled down at you. “I have no idea, but there’s nothin’ stoppin’ us from trying it,” he said, shrugging his good shoulder.
After finishing up with the tape, Sam took his spot back behind the wheel and jerked his head to the side, urging you to come closer as he maneuvered the car back onto the road. You’d been wary about leaning into his bad shoulder so you decided to curl up along the seat and rest your head on his thigh. Thankfully the sling left his hand free so he was able to brush his fingers through your hair and down the side of your neck.
“Oh, hey, don’t let me forget to stop at the grocery store before we get home,” he said quietly.
“What? Why?” you asked.
Sam snickered and you braced yourself for whatever awful joke he was about to make.
“I thought you said you were craving glazed donuts?”
You hesitated as you mulled over your retort. Dean was as quiet as the grave in the backseat. The sigil had worked.
“Oh yeah, babe, I’m dying for a glazed donut,” you smirked. “But we have to make sure we eat our fruits and veggies, too. Maybe we can pick up some eggplant. Ooh, and some cucumber! You know I love a tossed salad. And don’t forget the bananas. You know how I love a nice, firm, banana to start the day,” you teased as you turned your face up to see Sam swallow hard and sharply inhale. “I love to slowly unpeel it and-”
“Okay, okay, we get it,” Sam squirmed as you laughed at his discomfort. Dean was going to remember all of this when he came back, after all.
“Oh my god and some pickles! You know I love a big, fat, juicy pickle,” you said, laughing a little too hard at your own joke.
“You’re nuts.”
You slowly turned your head up toward Sam, eyes wide as you fought with everything you had to keep the laughter in your chest from bubbling over. You caught a glimpse of Sam’s tensed jaw in the light of a passing car as he, too, kept his mouth squeezed tightly shut and pointedly avoided glancing in your direction. This only made it worse and you could hold it in no longer as a laughing fit ripped from your chest.
“Come on, it’s like you're setting them up for me just so I can knock ‘em down,” you said after you finally caught your breath.
He glanced down at you and smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh my god!” you said.
“What?” he asked, with a jolt at your sudden exclamation as he stared down at you, eyes wide.
“Salami! The most obvious one!”
Sam’s face went blank as he stared at you before turning his eyes back to the road. You could almost hear his eyes rolling.
Summary: Dean is a demon. Sam is your boyfriend. How would Deanmon play out if you tagged along for the rescue?
“He’s at a piano bar in Killdeer, North Dakota,” Crowley said over the speaker of Sam’s cell.
“A piano bar?” you asked incredulously.
“Yes, Girl Squirrel, your bestie has quite the predilection for musical performances… didn’t you know?” Crowley derided.
Your face twisted with disgust. “Girl Squirrel? I don’t see how that’s apt.”
Sam shook his head and narrowed his eyes at you.
“You’re a girl and you’re shorter than Moose it’s not that comp-” Crowley started before Sam cut him off.
“Look, Crowley, we’re heading that way now. Once we get Dean back, you’ll get the blade,” he said before quickly hanging up.
“Seriously? Girl Squirrel?” you questioned again as you looked up at Sam. “He’s lost his touch.”
Sam was already turning to head back to your room. Crowley’s call had caught you a few doors down as you headed to get lunch while waiting for a new lead on Dean.
You chased after him, his long strides quickly leaving you behind.
“Sam? Babe?” you called as you walked through the motel room door.
He headed straight to his side of the bed where he dropped his phone and picked up his backpack with his free arm. The other had been locked in a sling for months after a demon almost got the better of him.
“Sam,” you said again, standing in the doorway.
“I heard you,” he said as he continued shoving clothes in his bag.
“Sam, I-” you began as you shut the room door.
“We finally got a pin on Dean and that’s what you’re taking from the conversation? Crowley’s insults?” he said before shutting his eyes and taking a long inhale.
You hesitated, watching him as he struggled with his one good arm to fold a flannel before giving up and shoving it in with everything else. He wasn’t wrong but his level of anger seemed a bit unfair.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“Really? You’re so- you’re sorry?” he challenged.
You took a deep breath as you stepped to your side of the bed.
“Okay,” you drawled under your breath as you grabbed your duffel. Sam’s emotions had been all over the place since losing Dean and the last thing you wanted was another argument.
He dropped his bag onto the bed and made his way to the bathroom to get his toiletry bag. As he stepped back into the room he paused and watched your back as you silently repacked your bag. What was he doing arguing with you over something so irrelevant?
“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he stepped toward you. You turned, surprised to hear him changing his tune so quickly.
“Me too,” you said. He slipped his good arm around your waist and pulled you carefully to him to plant a kiss to your cheek.
“I’m just so stressed,” he said.
“I know,” you whispered.
“Between Dean and wanting to protect you… and my damn arm. It’s just a lot,” he said.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve just been trying to lighten your mood. Totally backfired.” you frowned.
“I love you,” he smiled before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.
“Yeah, I love you too,” you grumbled mockingly. Finally, for the first time in far too long, Sam chuckled at you.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get on the road before we lose him again.”
“So what’re we thinkin’? How do you want to do this?” you asked as the GPS time ticked down.
“Well, first of all you’re staying in the car.”
“Oh, come on, not this again.”
“Yes, this again. I’m not letting you get close to him. It’s too risky.”
“Sam, you have one good arm and it’s not even your dominant one.”
“And I don’t mean this as an insult but even with one arm I’m a stronger hunter,”
“That is insulting,”
“Babe, you’ve been hunting a few years, I’ve been hunting my entire life.”
“But it’s Dean,”
“It’s not Dean. Not really.”
“He’s my best friend.”
“I know but, look, I’m not going to be able to focus if I’m worrying about you on top of getting to Dean.”
“So you want me to just stay on the sidelines?”
“How ‘bout this? You watch the backdoor in case he gets away,” he tried.
“Great, door duty,” you huffed.
“It’s not- we’ve seen what he’s capable of,” Sam reminded you.
“You think he would hurt me?” you asked.
“I think he’ll do just about anything to get away.”
“And you?”
“I can handle whatever he says… or does to me,” Sam said, burying the wince he felt in his throat deep down.
You sighed. “I can’t believe this- this is Dean we’re talking about.”
Sam inhaled sharply. “I know, but we are and the one thing I won’t risk to get him back is your life. So we’re doing this my way or not at all.”
Sam pulled into the parking lot and maneuvered to an empty spot. He pulled you to him and kissed your forehead. “Be careful, and promise me if you see him you will get out of his way.”
“I promise,” you said reluctantly.
Sam entered silently. A couple notes from a song he couldn’t quite recall played from the piano. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
“Hiya, Sam,” Dean called from atop the piano bench before even looking in his brothers direction. His demon senses could smell his brother the second he entered the building. He turned and eyed his brother up and down, taking in his weathered appearance and most importantly, his broken arm. He smirked as he turned to the bartender he knew well after months of trawling the bar for hookups and entertainment. “Hey, Harv, why don't you go grab a smoke?”
He turned back to Sam. “Who winged you?” he quipped.
“Does it matter?”
“Not really,” Dean shrugged. “I told you to let me go,” he said, changing the subject as he lifted his glass of whiskey.
“You know I can't do that,” Sam said with a shake of his head. There was a short pause between them as Dean gulped down the glass.
“By the way, your, uh, pal, Crowley… sold you out,” Sam baited.
“Sounds like him,” Dean said coolly as he stood from the piano and picked up the blade.
“Dean, hold on a second. You don't have to do this!” Sam said as Dean stepped closer to him. “Look, we know how to cure demons. You remember that?” he pleaded.
Dean continued past him, to the bar. Sam hesitated nervously.
“Little Latin, lot of blood. It rings a bell,” Dean said as he lifted a heavy bottle from behind the counter to refill his glass. “Did you ever stop to think that if I wanted to be cured, I wouldn't have bailed?”
“That was Crowley,” Sam said. He needed to believe that but his voice gave away that he knew better.
“It really wasn't,” Dean grinned before taking a sip.
“It doesn't matter, all right? 'Cause whatever went down, whatever happened, we will fix it,” Sam argued.
“Will we? 'Cause right now, I'm doing all I can not to come over there and rip your throat out... with my teeth,” Dean said with a cool grin. Sam swallowed hard. His brother was further gone than he’d realized.
“I'm giving you a chance, Sam. You should take it.”
“I'm gonna have to pass,” he retorted.
“Well, I'm not walking out that door with you. I'm just not,” Dean said, shaking his head. “So, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna kill me?”
“No,” Sam said.
“Why? You don't know what I've done. I might have it coming.”
“Well, I don't care. Because you are my brother. And I'm here to take you home,” Sam said as if he was willing it to be true.
Dean smiled and shook his head as he hummed and then said mockingly, “‘You're my brother, and I'm here to take you home.’ Yeah, what is this, a Lifetime movie? Huh? With your puppy-dog eyes?” He laughed. “Oh, thanks, Sammy. I needed that.”
Sam took the sigil marked handcuffs from his pocket.
“You really think those are gonna work?” Dean grinned.
“There's one way to find out.”
Just then, tear gas came flying through the window. Sam dissolved into a coughing fit as he stumbled outside. He punched through the backdoor, crawling on his arm and knees, and found you, unconscious on the ground. He barely had time to register what he was seeing when he was hit on the back of the head. Everything faded into darkness as he fell beside you.
Minutes later you began to stir and still half unconscious, found yourself face to face with a passed out Sam. It only took you a second to realize where you were. You’d been guarding the backdoor when there was a sudden pain in your head and you collapsed onto the ground just feet from the door you’d been watching. And now Sam was here. Your heart stopped as you shook him and muttered to yourself, begging him to wake up. You were suddenly filled with dread that you’d have to handle Dean on your own and realized Sam had been right all along, you weren’t ready for a fight of this caliber.
“What did you think was gonna happen, huh?” you listened as Dean spoke just feet away, across the backlot of the bar. “You just stroll up here and say ‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,’ And I'd just roll over? Well, that's just -- it makes me sad,” Dean mocked.
You lifted your head just enough to watch as Dean leaned over Cole who had fallen to the ground and mocked him. Cole, that son of a bitch who’d tortured Sam… He was the one who’d knocked you unconscious. A small part of you hoped Dean hurt him for what he did to Sam.
“Sam,” You whispered as you shook him again.
Dean didn’t notice the knife Cole had pulled from his hip pocket as he teased him. Sam finally began to stir just as Cole lunged forward and slashed Dean across the face with the blade.
Dean yelped in pain briefly before quickly gripping Cole by the throat and slamming him against a car. Cole’s face fell. You could only imagine what he was witnessing. The slash on Dean’s face must have been healing as the demon magic did its work.
Sam stared at you and you put your finger to your lips to silence him. You looked around, Cole and Dean were completely distracted by their fight. You climbed to your feet and helped Sam up. “Go,” he whispered as he kissed your cheek. You shook your head and he made a pointed expression at you. You kissed him quickly before running around the side of the bar to get to the car.
“You have no idea what you walked into here, do you? None,” Dean said, shaking his head.
“What are you?” Cole asked.
“I'm a demon,” Dean smiled.
Dean pulled the First Blade out and held it to Cole’s throat.
“Do it! You said if you saw me, you would kill me, so do it!” Cole exclaimed.
Dean hesitated and sneered. “I guess I changed my mind.”
Dean dropped Cole and stepped back. Sam took his opportunity and splashed holy water across his brother. Dean screamed in pain as the demon burned. Sam rushed in, snapping on the sigil etched handcuffs while the demon was distracted.
He began to struggle hopelessly against the cuffs as he continued screaming.
“Stop! It's over!” Sam shouted. “It’s over.”
Dean glared at Sam but it was, it was finally over.
Sam caught your eye and indicated with his chin for you to get down. He splashed Dean in the face with his holy water flask as you moved. The demon groaned lowly and it hurt a piece of you to listen to his skin boil as he wailed. With the demon weakened by the holy water—you climbed onto the backseat next to Dean and helped Sam lock the cuffs to the steel ring Sam’d welded into the car.
“Ooh baby, in front of Sammy this time?” Dean, his eyes black, grunted through the pain as you inadvertently straddled one of his legs to hold his wrists in place as Sam clicked the lock shut through the chain and the steel ring. He gave it a quick shake to ensure it was secure and then glanced over at you just in time to see you throwing your elbow into Dean’s throat.
“This is gonna be a long drive,” he muttered as you slid back across the seat and smirked a little bigger to yourself with each choking cough that Dean let out. Sam cuffed Dean’s ankles and shoved his legs in the car before slamming the door shut.
Having recovered from his hacking fit, Dean caught you leaning forward and watching him as you shut the door. He shot you a wink. Your nostrils flared as your eyes narrowed on him for a brief moment before straightening up and finding Sam beside you.
“Just to be clear—you know there wasn’t another time, right?” you said with a wince. You loved Dean but anything more than platonic sounded like incest to your ears.
“What?” Sam asked, already having forgotten the demon’s words. “Oh, yeah, obviously. Listen, Y/N, promise me something,” he said as he grasped your hand in his only free one. “Don’t let him instigate you.”
“Me? Get instigated? Never,” you smiled.
“Hon’, I’m serious. Listen to me. We both know you can wear your emotions on your sleeve and while I normally love that about you,” he continued with a tender smile. “I don’t want the demon getting any ammo to use against us. Especially you, okay?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, look it’s just, I’m already doing this one-armed, and on top of that, he’s going to know you’re my weak spot and–well, ya know demons love getting under people’s skin an–”
“Sam, do I look green to you?” It was hard to keep his implication from getting under your skin… thereby proving his point, you supposed.
“I know, babe. I’m–look, just prove me wrong okay? How ‘bout that?” he sighed. You grasped the side of his stubbled face and pecked his cheek before pulling away and making your way around the car. “Was that an ‘okay’?” he called across to you as you opened the passenger door and climbed in. You pulled the visor mirror down and fussed with your hair, twisting it into a quick bun.
You caught sight of Dean in the mirror and he flashed his black eyes at you. “Sweetheart,” he cooed. You snapped the visor shut and Dean laughed hollowly. Not even Sam called you that… just Dean. You took a steadying breath and fought down the anger.
It wasn’t a long wait for Crowley to make his appearance. You stayed in the car, happy to let Sam handle the exchange. That was until Dean had started murmuring the same two lines of the chorus to Bad Blood.
“A pleasure doing business,” Crowley said as he stood at the front of the car, not quite ready to put this chapter behind him but more than ready to be free of the risk that was black-eyed Dean and the Blade.
“Now we got bad blood, you know it used to be mad love.”
“What are you gonna do with it?” Sam asked as he tapped the tip of the Blade against his fingers.
“Toss it into a volcano, leave it on the Moon. I'll get creative,” Crowley sneered. “Believe me, I don't want Dean getting his hands on the precious any more than you do. Your brother knows I ratted. He tends to hold a grudge. I don't want to get...Boned,” he finished smugly.
“Take a look what you’ve done, ‘cause baby now we got bad blood.”
Sam moved slowly as he stepped toward Crowley and handed over the weapon.
“This doesn't make us square,” Sam chided. “If I see you again–”
“Oh, stop it, Samantha. No one likes a tease,” Crowley interjected. “Sherman,” he said with a nod toward you before shifting his gaze behind you to study Dean. His eyes lingered on him for a long moment and then… he was gone.
“Sherman?” you asked, your nose and brows wrinkled with disgust as Sam climbed into the front seat. He stared at you for a second before chuckling and you threw him a raised eyebrow. His cheeks dimpled and his eyes lit up briefly as he laughed harder to himself. He hadn’t smiled like that in months.
You shook your head and bugged your eye and brow further at him, urging him to explain himself.
“You just reminded me of–you know what doesn’t matter,” he said as he glanced hesitantly back to a now silent and glowering Dean, and then back to you. Sam shook his head and turned the keys in the ignition. “Uh, I guess that’s Crowley’s new nickname for you,” he finished, a little too lamely, as if he was hoping you wouldn’t keep pushing the matter.
“Yeah, I don’t get it,” you said, shaking your head as Sam pulled the car to the edge of the lot.
“Well, you told him ‘Girl Squirrel’ wasn’t fitting so I guess–,”
“Sherman’s the moronic kid adopted by the genius dog in Rocky and Bullwinkle,” Dean interjected. His lips curled into an open-mouthed grin.
“That son-of-a-bitch,” you fumed as you turned to see Crowley standing back in his spot with his hands tucked in his pockets as he sneered at you. “I’m gonna wipe that smug–”
“Babe,” Sam said through gritted teeth, then pointed his eyes toward Dean.
You took a deep breath and exhaled as you turned to watch Sam pull the car smoothly onto the road.
“And me, you reminded him of me. Well, the old me, of course,” Dean explained. “Your Bestie.”
“I–” you started and faltered, your eyes narrowing in contemplation. Sam looked sheepish as his eyes darted briefly to you and then back to the road.
“Baby now we got bad blood, used to be maaad love,” Dean sang under his breath as he tapped his foot.
You gritted your teeth and sighed.
“Take a look what you’ve dooone, ‘cause baby now we got bad blood! Hey!”
You flicked at the volume knob, drowning out Dean with whatever Sam had last been listening to.
“Open up my eeeager eeeeyes, ‘cause I’m Mr. Brightsiiide.”
I watched supernatural and fell in love with this tall handsome albeit cute shaggy haired beautiful pretty baby boy who has the brightest soul that can light up your darkest days and is as strong as a diamond. No matter how many other pieces of media I consume, he has my heart, brain, liver, kidney, intestines etc. No other character has ever appealed or mattered so much to me. They don't make men like Sam Winchester any more.
Summary: “I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.”
Series Rating: Explicit/18+ TW: Rape/Non-con
Previous chapters: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Sevenandahalf Eight Nine Ten Eleven
A/N: I hope you all like this chapter and if my story makes you feel something, reblogs, comments, asks, etc are always welcome <3 Alsooo don't worry. This is not the end. I felt like this seemed like an ending so I wanted to be clear. I feel like I've been giving y'all blue balls so don't worry, we're gonna get our smut on real soon, folks! ;) Most likely the next part will also wrap everything up and will be the last part but I'm already working on a new sam x reader fic that takes place at the beginning of s.10 but is a continuation of the same relationship that is present in all my fics.
Tag list: @lauraashley93 @stoneyggirl2 @tiggytaylor @park-simphwa @dottirose
When you first woke sometime later, you continued to drift in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. You were faintly aware of Sam’s presence on the other side of you–your feet tangled with his legs as he curved around you. But the meds Dean gave you were strong and continued to pull you back down into unconsciousness.
In the hazy moments of awareness, you could hear Sam and Dean talking quietly to each other. Their voices lulled you back into a comforted sleep. Another moment, despite your back to him, you could feel Sam sitting back against the headboard, reading. Each rustle of the pages turning was a quiet thrill that made you smile unconsciously in your sleep, even more so when he began using his free hand to casually caress figure eights onto your back.
Sometime after that, you found Sam alongside you, over the blankets but still snuggled against you, his flanneled arm draped over you. He’d laced fingers with yours and held your hand over your heart. You felt him nuzzle his nose into your hair and inhale deeply before gently pressing his lips to the crown of your head. This, combined with the sun shining in from the window by the door and your desperate thirst, was enough to finally push you fully into consciousness.
The ice bag rested heavily on top of your cheek and was as cold as ever. Dean must have made a fresh one.
You whined softly as you stretched your legs and let out a yawn. Instinctively, you moved your arms and Sam withdrew his, allowing you to stretch them out in front of you, noticing with each shift the aches in parts of you that you didn’t even know could ache. Your lungs felt bruised, somehow, from the strain the shifter had put on them in its attempt to suffocate you. The large bruises on the back of your arms, your waist, and your thighs where it had coiled itself tightly around you pulsed out painful reminders.
You turned over, taking the ice bag with you, and nestled it between your cheek and the pillow. Each movement brought on more frustration, stirring you further from your sleep as you wrestled with your appendages in a vain attempt to settle into a position that didn’t hurt.. Grasping the top sheet in your fingers, you pulled your hands together and rested them beneath your chin.
You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted to the light.
Sam was right there, watching you. His face lit up as your eyes settled on his. His shaggy, brown hair was tucked behind his ears and he was dressed in jeans and an old grey and blue flannel. You took stock of the bandages on his neck and cheek and chin and wondered how many more there were that you couldn’t see.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey,” you croaked. A beat passed before you painfully cleared your throat and asked, “When was the last time you laid in bed this late?”
Sam smirked as he thought about it for a moment. “Laid in bed with you, like this? At three in the afternoon? Hmm…,” his eyes narrowed on you as he thought. “Probably a few months… Was it New Year's Day? … Certainly not often enough.”
Your heart raced and you took as deep a breath as you could manage. Sam wouldn’t be talking to you like this if he hadn’t decided to stay, right?
“New resolution: stay in bed more,” you rasped with a careful smile before a tiny cough caught in your throat and you pulled the sheet over your mouth as you let it out.
“I can get on board with that,” Sam said grinning broadly as he climbed off the bed and made his way around. He grabbed the full cup from the nightstand as you carefully pulled yourself back to rest against the headboard. A groan or a hiss escaped your lips with each painful movement. Sam leaned over you, careful not to spill the water, and adjusted the pillow behind your back before moving the ice bag to the nightstand. He crouched down and handed you the cup which you drank down in seconds, stopping once to cover a painful cough.
Sam’s brow furrowed as he tried to force his concerned frown into a smile. He grabbed Dean’s steel water container and refilled your cup as you held it out for him. Once he was sure you weren’t going to chug the second cup as well, he joined you back on the bed. This time he sat with his legs crossed under him and faced you.
You glanced around the room. “Dean?”
“Supply run,” Sam said. You nodded before taking a sip of water. He watched you for several long moments before looking away, as if steeling his nerves. He took a deep breath and when he turned back you saw that his eyes were glistening again, like last night, and you were back in that old place, the place where your heart ached and begged to stop all of his pain and guilt and regret and longed to remind him how worthy and caring and honorable he was and how all the bullshit he’d endured wasn’t on him...
You took another sip and closed that door in your mind. You weren’t sure Sam still wanted you to take care of him in that way and until you were, that wasn’t a weight you could take on… not right now.
“Y/n… I’m so-”
“I’m okay, Sam,” you said, cutting him off. The corners of your lips twitched up into your best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Dean stopped it. I’m still here. You’re still here. Everything’s okay.”
Okay, so maybe that door didn’t close so easily…
“Please, y/n, just let me say this,” he said before inhaling sharply. “I— I never should have left.”
You shook your head at him. “Please don’t do that.”
“What?”
“We both know by now that shit just happens and all any of us can do is be there to help pick up the pieces, maybe stop it if we’re lucky. We’re not always going to be lucky,” you shrugged. “So don’t act like you should have done something–like you could have done something… because clearly, life doesn’t work that way.”
Sam swallowed hard and looked away from you. “I never should have taken that damn case. I should have given it to Dean. I should have come straight home,” he muttered.
“Sam,” you said before biting anxiously at your bottom lip. The thing that had been gnawing at the edge of your thoughts was finally ready to bubble out. “Look, I know this has thrown a wrench in your, uh, plans. I still mean what I said the other night–if you’re not ready to come back, don’t do it just because of–because of all this. I’ll be okay for a bit. Awhile even. If you have any doubts… about–about us–I need you to deal with them before you–if you decide to…” You stumbled over your words and took a sharp breath, ready to push past the one word you couldn’t get your mouth to utter. “if you can– if you can forgive me.”
Sam dragged his hand down his face as the tears started to slip down his cheeks. He pinched his bottom lip anxiously like he did when research was beginning to fail him. Normally, when you caught him doing that, you’d walk up behind him and pull his hands into yours as you leaned over and pecked little kisses down the side of his face until you found his lips, and–still grasping his hand in yours–tilted his face up and pressed your lips to his, taking a long, silent moment before opening your mouth to him and slipping your tongue gently and momentarily between his lips. Your breath turned shallow from the memories and you quickly wiped away a tear as you wondered how you’d ever be able to keep yourself from him.
Sam stared up at the ceiling a moment before looking back and studying you for a long moment. His brows knit together and suddenly he leaned toward you and pulled you into his arms as he lifted you with an almost disconcerting ease. You fought through the ache in your muscles as you shifted your legs and nestled yourself around his hips before resting your chin on his shoulder and encircling him in your arms. He slowly caressed his fingers up and down your back.
“Sam…,” you said softly against his ear, your chin pushing into his shoulder as you spoke.
“You know… when I was out in the woods, setting up my tent, hiking the trails, just trying to clear my mind–that plan completely backfired. All I could think about was you. I watched the creeks flowing, saw little pools of minnows and frogs and swimming ducks and I thought of you and how much you’d love it. I saw an owl up high in a tree and I wished I could show you. I watched the sunset and I wished you were there holding my hand, telling me what the colors reminded you of. I stared up at the stars and I swear I saw your face. The moon was a beautiful, clear, perfect crescent–just like you always love to point out to me when you see it. You were everywhere. It was so much that I almost prayed to Cass, sure that he was doing this to me on purpose. But I knew better. It wasn’t Cass or any other magic. It was just… you. My love for you.”
Your heart caught in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks as he spoke. You pulled your chin down to the fabric above his clavicle and pressed a kiss into him as you shifted your grip on your forearm, squeezing him tighter as your tears dripped onto Sam’s back.
“I couldn’t sleep. I debated calling you–debated if I should just pack up and drive back home to you. Then I got news from a hunter about a case close to home and decided I could wrap it up quick and be home in a couple of days and that way you’d still get your space–in case you needed it now–after–after the way I’d treated you that night.”
“Sam,” you said, whispering his name again. That wasn’t your favorite memory but you didn’t want it to be something he berated himself for forever.
“I know, just let me finish. I need to say this.”
You loosened your embrace on him and trailed your fingers up his neck, unintentionally eliciting a soft gasp from him at your touch. Your fingers found your target as you brushed them–opened and closed–around his crown, gliding slowly through his hair. His chest, pressed to you, fell and rose shallower now.
“Oh my god… you're making this… more difficult than I imagined,” he said, his voice strained.
“Sorry,” you said, the small smile evident in your tone. “It’s just… this last week has been incredibly–excessively–unbearably shitty and I needed you so bad–not needed you, needed you–just–you know–needed you. Dean did his best–the best friend I could ever ask for–but when you hold me–I feel… healed… salvageable… I’m not-”
“Shh…,” Sam soothed you as he gripped your shoulders and pulled you away from him so that he could look into your eyes. “I’m here and I got you and I’m not going anywhere. Now, listen to me. Of course I forgive you, okay? I forgive you a million times over. Tell me you’d make the same choice again and again and I’ll say, ‘Yes, do it’. Tell me you need to wipe my mind again right now and I’ll say, ‘Please’ without giving it another thought. If you made a call then it was the right one. Full stop. I know you, and you know me,” he said, squeezing your shoulders before letting go and cupping either side of your face in his wide palms, ensuring you couldn’t look away from him as he spoke but careful to avoid the laceration on your cheek.
“It took me a little bit to sort through the memories of that night after Cass gave them back to me. At first all I could see was you–bloody, screaming in agony as I lifted you–I woke up hearing that scream in my nightmares, y/n… but then, there it was, a thought that prickled at the back of my mind as I held you so still that my arms were cramping–you didn’t deserve this life and Dean and I were monsters for pulling you into it–for keeping you in it. This is why we don’t do attachments in this life. It’s not safe. And loving me was going to be the death of you.”
You shook your head and he let go of you, dropping his hands to find yours, weaving each finger with his.
“You were right, y/n,” he said. “Don’t you see? You were right.”
“No, Sam,” you said, still shaking your head. “Don’t do that. I was wrong, okay? My choices were wrong. I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.
Sam closed his eyes and was silent for several long seconds as your words washed over him. Finally, he whispered, “I love you,” and leaned forward to press his lips chastely against yours before he pulled back just enough for his heavy breath to warm your skin. “Is this okay?” he asked.
You paused, surprised at yourself for not immediately responding, ‘yes’. And realized you were not sure what to make of it, of him. And his beautiful words were too much. It was all overwhelming.
“Y/n?”
“I’m so sorry,” you said as you dropped your head into your hands and squeezed your eyes shut. Fresh tears dripped into your palms as you quietly sobbed.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me–I know you’re Sam. You are Sam. You are my Sam. And I adore you, too. You know that, right?” you asked. “I can’t find all the words right now to convey it the way you did. I’m so–it’s just been a–a shitty fucking week,” you said as you lifted your red, blotchy face up to look at him and took in several slow, deep breaths.
Sam’s eyes widened with concern and you saw his chest rise and fall rapidly with panicked breaths. “I do–I do know that,” he said as fresh tears misted his eyes. You could see he wanted to comfort you, to hold you, but he wasn’t sure anymore if that was right, so he pulled himself away.
Your tears came harder then and you gripped the comforter into a ball. You were furious, you wanted to scream out in anguish. You wanted to stop. fucking. crying. But you couldn’t. It all just spilled out and all you wanted was for Sam to wrap you in a hug and hold you and kiss your forehead and stroke your back, but there was another part of you that wanted him to stay away from you–to leave you the fuck alone.
You felt like you were being torn in two and it was an emotional agony that paled in comparison to what you felt the night you and Sam fought or even the misery of the days after. You stood and fumbled around your boots and clothing, looking for your phone. Sam’s voice sounded like it was being carried over a pool of water that sat above you as he called your name. You ignored him. You found your phone on the nightstand, no doubt plugged in and charged thanks to the ever thoughtful Sam, and made your way to the bathroom where you shut the door behind you, too scared to look back at him. It broke your heart to imagine his expression upon hearing the soft click of the lock but you did it all the same.
You turned the cold knob on the sink and tried to focus on the sound of the rushing water as you cupped your hands under the stream and watched the water rush across your skin in airy streams. It was cool and calming and you splashed several handfuls over your face before patting it dry with the hand towel, careful of your cut.
You unlocked your phone and called Dean.
“Y/n?” Dean asked as he answered the phone before the first ring had even finished.
“Dean?”
“You good?”
“I, uh–yeah, I’m good,” you lied.
Dean could hear the congestion in your voice and knew you’d been crying.
In an instant his tone turned gravelly and flat. “What’s wrong?”
“I just, um, I know it’s Sam but–I don’t know why but I suddenly wasn’t so sure–but that doesn’t make sense because I do know–I do know that’s Sam,” you choked back your tears and swallowed hard. “He–I just…,” you trailed off. There was a silence between you for a moment.
“Y/n, the shifter’s dead, okay? I killed it. And I just got the other one into the trunk so we can burn it, too. I’ll be there in ten but in the meantime, I’m sure Sam won’t mind if you have to test him again to be sure, okay, kiddo?”
You nodded to yourself. “Okay,” you whispered before sniffing and wiping your nose with the back of your hand.
“Deep breaths,” Dean reminded you.
You took a deep breath and winced at the sharp pain in your lungs as you inhaled.
“Sorry,” you said as a guilty tear spilled down your cheek.
“Don’t be. I’ll stay on the phone with you ‘til I’m back,” he said.
You took another deep breath and counted to five before letting it out and counted to five again as you exhaled, ignoring the pain.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay, Dean,” you said as you hung up the phone before he could counter you.
You glanced in the mirror for the first time since you weren’t even sure when. Your hair was a crazy, tangled mess and your face was stamped with a bright splotch of red across your cheek, an almost perfect handprint. The two butterfly closures held the broken skin together. There was a big, dark bruise forming beneath your eye, above the cut. The shifter really had hit you as hard as it could, which was saying something for a monster. You quickly brushed through your hair with your fingers and pulled it into a manageable but loose bun. You turned to face the door and shut your eyes as you gently shook your whole self, before slowly opening the door. Sam sat at the edge of the bed, waiting quietly as he fidgeted with his fingers.
“You scared me,” he murmured as he looked up at you.
“Sorry,” you said as you hesitated in the doorway. “I know you’re not…,” you trailed off and took a slow step toward him. “Your whole being–your whole presence is the opposite of it so I know you’re not–but for a second a part of me was there again and–well, without Dean here–I’m sorry. Not that you–” you said, fumbling over your words before Sam cut you off.
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Sam said. “I know exactly what it’s like to have no idea what’s real and what’s in your head.”
Of course Sam would know; he’d told you vague stories of the torture he’d endured in the cage before you’d met him. The other pieces Dean filled in, about his visions of Lucifer taunting him, and the scar on his palm that reminded him he was safe. When Sam was having a really bad day you’d sometimes gently trace a finger across that scar to remind him of that fact. And on even worse days, when you had a moment alone, you’d peck small kisses to it.
He held his hand out and waited for you to take it as you approached him. When you did, he pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around your hips as he nestled his face into your waist. You twisted your fingers in his hair as he sighed a ragged breath into you. You stood there just like that, silent, as Sam breathed in and out, comforted by your fingers tracing up and down his scalp and twisting idly in his hair.
“Will it help if you tell me about it?” he asked after a minute.
You considered the idea. “Maybe–later though, or tomorrow–not yet–and besides, Dean’s gonna be back soon,” you said. He looked up at you. Those big, pitiful–beautiful eyes that you’d walk across shattered glass and hot coals to see just one more time. You didn’t need to cut his arm to know he wasn’t a shifter. This was all Sam. You disentangled a hand from his hair and lightly prodded at his left arm causing him to release you. You slid your fingers down the length of his arm as he bent it up to you. When you reached his wrist you gently grasped it in your palm and pulled it up to your lips so you could press a kiss to his scarred palm.
“I love you,” you murmured as you released his wrist. He glided his palm across your jaw and cupped it as he rose to his feet. Your other arm slid down and you slipped it under the back of his shirt to hold him just above his hip, urging him to stay close.
“Love you,” he whispered back. He held fastly, now, to either side of your face as he ducked down and pressed his lips to yours. You released his hip and lifted your hands, resting them over his as he held you, ensuring he didn’t release you before you were ready. You opened your lips to him and he hesitated for the briefest second before deepening the kiss and slipped his tongue momentarily along yours. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you as he started to pull back. You leaned forward and captured his lips with yours.
“More,” you murmured against his mouth. Obedient as always, Sam kissed you back, hungrily now, like he needed your lips on his to sustain himself. He angled your face up and deepened the kiss with his tongue. Gently, he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it and going back to your lips for more. You sighed into him as you released his hands. He let one trail over your neck as the other gripped your waist, pulling you closer and eliciting a low gasp from your lips. You cupped the side of his face with one hand as you let the other one return to his hair, just behind his ear where you drew light circles with your thumb.
“I should shower,” you said, remembering Dean was on his way.
“I’m the one that needs the cold shower,” he whispered with a smirk as you rested your hands on his chest.
“Oh please, it takes way more than that to get you going.”
“Don’t be so sure,” he said as he gently grasped your hand and pulled it down so that you could feel his partially stiffened cock beneath his jeans. He smiled at the blush that flushed your cheeks as he shifted sideways, turning his back to the door and walked you backwards toward the bathroom.
“I really missed you,” he said as he pressed his lips to the juncture of your neck and jaw.
The roar of the Impala broke the trance and you broke apart. You listened as Dean pulled the car to the door and cut the engine off. Dean entered the room in a rush, not even bothering to shut the car door behind him. He looked to you and then to Sam and arched an eyebrow. You made your way to Dean as Sam sat uncomfortably down at the edge of the bed, tugging at his jeans as he crouched.
“You good, sweetheart?”
“Something like that,” you said as you hugged him. “Thanks for–”
“ ‘Course,” he said as he continued to study you before glancing again to Sam. “Okay, well, you two ready to put this place in the rearview after we eat a quick bite? Because I sure as shit am,” he said as he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. He turned and made his way back out the motel door, leaving it hanging open as he rifled through the back seat before returning with a plastic bag and a paper tray with three sweating cups of ice cold soda in one hand and a brown paper bag that smelled greasy and warm and delicious in the other. The smell awakened your appetite and your stomach rumbled in response.
“Holy shit, I’m fucking hungry,” you said, eliciting a small chuckle from Sam.
“Good, cause I got your favorite cheeseburger: extra mustard, extra pepper, add jalapenos,” Dean said as he kicked the door shut behind him and set the drinks down on the table.
Your mouth watered as you took the bag from Dean and set it on the table, hungrily pulling a fistful of fries from the bag, and stuffing them in your mouth as you took a seat. You didn’t have the heart to tell him your throat may be too sore to enjoy mustard and jalapenos and you were too hungry to really care.
“Hey, those better not be my fries!” Dean shouted. You stiffened and glanced hesitantly in his direction. Sam’s lips twitched up into a small smile at you before he saw that Dean was handing him the plastic bag.
“Oh, thanks,” he said hesitantly as he squinted at the bag.
“Only thing around here was a wally-world so those’ll have to do,” Dean said as he made his way back to the table and sat across from you. He pulled one of the cups from the tray and took a long pull.
You were already three bites into your burger and had dumped the fries on to the paper wrapping when Dean fished his food out of the bag. You turned and watched as Sam pulled a large shoe box from the bag and lifted one of the boots out. They were steel-toe, dark brown work boots. “They’ll definitely do,” he said as he pulled them on and fussed with the laces. To you, they looked closer to something Dean would choose for himself than what Sam normally wore but the options were surely slim.
“You gonna eat, Sammy?” Dean asked a moment later. You looked back to see Sam was still at the edge of the bed, watching you and Dean devour your meals. There was a hesitancy in his eyes that confused you and you furrowed your brows at him. He shook his head and smiled as he stood up.
“So, the bunkers good?” you asked Dean after handing Sam his burger. There were only two seats at the small dinette table so Sam sat at the foot of Dean’s bed and took a careful bite of his cheeseburger.
“Good as it can be,” he said as he chewed a large bite. “Cass said everything was fine. Had to have been some kind of spell–a cloaking spell or an entry spell–that either the shifter already knew or got from, you know, Sam’s beautiful mind,” he said before taking another pull from his soda.
You grimaced at the thought. Sam let out a guilty huff before leaning his long body off the bed and over to the table and to take one of your fries as he kissed your cheek.
“S’okay,” you said as he sat back down. You lifted your leg and rubbed your pointed toe along the side of his calf. A pained smile crossed his face as he looked to you.
You finished the last bite of your cheeseburger and took a giant gulp from the soda, tossed a few fries quickly in your mouth and stood up, wiping your hands off with a napkin. “Finish my fries for me, Sam,” you said. “Gonna shower real quick.”
Sam’s palm rested on his knee and you made sure to pass him closely enough that you could graze two fingers over the back of his hand. His hand twitched reflexively from the sudden, unexpected touch.
“Be careful of your cut,” he whispered. You smiled tenderly at him from the doorway before turning and shutting the door.
You showered–for the first time since–and it felt so good to finally, really wash the shifter off. You let the hot water relax the tension in your shoulders and neck and scrubbed gently at your scalp with the motel shampoo. You paid extra attention with the sudsy washcloth, trying to make sure you scrubbed every part of you that the shifter touched. It wasn’t enough, you could still feel it and as the memories started to enter your mind, you hurried through the rest of your shower, not comfortable to be alone with your own thoughts.
When you were done, you put on fresh clothes you had tucked away in your go-bag. More plaid flannel, t-shirts and dark-washed jeans. The clothing was just practical for hunting, more than anything. Although, it was nice to look like you actually belonged with Sam and Dean when you went anywhere. Sometimes you would see other girls in their crop tops or chunky sweaters, baggy jeans and sneakers, floral dresses that cinched at the waist paired with platform boots–all things with even the vaguest whiff of a ‘fashion sense’ and you’d feel a pang of jealousy for yours long lost.
You brushed gently through your wet hair and pulled it into a quick braid, easy and out of the way, the short pieces fell loose around your face. You peered out of the bathroom. Sam was packing his bag on top of his side of the bed.
He looked up when he heard the door open and turned back to smile at you. The front door hung open and you could hear Dean packing up the Impala.
“You’re so cute,” he said. You shrugged as you slung your duffel over your shoulder.
You arched a brow at him. “I look like I went three rounds with a lawnmower,” you said with a huff of laughter as you sat at the edge of the bed to pull on your boots, dropping your bag back to the floor.
“I like when you braid your hair,” he said as he brushed one of the loose pieces back and tucked it behind your ear.
“Cut to me–practicing a dutch braid–then–cue the montage–as I perfect the waterfall braid, the half-up half-down twist, the mermaid, the fishtail and the low plait as ‘Every Little Thing She Does is Magic’ by The Police plays,” you said with a grin as you laced your boots.
Sam playfully rolled his eyes as he slung his bag over his shoulder before picking up yours and doing the same.
“I can carry it,” you said, as you stood up and slipped your phone into your back pocket.
“I know you can,” he said as he indicated for you to walk on in front of him. You shook your head before walking to the car and climbed in the backseat. Dean didn’t protest as Sam, too, climbed in back. You fell asleep, slumped against Sam’s shoulder, hands laced together over his knee as CCR crackled through the speakers.
"Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again.
He never budges from my side - or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam.
Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.”
-John Winchester's Journal
……………
Dean had his arms wrapped around Sam as he took his last breath.
