Summary: After years of clashing on hunts, y/n's reckless act to save a civilian nearly gets her killed by a wendigo—shattering Sam Winchester's stoic control. A rain-soaked fight erupts where Sam’s terror masks buried love. As he patches up her injury on the Impala’s hood, suppressed feelings detonate into desperate, tender sex under stormy skies, forging a new beginning from anger and longing.
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence during monster hunting, moderate injury/blood description, explicit consensual sexual content (outdoor setting, car sex), strong language, emotional angst, traumatic near-death experience, possessive themes.
Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)
If you love it, please comment and/or reblog. Let me know your thoughts! :)
**IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT**
A/N: This was written for an anonymous request!
“Hey lovely!
I just wanted to say I adore your writing! I have BINGED all of your work and I'm all in my feelings:)
Also, I was wondering if I could request a smutty Sammy one shot?
Hidden feelings, Sammy trying to protect reader and himself in his own way, Not quite enemies to lovers but fem reader has been hunting with the boys for years, but her and Sam butt heads a lot, and reader doesn't understand why (she's a lovely person with a big heart but a lot of bite and a hell of a hunter).Thinking it could hit a point after a hunt where Sammy has a go at reader for going off plan to save civilians. They have a big fight and the reader asks why he hates her so much and then Sammy admits he has feelings and then they have steamy and intense coitus on the hood of the impala..
I’m sorry if this is too much or doesn’t make sense, just an idea that won’t leave me alone and I think you would write it beautifully!
Lots of love ❤️”
Thank you so much for the request!!! I hope I did justice to your vision and I’m so happy I could make it come to life! Thank you for all the love and support!
The abandoned Hendrickson farm reeked of decay and damp earth. Rain lashed against the grimy windows of the farmhouse where Sam Winchester hunched over a map spread across a rickety table, the beam of his flashlight stark against the gloom.
Across from him, you meticulously cleaned your silver-edged hunting knife, the rhythmic scrape of cloth on metal the only sound besides the storm outside. Dean leaned against the doorframe, polishing his own blade.
"Alright, geniuses," Dean announced, breaking the tense silence that had settled like dust. "Wendigo's got a taste for late-night snacks near the old silo. Pattern's clear. We draw it into the open with raw meat bait near the grain elevator, then torch it when it takes the lure. Simple, clean, no civilians in the splash zone."
You nodded, sheathing your knife. "Sounds solid. Silo's isolated enough."
Sam didn't look up. His jaw was clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. "It is solid," he said, his voice low and strained. "Which means no deviations. Especially impulsive, reckless ones that put everyone at risk." His eyes flicked up, pinning you with an intensity that felt like a physical shove. It was the same look he’d given you a dozen times before – after the poltergeist hunt in Toledo where you’d chased a fleeing spirit into an unstable building, or the vampire nest in Baton Rouge where you’d gone in alone to save a hostage before backup arrived.
The familiar spark of irritation flared in your chest. "Define 'reckless', Sam. Saving lives? Because that's kinda the job description."
"Your job," Sam countered, finally meeting your gaze fully, his hazel eyes dark with frustration, "is to follow the plan so we all go home. Not to play martyr because you can't stand the thought of waiting five extra minutes!"
"Martyr?" You scoffed, leaning forward. "It's called having a damn heart! Something you seem to conveniently misplace whenever we're in the field!"
Dean sighed, the sound heavy with years of mediating these clashes. "Kids, play nice. Save the foreplay for after we roast this overgrown jerky monster."
"Shut up, Dean," you and Sam snapped in unison, the momentary unity only highlighting the chasm between you.
Sam shoved the map aside. "Just... stick to the plan tonight, y/n. Please."
The 'please' sounded like it was dragged out of him, rough and reluctant. It wasn't a request; it was a command wrapped in exasperation.
"Why?" you challenged, holding his gaze. "Why does it always feel like you're just waiting for me to screw up? Like you expect me to be the liability?" The unspoken question hung heavy: Why do you look at me like you hate me?
Sam looked away first, his shoulders rigid. "Because someone has to be the voice of reason," he muttered, but the words lacked conviction. There was something else beneath them, something raw and unspoken that made your own anger falter for a split second. Before you could press, Dean clapped his hands.
"Showtime, Romeo and Juliet. Let's bag us a Wendigo."
The storm had eased to a cold drizzle by the time you took your position behind a rusted-out tractor near the designated bait site – a pile of raw beefsteaks Dean had procured from God-knows-where, stinking faintly even through the rain. The grain elevator loomed like a skeletal giant against the bruised twilight sky. Sam was positioned across the muddy yard, near the sagging porch of the farmhouse, his tall frame a shadow against the weathered wood. Dean was further back, near the Impala parked on the gravel drive, ready with the flamethrower.
Silence descended, thick and oppressive, broken only by the drip of water from the eaves and the frantic hammering of your own heart. The tension wasn't just about the monster; it was about Sam's words, his constant disapproval, the invisible wall he kept slamming down between you. Years of hunting alongside the Winchesters, years of saving each other's lives, yet with Sam, it always felt like walking on a knife's edge.
A guttural, inhuman screech shattered the quiet. The Wendigo burst from the tree line near the silo, unnaturally fast, drawn by the scent of blood. It was a nightmare given form – emaciated, grey-skinned, with elongated limbs and claws like scythes, its eyes glowing with predatory hunger. It lunged for the bait pile.
"Hold..." Dean's voice crackled softly in your earpiece. "Hold... wait for it to commit..."
The Wendigo snatched up a steak, its jaws snapping with terrifying force. It was focused, distracted. Perfect.
Then, a terrified scream ripped through the night – high-pitched and human. Your head snapped towards the sound. Near the dilapidated chicken coop, partially hidden by overgrown weeds, a figure stumbled into view – a young woman, maybe early twenties, her clothes torn and muddy, eyes wide with primal terror. She must have been exploring the "haunted" farm, oblivious to the real danger.
The Wendigo's head jerked up at the new sound. Its glowing eyes fixed on the easier, screaming prey. It abandoned the bait, launching itself towards the terrified girl with terrifying speed.
"Shit!" Dean hissed in your ear. “Where the hell did she come from?!"
The plan evaporated. Protocol screamed to hold position, let Dean handle it with fire. But the girl was frozen, seconds from being torn apart. Your body moved before your brain fully processed the command. You broke cover, sprinting across the muddy expanse towards the coop, drawing your knife and a flask of accelerant.
"y/n, NO! STICK TO THE PLAN!" Sam's roar of pure panic blasted through your earpiece, raw and desperate.
You ignored him. There was no time. The Wendigo was a blur closing in on the girl. You skidded to a halt between them, spraying the accelerant in a wide arc just as the creature lunged. The foul-smelling liquid splashed across its chest. You flicked your lighter.
Whoosh. A wall of flame erupted, engulfing the Wendigo's upper body. It shrieked, an ear-splitting sound of agony and fury, stumbling back, clawing at its burning face.
"Run!" you screamed at the girl, shoving her roughly towards the farmhouse. "Go! NOW!"
She scrambled away, sobbing hysterically. Relief washed over you for a split second. Then, searing pain exploded across your left shoulder. A burning claw, trailing fire, had raked you as the Wendigo flailed blindly. You cried out, stumbling backward, the world tilting. The Wendigo, still ablaze but enraged beyond pain, turned its smoldering gaze towards you, its maw gaping.
Across the yard, time seemed to fracture. You saw Sam. Not the stoic hunter, not the disapproving partner. You saw raw, unadulterated terror etched onto his face, his eyes wide with a horror that mirrored your own impending doom. He was already moving, abandoning his position, sprinting towards you with a speed you didn't know he possessed, his own flask of accelerant forgotten, his rifle raised but useless at this range.
"DEAN!" Sam's scream was pure anguish.
The roar of the flamethrower answered. A torrent of fire engulfed the Wendigo just as it lunged for you. The heat was intense, singeing your hair. The creature writhed, its shrieks cut short as it collapsed into a smoldering, twitching heap.
Silence crashed back, broken only by the crackle of burning monster flesh and your own ragged, pained breathing. You clutched your bleeding shoulder, the adrenaline crash making your knees tremble. The young woman was curled into a ball near the farmhouse steps, whimpering.
Dean jogged up, lowering the flamethrower nozzle, his face grim. "Damn fool stunt, y/n," he growled, but there was relief beneath the anger. He glanced at your shoulder. "You okay?"
"Just... scratched," you managed, wincing as pain flared.
Sam reached you. He didn't ask if you were okay. He didn't look at your wound. He grabbed your upper arms – not gently – his fingers digging in, his face inches from yours. His eyes were wild, haunted, filled with a fury that burned hotter than the Wendigo's pyre.
"What the HELL were you thinking?!" he roared, his voice raw, shaking with emotion. "You could have been killed! Torn apart! Did you even think?! Or is that just too much to ask?!"
The shock of his reaction, the sheer intensity of his fear-turned-rage, momentarily stole your breath. "She was going to die, Sam!" you shot back, trying to wrench your arms free. His grip was iron. "What was I supposed to do? Let her get ripped to shreds while we stuck to Dean's damn timetable?!"
"You were supposed to follow orders!" Sam yelled, shaking you slightly. "You were supposed to trust us! Trust me! Instead, you just charged in like some... some suicidal maniac!"
"Better a suicidal maniac than a heartless bastard!" you spat, the pain in your shoulder fueling your own fury. "Is that what you want? For me to be cold and calculating like you? To watch someone die because it wasn't convenient?"
"Better cold than DEAD!" Sam bellowed, his voice cracking. "Don't you get it?! You keep doing this! Throwing yourself into the fire! And I have to stand there and... and..." He choked, his eyes blazing into yours, filled with a torment you couldn't fathom. "I have to watch!"
The rain intensified, drumming a frantic rhythm on the rusted roof of the chicken coop and soaking through your clothes, plastering them to your skin. The acrid stench of burnt Wendigo flesh mixed with the damp earth and the coppery tang of your own blood. Sam stood before you, his chest heaving, rain plastering his long hair to his forehead and neck. His eyes, wide and haunted, burned into yours with an intensity that stole your breath. Fury, terror, and something else – something vast and terrifyingly raw – warred in their hazel depths.
"You keep doing this!" he roared, his voice cracking against the downpour. "Throwing yourself into the fire! And I have to stand there and... and watch!" He choked on the last word, a tremor running through his frame that had nothing to do with the cold. His hands, still gripping your upper arms, trembled violently.
The ambulance siren wailed closer. Dean, his face etched with weary resignation, helped the sobbing girl towards the flashing lights pulling up near the Impala. "Sort your crap out!" he yelled back over his shoulder before disappearing with the civilian.
Alone. Just you, Sam, the smoldering corpse, the relentless rain, and the suffocating weight of years of friction. The adrenaline surge from the fight and the near-death experience was crashing hard, leaving you shaky and hollowed out. His accusation – I have to watch – echoed in your skull, resonating with a strange, unfamiliar frequency. It wasn't just anger. It was… anguish. Profound, gut-wrenching anguish.
"Why?" The word tore from your throat, ragged and desperate, echoing the question that had haunted you since the day you first butted heads with this infuriatingly brilliant, frustratingly closed-off giant.
Tears, hot and stinging, mixed with the cold rain on your cheeks. "Why, Sam? Why do you look at me like that? Like I'm… like I'm a constant knife twisting in your gut? What did I do?"
Sam flinched as if physically struck. The raw fury flickered, replaced by a vulnerability so stark it was terrifying. His grip on your arms loosened slightly, but his gaze remained locked onto yours, holding you captive. He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard. His jaw worked, muscles jumping beneath the rain-slicked skin. You saw the struggle, the war waging behind his eyes – years of walls meticulously built, crumbling under the weight of tonight's terror.
He doesn't hate you, a desperate, hopeful voice whispered in the storm inside your head. It feels like… like…
The thought fractured, obliterated by a sudden, searing wave of agony that ripped through your left shoulder. The Wendigo's claw had cut deep, and the delayed shock of the injury, held at bay by adrenaline and fury, crashed over you like a physical blow. A gasp escaped you, sharp and pained. Your vision blurred, the farmyard tilting violently. Your knees buckled, the muddy ground rushing up to meet you.
Strong arms caught you before you hit the mud. Sam’s arms. He scooped you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, careful to avoid your injured shoulder. His chest was solid against your side, radiating heat even through his soaked shirt. He didn't speak. His face was a mask of grim determination, the earlier vulnerability buried beneath urgent practicality.
He carried you swiftly through the driving rain towards the Impala. The familiar scent of leather and old engine oil was a strange comfort. He set you down gently on the hood, the cold metal biting through your wet clothes. Rainwater streamed down the windshield, blurring the world outside their little bubble.
"Stay," he commanded, his voice rough but devoid of its earlier rage. He popped the trunk, rummaging inside, returning moments later with the familiar, battered first aid kit. He climbed onto the hood beside you, his movements efficient, focused.
The pain throbbed in time with your heartbeat, sharp and insistent. But beneath it, beneath the chill and the shock, the echo of Sam’s tormented eyes, the raw edge in his voice… it pulsed stronger. He doesn’t hate you. The realization, fragile and terrifying, began to crystallize.
"Sam," you started, your voice weak but insistent. You needed to know. Needed to understand the storm behind his eyes. Needed to tell him…
"Don't," he cut you off sharply, not looking up. He was carefully cutting away the torn, blood-soaked fabric around your shoulder with antiseptic wipes. His touch was surprisingly gentle, clinical. "Just… don't talk right now. Save your strength." He dabbed antiseptic onto the wound, the sting making you hiss. His jaw tightened.
"But Sam—"
"I said don't." His voice was low, strained. He finally glanced up, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second. What you saw there confirmed your dawning suspicion: fear. Not just fear for your injury, but fear of you. Fear of what you might say. He looked away quickly, focusing intently on applying a sterile pad. "I know what you're going to say. It's fine. Just… forget I said anything back there. Forget… all of it." He began securing the pad with medical tape, his fingers surprisingly deft despite their slight tremor. "It was the adrenaline. The scare. Doesn't mean anything."
Forget? The word was a slap. He thought you were going to reject him. He thought his outburst, his raw terror, was just… noise. Something to be dismissed. The sheer, heartbreaking wrongness of it galvanized you.
"It does mean something!" you insisted, pushing past the pain, grabbing his wrist with your good hand to stop his ministrations. His skin was hot under your touch. "Sam, look at me!"
He froze, his gaze locked on your hand on his wrist. He didn't pull away, but he didn't look up either. His breathing was shallow. "Please, y/n," he whispered, the sound barely audible over the rain drumming on the Impala's roof. "Don't make this harder. I know… I know you don't feel that way. It's okay. Just… let me patch you up." He tried to gently pull his wrist free, his voice thick with resignation. "Pretend it didn't happen."
The resignation broke you. Years of butting heads, of fiery arguments, of stolen glances you'd dismissed, of his inexplicable protectiveness that always felt like disapproval… it all coalesced into a single, blazing certainty. He loved you. And he was convinced you could never love him back.
"You idiot," you breathed, the words laced with exasperation and a tenderness that surprised even you.
Before he could react, before he could retreat further behind his walls, you leaned forward, ignoring the flare of pain in your shoulder, and kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate. A collision of lips, cold from the rain but instantly igniting. A shockwave of pure, unadulterated need surged through you, erasing pain, erasing doubt, erasing everything but the feel of him. His lips were softer than you imagined, yet firm. He tasted of rain, gunpowder, and something uniquely, achingly Sam.
For a heart-stopping moment, he was utterly still, frozen in shock. Then, a low groan vibrated deep in his chest, a sound of pure, surrendered relief. His hands flew up, one cradling the back of your head, fingers tangling in your wet hair, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The first aid kit tumbled forgotten onto the hood.
The kiss deepened instantly, transforming from shock to consuming hunger. His mouth opened under yours, his tongue meeting yours with a fierce, claiming heat that stole your breath. All the pent-up years of tension, the arguments, the unspoken longing, the terror of the hunt – it all poured into that kiss. It was fierce, possessive, yet underpinned by a tenderness that made your heart ache. His large hand splayed across your lower back, pressing you impossibly closer, while the other remained tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the connection. Rain streamed down your faces, mingling, irrelevant.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps that mingled with yours. His eyes, dark with desire and disbelief, searched yours. "y/n…?" His voice was a raw scrape.
"Shut up, Sam," you murmured, your own voice husky with need. You traced his jawline with your fingertips, feeling the stubble, the strong line. "Just… shut up and kiss me again."
A ghost of his familiar exasperated smirk touched his lips, but it was instantly consumed by heat. "Bossy," he growled, but he obeyed, capturing your lips again with bruising intensity.
This kiss was slower, deeper, exploring, savoring. His hands moved, one sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you tighter against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his jeans. The other hand slipped under the hem of your soaked shirt, his calloused palm skating up your side, leaving a trail of fire on your rain-chilled skin. You arched into his touch, a moan escaping you as his thumb brushed the underside of your breast.
"Always gotta have the last word," he murmured against your lips, his own breath hitching as your hand slid down his chest, over the wet fabric, finding the hard bulge beneath. You squeezed gently, earning another deep groan that vibrated through your chest.
"Someone has to," you retorted breathlessly, fumbling with the button of his jeans. "Since you're usually too busy being… ah!" His mouth had found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing lightly, his tongue soothing the sting. Your head fell back against the cool metal of the Impala's windshield frame, exposing more of your throat to him. "Too busy being… infuriatingly… logical…"
His chuckle was a dark rumble against your skin as his hand finally pushed your shirt up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra, the rain instantly cooling your heated skin before his mouth followed, hot and demanding. "Logic's overrated," he breathed, his lips closing over a taut nipple through the wet lace of your bra. The sensation, sharp and electric, shot straight to your core, drawing a sharp cry from you. His fingers made quick work of the clasp, freeing your breasts to his hungry gaze and hotter mouth. He lavished attention on one peak, sucking deeply, his tongue swirling, while his thumb teased the other. The combination of the cool rain and his scorching mouth was exquisite torture.
"Sam…" His name was a plea, a command.
He lifted his head, his eyes blazing. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice thick with need. One hand slid down, past the waistband of your jeans, fingers seeking the heat between your legs. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me."
You gasped as his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties, pressing firmly against your clit. "Yes," you choked out, bucking against his hand. "God, Sam, yes! Always… wanted you… you stubborn… bastard…"
He silenced your smartass remark with another searing kiss, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans and panties, dragging them down your hips in one rough, urgent motion. The cold air hit your exposed core, followed instantly by the heat of his hand. Two fingers plunged into you without preamble, deep and claiming, curling expertly. Your back arched off the hood, a cry tearing from your throat.
"Always driving me crazy," he growled, watching your face as he pumped his fingers, adding a third, stretching you, preparing you, his thumb circling your clit with relentless pressure. "Always so reckless… so beautiful… be mine." The possessive growl sent another jolt of pure desire through you.
"Yours," you gasped, meeting his intense gaze, your own need reflected back at you tenfold. "Only yours, Sam. Now… please…"
He needed no further urging. He freed himself from his jeans, his cock springing free, thick and hard and glistening in the rain. The sight stole your breath. He positioned himself between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours, the raw vulnerability from earlier now fused with primal possession and desperate love. He guided himself to your entrance, the broad head pressing against your slick heat.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Look at me, y/n."
You held his gaze, drowning in the storm of love, fear, and overwhelming need in his hazel eyes. With one powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside you. The stretch was intense, perfect, filling you completely. You cried out, nails digging into his rain-slicked shoulders, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him deeper still.
He stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. "God…" he breathed, the word a prayer, a curse.
"Feels… feels like coming home."
Then he moved. Slow, deep, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive nerve ending. He set a rhythm that was less about frantic need and more about worship, about claiming and cherishing simultaneously. Each stroke was deep, grinding against that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. His hips rolled with a powerful, controlled grace, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing under your hands.
"You feel… incredible," he groaned, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was tender amidst the driving intensity. "So tight… so perfect…" He shifted slightly, angling his hips, hitting that spot with unerring accuracy on every inward thrust. Your moans became continuous, mingling with the drumming rain.
"Sam… harder…" you begged, arching up to meet his thrusts. "Don't… don't hold back…"
A low growl escaped him. "Never," he promised, his control snapping. His thrusts became faster, harder, pistoning into you with a force that rocked the Impala on its suspension. The hood groaned beneath you. Each powerful drive sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, building the pressure relentlessly. His large hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly to meet his plunges, his gaze locked onto yours, dark and possessive.
"You take me so good," he rasped, his voice strained. "My brave, reckless girl…" He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth again, sucking hard, his tongue flicking, sending another bolt of pure ecstasy straight to your core.
The combination of his deep, relentless thrusts, the rough suction on your breast, the possessive words growled against your skin, and the overwhelming emotional tide pushed you over the edge. Your climax crashed over you with terrifying force, a supernova detonating deep within.
Your body convulsed, clamping down hard around him, a scream ripped from your throat that was swallowed by the rain and his own groan of satisfaction. Wave after wave of pure, blinding pleasure washed through you, leaving you trembling and gasping.
He followed you over the precipice moments later. With a final, deep, grinding thrust that buried him impossibly deep, he stiffened, his own release tearing through him. His roar was muffled against your neck, his body shuddering violently as he spilled himself inside you, hot pulses echoing the aftershocks still rippling through your own body. He held himself deep, panting harshly against your skin, his arms wrapping around you possessively as if he’d never let go.
Slowly, the frantic pace of the rain seemed to soften. The world came back into focus – the smell of wet earth and sex, the cool metal beneath your back, the solid, warm weight of Sam blanketing you, his heartbeat a frantic drum against your chest. He shifted slightly, withdrawing with a soft groan, but immediately gathered you close again, pulling you against his side. He grabbed his discarded shirt from the hood and draped it clumsily over your upper body, a gesture of tender practicality amidst the aftermath.
You lay tangled together on the broad hood of the Impala, limbs intertwined, breathing slowly returning to normal. The storm clouds were parting overhead, revealing a patchwork of stars glittering against the velvety black sky. The silence was profound, filled only by the soft patter of residual rain and the sound of your shared breaths.
Sam’s arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his fingers tracing idle, soothing patterns on your hip over his shirt. His other hand gently brushed wet strands of hair from your forehead. You turned your head to look at him. His profile was outlined against the starlight, peaceful, the lines of tension finally smoothed away. He felt your gaze and turned his head, meeting your eyes. The raw vulnerability was still there, but now it was overlaid with a profound, quiet wonder, and a deep, settled warmth.
"Still think I hate you?" he asked softly, his voice rough but filled with a tenderness that made your heart squeeze.
A tired, contented smile touched your lips. "Maybe just a little," you murmured, snuggling closer into the solid warmth of his side. "For making me wait so damn long."
He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest you could feel against your cheek. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Smartass," he breathed, the word thick with affection.
You traced the line of his collarbone with a fingertip. "Your smartass," you corrected softly.
He tightened his arm around you, pulling you impossibly closer. "Yeah," he sighed, the single word holding a universe of possession, relief, and love. "Mine." He tilted his head back, looking up at the emerging stars. "Dean's gonna be pissed about the hood."
"Worth it," you declared, following his gaze. The vastness of the sky, the glittering stars, the solid presence of the man beside you – it felt like peace. Like a homecoming you hadn't known you were searching for.
Sam hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking your hipbone.
"Definitely worth it." He was quiet for a long moment, just holding you, breathing with you under the clearing sky. "So… what now?" he asked, his voice tentative, echoing the question from the muddy field, but now infused with a fragile, hopeful certainty.
You turned your head, meeting his eyes again in the starlight. You saw the love, clear and undeniable now. You saw the future, uncertain but infinitely brighter. You smiled, a real, unguarded smile. "Now," you said, your voice soft but sure, "we go home." You leaned up and kissed him, slow and deep, a promise sealed under the watchful stars. The kiss lingered, speaking volumes neither of you needed words for anymore. The rain had stopped. The only sounds were the distant crickets and the steady, synchronized beat of two hearts finally finding their rhythm. The Impala waited patiently beneath them, a silent guardian of their newfound peace. The road ahead was unknown, but for the first time, they would face it together.
Summary: Dean leaves the reader behind at a bar and something awful happens to her. Can he fix his mistake?
Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)
Warnings: language, injured reader, mentions of attempted rape, mentions of violence, blood, angst, sad reader, scared reader, angry Sam, angry Dean, nightmares, fluff, torture (not really; more threatening), implied smut
Looking at you in the hospital bed Sam’s heart breaks. Your face is black and blue and you’ve got a shot wound.
“How did this happen?” He asks the female detective.
“She told us the guy was hitting at her in the bar. She left to call a cab, but he followed her. He tried to force her to…” The detective explains.
“He tried to rape her?” Sam asks panicked.
“Yes, but she kicked his balls and hit his jaw. When she tried to call her partner she realized too late the gun in his hand. He shot her, but she shot back. She called the ambulance and they called the police.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“He’s in the hospital too, handcuffed and two officers guard him.”
“Thank you, detective,” Sam says not taking his eyes off you.
“Here’s my number agent, call me anytime to exchange information. Your partner is really tough. She gave it to him really good.”
“Thanks.”
Stroking your cheek gently Sam looks at you. “What happened? Why were you alone?”
“Doesn’t matter.” You whisper.
“Y/N? What happened? What did Dean do?”
“Nothing…”
“Nothing? I shall believe this?”
“He did nothing, that’s the problem.”
“Huh?”
“The guy didn’t stop harassing me. He was persistent and like with you I told him Dean is my boyfriend to make him leave.”
“And he kept on harass you even knowing Dean’s your boyfriend?”
“No as he asked Dean if he’s my boyfriend and Dean said no.”
“Wait! Dean said no?”
“He was busy flirting with a random chick. The guy tried to touch me but Dean just…he ignored me. I decided to leave the bar to call a cab but the guy he followed me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault. He tried to touch me…to…I kicked his balls and hit his jaw but he hit me too. I stumbled backward and saw the gun too late. Maybe the booze…should not have drunk the whiskey. He shot me and I shot back. Then I called the ambulance.”
“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks.
“Don’t know. I guess he’s fucking that chick. Honestly, I don’t care.”
“Going to talk to him.” Sam grunts angry.
“No, please stay.”
“Okay, I just need to ask the doctor something. I’ll be right back.”
Nodding you give Sam a cracked smile. Outside Sam calls Dean telling him he needs to come to the hospital he holds back the urge to smash his brother’s face. How could he leave you alone?
30 minutes later Dean arrives at the hospital pissed. He had to leave his flavour of the week.
As soon as Sam sees his brother he storms toward him.
“What’s wrong with you? We always pretend we are her boyfriend when a guy harasses her! He tried to touch her in the bar and you didn’t stop him? The best is you left her alone!”
“She’s a grown woman! What happened? Did she stumble?” Dean tries to joke.
“No, that guy tried to rape her outside! He shot her. I don’t have words for you right now. You make me sick!” Sam yells.
“Wait that guy tried to…is she alright?” Dean asks panicked.
“No of course not! That guy tried to rape her. She got hurt and shot. She’s not okay!” Sam yells again. Leaving Dean behind he enters your room again.
“You called him?” You whisper.
“Needed to…should kick his ass!” Sam grunts.
“No, just stay here, please.”
“Sure, I won’t leave.” Smiling you squeeze his large hand.
Closing your eyes you try to find some sleep. Loud voices make you flinch. Opening your eyes you see Dean and Sam arguing again.
“Please, I just want to check on her.” Dean pleas.
“Too late Dean. You always act like our leader but in the end, you left your team member behind to get laid.” Sam grunts.
“Please, I’m sorry. Didn’t know that guy would try to…going to rip him apart.” Dean grunts.
“What for? That is all your fault. You forced her to come with you to the bar and then you left her behind.”
Sighing Dean looks at your face. Avoiding looking at him you look out of the window.
“Y/N? I’m sorry.” He whispers.
“What for? I’m not your girlfriend or your responsibility.” You snap at him.
“Please, I’m really sorry. This will never happen again.”
“That’s right as I’ll never go somewhere with you alone, never ever again.” You state.
Trying to turn away from him you groan in pain. Ignoring the pain you keep on moving.
“I’m really sorry. Let me make it up to you.” Dean tries again.
“How? Do you know how close…forget it.”
“Sam, can you leave me alone with Y/N for a minute?”
“Fine, but I’ll be right back.” Sam grunts.
“How close?” Dean asks softly.
“He hit me by surprise. I wasn’t able to react for a minute…he touched me, he kissed me. When he tried to rip my panties apart my hunter instincts finally kicked in and I kicked his balls. I don’t know what happened. I never felt so helpless before.” Sobbing you hide your face ashamed.
“He touched you? I’m going to kill him. I swear I’ll kill him.” Dean yells. The thought that someone touched you against your will makes him furious.
“The cops already have him. He’s in the hospital too…” You whisper.
“Don’t care I’ll kill him.”
“Please, they’ll arrest you.”
“I don’t care. He’ll pay for hurting you.” Pacing around the room Dean tries to find a way to sneak into the guy’s room.
“No, just drop it. They’ll arrest him.” You say scared Dean will kill the guy.
Sobbing you remember how he touched you and how helpless you felt. Seeing your fear shaking form Dean lies next to you in the bed, holding you tight.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know…I just felt so helpless…” You whisper.
“You’re not helpless you gave it to him really good the detective told me.” Sam says smiling at you.
“I need to get into that assholes room!” Dean insists.
“No, please don’t…”
“Okay, Dean you stay here and I exchange information’s with the detective.” Sam says before leaving the room again.
Holding you tight Dean gently strokes your back. Wiping the tears away you try to relax in his arms.
“Going to kill that guy.” He grunts.
“Please don’t go away.” You plea.
2 months later…
Waking up screaming you start crying again. ‘Why can’t you get over what happened?’ You hunt since childhood, you saw so many monsters but that guy…you can’t forget how helpless you felt for a moment.
Opening your door Dean looks at you. His face shows pure guilt.
“Do you want to sleep in my room?” He asks.
“I don’t want to disturb you.”
“Come.” Holding out is hand Dean waits for you.
“Sorry I woke you up…again.”
“Maybe I should’ve killed the guy…after they let him go…”
“Well my fake FBI badge, my fake name, should’ve known this will end this way.” You whisper.
“Going to find the guy and kill him.” Dean grunts.
“But we don’t kill people.”
“Y/N that guy is not a good person. I would be glad to kill him. I could kill him and sleep like a baby.” Dean states.
Lying down onto Dean’s bed you relax when he gently strokes your back.
“What will you do now?” He asks.
“All I want is to never feel helpless again.”
“I still can kill him.”
“I want him in jail Dean. He has to rot in jail.”
------
Two weeks later…
“Hey, Sam where’s Dean?”
“He left to make a supply run. Got to go to meet up with Cas.”
“Be careful and greet Cas for me.”
-----
Rubbing your upper arm nervously you try to keep yourself busy. After Sam left you cleaned the kitchen and did the laundry. Being alone in the bunker makes you feel anxious.
Hearing noises coming out of the dungeon you wonder. Is Dean already back and why is he in the dungeon?
Getting closer to the room you hear Dean yelling. His voice is dominant and full of anger. Did he capture a demon?
“So you like hurting women asshole? You like to rape them? Answer me!”
“You really have the wrong person. Please, I never hurt a woman in my whole life.” A scared man answers and you freeze. It’s him.
“Oh you will answer me or you’ll regret it. Look at all my nice toys over there. What do you think should I use first? The blade? The knife? The hammer?” Dean snickers.
“No, please. I don’t know what you want to hear.”
“The woman behind the bar! You tried to rape her! You shot her!”
“Oh, that. Listen I don’t know what happened. One moment I was in the bar and then I didn’t have control over my body.”
“What do you mean you didn’t have control over your body?” Dean yells.
“I was in the restrooms and there was black smoke, I thought the bar is on fire. After I saw the black smoke I couldn’t control my body. The poor woman, I swear I would never hurt a woman.”
“When did you gain control over your body again?”
“After I got shot. Lying in my blood I saw the girl bleeding too.”
“Black smoke again?” Dean asks now calmer.
“Yes, how do you know?”
“Did you ever hurt another woman or girl?”
“No, I’m not even into women. I’m gay, I swear.”
“The girl, she couldn’t move for a moment. Did the smoke do this?”
“That smoke, whatever it was, said things in my mind. It said hold still, but I guess it meant the girl not me. I struggled against this thing and I think it was distracted for a moment.”
“I guess you saved her.” Dean says. Before opening the bindings he splashes holy water into the man’s face.
“Can I go now?”
“I let you go, but I suggest you to get this.” Showing the man his anti-possession tattoo Dean curses himself. Why didn’t he stay by your side?
“Okay. What was that thing?”
“Demon. The tattoo will protect you from being possessed again.”
“One more thing. In the bar after the thing took over my body, it whispered something to you too. It said forget about her and you turned away.”
------
“You would’ve tortured him for me?” You whisper.
“I would do anything for you…anything.”
“It was a demon, he was after me?”
“We will find him and then I’ll rip him apart.”
“No, we will find him and I’ll rip him apart.”
“Sure, just say the word and I follow your lead.”
“I’m not helpless so I will kill him, he will never hurt anyone again.”
“You always been a tough chick and never helpless.” Dean says.
Smiling at him you nod before hugging him tight. “I’m not helpless but can I sleep in your room tonight?”
“Y/N, you don’t have to ask me to sleep in my room.”
As soon as the three of you rolled into town the snow caught Dean’s attention. All throughout the case he’d form snowballs and Sam would urge him to put it down. It wasn’t until the three of you were going to the car with the case finished that Dean finally got to throw one.
The snowball had been packed tightly and Dean’s aim was a little off when he threw it, his wrist curving and sending it straight towards your abdomen.
It had been your first case in a couple of weeks from being sick off and on, and the first thing to harm you this entire time was the damn snowball.
When you grunted Sam quickly turned to his brother, glaring at the elder. “Dude, what the hell!? Y/N is pregnant!” Sam began to quickly check on you while Dean’s eyes widened.
