the jacket in the one photo where he's about to kill whatever tf that monster's gonna be, tho...i have questionsssss!!!!
i wish i had something insightful to say about this jacket, but all i see is a man who’s wearing something brand-new and spiffy, something that makes him look more like a lumberjack than he has ever looked over the course of 15 years, because just once (1) his boyfriend told him that he looked like he should be felling trees somewhere out in the woods, so maybe he misses the look of exasperation that his boyfriend had on at that time, and maybe he really badly just wants to see one grumpy glare directed his way again
x
and who knows, maybe he chose that coat because the collar is a tan brown colour (incidentally the exact same colour that he wore when he first met his boyfriend) and that means something
x
but one mustn’t forget that this man is still in mourning so maybe he went mostly green, because that’s the same colour he wore when his boyfriend was taken from him, so maybe he wants to remember that because he couldn’t forget it even if he tried
x
either way, whatever it is, you can see it on his face: the dark circles around his eyes, the broken way he holds himself, and how much he misses that man, and how everything around him is still an aching reminder of what his heart wants most
Summary: Don’t make the mistake of underestimating Sam Winchester.
Pairing/Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean
Word Count: 1,401
Warnings: Hard angst at the beginning. Torture. Some gore, a little more descriptive than I normally get. Smut throughout, but not graphic.
A/N: This was inspired by the above aesthetic made by @idabbleincrazy, which was submitted to @cabin-fever-bang. It also works really well with a quote for @spnquotebingo which is “And yet to every bad, there’s a worse.”
Beta’d by: The always wonderful @stusbunker. Thank you, my dear!
Tagging: @impala-dreamer and @covered-byroses I’m proud of this one, so screw it.
Under crumbling resolve, he leans into her. His body shaking with the overwhelming weight of past choices, past experiences, past failures. When he pulls away, she caresses his cheek, her concern genuine, resolve grounded. One shake of her head and he knows; there is no need for pretenses here.
As a tear falls down his cheek, she takes his trembling lips in a searing kiss, pushing the shirt he wears down his broad shoulders and onto the floor. Her touch sets fire to his soul - a fire more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced, one that burns away the pieces of himself he wishes to forget.
-----
“We’ll find her,” Dean says, his tone uncertain despite his best efforts. “Do you want me to handle this?”
Sam knows what it means for Dean to tap into his darkest side, the way he’d been forced to in hell, and Sam won’t ask him to do it again. “No.” Without another word, Sam walks into the next room, eyes spitting daggers at the demon before him. “My responsibility.”
When it catches sight of him, it sneers. “Little Sammy Winchester,” it sing-songs. The gravel in its voice crawls up Sam’s spine. “You’re going to torture me? You’d have better luck with Dean at the other end of that knife.”
It is something he’s questioning with each movement - whether he has the ability to get this done. To save the woman he loves by any means necessary. “You underestimate me,” he says confidently, making a display of sharpening the instruments he’d left in the demon’s line of sight.
His blood pounds in his ears, drowning out the sound of the demon’s sneering laughter. “I shared a cage with Lucifer and lived to tell the tale,” he whispers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the demon flinch. Or at least he thinks he does.
With the bravado only a man on the edge can conjure, he stands up and grabs one of the largest and sharpest knives at his disposal. It’s not the demon knife, but he wants this sickly excuse of a creature off its guard. He quickly cuts into the demon, taking a pleasure he hates himself for as it hisses in pain. Blood slowly drips from the wounds on its chest, and it takes everything in Sam not to cut it wide open and watch as it writhes.
“Where is she?” He growls through gritted teeth.
“Is that all you’ve got?” It asks, its smile easy-going, almost chipper. “If that’s it, your girlfriend is definitely gonna die before you can get to her.”
Walking back to the table, Sampicks up the demon knife and dips it in holy water. It's already shown part of its hand.
“I’m only getting started.”
-----
She takes the lead, relieving him of his clothing before pushing him down onto the tattered motel sheets. He relaxes slightly, watching in awe as she undresses, soft, supple skin clearing his troubled mind. When he goes to open his mouth, she crawls on top of him and places one leg on either side of his hips. There are no words that come close to explaining what she means to him. How she saves what soul he has left.
-----
At the sight of the knife, sharp, fierce edges that gleam in the fire’s light, the demon recoils. Sam smiles contemptuously, his hand steady around the knife’s handle. This round, he takes his time. Instead of quick practiced movements, he slowly scrapes the blade across the demon’s skin - under its fingernails, along its shins, on the soles of its feet. Each pass of hardened steel brings with it the sickening sizzle of holy water seeping into open wounds.
“You really think you can break me before she dies?” It taunts, eyes falling on the clock behind Sam’s shoulder. The demon moves its head back and forth three times before responding. “If I’m not back soon, my guys are gonna go to town on her.” The demon laughs maniacally. “I mean more than they already have.”
“How many?” Sam demands. He tries not to register the frantic beating of his heart. She only has a few hours left. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why? You’re Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood, who left my master to rot in a cage. I will take everything from you.” It spits on the ground in a show of force. “Do whatever you want to me. I’ve had it bad for centuries.”
Sam bites his lips so hard he tastes blood. Turning around, he picks another instrument. “And yet to every bad, there’s a worse.”
-----
As she rubs her slickness against him, Sam’s mouth drops open. All tension falls away as she slowly sinks down onto him. She presses every inch of herself to him, hard muscle against unwavering, enveloping softness. When he meets her gaze, he finds the peace he’s craved for so long.
-----
Ninety three minutes pass. Though the demon maintains its confident demeanor, Sam begins to see the chinks in the armor. But he doesn’t have much time left. Each movement, each word has to be purposeful.
Stalking around it, Sam says nothing, waiting a few minutes before dipping low to the demon’s ear. “Where is she?” He bellows so loud the windows shake. Fear tears at his throat.
When it doesn’t reply, Sam grabs the salt from the table and shoves it down its throat. It seizes under the blistering pain, growling through the weight of Sam’s hand over its mouth. Roaring, its eyes water.
“WHERE IS SHE?”
Sam uses every ounce of energy and every seizing muscle to keep his hand fixed to the demon’s mouth. In its eyes, Sam sees quickly-rising fear. What’s more frightening, a man like Dean, practiced in his violence out of necessity? Or a man like him, on the verge of losing everything and nothing left to lose?
-----
In the silence that follows, Sam holds her close, taking deep breaths, in and out. Their limbs are tangled, skin slick with sweat. When she kisses his chin, he smiles. “You’re safe with me, Sam. You never have to hide from me.”
He questions whether a man like him deserves a woman like her. “I love you.”
-----
Releasing his hand from the demon’s mouth, he watches the salt spew from its mouth. “Where?”
“Two towns over. East. Dilapidated cabin on the corner of Selby and Shadow Brook. Two guards. Just...let me go,” it says, admitting defeat.
Lip curled, he replies. “Not likely.”
In just a few swift movements, he slips the demon knife out of his back pocket and plunges it into the demon’s throat, his gaze never wavering as the demon’s life is snuffed out.
He grabs everything they’ll need into the duffel bag and storms out of the room, passing Dean without a glance. “Let’s go.”
-----
Dean doesn’t even question it when Sam takes Baby’s wheel and floors it. “Where is she?”
“Selby and Shadow Brook. Two towns over.”
“She’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”
“Don’t give me platitudes, Dean. Please. Not now.”
No more words pass between them until they pull up just short of the house where she’s supposedly being kept. “Let’s go,” Sam says, taking off without looking.
When he peers into the window, he sees her, head hung low. At first, he thinks she’s already gone, but then he sees the gentle rise and fall of her chest and feels the weight of the world ease off his shoulders.
He sneaks up behind one of the demons and grabs its throat, quickly plunging the knife into its heart. As he drops the knife to the floor, the other demon sees its fallen comrade and storms toward Dean, but it’s too slow and watches helplessly as Dean picks the knife up and stabs it in the stomach.
Sam drops to his knees in front of her and feels for her pulse. “Baby, wake up,” he says, voice breaking. “I’m here. It’s me.” She’s covered in cuts and bruises.
She shudders at first and recoils before she sees him. “Sam?”
“It’s me.”
“My hero,” she whispers.
As Dean unties her arms, Sam gathers her close. He is no hero. He’s the sum of his past choices, past experiences, past failures. “I’m so sorry,” he replies, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
