Falling Around You: Part 1
Title: Falling Around You
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Summary: Sam pines away for the reader in secret, but when she loses all memory of hunting and monsters, he’s forced to rethink how to approach his feelings.
Theme song: “Over You” by Ingrid Michaelson
Word count: 4,159
A/N: What is it with me and one shots that turn into series??? Anyways, this is my first Sam series, and I have to give a huge shoutout to my beta @idjitmonkey for helping me to avoid Sam sounding like Dean (#DeanGirlProblems). This is the first part of what will probably be a 3 or 4 part series for @impala-dreamer and @idreamofhazel ‘s Sam fic challenge. My prompt is the quote “We are far from perfect, but we are good.” I haven’t used it yet, but trust me, it’ll be used later. Let me know if you want to be tagged for future parts!
Sam smelled it first. The smoke. The charred flesh. The smoldering fabric. It was an all too familiar smell, a scent no one should have to be familiar with. But the scent came first, and with it, the memories tattooed in his brain, permanent and infecting his body with a poisonous ink.
Next came the realization. It’s happening again. Sam’s heart flew into his throat as tendrils of gray curled from underneath the door to the next room. He kicked the door open and the blaze towered over him in an arc like a tidal wave, but even through the flickering forest of scorching flames, he saw clearly who this time was pinned to the ceiling.
You.
Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes wide and panicked but long since dead. Sam called out your name, lungs bursting in his chest with the force of his shout, but he made no sound.
Sam woke up to sheets soaked with his sweat.
It had been the same nightmare for one-hundred and sixty-four days.
#
Constant nightmares meant Sam was constantly the first one up and about in the mornings. Interrupted sleep with the image of you on the ceiling burned on the inside of his eyelids was hell for his concentration most days, but it was great for making sure he got an early start. The sun had barely risen and he was already back from his run, panting and dripping with sweat. He guzzled a bottle of water as Dean shuffled into the room in his bathrobe.
Dean grimaced at his younger brother and put on a pot of coffee. “Dude, you stink.”
Sam shrugged. “At least I take care of my body.”
Withdrawing the remainder of the doughnut Dean had just shoved in his mouth, he spoke around the food. “Wha’ oo you mean?”
“Never mind.”
You wandered in, letting out a loud and dramatic yawn as you blinked and stretched. Your hair was in total disarray thanks to your chronic case of behead, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh and give it a playful tug when you passed.
“What was that for?” You slapped his hand away.
Sam took his toast to the table. “Nothing. How did you sleep last night?”
“Like a rock.”
Sam watched you move around the kitchen in a rhythm unique to you. It was the same routine every morning, without fail. Half-asleep, you’d pull out a mug for your coffee, then poke your head into the fridge for something to eat. Then you’d realize you forgot to pour any coffee and abandon the fridge without closing it. After pouring your coffee, you’d remember you forgot to close the fridge and do that. But then you’d open it right back up again because you forgot to grab the creamer while it was open.
And every morning, Sam would smile at you from the table when you weren’t looking. The day didn’t really start until you’d bustled around the kitchen to get yourself some breakfast.
“I stayed up way too late last night binging ‘Sherlock,’” you continued, joining Sam and Dean at the table with a cup of coffee and a container of mango yogurt. “But, you know, once you watch a season finale you have to see the episode of the next season.”
“I’m familiar with that torture,” Sam said. “I had to wait over two years to watch the next episode, though. You’re lucky you have Netflix.”
Your eyes got wide and round over the rim of your mug. They matched the light brown, creamy color of your coffee, accentuated by the thick black eyelashes. “You’re kidding.”
Sam shook his head. “Nope. It was a long hiatus.”
Dean snorted from his end of the table. “Dork.”
“Hey,” both Sam and you protested simultaneously.
“You’re just jealous because you’re missing out on all the ‘Sherlock’ fun,” you pointed out. “We all know you’re the biggest dork here.”
“Excuse me?”
“She’s right, Dean.” Sam balled up his napkin and took it along with your empty yogurt container to throw out. “It may be a different kind of dorkiness, but it still counts. Who stayed up all night to finish a ‘Dr. Sexy’ marathon last month?”
“That’s different. ‘Dr. Sexy’ is an art form.”
“If you say so.” You stood up to wash your mug. “But anyways. I found ourselves a case.”
That caught the brothers’ attention, pulling them away from their relentless teasing of each other.
“What?” Dean said, as Sam said, “Where?”
You answered both of their questions. “Some small town in South Dakota, not sure what. But people are literally losing their minds from whatever it is. Total memory loss for no reason other than they went into this ‘haunted house’ on a dare. One day they’re fine, the next they don’t even recognize their own families. It’s near Sioux Falls, so I thought we could stop by and say hey to Bobby on the way back.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m gonna go change.” Dean stood up from the table, gesturing to Sam, but speaking to you. “Make that man take a shower before small animals start passing out when he walks by them.”
You snorted, then called after him as he walked away. “Why would you think I’d have any control over him? He’s a grown man.”
“I don’t know, bat your eyes or something.”
Sam muttered, “Jerk,” under his breath, trying to play it cool even as heat rose to his feet.”
“So,” you said once Dean had left and leaned against the counter in what was probably supposed to be a seductive way, but coming from you came across more like a toddler playing dress up in her mom’s heels. You had no clue what you were doing, and it was absolutely adorable. “Do I need to bat my eyes at you or are you going to shower? Cause I hate to side with Dean on, well, anything, but you do stink, and there’s no way in hell I’m getting in a car with you for seven hours like this.”
“Like you said, I’m a grown man.” Sam tugged at your hair again, earning himself another slap from you. “I’ll take a shower.”
“Thank you, kind sir. Now we can all save those poor, innocent forest creatures Dean is so worried about.”
“Those bastards,” Sam said with a twinkle in his eye, because he knew as soon as he said it, you’d be doubled over with laughter, and your laugh was one of those rare things that couldn’t be manufactured but made the sun wonder how you were able to outshine it.
It was a simple phrase, but held enough meaning between you two, it was like a secret code. After your first hunt together, you’d hit it off so well, you decided to catch a movie nearby. But of course, no movie was complete without smuggled snacks. Into CVS you went, and while Sam opted for the healthier choice of trail mix of which you later picked out all the M&M’s, you went straight for the candy bars and other junk foods.
“They don’t have my favorite chips!” You’d gasped, clutching a Snickers bar in each hand.
Something about your utterly indignant face as you stared in horror at the shelves made Sam grin wider than he’d ever had. “Those bastards,” he replied, without missing a beat.
You’d turned to him, the serious look still etched upon your face, then folded over on yourself, wheezing for breath as you laughed. Maybe it had been the hunting high you were both still coming off of, maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe something else entirely. But something had changed then. Maybe just for Sam, but it had still undoubtedly changed.
“Hey, Sam?” You said before Sam could leave the room completely.
Sam poked his head back in the kitchen. “Yeah?”
You fidgeted with the ends of your frizzy hair. “Did you sleep okay last night?”
Sam stiffened. He leaned against the doorway so you wouldn’t notice. “Yeah. Fine. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing.” You sighed and turned away. “I thought I heard someone calling out in the middle of the night, but maybe I was just dreaming.”
“Maybe,” Sam said, and left before you could ask any more questions.
#
You were making excellent time up until the last hour when the skies broke open over you and pelted the road with glittering glass shards of raindrops. It was an angry, punk rock sort of rain that obscured your vision and made it impossible to do anything but crawl to the nearest exit.
“We’ll stay with Bobby tonight,” Dean said as he pulled off down a quieter road, away from most of the traffic. “I’m sure he won’t mind. We can do some research there and head out again tomorrow.”
Bobby did mind, very much, as he was wrapping up a date none of you had known about when you arrived, soaking wet, your shoes more mud than they were shoes. After Bobby had bid the woman farewell, Dean proceeded to tease him for a straight half hour. Sam just shook his head at his brother and thanked Bobby for letting them crash, then headed to the kitchen to get a head start on the research.
You joined him soon afterward, but Sam only caught you in his peripherals as he really dissected the articles depicting the recent memory loss victims. You dug around in the cupboards, shamelessly raiding Bobby’s stash of food.
“Bobby!” You called out. “You really need to keep actual food in your kitchen, not just whiskey and cans of beans.”
“I do have real food,” the grizzled, grumpy man grumbled. He and Dean came in, distracting Sam for the time being. “I wasn’t expecting company, that’s all.”
“Yeah, only the company of your lady friend.” Dean smirked.
“Shut up, ya idjit,” Bobby muttered.
At some point, things quieted down. You found a Snickers bar at the bottom of your hunting bag, rectifying the food situation, and Dean helped Sam research for five minutes before faking a yawn and calling it a night. Sam continued to scroll through articles and Facebook posts on his laptop.
The thunk of a mug being set down on the table jerked Sam out of his trance.
“You need some caffeine if you’re going to keep this up for much longer,” you said. Your hands were wrapped around a steaming mug of your own. “You look exhausted.”
“Thanks. Restless night last night,” Sam said without thinking. He stifled a yawn on the back of his hand.
Your eyebrows knitted together. “I thought you said you slept fine.”
Sam’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “I did. I just meant—”
He broke off. There wasn’t a good enough lie within his grasp for him to use, so he grabbed the mug instead. It was hot, much more than usual. “Did you warm the mug first?”
A smile tugged your lips at the corners, barely. “Yeah. You always get so focused on your research, you know, sometimes your drink gets cold. I figured the coffee would take longer to cool down this way.”
It was just a normal, unsweetened, generic cup of coffee in a chipped mug worn from one too many times through the dishwasher. And Sam loved it.
“Thank you.” He picked it up and held it to his chest as you sat down next to him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked. “I mean, I know hunters always have bags under their eyes, but yours have seemed a little darker than usual lately.”
Sam sighed. He wasn’t able to keep things from you, most of the time. Just the most important bits, the ones that would condemn him in ways that would change your relationship permanently, for better or for worse. “It’s been a rough few nights. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Nightmares?” You ventured.
Sam nodded.
“I get them, too. Sometimes I see them at night, my family. And it feels—so real.” You took a shuddering breath, staring at the wall. You looked paler than usual. “But then I wake up and they’re gone. I can’t always decide what’s worse: having them there, covered in blood in my dreams or having them—just gone.”
Sam knew you were thinking about them—your parents and younger brother. And he knew just how you felt, down to the “it’s all my fault” face you got when you thought he wasn’t looking. But he couldn’t reach out or do more than say, “It sucks, doesn’t it?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Really screws with my beauty sleep.” You cracked a sideways smile at him. “And you could definitely use more of that.”
Sam rolled his eyes, snorting. “Thanks.”
“I’m just saying, a little facial cream does wonders—”
“I get the picture.”
You squeezed Sam’s shoulder, and an electric jolt ran through him, like a little shock, though he knew he’d imagined it. “Don’t stay up too late tonight, ‘kay? We can always do more research on the road.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
You shrugged and put your mug in the sink. “I can’t help it.”
Sam tried not to watch you leave, but he couldn’t resist a glance your way as you disappeared around the corner.
Bobby watched you, too. Or rather, watched Sam watch you.
“What?” Sam said, too defensively as he opened another tab on his laptop.
“She’s sweet on you,” Bobby said softly.
Sam snorted again, but there was no humor behind this one. This was all self-deprecation. “No she’s not.”
Bobby’s stern look was one Sam was well acquainted with. It was often paired with a grumbled “idjit.” “Boy, I’ve been around the bend a few times too many to know that that girl has more than just friendly concern for you. Believe me.”
“You’re crazy, Bobby.” Sam didn’t look up from his laptop when he spoke.
“Don’t you go calling me crazy in my own home. You boys just can’t realize when something good’s right in front of you, can you?”
Sam didn’t resume his typing until he could no longer hear Bobby’s heavy footfalls. When he went back to his Google searching, he found he couldn’t focus any better with the room empty, save for Bobby’s words echoing in Sam’s head, than he could with it full of people.
Sam picked up his coffee mug, realizing he hadn’t even sipped at it, and took a drink. Still warm. He smiled down at the contents in spite of the remnants of his nightmares flashing in front of his eyes.
Maybe if he told himself enough that he was fine. Maybe if he did, he could get over this. Get over you.
#
You made a big show of grumbling your discontent as you got out of the Impala to ask directions at the gas station, but Dean insisted on sending you inside. As soon as the door had slammed shut and you started to walk away, Dean whipped around to face you.
“What’s this I hear about you and Y/N?” He demanded, all business.
Sam threw his hands up in defense. “Whoa. What’s what about what?”
“You know what. Just answer the question.”
“How am I supposed to answer a question when I don’t even know the question?”
Dean sighed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Bobby told me last night that you and Y/N have a thing going.”
Sam laughed. Loudly. Too forcefully. “There’s no thing.”
“B.S., Sam. Bobby seemed pretty sure of himself.”
“Bobby’s crazy.”
Dean shook his head. “He said you’d say that.”
“Seriously, Dean—it was a silly crush, okay? Like ages ago. But I’m over it now, it’s no big deal. And Y/N doesn’t know it ever happened, so let’s keep it that way.”
Dean set his jaw and squinted his green eyes at Sam for a long time, but you reemerged before he could interrogate is brother further. “Okay.”
You slid into the backseat. “Yeah, just like your phone said, Dean. Straight ahead. I’m not sure why you don’t trust GPS. Everyone uses it.”
“Because I swear one day, these machines will rise up against us,” Dean said as he started the Impala up again.
“You sound like my grandfather.”
“Maybe he had a point.”
Sam tuned out your bickering and leaned his head against the window, resisting the urge to doze. He couldn’t risk another nightmare with you and Dean in the car. Not when he already spent half the night last night tossing and turning.
Your face, framed by the flames, flashed in front of him again. Sam sat up straighter, pinching his forearm. As much as he hated the reminders from his subconscious, the reminders were necessary.
So many names. Too many gravestones. He would not add yours to the growing list.
#
You all reached the old, abandoned house, and you reached up to tie your thick hair back. But, of course, it didn’t work the way you’d planned.
“Shoot,” you muttered. “I always forget—”
“—your damn hair tie?” Sam finished for you, pulling one out of his pocket.
You laughed and accepted it, tying your hair into a ponytail. “You’re a lifesaver. Honestly.”
“I try.”
“When you two are done flirting, we’ve got a haunted house to inspect,” Dean said as he passed, earning him a less than kind hand gesture from Sam when you weren’t looking.
The house was a total cliché, something straight out of a cheesy horror flick. It was dusty and over a hundred years old and had floorboards that creaked louder than a clap of thunder if you so much as breathed too loudly.
“Nice digs,” you said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I’m sure there’s something here that’s causing the memory loss.”
“Let’s hope.” Dean shone his flashlight around the bottom floor. “Otherwise we’ve got to figure out where else these people could have been attacked.”
“I’ll take the upstairs,” Sam offered. He gripped his knife tighter as he looked at the rickety staircase.
You batted a cluster of cobwebs away from your hair. “I’ll join you. Might be nicer than down here.”
“Doubt it,” Dean said, but you and Sam went upstairs anyways.
Dean was right. The upstairs wasn’t much better, but it creaked less, and it allowed for you and Sam to be in the same space without Dean or Bobby potentially causing problems. Sam found that for as often as you made him fight for breath, it was also easier to breathe around you. Something as simple as your presence stilled him. It was a rare and beautiful thing to find a soul that could calm another.
“What?” You said, startling Sam.
“What?” Sam echoed.
“You were staring at me. Something in my teeth?”
Sam cleared his throat and pretended to be rifling through an ancient wardrobe. “No. Sorry. Just zoning.”
“That’s ‘cause you didn’t sleep last night.”
“Did you?” Sam countered. “I heard someone up at four getting water.”
“You had to be awake to hear me.”
“Touché.”
You ran your hand along the top of a desk, shuffling a few papers out of the way as you did so. “So if you were awake—” You broke off, and Sam followed your gaze to the fireplace. On top of the hearth was a glittering object, some sort of crown. “Whoa, fancy.”
“Y/N, I wouldn’t—” Sam started, darting forward.
But you’d already touched it. You shrieked as a bolt of something electric audibly crackled, blasting you backward into the wall. Sam fell beside you when you crumpled. Your eyelids fluttered, thick lashes twitching with them. Sam felt for your pulse. It still beat in a steady rhythm, if not more rapidly. Dean could be heard storming up the stairs, calling both of your names, but Sam didn’t answer him.
“Y/N?” He said, holding your face in both of his hands. He tried not to think about how it fit perfectly, a puzzle piece falling into place. “Y/N, can you hear me?”
The door slammed against the wall as Dean burst in. Plaster fell like snow from the hole in the wall thanks to the doorknob smashing into it.
“What the hell happened?” Dean panted. “Y/N? Is she—”
You groaned in response, reaching out to Sam like he was a raft in the middle of a stormy sea. Your eyes were unfocused, breathing more shallow. “Sam?” You mumbled. “Something—ungh, I feel sick . . .”
“Hey, hey, hey.” You tried to stand, but your legs wouldn’t hold your weight. Sam caught you before you could hit the floor again. It was a good thing you weighed close to nothing, or at least it seemed that way to Sam.
Dean stepped out of Sam’s way, watching as he lifted you into his arms. “Get her to the car. What happened?”
Sam jerked his head toward the crown. “Touched that. Careful, I think that’s the source of our problems.”
Dean shook out a cloth from his pocket as Sam took you from the room. A minute later, Dean slid into the front seat of the Impala and glanced back at Sam inspecting your head.
“Definitely cursed,” Dean confirmed. His lips were set in a grim line. “How’s her memory?”
“Haven’t gotten that far yet.” Sam leaned back and waved his hand in front of your eyes to get your attention. “Hey, can you tell me your name?”
“Sure, I can. It’s Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, and though your speech was slurred, Sam couldn’t find any other reason to worry.
“And where are we?”
“Near Sioux Falls. South Dakota. We’re staying with Bobby.”
“What just happened?”
“I touched that.” You pointed to the crown wrapped in Dean’s cloth. “And everything went dizzy.”
“I think she’s okay,” Dean said. Both his and Sam’s faces were uncertain, but there was nothing more they could do. “We’ll keep an eye on her, just to be sure.”
“Sam?” You said again, and to Sam’s surprise you scooted closer across the seat and curled into him. You must have been tired. “Can we get food? Real food? Greasy food? I’m hungry.”
Sam’s stomach churned at the thought of another diner meal where the closest thing to a vegetable was corn, but he couldn’t resist you. Never was able to. Especially now, when your head resting against his shoulder, when your messy ponytail draped over his arm, when your eyes were half-shut and vulnerable.
Over you. He was so over you. Over your laugh and your smile and your wit and your everything.
“Sure,” Sam said. “Anywhere you want.”
#
You gasped from across the booth at the menu, startling Dean, who sat next to you, but Sam just glanced up from his own menu. He had a guess as to what you’d say.
“Sam!” You said in indignation. “They don’t have any cheese dip!”
“Those bastards,” he laughed, which made you laugh despite the grievous offense of leaving out cheese dip as a menu item.
Dean shook his head at both of you. “I stand by my original ‘dorks’ statement.”
You hit him with your menu.
Somehow, you all managed to find something worth eating even without the cheese dip, and an hour later you strode back to the Impala, full of food and laughing at each other’s jokes.
Then, without warning, you collapsed again.
This time Sam wasn’t able to catch you, but he did help you off the asphalt, wincing on behalf of your skinned knees.
“You okay?” Dean went to your other side, helping you to sit down in the backseat.
You blinked a few times, then smiled up at the both of them. “I feel fine, why?”
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.
“You just fell down over there,” Sam said. “Can you—are you still remembering things okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just go through the questions again.” Dean left Sam to go to the driver’s seat and get the engine going.
Sam crouched down to get on your level. “Where are we?”
“A diner?” You said, as if it were totally obvious. Your forehead had confused crinkles in it.
“Okay, good, and where are we going?”
“Back to Sioux Falls, I assume.”
“What’s your name?”
“Y/N Singer.”
Sam was about to stand up, satisfied with your answers, but your last one made him pause. “What did you say?”
“Y/N Singer,” you repeated. The crinkles in your forehead were deeper. “Why are you questioning me? I just scraped my knees. I’m fine.”
“Dean,” Sam said in warning, but Dean had already twisted around in his seat.
“I heard her,” he said, his face clouding over. “Let’s get her to Bobby’s quick.”
“You guys are acting weird. Weirder than usual,” you said as you all drove back to Sioux Falls.
Dean grunted, but didn’t say anything for the remainder of the drive. Neither did you. Neither did Sam.
Part 2
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