a house in nebraska †
ft ;; sam winchester , gn!angel!reader
contents: dual pov kinda but most of this is from sam’s pov, angst with a happy ending, corny writing, tiny tumblr font, set in s2/s3, christian imagery and christian themes, violence, not based on any episode, some things don’t make a lot of sense but we ball, not entirely canon, intended lowercase
disclaimers: poorly proofread and horribly paced. nothing in this is generated by ai, i don’t fuck with ai
a/n: thank you to my lovely @veliouris for requesting this 💙 full version of this drabble! enjoy!
antler wall. cross divider. support divider.
w/c: 1.3k
sam repositioned himself on the motel's dusty floor, his knees numb and indented by the carpet. his throat was raw and his mouth was cotton at this point, but that was disregarded, since all he could think about was you.
he missed you.
and yes, dean had warned him not to get so attached, since "angels are avoidant" in his words. but he ignored the warning, and now look where he was.
he'd been clutching his rosary so hard that the beads had left uncomfortable marks in his palms. he'd whispered multiple prayers, the hushed words coming out sloppy and rushed.
"please, y/n, we really need your help, i don't know how much we have left in us, and with dean going to hell, i'm really gonna need your assistance soon." he looked down from the dull ceiling, his gaze defeated and his faith drained out of him.
he got up and washed his hands, eager to get the feeling of filth off. there was nothing physically on them, just praying to you left a bad taste in his mouth, since he's the reason you haven't appeared recently.
dean asks how he's holding up sometimes, since he can tell that you being gone has taken a toll on him.
sam lies to him; he says he's fine, when really he'd do anything for a sign from you.
—
sam picked at his breakfast, not even diner food appealing to him. dean cringed at his low appetite as he shoveled hashbrowns into his mouth, looking at his plate and then back up at him.
"you can have it," sam slides the full plate towards dean, and it stutters on the table's finished wood. he shrugs and picks it up, dumping most of the food onto his plate and mixing it in.
sams face crumples in disgust, his eyebrows knitting together as he leans back.
"what?"
"that's disgusting, dean."
"how is this disgusting??? it's all gonna end up in my stomach anyway."
"you cannot be serious."
"i'm serious."
—
"sam. sam. sam. sammy. sam!" sam jolts upright, blinking away sleep as his eyes darted to dean's shit-eating grin. he groans, and leans back on the headrest.
"not funny." he grumbles, raking his hands down his face in annoyance.
"yeah right, you sound like a chick, sammy." dean snickers in victory, shooting a quick glance over at him.
sam gives him a sleepy-pissed off look in return, his fingers parted to make eye slits. dean lets his brother wake up slightly before pummeling him with the news of their next hunt while the impala's soothing hums almost put him back to sleep.
"anyway, now that you're awake, take a look at this," dean pulls a newspaper clipping out of his pocket and hands it to sam, the car swerving in response to the control loss.
"what is this?" sam mumbles as he looks it over, the words blurred and incoherent.
"six words, sammy. malevolent spirit, haunted house, college town." dean made a sharp turn on an intersection, shifting the two men to the right.
"..hm. so it's like our usual work?"
"yeah, and there's gonna be college girls there too."
sam wrinkles his nose, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and disgust. he keeps looking over the clipping, scanning for anything else useful.
"and where is this, exactly?" he doesn't look up from the clipping, still searching for any mentions of a state or a town.
"the outskirts of colorado, sammy," dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel mindlessly, trying to catch up with the beat of whatever rock song was playing.
—
sam scribbles something on the notepad next to him, looking up to tell dean this newfound information; just to be met with the unpleasant sight of him making out with a shorter woman.
"dean, can you focus for one second?" sam blinks at him in annoyance, his expression flat and shallow. dean shakes his head and continues his actions, sam rolls his eyes in defeat.
he goes back to what he was doing, taking loose notes and sloppily writing down important dates. he chews up the inside of his cheek, his head pounding from the blaring bar music.
sam heads outside for an air break, the suffocating feeling of the bar stricter than the warm july air. he sits on the curb, staring out into the dark night sky. it's cloudier than usual, thanks to the effects of the recent holiday.
his brain is flooded with the memories of you two, how you would tilt your head when he said something that would confuse you, how you would inspect his computer screen whenever he was researching, and the way you couldn't understand human speech 'rules'.
it hurt to remember those nights with you, when the world felt like it was just you and him, where it felt like he was yours, in a confusing, fucked up way.
—
sam slams the trunk to baby, walking up to the rickety door on the old white house that stood in front of him.
he looked the place over, the unpleasant smell of mildew filling his nose.
he pushes the door open, the old doorknob falling off it and thudding at his feet. he steps past it, and walks into the house.
it's filthy inside, with strange growths speckling the chipped walls. dean follows closely behind him, shining a flashlight.
"ewww," he mumbles, wandering off to a room on the left. sam investigates the mantle of the fireplace, withered family pictures encased in glass picture frames dotting the surface.
he quickly scampers up the stairs, met with three rooms and a bathroom. he looks for something that could help them, instead stumbling on porcelain angel resting on the dresser of a little girls' room.
he chews off the dead skin on his bottom lip, pondering over a slightly unwise idea. he sinks to his knees, clasping his hands. he squeezes his eyes shut, mumbling a prayer underneath his breath.
"please, god, if you can, send y/n back to me."
he gets up and dusts off his jeans, picking his flashlight up just as the sound of something falling and breaking reverberates in the house. he practically flies down the stairs, running to where he heard the noise.
he whipped his head at the sound of a floorboard creaking, abruptly being thrown up against the wall behind him.
he kicks helplessly, gasping for air as he pulls at the invisible strain at his neck; his face turning bright red and his teary eyes going crossed.
the inevitable feeling of death consumes him as his vision fades to black. he tries to wheeze out a prayer, but his lack of breath doesn't do him justice.
he thinks he's entered heaven when the pressure stops, when his lungs fill with air again and his eyes snap open.
but he's in the exact same spot he was previously in. his vision is blurry, and his throat is burning. he glances at his hands, making sure they're real.
"you're welcome." his head flies up, eyes trying to meet the figure that made that voice, your voice.
you're standing there, looking down at him like he's nothing. he blinks a couple times, not believing that was really you.
"you're here," sam forces out, cracking a soft smile.
"you prayed for me," you crouch and start checking his neck for bruising. his face heats up, and laughs awkwardly in attempts to conceal his very obvious attraction.
god, you were always so nice to him.
"yeah, uh i did."
"you should be alright. your neck might be sore for a couple days, and your pulse is slightly weaker than it should be, but other than that, you're in perfect condition."
you got up, offering him your hand.
he gladly takes it. his hand was clammy, but it wasn't unpleasant necessarily.
—
the waitress comes after a bit of comfortable silence, taking the brothers' orders before moving onto you.
"and for you?" the waitress awaited your answer, her pen resting against her notepad.
"uhhh... water." you respond monotonously, your expression cold and stony as always.
sam nudged your arm with his elbow. you force a smile, trying to appease him. when the waitress walked away, he looked over at you.
"would it kill you to even try and act like a human?" sam teased, grinning.
