A little art studio in Gotham. Everything looks normal, everything is normal. Except that its normal like really normal, nothing ever happens there. No villain goes in, no damage out of the ordinary ever happens. It's super strange for Gotham.
So people start hanging out there more, it technically belongs to a young rich woman named Samantha. So people go there draw on some Canvas that are free to use and look at the art of the young Manson and her friends.
Bruce is there to check why it's so safe there. He thinks it's suspicious.
But it turns out the owner just had everything under control. The Mad Hater came one time he got shocked. Some goon got a ball in the head.
In a bigger Gotham catastrophe, where the Joker was on Rampage. Batman was running to save the people in the studio, just to come and see him tied up. Manson and her to friends just look at him, when he comes. "I have this under control."
Her two friends just laugh, "Sam has this under control."
Batman is pretty sure she used to be a superhero.
Or a super villain.
There is not much to be found about her or the City she came from.
Her friends are kinda secretive.
One of her friends seems to be a child of crazy scientists.
Okay know he is pretty sure that Sam Manson was a Villain once.
Sam Winchester had a birthday in a cemetery once. He walked onto hallowed ground 14 years old, and crawled out of a six foot grave 15.
As fire ate at the remains in the rotting box, his big brother slung an arm around him and grinned.
“Happy Birthday, Sammy.”
The flames danced in Dean’s eyes and his smile was stretched too thin, and they both knew--other kids aren’t like this.
No one else celebrated their birthday over burning corpses, or dug up graves the night before an algebra test, or worried about the smell of smoke and death soaking into every stitch of clothing they owned.
Smoke and death aren’t just in my clothes. They’re in my blood–marinating my bones.
He didn’t say it out loud, but Dean heard it anyway. Tightened his hand on Sam’s shoulder, pulled him in against his side before letting go.
Dean’s face said I’m sorry and this is our life and please don’t be angry again.
John’s voice broke the silence like a gunshot.
“Let’s get this filled in, then you boys can head on back.”
“Yessir,” they said.
As Sam threw dirt onto the remnants of the fire, he made his birthday wish.
Let me make it out of this. Let me not always reek of smoke and death and death and death. Let me go.
The flames went out and Sam looked up but couldn’t find Dean’s eyes in the dark. His breath caught in his throat and irrational panic gripped him.
“Dean!”
“M'right here, Sam.”
Sam choked out, “Thought I lost you for a second.”
Dean’s laugh bounced off the surrounding headstones. Sam still couldn’t pinpoint where he was.
I started rewatching Supernatural again (I was an OG fan since it premiered, but I stopped watching it around season 8) and now that I checked in the fandom....
Where the FUCK are the Sam centric stories? Particularly Sam x OFC stories???? Multi-chapter, with character development?? Hell, I'll even take Sam/female pairings if they are good
Hey people! Here's a fic I've been thinking about for 😂 a while. It's also one that has become much bigger than I expected. It's about Sam working through all his feelings after the blip and before TFATWS. At least, that's what the first chapter's about 😆 This will also count as my "Wilson Family" square for my @samwilsonbingo round 2 card. Enjoy! 🥰
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary: Sam Wilson is trying to find his footing in a post-blip world and it feels like he's failing. It doesn't help that his sort of best friend Bucky keeps leaving him on read.
Excerpt:
There was a mural. At the airport.
Flowers collected on the floor under it.
Wings.
Giant red wings blooming from Sam’s back. Sam in his Falcon uniform.
I know some part of you might want to give up hope. But this is our moment. Our chance to turn things around.
Displayed above him. When had Sam said that? Was there a clip of it somewhere? He had to have said it, it sounded familiar. Said it on a mission. Said it somewhere. Sam felt like he’d never completely get rid of all the fog in his mind. The fog that came with him when he woke up.
2) Meanwhile, On the Boat
| Pairing: SamBucky | Rating: E | Bonus Story | WC: 2.1K |
Summary: Sam and Bucky have some fun on the boat as the party celebrating Sam becoming Captain America winds down.
Excerpt:
“I’m going nuts trying to find a cookie to take a bite out of. I’m a wolf looking for the most delectable dish,” murmured Bucky into Sam’s ear before he nibbled Sam’s earlobe, “Are you rationed, honey?”
Sam shouldn’t have a raging boner because of what Bucky was saying. Why was it all so sultry coming from this asshole? Why did wherever Bucky’s breath hit heat up as he said those words?
Sam had standards. Where were Sam’s standards?
Out the window when it came to a man with washboard abs, a growl of a voice, and eyes that looked like all Bucky wanted to do was make love to Sam and take care of Sam forever, apparently.
Do YOU love Sam Wilson? I have made a fan-made discord server! It is very new and is waiting for amazing people to join! We discuss pairings, headcanons, art and more! Share your love for Sam Wilson today!
It is made by me.The image above contains my discord contact.
dedicated to, and inspired by @nerdy-duckling. post- 15x20-ish.
There's traits you have that your kids inherit, and traits you have that they don't.
Cooking, of course, falls under the second category — and further under a rarer subcategory that, if it were upto Sam, would be called 'Traits you have that your younger brother who's lived with you all his life couldn't pick up, but the daughter of your semi-angel sort-of lover's vessel, somehow, incomprehensibly, did'.
It's not envy, Sam sighs, leaning against the porch of Claire and Kaia's home as his eyes follow the now-thirty year old Claire hustling around the lawn.
She's checking on grills, inventorying sauces and flipping accidentally overlooked burgers, all with the same, familiar ease Sam's associated with Dean all his life.
Something that Amelia and Sarah — Claire and Kaia's daughters — now associate with Claire.
Moments like this, Sam misses his brother like there's a hole in his chest.
The entire family's here — and that's what they've become, a family — with Garth and his kids, Claire and Kaia and theirs, Jody, Donna, Alex and her fiancé, Patience visiting home for a weekend, Charlie and Stevie, Bobby, Eileen, and Sam.
It's burgers night, Claire's in-charge, and everyone's on the lawn.
Ten years have passed.
They don't think about the ones they've lost everyday anymore, and that's a good thing.
Except for when it hits again, triggered by the strangest and smallest of things, and nothing helps than to wait painstakingly for time to pass, again, and slowly erode the rerisen mountains of grief, capped in guilt, loss, and utter misery — until the next time.
It's not envy, Sam smiles, eyes falling off of blonde hair and sprightly steps. Falling to the ground, clouded.
It's love, pride, and reminiscence — and longing, nostalgia and loss.
"Sam," It's Eileen.
She puts her hand on his shoulder, gentle so he doesn't flinch, but firm enough to return him to the present.
God, it hurts.
"I," Sam swallows. "I'm okay."
"You are," she promises, a different kind of familiar, and Sam tries to smile at her — but then she's closer, frowning, worried, and Sam hadn't even realized he'd been crying until she's holding his face in her hands, thumbs brushing away tears.
He wants to, then, but he can't stop.
"Eileen, I —" Sam starts, exhaling shakily. His heart hammers in his chest — not fast enough to be a panic attack, or the final few minutes of a hunt, but enough that he screws his eyes shut, almost in pain, and Eileen moves closer.
"Tell me, Sam?" She pleads.
Sam doesn't even know what he was trying to say.
It's not like he can just say, hey, remember back when they were all here, and we made burgers too, and Dean was on the grill, and he bitched at us if we even tried to touch it, like we don't touch things far more dangerous than a grill every single day of our lives, and Cas — remember Cas sitting right next to him and we, Cas and you and I, we plated them, and Jack, he went around and kept saying it smelled great, and they — they were all here, and maybe the world was still ending but the burgers were excellent, everyone was alive, and it was a really good day, because Sam isn't even sure if that ever happened.
Or if he somehow made that up, maybe to have more happy memories of his family, before — before they were gone.
It's not even like he can say any of the other things either — the things he knows did happen, but are too far away now to hope for again.
He hates to bring it up now, especially since there's nothing to be done about it. Especially since everyone's — mostly — okay now, and everyone's happy.
Sam's happy too, of course. He's living with the love of his life, living around people he loves, and for the first time in his life, living in peace. But there's a difference, and there's always going to be one. There's going to be bad days and good days, and days he wants to think about Dean and Cas and Jack until it hurts, and days he wakes up staring at Eileen or the ring on her finger and can think of nothing else but how lucky he is, for the rest of it.
And he's just going to have to deal with it, doesn't he — because there'll always be one of the latter kind around the corner.
(So much for normal problems and normal lives.)
"Sam," Eileen repeats, worried.
So Sam clenches his jaw, and instead of well, all of that, just lets out a, "It's nothing."
She waits.
"I just miss them, you know."
"I miss them too," she says quietly, and then hugs him, arms around his neck, and pulling his weight towards herself instead of the other way around.
(Somehow, it's even a Dean hug.)
But this way, she can't make out what he's saying anymore, her chin tucked on his shoulder and his face out of her sight, although it's probably just as well because Sam's got nothing more to say anyways.
Well except, as he finds himself muttering into her hair, in a wrecked voice that even reminds him of a much, much younger himself, crying to a hardly teenaged Dean about Dad being away too long, "And I miss Dean."
Because now he might be lucky enough to have a family, and eight years ago, he might've been too, but all his life the only family that's always remained, has been Dean.
Dean, with his borderline science-experimental cooking skills, and his awful bestowed names to made-up foods, and his incredibly smug face when Sam inevitably liked it. Dean, with his annoying nicknames that Sam missed more than he could ever have accounted for, and his larger-than-life fixation on bacon once they had a kitchen, and a family that never stopped growing —
"I miss him so much too," says another strained voice, and Sam looks up to confirm it's Claire, standing a foot away, posture rigid like she's nineteen and a rebel looking for a fight again, in an enormous, purple apron rather than a biker jacket.
But she deflates the moment Sam meets her eyes with a small, sympathetic smile, and before he knows it, he's being hugged by two people at once — Eileen shifting so they can both put both their arms around each other and Sam.
(Oh and Dean, with his kinda-sorta daughter who somehow ended up mastering both his burgermaking art and taste in aprons.)
Sam hugs them both back, tight, grateful that they're here — just as he's grateful for every single one who is.
Grateful .
*
(Later, once the burgers are served, Sam finds Claire again — and sits down next to her and Sarah, who's currently trying to prove to her mom she can eat by herself, and failing in an objective sort of a way.
"You know," Claire begins, out of the blue, her eyes still on the six-year-old. "At least those old grumps have each other up there."
Sam grins in spite of himself. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," She smirks, looking sideways at Sam. "Yeah, they definitely do." And a touch of sincerity has been added when she says, "They're happy, y'know."
"I do."
It's good to hear, even though he knows — Jack had popped by to tell them, several years ago, on Sam's forty fourth birthday — and it's good to hear it from her. It's strange, in a nice way, that Claire's so much older too. Thirty, and married. A mother, now. Cas and Dean would be so proud of her.
Sam is so proud of her. His eyes soften and he smiles, "I love you."
Claire looks up at him in surprise, for the slightest moment teary-eyed again, and then suddenly furrows her eyebrows and puts on her best Dean voice.
