Sam’s face had tried to remain stoic but nothing stopped you from wanting to find out the truth, you wanted him to admit his mistake. You wanted him to come clean about his deception.
Your eyes narrowed as Sam shuffled around on both of his feet, even moving around so much that he tried to hug you to get you to return to him and for him to get on your good side. It was not working, even when he flashed you your favourite smile of his.
“C’mon, Y/N…” Sam started but you interrupted him almost immediately, not giving him any moments to conjure up an excuse for his behaviour.
“No, Sam, don’t ‘come on, Y/N,’ me. You cheated! That is on you, not me. Don’t try sweet talking me, there have been too many cheaters in my life for you to even make a dent in the armour I have built around me. I want you to tell me the truth. No lies, no bullshit, just the truth.”
“I think you are being a little bit dramatic.” He said avoiding the question but with a raise of your eyebrow and a hand on your hips, he huffed out in defeat. “Fine. I’m sorry. I cheated! Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Of course, yeah Sam. I wanted to hear that my husband cheated.” You said exasperated, continuing your angry little rant. “What is wrong with you? I want my husband to be honest with me, you dipshit. I want to be able to play a goddamn game with you having to cheat to win.”
“I told you that you were being a little dramatic but I am willing to make it up to you.”
“How are you going to make it up to me, huh?” You coaxed, lips pursed as you awaited his answer, the answer to his prayers that he had sent up to the gods when you had looked like you were about to kill him for checking at a board game, continuing to cheat without you noticing but you had easily caught the avenger very early in his own game.
“Well,” he starts, moving forward now knowing that it is safe to do so. “I’m going to start by giving you a nice and hot, bubbly bath.”
You hum and relax your body a little at his proposal but he was just getting started. “Oh yeah. Are you going to join me?”
He disappoints you a little when he replies with a ‘no’ but his arms wind around your waist pulling you close so you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, hoping he continues.
“After your bath, whenever you are ready. I’ll give you the best massage you have ever received. It’ll be so good from these chocolate fingers that you won’t even remember you were mad at me in the first place.” This smooth fucker, he knew exactly what he was doing. And dammit you were giving in to him. It was so easy to do what he wanted even when you were mad over the stupidest things.
*
You had settled easily into the hot bath, watching as the water rose and bubbles magically appeared under the stream, it was weirdly mesmerising. You settled in nicely, your muscles easily being soothed by the calming water. Just for Sam’s luck, you didn’t have much time to think about his cheating but with this bath, you didn’t really give a shit either.
It had been almost an hour since you had got into the bath, the water finally going cold so you slipped on your bathrobe and smirked at the slippers that Sam had left for you.
Sam was waiting there on the bed with pillows carefully placed to hold you as comfortably as possible. He must have heard the water sloshing around and you made your way out of the bath.
“Surprised you aren’t giving yourself a massage, Sammy.” You chuckled to yourself, pressing a kiss to Sam’s pouting lips. You drop the robe over the vanity seat and climb into the bed, hugging the pillows around your face and getting comfortable. His hands were on you almost instantly, you loved the feeling of his fingers touching you, massaging all the knots in your back and shoulders. Sam lathered up his hands with the oil attached to his special belt, you were pretty sure that you were going to end up with a happy ending massage like all those other women in the porn videos that you sometimes indulged in when Sam wasn’t around.
The moan that escaped you made Sam laugh behind you.
“I know, baby. Good, right?” He almost grumbles, humming as his fingers rub the oil into his hands before spreading it across your naked back, palms pressing into your shoulder blades, fingertips seeking out your neck.
If you thought that the bath had you melting, they had nothing over Sam’s fingers. It was as if you were being caressed by God himself. You hadn’t realised you had fallen asleep until your eyes were fluttering open as the touch of his lips at your temple.
“Don’t fall asleep on me now, Honey pie. You’ll miss the best part.” He whispers, his fingers smoothing down your back and over your thighs before he rubs over your lower back, soon spreading your cheeks apart, his digits sliding over your folds.
“Well, I’m glad you woke me up for this. Somnophilia isn't really on my to do list today. We’ll save it for another day.” You said rather sleepily but the man’s fingers were waking you up with every movement he made.
Sam rolled his eyes but continued, his middle finger finally entering your cunt.
“Sam,” you gasp. Clenching around him, silently begging him for more but he just pumps his finger in and out of you. You take hold of his wrist, trying to make him understand but from the look in his eyes, he wanted- no, needed- to hear you say it. “Please, want more.”
Sam obeyed, one more of his fingers then another dipped into your pussy. He let out a guffaw when you whimpered underneath him. “Don’t complain, this is exactly what you wanted, Honey pie.”
“I’m not complainin’, Sam. You’re just making me feel so good. Fucking me with your fingers so well.” You rock your hips, fucking yourself between his fingers and the bed, you couldn’t help but reach down under your stomach and toy with your clit whilst Sam continued his onslaught, quickening his pace when he feels you clench so tightly around him.
Your pussy flutters around his digits but it's you that loses composure as Sam lifts your hips and slots himself under you. Planting you right on top of his face, he licks at your pussy with fervor, fingers matching his tongues' fast pace. The coil deep within your stomach began to wind, you know for a fact that if Sam keeps it up, you are not going to last much longer; he senses it, too.
He uses the hand that’s not fingering you to keep you on top of him, making sure he licks at every available crevice of soft skin that greets him.
“Fuck, Sam, I’m gonna come.” Your hips convulse as you reach your release, soaking Sam’s face when you explode, Sam’s work finished. Job done. But he still carries on, letting you ride the waves of your climax, he drinks up every ounce you give him, slurping your juices and easily swallowing them down.
The stars behind your clouded eyes make you forget that you were sitting on his face, almost squashing him in the process but you get off of his face, instead collapsing right next to Sam as he quickly crawls up the end of the bed to make sure you are alright.
He places his hand on the side of your face, your eyes still closed as he tries to bring you back to the here and now but he is unsuccessful, even if you smile against his hand.
“If you wanted to give me a massage and eat me out, you didn’t need to cheat.”
He huffs, hand moving to cover your mouth and head dropping deeper into the pillow beneath him. “Again with the cheating. I said I was sorry, Honey pie.”
📎Warning/s: a smidge of body image issues and insecurity.
📎A/N: prior to Back To You, this is one of the moments that encapsulate Sam and Reader’s friendship <3 this one goes out to my bespectacled buds and people sporting dimples on their thighs and tummy and arms and everywhere. your body is there for you to pet dogs, hug your loved ones, touch plants, and take your brain from room to room.
📎enjoy and all forms of love are welcomed! :)
📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK
📎 Follow the story: Back To You, Dimples, Inked
It’s been an hour and a half since you moved from your spot on the couch. So engrossed on a TV show playing on the TV, various lights and colors reflecting on your spectacles.
Your best friend Sam sits next to you, proofreading a paper due next Wednesday.
“Tell me if your legs start to fall asleep.” He says, laying down on your soft thighs. For some, the gesture may seem overly sweet. But not for the two of you.
You utter a distracted hum, your eyes trained to the screen before you.
“D’you think Tolstoy would like Orange Is the New Black?” Sam asks you as he put the down stapled papers on his broad chest. He stares up at the ceiling, dragging his gaze to your face.
You look down on him, scrunching your nose, “don’t look at me from that angle.”
“What? Why not? Afraid that I can see your nostrils from here?” Your best friend jeers, poking your chin.
The sweet sound of your laughter making Sam’s face heat up. He then sits up and faces you, squinting and leering too close to your face. Way too close to be considered friendly.
You gulp then, clearing your throat, “Sam.”
He mutters a meek apology, giving you a small smile which you reciprocate as if to say it’s okay.
The atmosphere changed, tension and unspoken insecurities waving in and out. The faint memories of people who made you feel ugly suddenly reappearing.
“Hey, you good?” He taps your thigh, almost reluctant to touch you. He knows when you’re too lost in your thoughts, so he attempts to bring you forth to the surface.
You nod, offering a smile that he can see through, “yeah. Yeah, sorry.” You grab a pillow, covering up your thighs. Your brain telling you that you shouldn’t have worn shorts today, reiterating the textured skin rubbing against the soft material of the cushion.
Sam nudges your shoulder, bopping your temple with his forehead like a cat. “No need to apologize. What’s going on with that huge brain of yours?”
The TV show now forgotten, only serving as background noise. The open window displaying the pink sky as the sun sets over the campus. The bustle of students downstairs offering sounds of liveliness.
“You remember Kyle from my art class?”
“Yeah, lanky dude with the messenger bag. What about him?” Hearing another guy’s name from you made Sam preen, subconsciously fixing his shirt and puffing his chest.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
“Okay, cool it, Rambo. He’s a nice kid; he drew me in class last week.” You say as you stand up, abandoning the pillow to fetch your bookbag. You pull a loose leaf of drawing paper from a yellow expanding folder.
Sam examines the charcoal drawing, the details were exquisite. The shadows on your face were carefully drawn and shaded to accentuate your features. Your delicate hands were curled up around a book and you were sitting cross-legged. Your legs were exposed too, the drawing captured the softness of your curves.
“He drew dimples on my thighs.”
Your best friend looks up then, his dark eyes gazing over your legs, “they’re pretty accurate. Not gonna lie.”
The face you made was a mix of shock and amusement, “I wish he didn’t though. They look wonky.”
Sam is a man made of carefully spoken words, “they’re normal, bub. Lots of girls have ‘em.”
A snort came from you, chuckling as you take the paper from him, putting it back into the folder, “yeah, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, come on, now. Lots of people have them.”
You plop down the couch again, half paying attention to the half-finished episode, “I just wished he didn’t draw them on. I don’t know.”
Sam taps your chin to get your full attention, “hey, all I know is that they make great pillows.”
“What does?” You cock your head to the side, making him smile softly.
“Your thighs,” for a second, there was guilt, “oh god, that wasn’t sexual, was it?”
You laugh, genuinely, this time, “you’re good, Sam. It wasn’t sexual.”
The atmosphere changed once again, lighter this time. The sun has fully set, leaving a blue hue on the sky. The bustle downstairs has died down to a minimum.
“Thank you,” it was unprompted but needed.
“For what?”
“Because you’re buying me dinner tonight.” It was a sentiment thinly veiled behind a joke but was caught by prying minds and warm hearts.
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Warnings: cursing, a bit of self depreciation
Word Count: 2.2k
Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam.
Beta: None
Part 1 - Part 2
Masterlist
Chapter 3: for the love of god, explain this
Sam Winchester lies awake at three in the morning, under foreign, scratchy sheets, stubbornly not tearing his eyes from the cracked, ugly wallpaper on the ceiling. A lot of things are happening and his brain is going about a million miles an hour, spinning endlessly, Castiel, Dean returning from hell, the stress of the hunting life, the current case and… Y/n. Wonderful, smart, talented, funny Y/n.
It’s been a while since someone has made him excited. He keeps bumping into her in his mind, keeps finding thoughts of her lying around, eager to distract him. He catches himself wanting to text her about every stupid thing that happens in his day, much like she sometimes does. She’s been the only thing that makes his heart a little lighter, and it’s such a strange feeling, someone’s presence being this uplifting.
He was suspicious of her at first. A strange woman (at least she claims to be one, he forgets he’s never actually… seen her) asking about him, his profession, and then about… ghosts? A bit random, too specific, Sam recognizes he got defensive. But the way she spoke afterwards… he doesn’t know. His instinct tells him to trust her.
Amidst his thoughts, he doesn’t remember picking up his phone, but it’s just one of those nights, he needs someone to talk to- or rather, wants Y/n specifically. A thought he chooses not to dwell on.
are you awake? I can’t sleep.
I actually am. Lucky you.
Sam smiles. Lucky me, he thinks.
isn’t it like 4 am for you?
Tell me about it. No luck sleeping either.
happen to you a lot?
Yeah.
I happen to have anxiety induced insomnia.
Working at a bar also helps fuck up your sleeping schedule as well.
You?
i’m sorry :/
i don’t get much sleep either. something always keeps me up.
Yeah, I get that.
Where in the Great Unites States of America are you today?
hahah it’s Oregon today.
it’s the ugliest motel room i’ve ever been in.
Ooh
Do I ask about your case or is it confidential?
it’s confidential but i’ll tell you that i am investigating a bunch of strange murders.
You’re investigating serial killers?? That’s so fucking dope.
something like that yeah.
how was your day?
Oh, you know. The usual.
College assignments, a shift at the bar. I went out with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.
I need to clean my house desperately.
I also nearly burned my kitchen down trying to cook lunch. Emmy and I ended up eating some lazy-ass spaghetti, because pasta is the only thing I can cook, apparently.
hahahah what were you making?
You’re gonna laugh if I tell you.
well now you must.
Ugh, do I?
come onnn
It was eggs, okay? I was just trying to make eggs.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAH
I TOLD YOU YOU’D LAUGH AT ME
HOW DID YOU BURN EGGS?!
LISTEN, OKAY
I NEVER SAID I WAS A GOOD COOK
HAHAHAHAH
Sam laughs over his phone, as silently as he can, so as to not wake Dean up. He turns on his other side and realizes his cheeks hurt from smiling, and it’s a feeling he’s missed.
Yeah, yeah, laugh, culinary genius. Not all of us can be perfect.
i never said i was a culinary genius
but at least i don’t go near stoves if i don’t have to.
Well, it’s not like I can afford every-day takeout (or like that shit is healthy, even if I could) and someone has to cook for my sister while she’s in school
you have siblings?
and yeah you’re right i didn’t think like that sorry.
It’s okay.
And yeah, my sister, Emily.” Emmy”
oooh i thought emmy was your friend.
Nono, it’s my sister. She’s 17.
can i ask you a personal question?
Shoot
why do you have to take care of her? are your guys’ parents not around?
you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable with that.
Well, it’s a bit complicated.
My parents’ marriage kind of fell apart when I was around 10. They tried to fix things by adopting a kid- Emily. For a while that worked.
When I was 16 my mom took off and dad took care of us for 2 years almost. He really dedicated himself to us.
He worked his antique shop and supported us. For two years, I didn’t see him spend a penny on himself.
But I ended up having to take care of Em when he passed. I was freshly 18, so I could take care of her as a guardian.
shit i’m so sorry.
It’s okay, honestly.
I mean, it didn’t use to be, and it was hell for a while.
But we made it.
i admire your positivity.
I try :)
i also love that you put smiley faces in your text messages.
Shouldn’t have said that, now I’ll always think about it before I do it
hahah
Sam bites his lip. What the hell is happening? They’re… flirting. Sorta. And it’s nice- better than nice. Fuck.
What about you?
you mean what’s my relationship with my parents?
Well, when you put it like that it sounds stupid. It wasn’t what I was asking either.
What I meant was, how’s your life right now. How’s the family business. You can pick which you wanna answer.
i don’t mind either honestly.
as for my parents my mom died when I was 6 months old. my dad passed away about a year and a half ago.
Jesus, I’m so sorry Sam
I don’t know what to say. It can’t have been easy. Losing a parent never is.
it wasn’t but as you said we’re trying to sort of find our footing with Dean. we’ve had our ups and downs.
Yeah I understand that.
Do you wanna talk about it?
right now not really. I mean there’s not much to say about it.
i kinda wanna forget about it. thanks though.
Alright.
So how’s the family business?
Does it feel good to be paid to be Sherlock Holmes?
crap. but we’re doing our best.
for the record i don’t get paid nearly enough for the shit i have to do.
Hahaha, hang in there.
Dean still refuses to come get his phone?
yeah. he says you can keep it.
Tell him to take care of his devices from now on, this one was battered beyond recognition.
duly noted.
The conversation continued until well after the sun rose. Sam had officially accepted this night to be sleepless, and Y/n was good company. Somehow she took his mind off of everything that was bugging him, made him, if momentarily, forget about it, and he truly loved that about her. The back and forth tended to flow easily between them, and he couldn’t get enough of the chemistry he had with this practical stranger.
Sleepless or not, this night was a good one, after she entered the picture.
-
The glow on her skin is blue-ish and soft, combatting the one from the fairy lights above them. Laptop absolutely not low in volume, couch dipping under two bodies, slumped together, legs leaning against one another, soft flannel pants and droopy eyes. Emily’s hair is out of its usual half-up hairstyle, exploding with volume and bright, firey color, flowing onto the back of the couch.
Jon Snow is yelling on the screen, and Y/n is completely ignoring him, constantly checking her inactive phone and the way the screen doesn’t light up with Sam’s name. Every time she feels disappointed, she tries to quell the relentless thoughts of the possibility of him being completely over her.
Damn it.
“Do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend I’m not aware of or something?” Emily mutters dryly, half-hearted but gentle teasing. Y/n sputters.
“Huh?”
“’Cause you keep checking your phone, and as far as I know you don’t have any friends.”
“HEY,” deeply offended, Y/n places her hand over her heart, glaring at her sister. “Excuse you!” she exclaims, “Connor? Ashley? Lydia?”
“Yeah, a neighbor and two college students that you haven’t talked to in like, what, two weeks? What a social butterfly.”
“Okay first off,” Y/n ignores the screaming and fighting on the screen and shifts to look at her sister. “Stop tracking my socializing.” Em scoffs.
“C’mon, bear, spill.” Bottom lip pouted. She pauses the episode, turning to face her older sister. “Who are they and when can I meet them?” A devilish smile, teasing like only a younger sister can, curling the right corner of her lip.
“He’s not my boyf-“
“AHA! So there is someone! I knew it!”
“I’ve known him for like- what, three weeks? Nothing is going on! I barely know the guy!” Y/n fiddles with her hair and huffs, holding back a smile.
“Where’d you meet him? Is he hot? What’s he like?!” Poking her sister’s thigh continuously, she grins wide, excited. “C’mon, you’re like, no fun.”
“The thing is… I didn’t. Meet him, I mean.” Eyebrows furrow.
“Uh…” Emily purses her lips. “I’m … not following.”
It takes all of five minutes for Y/n to explain to her sister all about her crazy adventure, the lost phone, the brother, Sam. The girls munch on leftover garlic spaghetti, talking about the stranger on the other side of Y/n’s screen.
“He’s just… different? I don’t know- I just, I’m intrigued I guess. He’s mysterious and hilarious. The type of guy we’d hang out with. Why pass it up?”
“Just hang out?” Emily wiggles her eyebrows. Y/n shoves her.
“It’s really not like that.”
“I don’t know, Y/n, he doesn’t necessarily sound just friendly to me.” Y/n won’t lie and say she hasn’t thought about it. She’s a romantic after all, and what a wonderful, movie-like love story would it be for them to fall in love and march into the sunset?
But she recognizes this is the romantic side of her picking up speed on a subject that definitely isn’t for her to decide alone. There’s a second participant in all of this, and he needs to do more than half the work by liking her. She knows it’s no easy feat. A bitter dab of paint dissolves in her chest, because why would he like her? She’s nothing quite special. She’s just a bartender, a college student, a boring, normal girl, painfully mundane, painfully boring. He’s brilliant, kind and sweet, a private investigator, he travels all the time, he’s the most interesting guy she’s ever met for crying out loud. Why would he ever give her a chance?
“I doubt it, Em,” is what Y/n decides to say, because there’s no way she can explain exactly what she’s thinking.
“No, no, you’re doing that thing again.” A hum in question falls from the older Andrews’ lips. “The thing where you put yourself down for bullshit reasons. He’d be lucky to have you.” Y/n wants to roll her eyes. “Hey,” a snap of Emily’s fingers in front of Y/n’s face to catch her attention. “I will literally slap you. You’re smart, funny, kind. He’d be fucking lucky to have you, and if you don’t believe it, I’m gonna beat some sense into you. Stop putting my sister down.” Y/n doesn’t have anything good to say to that, so instead she lets out a huffed breath of a laugh and sits back on the couch.
“Now,” Emily leans over her own crossed legs and grabs her phone from the rickety coffee table. “Did you Google him?”
“Why the heck would I Google him?”
“It’s the 21st century, Y/n, gosh. Are you at all familiar with internet stalking?” Y/n watched pebbled coffee brown eyes get illuminated by the phone screen, freckles nowhere near as bright as they can be, because she hasn’t gone out into the sunlight today. Emily is gorgeous. Y/n is sometimes jealous, but also genuinely admires her younger sister. “What’s his name?”
“Sam Winchester.”
There’s typing, and then silence.
“Y/n…” And the warning tone on the younger one’s voice completely throws her off.
“What? What is it?” A phone screen is thrust in her face.
Mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration, armed robbery, kidnapping, three counts of first-degree murder, and breaking and entering, she reads. Winchester brothers Sam and Dean, disappeared, considered dead.
“What the fuck,” she mutters under her breath, completely horrified at the chance that this is real and the universe isn’t playing some comic joke on her, creating another pair of Winchester brothers called Sam and Dean who, instead of chasing murderers, are the murderers.
She scrolls lower and sure enough, there they are. Mug shots, but more specifically, the guy from the dating app, smouldering cheekily into the camera –a real blue steel-, holding a police station name on a black plaque, sitting at close to six feet and two. Then the younger one, less joyful and sassy, more serious and puppy-eyed. Sam. Close to what was described to her, it’s all there. Pointy nose, sharp jawline, curly brown hair with a growing, swoopy fringe, pulled behind his ears. It’s him. There’s no way, the coincidences are too many.
“Bear…” Emily stares at Y/n’s shocked face, gaze empty and out of it. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
Immediately, Y/n grabs her phone.
Sam
His reply is instantaneous.
hey y/n
i was just thinking about you
what’s up?
Please for the love of God.
Explain this.
She sends him the mugshot, photographed from the screen of her sister’s phone.
shit.
-
Part 4
A/N: Tell me what you thought? How the hell does he even explain this?
I realized I haven’t been tagging my forever taglist like a MORON, so just, sorry, I’ll start now.
Hey everyone! I hope everyone is doing well, considering the world right now, and that your being safe. @clarinette07 brought this challenge to my attention, and I just had to jump on it. This challenge was started by @princessmisery666 as here Triple Celebration Challenge! Having two creators work together, meshing there writing styles together, a very cool concept.
@clarinette07 and I decide on that our prompts were: the Song You Make Me Wanna by Usher and the dialogue “We’re not meant to be together, I see that now. But we are supposed to be family.”
Synopsis: reader has a thing for Dean and one night they act on their feelings, but the next day things take a turn and the reader’s world is all turn around. A year later and a whole new life, the reader is back in that same town and same motel room she was with Dean, but now she has another Winchester after her heart. What is a girl to do, follow her heart from the past or her present?
Reader X Dean, Reader X Sam. Mentions of lost, heartbreak, flirting, mentions of sex but nothing graphic. Also it is a long story, 5,000+ words but its worth it.
I do hope you like what @clarinette07 and I came up with. If you do, please like and reblog the story, and give @clarinette07 and myself a follow if your incline. But Please do not post as your own work!
Thanks!
Love~
It has been a year since Dean left, no he didn’t move; he was sent to purgatory. Left or sent to purgatory, it doesn’t matter the fact is that he is gone and never coming back. He walked out that motel door, and that was it. If you had known that was the last you would have seen him, you would have asked him to stay, to never walk out the door...for what was it...breakfast? He had kissed the top of your head and said he was going to get him and his girl, his girl, God how you love that he called you that. How many times you wish for him to call you his, and finally, he did. Y/N stop! Stop dwelling, he left to get you both food, coffee to wake up and get going for the day, to help you both sober up from the night before. Probably to clear his head and figure out how to tell you that you both are better off friends than something more. At least that is what you thought when two hours had passed and a dozen unanswered phone calls and text later.
You tried not to worry, you kept telling yourself that something must have come up, that a break in the case or a lead that he had to follow pulled him away and he just couldn’t let you know. Pacing back and forth in the motel room, your mind keeps wondering if maybe, just maybe he wised up and left, couldn’t face you, or tell you the truth. That what happened last night was a mistake, and so, instead of breaking your heart, he just ran. Dean would never do that, he is a standup guy, besides the things he said, the things you both said were the truth. No, something else must have happened.
The sound of your phone ringing pulls you out of your running mind and back to the room, a wave of relief washes over you, see it’s him, he’s calling to apologize and tell you he will be back in a few. Picking up the phone, your stomach drops, and worry starts to set back in. Dean’s name is not on the screen, it’s Sam, his brother. Taking a ragged breath, you click accept, “Hey Sam,” your voice barely above a whisper, the air lost out of your body that you hardly get any words out.
That conversation with Sam, you would like to say, keeps playing in your head over and over, but honestly, you stop listening to his words after, “it all went wrong... Dean’s gone...” what you remember is your legs giving out from you. The feel of the cheap carpet under your bare legs. Losing the strength to keep the phone by your ear.
The words that Dean was gone, although you knew someday you would hear them, in the life of a hunter, it would be stupid for you not to think about it. Thinking about it and actually hearing it, well, it’s two different things.
You can still feel the pain today, when you think about that moment. The feeling of pain radiating out through your chest, you wish like hell it would stop, but it doesn’t. All the air in your body is gone again, and tears stream down your face.
You’re not sure how Sam found you, or how long it was until he did. You remember him picking you up off the floor and carrying you out of the motel room. You buried your face in his shoulder, not wanting to look at him or the world. Instead, just wanting to keep your eyes close and shut everything out, if you didn’t open them, then the truth wouldn’t be real. Then Dean wouldn’t be gone.
Later you found out that a guest was walking by and heard you screaming and crying. Thinking that you were hurt, came running in to find you on the floor, sobbing and in shock. Your phone next to you with Sam on the other end, screaming your name.
Sam brought you back to the bunker, setting you up in a room that was in between his and Dean’s bedrooms. Sam let you sleep, never pushing you to talk, to talk about what you and Dean were working on, and never forcing you to hear what happened to Dean. He gives you your space, dropping off meals outside your door, he keeps his distance.
Hearing your cry and scream in the middle of the night the first month was hard, you suspect, for him. Sam would come running in and see you tangled up in the sheet, sweat dripping down, he would stand at the end of the bed and ask, “What can I do Y/N? Please, I want to help.” His voice pleading with you to let him in, the look of concern because haven’t. Always, you would give him the same answer, “it’s nothing, I am sorry” monotone and pissed off that you woke him again, that you disrupted his life or a stupid dream. You would untangle yourself, get up, and walk past him towards the showers. Every time he would stop you, lightly touching your arm to prevent you from leaving. “I miss him too.” That’s all that you would let him get out, his voice deep like Dean’s but different, a softness and sadness tone that you rarely heard from Dean.
You wanted to let Sam in, you really did. Sam was your best friend, he was the one before all this that you confided in. The one that you could tell all your secrets to, well almost all of them. He didn’t know about you and Dean, about your love for his brother, that was the one thing you just couldn’t tell him. You never wanted to be that girl that fell for your best friend’s brother.
After a few months of silence and wallowing in your own pity and depression, you’re not sure what changed. Maybe the idea that no one is ever really gone, or that all the stories you have heard about both Sam and Dean cheating Death so many times. This couldn’t be the end that there had to be a way to get him back.
Throwing yourself and Sam back into the game, you took anything that looked like a case. Anything that would put you in contact with the supernatural to ask, what happened to Dean? Most, if not all, the hunts wound up dead-end leads on that question, or demon’s playing with you just to see you squirm. After months of coming up with nothing, spending every second pouring over the vast library that the bunker had to offer, you were about to throw in the towel again. Maybe he was gone, that Dean was never coming back, and this, a reality without him, is your new normal.
You didn’t know how it started. Only now whenever you were around a certain loveable, long-haired Winchester, your heart began to beat faster, and your stomach would flutter with butterflies. There was always a sense of peace when you were around the brothers, especially Sam, but lately, things started to change, and you’re not sure how to handle that. After all, you are still in love with the eldest green-eyed Winchester, aren’t you?
It had been a long year of mourning the loss of your green-eyed lover, but thankfully you weren’t alone. Ever-present Sam was by your side the whole time. After your time of mourning, you realized you had to keep fighting. Dean would have wanted you to keep fighting, with Sam alongside you. Not to say things got any easier, but after losing Cas and Dean, then Kevin all in one day, it took some time to get back to any form of routine. Eventually, you & Sam were able to get your friendship back to how it was before that fateful night with Dean.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was another night off drinking and relaxing with the boys when Sam tried to take both brothers to their room, but Dean was just too wound up and asked to stay a little longer. Of course, you loved them both, but Dean rarely ever asked to stay to hang out with you without Sam or leaving with a girl for the night. This was a surprise you would not turn away. Sam looked back, ever so reluctantly, but left nonetheless. As the night unfolded, you both played a drinking game that was a mix of 20 questions and Truth or Dare, and you opened up more to Dean than you ever had in the past. He laughed at your aversion to clowns and said he really does have two sisters!
“One’s a giant nerd, while the other is much easier on the eyes.”
You had never really been on the receiving end of his earnest flirting before, and this just made your heart skip a beat, and all the color rushed to your cheeks. More truths were shared and more secrets told, which lead to you saying that you have never been French kissed before (and enjoyed it). This apparently was unforgivable in Dean’s eyes because he asked if you wanted to try again with HIM!!!
Now, you may have had a little too much to drink, but you damn well know if Dean Freaking Winchester asks to kiss you, you DO NOT turn that down! (Mama didn’t raise no fool!)
That kiss was the start of everything changing. You and Dean grew closer while Sam and you seemed to have a bit of tension all of a sudden, and you could never figure out why. Eventually, you found your rhythm hunting together again, and one night everything came to a head with the looming battle against Dick Roman and his Leviathan puppet army. Things were moving relatively slow between you and the eldest Winchester, but with the fear of the unknown with this fight and (again) too much liquor involved (you’d think a girl would learn) you and Dean made passionate love for the first and, unbeknownst to you, last time.
*********
“Hey, earth to Y/N, are you listening to me?” Sam’s voice pulls you back to the present, back in the bunker, back to reality without Dean. You shake the thoughts from your mind, focus Y/N, you have a goal, a mission to follow, get Dean back.
You look up from the library table to Sam, you can see he is concerned about you not paying attention and is going to ask you again for the millionth time are you okay. Giving him a small smile, you beat him to the punch, “sorry, what were you saying?”
Sam sits down across from you and pushes his laptop in front of you. “I think we have another case if you want to check it out?” He says, pushing away his thoughts of pursuing the subject further, knowing that pestering you leads to you shutting him out.
While your eyes scan the article, Sam gives you the rundown. A string of murders over the past few weeks have been going on in this small town. What makes it a case for you and Sam is that each one of the victims’ hearts is missing. “Werewolves,” you cut Sam off, looking up from the computer, “I will be ready in twenty.” You say, getting up from your chair. You don’t wait for confirmation that you’re leaving right now or anything from Sam.
Twenty minutes later, you’re on the road, Sam behind the wheel, and your nose is buried in the recent lore book that you have been reading cover to cover to find anything about purgatory and how someone could escape. You’re pulled from your reading when you hear Sam mutter, “Shit!” under his breath. You’re about to ask what is wrong, when you look up from the book and towards him, your eyes fall on the passing city limit sign. Fucking Boring, Oregon, you have got to be kidding me. In reading the article, you must have just glanced over the town name, this is the same town that you and Dean worked your last case together, the same town where everything changed, the same town where Dean left, left you. “Y/N, I am so sorry. We don’t have to stay, I can turn around right now, call up Jody and see if she can…” Sam quickly stammers out, but you stop him before he can finish.
“Sam, I am fine; it’s fine. It’s a case, and we need to solve it, and we are already here,” you say, your confidence, however lacking, was trying to build for posterity’s sake. Giving him a reassuring smile, you can see that you’re not convincing him at all. “Seriously, Sam, I am fine. Let’s just not stay at that crappy motel again, and we will be all set.” Fake confidence laced in your voice, you give Sam a pat on the arm and try to focus back on your book.
Unfortunately, this town is so small that the only other motel is closed for renovations, so the motel from your past is the only option. Pulling into a parking spot, Sam stops before getting out to get a room, “Seriously, we can drive to the next town over and stay there,” asking you again, if you would want to do that.
“No, Sam, the next town is over 100 miles away, it would be stupid to do that.” You say, giving your best reassuring smile, you push down your anxiety that is bubbling at the surface. Just being here in this town, this parking lot again, you look away from Sam, focusing on the detail in the orange/blue plaid that he put on this morning, one of your favorites. Come on, Y/N, you can do this.
Looking back up to Sam, you can tell he wants to say something, bring up Dean again, or ask if you’re alright. The concern is written as clear as day on his face, his hazel eyes lock with yours.
“Come on, Winchester, go get us a room. I am tired, and you could use a shower.” you joke, giving him another playful shove while holding your nose and waving at him as if he smells.
This causes Sam to laugh, his look of worry and concern falling off his face and replacing it with a smile that causes his dimples to pop. “Okay, okay, I am going.” He concedes, getting out of the car and walking into the small office.
Watching Sam walk away, you start to think, Thank goodness Sam is with you because you don’t know if you would be able to handle being here alone again. The last time almost broke you beyond repair, but Sam was there to help hold you and put the pieces back together.
Honestly, you don’t know where you would be today if it wasn’t for Sam, your puppy-eyed Moose Man. Even though you still miss Dean so much, you still feel complete when you’re with Sam. (Does that make you a horrible person?) You don’t believe these feelings are new. Deep down, they were always simmering there, just never given a chance to bubble to the surface. But now that Dean is gone, you have grown even closer than before Dean and you started whatever it was you had. For goodness sake, you never even got the chance to explore that, let alone define it, but with Sam, everything just comes so naturally. You think now is the time to try and move on, not to forget Dean, but to not wallow in sadness either. You don’t have doubts that it’s just the alcohol talking when you’re with Sam or worry about him leaving you at a bar for a random girl for the night. Sam has always treated you like the only girl in the room and, until recently, you always thought he was just a good friend. However, lately, you have noticed this look in his eyes when you’re together. It’s a little like Dean used to get when he’d walk into a diner and see a pie display: Complete adoration and love.
Guilt has held you back from seeing anyone, especially Sam, in a romantic light, but you can’t fight these feelings anymore. Now it was time to make a decision to do something about these feelings or just keep our friendship?
You see, Sam walks out of the office, and towards the car, before you can even think about answering that question, he opens up the door and sets back down. “I got a room around back,” he says, turning the car back on and pulling around the parking lot to park near the room.
“Great!” you say, looking out the side window as he makes the short drive around the building. Y/N, you have to keep your head in the game. Focus on the job, right now, the most important things on our plates were tracking down Crowley to find Kevin and solving this case and killing the monster of the week.
Sam’s POV:
I had waited too long, fought my feelings too long, claiming I loved her as a sister and my best friend, but seeing her and my brother kiss broke my heart. Of course, I was happy for them. I love them both! I just wish I would have been brave enough to lay it all on the line before I missed my shot.
Then, the unthinkable happened, and we lost 3 people who were so very important in our lives, and we were both mournings in our own way. I had to try my best to be strong for both of us. For a while, but I would do anything for her.
Now, it is a year later, and I finally feel like I have my Y/N back. Maybe now that we’ve both had time to heal from the wounds of losing our loved ones, I can try and see where this relationship can go. I wanted to start small. Coffee shop trips together, movie marathons together in our pj’s, making her favorite greasy guilty pleasure just to see her smile. I knew I was no Dean in the kitchen, but I would try anything for her. We both enjoyed doing research and talking about a new monster or new piece of lore we would discover in the MOL library files.
Then, the sleepovers started. It began shortly after Y/N came home to the bunker after everything went down at SucroCorp. The nightmares that would not leave her alone, so she would come and ask to just lay with me at first until she could fall asleep. Later, we would stay up late, and she would talk about what plagued her dreams. After a while, the nightmares stopped, but the sleepovers didn’t. We just enjoyed being in each other’s company. It’s during these times I realize I’ve fallen for my best friend and I don’t think I could live without her by my side.
I knew I was pushing my luck when I found that case that was in the same town that Dean and Y/N had spent time in before everything went to shit at SucroCorp. I knew that she would jump at the chance to work on another case though, I just thought she would have seen the town name and thought twice about it, I guess I was wrong.
I didn’t plan to stay in the same hotel, and after much persuasion, and fifty dollars, I made sure we didn’t get the same room that I found her in that day. I want to get this case wrapped up quick, and I wasn’t going to make her live through sleeping in that same room again.
************
Same day later in the evening-
Getting back to the room around 6pm, you were ready to take off this skirt and heels, and just fall into bed and sleep the rest of the night away. Talking to family members of the victims and the medical examiners has never been your strong point, research and coming up with a plan, that is where your talents lie.
Making your way through the door ahead of Sam, you kick off your heels and faceplant in the stiff and uncomfortable bed.
You can hear Sam behind you try and hold back a laugh as he shuts the door, seeing you sprayed on the bed, “done for the day are we?” he asks, with a smile you’re sure is spreading across his face.
“Yes,” your voice muffles from your face, still facing the mattress, “just leave me here to sleep.” The victims’ families weren’t much help, and of course, the medical examiner already confirmed what you suspect you were hunting. Now came the fun part trying to figure out who the werewolf was and where the den was.
The sound of Sam sitting on the bed next to yours, and him shrugging off his jacket, was the next thing to fill the space. “So pizza or Chinese?” He asks, knowing full well you did not want to leave this room and go out for dinner.
“Chinese,” you muffle again. “Extra egg rolls and sweet and sour sauce.”
Sam laughs at this, “yes dear,” he says, getting up from the bed, he goes to get his phone and place the order.
*********
The food was just what you needed to get your second wind, well that and the twenty-minute nap you had waiting for the food to get here. Sitting across from Sam at the small table in the room, food covering the table, you look at the leftovers in front of you, “Why is it, we always get so much food when we order Chinese?” you ask. Twirling your chopstick around your fingers before placing it in the leftover Low Main.
“I think they just always give you more since you will be hungry again in like an hour.” He jokes, tossing over a fortune cookie, “Always have room for this though.” he says, then breaking into the wrapper and cracking open the cookie.
“That is true,” you say, opening your cookie as well, reading your fortune. The room is silent, with only the sound of the tv in the background filling the space.
“So what does your fortune say? Going to be rich and famous soon?” Sam asks, joking, tossing his fortune into the trash pile as he eats part of the cookie.
You stare down at the fortune, you’re not sure if you want to read it out loud or not. It’s not like you ever really took stock in them before, but for some reason, this one seems to hit home. “Umm…” you clear your throat, taking a second to think if you should play this off seriously or not. “Let go of your past, for your present to become your future.” You read off, in a serious tone. Tossing the fortune onto the table, you pick up your beer to finish off, and try and read Sam. Sam, of course, was looking at you, trying to read you as well; by his serious stare down at you, you wonder if a lecture is about to start. About how if this is not a sign that you are running yourself ragged trying to find a way to save Dean, what more did you need. “I mean, these things are never…” you start to brush it off, but are cut off.
“I am in love with you,” Sam blurts out. You're stunned by his outburst, the hardness leaves his face and is replaced by embarrassment. “I am sorry I just had to say it. Had to say something before you brush this off, and we go back to our friendly banter and work the case.”
You’re not sure what to say. You love Sam as well, he has been your rock through it all, your person; but there's still a part of you, that part of you in that motel room from a year ago. A part of your heart always with Dean. As much as you want to tell Sam that you’re over it, over Dean and ready to move on, are you?
Sam seeing the wheels turning in your head, “I am sorry Y/N, but I just had to tell you. I have loved you since we first met. Before, it was just friendship, but it has grown into something more. This last year, us living with each other, relying on each other. It just got me thinking.” Sam pauses, turning his eyes from you and looking down, embarrassed to even tell you more.
“What? Tell me?” you ask him to keep going, even though part of you wanted to tell him to stop, that the more he talks, the more things would be complicated. You know that you can’t give your heart entirely to him and that lying won't work either.
“You make me wanna … more. I can see us having an actual life; maybe it’s not all white picket fences and all, but it’s a life that’s not consumed by hunting and monsters.” Sam’s voice is low, but it’s sincere. He’s focused on tapping a finger on the table, a nervous habit of his that you find cute.
“A ring and all the things that come along with it?” You say, knowing exactly what he’s talking about, you have had those same thoughts about him and you as well; it’s just when you have those thoughts, your brain instantly reminds you about Dean, and you forget about them.
Sam nods his head in agreement. Looking up at you, relieved that maybe, just maybe you’re going to tell him that you feel the same way, that you want to be with him as well. That you can let the past be the past, move on with him. He’s about to ask when a knock at the door stops him. Giving you a questioning look, silently asking if you were expecting anyone, you shrug your shoulders and shake your head no.
You get up and start to head for the door, Sam follows behind you, making sure to grab his gun and getting ready to shoot if needed. Waiting for a second for Sam to get on your side and ready, he gives you a short nod to open the door.
You open the door, and you’re stunned to see Dean standing there. Dressed in the same clothes he left in that morning, his jeans and shirt a bit dirty and torn, his leather jacket has also seen better days. It’s like a bucket of ice water has been thrown at you, you’re not sure you can formulate words into a sentence.
“Hey, sweetheart, can I come in?” He says, a smile forming on his face, taking a second to look over to the right of you; he sees Sam, “Sammy, can you lower that gun?” Dean’s voice, a bit deeper and harder then what your brain has been replaying over the last year, but still that is your Dean.
***********************
Sam’s POV :
This was not happening! Was this a sick joke? Was this another demon scheme? Of course, right when I get the guts to tell her how I feel, something happens to come between us. But, if this is really my brother, I have no choice but to step down and let them be happy together. It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? But why does it hurt so much? I just want to be happy, too.
***************************************
This was a dream, you’re going to wake up any second, and you will be in Sam’s arms, and this will be one big dream. But, after all the tests were done, you were still in shock. Your Dean was back, and your Sam had just confessed his love for you. You are so screwed!!! You decided to finish the case, then deal with it all when you got back to the bunker, but that left you with a very awkward, quiet ride home. You sat in the back, thinking about what you were going to do, but could not decide. You loved them both, but realized that you loved them so differently than you thought. You found you could live without Dean, but the thought of living without Sam hurt more than you could ever have thought. As the night went on, and the days went by, Dean was more secluded than usual, but little did you know he was watching and waiting for the right time to talk about what happened between you and him and what he saw happening with his brother and you.
“I see it, you know? How you guys just fit.”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon, Y/N, I’m not blind! I see the way Sam looks at you and how you look at him, and I get it. It’s okay. We’re not meant to be together, I see that now. But we are supposed to be family. What we had was special, and I will always treasure that, but what you can have with Sammy is even greater than what we thought we had.”
Tears were forming in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the runaway tear if you tried.
“I never meant for this to happen, or to hurt you, I swear!”
“I know you didn’t, Sweetheart, I know, but I can’t pretend that I am who makes you happy when I can see you’re drawn to my brother, and I can see how much he loves you. How much he’s always loved you.” Dean says sweetly, bringing his hand to wipe the tears from your face.
The act is comforting to you, reassuring you, and that he means what he says. Encouraging you that yes, he loves you, but not in the way that you and Sam love each other. Giving Dean a small nod, you take a deep breath calming yourself and getting the confidence to walk down the hall to Sam’s room. “Thank you, Dean, you’re a good man.” Your voice is less shaky in the end, and you pat Dean’s chest. “I think I should go talk with Sam.”
**********
The short walk to Sam’s room from the library was enough time to build yourself back up. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to Sam, and you hope like hell, he still meant what he said before.
Giving the door a quick knock, you hear Sam say, “it’s open.” Shortly, like he didn’t want visitors. You could leave, wait for a better time, but you were here now. You open the door to find Sam at the small desk with his back to you. “Hey, Sam,” you say, to get his attention.
Sam turns with a look of surprise, “Y/N…sorry I didn’t know it was you.” Mad at himself for being curt, you see his face softens, “what’s up?” He asks, getting up and walking towards you.
You take another breath, closing the gap, you hold yourself back from reaching out to lock your hands with his. To feel his skin on yours. “I wanted to finish our conversation...from the hotel that night.”
“Y/N, we don’t have too. Dean is back... let’s just go back..”
“I don’t want to go back!” You yell, cutting Sam off, his silent expression letting you go on. “I want the same things that you talked about that night, I want them with you.”
“What about Dean?” Sam asks, his voice laced with caution.
Needing the connection, you lace your fingers with his. Looking deep into his hazel eyes, you’re confident that this is the man for you. “He’s my past, you’re my present and my future. If you still want me?”
“Yes!” Sam says, a smile forming on his face, pulling you close, he leans down, his lips finding yours.
Kissing Sam for the first time, feels like coming home; passionate, sweet, tender, and perfect; everything you ever wanted or needed.
Note: I mostly wrote this because I've been feeling sore as hell from sports and I wanted to see if I could replicate that feeling here in an angsty way.
Basically she misinterprets the Winchesters hesitation for her not being good enough to hunt, rather than their worry and fear after having lost so much family. And she resorts to unhealthy means of weightloss and exercise. There's nothing graphic though.
///
Hunting has never, in the history of ever, been a skill that came along easy. To anyone. The unforgiving profession took years of work, practice, and patience to master it. Not only that, but it took research and last minute problem solving. Every hunter needed to be downright perfect if they ever expected to make it in this life.
So when you told the boys you were going to become a hunter, you didn't understand why they hesitated. Dean outright scoffed, as if the notion was ridiculous; you'd be lying if you had said that didn't hurt. Sam was a little less blunt about his reaction, but the way he bit his lip told you he was dubious. Did they have that little faith in you? You really didn't see the problem. You had worked with them for years as the research girl, gathering information and piecing each case together when the Winchesters didn't have the time to. It only made sense that you would qualify as hunter material. People, ordinary people, became hunters all the time! What made you so unqualified?
Somewhere in the cavities of your mind, a small voice whispered because the hunters that rose from nothing often had nothing to lose, and they couldn't care less if they died on their first hunt or if they succeeded in their endless quest for revenge. That's why you were different; you have a family, and it would kill them if you left them. They've already lost so much.
Sam approached you, hesitant still, as if he wasn't sure what to say quite yet. He took a breath, took a moment to gage your expression, and then sighed. "You're sure? Absolutely sure you want this?"
"I'm sure."
The Winchesters respected you. You weren't a child; if you told them you wanted something, you reserved the right to have it. However, that didn't make this less excruciating for them. In their eyes, they were letting you put a target on your back.
They didn't object to your proposal though. Instead of talking you down from your idea, they worked with you. The bunker had a gym, complete with a target range and a ranging supply of equipment. They certainly didn't sugar coat it for you. Sam told you about crushed dreams, and Dean told spoke of old friends and their partings. They made clear that you understood that this job would literally haunt you for the rest of your life. As you sweat, they reminded you that you were preparing for the lifetime of war and pain that would soon be your own. It was a heavy weight to carry, and an even bigger commitment.
From this, you imagined they were trying to scare you. Of course, they weren't lying about anything, but in the way that they said it to you, like they were stuffing your mind of ideas like newspaper to a kindling, made you think they were convincing you to give it up. They were trying their best to protect you with fear, to have you become a scared little girl who is afraid of the monster under her bed so they could fight it for you like they always have.
But you didn't scare easily.
The workout was intense. There were very few pauses or breaks, because on a hunt there was no such thing. Once you had completed a set of workouts, they had you do another. They did it alongside you, letting you see how much you had to catch up with. Sam and Dean were both six feet of toned muscle and calluses.
After three hours, you had completed all the workouts thrown at you. You were drenched in sweat, and every muscle you had was aching and smarting. You finally stood, expecting this to be the end.
Dean nodded to you. "Go get a drink. We're going to spar next."
You stared at him a little, processing this. Sparring. That meant hand-to-hand tactics and conditioning. That meant wrestling. That implied more hours before this was over. You wanted to protest, but you held your tongue. It was never over; that was the lesson they were giving you, and you could either complain about it or suck it up, because this was your choice.
You pushed down your growing disappointment and masked it with an indifferent one. You were certain it didn't fool the boys, though.
You were careful not to drink too much, but enough so your lips weren't as dry and your aching throat was soothed. And then you returned, Dean was wrapping bandages around his knuckles, and motioned for you to do likewise.
You weren't going to lie, that scared you a little. Dean was a strong guy, and you weren't sure how rusty you were. Or how good you could duck.
But the hunter seemed to know what you were thinking. Your eyes met, he analyzed them, and he chuckled. "Don't worry, these aren't for you. We're using the punching bags first to get you warmed up."
You held back your retort, which was just a smart comment about being 'warmed up'. You were practically on fire. But it wouldn't get you anywhere complaining. You took the bandages, observed Dean's fluid wrapping motions, and mirrored them in silence.
You were exhausted, but you still followed Dean to the punching back with your head held high, feeling stubborn. Your muscles were starting to retaliate, begging for the work to end, but you pushed on, ignoring the shakiness in your legs as you followed Dean and the ache in your shoulders as you raised your fists to the red enemy—the punching bag. You pummeled it with all your lasting might, determined to show Dean you would not be deterred by a little sweat.
His hands reached to guide your motions, coming behind you to correct what he felt was unnecessary in your throws. "You like to drop your right hand during the left hook. Keep it lifted, or you'll leave yourself exposed." He showed you an example, and you just marveled at how he was still at his prime.
Punching the bag required coordination that you lacked. You could punch fine, but your muscles were protesting and twitching when you pulled back. You were slow, and Dean made sure to tell you. You knew he was trying to discourage you, to get you to quit on your own. But you were a stubborn one, as they liked to say.
Once Dean seemed satisfied by your form, you both went to the mat, which was clearly set up for a spar. It was unfair—Dean was hardly breaking a sweat, and you felt ready to break apart. Another lesson, you realized. Hunting wasn't fair.
You narrowed your eyes, bracing yourself to fight. Your heart was thrumming, and every limb was shaky in pain and adrenaline. But your eyes were strong, and you made sure that Dean knew it.
You weren't great, by any means. Dean was a professional, and you were no match against him like this. However, you managed to hold some ground, and retain what they had taught you, regardless of how sloppy it may be.
After who knows how long, Dean finally called it quits. You were panting with adrenaline and feeling rather lightheaded. And you both needed to eat and shower.
"Good job, kid," Dean made sure to say to you.
You smiled. Dean was impressed.
You both cooled down a bit, then exited the room that would likely rule your dreams for a while. Every muscle was sore; even your eyelids were heavy.
When you reached your room, you allowed yourself the slump your shoulders some. You honestly felt terrible and tired. Everything hurt. You sucked in a breath as your calves painfully tightened into a knot. You were temporarily paralyzed, grabbing your leg and gritting your teeth. This was going to suck.
You limped to your bed with a gasp, and let out a muffled cry into your pillow. The bed was cold against your nearly feverish self, and you soaked it in. You were acutely aware that it was only somewhere around six o'clock (as that was the only digit you had registered), and that the Winchesters would probably search for you to eat dinner with them, but you were already falling into a deep sleep.
///
The morning was worse.
Every movement was slow and painful. It took roughly twenty minutes of pained whines and sobs just to sit up, and you still couldn't convince yourself to stand. Because standing meant walking, and you didn't think you could handle that just yet.
You, with another moan of agony, turned to the clock, letting out a strangled exhale when you saw that it was eight thirty-five. You supposed, fortunately, you had been so exhausted you had slept through most of the pain in the night. The Winchesters had left you alone, and you were at least grateful for that.
Finally, you gained enough courage to stand. And as painful as it was, you were a hunter now. The Winchesters had to toughen up all the time. They had died before, the least you could do was hide some grimaces. You slapped on your poker face and walked as straight as you possibly could to the kitchen, albeit it wavered here and there.
Dean was making french toast for two, while Sam made himself a smoothie. You thought on this. Maybe, to better help your workout routine, you should cut back on the food. It wouldn't kill you to go on a diet and lose a little weight. So instead of Dean's offered french toast, you made a beeline for the fridge, where you grabbed a honey crisp apple.
Dean looked rather offended. "You don't want my french toast?"
You forced your face to be calm as your calf twitched and seized. "Oh, sorry, no. I actually ate a few hours ago. I went to bed at five, remember? I didn't sleep for fourteen hours," you said naturally. Oh, yes you did. You definitely did that.
That little nagging voice curiously asked you why you lied to them. Why couldn't you just tell the truth? What was with the white lies and deceit? Perhaps, you told yourself, you knew that it wasn't your best decision. You knew the Winchesters would not approve of it. You knew it was wrong.
And you figured when you had gambled with one white lie, how could another few hurt any?
So when you knew the Winchesters weren't watching, you would limp, biting back groans as your limbs struggled to cooperate with you. During your workouts, no matter that Dean would tell you to tell him when it was too much, you always bit your tongue, knowing the best workouts came from 'too much', and that you would live.
Your scale was your friend: you became more encouraged of your progress as your weight dropped.
You knew they were just trying to get you to admit defeat—that if you couldn't handle the intense workouts, then a monster would inevitably overpower you.
In this, you began to wonder of the importance of being a hunter. Did you really want this? It had become less about training and more about proving yourself to Dean that you were ready. However, you were glad they'd given up trying to sway your decision. You had shown to Dean clearly that you wanted in, and you had won them over. Once they built you up, you would finally be a hunter.
That's what kept you going.
And the workouts continued, and you felt yourself deteriorating by the thirteenth day. Standing too fast suddenly had you seeing stars, and it took several seconds to recover.
And by that thirteenth terrible day, your knees buckled, and of course, Dean was there to catch you by your armpit.
Your sweaty armpit. That had to be disgusting.
However, if Dean thought it was gross, he wasn't showing it. In fact, he seemed concerned. "You good?"
You nodded, but your breath betrayed you, hitching a little. "Just a leg cramp." Just then, your vision blurred and you leaned back into him at the wave of nausea that followed.
He turned you to face him. "Hey, what's up?"
"Just…" You felt sick. "Just a bit… dizzy. Can I sit down?" You used him as a crutch, lowering yourself until you were leaning up against the wall. Your vision was telling you you were on a carousel, and you shut your eyes tight. Your breathing was irregular as you fought the rising nausea.
"How much water have you had?"
You shrugged, and then regretted it. Your shoulders were on fire. "Some," you croaked.
"Some?" He asked, incredulous. He rubbed his face in frustration. "We've been doing this for hours. You should be drinking more than 'some'. The hell?" He looked down at you angrily from where he was crouched. "Christ. Alright, let's get you somewhere else." He pinched his nose and shouted down the hall, "Sam?!"
Sam had already seen though from where he stood in the gym. He was making his way over to the both of you.
"She's dehydrated," Dean told him. "Can you go get some water?"
"Sure," Sam said, heading to the kitchen and leaving Dean with you again.
Dean reached down and scooped you up. He had his bicep under your knees, one under your back, and his abs against your hip. He was carrying you bridal style.
And with what little consciousness you had left, the sudden motion almost made you pass out.
It also made you nervous. A nervousness that made stars break behind your eyelids. Look at you, swooning over some boys. Hell no! Shame on you. They spend half their hunts reeling over other women, it's not like they like you like that.
You wiggled, panicking a little on the inside. You threw out your hands. "Dean!" You yelped, trying to control the shakiness of your voice. "I might be tired, but this is unnecessary."
"Enjoy it," Sam called from down the hall, as if he knew exactly why you were trying to escape. He probably did. Frick Sam and his way of reading people so well. You were twenty feet away from him and he just knew.
Sam made his way back with the promised glass of cold water.
Dean said, "Next time, don't skimp on the water, okay? There's a reason we take water breaks." He took the glass from Sam just to hand it to you. "Just take some sips, alright? We don't need you getting sick on top of this."
As Dean watched you drink, his heel bounced from where he was crouching. "How much have you eaten today? No, no wait. Scratch that. What have you eaten today?"
You froze, trying to visualize the fridge space and what was in it. But lately, you would just grab some fruit and leave. You didn't really know what to tell him. "I… had some oatmeal." You recalled that being on the shelf a week ago.
Dean's frown impossibly fell further. He looked devastated. "I told you she was lying, Sam. I told you."
Sam sighed then, and his sad eyes flicked about the hallway.
"Wh…" you started to say, internally panicking. "What do you mean?"
Sam's stiff shoulders dropped. "We finished off the oatmeal a few days ago. It's even on the grocery list."
Dean sent him a look. "You make grocery lists?"
"Yes, Dean," Sam says. "Otherwise you would just get jerky, beer, and pie. That's not exactly a square meal."
Dean shrugged, but then shook his head, realizing his distraction. He turns back to you. "Wait, have you eaten anything? At all? When's the last time you actually had a meal?"
You wanted to say something, you did. But you were about as calm as a deer in the headlights.
Dean stood, throwing his hands in the air. "The hell?!" he exclaimed, and then to Sam, "What the actual hell?!"
Sam couldn't really believe it either. The younger Winchester gathered himself. "Have you really been starving yourself?" At your lack of response, he blinked. "You're… c'mon, you're smarter than this. I know you are. What even compelled you to hurt yourself like this?"
You scoffed and denied it. You weren't hurting yourself.
"Look, I know you think this isn't doing anything, but you're wrong. You do know that to build muscle, you also have to eat protein, right? It doesn't come from nowhere. I see where your mind is going and I've seen how far you've been pushing yourself lately, but I also thought you were eating. That's a vital part of working out. Of course, you have to do it right, but it's vital. Muscles don't come from nothing," Sam told you.
You shifted, embarrassed. You were being scolded like a child.
Dean was glaring at a wall and cursing. "Sammy's got a frigging point. Also, you literally pushed yourself until you collapsed. If I hadn't caught you, you would've fallen flat on your face. And you can't even tell me that I'm wrong." He took a breath. "You were going to break yourself. Sure, you were kicking ass, too. I was impressed. And I'm—I'm still impressed, don't get me wrong. I'm impressed that you can push yourself that hard. That's good for a hunt. But kid, you couldn't tell me when you wanted a break?"
You offered a small, timid shrug and broke your gaze with him. You felt awful.
Dean looked so crushed. "God, do you really think that's what we wanted from you? To starve yourself? Kid, you got it backwards. All we want is for you to be stronger when you go out there. This? This isn't strong." Dean was quietly seething, but his anger wasn't entirely toward you. Perhaps he blamed himself, that he didn't notice sooner. "This is… this…"
You looked away, rubbing at the tears that you couldn't stop from rolling down your cheeks. You couldn't look at them or they'd see it. You couldn't face them until you were fine again. As steady as you could, you whispered, "Sam… Dean… I didn't… I am so sorry. I just wanted to be strong. I wanted to be like you."
Dean snatched your shoulder, pulling you to face him. And when you finally saw the heartbroken look in his eyes, your mouth wavered as a sob escaped you. Dean pulled you into a hug, his hands fisting your shirt and clutching you tight. You let yourself go, unable to contain your sobbing in his embrace. You just ugly cried into his shoulder, having your own pity party about how stupid you had been.
"Well," Dean said, his eyes alight with unshed tears. He didn't even bother to wipe them as they trailed. "You got that part mixed up, okay? We're not asking you to starve. We're just scared for you, alright? We want to make sure you're prepared. We can't lose anyone else. Hell, I still don't want you out there." He was torn.
Sam cut in. "But you're an adult, so it's your call. But this? If there is anything we're going to stop, it's going to be this."
Dean began to lead you by the arm to the kitchen, careful that you were steady on your feet before moving. "Think you can stomach some of Sam's rabbit food?" Dean motioned for Sam to help and squeezed your shoulder to comfort you.
Sam nodded, opening the fridge. "I'm sure a light salad and a hard boiled egg will be okay."
You leaned into Dean's touch, knowing that they would always be there when you slipped up. When you fell to your lowest. When you did something you knew was stupid.
Warnings: Character death, nudity, smut (not graphic, more implied) name calling and fat shaming (not our Dean). This is fluffy, and lovely, then...BAM!
Summary: Dean and Y/N settled in to live the life they promised Sam before he jumped into the pit with Lucifer.
Pairing: Dean x Reader, former Sam x Reader
Word Count: 4055
Written for: @spngenrebingo, @saxxxology‘s Plus-Size Challenge, @georgialouisea‘s 2k Quote Challenge - my quote is in bold italics below.
Thank you all for hosting such great challenges for inspiration!
Beta’d by: @hannahindie - Han, you keep me going with your kind words.
A/N: I am maybe a little sorry, but mostly I am damn proud of how this turned out. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, along with your comments and reblogs. Thank you!
None of the images used a mine. Found on Tumblr /Google - credit to the artist.
“Dean, I won’t be coming back from this, I know that. But I need you to promise me something, can you do that?” Sam turned to his brother, waiting for his answer.
“Sam…” Dean started.
“No Dean. Just promise me one thing. That you and Y/N will go on with your lives; get out, go live a normal life. I need to know that you are going to take care of my girl. You can both live the apple pie life you’ve dreamed of, man,” Sam told him. “Promise me.”
“Sam, you know I will always take care of her. She’s family,” Dean assured his brother, but the words never came out of his mouth. Sam looked at him expectedly and Dean nodded his silent promise.
~*~
“Y/N, you gotta come out of your room sometime. Come on, please. I made dinner and if I keep eating it all, I’m going to get fat,” Dean pleaded with her through the door but was only met with silence. “Fine, it’s on you when I get fat.”
Dean returned to the kitchen, the food laid out buffet style on the counter of the little house they had rented two weeks ago. He put away all the leftovers after another quiet dinner alone. He retired to the back porch with a bottle of whiskey and a picture of him holding baby Sammy.
He spent every night drowning in a bottle of whiskey, so he didn’t have to feel the loneliness of not having his brother by his side anymore. He supposed she felt the same, except that Dean had been in love with her since they first met, but she had chosen Sam and now he was gone.
The only thing that separated them was the way they chose to grieve and her bedroom door. Only when he couldn't’ see straight, he stumbled his way to his bedroom, falling into the bed and passing out.
~*~
Y/N laid in her bed that night, surrounded by the fading scent of Sam on the flannel she wore. She felt guilty for the feelings that had been plaguing her from the day she met the Winchesters. As a hunter she never thought she would find someone to love, but then the brothers came into her life and she found herself having to choose one over the other.
Dean drove her crazy in the best ways possible, but Sam felt like the safe choice, so that was the one she made. There wasn’t a day that went by that she hadn’t thought about how different it could have been if she had picked Dean over Sam. She wiped her tears away. There was nothing she could do to change the past. All she could do was move on and hope Dean felt the same for her.
~*~
Dean woke to the smell of coffee and bacon the next morning. For a moment he thought he had died and gone to heaven. He shuffled to the bathroom and brushed the whiskey from his mouth, before following his nose through the house.
Dean froze as soon as he hit the archway to the kitchen. Y/N stood at the stove in a pair of sleep shorts and one of Sam’s old flannels. She was humming lightly as she flipped bacon. Dean must have gasped at the sight of her as she turned quickly only to find him staring.
“Come on, sit down,” she gestured to the fresh cup of coffee sitting on the table. Dean’s eyes shifted from her to the coffee and back.
He cleared his throat before taking a seat. “M’glad to see you up and around, Y/N. I’ve missed having someone to talk with.” The coffee was strong and hot as it hit his throat still raw from the previous night’s whiskey.
“Well, I have been thinking long and hard these last few days, and Sam wouldn’t want me to wallow in my sorrow,” she shrugged as she flipped the waffle iron. She turned to face him. “‘Sides, I’m not the only one here who lost someone, Dean. You lost your brother and I am sorry I haven’t been there for you.”
“‘S’okay, Sweetheart,” Dean smiled at her over his cup of coffee. If she only knew how much he wanted her to be there for him, to have her hold him at night and chase the nightmares away.
“No, it’s not. But I am done locking myself away. From this moment on, we are going do what Sam wanted and start living,” she sniffed even as she said it. “Now, I can’t have you gettin’ all fat on me now, so I’m gonna share all this food with you. Eat up.”
“Oh, so you did hear that,” Dean smirked as he forked a waffle and a few strips of bacon on his plate. “Your solution to keep me from getting fat is to make waffles and bacon?”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” she smiled for the first time in two weeks and Dean started feeling a little better because of it. It wouldn’t be an easy road for the two of them, but at least they had each other.
Dean’s face lit up when she smiled at him and she felt a warmth fill her. This could be the start of something. She sat down across from him and they enjoyed breakfast together.
~*~
Two months later
“Dean!” her scream echoed through the small house and he took the basement stairs two at time to find her.
“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked, seeing the look of fear in her eyes when he entered the room. “What is it?” He knew it wouldn’t be long before something found them, even though he had carefully warded the house when they moved in. He drew his gun from the waistband of his jeans.
“A mouse…” she whispered and pointed to the corner cupboard. Dean slowly opened the door, but found nothing but some chewed up cereal boxes. He started laughing. He laughed so hard he doubled over and clutched his stomach.
“What the fuck are you laughing at Winchester?” she demanded from her perch on one of the kitchen chairs, a broom in her hands.
“A mouse?” he laughed. “We have hunted some the evilest sons of bitches on the face of the planet and you are scared of a little mouse?” He tucked the gun back into his jeans.
“Yes!” she didn’t hesitate and swung the broom out, hitting him solidly in the ass.
“Did you just hit me with a broom?” he turned to glare at her, taking a few steps towards her.
“Maybe?” she said, not breaking eye contact with him as he stalked closer.
“You hit me. With a broom,” he repeated. “Now you’re gonna get it! He reached for her, pulling her off the chair and into his arms, attempting to tickle her sides while he held her. She struggled against his strong arms.
“Dean, stop! Put me down!” she squealed, continuing to wriggle in his hold.
“Oh, okay. Right here on the floor where you saw a mouse?” He moved to put her down, but she jumped back into his arms, their chests heaving from the horseplay. He locked eyes with her and craned his neck like he was going to lean in and kiss her.
“Are you going to kill it?” she whispered, feeling her cheeks heat up under his gaze. Dean snapped back to reality and set her back down on the chair.
“It isn’t even there anymore, Sweetheart. But I’ll go to the store right now and get traps and some of that poison. I’ll be back soon.” he grabbed the keys to his work truck and headed for the door.
“No! Don’t leave me here,” she told him. “I am not staying here with that thing.”
“Okay, then let’s go,” he motioned for her to come with him, but she pleaded with him, turning on the puppy dog eyes. “Dammit woman.”
“Thank you, Dean,” she kissed him lightly on the cheek as she crawled onto his offered back and he carried her to the truck. “You’re my hero.”
Dean closed the door and ducked his head, hoping she hadn’t seen the blush run up his neck and settle in his cheek where she had pressed her lips.
~*~
One month later
“You want some popcorn, Sweetheart?” Dean shouted from the kitchen. It was movie night and her turn to pick so Dean gathered the snacks.
“Yes, please. With some of that caramel stuff!” she called back.
The movie was some action comedy and wasn’t bad, but Dean was barely paying attention. Her body was too close to him and felt too good. His eyes glanced sideways at her. She looked good, better than she had a couple months ago. She hadn’t left her room and hadn’t eaten anything for the first couple weeks they lived there.
She had put back the weight she had lost and then some. Dean had always thought she was too thin before, but Sammy had always liked smaller girls. But not Dean. Dean thought she had never looked better and she was more beautiful in his eyes each and every day. He loved the way her thighs now filled out her jeans instead of them hanging off of her. He noticed a little more how full her breasts were and occasionally spilled over her tank tops.
“Thank you,” she murmured into his shoulder. Dean had been lost in his own thoughts when she spoke. He hadn’t even noticed the credits were rolling on the movie.
“Mmmm? For what?” he adjusted his body to face her.
“For everything. For finding us this house. For taking care of me. For staying and loving me,” her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s nothing, Y/N. We both made Sam promises before he died. Even if I hadn’t, I would still take care of you; you’re family. And I love you,” Dean tried to brush off her words, but each day he knew he was falling harder and harder for her. He wasn’t sure this is what Sammy meant when he had asked him to take care of his girl. But right now, he didn’t want to think about that.
“I love you, too, Dean,” she laid her head back on his shoulder and he laid his head on hers. She knew Dean only viewed her as family, as his brother’s girlfriend that was now Dean’s responsibility. She only wished he knew how true those words were when she spoke them to him.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed. S’late,” he said a few minutes later. She simply yawned her reply. Dean picked her up, carrying her to her room and laid her on the bed. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”
“Dean?” she reached for his wrist when he turned to leave. “Please stay.”
“You sure that’s a good idea, Y/N?” Dean hesitated.
She sat up and looked Dean in the eyes. “Dean, you’re all I have left. My boyfriend, your brother, is gone and he isn’t coming back. We are all we have left in this God forsaken world and I am not going to waste it crying about something I lost and can never get back.
“I loved your brother with all my heart, Dean, but I made him a promise, too. A promise that I would take care of you, that I would move on. And I’ll be damned, because I didn’t know I could feel the same amount of love for two men, let alone brothers. I felt it since the moment I met the two of you on that hunt, do you remember? I made my choice and I don’t regret it. But now we’re here, together and I have a second chance at love. With you, if you’ll have me.”
Dean stared at her, slack jawed. He didn’t really know what to say. He had felt it, too. And he had been devastated when she chose his brother. But this was all new information to him.
“I-I didn’t know,” he stumbled over his own tongue. Dean pretended to be a ladies man, but he was just a blob of nerves around her most of the time. He shook his head, a low chuckle verberating from his chest. “Dammit, Sweetheart, how could I not love you? I always have. I would be a damn fool if I said I didn’t. But the question isn’t if I’ll have you. Are you sure you want me?”
“With everything I am,” she stood and walked slowly towards him.
~*~
Three months later
Dean was waiting for her in the kitchen for their date. Lifting a beer to his lips, he froze with the bottle midway when she walked in the room. She stood before him, fidgeting with her hands as she looked to him, her eyes wide and sparkling.
The dress he had picked out for her was a deep midnight blue and clung to her curves like nothing he had seen before. The swell of her breasts, highlighting her cleavage, in the deep v-neckline made him want to bury his face between them. Her hips like honey, were thick and sweet where the skirt flared.
“You look stunning, Sweetheart,” Dean breathed out. They had officially been together for three months now. Although they hadn’t taken the next step and become fully intimate with each other, but Dean had never been happier. He had never seen her happier, even when she was with his brother. “I don’t know if I want to take you out and show you off, or rip that dress off and show you how much I love you right here on the kitchen table.”
“Why don’t we do both. You can take me to dinner then come home and have dessert, after dessert?” she giggled and tried to make a run for it, but Dean was still too fast for her. He caught her by the hips and pulled her tight to him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me Sweetheart,” his hot breath fanned across her face. “At least I’ll die a happy man.”
“I just got you Winchester, I’m not letting you go anytime soon,” she vowed.
~*~
Dinner was amazing and Dean held her hand as they walked through the front door. He placed his keys and wallet on the small table, then helped her out of her shoes. She turned to face him, her clutch joining his things. His gaze met hers.
“I love you,” he breathed out, like he had been holding it in. In reality, in his head, he had been. Even with everything going so well with them lately, he still waited for the other shoe to drop. He finally felt he could let his guard down a little. “I always have and I always will. No matter what happens, I will always love you.”
She turned around and grinned at him over her shoulder. “Unzip me?”
Dean didn’t hesitate and slowly lowered the zipper on her dress. His fingertips lighting up her skin as he pushed open the dress, revealing her back to him. He slid his large hands over skin and up to her shoulders, gently pushing the dress off and letting it pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, facing him, in just her bra and panties, more beautiful than anything Dean had ever seen.
“God, you’re beautiful, Y/N. I am going to spend the rest of my life worshipping you the way you should be worshipped,” Dean whispered as he gathered her face in his hands and kissed her like she was his life force. In many ways, she was. Y/N is what kept him going when he lost his brother.
“I love you,” she murmured against his lips. His mouth left hers, trailing soft wet kisses along her jaw, down to the sweet spot, just under her ear. “Dean, if you kiss my neck, I’m not responsible for what happens next,” she warned him.
“I’ll take my chances, Sweetheart,” he chuckled. His tongue darted out, lightly nipping and sucking at the exact spot she warned him about. A soft mewl, followed by a low groan left her lips.
With quick movements, she pushed the jacket off his shoulders. She had his belt off, his pants bunched around his ankles before he could even switch to the other side of her neck. She grabbed the tails of his white button down and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere.
Y/N walked backwards toward the sofa and pushed Dean down into it. “You better be ready for this Winchester. I don’t want to take it slow anymore.” She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips. She could already feel his throbbing erection pressing at her core. She rocked her hips forward, slowly grinding down onto him. “You’re so hard for me Dean. I want you so bad. Need you more.”
“Sweetheart, I have been hard for you for years. I never thought I could have this, not with you,” Dean pulled her chest flush against him, kissing her breathless. When he finally pulled away, he saw the love he felt for her reflected in her eyes.
“Show me, honey,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Dean wasted no time in unclasping her bra, but took his time revealing her to him. He slowly slid one strap down, kissing from her bare shoulder down to the crook of her elbow. He repeated the process with the other shoulder, finally flinging the undergarment to parts unknown.
Dean lavished attention on her breasts, kneading the soft flesh with his capable hands. He ducked his head, pulling one firm peak into his mouth, tonguing it before sucking it between his lips. Dean repeated the process with her other breast, paying it equal attention. A low moan left her lips as she gathered the short strands on top of his head between her fingers and pulled tightly as if she were hanging on for her life. Dean growled low in the back of his throat before he stood, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“Our first time will not be on this couch,” Dean told her as he started toward the stairs. “I’m going to make love to you in our bed. All. Night. Long.”
Dean crossed the threshold and gently lowered her to the bed. He knelt at the edge, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underpants. Slowly, reverently, he slid the silky fabric over the curve of her hips, kissing every inch of skin before him from her soft stomach to the milky white flesh of her thighs, to the soft globes of her ass. He couldn’t believe this gorgeous woman was all his and he spent the entire night showing her how lucky he really was.
The night was filled with declarations of love and the soft moans that accompanied their union.
~*~
Y/N slowly slid out of bed, doing her best not to disturb Dean. He looked so peaceful as he slept and she wanted him to get some rest. The pleasantly sore stretch of her muscles brought back memories of the night before. A smile and blush crept across her face. She shrugged on one of his flannels, buttoning just a few buttons to keep it on her body.
She slowly made her way down the stairs to make coffee and start breakfast. The coffee pot was filled in no time and she took her first cup out to the front porch to enjoy the crisp morning air. She sat on the swing with a light blanket wrapped around her. The morning was peaceful as she sipped at her coffee, listening to the birds as they woke for the day.
“Well, well...don’t you just look happy and content, all fucked out sitting there in my brother’s flannel,” the deep voice startled her and she jolted up from her seat on the swing, the blanket and coffee cup falling to the porch floor.
“Sam?’” her voice was quiet and she slowly sidestepped to the door. It couldn’t be Sam. Sam was dead. Sam was trapped in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. This was not her Sam.
His eyes followed her as she reached the front door. He was on her in an instant as soon as her hand reached for the knob.
“I can smell the sex on you. You reek of my brother and all his righteousness, you whore,” Sam snarled, his hand tight around her upper arm, pulling the collar to the side to see the love bites and hickeys Dean left on her. “You let him mark you up like that?”
“Dean!” Her voice was loud and pierced the early morning air. She knew Sam wouldn’t hurt her, or at least hoped. She just had to keep him talking for a few minutes. “How are you here?”
“I’m out, I don’t know how, but I am. And I have been watching you, Y/N. You and my brother, living this cozy little life without me. I thought you loved me, baby?” The anger was evident in his voice, the sarcasm dripping from his words.
Y/N heard the thunder of footsteps down the stairs and the door was ripped open, Dean had his gun aimed at his brother, shirtless and barefoot in just a pair of jeans, frozen.
“Sammy?” Dean was in awe of the sight before him, he lowered his gun
“Hey, brother,” Sam greeted Dean.
Dean rushed his brother, wrapping his arms around him, forcing Sam to let Y/N go in the process. She quickly covered herself with the forgotten blanket.
Minutes passed and they sat around the kitchen table, wary, staring at each other over the rim of their coffee cups warily. Conversation was awkward and forced, even after Sam passed all the tests Dean put him through. Still, something was off.
“You think there’s something wrong with me, don’t you? Both of you,” Sam demanded.
“Something ain’t right Sam,” Dean sighed heavily, refilling their cups.
“Damn straight, something ain’t right, Dean! I come back from Hell to find my brother fucking my girlfriend. You okay with that, Dean? Fucking this whore?” Sam voice filled with venom.
She had had enough. She stood strong and tall and faced Sam.
“Fuck you, Sam. You broke me! When you decided to take it all on yourself and not let us find another way. You fucking broke me when you jumped into the pit with Lucifer and Michael!” Her rage was evident in every word that came out of her mouth. She stood behind Dean, her hands loving on his shoulders, showing Sam that they were indeed together.
“I’m all glued back together now, I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don’t get to call me a whore. Now get the fuck out of our house!” she screamed at him.
“You should put your bitch on leash, Dean,” Sam sneered as he stood.
Y/N wasted no time lunging past Dean and slamming her fist into the side of Sam’s jaw. He head whipped to side, but he just smile, his teeth coated in blood.
“She’s right. You broke both of us and you don’t get to come into our house and talk to her like that. What the hell, Sam? You loved her, now you come in here and say those things?” Dean stood now, putting himself between her and Sam.
“Yeah, I did, before I knew what a slut she was and would fuck the first warm body that would have her fat ass. You’re disgusting, both of you,” Sam jeered.
This time it was Dean who threw Sam to the floor and pummeled his face with both fists. Y/N managed to pull Dean off of Sam’s unconscious body. Dean shook her off of him, dragging his brother's body across the floor and out the front door.
He came back and found her huddled on the floor, tears streaming down her face. He knelt in front of her, pulling her to him, comforting her the best way he knew how. “Shhhh, it’s okay.”
“Wh-what’s wrong with him, Dean?” she sobbed.
“I don’t know, but that was not my brother.” Dean admitted.
The Sam Sin-dicate: @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kayteonline @hexparker @frickfracklesackles @starry-chaos
Summary: You’ve spent the last five years on a dangerous mission to solve the crime that wrongly imprisoned your father. When the Winchesters find you half-frozen on the side of a mountain, they make it their own mission to save your life and make sure you stay alive. But after five years of uncovering horribly dark secrets, you’ve learned not to trust anyone. Especially people who seem like they have good intentions.
Word Count: 1454
Warnings: Just some feelings
A/N: I think there’s actually an end in sight for this series! I have a few more chapters planned and an epilogue (of course it might take me another year to write them) but still! 44 chapters is a fucking lot. This series is nearly at 70,000 words as it is. That’s almost how long the first Harry Potter book is.
Avenging Angel Series Masterlist
“Okay, sorry, what?”
“Why is that so difficult to believe?” Braxton asked, watching your reaction with a secret smile toying with the corner of his lips.
“You… I just… You’re trying to tell me that you’re a rich, trust fund baby and you’ve never gotten high before? Isn’t that, like, a right of passage for snobbish people like you? You have to act out because you’ve never had to have any responsibility? So you get high and crash a Bugatti or something? Then your dad waves a stack of money and you don’t even get booked? The police just pat you on the back and tell you to behave.”
He leaned forward, trying to act offended. “You think I’m snobbish?”
Matching his posture, you raised an eyebrow in challenge. “So what if I do?”
The staring contest lasted a moment longer. Just before you were about to lose, you closed the rest of the distance and pecked him on the lips.
“C’mon. Let’s go find something to get you high. I can’t believe you’re thirty years old and you’ve never gotten high before. It’s tragic.”
“You don’t really strike me as the druggie type. More like the hacky type.”
“I was in an improv class in college too,” you mentioned, flashing him a grin as you pulled him out of his chair and led him out of the beach cottage in search of drugs. It was Bali. There had to be something somewhere, right? “And I am a hacky person. I have layers. Like an onion. I know my way around the dark web, and there’s a reason it’s not dot-com on the dark web. It’s dot-onion.”
“That sounds fake.”
“Google it, genius. It’s real.”
Okay. So getting high with Braxton in Bali wasn’t really serving a means to an end. It wasn’t like this was going to help you get your father out of prison. But you were actually enjoying this vacation with him. It felt like, for the first time since you’d met him, neither of you were fishing for information. You were just… normal. He was just your boyfriend. You were just his girlfriend. He wasn’t a mark. There was no agenda.
It was nice.
*****
*****
You weren’t the last person to have stepped foot in your father’s lab. It was obvious that someone else had come through, looking for something. Probably George’s people. Or Victoria’s. Or Braxton’s. They hadn’t found what they were looking for, though. Anything of value was locked away in your storage locker.
Still though, even as ransacked as the place was, it was achingly familiar.
Memories of make-believe danced around on the floor. Late nights when your father got so caught up in his research that he forgot to enforce your bedtime floated from wall to wall. This used to be your happy place. Your Land of Hollen. A place for you and your father only.
But he was dead now. And Hollen had been invaded.
“What did you find?” You asked, striding towards where Dean was crouched on the floor. It was best not to dwell on what could have beens and memories that would never happen.
“You said three feet in, six feet left, two feet down, right? Then your dad said to switch the numbers. Well, six feet in, three feet left, and two feet down, I found this.” He handed over a lockbox and reached back into the hole he’d dug. When he brought his hand out, it held three vials of liquid “And these.”
“What are they?” Sam asked, coming up beside you and placing his hand on your back for support.
This wasn’t your Hollen anymore. The only man who could answer that question right away was dead. And the person who killed him was most likely on her way here right now. So you handed the lock box to Sam and started whirling around the lab, grabbing various paraphernalia. “We’ll figure it out a few hundred miles from here. Dean, can you grab that bag over there? I need to put some of this equipment in it if we’re going to figure out what’s in the vials. We have to test them.”
Your father had died protecting this secret. His last words led you to these items. You could mourn later. But for now? Dean was right. You needed to finish what he had started.
So you ordered the Winchesters around until you had everything you thought you needed, then they led the way back to the Impala. Before you left the lab, you took one last look at the sacred space. It was as if you could see the ghost of your father standing at his table, bent over a microscope. There was a wisp of a young Y/N sitting at his feet, playing with some old wires that Kemuny had deemed probably not prone to electrocution, and definitely an acceptable toy for a small child.
“Thank you,” you whispered into the space. “And best of luck to the inhabitants of Hollen.”
It was the last time you would recite your standard parting remarks. Somehow, you knew that you would never again lay eyes upon your Land of Hollen again. This would be the last time you ever came home. The only reason you’d kept up on the payments to keep the house from foreclosing was your hope that one day you and your father would once again live there together.
You never imagined it would all end like this.
“You okay?” Sam asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern when you joined them at the Impala.
You just shook your head, dumped your armload of equipment into the backseat, and climbed over Sam so you sat between the brothers in the front seat. “Let’s get out of here.”
For the first hour, there was silence between you three. The ever present classic rock crooned softly in the background, but you were content to stay safe under Sam’s arm with Dean’s hand squeezing your fingers comfortingly every so often.
After an hour, Dean cleared his throat. “You know, that stuff wasn’t the only thing I found.”
“What?”
“Look in the backseat on top of the hot plate thing.”
After eyeing him curiously for a moment, you twisted around and saw a plain black binder lying atop the mound of scientific crap. It was bursting with pages of… whatever it had inside. You grabbed it and sat back down. “What is this?”
“Look inside.”
Slowly, you opened the front cover to reveal a simple white paper with your name written in marker in your father’s handwriting.
Y/N Entropy Y/L/N
There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots, the other, wings. ~Hodding Carter
Already, you were holding back tears. Sam’s arm wrapped around you again, giving you the strength to turn the page. Inside a plastic sleeve was an ultrasound.
June 24 – Victoria and I are expecting. The doctor told us it is a girl. You’re going to be the most precious baby ever, Y/N. We’ve already picked out your name. I wanted Entropy to be your first name, but Victoria threatened to dump water into my solution I’ve been working on for three months. You should probably thank her for that. Either way, you’re going to be quite the pistol. With parents like us, who wouldn’t be?
A picture of your nursery followed, along with another handwritten note from your father explaining how they chose the decorations. It was no surprise that the walls were adorned with beakers and colorful pictures of solutions, a rainbow of vials, and all other kinds of science décor. You supposed there was never any hope that you would turn out as anything other than a geek.
Picture after picture of the day of your birth, the first month of your life, all of the landmarks of growing up. The first step. First tooth. First word. Carefully documented by your father with the precision of a scientist. Each and every drawing you brought home from school. Handwritten documentation of the new tales that emerged from the Land of Hollen. The ribbon for winning the spelling bee in eighth grade. Your acceptance letter from MIT.
“He loved you, Y/N,” Dean whispered after half an hour of you poring over the scrapbook. “He was so fucking proud of you.”
Tears streaked down your cheeks without abandon. “I loved him too. Still do.”
Sam pulled you closer, kissing the side of your head. “And now you’ll always have a piece of him.”
Quickly, you shook your head. Sam was wrong. “No. I’ll always have all of him with me.” You tapped your chest, just above your heart. “Right here.”
