Sam needs you.
You’re good together, and Sam would take care of you. He’d nurse the hurt he can’t see, and you’d heal that broken thing inside him.
Sam needs you, and Dean doesn’t want you.
Looking at him now, with his pleading puppy dog eyes, you know it’s true and you know you can’t hurt him.
So, you squeeze the hand that feels so out of place in yours, and you say,
"Okay."
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, 26183 words
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, Dean seeks comfort from his best friend, 1255/26183 words
A/N: I debated and debated going ahead and posting this because I prefer to avoid posting before a fic is done, but when it hit 20 chapters, I felt like it wouldn't make sense to delay it any longer when I'll probably finish it before the I run out of chapters to upload. So, be warned, it's not finished, but I'm pretty stubborn, so it's only a matter of time.
Fic Masterlist
Chapter 1 - Late Night Calls - You
THEN
A rhythmic rumbling rips you away from deep sleep. Lethargic eyes blink open slowly, disorientation bleeding into irritation when you recognize the source of the offensive noise, given away by the sharp light pouring from your cellphone. The stark contrast against the darkness of your bedroom is atrocious, giving the sight of the phone the effect of looking directly into the sun.
You grumble as you reach over to grasp the phone, squinting at the bright screen to try and decipher who’s calling you past midnight. Your crankiness washes away like water down a drain when the letters form together through your hazy vision. You flip the phone open with urgency, pressing it tightly to your ear.
“Dean?”
“Uh, hey,” he says. Uncertainty coats the usually smooth tone of his voice. It’s so incredibly different from the Dean you know, but what’s important is there’s no pain in his timbre, no wound audible by a grit in his voice. The fact of it cools the panic that had prematurely begun to bubble beneath your skin. It’s not uncommon for Dean to call you at late hours, but it’s also not common enough that you don’t worry each time it happens. You take in a calming breath, hoping he doesn’t hear it over the line.
“What’s up?” you ask casually, although you’re sure he can intuit the concern hidden there even with your efforts to maintain your composure. From the years spent together, he knows how to read the nuances of your voice just as well as you do his.
“I woke you, right?” he states more than asks. The fact is more than obvious from the rasp lingering in your throat.
“It’s all right,” you say, handing off the forgiveness he doesn’t ask for outright. You know that what he needs before he reveals the purpose behind calling you so late is to know he’s not a burden.
“Are you in town?”
“Yeah. We just finished up a hunt this morning. Yesterday morning,” you correct when you catch a glimpse of the clock. 2:11 AM.
“I’m—” he starts before clearing his throat, “Can I see you?”
Always is the answer your brain jumps to, but always is too strong, so you say, “Of course.”
“Okay,” he says casually, although there’s a relief in the word that isn’t casual at all. “I’m about ten minutes out.”
“Text me when you’re here.”
“Yeah,” he responds, both in agreement and as goodbye. The line falls dead, and you unfurl yourself from your bed to throw on a cardigan over the thin shirt and shorts you wore to sleep. Then, you sit on the edge of your mattress for the next ten minutes, unmoving and impatient as you wait for him to arrive.
Eventually, your phone buzzes with a message, though you don’t bother to check it as you slip from the bed. You tiptoe through your house, each step especially careful for fear of waking anyone as you pad to the front door. Your feet slide into some slippers tucked aside in the entryway before you escape into the cool night.
The sleek, black Impala he inherited from John is parked at the end of the driveway. Its metal curves shine under the moonlight, highlighting it to you like a guiding lighthouse. Dean is posted on the hood, staring up at the stars and allowing them to illuminate the panes of his perfect face. His head turns to you at the sound of rustling grass under your shoes as you approach. Suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, you close your cardigan tighter around your body and smooth over your hair.
Dean smiles through a soft chuckle, something that doesn’t reach his shadowed eyes. He looks down at his boots while you settle next to him on the hood. The chilled metal stings where it meets your bare skin, but you refrain from flinching.
“Sammy’s gone,” he says suddenly.
Your eyes pop open in alarm. Of all the things you would’ve considered, this was not one of them.
“Gone?” you repeat. There are so many implications to the word, and none of them good. Even so, when you glance at Dean, his expression is cool.
“He left us,” he continues, voice constricting around the words. You notice that although he tries to smooth over his features, his jaw is tightly set.
“Got into Stanford,” he scoffs with awe that’s tainted with bitterness. “Didn’t even know he was applying to schools.” He shakes his head dismissively, and a dark laugh sputters from his mouth. His bottom lip trembles before he draws the betraying thing between his teeth. His whole torso lifts with a deep breath as he stares off to the left, away from you.
You reach out for him, and his arm is a tight coil when you grasp it. Your touch triggers a clipped sigh that shortly gives way to a full-body release. The tension in his muscles falls away like sand through your fingers. His head droops back to look at the ground before his feet.
“Dad’s a fucking time bomb. He disappeared not too long after Sam did.”
The fact that John left Dean alone to pick up the pieces pisses you off, but you don’t let it show on your face. You just occupy yourself by soothing your hand up and down Dean’s arm until the intimacy of the motion warms your cheeks. You tuck both hands between your thighs, like if they were locked away the temptation would join them in their cell.
“Couldn’t get right, all by myself,” he says with a jerking shrug.
You bump his shoulder with yours. “That’s what you got me for.”
Dean looks down at you with a soft smile and somber eyes. “Yeah,” he says with a soft bump back.
He sighs again, staring at his feet as he adjusts them on the asphalt. The gears turning in his head are visible, but he shakes away whatever thought was brewing. A frown lingers on his lips.
You lean forward, forcing him to catch your gaze. “You can always come to me.” It’s a risk saying it. Anything too intimate, too sentimental, has a habit of scaring Dean away. But it’s true enough that you take the chance.
His features smooth over, and his lips part as he breathes in. “Right,” he agrees, although his eyes flicker away in a flash like he doesn’t quite believe it.
He’s a stubborn bastard.
“Do you want to come inside?” you suggest, feeling the goosebumps forming on your legs. You cross one over the other, hoping you can warm yourself a little.
“Can we stay out here for a bit?”
Whatever you need is too much, so you say, “Sure.”
“Unless, you’re cold.”
You shake your head, but refrain from speaking. Any denial that would come out would be a blatant lie, and Dean knows all your tells.
He laughs, seeing through you anyway, and lifts his arm in invitation. You scootch closer without a word, letting him tug you into his warmth. You lean your head against him, and he lets his fall onto yours. His hand runs up and down your arm, ruffling the sleeve of your cardigan.
“Thanks,” he says into your head, “For being here.”
I’ll always be here for you is too true, so you say, “‘Course.”
You allow the familiar ache of something that can never be spoken sink into your skin and let his painful embrace remain until the moment he inevitably pulls away.
Next Chapter
Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s
Supernatural Taglist: @mrrayjay
Dean Winchester Taglist: @itzpixiebabe
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, you save the couple, Sam and Dean make amends, 852/26183 words
A/N: Jensen's little waddle before he turns in this GIF makes me giggle.
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 13 - Unsevered Ties - Dean
The ugly bastard comes for the couple, all right. Just like the two of you suspected.
Dean blasts the thing straight through the chest, but it doesn’t stop staggering after the couple. Too much to hope that he could kill it with a couple shotgun shells, he guesses. You get a beautiful shot through the scarecrow’s head with your pistol. The body keeps pushing forward as the head jerks back.
“It’s not stopping, Dean,” you warn, already taking steps backward. He nods and begins to run with you. With no other plans, both of you send a couple more shots through the thing to no avail. He sees the couple lingering too close for comfort and shouts, “Go! Go!”
Dean is two measured steps behind you when you turn around in the clearing and your eyes widen. He spins around, ready to slam the scarecrow with the butt of his gun if he has to, only to find nothing behind him.
“Thank fuck for that,” you murmur, breathing heavily.
“What—what the hell was that?” the boyfriend of the almost-scarecrow-dinner couple sputters through gasps for breath.
“Don’t ask,” Dean says.
“We’ve got to get you two out of here,” you say to the couple, ushering them to their car.
“But the car’s busted,” the girlfriend says.
“I’ll take a look.” Dean hands over his shotgun to you.
“He really is good with cars,” you say with a smile before jogging the way back to the Impala.
“Who are you people?” the guy asks.
“I think the less you two know the better,” Dean laughs. “But we take care of stuff like that.”
“Thank you,” the girl says.
“It’s nothing,” Dean replies, though his smile only grows wider. “Now, let’s take a look at what good old Harley did to your car.”
It doesn’t take long for Dean to find the issue, fix it, and send the happy, though frazzled, couple on their way. Still, by the time he slumps back into the Impala, he finds you knocked out in the passenger seat. You’re tucked into the bench at an odd angle, but you must be comfortable enough since your breathing is smooth and deep. He smiles and shrugs off his jacket to lay across your body before he pulls onto the road.
He really should settle in himself, climb into the backseat or, if he’s selfish, take up the other side of the front seat so he can share a stolen space with you. He hasn’t had a proper sleep in over twenty-four hours, but for some reason he knows that if he laid down now, he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes shut.
It’s around five minutes in that he finally bites the bullet and calls Sam. The way the tension instantly falls from Dean’s shoulders after hearing his brother’s voice on the line tells him just how much he’s missed him.
Dean talks to Sam about the case—because that’s easier than talking about how they left things—mentioning the theories the two of you have come up with and your next steps with the professor. The conversation naturally drifts off from there. That damn elephant in the room.
“Actually, uh—” he starts, wincing. “I want you to know . . . I mean, don’t think . . .” Squeezing out the words is like willingly holding his hand to a hot stove.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, too,” Sam says, thankfully picking up what Dean was implying.
“Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.”
“Are you serious?”
“You’ve always known what you want, and you go after it. You stand up to Dad, and you always have. Hell, I wish—Anyway . . . I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you’ll take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“Call me when you find Dad,” he adds, preparing to hang up the phone.
“Okay. Uhm, Dean,” Sam starts, pausing to listen for if he’s still on the line.
“Yeah?”
“How is she?”
It’s like a cold bucket of water down his back. The phone call had been going so well.
The thing is, Dean was starting to get a little comfortable again, with Sam gone. Of course, he missed his little brother. But without him, it felt a little like how things used to be, back when it was just the two of you, us against the world. Back before the idea of you and Sam lodged in his brain and screwed him and everything else up.
Sam’s question reminds Dean that this new connection hasn’t been severed from the distance, and it brings back the clawing in his chest.
“She’s good,” Dean says simply.
“Good,” Sam repeats. “That’s good.” There’s silence for a moment.
“Can I talk to her?”
No.
“She’s sleeping right now.”
“Oh. That’s good. She needs it,” Sam says, and Dean can hear the disappointment even behind the brave front. “Well. Bye, Dean.”
“Bye.”
His cell is heavy in his hands as he steals a glance at you. When Sam was done in California, would he come back for you?
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, Dean pushes you along, 945/26183 words
A/N: I've decided to post three chapters a week when there's a Sam chapter. Also, YAY I finally finished.
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 7 - Reluctant Persuasions - Dean
FEBRUARY
“What’s our chances of getting a peek of the Grand Canyon while we’re in Arizona?”
The sky is so dark that Dean wouldn’t be able to see your expression if not for the city lights of Tulsa bouncing off your skin. He glances away from the road to catch the “innocent” look on your face and laughs. You looked like a kid begging for chocolate before bedtime.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“If you insist on being an idiot and driving all day and night without stopping at a motel, I’m going to stay awake in solidarity. Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out.”
Dean shakes his head. “So, you’re keeping yourself awake by daydreaming about national parks?”
“Come on,” you whine in a soft tone, still careful of Sam’s sleeping form in the backseat even as you plead. “I’ve always wanted to go, and it’s the perfect weather for it. Finally starting to warm up. God, I hate winter.” You huff in irritation, and Dean fights the smile forming on his face. You did always seem the most yourself when the sun was at its strongest, vibrant and happy like a sunflower.
Okay, Shakespeare. Ease up on the romantic metaphors.
“Bisbee is on the exact opposite side of Arizona as the Grand Canyon,” Dean notes.
He can see the dramatic roll of your eyes even while keeping his focus on the road. “When have you ever shied from a long drive? We’re already driving two days to get there. What’s another six hours?”
“We can go to the Grand Canyon. We can do whatever you want.”
“Really?” Your voice peaks in excitement.
You still haven’t picked up the fact that he’d give anything to see you happy.
The urge to see that hopeful look on your face outweighs his diligent watch on the road. When Dean sees how your wide eyes sparkle with street lights, he wants to tell you outright that he’d do anything for you, but he simply shrugs and says, “Sure.”
“Dean! Thank you!” you exclaim, going to reach for him until you realize how loud you’d been. Dean feels the almost touch like a burn as your face flicks to Sam in the backseat. You watch his brother until you’re satisfied by the undisturbed rhythm in the rise and fall of his chest.
“He’s doing better,” you murmur as you settle back into your seat. His promise and your almost touch lies dead between you.
“All because of you,” Dean says.
“It could just be the time. It’s been, what, almost four months now?”
“It’s you,” he says again, hand wringing the steering wheel as he continues, forcing the words out. “You two have been getting pretty close. Guess that crush ain’t so dead and buried after all.”
It’s silent except for the music playing low on the radio as you take in his implication.
“It’s not like that. Sam’s got a long way to go before he’s ready to move on after Jess. The nightmares are better, but they’re far from gone.” Something sickening settles in his gut when you center your defense around Sam’s feelings instead of yours. He clenches the wheel tighter.
“A long way to go doesn’t mean it’ll never happen. Like you said, four months.”
“Four months is not enough time to get over losing someone like that.”
“I didn’t say anything about ‘getting over.’ I can’t imagine he’ll ever be over Jess, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be ready for someone else. Maybe not now, but at some point.”
“And that someone else just has to be me?”
“I know my brother. And I know you.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“I’ve seen how he looks at you, how he relies on you. And don’t tell me you haven’t considered it. I’ve seen how you look at him, too.”
He’d thought those soft eyes were reserved just for him.
“Dean. You better stop right now before you actually piss me off with how wrong you are.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll shut up.”
“Thank you.”
The music rises back up between you.
“It’s just—”
“Dean.”
“He deserves someone like you.” More than Dean does. Sam had always been the better brother. “That’s all.”
Dean can hear you thinking. He only wishes he could decipher it.
“Someone like me?”
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
So, now you want him to talk.
“You know. Someone who doesn’t disappear. Someone who’ll stick around when times get tough. Someone who knows how to make you smile, even when you’re hurting. Someone good.” Too good for me. “Sam deserves someone good. He needs a little good in his life, after losing Jess.”
He ignores the burn from your gaze on him and is thankful for the veil of night that’s fallen over the Impala after leaving the city. He swears his ears are on fire. This feeling is exactly why he avoids stupid heart-to-hearts.
“Dean.”
He doesn’t look. His heartrate spikes at the thought of it.
“What?” he grunts.
A grumbling in the backseat halts whatever questioning you were liable to launch yourself into. Sam slowly sits up in the rearview, rubbing his eyes.
“What time is it?” he mumbles.
“Well, good morning, sleeping beauty,” Dean chimes, thankful for the interruption.
“It’s almost midnight,” you answer, angling your body to face Sam better.
Sam sets his arms on the backrest between you and Dean. “We stopping anywhere? Or are we just driving until Dean passes out on the highway?”
You laugh, and for some reason it feels wrong.
“You still planning on staying awake in ‘solidarity?’” Dean asks you.
“One hundred percent.”
“We’ll stop at the next motel we see.”
Next Chapter
Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s
Supernatural Taglist: @mrrayjay, @timebomb1101, @saaucie
Dean Winchester Taglist: @itzpixiebabe, @whyyouegg, @megthedreamer21
Fic Taglist: @chxrrybomb22, @momoloverr
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, emotional infidelity, you go missing, and the boys freak, 1269/26183 words
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 22 - Greatest Fears - Dean
MAY
“So, local police have now ruled out foul play. Apparently, there were signs of a struggle,” Sam says.
“Well, they could be right. It could just be a kidnapping. Maybe this isn’t our kind of gig.” Dean says as he pulls his darts from the bar’s board and hands them off to you. He analyzes your movements as you step up to align your shot, looking for a twitch or wince.
Your arm still has about a month or so left before it’s fully healed, although you’d stubbornly stopped wearing the sling a couple of days ago. He really shouldn’t have given in when you offered to join him for a game, but he couldn’t stand the dejected look on your face in that split second you assumed he would say no. You were having a particularly hard time with your recovery, all of it to do with the fact that you felt like a burden. He could let you have a game of darts. It’s the least he can do when it was his fault you got hurt in the first place.
“Yeah, maybe not. Except for this—Dad marked the area, Dean. Possible hunting grounds of a phantom attacker.”
You let your first shot fly, and it goes off the wayside. Dean can’t help his own commiserative sigh, seeing how your posture deflates.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. “Okay, I’m really starting to get pissed.” You don’t even bother with the other two darts, forcefully tucking them back into Dean’s palm. He follows you to the table, looking at Dad’s journal to see what Sam’s talking about.
“Why would he even do that?”
“Well, he found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes out at night. Grabs people, then vanishes. He found this, too—this county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state.”
“That’s almost impressive,” you attempt to joke, but your tone is dead. Both brothers watch as you run your fingertip along the grain of the table, your dull eyes trailing the motion.
“Definitely weird,” Dean says.
“Yeah,” Sam agrees.
“Don’t phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds? Jenkins was taken from a parking lot.”
“Well, there are all kinds. You know, Spring-heeled Jacks, phantom gassers. They take people anywhere, anytime. Look, Dean, I don’t know if this is our kind of gig either.”
Both brothers are shocked when you open your mouth to speak. “Do you ever think about how we only help if it’s ‘our kind of gig?’ I mean, say this is just an ongoing kidnapping case. Why shouldn’t we help out? There’s more evil in this world than just the supernatural kind.”
“They have the police for that,” Sam says. Dean rolls his eyes.
“And we all know how top notch police are. Look, I don’t know what I’m going on about either. We can’t really do everything, but I wouldn’t mind being able to do something.”
“If this is about your arm, then stop beating yourself up about it,” Dean scolds. “You’re a damn good hunter. You’re not useless just because you have to take it easy for a couple months. It’s not like Sam and I haven’t had to do the same thing before.”
“I know . . . I know,” you concede, biting your lip in resignation. Sam sets his hand over yours, squeezing.
Dean looks away, pretending he doesn’t see the casual affection. He decides to occupy himself by plugging back up the dartboard before turning back. “Sammy’s right, anyway. We should ask around more tomorrow.”
“Right,” Sam says, removing his hand to take out his wallet. “I saw a motel about five miles back.”
“Woah, woah, easy. Let’s have another round.” Dean wasn’t really enjoying this depressing energy. The group could use a pick-me-up, and moving to a motel would just make this third wheel shit even more insufferable. He was sort of getting better, treating you like he used to, but he was miles away from content.
“We should get an early start.”
“Yeah, you really know how to have fun, don’t you, grandma? Don’t tell me you’re agreeing with him.”
You finally sit up straight, leaning against the booth’s backrest. “I think I’m fed up with bars for the night.”
“Bunch of buzzkills. All right, I’ll meet you guys outside. I gotta take a leak.” He grabs his jacket before stepping away.
“Gross,” you murmur after him, no bite in the comment. Annoying you when you’re so down doesn’t even bring him enough joy to chuckle as he walks to the bathrooms.
Dean contemplates what he could possibly do to turn your mood around as he finishes his business. Maybe he should go on a late-night diner run? He isn’t too sure that any of the places around town sold banana pudding, but he could damn sure try to find one. It would save him the trauma of watching yours and Sam’s night routine.
He shivers, cringing at the resurfacing images of the increasing domesticity between you and Sam. The bathroom door creaks open when he slams it with his shoulder to slip through. When he’s almost made it outside, he hears Sam shouting.
“Sam?” he calls when he steps out the bar’s door, searching the parking lot for his brother. Finally, Dean’s ears pick up on what exactly Sam is screaming.
Your name.
Sam is spinning around in the lot, your jacket clenched in one fist, and Dean realizes too late that he’s alone.
“Where is she? What happened?” Dean barks.
Sam turns, shaking his head in his own disbelief. “I don’t know. I don’t—She left her jacket. I went back inside for one second, and now . . . There’s not a trace of her, man.”
Dean shoves his brother with both hands, once and then twice. “Goddammit. What were you thinking? How could you—Fuck!” He spins around, searching for some evidence of you left behind while Sam blusters through excuses and apologies. When he finds nothing, his fingers come up to tug at his hair. His breaths fall quick and short. “No. No, no, no. Goddammit!”
Dean joins Sam in shouting your name. Both of them know it’s useless. How were they supposed to find you? You could be anywhere.
His eyes land on a surveillance camera posted on a streetlight.
“Cameras,” he announces, striding back over to Sam to point it out. “We gotta get access to those.” He’s speaking so fast, he almost can’t understand himself. His steps don’t pause for long before he’s heading for the Impala.
“Dean. Dean,” Sam catches his shoulder. “Breathe, man.”
“I’m breathing,” he replies, shoving away Sam’s hand.
“You don’t know that. We don’t have a damn clue about what’s going on here, and every second that passes is—”
“I know. Trust me, I know.”
“You don’t know. I can’t lose her, man. I can’t—” Dean catches himself too slowly. He freezes up seeing Sam’s wide eyes, wishing he could suck the words back into his lungs, swallow them deep so they can burn away in his stomach acid. Behind those pupils, he imagines the puzzle pieces falling into place. He tries to reset the moment, backtrack though he can’t.
“We’re going to find her.”
If he doesn’t address it, then maybe Sam won’t either. If he pushes into the next moment, the next task, maybe they’ll be so distracted the infraction will fade into a distant memory.
“We have to. We’ll find her.”
He can pretend all he wants, but nothing he can do will take back the change already in motion.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, Sam and Dean head down different paths, 1224/26183 words
A/N: Here's where we get some actual plot. The next chapters will focus on the Scarecrow plot.
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 9 - Regretful Words - You
APRIL
The random phone call from John after months of radio silence is no less surreal the closer you get to Indiana. It left a heavy tension between the two boys sitting on the bench in front of the Impala. For you, having an unobstructed view from the back, it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion.
Sam grips the steering wheel periodically, wringing it in his hand so tightly it could crumble. Usually, he’s a little more considerate when he’s given the chance to drive, but his anger seeps through him and into the vehicle. You’re speeding down the highway so fast the scenery is a blur through the window. Dean normally would’ve said something by now about Sam’s recklessness, but his jaw has been firmly set the whole ride, as though he’s choking back his own thoughts from rolling over his tongue.
The sight has raised your blood pressure so much that you decide to lay down in the back seat and try to force yourself to catch up on the sleep you missed when the phone call from John wreaked havoc on the little sliver of peace that had formed between the three of you. Though you do manage to drift off, the sky is just as dark like no time passed at all between when you closed your eyes and when the sensation of the Impala coming to a stop beneath you stirs you awake again.
The boys are speaking in unhushed tones when you blink open your bleary eyes, and not pleasantly.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks.
“We’re not going to Indiana,” Sam replies.
“We’re not?”
“No. We’re going to California. Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”
“Sam,” you say at the same time Dean does. You pull yourself up from the bench, both brothers turning to face you with a shock in their eyes like they’d forgotten you were in the car with them. “Sacramento is halfway across the country. There’s no telling if John’ll be there by the time we make it to California.”
“He’ll be there,” Sam says. “It’s no coincidence that he’s closing in on the thing—the demon that killed Mom and Jess in California. And we’ve gotta be there when he does. We’ve gotta help.”
“Dad doesn’t want our help,” Dean says.
You try to be less harsh than him when you say, “If John wanted us to find him, we would’ve by now.”
“I don’t care.”
“He’s given us an order,” Dean barks. You bite your cheek to keep from scoffing at that.
“I don’t care. We don’t always have to do what he says.”
“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives. It’s important.”
“Alright. I understand. Believe me, I understand. But I’m talking one week here, man. To get answers. To get revenge.”
The last addition lodges in your chest, digging up an image of Sam burning on a ceiling. “Revenge that could get you killed Sam. There’s a reason John doesn’t want us to find him. This thing is dangerous. You know it’s dangerous.” More intimately than you ever could. You don’t go as far as to mention Jess’s name, but you don’t have to when she’s so acutely set in his mind.
He clenches his jaw, shaking his head as he tries to keep his anger under control.
“Look, I know how you feel,” Dean says, soothing his own tone as he picks up on Sam’s limit breaking.
“Do you? How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”
“Sam . . .” you whisper. Now was not the time to place value on each other’s grief.
“Dad said it wasn’t safe,” Dean insists. “For any of us. I mean, he obviously knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”
“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.”
“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!”
“Dean!” you scold, but he ignores you, following suit after Sam gets out of the car. You climb out after them as Sam begins pulling stuff out of the trunk.
“You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?” Dean says. “You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks. It’s all what Sam wants, what Sam needs.”
“That’s what you really think?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California.” He throws his bag over his shoulder and turns away.
You catch his arm in your hand. “Sam, you can’t walk to California!”
“He’s not serious,” Dean scoffs.
“I am serious,” Sam seethes with a scowl at his brother.
He turns to you with those big, round eyes that everyone’s powerless against. It’s like pouring warm water on a resolve made of sugar. “Let me go.”
You loose him from your grip, and he starts walking off again. Dean huffs.
“It’s the middle of the night!” he says, but Sam doesn’t stop walking. “Hey, I’m taking off. I will leave your ass, you hear me?”
Sam spins around, stretching out his arms. “That’s what I want you to do.”
“Dean. He’s your brother.”
“He’s a pain in my ass is what he is. Goodbye, Sam.” Dean storms back to the car, slamming the door behind him. The Impala roars to life and you half-expect it to drive off without you, but it idles with the engine rumbling angrily. When you turn back, Sam is looking at you.
“You could come with me,” Sam says.
“What? Sam, I can’t . . .”
“Why not?”
You don’t dare tell him the truth, that it will always be Dean above anything else, so instead you play it safe.
“Someone’s gotta keep your brother from falling apart. He’s a mess without you.”
Your lips purse at the ache in your heart as you close the gap between you to bring Sam into your arms. He fits differently than he used to, when you could tuck his face into your stomach and hide him from the world. You can’t help but miss that.
“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?” you murmur into his chest.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” he breathes into your hair.
“I know that, but you’ll always be my sweet, little Sammy.” You squeeze tighter around him.
“Don’t.”
“Oh, you love it.”
He huffs, the eye roll audible even tucked so deeply into his embrace. You pull away to catch his gaze.
“You can always call. Always. I don’t want a repeat of Stanford.”
His eyes dart away. “I’m sorry about that.”
You shake your head, squeezing his arm, which is bigger than you’d realized. He really has changed so much. “Just call, alright? Don’t make me worry about you more than I have to.”
“Okay. I’ll call.”
“Goodbye, Sam.”
“Goodbye.”
When you turn back, you notice that Dean left the trunk open. Your brow furrows, but you shut it without a word before walking around to the passenger side. You spare one final glance at Sam’s back, hoping it won’t be the last time, and duck into the front seat.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, another couple blows through town, 986/26183 words
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 12 - Unsuspecting Victims - You
You guess it would’ve been too much to ask for you and Dean to be the only option the town would have for their plans. Oh, how simple it would have been if when you had come back in town to fill up on gas—because, of course, you didn’t have enough to make it to the next town after making such a quick escape unprepared—you didn’t find a naive couple eating up the very plan that had been used on you and Dean.
Scotty doesn’t seem too pleased to see the two of you blow into his little café as he’s dropping off a free pie for the couple, a stark contrast from how friendly he’d been the first time you saw him. You’ve certainly ended up on the shit list.
“Oh, hey, Scotty,” Dean greets, ignoring the irritated look on the man’s face. “Can I get a coffee, black? Oh, and some of that pie, too, while you’re at it.” You follow him as he sits down at the table nearest to the couple. “How ya doin’? Just passing through?”
“Road trip,” the girl nods.
“Us, too,” you smile. Dean watches as Scotty glides by.
“I’m sure these people want to eat in peace,” he says to Dean.
“Just a little friendly conversation,” Dean says, eyes still on Scotty as he walks away again. “Oh, and that coffee, too, man. Thanks.” You give Dean a side glance. The antagonizing isn’t going to do you any favors.
“So, what brings you two into town?” you ask the couple. “Didn’t realize this was such a popular stop.”
“Oh, we just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives,” the girl says.
“Is that right?” Dean hums.
“Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us,” her boyfriend adds. You and Dean share a look.
“What a coincidence,” you murmur.
The girl’s brow furrows. “Huh?”
You shake your head dismissively. “We had some car troubles of our own when we came in, but John here had us up and running again in no time.” You squeeze Dean’s hand. It twitches in your grip, but he doesn’t pull away. The lapse in composure lingers in your mind even when you eventually remove your hand from his.
“How long did he give you?” Dean asks.
“Sundown,” the guy says.
“Really. To fix a brake line?”
“Shouldn’t take that long by a mile,” you add. “Even I could get it done faster than that, and I don’t know half as much about cars as John does.” The girl frowns softly, and you think maybe you’re getting somewhere.
“I could fix it up for you, have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything,” Dean says. Somehow, you get an odd sense of deja vu. It was almost like he’d stepped into Harley’s shoes.
“You know, thanks a lot, John, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it,” the girl says. You have to fight a frustrated sigh.
“Sure. I know,” Dean pulls back. “You know, it’s just that these roads . . . They’re not real safe at night.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I know it sounds strange, but, uh—you might be in danger.”
You throw your hand over Dean’s arm as the boyfriend inflates in annoyance. You speak quickly to cut him off before he can shut Dean down. “Baby, don’t scare them.” All eyes turn to you, but you focus on the couple. “It’s just, our friends went missing around here, about the same time last year. They were just like you two, road trippers, had some car trouble that held them up in some middle-of-nowhere town, and then we never heard from them again.”
“They really went missing?” the girl asks.
You gesture to Dean, who pulls out the missing persons fliers from his pocket. “We’ve been trying to find out what happened,” he explains as the couple examines the papers.
The girl glances over at her boyfriend. “Maybe, we should let them look at it. I’ve heard about things like this.” You smile warmly, hoping it makes you seem trustworthy.
The bell above the door jingles, stealing your attention and your smile. A man in a sheriff’s uniform walks in, and Scotty reappears from the back to speak low in his ear. When their eyes fall on you and Dean, you both share a tense look.
The sheriff saunters over to your table. “I’d like a word, please. Both of you.”
“Is there a problem?” you ask.
“I’m hoping we might be able to avoid one.”
You both begrudgingly file out of the café and let the sheriff escort you out of town without a word, at least until you get into the car, that is.
“It can never be fucking easy, can it?” Dean says.
You eye the patrol car through the rear window. “It is the whole fucking town. God, I hate being right all the time.”
“I hate it, too. Gives you such an ego,” Dean laughs. You shove his arm.
“So, we’re staking out the orchard tonight, right? That couple is going to wind up there for sure.”
Dean nods and then scoffs. “Not much else we can do anyway. Clearly, we’re not welcome here.”
“We don’t even know if this thing can be killed,” you huff, falling back in the seat. “Why couldn’t they have shown up after we talked to that professor?”
“Like I said, never easy. God, this day is really not going my way.”
“Might help your mood if you gave someone a call,” you say coyly. Dean looks unamused.
“Just saying,” you add with a shrug.
He sighs. “I’ll call him.”
You smile.
“When I feel like it.”
He grins when you scoff and turn your face toward the window, muttering, “You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes.”
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, Sam returns the favor, 893/26183 words
A/N: Working on what should be the last chapter (unless I do an epilgoue) and I have the worst writer's block
Fic Masterlist | First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Chapter 6 - Steady Hands - You
There’s a crick in your neck when you finally wake enveloped by a familiar scent, leather and woodsy cologne. Your body instinctively stretches out to provide some release to your stiff muscles until you register the weight in your lap. Sam’s head rests on your thigh, and his arms are wrapped tightly around your legs, like you’re his personal teddy bear.
You hadn’t intended to fall asleep this way but have to admit that you’ve been just as tired as he has. Being such a light sleeper, you’ve been victim to Sam’s nightmares in your own way, waking at the slightest sound from his lips like a mother for her newborn. Pretty quickly you realize this is the first night that you’ve managed to sleep through until morning, so it must be the same for him.
You decide to stay in place instead of disturbing his much-needed sleep. Your hand raises to massage the ache in your neck but gets caught in the heavy fabric cloaking your arms. Dean’s jacket. It explains the comforting smell of home you woke up to.
A glance around the room falls short of finding him. If it weren’t for the evidence of him on your body, you would’ve assumed he didn’t come back last night. The image of the woman he’d chosen resurfaces like a bitter aftertaste. Too bad she didn’t know Dean wasn’t one to linger.
You contemplate looking for him, but Sam’s even breathing keeps you locked in place. It’s not as though Dean couldn’t handle himself anyway, wherever he may be. There’s no sense in worrying over his absence.
Instead, you shed his jacket to free yourself, laying it to the side. Your hands kneed at your neck finally and fruitlessly. The odd angle prevents you from getting a deep enough grip to make a dent in the pain throbbing away beneath your skin.
“Sorry,” Sam grumbles beneath you, voice heavy and rough with sleep. He stares up at you with cutely squinted eyes.
“Not your fault. Did you sleep okay?”
He smiles, eyes still only half open. “Like a baby. Thank you.”
“No problem.” Your hand continues its work on your shoulder.
“Let me,” he says, lifting himself from the bed. Your brows barely have time to furrow before he’s pulling you closer, away from the headboard and positioning himself behind you. He adjusts you so easily, you don’t know how to react. You only stare forward, dumb as a rock.
His hand ghosts over yours on your shoulder. “Just here?” he asks into your ear. The sensation of his breath on your skin is oddly intimate, but you manage to refrain from squirming away.
“Really it’s the whole thing. I just can’t . . . reach.” You gesture with your hand for emphasis.
His hands adjust the neckline of your oversized shirt, one of Dean’s you stole when you were younger, to expose more of your skin. Then, they slip beneath the fabric as his fingers delve into your muscle.
“Ah,” you breathe, back straightening when he immediately finds the source.
Sam chuckles, working deeper at your skin with his hands. “There it is.”
There it is, you repeat in your mind. You let your eyes flutter closed and sigh, leaning into his touch.
“You’ve got a lot of knots,” he notes.
“Dean says it’s because I’m always on edge. My shoulders are pretty bad.”
You don’t know how Dean managed to notice that you have a bad habit of tensing your muscles. You certainly hadn’t until the random moment he’d offhandedly pointed it out to you. It was a subconscious mannerism you still weren’t able to let go, and it tore up your shoulders and neck worse than the rest of your body.
“I’ll get those, too,” Sam says, hands already sliding further outward.
You hum absentmindedly, eyes still shut while you focus on his steady hands on your skin. You’re too far gone to even register the door opening.
“Aren’t you two cozy?” Dean grunts. Your eyes pop open just as he drops some bags onto the table.
“She’s got a ton of knots,” Sam says a little incredulously.
“Yeah, her shoulders. I know,” Dean replies with his back to you as he digs through the bags, unveiling plastic containers. “You guys hungry? Figured we’d be having a late start today, so I went ahead and got breakfast.”
“I could eat,” Sam says, sliding around you to get off the bed.
The odd feeling that you’ve done something wrong chokes your words as you adjust your shirt back into place. Dean turns slightly to the side, still not looking your way even as he holds a small tub out to you.
“They had banana pudding,” he says simply. Your favorite. Usually the sentiment of being remembered would warm you up like bathing in the summer sun, but you still feel chilled to your core.
You drop off the bed and pad over to him, taking the container into your hands. “Thanks.”
He shrugs. The way he avoids your gaze sinks into your gut like an anchor drawing you down into some murky depth where you can’t reach him.
You’re left with the awful feeling that you’ve done something irreversibly wrong.
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