ambiguous-avery

[ambiguous-avery]

Okay first off, I love seeing this Destiel content from you!! Is there anything you CAN’T write?? Seriously, you’re so talented!! 💜💜💜

Secondly, that Dean photo you used only makes me think of that older meme of the lady with “wat” written beneath. You know, this one 👇

So I had that in my head the entire time I was reading this. That was partly my mental image of Sam reeling from Cas’s punchline 🤣🤣

I loved all of it so, so much! From Dean complaining about the sunburn, to him trying to ignore sand in all the wrong places, to trying to hide away from Sam so he doesn’t get the “I told you so” talk!

These snapshots are exactly the thing I was hoping for with this challenge!! 💜💜💜

Felt The Earth Move

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Castiel

Team Free Will finally get their beach day. Only now, Dean is dealing with a massive burn. But so is Sam. 999 words

Tags: humour, sunburns, beach day, smut implied

A/N: This one is for @ambiguous-avery’s Summer Snapshot Challenge. The challenge was to write something beach themed, and keep it under 1k. Nailed it! 😅 I plan to do a Dean x reader fic for this challenge, too, I just liked the idea of a Grumpy Dean and Oblivious Cas in this scenario.

Everything hurts. Everything. And Dean’s not about to admit that to Sam or anyone else after all they’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time. 

He wanted this. Dreamed of going to a beach like this for years, and now Cas’ got him opening up in more ways than one, on top of it, which, awesome. Two birds, one stone. Only, he somehow has to navigate his sorry sunburnt ass back to the house and into the safety of his room without Sammy catching on to what he’s doing.

There’s peeling and chafing from sand in places he didn’t know existed, and what a great start to their weekend? Dean dying of pain because he didn’t heed his little brother’s advice and put some sunblock on.

He stands. Stretches and—bad move. Soooo fucking bad. 

He looks to Cas through his whimper, but somehow feigns a grin. “You ready?” he says through it.

The angel nods. 

They just have to make it back to the room because there’s a shower there. A bathroom full of smelly crap the condo’s owner keeps in the ensuite, and something in that stash has to heal burns, right?

He takes a step, and fuck - the heat. The fire. He’d much rather Alistair rip his skin off inch by inch with a pair of rusty garden sheers than this. It’d hurt less than this. Anything will hurt less than this.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asks. His brilliant blue eyes tilted, scrutinising. His face, the usual complexion, albeit less stoic, like the time he was Meg’s Clarence and discovered bees.

Dean shields the agony through a simple hum. “You kidding? After that?” He grabs Cas’ hand and tugs. Tears him away from the shore. Each step a new rip in the bandaid, holding his soul together, but he doesn’t stop. He’s gotta get back and find something for the burns. 

Across the sand, across the road, and to the door at the top of the stairs—he pauses. Eyes the lock and threatens the steel handle not to make a sound.

“Why are you—”

Dean holds his hand out, pulling the flambeed skin there, too. “Just,” he says with a hiss, fingers moving to grip the handle. Thank Chuck something’s cold.

But the door yanks open from the other side, and not only is his arm pulled from its socket, but the sting? Oh, the mother fucking sting. He’s like a teenager caught out on curfew, stoner friend to his right.

He lets out a sound he’s not proud of and shuts it back in the second he sees Sam’s face, staring at him with a judgmental brow.

“Dude—”

“Don’t,” Dean says with finality. At least they made use of the beach. The house they’re squatting in is nice, but the whole point is the sun, the surf, the sand between their toes, and that beach is beautiful.

Of course, Sam insists on being right. “I told you—”

“And I said don’t.” Dean’s mouth follows with a huff that would’ve made a smoke signal had they been somewhere less humid when he sliced his beet-red arm through the air again. The colour, far more obvious now they’re standing in some artificial light. 

He barges in, Cas hot on his heels, as he beelines to the kitchen. No point hiding it now. Sammy’s on the trail, not wincing because he doesn’t have “mineral particles from seashells” burrowing into the creases of his sack. 

At least the ceramic tiles are cool. The air conditioning, cool. The fridge, heaven with beer and colder things, and he stands there with his back to it. Hand bringing a bottle of the sweet amber liquid tentatively to his mouth until Cas pops in and saves the damn day.

“You’re dehydrated,” he says, and really? Now he steps in with a medical diagnosis? 

Couldn’t have insisted on sunblock back down on the sand? Told him to scooch under the shade more? He could’ve done without the melanoma on his shoulders. A hunter dying of skin cancer is, well, it’s tragic, and, “I’m thirsty,” he spits as Cas pries the bottle out of his hands with a stern pout. Who does he think he is?

“I thought you two took the umbrella?” Sam asks, but Dean is too busy glaring at the angel to answer. 

“We did.” He sets the beer down next to Sam and takes a glass tumbler from the dish rack, filling it with water.

“So how come he’s looking more and more like Patrick?” 

On that, Cas turns around. “The saint?” he says as Dean perks up with “Swayze?” and okay, odd comparison, but he’ll take it. 

Only Sam’s looking him up and down, and he’s soon doing the same when his brother’s brows raise at his stomach. “No, Star,” he says, and Dean’s seeing a whole new shade of red. 

Alright, so he’s a little pink? The shorts? Yeah, okay, he sees it, but though there’s pudge where there used to be taut muscle, it’s nothing like the starfish. 

He’s rocking these shorts, and even Cas approves. He taps his palm on his shoulder, giving him the glass and a slight curve to his pursed lips. His monotonous tone never faltering, even when he says, “The sun moves in the sky,” like he’s channelling National Geographic.

Of course, Sam crosses his arms. Shakes his legs and stands taller. “Right? So why didn’t you?” 

And there’s the kicker. Dean’s big moment. His payback. Sam wants to know what they were doing? Then he’ll tell him. No skin off his nose, only Cas throws him a sideways glance first. Gives his own up and down over Dean’s body, throwing a wink to rival any of his. 

“The sun wasn’t the only thing moving,” he deadpans, and while both Winchester’s drop their jaws, Sam’s is looking mighty red.

”You asked.” Dean smacks his shoulder, unable to mask either burn.

“I shouldn’t have.” Sam shakes his head and walks away.

[ambiguous-avery]

Ahhh Jolly~

First off congrats on writing a soulmate AU!! Welcome to the club! We have free cookies for newcomers!

I’m such a sucker for people denying their soulmates only to change their tune when they actually meet. It’s like one of my favorite things. And I LOVED the sassy ocean! I saw Beth’s reblog with a gif from Moana, and that’s all I could think of 🤣

This is totally how I imagined the ocean throwing back the stone(but at the back of his head obviously)

SOUL GEMS

⋆ ˚｡⋆ PAIRING Dean Winchester x gn!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY There's only one soul gem for each - a gift of the sea; a window into the soul of your soulmate's and the compass to your missing piece.

WARNINGS / TAGS Soulmate AU (but with a beach-themed twist), Dean's usual denial, a bit of Angst when you squint your eyes, canon Swearing, Fluff, Told from Dean's pov. No use of Y/N.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 1000. Woop I did it! 😂

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES My first entry for this super fun challenge of @ambiguous-avery! AND my first time writing for a soulmate trope!? I hope it checked all the boxes? :D

Dean didn't do beaches.

He didn't do fatewalks along the shores. Or bond-diving in the ocean. And he most certainly didn't search the sand for ‘his’ stupid rock.

And yet, Dean Winchester's standing nowhere less than smack in the middle of the California beaches right now.

You gotta be kiddin’ me.

Dean shakes his head. Rolls his eyes in exageration as a swooning couple walks past him. He can only scoff at their newfound love that's radiating off of them in waves. Fingers tightly entangled, their free hands showing off a stone each as they hold it up into the sun - their sparkling colors mirroring their eyes’.

Who the hell even believes this crap?

Dean goes on with an internal monologue about this old movie and that song which all would’ve made the perfect snarky comment right now, if he wasn’t roaming the shores all by himself.

He’s momentarily thrown off when something shiny passes by his shoes.

He stops. Turns and bends down. Picks up the small rock when a jolt of energy passes through him.

For a split second, the entire universe seems to have come to a halt.

The next second, Dean scoffs and hurls it into the ocean.

It was almost as if he was taunting fate, laughing at her dumbfounded expression as if it was all a joke to him. Because it is. It's a joke, and he's not going to play along.

He turns and steps away from the shore, kicking the sand as if it's personally offending him, like it’s the culprit who lured him down here in the first place when out of nowhere – SMACK

He whips around. Facing the empty beach that stretches left and right.

“What the hell…” he mutters, eyes narrowed at the line of bubbles fading into the sand after the waves rolled across it. His free hand comes up to rub his throbbing back head from whatever had hit him. His eyes dart around until his focus shifts to his feet - and his hand freezes in mid motion.

“No friggin’way.”

Wet and shiny. The very same stone he had just tossed into the ocean.

The stone which glittered in ways that made him wonder whether it had stardust molded within it.

The stone which had sent a shiver down his spine the moment his fingers brushed its surface.

Tilted his inner world. Melted his believes as its sweet poison poured down over his soul, all within a blink of an eye. Made his mind cloudy and reeling at the same time. While something was pulsing within his heart – something hot and heavy and sticky; Emotions he couldn’t pin point, blurry thoughts and fractures of memories he didn’t recognize as his own. But the feeling like he should. Like he wants to know. Has to. Like his inner compass has just locked onto a target and won’t waver until he has found the missing piece which will finally complete him. Perhaps even-

Bullshit. He mentally punches himself. ‘Soulmates’ - What complete bullshit.

Dean’s face hardens. Twists into a scowl.

Bending down, he picks the damn thing up once again. Nose wrinkled and half-heartedly pinched between his fingertips as if it was a piece of hexed bunny droppings. His inner defences raised high as the stone begins to pester his mind once more. Good thing he’s Dean friggin’ Winchester who’s got walls higher than the damn wall of China, fighting off any mind-bending magic or whatever’s going on here.

Because one thing’s for sure. Soulmates don’t exist. Not in his world.

The sand gives in under his aggressive steps as he stomps back to the same spot as before.

“Hey, you bitch!” he shouts at the ocean in annoyance, “I’m not playing your stupid game-” he raises the stone high and waves it pointedly at the horizon “- so keep your crap to yourself!”

“Don’t like what the universe handed you?” a voice says next to him, “Or just fed up with your soulmate never showing up?”

Dean spins around, eyes wide in surprise.

“I – don’t believe in that crap,” he stammers but his voice dies down as your eyes lock.

Your breath hitches. His gets stuck in his throat.

The low sun on the horizon freckled his emerald eyes with golden speckles. The colors glint and flicker, mirroring the ones of the stone held in your hand.

At the same time Dean watches in stunned silence how your eyes reflect the pattern of his stone.

“No. Nope – nu-uh,” he sputters, averts his eyes as he violently shakes his head, “This is a joke – it can’t be – I can’t -”

“Have a soulmate?” you finish for him. His eyes snap up to meet yours and his stomach does a somersault.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah that,” he rasps out. You tilt your head, and damnit – the way you look at him, really look at him, it has his heart hammer against his ribs.

Your eyes are intense and soft at the same time, and he can’t help but feel utterly exposed. Deep down, it has him wonder how much you know of him. How much that damn stone revealed to you.

The thought has him go rigid. Hands balled into fists at his side.

My soulmate. He repeats to himself over and over. At first hesitant – no – fucking terrified.

But then his focus returns to yours and the panic induced adrenaline rush takes an unexpected turn.

Excitement.

“You sure took your time,” you smirk knowingly. Sweet. Cheeky. And everything Dean didn’t understand yet but swore to himself that very moment that he would spend the rest of his life to figure out.

“Yeah, I… I did,” he chuckles, then pulls his lips into that charming smirk of his as he holds out his hand for you, “Care for a beach walk?”

You giggle, then nod. And Dean suddenly feels like he has to physically hold himself back from scooping you up and never letting you go again...

My soulmate.

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[ambiguous-avery]

Moon Without Stars, Part 11

Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 4138

Summary: Hunters – the people who lived fast and lawless – had one rule they all abided by. No attachments. And in a world where your first touch with your soulmate would leave a brand behind, No Touching was an unspoken second rule. Not everyone followed that, but you did. Or you tried to. The last thing you needed was for fate to be cruel and bind you to someone. Least of all someone like Sam Winchester.

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of suicide, talks of mental health spirals, soulmate AU, sad Sam (that’s a warning all of its own), idiots fighting fate, strangers to enemies to lovers, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: This chapter ended up being split into two due to the length, and thus another chapter was added to the series. The Kripke Curse is real lol Moon Without Stars Masterlist

The town was the same as it was the last time you had been in it years ago. Right down to the same pothole in the main road that Dean swerved around. The main strip consisted of a gas station, a diner that had seen much better days, and a handful of other small businesses that looked like they were barely hanging on. It was the kind of place people drove through rather than to. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone else’s business, and strangers were noticed immediately. 

You were sure that news about Mason’s ‘new soulmate’ had hit the newspapers the following morning and been the talk of the town for months after. When the three of you pulled up to the familiar house you used to call home, the familiarity of it made your skin crawl.

“You okay?” Sam’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you realized that you had been white-knuckling the door handle.

“Just peachy,” you muttered, forcing yourself to release your death grip on the car. “This place just brings back memories.”

“Good ones?” Dean asked from the driver’s seat, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“Not particularly.” You climbed out of the Impala, your boots hitting the asphalt with a dull thud. No turning back now.

The house looked smaller than you remembered. The white paint was peeling more than it had been, and the porch sagged slightly on one side like it was exhausted from holding itself up. A rusted mailbox tilted at an odd angle, but there was a modest flower garden that hadn’t been there when you were living here. You swallowed down the jealousy that rose in the back of your throat. 

“This is where you lived?” Sam asked quietly.

“For about six months.” The words tasted bitter and acrid. Like they didn’t belong to you. “Longest I stayed anywhere since I started hunting.” Dean joined you and Sam on the sidewalk, already cataloguing potential threats and escape routes.

“Looks... cozy,” he said in a tone that suggested he thought it was anything but.

“It was.” You nodded towards a curtain that had twitched in the front window. Someone was watching you. 

The three of you approached the house, and with each step, your mark seemed to grow heavier against your skin. This was wrong. Coming back here was wrong. Being here with Sam felt wrong. Like two different lives were overlapping that were never meant to touch.

“Let me do the talking,” you murmured, climbing the porch steps. You winced at the familiar creak of the third one. Some things never changed.

You raised your hand to knock, but the door swung open before your knuckles could make contact. Mason stood in the doorway, his tall frame diminished somehow. Shadows hung beneath his eyes, and his once-vibrant face was ashen with exhaustion. His dark hair was disheveled and greasy, like he’d been running his hands through it for hours on end. And when he saw you, his expression crumpled with relief so profound that it was almost painful to see.

“Thank God,” he breathed, and before you could react, he pulled you into a desperate embrace. Your entire body went rigid at the contact, every muscle tensing as Mason’s arms wrapped around you. 

This felt wrong. Foreign. Like wearing someone else’s shoes. Your mark burned against your wrist, not with warmth, but with something sharp and uncomfortable. It went frigid. It was like a discordant note thrown into what had become a familiar song. “Thank God you came,” he breathed, stepping aside to let you in. His eyes swept over Sam and Dean behind you, curiosity flickering through the exhaustion. “I wasn’t sure you’d–”

“Of course I came,” you said, cutting him off before he could finish his thought. Because the truth was, you hadn’t been sure either. Several times on the drive, you’d considered telling the Winchesters to turn around. To leave Mason to figure it out on his own. But seeing him now, seeing the way fear had carved itself into every line of his face, you knew you’d made the right choice.

The interior of the house was exactly the same as you remembered it, right down to the faded floral wallpaper in the hallway you always hated and the squeaky floorboard by the kitchen entrance. But there were differences too. New furniture. A woman’s touch in the decorative pillows and framed photos. Evidence of a life that had continued without you. You tried not to look at the pictures as you passed them, but your eyes betrayed you, catching glimpses of Mason with a cute redhead. Their smiles were bright. Untroubled. Prime examples of the life you might have had.

“This is Sam and Dean,” you said, gesturing to the brothers. “They do what I do. They’re here to help.” Mason nodded, too exhausted to question why you had shown up with two men in tow.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, extending a hand to each of them. 

“Not a problem at all,” Sam replied evenly, though you could see the tension he held in his shoulders.

“Where’s Julia?” you asked, partly to diffuse the awkward moment and partly because your own curiosity demanded to know. The last time you had seen her, she had been a bright-eyed waitress with a smile that twisted your insides with jealousy. Mason’s face fell, and his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had suddenly crashed down on him.

“She’s gone,” he said, his voice hollow. “Car accident a week ago.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t process what he’d said. Julia was gone. The woman who had taken your place. The woman who had worn your mark on her skin. The woman who had built a life with the man you’d once thought was your forever. Gone. Just like that.

“Oh my god, Mason,” you breathed, the fight draining out of you in an instant. “I’m so sorry.”

The grief radiating from him was palpable, filling the small living room like a toxic fog. You could see it in the way he held himself. In the tremor of his hands. In the hollow set of his eyes. This wasn’t just a loss. This was the kind of devastation that carved out pieces of your soul and left you fundamentally changed. This was the kind of devastation you understood from experience.

“That’s when it started,” Mason continued. “The day after the funeral. I felt it watching me. Just... standing there. Always in my peripheral vision. Staring with no eyes. Just a blur where it should’ve had a face.”

A chill ran down your spine. It was the same description the grief counselor had given you years ago. The same faceless entity that had driven him to suicide.

“And it’s been there ever since? Just out of view?” Sam asked. Mason nodded, sinking into an armchair that had seen better days.

“I’ve never actually... seen it. But I can feel it. Watching. Following. I haven’t slept in days.” His hands shook as he ran them through his hair. “At first, I thought my mind was just playing tricks on me. Thought I was just going through denial that Jules...” Mason took a shuddering breath. “But then I remembered what you told me about your job. About the grief counselor and the things that exist in the dark.”

You felt Sam’s gaze on you, questioning but not judging. You hadn’t shared much about the grief counselor case with Mason. Mainly because he had been so wrapped up in getting to know his new soulmate, and you were already halfway out of town while the office burned in your rearview mirror.

“It feeds on grief,” you said quietly, settling onto the couch across from Mason. Sam sat beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth but not so close as to seem inappropriate given the circumstances. Dean remained standing, pacing around the room and peering at various photos that littered the walls. “The stronger the grief, the more it can feed. And losing a soulmate...”

“Is about as strong as grief gets,” Mason completed, his voice cracking on the words.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Here you were, sitting next to your soulmate, trying to save the man who had previously been tethered to you. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

“Can you describe exactly what you’ve been experiencing?” Sam asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His tone was gentle but professional, a voice you assumed he used when he interviewed witnesses. “Any patterns to when it appears? Times of day? Specific locations?” Mason’s eyes darted to the corner of the room, as if expecting to see something there.

“It’s strongest at night. When I’m alone. When I...” he swallowed hard. “When I miss her the most. It starts as a feeling of being watched. Then the temperature drops. And then I see it. Just out of the corner of my eye. Just watching.”

“And it doesn’t attack?” Dean asked, pacing around the perimeter of the room slowly and examining the windows and doorways with a practiced eye. “No physical contact at all?”

“No,” Mason said. “It just watches. But the longer it watches, the worse I feel. Like it’s... I don’t know... amplifying everything.” His hands shook as he reached for a glass of water on the side table. “The grief becomes unbearable. I start thinking... terrible things.”

“Just like the counselor.” You shared a knowing look with Sam, and he gave a subtle nod. His knee pressed gently against yours under the pretense of shifting his weight, silently reassuring you. “The counselor described the same symptoms you’re experiencing now. The watching. The amplified grief. The... dangerous thoughts. We’re not going to let that happen,” you said firmly. “Not this time. Not to you.”

You explained the ritual Sam had found to Mason and went over the process with him. You showed him the binding ritual and the sigil you had copied down from the book and walked through everything step by step. Mason nodded slowly, though you could tell by the way his eyes glazed over that he was only partially understanding what you were saying. That was alright. He didn’t need to understand what was going on to read.

“It’s active at night. So we prepare and take it down tonight. Since it’s latched onto you, Mason, you have to be the one to recite the ritual,” you explained.

The day passed in a blur of preparation. Salt circles, protective sigils carved into candles, and iron fillings scattered in strategic patterns throughout the living room. Mason followed your instructions with the mechanical precision of someone running on nothing but desperation and caffeine. His hands trembled as he traced the symbols you showed him, but he didn’t question anything. Didn’t ask why certain words had to be spoken in Latin or why the candles needed to be arranged in a specific pentagram. He did offer you a confused look when you explained the need for him to slice open his palm and press his blood into lines of the binding sigil you had drawn on the floor.

Sam worked beside you with quiet efficiency, his presence a steady anchor as you fell back into the familiar rhythm of hunt preparation. Dean took point on securing the perimeter, checking every window and door for potential escape routes – both for you and the creature.

“This feels different,” Sam murmured during a brief moment when Mason had stepped outside for air and Dean was occupied with something in the kitchen. “The research we did... The Hollow Man was someone who tried to escape his grief and inadvertently hollowed himself out. But this thing seems... more deliberate. More intelligent.”

“You think I got it wrong the first time?”

“I wonder if maybe it let you think you killed it.” Sam’s voice was low, meant only for your ears. “Think about it. A creature that feeds on grief targets a grief counselor, drives him to suicide, then conveniently disappears instead of latching onto a hunter that likely has plenty more grief to consume? And then it resurfaces years later when your...” Sam paused for a moment. You cocked your head at him, your expression urging him to continue. You could handle whatever theory he had cooking in that head of his. He wet his lips. “When your ex-soulmate loses his current soulmate.”

It was subtle, but the jealousy you had felt from Sam before bled through. But it was more controlled. Not alight and burning like the previous day. The implication hung between you, and dread spiked through you.

“You think it followed me?” you whispered. “Or it’s been waiting for me?” Sam’s responding expression was grim.

“I think it’s been feeding. Small amounts here and there while staying hidden but growing stronger. And now...” He glanced towards the kitchen where Dean was working then back to you. “Now it has the perfect storm. Mason’s grief over losing Julia, your complicated history with him, and–”

“And my bond with you,” you finished for him. “It’s not just feeding on grief. It’s feeding on the emotional chaos of this whole situation.”

The front door opened, and Mason stepped back inside, his face haggard. His eyes darted nervously around the room before landing on you and Sam. The two of you had leaned in close almost conspiratorially. Mason frowned. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he mumbled, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. 

“We need to move faster,” you said, straightening up and brushing salt from your hands. “Dean, how’s the back looking?”

“Locked down tight,” Dean called out, emerging from the kitchen with a shotgun in hand. “Iron rounds are loaded. Not sure if they’ll do anything against our faceless friend, but they’re worth a shot.”

The sun was setting, painting the living room in long shadows that seemed to stretch and reach like grasping fingers. Mason’s anxiety was palpable, his breathing shallow as he paced the small space between the salt lines. He had spent the rest of the day looking between you and Sam like he was trying to figure something out. You didn’t doubt he had figured out that you had a new mark. He was just too polite to bring it up.

“What if this doesn’t work?” Mason asked, voice cracking as the shadows grew longer.

“It’ll work,” you said with more conviction than you felt. “We’ve got the ritual, the weapons, and the know-how.”

“Not to mention you’ve got three hunters watching your back,” Dean added, checking the shotgun’s action with practiced ease. “This thing doesn’t stand a chance.” Mason nodded jerkily, his eyes continuously darting to the windows as darkness fell.

“I just... I can’t take much more of this. The watching. The feeling like I’m drowning in my own head.”

Your chest tightened with a mixture of sympathy and guilt. If Sam’s theory was correct, then this thing had latched onto Mason because of you. Because of your previous connection to him. Because of the tangled web of soulmate bonds that had somehow ensnared all of you.

“We should get into position,” Sam said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Eight-thirty. Sun’s fully down now.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees all at once. Your breath came out in small puffs of vapor, and the color completely drained from Mason’s face. You moved to the center of the binding sigil you had drawn in chalk on the living room floor and gestured for Mason to join you.

“Remember what I told you. Don’t break the circle no matter what happens. Keep your eyes on me. Not on it,” you spoke gently, as though you were speaking to a victim who didn’t know what was happening rather than your ex-soulmate. Mason stepped over the salt line, hands trembling as he clutched the piece of paper with the Latin phrases written in your careful handwriting. You pressed a knife into the hand not holding the paper. “When I tell you, you need to cut your palm and press your blood into the sigil.”

Dean positioned himself by the front door, shotgun ready, while Sam took the back of the room near the kitchen entrance. The four of you waited with bated breath. You kept a close eye on Mason, watching his face for any sign of distress. Thankfully – or perhaps unfortunately given your circumstances – he seemed... calm. Unbothered. You weren’t sure how long you waited. It might’ve been thirty minutes. It might’ve been five. But nothing happened.

“Something’s wrong,” Mason said, giving a voice to your thoughts. His eyes darted to the corners of the room. “It should be here by now. I always felt it after dark.”

“Maybe the protections are working,” Dean suggested, though his grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. “Keeping it at bay.”

“Or maybe it knows we’re waiting for it,” Sam said, taking several steps into the living room, careful to avoid messing up the salt line you had drawn. “These things can be intelligent. Calculating.”

Hours ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace. The ritual candles you had lit had burned down to stubs, wax pooling on the hardwood floor. Mason’s shoulders gradually slumped with exhaustion, the adrenaline that had been keeping him upright finally giving way to the tiredness. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, each sound as loud as a hammer in the silence.

“It’s not coming,” you said finally, frustration laced in your voice. “All this preparation, and it’s a no-show.” Dean rolled his shoulders to work out the stiffness and lowered his shotgun.

“Maybe it sensed the traps. We weren’t exactly subtle about it all.”

Mason sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Or maybe I’m just losing my mind.” His voice was muffled. Defeated. “Maybe there was never anything here at all.”

“You’re not crazy,” you said firmly, stepping out of the salt circle to sit beside him. “We all believe you, Mason. Sometimes these things just... change their patterns.” There wouldn’t be any point in telling Mason the details of it. Of how the Hollow Man might’ve changed its patterns because of you. If Sam’s theory had any weight to it, and you had a sneaking suspicion that he was right on the money about it, then Mason had been a pawn to get you into town.

“Or maybe it’s waiting for us to let our guards down. Wait for the perfect moment when we’re all tired and think we’re safe,” Sam said, moving closer. You looked over at him, catching his thoughtful expression.

“Great,” Dean muttered, setting the shotgun against the wall. “So we’re basically playing a waiting game with something that might not even show.”

You rubbed your temples, the weight of exhaustion settling over you like a heavy, unwanted blanket. The adrenaline that had been coursing through your system was starting to face, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and the nagging sensation that you were missing something important. 

“We should take shifts,” you finally decided. “Two people awake at all times. If this thing is waiting for us to drop our guard, then we don’t give it the satisfaction.” Mason looked up from his hands, hope flickering in his tired eyes. 

“You’re staying?”

“We’re not leaving you alone with this,” Sam said before you could answer, and you were sure you could’ve kissed Sam with how much you admired his patience extending to others. “Whatever this thing is, we’ll figure it out and take it down.” Mason’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if–”

“It’s fine, Mason. Really. This is what we do,” you assured him.

The four of you settled into an uneasy routine. Dean claimed the first watch with Sam, positioning themselves at opposite ends of the house with clear sightlines. You helped Mason gather blankets and pillows, creating a makeshift sleeping area in the living room where the salt circle offered the most protection. It felt strange setting up in the house you used to call home. 

“You should try to get some rest,” you told him, though sleep seemed like an impossible luxury under the circumstances.

“I don’t know if I can,” Mason admitted, settling onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “Every time I close my eyes, I see it. Standing there. Watching.” You understood the feeling all too well. The way trauma could carve itself into your subconscious, replaying on an endless loop until you weren’t sure what was real anymore. You’d had your own share of sleepless nights over the years.

“Try anyway,” you said softly. “Even if you just rest your eyes. Those two have got us covered.”

Mason nodded and pulled one of the blankets up to his chin, but his eyes remained wide open, staring at the ceiling. You settled into the armchair across from him, your own exhaustion warring with your hunter’s instinct to stay alert. From your position, you could see Sam in the kitchen doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light filtering in from outside. He caught your eye and offered a small, reassuring smile that made you feel safe despite the whole situation at hand. Even surrounded by the ghosts of your past, his presence grounded you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Mason said quietly. You turned your head to look at him.

“You sounded like you needed someone,” you replied simply.

“I did. And I think... I think you did too.”

You made a small noise of acknowledgement but didn’t give a response right away. Sam cleared his throat from the kitchen before mumbling something about a ‘perimeter check’ and giving Dean a meaningful look across the house. Dean gave a subtle nod before stepping out the front door while Sam slipped out the back, leaving you and Mason alone in the house.

“You always did know when I was about to fall apart,” you finally said with a nod, appreciating the privacy. 

“Yeah. And I know when you’re starting to pull yourself back together.” Mason shifted on the couch, turning to face you a little more. “Is it one of them? One of the guys you came with?” You stared at Mason for a long moment before sliding the sleeve of your shirt up to reveal the large handprint on your arm. Now that you thought of it, it was oddly quiet, but you chalked it up to the adrenaline of the hunt.

“It’s Sam.” You made a vague gesture in the direction where Sam had last been standing. Mason nodded slowly, understanding etched in his features. “I didn’t believe it at first. I didn’t want to. Not after... not after us. I didn’t want to hope for something that might just disappear again.”

“What we had... what the universe gave us... that was real. Even if it didn’t last, it mattered. You mattered.”

“But it disappeared. And before you say anything, I had years afterwards to internalize it. To sit and stew and question what could’ve possibly been wrong with me.”

“I don’t think anything is wrong with you.”

“Then why did it go away? Why did the universe take it back like it made a mistake?”

“I don’t know. But I know that the universe brought me Julia afterward. Don’t let what happened with us keep you from the kind of love you deserve. I got lucky. I found it twice.” Mason paused. “And I’d like to think you will too. Maybe you already have.”

“You think it’s okay to try again?”

“I think it’s brave to try again. And if anyone’s brave enough and deserves that kind of happiness, it’s you.” A silence settled between the two of you. Not full of ghosts. But possibility.

“Thank you, Mason. For this. For everything.”

“Go be happy.” Mason said your name in the same tone he used to use when he was trying to get you to really listen to him. “Let yourself have this.”

The house fell silent except for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling wood. Your eyes grew heavier with each passing minute, the adrenaline crash hitting you harder than expected. You fought against sleep, focusing on the patterns on the ceiling. The soft sound of Mason’s breathing as he finally succumbed to exhaustion. The steady presence of Sam just within your line of sight. The last thought you had before you drifted off was that you needed to stay awake. Just a little longer. 

Because the eyes that were watching you weren’t Sam’s hazel ones.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Sam taglist: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @theamuz @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @myceliumsunshine @bananapocalyps3 @tinysnacklefan @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

Part 10 --- Part 12

[ambiguous-avery]

Woo!! Summer waves and beach days!! Now I’m wondering who would be the most likely to succeed at surfing lol

Can’t wait to see everyone’s ideas~!! 💜

Banner and divider by the amazing @jollyhunter! Send her some love! Every hunter needs a vacation.

The boys deserve a beach day. Yeah, those boys. This summer, give the Winchesters a break from the salt rounds and ghost ganking – just for a moment. Your challenge? Write a bite-sized beachside adventure that drops Sam, Dean, or all of Team Free Will into a rare day of sunshine and surf.

🕶️ the vibe: think of it like a polaroid. One moment. One scene. Maybe it's Sam buried in the sand with a book. Maybe it's Dean chasing an ice cream truck. Maybe it's Cas fighting with a seagull over a sandwich. Maybe it's you and your favorite hunter watching the sunset.

You've got one snapshot – make it count.

Keep reading for the full ruleset!

If you’re reading this, then the challenge has already begun!

Deadline Sunday, August 31st, 2025 11:59PM PST (That's right, this challenge runs all summer long!)

RULES:

18+ only, regardless of your story content.

These are meant to be snapshots. So keep it at or below 1k (1000) words.

Your snapshot has to take place at the beach!

You can write multiple snapshots and make more than one submission! But they must be able to stand alone! The point of this challenge is to capture a moment suspended in time!

Any genre is welcome! Angst, smut, crack, romantic, etc!

Any pairing (minus wincest) is welcome but pairings are certainly not necessary.

Drop a comment if you'd like to join! You don't have to ask to join, but by dropping a comment, I'll know who to tag if there are any updates to this!

When you write your fic, tag me (@ambiguous-avery), and tag your story with SummerSnapshotChallenge2025 in the first five tags.

Please make good use of your tags/warnings! If it's not tagged, I won't be reading.

Feel free to post your fic either on here or on Ao3! If you post it over on Ao3, make a post here and tag me! I'll link to your fic there in the masterlist!

I'll be reading and reblogging every submission to this! And at some point, I'll create a masterlist of the challenge fics posted!

If you have any other questions for me, my DMs and inbox are open! Don't be afraid to reach out to me! I promise I don't bite!

Even if you don't join the challenge, reblog and signal boost this!

[ambiguous-avery]

Ahhh~ I love this! What a lovely way to kick off the Summer Snapshot Challenge too! I would love to belt out Journey with the gang! 💜💜💜

Thanks so much for joining in on this!!

Don't Stop Believin'

Every hunter deserves a vacation. The boys and gang deserve a beach day. You're going to make that happen. But not without some angst first.

A/N - this is for the summer snapshot challenge by @ambiguous-avery , and i'm so excited to present this slightly angsty, mostly pretty fun little fic! enjoy! Snapshot Word Count - 530

“I swear to Chuck, Dean, I will turn this car around!” You shouted through the chaos of the van as it swerved. Dean, who had been attempting to shove an open PB&J into Cas’ hair, turned back to face the front of the van, shrinking into his seat.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, and you sighed, trying not to look over at him and focus on the road. Dean would have been driving if it wasn’t your little old Kombi that all of you had packed into. You weren’t sure how Dean had managed to scam his way into the passenger seat, but there he was, sitting next to you, with Jody, Sam, Cas, and Claire all in the back of the van. 

“Just… stop being a pest.” You muttered, feeling bad for making him feel bad. It was supposed to be a fun vacation, and you weren’t even at the beach yet, but you were already ruining it.

The van had fallen silent, the chatter and buzz previously filling the quiet now awkwardly gone. You sighed again. 

You reached over, pressing on the old sound system, praying that the music would make the silence less awkward. It spluttered to life, starting up the last CD you’d had in. You hadn’t driven your van in months, travelling instead with Sam and Dean in the Impala, your little old Kombi parked in the bunker gathering dust, and hadn’t used the sound system in even longer, listening to a podcast on your phone the last time you’d used your van, so you weren’t even sure what it would play.

A recognisable piano began to play from the speakers, and you grinned, turning the dial up. Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey spilled loudly from the speakers, causing Claire to let out a groan.

“Hey, this is a good song.” You defended, turning it up even louder. She groaned even louder over the song, and then the words started.

“Just a small town girl,” Jody started. “Living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere…”

You laughed, joining in. “Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit.”

Dean also began to sing as Claire covered her face with her hands. “He took the midnight train going anywhere…”

“Come on, you know you love it!” Dean exclaimed, pointing at Claire. “Take it away Sammy!”

“A singer in a smoky room. A smell of wine and cheap perfume!” The four of you sang, and Jody nudged Claire as Sam poked Cas. Cas startled, his eyes wide as he looked around the car. “For a smile they can share the night.”

“It goes on, and on, and on, and on!” You, Sam, Dean, and Jody all sang loudly. Cas was also singing, just softer, uncertain. Claire pulled her hands out of her face and rolled her eyes, but also began to sing.

“STRANGERS! WAITING! UP AND DOWN THE BOULEVARD!” All of you began to shout, singing as loud as you could. “THEIR SHADOWS SEARCHING IN THE NIIIIGHT!”

You smiled to yourself as the rest of the car kept singing, focusing on the road. Yeah, this vacation was going to go just fine.

tagslist -

“I swear to Chuck, Dean, I will turn this car around!” You shouted through the chaos of the van as it swerved. Dean, who had been attempting to shove an open PB&J into Cas’ hair, turned back to face the front of the van, shrinking into his seat.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, and you sighed, trying not to look over at him and focus on the road. Dean would have been driving if it wasn’t your little old Kombi that all of you had packed into. You weren’t sure how Dean had managed to scam his way into the passenger seat, but there he was, sitting next to you, with Jody, Sam, Cas, and Claire all in the back of the van. 

“Just… stop being a pest.” You muttered, feeling bad for making him feel bad. It was supposed to be a fun vacation, and you weren’t even at the beach yet, but you were already ruining it.

The van had fallen silent, the chatter and buzz previously filling the quiet now awkwardly gone. You sighed again. 

You reached over, pressing on the old sound system, praying that the music would make the silence less awkward. It spluttered to life, starting up the last CD you’d had in. You hadn’t driven your van in months, travelling instead with Sam and Dean in the Impala, your little old Kombi parked in the bunker gathering dust, and hadn’t used the sound system in even longer, listening to a podcast on your phone the last time you’d used your van, so you weren’t even sure what it would play.

A recognisable piano began to play from the speakers, and you grinned, turning the dial up. Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey spilled loudly from the speakers, causing Claire to let out a groan.

“Hey, this is a good song.” You defended, turning it up even louder. She groaned even louder over the song, and then the words started.

“Just a small town girl,” Jody started. “Living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train going anywhere…”

You laughed, joining in. “Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit.”

Dean also began to sing as Claire covered her face with her hands. “He took the midnight train going anywhere…”

“Come on, you know you love it!” Dean exclaimed, pointing at Claire. “Take it away Sammy!”

“A singer in a smoky room. A smell of wine and cheap perfume!” The four of you sang, and Jody nudged Claire as Sam poked Cas. Cas startled, his eyes wide as he looked around the car. “For a smile they can share the night.”

“It goes on, and on, and on, and on!” You, Sam, Dean, and Jody all sang loudly. Cas was also singing, just softer, uncertain. Claire pulled her hands out of her face and rolled her eyes, but also began to sing.

“STRANGERS! WAITING! UP AND DOWN THE BOULEVARD!” All of you began to shout, singing as loud as you could. “THEIR SHADOWS SEARCHING IN THE NIIIIGHT!”

You smiled to yourself as the rest of the car kept singing, focusing on the road. Yeah, this vacation was going to go just fine.

tagslist - @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[ambiguous-avery]

That seagull gif is absolutely sending me. Makes me wanna see Cas fight a seagull even more now!! I hope to see lots and lots of shenanigans!! 💜💜💜

And thank you again, friend, for the most amazing banner~ it’s seriously better than anything I could’ve ever imagined!!

Banner and divider by the amazing @jollyhunter! Send her some love! Every hunter needs a vacation.

The boys deserve a beach day. Yeah, those boys. This summer, give the Winchesters a break from the salt rounds and ghost ganking – just for a moment. Your challenge? Write a bite-sized beachside adventure that drops Sam, Dean, or all of Team Free Will into a rare day of sunshine and surf.

🕶️ the vibe: think of it like a polaroid. One moment. One scene. Maybe it's Sam buried in the sand with a book. Maybe it's Dean chasing an ice cream truck. Maybe it's Cas fighting with a seagull over a sandwich. Maybe it's you and your favorite hunter watching the sunset.

You've got one snapshot – make it count.

Keep reading for the full ruleset!

If you’re reading this, then the challenge has already begun!

Deadline Sunday, August 31st, 2025 11:59PM PST (That's right, this challenge runs all summer long!)

RULES:

18+ only, regardless of your story content.

These are meant to be snapshots. So keep it at or below 1k (1000) words.

Your snapshot has to take place at the beach!

You can write multiple snapshots and make more than one submission! But they must be able to stand alone! The point of this challenge is to capture a moment suspended in time!

Any genre is welcome! Angst, smut, crack, romantic, etc!

Any pairing (minus wincest) is welcome but pairings are certainly not necessary.

Drop a comment if you'd like to join! You don't have to ask to join, but by dropping a comment, I'll know who to tag if there are any updates to this!

When you write your fic, tag me (@ambiguous-avery), and tag your story with SummerSnapshotChallenge2025 in the first five tags.

Please make good use of your tags/warnings! If it's not tagged, I won't be reading.

Feel free to post your fic either on here or on Ao3! If you post it over on Ao3, make a post here and tag me! I'll link to your fic there in the masterlist!

I'll be reading and reblogging every submission to this! And at some point, I'll create a masterlist of the challenge fics posted!

If you have any other questions for me, my DMs and inbox are open! Don't be afraid to reach out to me! I promise I don't bite!

Even if you don't join the challenge, reblog and signal boost this!

[ambiguous-avery]

with your summer snapshot challenge, i was wondering if on the way to the beach counted ('i will turn this car around' vibes) as on the beach, or no? love the idea and can't wait to participate!

Of course!! I totally say that counts! 💜💜💜

Looking forward to your fun ideas!!

[ambiguous-avery]

Ooooh yes pls!! The boys in short shorts?? I’m so sat for it! 🪑 can’t wait to see what you come up with! 💜

Banner by the amazing @jollyhunter! Send her some love! Every hunter needs a vacation.

The boys deserve a beach day. Yeah, those boys. This summer, give the Winchesters a break from the salt rounds and ghost ganking – just for a moment. Your challenge? Write a bite-sized beachside adventure that drops Sam, Dean, or all of Team Free Will into a rare day of sunshine and surf.

🕶️ the vibe: think of it like a polaroid. One moment. One scene. Maybe it's Sam buried in the sand with a book. Maybe it's Dean chasing an ice cream truck. Maybe it's Cas fighting with a seagull over a sandwich. Maybe it's you and your favorite hunter watching the sunset.

You've got one snapshot – make it count.

Keep reading for the full ruleset!

If you’re reading this, then the challenge has already begun!

Deadline Sunday, August 31st, 2025 11:59PM PST (That's right, this challenge runs all summer long!)

RULES:

18+ only, regardless of your story content.

These are meant to be snapshots. So keep it at or below 1k (1000) words.

Your snapshot has to take place at the beach!

You can write multiple snapshots and make more than one submission! But they must be able to stand alone! The point of this challenge is to capture a moment suspended in time!

Any genre is welcome! Angst, smut, crack, romantic, etc!

Any pairing (minus wincest) is welcome but pairings are certainly not necessary.

Drop a comment if you'd like to join! You don't have to ask to join, but by dropping a comment, I'll know who to tag if there are any updates to this!

When you write your fic, tag me (@ambiguous-avery), and tag your story with SummerSnapshotChallenge2025 in the first five tags.

Please make good use of your tags/warnings! If it's not tagged, I won't be reading.

Feel free to post your fic either on here or on Ao3! If you post it over on Ao3, make a post here and tag me! I'll link to your fic there in the masterlist!

I'll be reading and reblogging every submission to this! And at some point, I'll create a masterlist of the challenge fics posted!

If you have any other questions for me, my DMs and inbox are open! Don't be afraid to reach out to me! I promise I don't bite!

Even if you don't join the challenge, reblog and signal boost this!

[ambiguous-avery]

Looking forward to seeing all of them!! 💜💜💜

Banner by the amazing @jollyhunter! Send her some love! Every hunter needs a vacation.

The boys deserve a beach day. Yeah, those boys. This summer, give the Winchesters a break from the salt rounds and ghost ganking – just for a moment. Your challenge? Write a bite-sized beachside adventure that drops Sam, Dean, or all of Team Free Will into a rare day of sunshine and surf.

🕶️ the vibe: think of it like a polaroid. One moment. One scene. Maybe it's Sam buried in the sand with a book. Maybe it's Dean chasing an ice cream truck. Maybe it's Cas fighting with a seagull over a sandwich. Maybe it's you and your favorite hunter watching the sunset.

You've got one snapshot – make it count.

Keep reading for the full ruleset!

If you’re reading this, then the challenge has already begun!

Deadline Sunday, August 31st, 2025 11:59PM PST (That's right, this challenge runs all summer long!)

RULES:

18+ only, regardless of your story content.

These are meant to be snapshots. So keep it at or below 1k (1000) words.

Your snapshot has to take place at the beach!

You can write multiple snapshots and make more than one submission! But they must be able to stand alone! The point of this challenge is to capture a moment suspended in time!

Any genre is welcome! Angst, smut, crack, romantic, etc!

Any pairing (minus wincest) is welcome but pairings are certainly not necessary.

Drop a comment if you'd like to join! You don't have to ask to join, but by dropping a comment, I'll know who to tag if there are any updates to this!

When you write your fic, tag me (@ambiguous-avery), and tag your story with SummerSnapshotChallenge2025 in the first five tags.

Please make good use of your tags/warnings! If it's not tagged, I won't be reading.

Feel free to post your fic either on here or on Ao3! If you post it over on Ao3, make a post here and tag me! I'll link to your fic there in the masterlist!

I'll be reading and reblogging every submission to this! And at some point, I'll create a masterlist of the challenge fics posted!

If you have any other questions for me, my DMs and inbox are open! Don't be afraid to reach out to me! I promise I don't bite!

Even if you don't join the challenge, reblog and signal boost this!

[ambiguous-avery]

Banner and divider by the amazing @jollyhunter! Send her some love! Every hunter needs a vacation.

The boys deserve a beach day. Yeah, those boys. This summer, give the Winchesters a break from the salt rounds and ghost ganking – just for a moment. Your challenge? Write a bite-sized beachside adventure that drops Sam, Dean, or all of Team Free Will into a rare day of sunshine and surf.

🕶️ the vibe: think of it like a polaroid. One moment. One scene. Maybe it's Sam buried in the sand with a book. Maybe it's Dean chasing an ice cream truck. Maybe it's Cas fighting with a seagull over a sandwich. Maybe it's you and your favorite hunter watching the sunset.

You've got one snapshot – make it count.

Keep reading for the full ruleset!

If you’re reading this, then the challenge has already begun!

Deadline Sunday, August 31st, 2025 11:59PM PST (That's right, this challenge runs all summer long!)

RULES:

18+ only, regardless of your story content.

These are meant to be snapshots. So keep it at or below 1k (1000) words.

Your snapshot has to take place at the beach!

You can write multiple snapshots and make more than one submission! But they must be able to stand alone! The point of this challenge is to capture a moment suspended in time!

Any genre is welcome! Angst, smut, crack, romantic, etc!

Any pairing (minus wincest) is welcome but pairings are certainly not necessary.

Drop a comment if you'd like to join! You don't have to ask to join, but by dropping a comment, I'll know who to tag if there are any updates to this!

When you write your fic, tag me (@ambiguous-avery), and tag your story with SummerSnapshotChallenge2025 in the first five tags.

Please make good use of your tags/warnings! If it's not tagged, I won't be reading.

Feel free to post your fic either on here or on Ao3! If you post it over on Ao3, make a post here and tag me! I'll link to your fic there in the masterlist!

I'll be reading and reblogging every submission to this! And at some point, I'll create a masterlist of the challenge fics posted!

If you have any other questions for me, my DMs and inbox are open! Don't be afraid to reach out to me! I promise I don't bite!

Even if you don't join the challenge, reblog and signal boost this!

[ambiguous-avery]

It’s just a truth of the universe. I see y’all. I giggle and kick my feet when I see usernames I recognize. I talk about y’all to my friends. And I especially love it when I can watch someone progress through my stories chapter by chapter! 💜💜💜

listen. if u like/reblog my posts fairly frequently, u better believe that i have noticed ok. even if we don’t ever talk. if we aren’t even mutuals! doesn’t matter. i see you. i see your URL pop up in my notifications every so often. and when it does? oh, when it does……… i’m like “oh hey there’s my buddy! gee i sure missed u pal!” and i get real happy for a minute ok. sorry, i don’t make the rules.

[ambiguous-avery]

Banner and divider by the amazing @jollyhunter! Send her some love! Every hunter needs a vacation.

The boys deserve a beach day. Yeah, those boys. This summer, give the Winchesters a break from the salt rounds and ghost ganking – just for a moment. Your challenge? Write a bite-sized beachside adventure that drops Sam, Dean, or all of Team Free Will into a rare day of sunshine and surf.

🕶️ the vibe: think of it like a polaroid. One moment. One scene. Maybe it's Sam buried in the sand with a book. Maybe it's Dean chasing an ice cream truck. Maybe it's Cas fighting with a seagull over a sandwich. Maybe it's you and your favorite hunter watching the sunset.

You've got one snapshot – make it count.

Keep reading for the full ruleset!

If you’re reading this, then the challenge has already begun!

Deadline Sunday, August 31st, 2025 11:59PM PST (That's right, this challenge runs all summer long!)

RULES:

18+ only, regardless of your story content.

These are meant to be snapshots. So keep it at or below 1k (1000) words.

Your snapshot has to take place at the beach!

You can write multiple snapshots and make more than one submission! But they must be able to stand alone! The point of this challenge is to capture a moment suspended in time!

Any genre is welcome! Angst, smut, crack, romantic, etc!

Any pairing (minus wincest) is welcome but pairings are certainly not necessary.

Drop a comment if you'd like to join! You don't have to ask to join, but by dropping a comment, I'll know who to tag if there are any updates to this!

When you write your fic, tag me (@ambiguous-avery), and tag your story with SummerSnapshotChallenge2025 in the first five tags.

Please make good use of your tags/warnings! If it's not tagged, I won't be reading.

Feel free to post your fic either on here or on Ao3! If you post it over on Ao3, make a post here and tag me! I'll link to your fic there in the masterlist!

I'll be reading and reblogging every submission to this! And at some point, I'll create a masterlist of the challenge fics posted!

If you have any other questions for me, my DMs and inbox are open! Don't be afraid to reach out to me! I promise I don't bite!

Even if you don't join the challenge, reblog and signal boost this!

[ambiguous-avery]

It’s giving @voodoochildthings vibes 🤣

1x22 Devil's Trap

Happy Father's Day! If you tie him up, you can celebrate him however you want! SupernaturalArchive.com.

[ambiguous-avery]

I realized I've been messing up on my taglists, so I'm placing this here as my catch-all masterlist for my taglists. If I have missed you, please let me know!

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

@jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @tinysnacklefan @chevroletdean @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

@jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @theamuz @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @myceliumsunshine @bananapocalyps3 @tinysnacklefan @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

@jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @zyra-7 @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @alexfms97 @jbear750 @tinysnacklefan @pisces-celeste @springflwer07

Last Updated: 06/16/2025

[ambiguous-avery]

In my defense, I believe my exact words were, “It COULD be a standalone.” 🤣 and that just means that my plan worked! Hook you in with an intriguing idea, leave you wondering how it may turn out, then surprise! There’s an entire series behind it all!

I’m an evil genius lol appreciate you reading, Beth! And letting me talk about it even though you’re a Dean-girlie! 💜💜💜

Once in a Lifetime

Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2023

Summary: One touch and Sam knew. You were his soulmate... and you wanted nothing to do with him.

Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU, hurt no comfort, sad Sam (that’s a warning all of its own), idiots fighting fate, strangers to enemies to lovers, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: This is a rewrite of the first chapter of my Moon Without Stars series. I’ve been wanting to do something like this for a long while just because I thoroughly enjoy seeing things through the lenses of other characters. I don’t intend to do the whole series like this, of course. But it was a lot of fun to write this!! If you like it, take a look at the series it's from! Moon Without Stars Masterlist

From the second his hand wrapped around your wrist, Sam knew.

The moment the two of you touched, it was like his blood had been set on fire. An electric jolt shot through his arm and settled in his chest, molten and heavy. A burning imprint burned beneath his fingers, pulsing with a heat he hadn’t known his skin could hold. And when you grabbed his forearm in return – just a quick, reflexive response to hoist yourself up from the ground – he felt it happen. Felt the universe shift. Felt something click into place.

You were his.

The brand on his skin told him what his heart already knew.

It should’ve been impossible. Soulmates were rare enough, but soulmates in their line of work? Practically unheard of. He hadn’t dared believe in that kind of connection. Not after everything. Not after Jess. Not after Ruby. Not after losing so many pieces of himself to wars that the world didn’t even know had been fought.

But here you were. Bleeding, breathing, and already backing away like the ground might swallow you whole. 

Sam watched as you cradled your marked wrist like it hurt. He supposed it did. It hurt him too but in a different way – watching you recoil from something he’d spent a lifetime thinking he’d never find. You were already retreating from the bond that had barely begun to spark to life. If the machete you had dropped wasn’t enough of a sign, the calluses on your hand and the knife tucked into your boot were obvious tells for him.

“So, you’re a hunter,” he said, silently cursing himself for how ridiculously obvious of a statement it was. 

“And you’re a Winchester,” you said, cool and unimpressed, like that meant more than the soulmark burning beneath your jacket. Your tone was clipped. Practiced. You weren’t shocked by his name. You had expected it. Everyone in their world knew who the Winchesters were. “Your reputation precedes you,” you added, like that was a bad thing. Sam tried not to flinch. He ran a hand through his hair and forced his voice to stay level.

“Look, about what just happened–”

“Nothing happened,” you cut in, eyes hard. You tugged your sleeve down, hiding your mark like it meant nothing. Like it hadn’t just rearranged both of your fates in a single touch. “None of this is happening. I don’t do soulmates.” Sam stared at you, trying to catch his breath.

“You don’t do soulmates,” he repeated slowly, like maybe if he said it aloud it would make sense. It didn’t. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” You didn’t hesitate.

It took everything in him not to argue. He wanted to shake you. To grab you by the shoulders and make you see. This wasn’t something you could just dismiss. Not when the universe literally branded your skin with someone else’s touch. But he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t reach out and touch you like he desperately wanted to. So Sam did the only thing he could think of – he rolled up his sleeve.

Your handprint was fresh on his forearm, glowing faintly like a sunburn that hadn’t decided whether to scab or settle. He held it out between you, hoping that you’d feel it too. Feel the pull. Feel the way that your lives were twisting together in a cosmic way. Maybe you were just in shock. He could navigate that. 

“This,” he said quietly, “isn’t something you can just decide doesn’t exist.” Your gaze dropped to his arm, and something cracked in your expression. Just for a second. A flicker of longing that he felt through his mark just as much as he saw it in your face. Then you turned away.

You were already back at the task at hand, kneeling beside the vampire’s body like it was any other job. Like your lives hadn’t just changed in the span of thirty seconds. The way you moved was mechanical. Focused. Efficient. It was a performance, and Sam knew the type well. It was the same one Dean gave when things were falling apart. It was the same one he gave when he couldn’t afford to feel.

“You can go now,” you said, not looking at him. “I’ve got this covered.”

He didn’t move.

He didn’t want to.

You were trying so hard to pretend that none of this mattered. But Sam could feel the connection humming between you. It sat just below the surface like a live wire, sparking and hungry. He couldn’t just walk away from that. From you.

“My brother’s nearby,” he offered. “We can help.” Another pathetic attempt to stay in your life just a little longer. The shock had to wear off soon, right? Maybe once the adrenaline of the hunt had faded.

“I don’t need your help.” Your voice was strong, but your hands betrayed you. They trembled slightly as you dumped accelerant over the body. He wasn’t sure if it was attributed to adrenaline. You’d likely blame it on him.

There were sirens starting in the distance. Sam barely registered them. All he could see was you. The way your jaw set like concrete. The way you looked at the fire as if it could swallow the mark on your skin.

“It’s nothing personal, Sam,” you said, and God, it wrecked him to hear how his name sounded coming out of your mouth. “I’m just not looking to give life something else to take away from me.” 

Sam’s heart clenched.

He knew that feeling. That fear. He had lived it time and time again. You weren’t afraid of him. You were afraid of the cost. And he couldn’t blame you. Hunters weren’t meant to have soft things. Soulmates were luxuries in a life made of blood and loss. But he believed in them anyway. Still, he nodded. Quietly. Respectfully. But understanding your side didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

The flames between you sent shadows dancing across your face. In another world, it might have been beautiful. In this one, it just felt cruel. Like he was watching everything that could have been just burn away to nothing. Taunting him with yet another thing he wasn’t allowed to have.

“We should go,” you said, already retreating. “The sirens are getting closer.” Sam swallowed.

“Our car’s this way. Dean’s waiting.” It was a long shot, but he had to try.

“I’ve got my own ride.”

Of course you did.

He wasn’t even sure why he reached out again. Just a reflex, perhaps. But he caught your elbow gently as you turned away, and the contact made his heart skip a beat.

“Wait. Can I at least get your name? You know mine.”

You froze, and for a second, he thought you wouldn’t answer. Thought you wouldn’t give him any more than you had to. Then–

Your name left your lips, and Sam couldn’t help but say it back to you. And the moment he said it aloud, he knew he was screwed. It settled on his tongue like something sacred. Like a prayer. Like a name he’d already said a thousand times in a dream he couldn’t remember.

“Good-bye, Sam Winchester.” Cold. Controlled. Final.

You shook off his hand and walked away without so much as a glance back at him. The fire lit your silhouette from behind, and Sam stayed rooted to the spot, watching you disappear into the trees like smoke. The sirens were louder now. Time was running out. But still, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Because he was watching the one good thing he might’ve had in life walk away. Because you didn’t want him.

The mark on his wrist burned hotter as the distance between you grew, like his skin was protesting your departure. The ache in his chest spread like a bruise, radiating outwards until it felt like his ribs might crack under the pressure of it all. Sam pressed his palm over his mark, trying to smother the sensation, but it only made things worse. The heat spread up his arm and settled in his chest, a persistent reminder of what he had just lost.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice cut through the night air, sharp and urgent. “We gotta move!”

Sam forced himself to turn away from where you’d vanished into the darkness. His brother was jogging towards him, weapon drawn, and eyes scanning the burning remains. “What the hell happened here?” Dean asked, but his gaze caught on Sam’s exposed forearm. On the handprint that seemed to glow faintly in the firelight. Dean’s expression shifted from irritation to something Sam couldn’t quite read. “Is that–?”

“We need to go.”

Dean’s eyes went wide, and Sam could see the exact moment his brother put the pieces together. The handprint. The burning vampire. The fact that Sam looked like he’d been sucker-punched by the universe itself.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed. “Your soulmate was here?” Sam yanked his sleeve down, covering the mark that felt like it was trying to claw its way off of his skin. Or burrow deeper into it. He wasn’t sure which.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Dean sounded incredulous. “Sam, you found your–”

“She doesn’t want it.” The words came out harsher than he had intended, but they tasted like ash in his mouth. “She made that pretty clear.”

The sirens were close enough that Sam could see flashing lights through the trees. Dean grabbed his arm – not the marked one, thank God – and started pulling him towards the Impala.

“We can talk about this later,” Dean said, but Sam could hear the questions burning behind Dean’s words.

Sam let himself be dragged away, his feet moving on autopilot while his mind stayed trapped in the moment when your skin had touched his. The Impala’s engine roared to life, and Dean peeled out of the clearing with practiced ease. Sam barely registered the motion. He kept his marked arm pressed to his side, trying to ignore the way it pulsed with each heartbeat.

“So,” Dean began after they’d put several miles between themselves and the burning vampire. His voice was carefully neutral, which meant that he was about to say something that would piss Sam off. “Wanna tell me why you look like someone just ran over your laptop?”

“Not really.” Sam kept his gaze fixed on the landscape that flew past in burry streaks. Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, the radio low and quiet between them.

“Look, man, I know finding your soulmate is supposed to be this big, life-changing moment, but if she’s not interested–”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Dean.” The words were sharp. Cutting. Hurt. Dean raised one hand defensively.

“Fine. Whatever. Just trying to help.”

“I know.” Sam sighed, rubbing his temple with his unmarked hand. “Sorry.”

The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the rumble of the Impala’s engine and the crackle of the police scanner. Sam traced the outline of your handprint through his sleeve. It throbbed beneath his touch.

“Did you at least get her name?” Dean finally asked, his voice softer now. Sam hesitated for a moment before saying your name aloud. It felt intimate, somehow. Like sharing a secret that he felt he needed to keep close. Dean nodded.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah.”

“Good?”

“Very.” Sam thought about the efficiency of your movements. The way you’d handled the vampire before he’d even stepped in. Even though it had had you pinned, he was confident that you would’ve been fine if he hadn't been there to behead it. Dean gave a low whistle.

“Figures. The universe wouldn’t match you with someone who couldn’t handle themselves.”

Dean was right. You were capable. Strong. Exactly the kind of person who could understand this life because you lived it too. And that was the cruel irony behind it all. You understood what happened to hunters who got attached. It would’ve been best for him to put the night behind him. To forget that anything had happened.

But Sam had never been good at letting things go. And he wasn’t about to start now.

---

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[ambiguous-avery]

Moon Without Stars, Part 10

Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 4044

Summary: Hunters – the people who lived fast and lawless – had one rule they all abided by. No attachments. And in a world where your first touch with your soulmate would leave a brand behind, No Touching was an unspoken second rule. Not everyone followed that, but you did. Or you tried to. The last thing you needed was for fate to be cruel and bind you to someone. Least of all someone like Sam Winchester.

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of suicide, talks of mental health spirals, soulmate AU, sad Sam (that’s a warning all of its own), idiots fighting fate, strangers to enemies to lovers, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: So, not that I’m sure anyone was keeping count, but the number 35,830 is significant. Anyone know why? Moon Without Stars Masterlist

Your grip on your phone was white-knuckled as you stood there, frozen to the spot like you’d been caught in a witch’s paralyzing spell. You hadn’t thought. Hadn’t been able to form any coherent plan of action in your head since that voice had rasped those words into your ear. But you had moved. Your body had moved on its own accord, feet carrying you somewhere before your brain could catch up.

You stood outside of his door, the metal number ‘21’ staring back at you like a dare. Your fist was raised halfway to the door, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t bring yourself to knock. Your pulse hammered in your throat, and you swore that your very existence was trembling. All you had to do was knock, dammit. Just knock. He’ll answer.

You couldn’t.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there. Long enough for the hallway lights to flicker once. Long enough for the cold of the bunker to seep into your skin. Long enough for you to second guess your gut reaction to come to him.

The door opened with a soft creak and warm lamplight spilled into the hall.

Sam stood there. Barefoot in a rumpled Henley and sweatpants. His hair was tousled, like he had been running his hands through it too much, and he looked like he had perhaps begun to doze. But when he saw you standing there, his expression shifted to concern in the space of a breath.

“I saw the shadow beneath the door,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t know how to answer. How to find the words to express everything you were feeling. The panic, the shock, the fear. It was all just too overwhelming to coherently put together. So instead, you said the only word that came to mind.

“Sam...” you breathed. It rolled off your tongue too easily. Warm and familiar, like it had always lived there, tucked between every breath you took. And just like that, your defenses cracked. It sent butterflies into flight in your stomach, but the edges of their wings were sharp and they sliced into the veil you had put up to try and ignore the feelings you thought you had buried long ago. Because saying his name suddenly made it all real.

He was real. The bond you shared with him was real. Not just some cruel twist of fate. God help you. You were his. And you weren’t sure exactly how long you had been. In that one syllable, you realized just how far you had already fallen. 

How much you wanted him to catch you.

And he did.

Sam reached for you, one hand gently coming to rest on your shoulder while the other came up to your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you realized with a start that you were crying.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, voice rough but impossibly gentle. "What happened?" The concern in his eyes nearly broke you. It was too much. The tenderness. The care. The way he looked at you like you mattered. Like whatever was hurting you was hurting him too.

“I need– I need help.” The words came out raw. Dragged up from some deep place you'd forgotten existed. Sam's fingers tightened slightly on your shoulder, his mark pulsing in time with yours in shared distress. His expression went sharp, all traces of sleep gone in an instant.

“Okay.” His voice was low and steady. “I’ve got you. We’ve got you.” No questions. No hesitation. You leaned forward, pressing yourself against him, and he let you. Let you wrap your arms around his torso like he was the only stable thing in the world. Let you fall apart under his watch. And when he returned your embrace, for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were falling alone.

You felt bad for waking Dean up. Even though he had insisted that he wasn’t sleeping since it was fairly early in the evening, you hadn’t missed the way it took an extra moment for his brain to come online. A steaming mug of coffee sat in front of him on the table.

The three of you were in the library. You had set out a piece of pie for Dean as a sort of peace offering for interrupting his not-sleeping. Sam sat close enough to you that your knees touched beneath the table, a steady anchor while you tried to organize your thoughts. Your mark hummed with his presence, offering comfort even as your mind raced with all the possibilities you didn’t want to consider.

Dean had positioned himself across from you both, his hunter instincts fully engaged despite the late hour. If you hadn’t been reeling from the most recent events, you might have noticed the way Dean clocked just how close you were to Sam. You might’ve seen the way his eyebrow arched like he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together. You might’ve seen all the warning signs that he was going to say something incredibly stupid before he said it.

“You two didn’t fuck in Baby, did you?”

Both you and Sam looked across at him, incredulous.

“Dean!” Sam’s tone was sharp enough to cut glass.

“What?” Dean raised his hands defensively. “It’s a valid question. I’ve spent the entire week watching her,” Dean gestured to you, “flinch away if you so much as breathed on her. But suddenly the two of you are leaning into each other. Something happened.” He took a bite of his pie and pointed his fork at you both. “And if it happened in my car, I need to know so I can burn the seats.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could even begin to formulate a response, Sam was already shutting his brother down.

“Your car’s fine.” Sam’s voice held a note of exasperation that you hadn’t heard before. The kind you figured had developed over the years of dealing with a sibling. Still, you didn’t miss the flush that crept up Sam’s neck. “And even if we had done something – which we didn’t – it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“My car, my business,” Dean shot back with a smirk. You pinched the bridge of your nose, momentarily distracted from your panic by sheer exasperation.

“Can we please focus on the actual problem here?” you asked with a heavy sigh. Though... that was easier said than done when your mark was practically howling at the mention of the possibility. Why hadn’t you taken advantage of that? The back seat was roomy enough... Maybe Sam would have to bend his long legs but there were options. You mentally chided your mark, telling it to shut the hell up and let you solve the issue at hand.

“Which is…?” Dean prompted, going back to his pie. His eyes darted between you and Sam with undisguised skepticism. 

“Something I hunted a few years ago is back. And it’s targeting my–” You caught yourself. “An old friend of mine.”

“A friend,” Dean repeated, clearly picking up on your misstep. His eyes narrowed slightly, fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “Must be some friend if a call from ‘em sent you to Sam panicking.” The way Dean emphasized his words made it clear that he knew there was more to the story that you weren’t letting on about. “Got a name?”

You hesitated, the name sticking in your throat like a shard of glass. It had been years since you’d said it out loud.

“Mason,” you finally managed. “His name is Mason.” The name hung in the air between the three of you. Dean quirked an eyebrow up as he looked at Sam whose face remained carefully neutral despite the flash of something that crossed his features. You felt a flicker of concern through your mark, but there was something more to it. Something that felt dangerously close to jealousy.

“And he called you because…?” Dean prompted, setting his fork down.

“Because I’m the one who took it down the first time. Or… tried to,” you said, avoiding both of their gazes by focusing on the small nick in the library table. “It obviously survived.” The confession was heavy. You’d never told anyone about that hunt. About how you’d tracked the creature for days, desperate to lose yourself in another case rather than sit and think about the loss of your soulmate mark.

You thought you had cornered it in the office of the grief counselor it seemed to have fixated on. You’d emptied an entire clip into it before torching the place. You hadn’t been able to save the grief counselor, but the creature didn’t seem to show up anywhere else. No other strange sightings or reports.

“What exactly are we talking about here?” Dean leaned forward. “What kind of monster?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, hating how helpless it made you sound. “I never figured out exactly what it was. There was a local legend about a ‘Hollow Man’, but there wasn’t much lore surrounding it. It was mostly human. But it was faceless.”

“Faceless? Like, completely smooth?” Sam cut in. You could already hear the gears turning in his head as he ran through his mental catalogue of the creatures he had researched before.

“Not smooth exactly,” you said, your hand unconsciously finding his under the table. Sam’s gaze flicked over to you for a brief moment before he turned his palm up and let you rest your hand in his. “More like it was blurred. Like looking at someone through frosted glass. You could see the general shape of where its features should be but nothing distinct. Like… like someone had taken an eraser and just smudged all of its features.”

“And what did it do? How did it kill?”

“It didn’t attack. Not outright. A grief counselor who’d lost his wife and newborn felt it watching him. Said he started feeling paranoid. Stopped sleeping. Next thing I knew, he had slit his wrists. Left a note behind that said he couldn’t bear the eyes on him anymore.”

“But you said it didn’t have a face,” Dean said, frowning. You nodded, rubbing your thumb against Sam’s palm. There was comfort in the steady warmth of his skin.

“That’s what made it so unsettling. It didn’t have eyes, but he said he could feel it watching him. Said it felt like being dissected while still alive.” Dean’s expression darkened, and he and Sam exchanged a look.

“And this thing just… watched people to death?” Dean asked.

“My working theory was that it fed on grief. Amplified it until the person couldn’t handle it anymore. Made whoever it was following feel like the weight of their sorrow was the only real thing left in the world.”

“And now it’s back, targeting your… friend. Mason?” There was a strange tone in the way Dean said ‘friend,’ and you should’ve known better than to think you could slip something past him.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t call me unless it was serious. If we leave tonight, we should get there before dawn,” you said. Maybe if you pushed them both into action, you could avoid the whole awkward conversation.

“Hold on, you said there wasn’t much information to go off of. We should dig around here and see if there’s anything more we can find. No sense in going in blind,” Sam reasoned.

You wanted to argue with him. Every instinct screamed at you to grab your things and hit the road immediately. Mason’s voice had been shredded with terror. The kind of fear that burrowed into your bones and made a home there. But Sam’s fingers squeezed yours gently.

“Sam’s right,” Dean said. “It doesn’t help if we walk in without a plan. A few hours of research might be the difference in ganking this son of a bitch or letting it slip again.”

“Mason doesn’t have a few hours,” you snapped, pulling your hand away from Sam’s. The loss of contact felt immediate and wrong, but your panic was building again. “You didn’t hear him, Sam. He was terrified.”

“Which is exactly why we need to do this right,” Sam’s voice took on the tone of someone who had made this argument countless times. 

Your fingers curled into fists beneath the table. You knew Sam was right. Logically, you knew it. But the image of Mason’s face kept flashing in your mind. The way he had looked at you the last time you saw him. Confused and surprised as he stood next to his new soulmate. The woman who had replaced you in the universe’s grand design.

“Fine,” you conceded, though the word felt like gravel in your throat. “But we leave at sunrise.”

“First light,” Sam agreed, standing up. “I can think of a few books that talk about entities that feed on negative emotions.” Dean pushed back from the table and slid the empty pie plate away.

“I’ll check the archive for faceless creatures. Not many things out there without an ugly mug.”

You watched the both of them spring into action, their synchronized movements a testament to the years they had spent hunting together. It was impressive. You’d hunted alongside others before, but never for extended periods of time. Their efficiency was almost unnerving. Like watching a well-oiled machine that had been running for decades. They moved with purpose, with a rhythm you had never found with another hunter. Never wanted to find. It had always been easier to work alone. Safer. But now...

You jumped right into the research with Sam, pulling books from shelves with titles that made your head spin. Entities of Emotional Parasitism. The Taxonomy of Incorporeal Predators. Grief as Gateway: Supernatural Exploitation of Human Mourning. The words blurred together as you tried to focus, but your mind kept drifting back to Mason’s voice. The raw terror that had bled through the phone.

“Find anything?” Sam asked after what felt like hours. It was probably only forty minutes. He looked up at you from a leather-bound tome.

“Nothing that fits exactly,” you muttered, flipping through another book. “There are plenty of things that feed on emotions, but most of them have faces. Or at least distinguishable features.” 

You found three potential matches in the first hour. A creature called a Grief Walker from 1892 that fed on sorrow and appeared as a "figure without features." A Hollow Spirit documented in 1934 that drove people to suicide through psychological torment. And something called a Dolor Wraith from the 1960s that manifested as a faceless humanoid drawn to those experiencing profound loss.

“Hey,” Sam said your name, drawing your attention away from your research. You glanced up to see him standing next to you, concern written across his features. “You sure you’re in good enough shape to do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re still recovering from your last hunt that went sideways.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm as he spoke. “You were barely steady on your feet a few days ago.”

“I’ll be fine,” you said automatically, the lie coming to you just as easily as breathing.

“Are you?” Sam challenged softly, settling in the chair beside you. “Because you look like you’re about to crawl out of your skin.” You bristled at his words even though part of you knew he was right. Your side still ached when you moved wrong, and the emotional upheaval from Mason’s call had left you feeling raw and exposed.

“I have to do this.”

“I get that. But you aren’t alone this time.”

The words stole the breath from your lungs, and you stared at Sam. At the way he leaned towards you like he was ready to catch you if you fell apart completely. When was the last time someone had said that to you? Better yet, when was the last time someone had meant it? It suddenly occurred to you just how silly you were being. There was no point in hiding things from Sam. And if he was as smart as you suspected, he already knew.

“Mason was my first soulmate. The one whose mark disappeared.”

Sam went still beside you. You could feel the shift in the air. The way his breathing changed. The way he carefully set down the book he’d been holding onto. Something complicated bled through the mark between you even as his expression stayed carefully neutral. It was sharp. Not anger, exactly. But something more akin to the jealousy you had felt before. Possessiveness even.

“I know.” Sam seemed to have a knack for packing the most devastation in the least amount of words possible. “The way you hesitated before saying ‘friend,’ and the tone you used when you said his name. It… wasn’t very subtle.” You nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

“I haven't spoken to him since... since that day at the restaurant. When he found his new soulmate.” Sam's fingers tapped against the book cover, a restless rhythm that betrayed his calm exterior.

“And now he's calling you for help.”

“Yeah.”

“After years of silence.” The edge in his voice made you look up. His jaw was set, a muscle working beneath the skin. Your mark throbbed with his unspoken emotions – concern, jealousy, and something that felt like fear.

“Sam, it's not–”

“No, I get it,” he cut you off, then immediately softened. “I'm sorry. That's not fair.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “If he's in danger, we help him. End of story.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, relief washing over you.

“But I need to ask,” Sam continued, his voice dropping lower. “Are you sure you're ready to face him again? After everything?”

The question hung between you, weighted with implications. Were you ready? The honest answer was no. You'd spent years burying the hurt, the confusion, the sense of cosmic betrayal. But Mason's terrified voice had cut through all of that, leaving you with the stark reality that despite everything, you couldn't just let him die.

“It doesn't matter if I'm ready,” you said. “He needs help.”

“Then we'll figure it out as we go,” Sam said, his voice steady despite the turmoil you could feel bleeding through your connection. “But I meant what I said earlier. You're not doing this alone.”

“I know.” You reached for his hand and didn’t miss the brief moment of hesitation before he turned his palm up for you. “Sam?” You waited until he looked up at you, his expression open and vulnerable. “I’m going there to close the door on that chapter, and I don’t plan on lingering longer than necessary.”

The tension in Sam’s shoulders visibly eased even as his eyes searched your, seeking reassurance. And you pushed everything you could through the mark to give him that. It was the least you could do. Your bond throbbed with shared anxiety – his and yours tangled together in such a way that you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“I believe you,” he said finally, squeezing your hand. “But I also know history has a way of pulling us back in when we least expect it.”

You knew he was speaking from experience. There was a weight to his words that suggested that he had walked this path before. Returning to something he thought was finished only to find himself caught in its gravity again.

“This isn’t about going back,” you said, surprised by the conviction in your voice. You almost didn’t recognize it. “It’s about making sure I can move forward without looking over my shoulder.”

Sam studied your face for a long moment, and you could see him weighing your words against the emotions bleeding across the bond. The jealousy was still there simmering beneath the surface, but it was tempered by the familiar feeling of Sam’s ever-present understanding.

“Okay. I trust you.” His thumb brushed across your knuckles, and if the topic of conversation had been anything other than your ex-soulmate, you were pretty sure that it would’ve been the perfect moment to lean across the distance and kiss him. His words warmed you from the inside, his trust something precious that you endeavored to protect and keep close. But that wasn’t the case. And you weren’t looking to cheapen the moment.

The two of you fell back into research together, but this time you each maintained a point of contact with the other. Your leg pressed against his. His pinky entwined with yours on the table while you each read through your own books. Your research was much less productive the second time around. You stole glances at Sam as he read, noting the way his brow furrowed in concentration and the tick of the muscle in his jaw. And when he looked up, you let him catch you staring.

“What about this?” Sam slid his book towards you, pointing to a particular passage. You set your book aside. “It’s old. Like... Mesopotamian old. But it’s a binding ritual meant to trap something called the “Null Man.” Same M.O. Shows up after death, feeds on grief.”

“The Null Man appears to those who mourn, drawn by the scent of fresh sorrow like carrion to decay,” you read aloud. “It bears no face, for it has stolen the visages of all it has consumed, leaving only hunger behind.” Your stomach clenched. “That... that sounds exactly like what the counselor described."

Sam's finger traced the next line. “Get this: Those marked by the Null Man will feel its gaze upon them always, until madness takes hold and they welcome death as release from its eternal watching.”

“Jesus,” you whispered. The description sent ice through your veins. “How do we kill it?”

“The binding ritual should drag it into our realm. Then, I think iron and rock salt should be enough. The only caveat, though, is that it doesn’t seem like anyone can do the binding ritual. It’s gotta be the person that the creature has latched onto. They’re it’s only tether.”

“So… Mason has to be the one to do it?”

“Yeah. We can prep him for it and get all set up. But he’s got to be the one to recite the incantation.”

“That would explain why nothing I did affected it years ago. I wasn’t its victim at the time.”

"Makes sense," Dean's voice cut through the silence as he approached with an armful of dusty books. "Found a few more references to faceless entities. Most of them point to the same thing – they're parasites. Latch onto someone experiencing loss and drain them dry." He dropped the books onto the table with a heavy thud. "The good news is that most of these things aren't particularly strong once you drag them into the physical realm. The bad news is getting them there in the first place."

“This is more than I had last time,” you said, reaching for one of the books Dean had brought. You flipped through the pages with renewed determination, scanning for any additional details about the Null Man. The fact that Mason had to be the one to perform the binding ritual complicated things. He wasn’t a hunter. Didn’t have any experience with the supernatural. You’d given him the edited version of your job. The version that conveniently left out most of the occupational hazards.

“So we need to get to Mason, explain what’s happening, and convince him to perform a binding ritual on a creature he can’t see but can feel watching him,” you summarized, the sheer scale of the task settling heavily on your shoulders. “While he’s already terrified out of his mind.”

“Pretty much,” Dean confirmed.

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache building behind your eyes. The weight of it all pressed down on you like a physical force. You stared at the binding ritual, trying to memorize the Latin phrases that would need to be spoken. The words felt heavy on your tongue as you practiced them silently. This was Mason's only chance. Your only chance to save him. You weren’t going to make the same mistake again.

---

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Part 9 --- Part 11

[ambiguous-avery]

OH MY GOD HOW AM I JUST NOW SEEING THIS?! I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH!! Honestly Dutch Melrose is a frequent flier on my daily playlist! 💜💜💜

heard this song on tiktok and immediately started thinking about a demon!dean. it has my cobwebbed wheels starting to turn 🤩