#Storage Unit Winchester

[winchesterstorage]

Document Storage Box

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[henrymorris1]

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[winchesterremovals]

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[winchesterremovals1]

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[mishasmokinggrass]

So I’m mentally ill and bought this for family game night

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Where to Run

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @deansobssessedgirl

Synopsis: you’re on the run from the British Men of Letters, and you meet your big brothers for the first time.

Entering the United States unnoticed had gone better than you thought it would. As soon as you got through passport control, you dug into your backpack—the only luggage you had brought with you, and it contained all you owned��and pulled out two pieces of paper. You considered them both for a long moment—one, an over a decade-old letter with the name of a small city in black ink in the middle of it, and the other a list of cities, one circled in red.

The list would take you to a nearby Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, and the letter…

The letter might just lead you to your father.

…

“And you’re sure we haven’t already been to this one?” Sam asked his big brother as they pulled up to a storage facility.

“Of course I’m sure. I would’ve remembered one so close to Lawrence,” Dean said.

“What do you think dad kept in here?” Sam questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him as Dean led the way to the right storage room.

“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “Let’s just hope one of these works.” He jangled a small set of keys on a ring that John had left in the car—they contained a spare key for the Impala as well as John’s old truck, and several storage facility keys. Dean had thought that he and Sammy had been to all of John’s secret storage places, but after scanning John’s journal for the hundredth time, he caught sight of an address scratched in the corner of a page with a storage number.

“It’s this one,” Sam spoke up, grabbing the keys from Dean and trying a few before one finally worked.

The room was small, but packed full. Sam and Dean—after carefully scanning for traps—split up and began to go through their father’s things.

“Hey, I think this file cabinet’s locked,” Sam said from one corner. Dean lifted his head, but didn’t go to his brother’s aid, too busy going through a box of odds and ends.

“Or you just didn’t pull hard enough—maybe if you had any muscle in those noodles—“

“Ok, ok,” Sam interrupted with a scoff. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t dismiss Dean’s theory—he yanked hard on the file cabinet, and it jerked open in a cloud of dust. Coughing, Sam reached down to shuffle through what was inside. “Hey, there’s only one file in here.”

“Fascinating,” Dean said in a tone that said exactly the opposite.

“There’s a birth certificate inside,” Sam said, and suddenly his voice caught. “With…with dad’s name on it.”

“Dad’s birth certificate?” Dean asked, mildly intrigued.

“Dean…not dad’s.”

“What?” Dean was by Sam’s side before Sam had even seen him move.

“Y/N Winchester, born to John Winchester and…Jane Doe.” Sam frowned, his brow crinkling. “I wonder why dad would use his real name when the mother used a fake.”

“This can’t be real,” Dean insisted. “I mean…I know with Adam…but another one?”

“Let’s see,” Sam mumbled, putting the certificate inside and checking the rest of the file. “Pictures.” Sam held up a stack, which Dean immediately snatched from him. Sam ignored this, because he’d found his own details to focus on. “And letters.” Sam grabbed the first letter from a stack of dozens, and began to read. “Dear John…our girl turns one today…”

Dean tapped Sam’s shoulder and held up a photo of a little Y/H/C girl blowing out a singular candle on a pink cake.

Sam moved onto the next letter, skimming it.

“Dear John…I put Y/N in gymnastics because it’s the only way I can get her to work on strength training and endurance.” Sam’s brow crinkled in confusion, but he was distracted when Dean held up a photo of the same girl, a few years older, in a gymnastics leotard on a balance beam.

“What do you think she meant by training?” Sam asked. “Do you think she was a hunter?”

“Could be.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe that’s why she signed her letters Jane Doe.” Dean pointed to the bottom of the letter, where “love, Jane Doe” was written.

Sam was about to pull out another letter when his fingers froze on the paper.

“Dean…”

“Hm?” Dean asked distractedly, still going through photos.

“Dean look at this.” Sam flipped the paper around, and on the back of it was a watermark—an indicator of who made the stationary.

It was the Men of Letters insignia.

…

“Lebanon, please,” you said to the taxi driver. “I’ll direct you to a more specific location when we get there.”

The man shrugged, unbothered, and began the journey.

You desperately wanted to go to Lawrence in search for your father, but you had to be realistic—you hadn’t eaten all day, you were jet lagged and exhausted, and you needed a plan of action. You needed to recover and regroup, and you needed to do it in a secure location; you needed to feel safe. In fact, you were so wound up that you flinched when the radio came on.

“—o one seems to have any information on who is causing the recent string of murders. The chief of police has offered no comment, other than a warning that the people of Lawrence should stay indoors when possible, and be alert. But there’s no denying the oddity of the case—the mass murderer seems to have some kind of vampire ideologies, with each of its victims drained completely of their blood. In other news—“

“Hey, driver!” You called out, and he glanced over his shoulder to indicate he was listening. “I changed my mind. Take me to Lawrence.”

…

“It’s gotta be another djinn.”

Dean would’ve groaned if he didn’t have a mouthful of hamburger to swallow first.

“Not those again,” he said after a gulp of beer washed down the last of his burger. They’d finished going through John’s things—Sam taking the file of your pictures and documents with him—only to leave and stumble upon a case. Dean had wanted to stop at a diner on the way back home, but he hadn’t expected to walk past a news stand to see a paper with “vampire killer” written across the front. It took Sam less than ten minutes of reading the paper, as well as a little time on the internet, to render the paper completely wrong.

“It doesn’t fit with a vampire. No teeth marks, no signs of struggle, the bodies were found in a different location from where they were taken—it’s definitely a djinn.”

“Ok, so silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood.” Dean sighed. “We happen to have one of those?”

“I think we still have the one we used last time in the trunk,” Sam said.

“Then let’s get going.”

…

You picked up a machete after being dropped off by the cabbie, hoping beyond hope that the radio had been right (even if they were kidding) about it being a vampire—there were several monsters known to drink blood, and if it was anything other than a vamp then things might get tricky. Normally you would be more prepared, but it wasn’t like you could get your weapons through customs when traveling to America, and you’d had to travel light so you could move more quickly. The British Men of Letters worked quickly, so you couldn’t take any chances. And buying up strange kinds of weapons near an old Men of Letters bunker was definitely too high a chance to take, so all you could do was hope that it was a vamp.

You’d done so much research about Lawrence that you barely even have to wonder where the creature might be hiding out—while researching Lawrence, you’d almost automatically noted the places where a supernatural being might be inclined to hide, so all you had to do was see which one was closest to the bodies that were dropping.

Then you were ready to hunt.

…

“I’m telling you, this has to be it. It’s nearly equidistant to all the bodies, and it’s the perfect place for a djinn to hide out.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the location, I believe you,” Dean told Sam. “But you do have to tell me how to get there.”

“Turn right here…yeah, and a left at that stop sign, and then we’re there.”

“So are we just not gonna talk about it?” Dean asked after a beat of silence as he followed Sam’s directions.

“Talk about what?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe our little sister?”

“I don’t know what to say, Dean,” Sam sighed. “There’s no address anywhere in the documents or the letters, and we don’t even know her mother’s name, or if Y/N even goes by Winchester. Her mother used an alias, it makes sense that the kid would go by one, too. We have no reason to believe that she’s going by the name on her birth certificate, so we don’t have the first clue on how to find her.”

“Well it feels like we have to do something,” Dean argued. “I mean we don’t even know if this kid knows about dad—for all we know, she thinks he’s still alive. She deserves to know.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Sam questioned. “You didn’t seem all this interested when we found out about Adam.”

“That was different,” Dean sighed. “With Adam…Adam was just some normal, innocent kid who saw dad once a year for a baseball game and knew nothing about the life. This kid—Y/N—with the talk in those letters about training, and the Men of Letters insignia…she’s in this life, Sam, I can feel it. And since dad’s not around anymore…I think it’s our job to make sure she’s ok.”

“And I’d be happy to do that,” Sam insisted. “If only we knew how to find her. But for now, let’s do what we can do—take out this djinn.”

…

The sight of a car in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse worried you—even if it was a beautiful car.

“Chevy Impala,” you mumbled to yourself. “67, I think.” You shook yourself, moving your mind back to the task at hand, rather than the conversation you were having with yourself. Hopefully the car here didn’t mean that its owners were anywhere near the warehouse—the last thing you needed was some innocent people getting in the way and getting hurt.

Seeing no one around, you hefted your machete and headed inside.

…

Dean gestured at Sam to be quiet as he peaked around a corner. Signaling that the coast was clear, Dean led the way through the warehouse, the silver dagger gripped in his steady hand. Dean was just signaling Sam to wait so he could check around another corner when—

“Hey!”

“Jeez—what?”

Dean stopped himself just short of cutting not a djinn, but a Y/H/C girl wielding a machete that was aimed at him.

“Hey, easy.” Dean took a quick step back, raising the knife and his hands in the air. “We’re not—“ Dean’s words died in his throat when he got a good look at your face.

“Dean,” Sam breather from beside him. “It’s—“

“No kidding.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded, lowering the machete just a little bit. “Who are you guys, what are you doing here?” You didn’t want for an answer. “You have to get out of here, there’s a—“ your eyes fell to the silver dagger.

Sam’s gaze followed your own to the weapon in Dean’s hand before he looked back at you.

“It’s not a vamp,” he said, gesturing at your machete. “It’s a djinn.”

You lowered your machete completely.

“You’re hunters?”

Dean couldn’t keep the astonished smile off his face.

“And you’re Y/N Winchester.”

The machete was back up in an instant.

“Who are you?” You demanded for the second time. “Men of Letters?”

“Easy, easy,” Dean said, taking a step back as you advanced on them. “I’m not—“

“Guys!”

Sam’s warning proceeded the arrival of the djinn by a split second—just enough time for Dean to dodge the blow that the djinn tried to land on him.

“Hey!” Your call turned the attention of the djinn, who grabbed hold of your arm before you had the chance to move away. He twisted your arm behind your back until your machete was crashing to the ground and you were crying out in pain.

“Here!” Dean’s call came a second before the silver dagger was hurtling at your face. You snatched it up with your free hand and twisted it so it was facing the djinn a moment before you plunged the dagger into the djinn’s side. He howled with pain and released your arm, giving you an opportunity to spin around and stab again, this time in the neck.

The djinn went down without a sound, and the thud of his fall echoed through the empty room. For a long moment, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard. That is, until Dean took a step towards you.

“Back off!” You yelled, raising the blood-soaked dagger.

“Are you serious?” Dean scoffed. “Hey, I just helped save your life.”

“I’m not going back!” You were starting to look panicked as you backed away from the brothers. “So-so just tell Lady Bevell, or Ketch, or Mick, or whoever recruited you that I’m done! I’m not a part of the Men of Letters, and I never will be!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Sam soothed. “We’re not Men of Letters.”

“Then how do you know who I am?” You challenged.

“Because of John Winchester.”

Sam’s response froze you in your tracks.

“J…John Winchester?” The dagger was slowly lowering. “You know him? You know where he is?”

The hope in your eyes was like a punch in the gut to both brothers. However, it was gone in an instant and replaced with a harsh suspicion as you raised the knife higher again.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“That’s how we know who you are, kid,” Dean insisted.

“Here—“ Sam’s hand was halfway to his pocket when you pointed your knife at him and he froze. “Easy, ok? I’ll go slow.” He slowly reached in, and you relaxed slightly when he pulled out a small bundle of papers. “We’ve got letters that your mom sent to him, with some pictures.” Sam held them out, and you hesitantly took them, thumbing through the stack while occasionally glancing warily at the boys.

“They stop,” you mumbled.

“What?” Dean asked.

“The letters, they stopped…at least ten years ago.” You looked back up at the boys as you spoke. “Is…is there more, or…”

The despair on the boys’ faces spoke for itself. Your lip was already quivering as you tucked the letters away, still holding onto the knife but keeping it pointed down.

“Is he…is he dead?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “About ten years ago.”

Sam could tell you were trying not to cry, trying to act like they hadn’t just ripped the rug out from under you.

“You know, I—I didn’t even know him—“ your voice cracked. “But I…gosh, I re-I really wanted to.”

You let Dean take the knife from you after he put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Um, so.” You wiped your hand over your face, trying to brush away any stray tears as you tried valiantly to pull yourself together. “So how did you two…”

“He’s…he’s our dad, too.” Sam said. Your eyes widened slightly as you absorbed this information.

“Wait, you…were you…from his wife?”

“You knew about her?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” you admitted. “John…dad, he…he never liked to talk about his past, but he did mention his wife in one of his letters…he said her death was what made him become a hunter.” Your lips quirked up as you remembered. “He said if I ever saw a yellow-eyed demon, send it to hell for him.” Your eyes went back to Dean and Sam. “Is…is that how he died? Hunting demons?”

“Kind of,” Sam said. “It’s…it’s a long story.”

“What about you?” Dean said suddenly. “If you know Lady Bevell and the rest, and you know they’re here recruiting, then you’ve got something to do with the Men of Letters. Not to mention their insignia on the back of those letters.”

Just the mention of the Men of Letters had you on edge again.

“Maybe we should talk about this at a more secure location,” you suggested. “There’s an old Men of Letters bunker not far from—“ you cut yourself off when you caught the look between the two brothers. “What?”

“We know,” Sam said. “We’ve been living in it.”

Dean noticed your fingers twitch, as if you were thinking about reaching for a weapon.

“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not Men of Letters?”

“Our grandfather was one,” Dean said. “He left us a key.”

You seemed to consider this. Dean watched as your eyes got a faraway look, and he knew you were trying to remember something.

“Mom said that John was from a line of the Men of Letters. It was one of the ways she tried to get him to join.” You shook yourself of the memories. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Dean couldn’t help the way a smile twitched just slightly on his lips before he dropped it.

“Fair enough.”

…

You were quiet the whole way to the bunker, and although your brothers had questions they sensed you were tired and on edge, so they refrained. Dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror the whole way, and he was happy to see the way you slowly put your guard down—mostly out of exhaustion—as you relaxed into a light slumber.

You awoke with a start when Dean pulled into the bunker’s garage, the echo of Baby’s engine reverberating loudly.

“Home sweet home,” Dean crowed as you stepped out of the Impala. You didn’t say a word as he led you inside, but the moment the three of you settled down around the kitchen table, you finally started to talk.

“John met my mother on a hunt. She was just visiting America, vacation or something, but she happened to stumble on a case. They met…and well, I came along.” Both brothers noticed you skipping over the details, for which they were grateful. “But while mom was still pregnant she tried to convince dad to join the Men of Letters.” Sam noticed the way you kept switching between dad and John, as if you either weren’t sure what to say, or you weren’t sure what the boys were comfortable with. “He didn’t like the idea, and he didn’t want that for me, either. They fought about it, and mom left the country to go back to England. She was still pregnant…” Dean saw your fists clench and unclench as you blinked rapidly. “Dad, he…he never saw me in person. Any-anyway, she still wrote to him, and she let me read his letters. She said he deserved that much, at least. Dad was always telling me hunter things—I think he was hoping I’d end up a hunter, like him.”

“Why did you?” Sam spoke up. “I mean, if your mother raised you with the Men of Letters…”

“She kept a lot from me,” you said. “The…morally ambiguous parts.” At Dean’s strange look, you scoffed. “Ok, let’s be real, the straight up evil parts.” This got a grin from both brothers. “But she, uh…” the lightheartedness in the room was gone in an instant. “She died last year, and well…people stopped lying to me. I realized all the crap they really did, and I ran.”

“And what, they’re after you?” Dean questioned. “I mean it’s not like the mafia, right, I mean you can just leave.”

You nearly laughed out loud.

“I wish they were as sloppy as the mafia. No, you can’t just leave, especially not me—just because I’m a kid, doesn’t mean I couldn’t have over a decade of Men of Letters’ secrets stored in my brain. That’s why I came here, I…I wanted to find dad. To find family, protection.” You took a deep breath. “I want to be a hunter, not a Man of Letters.”

Dean found himself speaking before he even thought about what to say.

“Why do you have to be either?”

“What?” You said at the same time as Sam. Dean glanced between you before continuing.

“You’re just a kid—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to be either, you could be whatever you want.”

You blinked up at Dean, as though the thought had never occurred to you.

“I…I don’t…”

“Look,” Dean began. “Don’t decide just now. John may not be here, but we’re family too, kid. There’s an empty bedroom down the hall, you should get some sleep, get settled in…then maybe we could talk about this hunting stuff, ok? The important thing is, you’re safe here. Let’s just say we don’t like the British Men of Letters anymore than you do. They’re not getting in here, and they’re not getting to you. Everything else can wait for later.”

You felt a smile—a true smile—etching its way into your face for the first time in so long. You looked up at this man—your big brother—and you couldn’t help but feel that everything was going to be ok. Whether you decided to hunt or not, or whether the Men of Letters came after you, you knew one thing for sure—

You really had found your family.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe

[kaleldobrev]

To the Rescue (3) — Take Me Back Series

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

Series Summary: After making a deal to bring you back, Sam doesn't see you until years later when your paths cross during a case

Original Prompt: Requested by anonymous | Hi, I just joined Tumblr and came across your blog, it's wonderful! I'd like to make a request, something between Sam and reader. The reader dies and Sam makes a pact to bring her back, but she comes back without remembering him and the hunting life. He thinks it's best to stay away from her. Years later they meet and she falls in love with him all over again, and when they kiss she regains her memory. Do you like it?

Chapter Word Count: 2.7k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (8x), Minor Character Death

Authors Note: When I originally wrote this it was 1.2k. With editing it turned into 2.7k | One more part after this folks! Sorry for the cliffhanger in advance | Flashbacks are in italics | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Pulling up to your house, Sam felt as though his stomach was in knots. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had seen your house, but this time it was different. It wasn’t just a normal driveway he was used to doing to make sure that you were safe every once in a while.

“You okay?” Dean asked, snapping Sam out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” Sam lied.

“Alright,” Dean began, opening up his glove compartment and taking out his gun. “Let’s go boy wonder,” he grinned.

Walking up to your front door, the biggest sense of dread starting washing over him as he started to think that maybe something was wrong. “You know, I don’t think she’s home. She usually parks her car in the driveway.”

“Maybe she actually parks inside her garage?” Dean suggested.

Sam looked at him, full well knowing that you wouldn’t be able to park inside your garage — it had too much stuff in it to park your car. It was more of a storage unit than anything. “Trust me on this one.”

“Wow, you really do stalk her uh?” Dean grinned.

“Not stalk, just concerned,” Sam corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Dean said, patting his brother on the shoulder. Y/N would help me sleep better at night, Sam thought.

Taking a small deep breath, Sam knocked on your door, hoping that you somehow broke your pattern of parking in the driveway. It had been a couple of weeks since he’s done a drive by, so maybe you did have enough room in your garage now; but knowing you, you hadn’t cleaned it out.

“She’s not here,” Sam said quickly, and he turned on his heels about to leave your front porch. But Dean stopped him, grabbing onto the back of his jacket to bring him back. “What?”

“You don’t wanna check if she’s inside the house?” Dean asked. “What if she’s —”

“She’s not here Dean. Trust me,” Sam said, his voice a little stern. “The more time we’re here, the less time we actually have to go and find her. Now let’s go and check the shelter. I’ll try and call her on the way there.”

Dean went to open up his mouth to protest, but he knew that his brother was right. “Alright,” he agreed. As much as he wanted to check if you were inside the house, Dean trusted Sam when it came to his gut feeling; especially since this was concerning you.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been tied to this chair, but it felt like hours at this point. Mel or whatever her name actually was just talking your ear off; and it wasn’t even remotely about the deal, but just random little stories about her time here on Earth. If you weren’t currently tied to a chair, there was a part of you that would have actually found her stories to be quite interesting. “I don’t know, I love being a crossroads demon but at the same time, I feel like I could really bring some value to the team if Crowley trusted me more. What do you think?” Mel asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” you admitted. “I mean, I’d love to commend you on your work ethic but uh, I’m a little bitter right now,” you said.

Mel laughed. “Fair enough,” she grinned. “But, if you had to give me like a recommendation, would you say I had a good work ethic? I mean, I was your right hand for almost four years here.”

“Again, don’t really wanna commend you when you currently have me tied to a chair in my own shelter,” you stated, your voice radiating annoyance.

“You know, these past four years have honestly so eye opening,” Mel begin. “I can really see why Sammy wanted to marry you.”

“I’m sorry?” You questioned.

Mel went to open her mouth to answer your question, but there were two doors slamming in the distance. And her smile turned into a slightly mischievous one. “Looks like lover boy and big bro are here to rescue you!” She exclaimed and looked at her watch briefly. “About damn time too. I was starting to get bored.”

Mel got up from her seat, and removed a piece of fabric from her pocket as she walked toward you. “Just gonna place this in your mouth so you can’t warn my favorite boys, okay?” She giggled, before putting the fabric in your mouth, almost gagging you.

As the pair walked into the gym, it was mostly pitch black except for the small amount of moonlight that was currently streaming in from the windows. "Y/N?" Sam called out.

Muffled screaming could be heard, and that's when they noticed you sitting in the middle of the auditorium tied to a chair and with some kind of gag in your mouth. "Just like old times," Dean said, pulling out his gun.

"Except we're saving her, not the other way around," Sam stated, he too pulling out his gun.

"Whatever," Dean mumbled. "Just get Y/N out of here."

"And where are you going to go?" Sam asked, slightly confused as he raised a brow.

"Gonna go see if I can find that Mel bitch," Dean said, slightly waving his gun and grinning.

"No need to find me! I'm right here boys!" Mel called out, her voice singsong like; the large auditorium lights turning on in a matter of seconds. "And there's really no need to have those silly little guns out, so you might as well put them away," she said, appearing behind you now. "I just wanna talk. You know, have a little catch up. It's been such a long four years, and I've been so interested in what my Winchester boys have been up to. Especially Sammy here."

"Nothing really for us to talk about. Considering you've killed five teenagers for really no good reason," Sam said.

“But it was for a good reason,” Mel stated. Both boys looked at her with a slightly confused expression on both their faces. “I needed a way to get you two here. You wouldn’t have came any other way. Well, that’s not entirely true now is it Sammy?”

Sam looked at you, and he could see your expression changing. You were no longer relatively calm, but more confused than anything else. “Either you tell her or I will,” Mel stated, her voice no longer sing song like. “Tell her what you’ve been up to.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, and Sam didn’t want to tell you what Mel was insinuating. “5…4….3….” Mel began counting.

“Alright, alright!” Sam yelled out in frustration. “I’ve been watching her for the past four years to make sure she was okay.” He sighed. “Happy?”

“Now, let’s see what Y/N thinks about that mmm?” Mel asked, her hands on either side of your shoulders. “Wanna talk?” She asked you, and you eyed her. If looks could kill, Mel would have been dead.

“Fuck you,” you said, muffled.

“Oh my!” Mel laughed. “The mouth on her! No wonder you were so heartbroken Sammy,” she winked.

As Mel, Sam and Dean were talking, you were carefully trying to untie yourself from the chair, making sure that none of them had seen you doing it; as you were pretty sure that if Mel had caught you, she had the ability to kill you in an instant. Then again, you weren’t quite sure how strong demons were.

“Now, I’d really like to hear what Y/N think —” before Mel could continue her sentence, you broke free from the rope that she had tied your hands with, and managed to tackle Mel to the ground.

“A little help here would be nice boys!” You yelled out, trying your best to keep Mel to the ground; but her demon strength was starting to show, as she knocked you to the ground.

Before she could do anything to you, Dean had his arms around her, holding her back as Sam held out his hand in order to help you up. “Thanks,” you said, taking his hand — a simple movement, but felt so natural.

Mel bucked her head back, the back of her head hutting Dean in the nose; the movement caused him to let her go and he stumbled back. “Fuck,” Dean said; some blood running down from his nose.

“You little bitch,” Mel said through gritted teeth. She went to lunge at you, but was stopped when Sam had shot her. She laughed. “You know bullets can’t kill me,” she smirked.

“No, but they can distract you,” Dean said from behind her. She turned around, and within an instant, Dean plunged the Demon Knife into her.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, the three of you walking out of the shelter.

“Yeah I’m fine just…confused,” you confessed.

“I’m sure. I’m sorry Mel wasn’t who you thought she was,” Sam said.

“That’s not entirely it,” you began, the two men raised a brow. “Mel…Mel said that I knew you guys,” you looked at Sam now. “She said you wanted to marry me.” Sam and Dean exchanged looks, neither one of them really knew what to say

“What else did she tell you?” Sam asked, not denying your claim; as he was in fact planning on asking you to marry him as soon as the three of you had gotten back from the hunt. It was something that he spent months planning.

“She said that you made a deal in order to bring me back to life. And part of that deal was basically having me forget you and hunting,” you said, your voice having no hesitancy to it. “I know how ridiculous it sounds but…I believe her.”

“Dean, can you give us a second?” Sam asked, looking over at his brother. Dean and Sam exchanged looks, and Dean looked at you only briefly before nodding.

“Yeah I’ll uh…I’ll be in Baby,” he said, scratching the back of his head as he started making his way toward his impala.

“Is what she said the truth?” You asked. “And don’t give me a it’s complicated answer. It’s a simple yes or no.” Sam couldn’t help but let out a half chuckle, as this was a like you had said to him far too many times.

“Yes. It’s the truth,” he admitted. “Four years ago, the three of us were on a vampire hunt in Malibu. You and me agreed to go take out the nest because it was only supposed to be three vamps. But…it turned out to be six instead, too many for just the two of us to handle. That’s when you…”

“Died,” you said, finishing his sentence. “How did I…die?”

“One of the vamps…ripped your throat out…” he mumbled, his voice trailing. “It was my fault I…”

“Hey, hey,” you said, taking his hand in yours. “I may not remember, but it wasn’t your fault okay? I may not remember you, but, knowing you literally barely a few hours, I know you aren’t that type of person. You just…I get a good vibe from you.”

“You shouldn’t,” he stated. “I’ve done a lot of…fucked up things. Things that…”

“Whatever fucked up things you’ve done, I’m sure it was for a good reason Sam,” you reassured him. “You aren’t someone that’s just going to get someone killed.”

Sam just looked at your hand in his; enjoying the feeling. It’s been so long since he had held your hand. “After, why didn’t you try and ask me out?” You asked.

Sam chuckled. “Thought you’d be better off without me and plus, kinda thought something like this was going to happen.”

“Ask her out already please! I miss her baking!” The two of you heard Dean call out. You and Sam turned, and saw Dean with the drivers side window rolled down; Zeppelin playing loud enough for him to have probably been able to hear the entirety of the conversation.

Sam and you chuckled a little, and you looked at each other similar to that of two people in love with each other. “You wouldn’t want to go out sometime again would you?” You asked, softly smiling.

“I don’t know I…” Sam wanted to say yes; he wanted you back in his life, wanted so much to be in your life again. But he didn’t want to risk anything bad happening to you again. “I’m sorry.”

Disappointment washed over you as you looked at Sam. You had wanted to be with him, even though you barely knew him. But according to Mel, at some point, he had wanted to marry you. You had hoped that maybe with her gone, then you two could get to know each other again and have a bond like you apparently did years ago. You had felt something for him; some kind of connection, a kind of familiarity, even before you knew who he was. But, you understood where he was coming from. “Can I at least give you a thank you kiss?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, almost afraid to say yes.

Sam leaned down, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. He stared into your eyes, mentally cursing himself for saying no, but he knew that saying no was for the best. You were safer, and you were free. “I’ll always love you,” he told you. “Even if you don’t remember loving me.”

Your lips and his were centimeters apart now, and you didn’t want this moment to end between the two of you. Because you knew, that the second the kiss was over, you’d probably never see him again.

“Take care of yourself,” you said, before the two of you pressed your lips against each other.

The kiss felt natural, a little needy, but gentle. It wasn’t a kiss you would give to someone you would see again, it was a kiss that you gave someone that you would never see again. It was a goodbye.

"Sam, I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should wait for Dean to come and help us," you said; as the two of you started walking up to an abandoned log cabin in the middle of the woods; something that you didn't even know Malibu had.

"There's only supposed to be three vamps, I think we'll be fine," Sam reassured you. "We've taken out more than three vamps just the two of us before."

"Yeah but...I don't know, it just feels different this time, I can't explain it," you said, your voice hesitant. For some strange reason, you just had a horrible feeling that something bad was going to happen, but you had no proof. It wasn't like you had premonitions.

"Fuck," you said, a sharp sensation entering your head, as if you just got hit in the head.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Sam asked, concern in his voice.

"Yeah just..." the pain got more intense, and you felt yourself start to lose balance; Sam's hands instantly finding your arms in order to keep you from falling. "My head really fucking hurts," you said, almost strained.

"Let's sit down uh?" Sam suggested, as he started leading you toward the curb in front of the shelter.

"Sammy, she okay?" You heard Dean say, the sound of the impala's door opening and closing. You heard barely hear the sound of his running toward you and Sam, as everything started to sound so muffled due to the intense pain and pounding in your head.

"You know, I don't know what I'd ever do without you," Sam said, caressing your cheek.

"I'm sure you'd be fine. You did just fine before you met me," you said, gently smiling at him.

"But my life is a lot better with you in it," he admitted.

"So is mine," you confessed.

"I love you," he replied.

"I love you too," you smiled.

You didn't really know how you had gotten to sitting on the curb but you now where, Sam and Dean on either side of you. The intense pain was starting to subside, and the pounding was starting to cease. You couldn't tell what either man was saying, as they still sounded muffled.

"Y/N?" Sam asked, his hands resting on your shoulders.

You turned to look at him, and all of a sudden you felt the urge to cry. Your hand reached out and touched his cheek. "Sam..." your voice was low, almost inaudible.

"Yeah?" He replied, his voice as low as yours.

"Take me home," you said.

"Sure," he nodded.

"To the Bunker," you clarified.

Sam looked at you; confusion clear across his face. "The Bunker?"

In the next and final chapter...

He scratched the back of his head before pointing to your side table. “Open up the drawer there,” he said, slight hesitation in his voice. When you didn’t move, he sighed. “Trust me,” he said.

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[spitefulsatanfics]

✦ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 ✦

> “I... lost my shoe.” — Sam Winchester

Pairing: Sam Winchester x she/her Reader

Rating: T+ (mild intimacy, swearing, canon violence)

Word Count: 5,632

Tones: young!Sam, fluffy romance, light intimacy, cursed!Sam, reverse damsel in distress, Protector!Y/N

POV: Third person, she/her

Based on: Supernatural Season 3, Episode 3 – Bad Day at Black Rock

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, emotional vulnerability, and a little shirtless Sam

> “This is a cursed object we’re talking about. It’s gonna go south—just a matter of time.”

— Sam Winchester, S3E3

The cursed rabbit's foot wasn't supposed to fall into Sam's hands. It definitely wasn’t supposed to fall out of them. But fate had other ideas—and somehow, so did she.

The sun slung low over Black Rock, Montana, bleeding amber light across crumbling pavement and rusted-out road signs. It was the kind of place people passed through without staying, the kind where trouble lingered like smoke in the bones of buildings. The motel Sam stumbled into looked like it had been built by someone who hated straight lines, the siding warped, signage flickering its final breath.

Inside, Y/N pressed an old cloth to Sam’s hand, now wrapped in gauze that had soaked through for the second time. His normally steady fingers trembled beneath her touch. She knelt before him, their knees nearly touching, the little rabbit’s foot lying innocently beside a pile of first aid supplies on the stained motel table.

“Hold still,” she murmured, though the words came out softer than they were meant to.

Sam flinched as she tightened the bandage, jaw clenching through the pain and whatever humiliation still lingered from his chaotic string of failures since the cursed object first landed in his palm. She’d been there for most of it—his pratfalls, his burned laptop, the loss of his shoe. And now, bleeding and bruised from Bela’s ambush, Sam had finally cracked.

“I can’t do anything right today,” he muttered, voice low and bitter.

Y/N’s hands slowed. She lifted her gaze to meet his.

“That’s not true.”

He gave a dry laugh. “I got us robbed. I lost the foot. I lost my shoe, Y/N.”

Her lips twitched, not in mockery but in some aching, affectionate exhale of disbelief. She reached up to gently brush the damp hair off his forehead. “And still, here you are. Breathing. Stitchable. Infinitely endearing, if I’m being honest.”

His brows rose. “Endearing?”

“I mean, there’s a kind of charm to watching a six-foot-four guy trip over air and still try to act like he’s in control.”

Sam snorted, his laugh rough-edged but real. “Thanks, I guess.”

Their hands lingered—his large and warm against her smaller, steadier ones. For all the chaos the cursed object brought, something about this moment felt carved out of quieter, kinder stone.

---

It started when Bobby sent them to retrieve the rabbit’s foot from a storage unit full of old hunter gear. Y/N had insisted on coming—Sam had only just started trusting her on hunts, despite the fact that she'd already saved Dean’s life twice since the Devil’s Gate opened.

He liked that she was calm under pressure, even more that she didn’t flinch when Dean made a crude joke or when things got bloody. And somewhere between salt lines and shotgun shells, Sam realized she was more than backup. She was safety.

But after the break-in—after the foot changed hands and the curse kicked in—he wasn’t the one protecting her anymore. She was the one shielding him from ricocheting bullets, from slick kitchen floors, from Bela’s snide taunts and thieving fingers.

He hated it.

He hated being the liability.

And Y/N saw that.

---

Later, when Dean left to grab food (or blow off steam, more likely), Y/N stood at the window, arms crossed, watching night bleed across the sky. Sam watched her instead. The motel light haloed her in gold, catching strands of her hair like spun sugar.

“You should be pissed at me,” he said.

She turned slowly. “Why?”

“Because I dragged you into this. I should’ve protected you, not the other way around.”

Y/N crossed the room, sitting beside him on the bed this time. “Sam. If the roles were reversed—and they have been—you wouldn’t hesitate to take a bullet for me."

He held her gaze. “That’s the thing. You did take one.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.

“Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger that day, Sam,” she said softly, “but I chose to stay. That means something. Doesn’t it?”

He looked at her like she’d just said something holy. And maybe she had.

---

When the curse was broken—Bobby handled that part, along with salting and burning the foot—Sam still felt the weight of it. Not the luck, but the helplessness it left behind. And Y/N saw that too.

The next morning, she found him sitting on the hood of the Impala, shoeless, sipping lukewarm coffee. She had a pair of boots in her hands. Not new, not expensive. But warm, dry, and his size.

He blinked. “Where’d you—?”

“You lost your shoe, remember?” she teased, handing them over. “Figured you’d need replacements. Plus, I liked the way you looked at me just now when I brought them.”

Sam slid them on and glanced up, that boyish smile sneaking its way past everything else.

“Thanks.”

She smiled. “Anytime, Winchester.”

---

They didn’t kiss until the next town. Didn’t share a bed until a week later, when Dean gave them a knowing smirk and took the other room. But the first time Sam touched her face and pressed his forehead to hers, it wasn’t about luck or curses or who protected who.

It was just about her. And him. And the way they always seemed to find each other in the mess.

Even on days when he lost his shoe.

Written by: Little Devil ♡

[eisforeidolon]

Question: My question for you guys is if you could take from any, your whole career -

Jared: Wow.

Question: any outfit, from any character, from any of your shows, not just Supernatural, what would it be and why?

Jared: I'll answer for him, and he can answer for me, but have you seen - because I was there with him for every effing day - lederhosen. [both nod]

Jensen: That's a good one, that was a good one.

Jared: Now you can answer for me.

Jensen: Uh the uh - [to audience shouting] What? No. I would say the white Lucifer suit.

Jared: [hits Jensen on the arm, very excitedly] I was gonna say that! I'll say this -

Jensen: I know you, buddy, I know you [holds out fist, Jared fistbumps]

Jared: And I will say this, I have it.

Jensen: You've got that one, I've got the uh -

Jared: Because who the fuck else can fit in a suit that was tailored to me? They're like we usually sell things after the show is over but [makes helpless gesture]-

Jensen: This is tailored for you.

Jared: You know, unless somebody in the NBA wants to buy the shit, here you go. So I have a storage unit that we shared for maybe - [to Jensen] Do you have anything there still? Whatever it was.

Jensen: [thinking face] I think I've got some stuff we took from the show in there. [laughs]

Jared: I'm like, where is that damn, uh-huh, and then I see Jensen wearing it. But, uh, yeah, I have some cool stuff in that unit, so I might have to -

Jensen: When we got back from when the show finished up, he got a storage unit, I was like, 'Hey, can I throw some stuff in there?' It was just all Supernatural shit.

Jared: It would have been like if there was a Supernatural fan on Storage Wars - it was like, season one crew gifts, season two crew gifts, every script, every t-shirt, all the outfits -

Jensen: Sconces from the Men of Letters bunker.

Jared: I- It was for me but , did you keep your sconces?

Jensen: Yeah.

Jared: Okay, so I also have -

Jensen: I used - fun fact for ya, I used those sconces in The Winchesters, in their little [?] spot - you can see that it's the same sconces from the Men of Letters.

Jared: I have one of the, um, I don't know what you call it, it's like an ashtray on a pedestal kind of thing and it had a little lighter? And I love it and I have a little outside area where I like to have cigars - I've probably had one in the last year, but I enjoy it. I don't have two hours to sit here. But one day when a big rain wind storm in Austin and the next day I went to go clean stuff up and it had fallen. And I was like [exaggerated outraged inhale, hand to chest] - didn't break.

Jensen: That thing's old as sins.

Jared: But it ain't the Losechesters, so. [audience groans]

[the-insomniac-emporium]

SWORDTEMBER '24, DAY 13: POTTERY

Item ID: K0-2413 Item Name: Pot’O’Blades Category: B-5 Origin Point: Aldentium Maxus, Industrius Sector Owner: Alagorr Winchest Description: A large, ceramic vase filled to the brim with micro-bots, along with a storage unit containing an assortment of different hilt styles. Inserting a hilt into the opening activates the micro-bots subroutines, causing them to form a blade that corresponds to the hilt in question. There are 14 unique hilts included within the storage case. Not all can be used at the same time, as there is a finite number of micro-bots, but smaller blades can be used in unison. See supplementary files KO-2413-01 through KO-2413-28 for configurations and possible combinations. The integrity of the constructed blades is sub-optimal, making them next to useless in actual combat, but they do reform quickly if shattered. Item was confiscated due to the import forms being incorrectly filled out, with several sections being left blank. Cataloger’s Notes: Fun concept, I guess, but an absolute pain to catalog. A different supplementary file for every hilt! At least the different designs are very interesting, fun to get the file pictures. Apparently, there’s rumors that Winchest Industries is releasing a version of this for the public market. Can’t help but wonder if Naomi is going to get one for herself. Maybe she’ll get her brother to code some alternate weapons for it, too, so we can goof around together.

-----

Fifteen different hilts already cataloged, measured and photographed, with twelve more to go. One more and Cynthia gets to take a break, maybe grab something to eat from the staff cafeteria… catch up on the latest office gossip at the same time. Ever since the bossman got a tad too aggressive when dealing with the confiscated CC replicas, there had been rumors aplenty about the possibility of him being encouraged to step down, if not outright demoted.

Most folks in the office were quite excited, albeit they were doing their best to hide it. Some of them were even beginning to talk outside of work, to each other, debating whether or not they should reach up the chain of command to push for a specific replacement. Cynthia hadn’t participated in those discussions, preferring to let things sort themselves out without her interference (especially considering there’s no guarantee the rumors are true).

That’s why she has no idea that, if her coworkers do decide to put a name forward, they’d be putting her name forward. Few employees have been at the FPA for as long as her, with as good of a record, and fewer still have any complaints against her. Their only concern regarding her potential promotion is whether or not she actually wants the position. Hard to ask her while she’s at work, and she’s been terribly busy getting set up at her girlfriend’s place… They’ll talk to her eventually, it’s decided, when she’s settled, and when the rumors have borne fruit.

[winchesterstorage]

Business Storage

Insurance details for using Winchester Storage. Please download to view the PDF For more details log on to https://winchesterstorage.co.uk/insurance/

[henrymorris1]

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[burningexeter]

TOP SECRET GOVERNMENT FUNDED COLLECTION, LOCATED IN LOWER MANHATTAN

What you're about to see and read is something that has been kept completely unknown by not just the general public but also several organizations in the U.S. Government as well with this being kept under lock and key by its owner and collected by the people who've helped fund this.

Actually let's cut the bullshit, what this is is a grittier, ultra-hidden, more surreal but also strangely more airier take and combination on and of Warehouse 13 and the SCP Foundation.

Hidden through an alleyway in lower Manhattan, New York, the secret entrance to it is through both a giant elevator straight out of a storage unit or an emergency exit with flights of stairs that you'd almost find in any abandoned warehouses or buildings of sorts. Whichever the way, they take you down to an underground place that's best described as a weird combination of sewer tunnels and a warehouse with sliding doors at the end to the real deal.

When one of the doors is open, here's what you find —

An entire, no VAST collection in a VAST underground warehouse filled left and right with all of these numerous different objects and items that have been collected and stored away from the public and from all of these equally numerous different events. All of them are highly organized in their own distinct sections with their histories written down alongside with them in one way or another.

But before we get to what's in this warehouse, who is the owner of this place that aforementioned keeps it under lock and key — at first, it was simply just one owner however now that's officially changed to TWO owners. Mikasa Ackerman and her wife Historia Reiss.

A former Eldian soldier and the former Eldian Queen, Mikasa's reasoning for doing this is kept completely 100% ambigious but how did Historia get dragged into this?

She followed Mikasa one night to where she was going, she discovered and quietly followed her into the entire warehouse..... only to be "discovered" by Mikasa who already knew she was there and had been following her from the immediate getco. The result was an entire chase that ended with Mikasa sinking her teeth into Historia's left ass cheek.

But what is in this warehouse:

• A 5 1/2" barrel Colt Single Action Army Artillery revolver (A Fistful Of Dollars) with silver rattlesnake inlays on the grips (For A Few Dollars More) and a Colt 1851 Navy revolver with cartridge conversion and the same silver rattlesnake inlays on the grips as well (The Good, The Bad and the Ugly).

• A Colt Model 1873 Single Action Army Revolver, a Smith & Wesson Model 3 "Schofield" Revolver, an FN Model 1903 Pistol, a Spencer Model 1865 Carbine, and a Remington Rolling Block Rifle (Red Dead Redemption).

• A Borchardt C-93, Colt 1851 Navy, Colt New Army & Navy, Colt Single Action Army, FN Model 1900, LeMat Revolver, Mauser C96, Smith & Wesson Schofield Model 3, Volcanic Repeater, Carcano M91/38, Elephant Rifle, Henry 1860, Krag-Jørgensen Rifle, Spencer Model 1860 Carbine, Browning Auto-5, 12 Gauge Double Barreled Shotgun, Sawed Off Shotgun, Winchester Model 1887, Winchester Model 1897 and bow and arrows (Red Dead Redemption 2).

• A large-bore 4-shot double-action revolver forged from a combination of Irish church bells, cold iron from crucifixes and blessed silver. Its wooden grips, estimated to be nearly 2000 years old, are engraved with a logo of a raised fist holding a dagger. Weighing in at about 10 pounds unloaded and chambered for custom 22mm cartridges, it has enough muzzle energy and recoil to break a normal man's arm (Mike Mignola's Hellboy Comic Series).

• An ornate golden ring with a large red stone in an unusual setting, not found in any Earth jeweler's catalog (Flash Gordon).

And believe it or not, that's just five. There's plenty of more where that came from. If you wanna do a retroactive shared universe than this is how you do it, my friends.

[winchesterremovals]

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[winchesterremovals1]

Storage units

So it's October already! & The sun is setting earlier and rising later. We’ll soon start to see the leaves falling if you haven’t already.For more details log on to https://winchesterremovals.co.uk/blog/average-time-to-move-uk-2021/

[replica-weapons]

The Role of Antique Handguns in Military and Wild West History

The imagery of the Old West is incomplete without guns. From cattle rustlers to lawmen, the frontier era of the United States saw firearms becoming essential elements of survival, law enforcement, and, sometimes, rebellion. Among these, the antique handgun played a crucial role in both military history and in shaping the legend of the Wild West.

Firearms In The Old West As An Equipment Of Necessity

Towns like Tombstone and Dodge City had fewer laws and were quite empty in the late 1800s. Communities have to rely on their own equipment to protect themselves. Antique handguns like revolvers or pistols of earlier models were easy to carry and quite compact. It helped cowboys and civilians to defend themselves efficiently. 

Gun ownership was widespread across the Wild West territories. People in the Wild West needed firearms to protect their animals and their homes. 

The Colt Single Action Army: A Wild West Icon

Time has shown the Colt Single Action Army from 1873 to be the definitive antique revolver that rules Western Old West history. This handgun gained popularity among all members of frontier society, from lawbreakers to sheriff deputies and military personnel to frontier dwellers. The revolver earned its reputation through its strong construction along with its powerful shooting capabilities and precise handling so Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson included it in their collections.

The revolver had improved firing speed features, and it accepted ammunition from both .45 Colt and .44-40 cartridges, which enabled use with Winchester 1873 rifles. The revolver was designed to save ammunition storage space since gun owners could handle their ammunition more efficiently during difficult supply shortages.

Old Western Pistols and Its Influence 

Public opinion did not match reality since numerous towns actually had legal restrictions against gun violence. All people coming into Tombstone, Arizona, were forced to hand over any firearms they brought. The enactment of Ordinance No. 9 prohibited carrying deadly weapons unless done with a written grant from officials.

The order established conditions for a historic gun battle that took place at the OK Corral. According to Marshal Virgil Earp, the legal requirement led to a 30-second gunfire battle with a group of Cowboys.

The Military And The Frontier

The Wild West receives significant attention regarding civilians, yet the military heavily contributed to its development. Frontier outposts required their military units to possess dependable Western handguns both for dealing with hostile tribes and for extensive border control operations.

The Colt and Remington types of antique revolvers maintained their status as standard service weapons during the time after the Civil War. These guns earned value because of their basic nature and effortless repair ability that remote military bases needed. Military surplus guns operated by soldiers made their way into civilian possession after both personnel discharge and military equipment sales, thereby uniting military and frontier history.

The Myth And The Reality

The Wild West has been portrayed in numerous Hollywood movies through continuous duels and robberies. Most gun violence emerged due to interpersonal conflicts accompanied by episodes of intoxication in the actual historical events. Crime rates for robbery, organised activity, and unlawful entry were lower than what the pageants of literature portray.

The myth endures an active life due to dime novels while Western films as well as television productions continue to perpetuate it. During that time frame, the antique handgun transcended its original weapon status to embody symbolic meaning. A representation of independence, justice, and survival in a time of uncertainty.

A Selection Of Important Antique Handguns Deserves Special Attention

In addition to the Colt Single Action Army, there were several other widely preferred antique models, which included:

The Remington Model 1858 proved popular because it delivered stable use thanks to its solid frame construction and its quick reload system with cylinder changes.

Smith & Wesson Model 3 operated as a break-action revolver especially suited for military personnel and home defense applications.

Deringers are small, pocket-sized pistols ideal for personal defence.

Such handgun models continue to gain popularity among antique collectors in contemporary times.

Final Thoughts

An antique handgun occupies exclusive roles in military operations as well as in the Wild West historical context. The antique handguns served as vital components for survival and they operated as police instruments alongside representing important aspects of an exciting historical period which continues to engage people today.

The American frontier communities felt the deep-reaching consequences of these weapons in their remote brown plains during that period. These firearms structured wars and impacted legal structures while representing both endurance and ethnic association.