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prentissluvr · 11 months ago

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now you know — sam winchester

cw : gn!awkward!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, canon typical violence and monsters, near drowning experience, poor editing as usual, 6.8K words. part two of makes you wonder.

summary : you become more entangled in "agent" sam's case when you come across the monster he seeks. pronunciation guide (using scottish gaelic) : each-uishge — yahk-oosh-ga. [ disclaimer, i found this on the internet! i’m not scottish nor do i speak scottish gaelic, so correct me if i'm wrong ! ]

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

the bar isn’t your go-to spot after work, mostly because that means you have to talk to people for some reason or another, but you’re feeling good tonight. good, and also still questioning your entire worldview so you figure it’s a good time as any to get a drink.

you’re halfway through your drink, eyes downcast and tracking the details of the table’s wood, when a hand on the back of the chair across from you snags your attention. you look up, slightly startled by the sudden appearance of a stranger. the first thing you notice is how beautiful he is. his rich, lightly curled dark brown hair and finely sculpted features are the kind of handsome that resemble a classic greco-roman kind of beauty.

his unrealistically good looks and charming scottish accent as he asks, “would you mind if i sit here?” almost disarm you completely before you remember that means you’ll have to talk to him. plus, you have a date to schedule with your mysterious agent sam.

“well, i’m headed home soon, so i guess that’s alright,” you say, trying to immediately display your disinterest without flat out rejecting him. when he slides into the chair with a smile that teeters between sleezy and charming, you wish you’d just said no.

“maybe i can change your mind,” he drawls, and you have to hold back from physically cringing. you now desperately want him to go, but don’t know how to get him to politely after having made the mistake letting him sit. “let me buy you another drink,” he offers.

you shake your head. “no, that’s– that’s not really very necessary. this is enough for me,” you refuse, motioning to your half-empty glass.

“oh, come darlin’! a free drink might not be necessary, but it surely’s a nicety, don’t ya think?” he raises a thick, neatly groomed eyebrow at you, making an unfortunately successful attempt at a handsome, flirty look.

for once, you hope that your smile looks just as pained and awkward as it feels. “it’s a kind offer, i just, you know, don’t want another drink, so… that’s okay.”

he lifts his hands a little to signal surrender. “your loss then, love.” as he searches for some other flirty quip that might persuade you better, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, and if you weren’t paying close attention in that exact moment, you would’ve completely missed the sprinkle of sand that falls from his hair and into his lap at the movement. you inhale sharply, suddenly afraid.

you try to sound casual when you pull a classic, “you know, i should really get going. i have an early morning tomorrow.” gathering your stuff up into your arms, you stand and try to convince yourself that you’re seeing things and that even if there was sand in his hair, it was just a coincidence. “have a nice night!”

then, as you spare him one last glance, he tilts his head when he bids you a flirtatious goodbye. “hope to see you here again,” he grins and a few more grains of sand fall to his shoulder, it’s light color stark against the dark fabric of his button up shirt. you try to stay unreadable, but your gaze follows the sand as it falls and his eyes follow yours to his shoulder. he brushes the dirt off and a dangerous look crosses his face. quite frankly, the look terrifies you, so you don’t waste a second to spin on your heel and rush out of the building towards your parked car.

the moment your back is turned, you’re digging around your bag until you find sam’s business card. with shaky hands and hurried feet, you punch the phone number into your phone and hold it to your ear, silently begging for him to pick up as you exit the building and the cool air of the night hits you.

“hello?” comes the newly familiar voice of sam through the phone speaker.

“sam! hi, it’s me, from the museum. you know, earlier today,” you think your voice may have come out a little panicked.

“yeah, yeah, of course,” he answers, voice please at first, then turning more serious, “good to hear from you, is everything alright? it’s sort of late.” he seems to have picked up on the scared edge to your voice.

“i, um, god, i’m about to sound a little bit insane, but i’m just gonna say it. are you a real fbi agent? if yes, that’s great and i’m probably just really paranoid and making things up, if not, can i say something sort of crazy because i think that you might actually believe me? you know, if you’re, uh– not actually an fbi agent who thinks that totally normal reasons can explain those deaths you’re investigating?” you ramble, stumbling awkwardly through your words and feeling like a complete fool. there’s a moment of silence where you curse the fact that you had to park so far away, because you just want to be safely tucked into your car and headed home. the thought that sam thinks you’re totally off your rocker crosses your mind.

but sam’s sigh on the other line sounds almost relieved, and he answers. “i’m not– not an fbi agent. and trust me, whatever you could say that you might think is crazy, is probably nothing compared to some of the shit i’ve seen, so you can say whatever it is. i promise i won’t think you’re crazy.”

“okay,” you say breathlessly as your vague suspicions are confirmed. then you let it just tumble from your lips. “i think that the each-uisge is real and that i just met it and–” you cut yourself off when you hear something behind you. you’ve been so focused on sam that you haven’t been paying enough attention to anything else, and when you whip your head around, you see the man from the bar following you from a bit of a distance. you draw in a sharp breath of fear.

“shit,” sam curses, “where? you gotta get away from it, meet me at the–,” he instructs quickly.

you cut him off, real panic entering your voice as you pick up your speed, almost at a run. “fuck, sam, he’s coming for me, i think– i– i don’t know. but he had sand in his hair and he saw me looking at it and he’s following me and i’m almost to my car,” you ramble, glancing over your shoulder. the man is closer than before, he’s clearly picked up his own pace as well. “but he’s getting closer and i don’t have any iron or silver or anything and i–”

“hey, hey, listen to me. run as fast as you can to your car. you’re gonna be okay.” sam’s calm and level headedness are helpful, and immediately, you begin to sprint. but with a glance backwards, you see the thing gaining on you with unnatural speed. “drive anywhere and i’ll track your phone, i’m already on my way to come get you, okay? you’re gonna be fine.”

you don’t realize you’re crying until you choke on your tears when you try to speak. “sam i– i don’t think i can make it, he’s too fast. the lake isn’t far from here, just head there, i–” you scream when an unnaturally strong hand clamps around your wrist.

you hear sam shout your name as you’re whirled around to face the creepy man from the bar. you try to pull away, but his skin is like adhesive, literally. you can feel your skin sticking to his like there’s super glue leaking from his pores.

“sam, please,” you sob out before the phone is ripped out of your hand and tossed aside. the man, or creature, or whatever bares his teeth in your face.

“it’s too late, sweetheart. all that hunter’s gonna find of you is your liver in the water. but you already know that, don’t you? hmm? how’d you know what i am?” he snarls, tugging you closer to him and smirking.

you don’t answer, just growl in frustration and struggle helplessly against him. “let me go!” you demand through tears.

“‘fraid that’s not an option, lass.” he smirks, then he’s yanking you behind him, pressing you into his back and in horror, you realize that his shape is changing right against you until you’re stuck to the back of a tall, dark horse, high above the ground. you let out a strangled scream and desperately struggle to get off. but, just as the folklore tells it, his sleek coat is impossibly sticky, as the lake must be close enough for him to smell its waters.

the horse leaps into a gallop, and another yelp is pulled from your lips from the speed he takes off at. panic rips through you and you grip the hair of the horse’s mane to keep your upper body from being yanked backwards. in a small moment of clear thinking, you keep your other hand from touching the horse. indeed, even his mane is adhesive, and you’re now stuck with just a single free hand.

the streets and buildings are a complete blur to you with the combination of such speed and the tears in your eyes. all you can tell is when the town fades into the forest, and you’re being torn at by harsh, unforgiving tree branches. at this point, you know that begging or screaming is useless. so, you let tears be ripped from your eyes and pulled into the air by the wind rippling past you, and silently beg to whatever entity may be listening that sam gets to you on time.

suddenly, you’ve torn past the trees and straight into the shallow waters of the lake, and your hope fades. in seconds, your feet dip into the cold shock of water, and you think of how you never imagined your life would end this way. mostly because you didn’t think that shape-shifting killer horse-men were real, but here you are.

as your helplessness increases, you remember the silver necklace around your neck. it’s small, mostly likely inconsequential, but you still yank it off of your neck and press it against the neck of the large animal. it rears up, whinnying in pain, and you would’ve fallen and likely cracked your head open if you weren’t stuck to the creature’s back.

the silver clearly burns, but it’s too small to keep the large creature from completing its mission. it’s hungry.

as your knees dip under the cold water, you hear the rumble of an old engine, then glance back just in time to see a tall, broad silhouette against the car’s bright headlights, running towards you as your waist, then chest are pulled under.

it’s sam, and he yells your name as he splashes into the dark water. you choke out his name, then gulp in a full breath as the water reaches your chin, then swallows you up whole. it’s coldest against your head, suffocating and heavy and horrifying.

you don’t stop struggling when you’re submerged, hoping maybe the adhesive wears up under water. of course, you’re not so lucky, but your struggle seems to slow down the horse as it dives deeper into the water. there’s a long, torturous moment that passes where you’re positive that sam will be too late; your lungs already burn and you don’t think it’ll take too long for you to be drowned and eaten by something that probably shouldn’t exist.

but, your hopelessness is interrupted when the dulled light of his flashlight hits you, just as it begins to flicker and fail from being under water. then, his long arm is reaching out, grabbing hold of the horses mane to tug himself closer. the horse attempts to kick him away, but sam is able to sink a long dagger blade into the horse’s neck. a shudder passes through the monster, then it stills, and your immediately begin to float away from it. it’s magical properties fail as it dies, dark blood oozing out into the water.

in a haze, you notice the water tainted with blood is warmer. it’s darkness and the way it seeps through the water reminds you of the ink of a squid. in a split second, sam’s strong arm wraps around your waist as his flashlight dies and the darkness in your vision isn’t just from the loss of light, but the loss of consciousness too.

you do your best to cling to your awareness and sam’s broad shoulders, but you go limp in his arms just a few heavy moments before he breaks the surface, gasping and struggling a bit from holding both you and the dagger.

dean is right there to help sam, knee deep in the water. he quickly takes a hold of you and carries you to the edge of the water where he lays you down on your back. sam drops to his knees right beside you, and immediately, his hands are cupping your face, one hand slapping your cheek gently to see if you’ll wake up on your own before he starts cpr.

dean’s about to shove sam out of the way to do it himself, given that he’s far less exhausted, when your eyes fly open and you cough violently, your lungs doing their best to expel the unwelcome water from your lungs.

even soaked in cold water, sam’s hands are still steady as he turns you to your side and pats your back to be sure that you don’t choke. you can’t really make out what he’s saying, but his voice is comforting as you gasp and sputter, your hands grasping at his for something solid to take hold of.

“it’s okay, it’s okay. you’re safe now, i got you.” sam reassures, voice soft and steady. he pulls you up and into his chest as your coughing becomes less laden with lake water and more so with tears. it crosses your mind that you hate to be seen so uncomposed and vulnerable, choking a little on your own sobs, shaking from cold and residual fear, and sort of unable to speak after your whole entire view of the world has been grabbed hold of by some other force and tilted to a whole new angle. but you let sam hold you anyways; his broad frame, large set of hands, and hushed voice are so grounding that you wouldn’t dare move away.

you’re vaguely aware of someone else shrugging a warm, dry jacket over your shoulders, and sam is quick to readjust and pull it tight around you. and with that, your head tucked into his neck and your arms wrapped around his middle, you finally begin to calm down. your breathing evens to match the pace of his hand rubbing up and down your back and you shudder against him one last time before you shift to put a palm on the ground and take responsibility for some of your own body weight. you’re still leaning against him, because you’re not sure you could hold yourself up on your own, but you want it to be known that you’re regaining your composure.

the first words that you mean to say to sam are thank you, but the moment you open your mouth, you catch sight of something glinting in the moonlight just a foot or two away. so instead of the gratitude you mean to express, the words, “is that my dirk?” tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. sam winces guiltily underneath you and in an instant, you’re stumbling to correct yourself.

“oh god, that’s not what i meant to say, i’m so sorry. that is so horribly ungrateful of me,” your voice shakes from the chattering of your teeth as you look at him with total regret. “i was trying to say ‘thank you’ and i got distracted and i said that instead, but i didn’t mean it that way, i was just… confused.” you don’t even catch the way that sam smiles at you, all soft and endeared.

and in reality, you are worried about the state of your priceless knife. you truly mean that you’re sorry for saying that instead of thank you first, but you still scramble away from sam in order to get the knife in your own hands.

the blade has mostly been washed up by the waters of the lake, but there’s residue of a dark, sticky substance that makes you cringe. but, with a sigh of relief, you realize that there’s no further damage to the artifact and carefully clean it with the still dripping wet fabric of your shirt.

behind you, someone’s laughing and it’s not sam. you finally fully register the presence of another person. you look up to see another man, pretty like sam, but with an amused smirk on his features.

“sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. “thank you, both of you. for, you know, saving my sorry ass.”

“of course,” comes sam’s sincere voice, “i’m just glad we got here in time. i’m sorry this happened. and for stealing your dirk.” you look over at him with an embarrassed, shaky smile. he points to the other man with his chin and you return your gaze to him. “that’s my brother, dean.” dean holds up his hand in a sort of greeting and you nod back.

“let’s get you two dried off,” dean says, voice still a little amused. “where can we drop you?” he asks kindly, stepping towards you and holding out a hand to help you up. you take his hand, still dripping the dagger in your other, and he hoists you up. as you’re still finding your footing, you feel sam by your side, then his big hand on the small of your back keeping you steady.

“thanks,” you murmur to the both of them. sam smiles at you, and dean lets your hand go, knowing that sam will be plenty pleased and anxious to be the one to lead you to the car. he managed to annoy sam into admitting that he asked you out on a date within minutes after he got back to the motel from the museum. sam had been trying not to be too smiley. he absolutely had been all smiley.

now, sam’s not smiling. he’s worried and completely guilt-ridden because he’s managed to see the sweet, awkward, and at ease you, and then a version of you that’s limp in his arms. as he ushers your shaking form into the back of the impala, he wonders if he should call it off. tell you he can’t make it to a date, that there’s a new case and he has to leave right away. not call you back. it’s nowhere near his fault that the each-uisge got to you, and yet, he knows that proximity to him means danger. that’s the last thing that he wants for you, even if he thinks he might want you.

and yet, you shiver and gingerly clutch onto your 16th century scottish dirk in the back seat of his brother’s car and when he glances back at you, you have the audacity to send him an adorable, lopsided little smile. you’ve just found out that monsters are real and nearly drowned at one’s hands and you have the audacity to smile at him? smile at him like you’re just fine when you’re so cold he can see you shivering through the rearview mirror and he feels like it’s his fault? and you look like you feel awkward, like you think smiling at him is the most normal thing you can think to do, and it makes him like you very much.

you’re irresistible, and he’d really like to be able to resist you, for your own sake.

“so,” when you start to speak, your voice trembles a little, just because of the way your teeth chatter. sam’s cold too, but it seems to be affecting you more. “hot, homicidal horse-man shapeshifters from scottish folklore are real,” you state, sounding an odd mix of afraid, confused, and very curious. you lean forward and lean against the seats in front of you. “is there… more?”

sam turns his head to look at you, his face full of regret. “yeah,” he says, sighing. “pretty much anything supernatural you can think of. from werewolves, vampires, and ghosts to djinn, each-uisge.”

“oh,” you ponder, “that’s… insane,” you settle on. sam nods in agreement.

dean lets out a huff of laughter. “you got that right. sounds like you’re handling it pretty okay, though,” he commends you.

you shrug, then admit, “i’m actually… trying not to be excited right now because i almost just died from that shit, but… it’s– sort of, kind of, just a little bit cool to me. to know that it’s all real, not that there’s dangerous creatures out there killing people. very not cool,” you nod at your own words awkwardly, trying to be honest about how you feel without sounding insensitive. “and you two… what? go around and save people from them?” you ask, tilting your head to the side curiously.

“yep,” dean chimes, “we’re hunters. we find monsters and gank ‘em for a living. not that it pays.”

“huh. hunters… that must… suck,” you conclude, then try to backtrack, “not– not that i’m saying it’s not important or– or that your lives suck, or– or… yeah.”

“no, no, it’s okay,” sam assures you, “it kind of does suck. a lot, sometimes, but we… we help people, and it’s worth it.” he wants you to think it sucks. he wants you to hate it and he wants you to think it’s too dangerous and awful that you don’t even want to be associated with him. and at the same time, he wants you to think that he helps, that he thinks it’s worth it because he can’t lie about that either. and he already knows, from the way you’re taking things, you won’t think of it as any reason not to be at least alright with him. god, sam’s got no idea what the hell to think, or what the hell to want.

“yeah,” you nod, “yeah, that’s– that’s good of you two.” you sort of wondered before if all this might change how you feel about going on a date with sam. when you think about it now, it doesn’t. it doesn’t change a thing. you still think he’s delightful. “so… where are you two staying? the bed and breakfast?”

“uh, no, we’re staying in the motel just outta town,” sam answers.

“in that shithole?” you raise your eyebrows skeptically. “gosh, i hear there’s never any hot water.”

“damn straight,” confirms dean with a humorless chuckle. “but we’ve had worse. at least this the water gets lukewarm.” sam shoots dean a look that neither of you catch, and the next words that you say are the reason for it.

“well, you two should come shower in my apartment, then,” you don’t seem to realize that’s a little bit suggestive, but neither could care less. it’s clearly just a kind offer. “it’s always hot and the water pressure is pretty much perfect. and sam, if you’re anywhere near as cold as i am, you definitely need a hot shower.”

“no, no, we shouldn’t,” sam refutes, voice kind and regretful in a way he hadn’t meant to show. “we don’t want to intrude after all the shit from tonight.”

you swallow, wondering if you can convince him to stay without admitting that you’re still scared. but you figure that might be the only way. after saving your life he seems to feel guilty, and you can’t understand why. “you wouldn’t be intruding, i promise. you… you really need a hot shower.”

“i’ll be alright,” he assures you, adding, “i’ve had much worse,” for good measure. he needs you to know that it’s dangerous to know him.

you sigh and sit back, leaning into the leather seat. “would you… would you mind, you know, staying with me a little longer?” you let a little bit of vulnerability seep into your voice; you don’t want to say the words i’m still scared, but you do want to give sam a reason to stay that he’ll actually take.

he glances back at you, and it’s too dark to see the look on his face; still guilty, but soft, warm, and understanding.

“no, no, i wouldn’t mind,” he says, voice extra gentle. you let out a relieved breath, glad that he understood your message. the rest of the car ride is quiet aside from your instructions guiding dean to your apartment. he pulls to the side of the road in front of your building. sam gets out first, opening your door for you and hovering his big palm over your head as you step out of the small car. you thank him quietly with a soft smile. he heads to the trunk to grab a spare change of dry clothes and you pull the big brown leather jacket off of your shoulders. you assume it to be dean’s, so you open the passenger’s side door and hand it to him.

“thank you, dean. you, um, if you want, you’re welcome to take a hot shower here, too,” you offer, noting the way he doesn’t actually park the car or step out himself.

“that’s alright, sweetheart,” he grins, “i’ll leave you and sammy alone.” his tone is definitely suggestive, and he winks at you. you sputter for a second, then clear your throat awkwardly.

“i, um, sure! sounds good,” you squeak out, quickly retreating from the car and shutting the door. it’s very quiet, but you think you hear dean laughing a little. you try not to look completely embarrassed when sam approaches you.

“dean say he’s not coming?” he asks.

you shake your head. “uh, n-no he said he’s fine.”

sam raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything about the way you seem much more flustered than you were just moments ago. he’s sure than dean made some inappropriate comment, and he’ll apologize for it later.

“he say he’d wait here?” he asks instead. the last thing he wants is for dean to have inadvertently invited sam over for the night.

“um, no, i-i figured that he’d- that you’d…” you swallow thickly, unsure how to proceed. then dean shifts the car into drive and begins to pull back into the street.

“dean, wait!” sam calls after him, certainly loud enough to hear. sam is ignored, and the gorgeous black car just rumbles down the street. “god, i’m sorry about him. i’ll call him to pick me up.” he looks at you apologetically but you shake your head.

“no, no, it’s okay! i sort of thought that you… you know, might… stay over? only if you’re okay with that, i- it’s okay if you want him to pick you obviously, but… my couch is free and comfortable. probably better than the shitty motel mattresses.” you look at him, eyes both kind and unsure, and he finally remembers that you’re still shivering, even more without dean’s jacket pulled over your shoulders.

“i… if you’re sure. let’s just get inside for now,” he urges, hovering his hand over your shoulder blade as you both turn and walk into the building. you lead the way to your apartment, quiet and soft in your movements. somehow, sam is softer.

inside, he insists that you don’t worry about him, that you head right into the shower because you’re still shivering and it’s got him really quite worried. but you resist, first grabbing him a dry towel and a big fluffy blanket to warm himself up with while he waits in the living room. you tell him where the mugs and the tea can be found, and that the kettle should boil filtered water only.

“you should make yourself a hot cup of tea,” you say, and tell him that the decaffeinated green genmaicha is your favorite for this time of night if he’d like to make one for you too. sure that he’d feel unuseful just sitting on the couch, you give him something to do.

when you step into the shower, you expect to be soothed. you expect your shoulders to relax and your limbs to stop shuddering and your teeth to quit chattering. it’s true that the bone deep chill begins to fade, and you stop fearing hypothermia. but you are not near soothed or relaxed. it’s not horrible because of the heat, the light, and the familiar surroundings. but the water on your skin is not as welcome as you’d wished. it’s not cold enough or suffocating enough to pull you back down into the lake with the sticky flesh-eating horse, but it’s not pleasant at all.

you wash up quickly, then step out, dry off, and get dressed even quicker. you cover yourself in the sort of clothing fit for the middle of winter when you’ve been snowed in. fleece pajama pants, a cotton, crew neck long-sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt to top it all off with. you don’t forget thick socks or the fuzzy blanket from your bed.

you find sam in your living room, a cup of tea on the coffee table and another in his hands as he stands with the green towel you gave him before wrapped over his shoulders.

“why aren’t you sitting?” you ask, perturbed by the idea that he’s been standing this whole time.

“i… didn’t want to get your furniture wet,” he explains, almost sheepishly. you shake your head at him, half amused by the lengths he goes to be gentlemanly.

“that’s sweet, but unnecessary. i wouldn’t have minded,” you say softly. “anyway, the shower’s all yours. take as long as you like.”

he sets his mug down and gathers up his change of clothes before heading towards the bathroom.

“and there’s a fresh towel on the counter! don’t use that green one,” you call after him lightly, wanting to be sure he won’t reuse the already damp one.

“okay,” he calls back, and he’s turned away so you don’t see the soft smile on his lips. you settle into one end of your couch, curled up with the blanket wrapped tight around your body for warmth and comfort. no matter how much you wish you weren’t, you’re still shaken from everything, especially after the feeling of water on your skin again. you reach for the mug on the table, it’s ceramic material warm on your hands, but no longer too hot to hold. it’s a soothing feeling, along with the hot, earthy tea that slides down your throat and into your stomach when you take a long drag of the drink.

all you do is sit there, drinking tea and wondering when sam will be done. you told him to take as long he wanted, but the sight of him is comforting, and you hope he’s done soon.

he looks refreshed and relaxed when he emerges from the bathroom. he sits in the chair across from you with a grateful smile.

“thank you,” he says, voice quite lovely and sincere, “it’s been a while since i’ve had such a nice shower.” to you, he wasn’t gone too long, but for him, it was special and an absolute privilege to have a hot shower last that long. and your bathroom isn’t that nice by any stretch, but it certainly beats anything he can find in a motel. it’s homier, warmer, and familiar only because it suits you. honestly, he had trouble getting the courage to turn off the shower head; it was just too pleasant. but he didn’t want to wrack up your water bill, so he gave himself an extra minute before stepping out and getting redressed.

and now you’re telling him about how easy of a favor it was, and that he’s welcome to that sort of thing anytime. he’s so unsure of how to proceed, so conflicted, that you’re the one to bring it up.

“so… are you still, y’know, um, interested? in going out to lunch, that is,” you ask hopefully, clumsily.

oh god. he doesn’t think he has the strength to say no, to disappoint you, to ruin this chance with you. but it’s dangerous for you and that’s the last thing he wants. yet, he’s not sure he could ever bear the face you might make if he makes some lame excuse to blow you off. and it would all be a total lie. he is interested, maybe more than just that. he goddamn wants it.

“i am. of course i am.” he’s more relieved than scared when he says that, so he feels like it must be right. and he hates the idea that you’d even doubt his interest in you. if anyone has the right to be second guessing a date, it’s you. he’s honestly a little surprised you’d still want this. surprised, and beyond flattered. “i… don’t know how long i’ll be in town, but i’ll of course be here tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

you grin widely. “yeah, yeah that’s perfect.” your expression shifts and you look at him carefully. “and… after that? i don’t mean to jump ahead or anything and i… i know you’ll be… traveling, but it sort of seems like sometimes, you know, maybe, i could possibly… help you out? if you ever need information on weapons and lore and that sort of thing… you could, y'know, call me? i… i’d love to help, at the very least.” hopeful and clumsy. that seems to be the theme of the night for your words.

sam’s gaze, no, his whole form softens. he loves the way you talk and he finds it sort of crazy that he’s met you only this afternoon. for a moment he thinks he’s surprised by your offer to help, but when he considers it for a moment, he’s really not. it fits you; your warmth, kindness, passion, and intelligence. he’s still scared about involving you with him at all, even more scared about involving you in hunting directly, even if you just help with information.

yet somehow, your offer eases him. it’s a thought you’ve had all on your own, something you say you’d actually like to be able to do. he supposes he should just be honest with you.

“i’ll call you. not just for help,” he begins, nodding to assure you that he wants that, and more. he’s so torn. torn between caving and just diving into this chance that he has or walking away and most likely saving you a whole lot of grief. and yet, it absolutely wouldn’t be fair to not give you a choice, so that’s exactly what he’ll do. “but… you… are you sure about this?” he asks with a heavy sigh, eyes careful and sincere as he examines your expression, your curled up form indicating you might still be feeling shaken.

“it’s not pleasant. people die,” he says, frank, but still gentle in tone. “dean and i, we could die. and you being involved… it makes things dangerous for you. even if you’re not out there, physically in the fight, it… it’s dangerous to be associated with us. with me. i don’t want that for you, but i… i would like to get to know you better, i know that much. and i know that it’s your choice, not mine. if helping is what you really want to do… i’m sure that you could save lives. we… could use your help. just… you can back out at any time. you can back out right now, if that’s what you want.”

he’s grateful that you really take a long moment to consider what he says. your eyes roam over his face, taking in the details of his expression, his sincerity, all of the changes in tone that you can pick up on. you think about it, you really do.

“let’s get to know each other,” you decide, voice soft. as you go on, you sound both unsure, like you’re still finding your footing, and determined, like you’re sure you’ll be steady eventually. “i’d really like that… as for the rest… for the monsters and all that, i… i’d still like to help. or at least try. if… if it’s too much, or feels dangerous, then i can… i can figure out what to do then. but if i could help save lives? i… i can’t just ignore that. i don’t want to ignore that. i do really appreciate that you're, you know, worried about my safety, it– it’s very sweet, i just– i know that i want this.” you say the last bit definitively, like you’ve been building up to it, convincing yourself of it and now you really believe it.

sam’s relieved. he shouldn’t be, but he is. he wanted that answer, no matter his worries. he nods simply, giving you a soft smile. “okay. thank you.”

you smile back, thinking it’s sweet that he thanks you for offering your help, and maybe for something else too.

“my, uh, my lunch break is only half an hour,” you state, shifting the conversation just a little bit. “and i– i get if you’re tired, but we could… start now. you know, the getting to know each other part,” you offer, voice a little quiet and unsure again. you’re a bit clumsy and awkward when it comes to… well, most everything, but especially this sort of thing. you’re not even sure exactly what this is supposed to be. flirting? dating? or maybe it’s just as simple as that; getting to know each other. sam’s not perfect at this either, but he can certainly step into the more confident role for you. he wants you to feel at ease.

“yeah,” he says softly. “i’m not too tired. i don’t want to keep you up late, though. tonight was… tiring, i’m sure, and you have work in the morning.”

goodness, he’s so caring and considerate that it almost hurts. you fight back a yawn, trying not to prove his point as you think about waking to your alarm clock tomorrow morning. you don’t want to go to bed yet, and you don’t want to miss out on whatever time you have to talk with him.

“well… maybe i can call off. even just for the morning. i’ve got plenty of paid time off saved up,” you suggest, glad for this idea. you’re positive that you deserve to miss a little bit of work after what you just went through.

if you were offering just for him, sam would shake his head, insist that you don’t have to. but he considers that not having to worry about work in the morning and being able to sleep in would likely be very good for you.

“if that’s what you want, it makes sense,” he says, smiling softly.

“okay,” you smile back, “i’ll email my boss, it’ll only take a minute. she’ll see it in the morning.” your computer’s in your room, so you leave sam to his own devices for just a moment. in the hallway on the way back, you speak up so he can hear you as you approach. “would you like to watch a movie? you might be right that i’m a little too tired to stay up talking, but i… don’t quite want to go to bed.” your voice quiets once you’re back in the small living room. frankly, the idea of being alone in your room, of laying down with nothing to do but think or sleep, frightens you.

his face softens like he can read your fear. “that sounds perfect to me.” you relax at his constant sweetness and subtle encouragements.

“perfect,” you smile. “you’ll… have to get up so i can move that chair out of the way. you can sit on the couch, though.” he stands and moves the chair away from the tv for you, then sits on the other end of the couch. you snuggle into your own corner after picking a dvd. turns out that sam has seen and loves your favorite movie.

turns out that he’s also a little too respectful and careful to get very close to you as you watch, but he doesn’t mind when you grow sleepy and stretch your legs a little more over the cushions. you don’t ask; you’re a little embarrassed, so he tells you it’s alright if you rest your feet against his thigh. and he doesn’t know where to put his hand after that, so you tell him that he can rest it on your calf. he does, and just that is infinitely comforting.

and turns out that, halfway through the movie, when you fall into a soft, quiet sleep, the only thing that sam’s worried about anymore is if he should let you just sleep there or carry you to your own bed. he doesn’t care if he has to sleep curled up in the corner of the couch or that chair or on the goddamn floor; he just doesn’t want to wake you.

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samsblades · 9 months ago

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now you know — sam winchester

cw : gn!awkward!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, canon typical violence and monsters, near drowning experience, poor editing as usual, 6.8K words. part two of makes you wonder.

summary : you become more entangled in “agent” sam’s case when you come across the monster he seeks. pronunciation guide (using scottish gaelic) : each-uishge — yahk-oosh-ga. [ disclaimer, i found this on the internet! i’m not scottish nor do i speak scottish gaelic, so correct me if i’m wrong ! ]