#and now sam kisses darlin’s temple

[nanowatzophina]

Just some cozy cuddles.

[prentissluvr]

take my breath away — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst, hurt/comfort, fluff ➖⟢ cw : features dean x reader (platonic), near death experience, suffocation, other canon violence and death, injuries, blood mention, swearing, so much pining, case fic, stereotypical witch, (not) unrequited love, petty fights/arguments, petty sam, kissing, crying, guilt, reader vaguely implied to be shorter than sam, pet names, food mentions, (baby, honey - from sam, darlin'/kiddo from dean), no use of y/n, mentions of end of season 2-4 spoilers, poorly edited, lmk if i missed something! ➖⟢ wc : 13.7K summary : because of an unexpected witch's curse, it's almost too late for you and sam to confess your feelings to each other.

you see sam when it rains. even if he’s sitting right in front of you, you’ll look out the car window and at the rivulets of water rushing down the glass, distorting the image of an empty highway and summer-time trees at dusk, and you’ll see him at seventeen with rain in his hair and running down his cheeks. you’ll think of that smile he gave you as he took your hand and how that look he had in his eyes haunts you worse than any ghost you’ve seen, because you think it could’ve been love. sometimes, you’ll still see glimpses of that sam, but he can be rare. so, you go as far to wonder if maybe he still looks at you like that when your gaze is turned away. 

once, when the windows were down and he was sitting in the back with you for a change, the spring air was nice and clean as it filtered into the sometimes stuffy car, and you felt his multicolor gaze watching you. the look on his face changed when you locked eyes, but for an imagined moment, it seemed that you—your eyes closed against the wind and a light smile on your face that, for once, wasn’t grim—were his everything.

you press your temple to the cold glass of the window, hoping it’ll sober you up a little from your love-drunk state. it’s so goddamn stupid that you’re even thinking about him like this right now, because he’s still sort of mad at you for something rash you did during your last hunt. only you don’t think it was stupid, so you’re half pissed that he won’t let it go. staring at the back of his head and the pretty curled ends of his hair, you sigh quietly. even his shoulders rising up past the seat are handsome. you miss him, and he’s close enough to reach out and touch.

dean’s voice breaks your reverie, and you have to draw in a deep breath. without you even noticing, thinking about sam so hard makes you breathless, almost every time.

“so, why don’t you give us the full rundown, sammy? ‘fore either of you decide to conk out on me,” dean suggests. that means he’s bored, because neither of you will fall asleep for at least another hour or two, and you’ll probably take your turn driving for a few soon.

“sure,” sam agrees, and you hear the shuffle of papers as he digs out a newspaper article and some notes. “three people in the last three weeks all died from suffocation, but with no apparent cause. they just,” sam’s shoulders move a little as he motions vaguely with his hands, “stopped breathing.”

“sounds witchy to me,” dean says, very predictably. you think you could’ve said those exact words at the exact same time if you wanted to tease him about it.

“yeah. what’s weird is that the vics were reported feeling out of breath up to 16 hours before they actually died. says it looks like they slowly died from oxygen deprivation,” sam adds.

“huh. so not hex bags, but another sort of spell?” you wonder aloud, easily talking about the case despite the remainders of tension between you and sam. that’s just how it is, with all of you. even when you’re mad, you still work the case.

“most likely,” sam agrees, “the vics went about their days pretty much normally until they died, so they were in different places as they were dying. seems like a hex bag wouldn’t work unless it was on them the whole time.” you nod, and though he’s not turned around to look at you, you’re sure he knows anyway.

“alright, well. looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” dean states, “we’ll be in town in the morning, so we’ll rest up real quick then head to the police station. you two can do your interviewing magic with the vic’s families and hopefully we’ll know more by then.”

this was easily predicted as well. for as long as you’ve been able to pass as an fbi agent, he’s mostly left interviewing the families to you and sam since the two of you tend to be more socially appropriate, and thus, more able to get information without raising alarms. though, the questions you ask never cease to be weird and confusing to the world’s oblivious civilians. of course, dean makes exceptions for pretty girls who he can flirt his way into telling him just about anything. this time, you wish dean would make an exception because it kills you that you and sam aren’t getting along perfectly right now. you know that you’ll work it out soon, probably within the week, but you still hate it.

through the impala’s windows, you watch the sky turn dark and the moon come out. you drive, then fall asleep to the rumble of the engine for a few hours, and wake to see the sky turn light again. keeping it all to yourself, you revel in the sunrise and the way it turns the sky bright and the clouds cotton candy pink around the edges. 

you sink into the sight of sam sleeping in front of you, the early morning light kissing his features and shining through his mousy brown hair. if you lean a little to the left, you can soak up the image of his softly closed eyes, the mole by his nose, and the relaxed curve of his lips. you smile to yourself at the way his hair is all messed up on the side of his head that’s resting against the window until you catch dean’s gaze on you through the rearview mirror. you tear your gaze from both brothers and latch it to the moving countryside out the window. for a while now, you’ve figured there’s no way dean doesn’t see that you’re in love with his brother, but despite such, he doesn’t say much outside of lightheartedly teasing for the both of you. he’s the only one who knows that sam looks at you just like that when you’re the one who’s asleep. he’s the one who sees sam turn, trying to be subtle, just to look at the way the moonlight kisses your lips, wishing it was him.

it’s eight in the morning when you pull up to the first motel you see. you wished sam hadn’t woken up on his own half an hour ago. that way, you could’ve put your hand on his shoulder, shaken him all soft and gentle like you do just for him, and mumbled, “wake up, sammy. we’re here.” then he’d stir, still sweet-looking from sleep and give you a little smile if he’d managed to dream without nightmares before remembering he’s supposed to still be upset with you.

instead, he’s fully awake when he climbs out of the car and pops your door open like he does every time you can’t beat him to it. he doesn’t talk about that habit, because he knows you can take care of it yourself. but if it’s so easy for him to do it as you grab your bag, then he thinks there’s no harm. besides, you’ve never told him off for it, so he does that and just about any other little thing he can get away with for you. and much to your chagrin, he still does it all when he’s pissed at you. he’s too good like that, even if you think he should just get over what happened a few days ago.

the three of you are just about wordless as you check in and pile into the room, all tired and without anything of importance to say. when you catch sight of the couch in the room, you sigh in relief. it would’ve been sam’s turn to share the bed, and you’re not sure you could do that this time around. sometimes it’s hard to breathe when he’s right there, so close after you’ve spent literal hours in the car just plain old pining over him. so, you find an extra sheet in the closet and steal a pillow from dean’s bed, all but collapsing onto the couch with a morning-time “goodnight.”

you don’t care that your feet hang over the edge unless you curl up or mind the way the springs dig into the flesh of your side, all you want is to welcome quick sleep. you’re lucky, and drift off moments later. you barely have time to think about how glad you are that you won’t have one of your nights where you lay awake, staring at the ceiling as you wonder why you would fall in love with someone you can’t have. him and dean are all you have, and no matter how your heart aches to pull sam close, you’d never do anything to jeopordize what you have, here and now. he’s your best friend, that’s all you can ask for in this life, maybe even more than you should.

waking as you normally do to the sounds of sam and dean moving about the motel room, you sit up, a little groggy. you glance at the clock, and you’ve slept for about four hours, just as predicted.

“up ‘n at ‘em,” dean says as he walks past you, giving you a playful clap on the back.

“mhmm,” is all you respond with, swinging your legs off the couch and digging through your bag for your pant suit and toothbrush. dean’s already in his, and sam’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom, still in his tshirt and jeans from yesterday. you don’t even have to say a word for sam to move out of the bathroom as you approach. so he won’t have to wait with a mouth full of tooth-paste and spit for you too long, you change quickly, leaving your clothes on the bathroom floor and opening the door for sam as you begin to brush your own teeth. the two of you maneuver around the cramped space with practiced ease, and when he’s done, he disappears back into the bedroom space without a word. when he’s petty to other people, you think it’s kind of hot. but when he does it to you, it makes you want to ring his neck. 

“asshole,” you mumble to yourself. it’s a classic tango between the two of you; you want him to just get over it, and he wants you to admit that he’s right, or the other way around. and both of you are far too stubborn to be the one to relent first, so you’ll be pissy at each other for a few days until you get bored of it or dean gets too annoyed. all it takes to get past it is you putting your head in his lap after a long day, maybe him resting his head on your shoulder, or the two of you laughing too hard over something together to keep being mad, and maybe just a few mumbled apologies from the both of you. if it’s really big enough for none of those things to work, then you talk about it until things are okay again.

dean drops you off at the first victim’s house, with the promise that the second is close enough to walk to, and the third he’ll join you for once he’s done at the coroner’s office.

sam still won’t talk to you as you wait on the front porch of the house after ringing the doorbell. a young woman opens the door, probably around your own age, and you smile at her before flashing your badge.

“hi. i’m agent green. this is my partner, agent smith. we’re looking for natalie goh?” you greet, comfortable and at ease in your ruse.

“that’s me,” she confirms for you, sounding nice enough. “how can i help you, agents?”

“we would just like to ask a few questions about your late boyfriend, henry,” sam explains, “may we come inside?”

her face falls when he mentions her boyfriend, but she nods her head. “of course, come in.” you follow her to the living room where she motions for you to sit. “let me grab you something to drink,” she offers, disappearing into the next room before you can refuse. “is lemonade okay? my next door neighbor brought me so much when she heard about henry… you know. i can’t possibly drink it all.”

you want to say no, not wanting to make her go through the extra effort, but you accept for both you and sam out of sympathy. she sounds like she needs to keep her hands busy to distract herself. 

she sets the drinks down in front of you, asking as she sits, “what, uhm, what is the fbi’s interest in … in henry?”

“we’re investigating a few odd deaths, like your boyfriend’s, in the area,” sam explains, “now, was there anything unusual the day of or the days leading up to his death?”

“i, um, i don’t– i don’t think so, like what? and, i’m sorry, the police told me he most likely choked on something, how is that strange?” natalie frets. you glance at sam and catch him readjusting his features as a brief look of surprise crosses over his face. it makes sense that that’s what the police told her, but you hadn’t known they’d said so.

“well, natalie, the cause of his death wasn’t entirely clear, and because a few more people have died similarly since, we’re just being extra thorough,” you do your best to placate her before she starts getting too wary of you and sam. “it really could mean nothing, but it’s important for us to cover all of our bases. so, can you tell us if there was anything out of the ordinary? was he acting strange, or did you notice anything unusual around the house, like maybe cold spots or flickering lights?”

she furrows her eyebrows in confusion, “um, no. no, nothing like that. he was just being him, you know, he was such an amazing boyfriend, he made me breakfast that morning even though he said he was tired. i already told this to the police, but he sounded kind of out of breath when we called. that was the last time i talked to him,” her voice begins to tremble, so you reach out a comforting hand and place it atop hers from across the table. “i had to stay late at work, and when i got home, he was … he was gone. i found him in the kitchen.” a tear slips down her cheek, and she moves her hand away from yours to wipe it off. you shift back in your seat and glance at sam, trying to give him the hint to get moving. but, he keeps his gaze trained elsewhere.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him, almost ready to pull the “may i use your bathroom” ruse first. it’s almost always sam who does it, and sure enough, he clears his throat to ask.

“would you mind if i used your restroom?”

“oh, sure,” she says, “there’s one by the pantry, through the kitchen and to the left.”

he stands, thanking her a bit awkwardly before disappearing through the doorway to the kitchen.

once he’s gone, you turn your attention back to natalie. “i know that this can be a difficult question, but is there anyone that comes to mind who might want to hurt henry?” absentmindedly, you take a sip of the lemonade after speaking. it’s sweet, but not too sugary. you discover that it’s just about perfect, and you can’t hold back from continually taking a few sips here and there to fight back the heat of the afternoon.

“oh, goodness, no,” she sounds horrified by that prospect, “henry was just the kindest. the best boyfriend i could ask for,” she reiterates. “you think that someone– that someone…?”

“no, no,” you lie, “there would be signs if someone else hurt him, but like i said, we just need to be completely thorough. i’m sorry to even have to ask. now, if you’re okay with it, could you tell me more about henry?”

“yes, yeah, i can do that,” she sighs in relief. it’s clear she wants to talk about him, and probably how much she misses him. you do your best to pay close attention and keep her focused on you and your questions as sam takes forever “in the bathroom.” nothing she says is very useful, it’s all about how loving and kind and just about perfect he was to her. at first, you’re able to listen without a qualm, but the more she rambles about how much she loved him, and maybe even more so how much he loved her, your mind inevitably wanders to sam. sam and your bothersome, bottomless pit of unrequited love.

you kindly cut natalie off and stand when you hear sam’s footsteps approach. “it sounds like henry was a wonderful person. i’m so sorry for your loss.” despite knowing those words don’t mean or do much, you still fill them with as much sincerity as you can. sam is at your side again. “we really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us. we’ll get out of your hair now.”

she shows you to the front door out of courtesy, and you give her one last thank you and kind smile before turning your back and heading to the sidewalk, sam just ahead of you. pushing off the ground a little harder for a few steps, you catch up to him and his long strides, unable to resist the urge to let your gaze wander to his face.

“anything?” you ask, hoping he’ll look at you too.

“nope,” he shakes his head, “no emf, no hexbags, nothing out of the ordinary.” pursing your lips, you let your gaze fall to the sidewalk ahead of you when he doesn’t make eye-contact. “anything on your end?”

“not really. she just rambled about how in love they were. said there was nothing strange about the day, or him, and that he had no enemies. she made him sound like a complete angel.” without you realizing, your lip curls a little in jealousy.

sam just huffs in response, likely bothered by the lack of information. “let’s hope we can find something about the other two.”

you repeat the ruse at the next two homes, and sam’s hopes are dashed, because by the time you, sam, and dean are back at the motel room, just about the only thing of value you bring back is a paper bag of takeout.

spread out in the room, with your respective assortments of food, notes, and computers, you share all the details you can think of to hopefully find a pattern. dean’s on his bed, sam on the couch, and you at the dingy table. the biggest discovery is on dean’s part. according to the coroner, each of the victim’s hearts had inexplicably shrunken and shriveled up. this detail was kept out of the public eye because of how strange it was; it happened after each victim died, as it very clearly did not contribute to the cause of death. that, and the coroner is absolutely stumped by how such a thing could possibly happen.

dean asks if the first two interviews were as fruitless as the last, and you sigh as you explain just how unhelpful they’d been.

“the only common threads are that they were young adults, all in a relationship, and all sounded to be just about the perfect partner,” you report. “i mean, maybe the witch is targeting people in loving relationships? jealousy? or maybe they have some sort of secret we couldn’t dig up just by interviewing. the people we talked to were obviously biased. the first victim’s girlfriend wouldn’t stop talking about how amazing he was, the second’s sister told us she was the sweetest girlfriend out there, and you heard how the third’s husband described them.”

“really?” dean asks. “i mean, yeah, i heard the last guy, but i ran into the first vic’s girlfriend’s sister at the station. she was doing something for her sister there, and she did not seem too impressed with the guy when i asked about him.”

you raise your eyebrows, about to speak again when sam beats you to it.

“so maybe we are looking for secrets. did she say what she wasn’t impressed with?” sam says just about the exact thing you were about to.

dean shrugs. “jus’ said he was sort of a lazy boyfriend. didn’t take good enough care of her or show his love all that much.”

“maybe he was cheating?” you suggest.

“maybe,” dean repeats. “how’s this? you can dig into records and see if you can find any dirt on the vics. sam, you can look for a spell that might’ve caused this, and i’ll scout out a few local places. the officer i was talking to gave me a few places the vics probably spent time at.”

“sure,” you agree, a teasing edge to your voice, “just don’t get too distracted. we all know by ‘local places’ you mean bars. no sex unless you solve the case, and if you solve the case, no sex because you have to report back to us.”

“so no sex?” he plays along, acting all offended.

“nope!” you confirm, giving a firm shake of your head. 

dean’s already on his way out the door as he chimes, “no promises!”

“seriously!” sam calls after him, “we need info!” he groans and shakes his head when the only response he gets is the shutting of the door. when he doesn’t make a snarky comment about dean to you, you clench your jaw.

“sam.” it takes a lot of willpower to sound bothered by him, rather than say his name all sweet.

“mhmm?” he’s purposely keeping his gaze on his computer and his response short.

you roll your eyes, “c’mon, can’t you just get over it? it’s not like you haven’t done stupider things to get a case done.”

since you insist on arguing about it, he lifts his gaze, looking unimpressed. “doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have done it. you almost got dean hurt.”

“and i already apologized for that!” you say indignantly, annoyed that that’s his argument. he knows full well, better than anyone, that dean can deal with a measly vamp, even if he wasn’t expecting it. “it’s not like dean can’t handle himself!”

“you should have at least run the plan by us,” he says. you roll your eyes again.

“it was a spur of the moment decision. unless you wanted me to shout it out, compromise my position, and let every single vamp in that nest know exactly what i was gonna do?” you retort. sam sighs, in the way that you can tell he knows your argument is better than his. so, you still can’t figure out why he’s still upset about it, outside of his usual stubbornness.

“it could’ve gone so wrong,” is all he can come up with, “and you know that. it was stupid, and you could’ve gotten hurt. or worse.” there it is. his voice changed when he said you could’ve gotten hurt.

it’s your turn to sigh, this time because you finally understand. it makes your heart flutter a little, and it makes you even more annoyed. “sam, i can handle myself. you know that. sure, it was kind of stupid, and not a fully thought out plan, but i had to figure out a way to get us out of there! four vamps were about to find you, so i had to distract them. easiest way was with my blood. one vamp found dean, but he handled that just as easy as he always does. i knew you’d have my back, so i let the other three come after me. and look! we’re all here, alive and kicking! this is such a stupid thing for you to get mad over.”

“it’s stupid for me to want you to be more careful?” he counters.

“sam, we have to take risks in this job, we do it all the time. that’s just how this works, what’s different about this time?” you question.

“just–” he presses his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose as he tries to come up with a reason that’s good enough. a reason that’s not “i worry about you,” because that’ll make you even more angry, make it sounds like he doesn’t think you’re a good enough hunter. and he certainly can’t explain that that’s not it, he worries because the worst possible thing to him is you getting hurt. because then you’d ask why and he wouldn’t be able to tell you the truth.

“can’t we just be done with this?” you ask, and the tone of your voice is one he can’t deny. you’re upset, bothered, and tired of his pettiness. more so, you’re just plain old tired. it takes too much effort to stay upset with one another. he lets your question sit in the air for a moment longer.

“yeah,” he relents, voice quiet now. he’s holding back words, touches, feelings. he wants to tell you, “just please don’t put yourself in danger, it scares me. i get so worried. it makes me want to pull you close and protect you even though i know you don’t need it. that’s why i’m upset.” he wants to get up from the couch and set his computer across from yours, sit across from you, just so you’re a little bit closer. he wants to touch you so bad that it sort of hurts.

instead, he has to live for the relieved breath that huffs out through your nose, so quiet it couldn’t quite be counted as a sigh.

“good,” you say, voice matching his own quietness. there’s still tension hanging between you, but soon enough, it’ll dissipate altogether, and tomorrow, you’ll be back to joking with one another, brushing shoulders, and hiding how in love with each other you are. maybe he can even convince you to share his bed tonight. the couch is horridly uncomfortable.

only after you’re convinced that sam won’t be all pissy to you until the next time you find something silly to be angry about do you begin on your research. it’s just as fruitless as everything else today, and after hours searching and drawing banks, you go back to the interviews, jotting down all the details you can remember in case seeing it on paper helps something new and useful jump out at you.

all you get is a dull ringing in your ear, probably courtesy of some old motel appliance. but the ringing grows louder, and in your tired state, it becomes completely bothersome. you press your hand against your left ear—it’s loudest there—and shut your eyes. it’s been an hour or two since sam has shifted to sit across from you to escape the digging springs of the couch, so the movement catches his attention quickly.

“you alright?” he asks, already with a little pinch of his eyebrows in worry.

“yeah, ‘m fine,” you say, realizing the ringing must be the beginning of a headache, since sam can’t seem to hear it. “just a headache,” you explain.

“want me to get you some advil?” he offers.

“no, no that’s alright, i’ve got it,” you deny, but you don’t get up. your head doesn’t really hurt, and the ringing fades as fast as it appeared. you’re about to sigh in relief, when suddenly, you’re sort of breathless, and you gasp to take in air. the moment passes, and you shake your head to yourself a little. it’s weird until you remember that sam’s looking at you with that little furrow to his brow, sweet and concerned, like the last thing he wants is for you to be in pain, even if it’s just a measly headache. that look in his eyes as his gaze focuses on you and only you is certainly enough to take your breath away. it just took you by surprise this time.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, worried by your gasp.

“mhmm,” you hum, trying to keep your tone light and trying not to look too hard into his pretty hazel eyes. “jus’ hurt for a second, but i think the headache’s gone away.”

“okay,” he relents, not fully convinced, but willing to take your word for it and refocus on his computer screen. you turn your own attention back to the papers in front of you, away from his face, so close that it sends your heart into wild palpitations every time your mind wanders from the case and to his presence. in other words, it happens often.

you’re determined to find something, some detail that clicks and leads you to anything important. but after another unfocused hour, your eyelids are heavy, almost as much as your head as you wish to just sink down and fall asleep right there on that little table.

“you should get some sleep,” sam says, no stranger to the way you look when you should quit being stubborn and just go to bed. and normally, you’d resist, but the idea of sleep, of closing your eyes and letting your breath even out, slow down, is far too inviting.

so, you relent, and close your laptop. “yeah,” you say as you shuffle the sheets of paper together and set them on a neat pile on top of your computer.

“take the bed, too,” he insists, “you look exhausted.”

“mm, glad to hear it,” you joke halfheartedly, “but, no, sam, that couch is too small for you. it’s small for me, even.”

“and it’s seriously uncomfortable,” he adds.

“so we’ll share. i’ll leave space for you. you should come to bed soon, too. ‘s not like we should wait up for dean,” you snicker. sam rolls his eyes, but easily agrees with your conclusion. as you settle into the covers of the motel bed, you consider waiting up for him so you can feel the dip of the bed, then the warmth that radiates off him as he lays beside you. you want to feel the brush of his long arms, the heel of his foot or nudge of his toe, sometimes you’re treated with the broad expanse of his back. but sleep claims you before you can even make the attempt.

sam’s big hand on your shoulder brings you back into consciousness, and you breathe in long and hard since it seems like you can’t quite fill your lungs. then your eyes flutter open, and sam’s figure is hovering over yours, his hand lingering, then slipping away as he sees you wake. he doesn’t stand fully upright yet, unsure if he should say something or not.

he keeps his voice low, not wanting to alert dean, who’s changing in the bathroom. “are you feeling fine?”

groggy as you sit up, you peek at the clock. 8:43. you slept through the 8:30 alarm. odd.

“uh, yeah, i’m fine,” you answer, voice gravelly from the morning’s first use, “why?”

sam shifts to sit on the bedside opposite you. “nothing just… i don’t know, you were just breathing really light last night. i could barely even tell you were breathing at some points and normally you breathe pretty noticeably while you sleep. and, you know, given this case, i just wanted to check.”

sam notices the way you breathe when you sleep. that’s just about all you can take away from his words. sam pays enough attention to the way you breathe when you sleep to know when your breathing is different. sam thinks about the way that you breathe. maybe that’d be creepy from anyone else, but you think about the way he breathes too. the way it lulls you to sleep when he’s close, the way it catches when he’s surprised, or the way it changes when he’s about to laugh.

then you remember he’s said something you’re supposed to address. “it’s nothing, sam. i feel totally fine, just tired from working back to back cases, is all.” you say this because you’re sure of it; you do feel just fine. and sam makes you breathless all the time, so there's nothing out of the ordinary there.

“are you sure?” he presses, “you slept straight through the alarm, like a rock.”

“i’m sure,” you say.

“okay,” you can immediately tell that he’s not entirely convinced as he says this, “but if anything happens or changes or you feel like you’re out of breath, you promise to tell me or dean?”

“of course.” you may not want to be fussed over, but you certainly don’t want to go out in such a stupid, horrible way. “i promise,” you add, just for his sake. dean’s phone starts ringing, and he appears out of the bathroom.

“either way, let’s get this case done, and quick,” sam insists.

“don’t have to tell me twice,” you agree, throwing off the covers to get ready for the day.

dean’s voice keeps you from lingering by sam’s side. “hey, crazy kids, let’s hurry it up. just got off the phone with the sheriff, there was another death last night.”

“dammit,” you and sam swear in unison. 

on the way to the scene, dean updates you on his findings from last night. he was just as unsuccessful as you in finding major dirt on any of the victims, though he recieved similar testimonials to the sister’s about the first, henry. otherwise, he was able to find the witch’s possible hunting ground in a bar where all three victims have been seen with their partners. sam reports that he’s getting close to finding the right spell after discovering a few similar ones. 

when you reach the victim’s house, sam and dean check in with the police officers, and you immediately head to interview whoever found the victim’s body. he’s obviously distraught, and probably still in shock from losing his boyfriend. you do your best to stay gentle, kind, and understanding as you lead him through the interview, interrupting your questions for the occasional “he sounds like he was a wonderful partner,” or other such comforting phrase as the man, tyler, rambles about how great he was, how guilty he feels, and just about nothing helpful except for adding another data point to the one pattern you have.

“thank you for your help,” you say, giving him a tight lipped smile before standing and drifting over to sam on instinct as you mull over the information you recieved. he’s poking around in the kitchen, subtly searching for anything abnormal and most likely coming up empty as this house follows the unhelpful trend of the rest.

“anything?” he asks once you’re by his side.

you shake your head, “just the madly in love bit. everything was pretty much the same as the other vics as well.” sam sighs like he expected that answer.

“i think we should look more into the first victim,” he suggests, echoing the same thought that you had. “maybe interview natalie again, see if she admits something different about henry if we push it a little.”

“i agree, though i’d say let’s hold off on interviewing her again unless we can’t find the spell soon. even if she admits that he wasn’t as good to her as she said before, i’m not sure how much good that does in comparison to the spell. if you keep looking into that, i’ll check henry’s records more thoroughly. i looked into him less last night since we already had something on him.” you revise the plan a bit, and sam nods in agreement, making that sort of awkward face with his lips pursed and eyebrows raised that he does when someone without the knowledge you have comes in hearing range. you glance behind you to see the figure of a police officer through the kitchen doorway and are fast to quit all talk of spells and witches to avoid sounding insane.

“dean can scout out the bar again to see if this most recent couple frequented there as well,” sam puts the last piece in place for your plan, just as you imagined it. once it seems like there’s nothing left to glean from the house, you grab dean and head out back to the car. the brothers walk a bit ahead of you as sam fills dean in on the plan.

“excuse me! agent,” a voice calls from behind you. the three of you turn, and you wave the two of them away to indicate that you’ll deal with it.

“yes?” you respond as an officer approaches.

“your partner asked for the full coroner’s reports on paper from the first three victims,” she says, holding out a file as she reaches you.

“ah! right. thank you, officer.” you give her a polite smile and take the papers before turning away. sam and dean have made it to the impala, parked a bit away due to the police cars surrounding the house. you jog at a casual pace to catch up, but falter about halfway there as your breaths turn all shuddery and quick. you stop, trying to right yourself and desperate to brush this off, but you just keep gulping in breaths, feeling like you’ve run a mile at top speed without warming up. 

shit. shit, shit, shit, is all you can think. fuck.

as you stare at the car, dean’s already in the front seat and sam is pulling the passenger’s door open, and you will with all your might that neither of them will turn to look for you. you don’t want them to catch you like this. instead, you want to explain it to them, calm and collected and full of breath because your body’s beginning to readjust and you should be fine to walk over in moments and dammit– sam’s twisted around to find you, his hands resting on the top of the car and the door. the second he catches sight of you, just standing there with your chest heaving up and down, he’s launched himself away from the car and towards you. he calls your name, worry flooding his voice. you had tried to recompose yourself the second you saw his head turning, but it was too late, and now he’s jogging your way.

sam is in front of you in moments, his hands on your shoulders and his face fallen in a deep frown.

“you’re not okay, are you?”

“i– i’m–,” you can’t think of what to say, and though your breath is returning to normal, you can’t deny him. “let’s just get in the car. please.” 

his jaw clenches and his eyes flick all over you, from the top of your head to the point of your shoes like he always looks at you when he thinks you might be hurt. he’s taking you in, quick and almost panicked so he can fix it right away. he takes a steadying breath because he’s so ovewrought he can barely think. “fine,” he says, voice carefully hushed. if he doesn’t control it, he might start shouting, panicking even. sam can’t bear to leave you untouched now, so he leaves a hand splayed on your shoulder blade as you finish the short walk to the car. he opens the back door and climbs right in, completely foregoing his spot in the passenger’s seat. you realize he wants to sit in the back with you, and it would’ve been sweet if it wasn’t because you’re probably dying.

jaw clenched, you follow him in, and dean’s already twisted around in his seat, gaze shifting between the two of you to try and read what just happened.

“what was that all about?” he questions, eyebrows raised. you put a hand on sam’s knee to stop him from telling dean.

“the witch got me,” you drop the news without much hesitation, more focused on getting your two cents in before either of them start grilling you with questions and making stupid suggestions to try and fix it, “it’s gotta be someone we met or passed by yesterday. one of the people we interviewed or someone from the diner we had lunch at; these types of spells normally require the victim’s dna. and before either of you do anything stupid or crazy, we’re gonna stick with the same plan. dean, you can drop us at the motel so we can find the spell and reversal, and you find out what you can at the bar. got it?”

dean looks at you like you’re crazy, and you ignore sam’s gaze altogether. 

“got it?” dean repeats back to you, incredulous, “not so much, kid, i’m gonna need you to explain this to me a little better. what do you mean the witch got you? you mean you’re gonna stop breathing in some odd hours that might not be enough time for us to find and gank this witch?”

“yes, dean, that’s what i mean. try to keep up,” you turn a little mean as your frustration takes over in order to compensate for your growing fear. “and i’m not going to die, so quit being so pessimistic. we’ll find the witch, as long as we stay focused on the plan. unless you have a faster way, which i’d be happy to abide by.” neither have a good enough retort to that, so you continue, “can we go now? we might not have that much time.”

with much effort, dean turns back in his seat and starts the engine. his voice is low when he asks, “what do you mean by that?”

“well, i don’t know exactly when this whole thing started!” you answer as he pulls into the street, “sam said my breathing wasn’t totally normal last night. if that means anything, well, i went to bed early last night, around eleven. that could mean it’s been at least, i don’t know,” you check the time, “eleven hours. which gives us five, minimum.” you think you can physically feel sam tense up next to you.

“five hours?” sam repeats, his voice taut, like he’s holding back anger, fear, maybe more. “and were there any times before that you felt out of breath?” 

you think back to yesterday. sure, every time i looked at you, isn’t quite an answer that you can give. “um, i’m not sure,” you say, sounding more cryptic than casual, as you had meant. you see dean’s eyebrow raise through the rearview mirror.

“you’re not sure?” dean asks, unbelieving. the two brothers are starting to sound like a broken record as they repeat every other thing you say back to you.

“yeah. nothing comes to mind,” you say, more firmly this time.

sam sighs. “you can’t seriously think it’s a good idea to hide that sort of thing from us if it happened. this is serious.”

you scoff, “oh, really? i wasn’t aware, it’s not like it’s my life on the line, or anything like that.”

“alright, let’s not get pissy,” dean intervenes.

“pissy?” you scoff again, “right, because this is serious and i’m apparently unaware of that.”

dean says your name, voice a little chiding as he tries to disperse some of the tension that’s building within the small space of the car. “let’s focus on the case here. sam is right, we need to know everything you do. was there anything else weird you noticed last night?”

“i don’t know!” you exclaim before calming down a bit and taking a deep breath. “i had this ringing in my ears for a minute, around ten. i thought it was a headache. and … i did feel breathless, but just for a second. i thought it was … something else.”

“why didn’t you say anything?” sam asks, immediately remembering this. you had pressed your hand to your ear. he believed you when you said it was a headache, but he should have known better. you’re far more likely to rub your temples when you feel a headache coming on.

“i thought it was something else,” you repeat.

“like what?” he presses.

“like–” you hesitate, “like nothing. just nothing, i don’t know.”

dean interrupts again to get things back on track, “so that could mean four hours, not five.” you see sam’s jaw clenching out of the corner of your eye.

“yeah,” you confirm, hoping your voice doesn’t reveal how anxious you really are.

“my question is why just you?” dean asks. “i’d normally figure it’s because they suspect you to be a hunter, but if they were able to get your dna, they probably had access to ours, too. the witch think you’re madly in love with sammy or somethin’?”

you fluster at that, mind scrambling, why in the goddamn hell would dean say that? does he want me dead faster? “uhm, uh,” you laugh a little, completely awkward about it, “why would they think that? we were clearly, you know, in a working relationship, not a, hah– romantic,” you clear your throat, “relationship. i’m sure it’s just the hunter thing, maybe they couldn’t get your dna… or they thought i was more worth killing,” you attempt at a joking insult, but you’re still sort of jerking through your words and reeling from someone saying “you’re madly in love with sammy” out loud.

to your left, sam looks almost as flustered as you feel, which brings you an ounce of comfort.

“whatever you say,” dean shrugs.

when you get back to the hotel, sam’s practically running inside to pull out his laptop, and dean speeds away the second the car doors close behind the two of you. both of you are fidgety and antsy as you conduct your research in silence. you think sam’s even more nervous than you, with his leg bouncing and teeth chewing away at his lower lip. you’re not sure if you should comfort him, or let him be in favor of getting the research done. it doesn’t take too long for him to find the original spell, and as he tells you about it, some nervousness dissipates when the both of you get back into the groove of a normal hunt, trying to pretend that this time, the consequences aren’t as personal as they could ever get.

you can’t find any dirt on henry in any records, so you focus on staff from the bar and diner from yesterday to see if there’s any overlap that could have gotten dna from both you and all the other four victims. something else entirely jumps out at you as you check employment records.

“sam, it’s natalie,” you blurt out into the silence of the room. he raises his eyebrows, and you explain before he can even ask. “she works at the bar. and i drank some of that lemonade she gave us. she had easy access to everyone’s dna, and henry was the only deviation from the pattern.”

sam stands as you explain, “okay, let’s go.”

“no, let’s call dean and finish finding the reversal spell. i’d like to have a backup plan, if that’s alright.” sam purses his lips, looking like he wants to argue. you propose something more rational than his idea, “we’ll call dean and let him know. he can go to her house and make sure she’s the real deal before we go, too.”

“fine,” sam agrees, pulling out his phone, just as it begins to ring. he answers it and puts it on speaker, “dean, it’s natalie.”

“yeah, i know. that’s what i was about to tell you, the idiots from last night didn’t bother to mention it,” he complains. “i’m headed to her house right now.” to prove it, you hear the car door open and close. “how’s it going on your end?”

“we found the spell, we’re looking for the reversal right now,” you answer. “call us if you need help.”

“mm, you just take care o’ yourself, alright? i’ll call you back.” after that, all you get is the hang-up tone. 

a bit later, your concentration is interrupted by the pinging of sam’s phone. you watch him as he checks the messages, then looks up at you with a poorly hidden scowl.

“she wasn’t at her house,” he explains, “dean’s headed to her sister’s to look for her there. but it’s definitely her, he found a secret room full of, y’know, as he’d say, ‘witchy stuff.’”

you try to hide your disappointment and the uneven rise and fall of your chest. sam’s stayed mostly focused on the research, but every now and then, you feel him looking you over, brow furrowed and eyes concerned as he checks for anything abnormal. he’s looking at you like that now.

“damn,” is all you manage in response while still trying to stay casual about it.

“how are you feeling?” he asks. you expected the question, but you still don’t want to answer. you’re about to tell him you’re fine, since you’re not really running out of breath yet, until he speaks again before you can, “and don’t say ‘fine.’”

“i am fine,” you insist immediately, “just extra tired from getting a little less oxygen than normal. but nothing crazy. i can still focus on this research and i can still hold a weapon.” you demonstrate by grabbing one of the knives you keep strapped to your thigh and twirling it a little in your hand. sam’s face spells out the word “really?”

“just– tell me if it gets worse. please,” he’s just about begging, and with a bit of puppy dog eye action, you’re crumbling.

“okay, sam,” you relent, letting your voice go soft. he’s really scared for you, and it makes you feel just about every little thing. you want to comfort him, reassure that you’ll be okay, even when you’re terrified for yourself. you want him to comfort you, for that exact reason, and you want to hold his hand. maybe you can be scared together, a little closer than you are now. you want to kiss him, because what if this is the only chance you get? that thought horrifies you. then you wonder if it’s for the best. maybe you should die as his best friend, because dying as his anything is better than scaring him away first. it’s hard to concentrate on the research, but it’s not hard to find the motivation. the hope is to avoid death completely.

finally, you find it.

“i got it, sam!” you’re excited, then a bit breathless after pushing so much air out of your lungs so fast. the breath you take in is sort of shuddering, and it makes sam frown. he doesn’t even try to hide how worried he is. his face is nothing but unadulterated concern and care and … and something else before that expression melts away and he’s focusing on the computer screen that you tilted towards him. the crease between his brows only grows as his eyes flit down the list of ingredients.

“we don’t have the half of these ingredients,” he worries.

“no,” you admit, “but there’s a witch in town who’s away from home who might.”

to get there, sam doesn’t hesitate to steal a car from the motel parking lot, and this time you can’t even argue given the fact that you’re pretty sure you have less than two hours to live at this point. you promised sam you’d tell him if it got worse, but as it does, you want to say something less and less.

sam picks the lock of the door, entering the house carefully with you right behind. weapons drawn, you walk the route that dean gave you to the hidden room, the door in the wall of the hallway left open for you by dean.

it’s much darker than the rest of the house from the lack of windows and bright lights. this, paired with the eerie assortment of basic herbs to what might be jars of blood, makes it look like natalie really leaned into the witchy aesthetic, which you’d find understandable if she weren’t using her magic to kill people.

sam walks faster than you know is wise to match paces with, so you follow behind him slowly as he rushes to set the computer with the list of ingredients on the table in the center of the room abd begin the spell. you’re a split second too late to shout in warning when you see a figure emerge from behind a shelf of herbs.

sam whirls around at your cry, gun raised, only to be hit on the side of the head, hard, by a wooden bat in natalie’s hand. he crumples to the ground despite his size, and without batting an eye, your knife is flying through the air, straight for the spot between natalie’s shoulder blades. but at the last second, she spins around, and with a flick of her hand, the knife falls to the ground. you reach for your gun, but through your hindered breathing, you’re slow. she has no trouble launching the bat at you at an unnatural speed. the wood slams into your chest, sending you sprawling and gasping in your weakened state. you’re fighting for breath so hard that you can barely register her hauling you up and tying your hands behind your back, then doing the same to sam. somehow, she’s able to get his weight on a chair and tie him to the wobbly piece of furniture. then, it’s your turn, and by the time you come back to your senses, breathing far more labored than before, you’re tied to a chair, back to back with sam.

natalie gives you a horrid smile as she tugs at a knot to tighten it.

“well, isn’t this fortuitous! such a lovely surprise for you two to visit me,” she chimes, just as you feel sam stirring behind you. his head lolls back, brushing against your own. you completely ignore her in favor of calling his name. a rumbling groan escapes his lips as he stumbles back into consciousness.

“that’s right!” natalie grins, “it’ll be much better with pretty boy awake.” she walks around you, and you hear a smacking sound that you presume to be her hitting his cheeks to wake him further.

“don’t touch him,” you practically growl. it sounds far less intimidating than you hoped in your breathless voice. she laughs and sam lets out an audible huff of air as he wakes.

“there he is,” natalie grins. “now i’ve got two love birds at my mercy! much better than i could have imagined. you know, i couldn’t watch the deaths of the others, so this is far more exciting. i thought i’d have to miss yours, too!” she motions to you. “but now i get to watch you die, watch pretty boy watch you die, and then kill him, too! lovely isn’t it? i’ve never had such luck, thank you idiots for bringing it to me.”

“you’re not killing anyone today,” sam retorts, anger filling his voice. with a bit of an uncomfortable stretch, you twist your fingers around to grab a hold of his. it’s awkward, but you take advantage of her horrible ramblings to keep her distracted and try to guide sam’s hands to the tiny blade attached to the seam of your jacket sleeve.

“i’m not?” she laughs, “mmm, you don’t really seem like you’re in the position to determine that, pretty boy.” you hate her calling him that. “well, love will do that to a person. makes you easy targets, blinds you. you two were just too easy, so busy making eyes at each other to pay any proper attention to me.” you conclude she’s crazy, rambling on about what made her angry enough to kill. you’re sure she caught you making eyes at him, but she’s crazy talking like he’s visibly in love with you too. immediately catching on to your plan, sam’s hands are fumbling around with your jacket sleeve, trying to get the knife unstuck so it can slip down and into your hands.

“it’s so goddamn irritating when people are just so in love with each other. makes me want to hurl,” she complains.

“sounds to me like you’re just jealous your boyfriend didn’t treat you like that,” you prod at her weak spot. she whirls on you, grabbing the front of your jacket and yanking you towards her.

“so i killed him. and everything he was supposed to be,” she hisses. “and know i’m going to kill you two pining idiots. you know, you don’t have very long,” she feigns sympathy in the condescending tone of her voice. when she slams you back against the chair, it takes your breath away for a frighteningly long time. sam’s so worried, calling your name out over and over again as you choke on nothing, that he almost doesn’t realize that the movement also helped dislodge the knife and let it fall into your hands. it slices a thin line down your arm, but you couldn’t care less as you begin to work on cutting through his bonds.

“oh, shut up, lover boy,” natalie growls, hating the way he says your name with so much care as she stays leaning over you, a sick smile on her face. why the hell is she calling him lover boy? you know that’s not what you should be so worried about in this moment, but it’s the one thing that you can think about. “i’m busy watching your little lover die! i think you’ll look so good crying over them, won’t you?”

when sam’s ties snap, he stays in place, holding onto the rope so it doesn’t drop to the ground and alert her. he just shimmies the knife from your hand to his and begins working on your own ties. through it all, he pretends to struggle helplessly, cursing at her wildly.

natalie rolls her eyes, then stands straight. “if you don’t shut it, i’m going to make you,” she snarls, stalking around to stand in front of sam. in an instant, he brings the knife to the rope binding him to the chair, snapping it and lunging towards her. judging from the choked cry that escapes her throat, sam’s already plunged the knife into her neck. you hear him grunt, then the sound of her body hits the floor before he’s turned back to you, quickly freeing you all the way and pulling you to your feet. he’s halfway to the door with his hand gripping yours when you tug back.

“wait… sam, wait!” you gasp, and he’s immediately face to face with you, sweet eyes looking you up and down with confusion and worry. “it’s not– it didn’t work. the spell, we need to do the spell.”

“what do you mean? that’s impossible, killing the witch who performed the spell always–,” he fully takes you in for the first time. your chest is still heaving, your breath rattling, and it’s undeniably getting worse by the minute. “okay, okay. just sit down.” he guides you back to a chair, turning it to face the table so he can keep an eye on you as he works. this time, you’re having a hard time hiding the fear from your eyes, and he reads that loud and clear. he lets you have his strong hands cupping your face for just a moment. “you’re gonna be fine. i’m gonna fix this.” he says it with such conviction that you’d do anything to believe him. then his warm touch is gone, and you’re again hit with the reality that it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, to get any satisfactory amount of air.

your eyes follow him desperately as he rushes about the area, checking and rechecking the spell as he adds ingredients to a small cup he finds. his movements become more and more panicked by the second as he notices your breathing getting worse, more fluttery and gulping. sam’s muttering to himself as he works, too scared to look at your face for too long. unable to find one of the ingredients, he curses loudly as he searches, shoving a whole rack of ingredients to the ground. glass shatters and the metal rack clangs against the ground, the sound echoing throughout the space.

flinching at the sound, you cry out his name, struggling to speak, “you have… you have to.. to calm .. calm down.”

“i can’t!” he practically shouts, and you think you’ve never seen him this distraught, this helpless before.

“why?” is all you can manage between gasps.

“because you’re dying! and i can’t let you die, i won’t.” he’s still rummaging through ingredients as he speaks. he’s still refusing to look at you.

you want him to say it, the truth, so you repeat the question, “why?” you wheeze out, desperate to hear it in case he can’t finish the spell on time.

“because i love you!” he’s no longer shouting when he says it. his voice is all desperation and helplessness and utter sincerity, said like all he needs in the world is for you to understand that. you’re not sure if the shuddering breath you let out could count as a sigh of relief, but it’s the closest you’ll ever get.

you take him in. tears running down his cheeks, lips pursed and eyebrows pinched like he’s holding back from crying out. he’s pretty like that, you think. maybe that’s a cruel thought, but you love him too much to think otherwise. he’s always pretty; when he’s mad at you, when he’s bleeding, when he’s stitching himself up, when he’s biting his lip in concentration. when he talks about something that makes him excited or when he’s crying. when he’s oblivious of the way you look at him while he sleeps, and when he makes you love him so hard that it hurts worse than anything a monster could do to you.

you’re lightheaded, and taking in so little air that you can’t say it back. all you want to do is say it back. you slide out of the chair and onto your hands and knees, shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up. from the ground, you can hear sam, moving around, letting jars fall and shatter to the ground, crying.

when you collapse to the floor, writhing and gasping for any semblance of air, sam snaps. he can’t find the goddamn rosemary, such a simple and common herb, even for a normal kitchen, especially compared to all the other ingredients, but he knows it’s essential for its protection, purification, and healing properties. he can’t give up, he can’t let you die, but you’re writhing on the ground and crying inbetween gasps and all he wants is to hold you close, brush your tears away and tell you it’ll be alright. he barely catches the sound of your voice over the noise of his searching.

“please…”

“what? what is it, honey?” he asks through tears, unable to look at you as his eyes scan a new shelf for the basic pine-needle shape of the leaves, maybe even the little purple flowers to help it stand out.

“hold me,” you wheeze, afraid of dying alone on the stone cold floor as you feel your consciousness slipping through your fingertips like the sand of an hourglass. sam feels like he’s had his heart cleaved in two by a blunt ax coated in the world’s most vile poison.

he chokes on a sob before he can speak again, “i can’t. i’m so sorry, baby, i can't. i just need the rosemary, it’s so close, please, baby.” he’s not sure who he’s begging to. you, to stay alive? god, to intervene? himself, to finish the spell on time? anything and anyone who will listen, most likely. you don’t have the energy to ask him to hold you again.

that moment of silence is the most horrible of them all, then the door swings open with a bang, letting the bright lights from the rest of the house flood into the dark space. dean’s eyes zero in on you on the floor, grasping helplessly at your throat, and he’s on his knees by your side in a second.

he scoops you up in his arms and to his chest. “hey. hey, hey, hey. it’s okay,” he comforts, his eyes wet because he doesn’t know if he believes himself, given your state. “sam’s gonna fix it, darlin’. you’re gonna be just fine.” he’s holding you too tight to wipe away the tears that helplessly stream down your face and he clings to the fact that your hand is gripping his wrist tight.

“dean, rosemary!” sam barks. dean looks up from you, eyes scanning the mess around you; natalie’s dead body and the blood from her wound seeping slowly over the floor, the shattered glass and clutter of dried herbs along with other magical ingredients. sam realizes dean probably won’t recognize it on his own. “dried bundle, purple flowers, thin leaves,” he instructs as best as he can as he continues his own search. dean feels awful as he lets you fall back to the ground and your weak hands fingers scrape at his arms, but he thinks he sees it, rolled far away and invisible unless you’re crouched to the ground. he scrambles across the floor to grab it and tosses it to sam, who barely manages to catch it with his shaking hands.

sam rips at it with thick, clumsy fingers, crushing the brittle leaves between the pads of his forefinger and thumb into the mixture. he’s silently praying it’s enough as he mixes it in, letting a few drops slosh over the side of the cup in his rush. dean’s back with you, holding you up in a sitting position for sam with a hand smoothing up and down your arm in his best effort of a comforting gesture. he presses a kiss to your temple as sam drops down in front of you. sam uses one large hand to cup the side of your face, and the other to bring the cup to your lips. for a moment, he’s terrified beyond comprehension when the first bit of the liquid he pours into your mouth just dribbles right back out and down your chin.

you’ve gone nearly completely still; your eyes are barely open and your breathing so shallow that only dean knows you’re still inhaling because he’s got you so close.

“please,” sam begs, whispering your name with such conviction, such desperation, that it pulls you away from the claws of unconsciousness just enough to get you to swallow weakly. sam tilts the cup up, just a bit more, and the rim knocks against your bottom teeth as more foul tasting liquid seeps into your mouth. you swallow again, then gag a little when he pours too much for you to handle in your current state. sam’s hopeful when half the mixture is down your throat and he tilts the cup for you again, but the liquid falls down your chin this time, and your eyes are closed. you’ve gone totally still in dean’s arms.

“no, no, no, wake up. c’mon, we’re almost there. you gotta wake up,” sam begs again, more tears spilling onto his cheeks after his hope is stolen away, more cruelly than ever. “please, please, please, honey. please wake up.” his voice breaks as he calls out your name again, setting the cup on the floor and taking you from dean to pull you into his own arms. dean lets him, swallowing hard and not daring to move an inch as he takes in the sight, maybe just about the most horrible thing he’s seen in his fucked up life. that’s the second family member he’s had die in his arms, and the first is holding your limp body as he shakes, cries, and begs, beyond distraught as he denies the fact that he couldn’t save you. dean curses his life. he wishes it was him, thinks about the fact that he’s always too late to make a difference. he’s ready to sell his soul again, ready to go to hell and back.

you’re dead weight against sam’s chest, your clammy forehead and tear-sticky cheeks pressed against the sweaty skin of his neck. he gathers you closer, his hand tugging at your jacket and rubbing up and down your back, begging for you to wake up.

dean’s about to interrupt sam’s mourning to tell him he’s gonna look for the nearest crossroads, that all sam needs to do is keep your body safe. then you shudder in sam’s arms and he’s calling your name again, far beyond desperate that you’ll hear him. he says your name like a prayer, with so much reverence, far more than he could ever muster up for the god he wants to believe in.

you take in a sharp breath, your eyes fly open, and you’re gasping for air, grasping at sam’s sturdy arms like you’ve almost just drowned. sam just about sobs in relief, comforting you through his own tears, “oh, you’re okay, honey, you’re alright. i’ve got you. just breathe, baby, just breathe, that's all you gotta do.” his voice instantly calms you, and you wrap your shaky arms around his neck to show him you understand. he’s got you. he buries his face into your neck, trying not to hold you too tight for fear of restricting your breathing. you feel the wetness of his tears on you, warm and so tired. you don’t want him to cry. he loves you.

his hands smooth up and down your back, helping you set a pace to calm down your erratic breathing as you let a fresh wave of tears fall on his hot skin. they’re tears of relief, most of all. of exhaustion and leftover fear, and oh, glory, tears because he loves you. he said it, and now he can’t take it back because you love him far too much for that.

“sammy,” you breathe out. he just holds you tighter. “don’t cry, sam. it’s okay. i’m okay.” you slip your fingers into his hair, your hand so gentle as you run it through his pretty locks. you just want to comfort him, take away all the fear from the last few hours that he's been holding onto, letting pile up and up into an unmanageable, unruly, ugly tower. you suppose him crying so much is him letting the tower topple over, almost as simple as a toddler’s chubby, innocent hands to a wooden block castle. but it still tugs at your heart, pulls at you so hard because you hate to hear him cry, feel him shake and stiffen up around you, too scared to let you go for even a second. “i’m okay,” you repeat, voice fragile from the whispering brush of death’s fingers to your palm, but you try to make it strong and confident for him, “you saved me, sammy, i’m alright. it’s alright. it’s over. you don’t need to worry anymore.” 

you think he relaxes just a touch at your words, but he doesn’t move an inch from his spot on the ground, or say a thing to interrupt the sound of your breathing. all he does is cradle you close, one hand to your back so he can feel it shift when you take in or let out air, and the other splayed from the curve of your neck, up to the base of your head. without moving too much, he presses a long kiss to the ambiguous space above your ear. that’s not enough, so he tilts his head more to press his lips to the skin of your forehead.

dean hates to break the silent reverence between the two of you, and it means more than the world, the whole goddamn universe or anything else he could ever think of, to see this instead of you dead in sam’s arms. you might be the love of sam’s life, but that just makes dean all the more protective of you. to dean, you’re family, and you have been for a long time. that’s why he needs to get the two of you away from here, before anyone finds you and the dead body.

“sam,” dean interrupts, voice somehow both gentle and extra gruff, “we gotta go.” he knows sam can get you up on his own, but he still places a firm hand on your elbow as the two of you stand. he doesn’t want to let his hand fall away from you, but he does anyway. on the way out and to the car, you’re tucked safe into sam’s side, and dean’s got his gun in hand, ready to protect the both of you need be.

dean expects it when sam climbs in the backseat with you, just thankful to get away from the damned house and back to the motel. the ride is mostly silent, save the rumble of the engine, and sam’s hand stays securely wrapped around yours, itching to pull you even closer. you yawn and sam tugs at your hand, then drops his gaze to his lap when you look at him, offering to let you lie there. you can’t resist, because historically, your head in his lap has been heaven, and you figure that this time, after having heard him say “i love you,” it’ll be something better than heaven, something undiscovered and infinitely more precious than all the gold and silver in the world. so you drop your head to his thigh, and his hands are immediately on you. you’ve got the warmth of his palms on your head and your shoulder. your own hand is on his knee, taking in the feel of his time-worn jeans, and the muscle, sinew, and bone underneath.

you fall asleep, just 10 minutes from the motel, and sam doesn’t want to wake you, but you always do anytime he tries to carry you to bed.

he calls your name, all tenderness and sweet as he rubs your shoulder. you stir easily, only having fallen into a light slumber. the sigh you let out when you sit up is soft, and sam thinks it’s cute. then he thinks about the fact that, when you both settle down, he won���t have to hold that thought back. “you’re cute,” he can say, and make you both a little flustered before pressing a kiss to your lips. until then, he’s getting out of the car with you, only letting his hands stray from you when dean pulls you into a hug, right then and there. he holds you tight, showing you how scared he was too, so you squeeze back with extra care.

“don’t scare us like that again, kiddo. you got it?” he mumbles into the embrace. 

you nod, “i got it.” he lingers for a moment, then presses a quick kiss to the side of your head before parting and letting sam take over again.

he’s got a hand stuck to your back on the way into the room, all the way to the bed you shared last night. you don’t hesitate to peel off your dirty shirt and go to put on a new one, but sam’s already holding one out to you. dean disappears into the bathroom, despite not wanting to let you out of his sight.

you tug on the shirt, then collapse into bed, taking sam with you.

“you stink,” you complain lightheartedly, looking at him with honey-sweet love in your eyes. he wants to joke back, but he’s not quite there yet.

“i’ll shower after dean, if you want,” he offers, nothing but sincere. you smile at him, his nose inches from yours.

“but then you’d have to get up,” you say.

“sure, but if that’s what you want,” he repeats. he’d do anything for you, you think.

you shake your head. “that’s not what i want. i don’t want you to go. but i also want to fall asleep in your arms, and it sucks that you smell like blood, sweat, and nasty potions.”

“so what do i do, baby?” he asks, voice light, but you think he really means it. you melt at the pet name.

“hmmm,” you consider, truly not sure. you’re all quick in the shower after years of experience in motel bathrooms, but that still feels like such a long time to be away from him, especially since you should probably shower, too. you decide to suck it up. “you shower, then me. dean said the water was still hot yesterday, even when he went last.” you’re not sure when your voice dropped to a whisper, but it’s quiet now. he sighs, half disappointed, but knowing it’ll be much more comfortable that way.

the second you’re out of the shower and dressed, sam’s tugging you back into bed with him and tucking you into his chest. his hold is still protective and a little wary. you want to make him relax, so you wiggle away just a bit to look at his face.

“sam, i’m so hungry,” you complain. he smiles at you, thinking you’re too cute to resist when you whine just a little. and he just loves it when you say his name.

“you’re gonna make me get up again?” he asks, and you hold back a triumphant grin because his voice has turned pleasantly lighthearted.

“you’re gonna let me starve?” you tease back.

“fine,” he huffs, “we can go to the vending machine together.” he really doesn’t want to be far from you.

“no,” you protest, dragging out the ‘o’ just a little. “we had that earlier. and chips don’t count as a meal. poor dean probably hasn’t eaten at all today! we deserve a treat,” you argue.

sam can’t deny you anything you want in this moment. “we do,” he agrees, “what d’you want? maybe we can convince dean to pick it up for us.”

you smile. “mmm, that’s not fair. dean deserves a treat, too. i’ll satisfy myself with vending machine food for a few hours, then we can go out to an early dinner.”

“are you sure?” sam asks. you smile more.

“mhmm,” you nod. “i have the excuse to buy a candy bar too now.”

dean, splayed out on his own bed, has likely been listening in on this whole conversation, and graciously chosen not to interrupt. he smiles at you as you exit the room.

with a glance that no one’s around, sam slips his hand into yours as you make your way to the vending machine down the hall. your heart blooms at the feeling, at the way he’s been looking at you without shame and suddenly you realize you never said it back. sam punches in the number for an excessive amount of snacks, getting all of yours, his, and dean’s favorites, waiting til they all fall down to collect them. he bends over, gathering them all in his big arms and wide pockets and handing a few to you. the crinkling of plastic fills the quiet air as you watch him with a sort of worship and adoration dripping from your eyes. you take in the curve of his back, the peek of his spine that you get from his tshirt riding up a bit, and the pretty brown hair on the back of his head. when he stands, he catches that gaze, and for once you don’t hide it away or tuck it into that corner of the drawer where you keep all the little trinkets you don’t need, but can’t bear to get rid of. because you need this, and you can have this.

“i didn’t get to say it back.” your voice comes out hushed, reverent.

“say what?” he asks, matching his voice to yours without even trying. you take in all the subtle ways that his face changes, as he thinks about what you could mean. the left side of his mouth quirks down, just a bit, and his eyebrows pinch together. it’s not quite the expression he makes then he’s worried or upset, just thinking.

“i love you, too.” when those words finally escape, finally make themselves known and heard, everything is different. it’s like you’ve never really breathed before this, because the simplest of things, like an inhale that fills your lungs with stale motel air, is so good, so satisfying, so much better when he looks at you like that. “for as long as i can remember, sam, i love you. when we were kids at bobby’s, seventeen and getting soaked in the rain, every moment before then and every moment after, and–”

his lips are on yours and there’s a messy ruckus of plastic wrapped snacks being dropped to the floor, because he couldn’t care about anything except kissing you. his warm, rough hands are so gentle cupping your cheeks and pulling you into him, and you follow suit in disregarding the food in your hands to place them firm on his waist, almost squeezing his sides because you need this to be as real and as solid as it possibly can be.

some might question the merit of this being your first kiss with each other. but it’s so you and sam, standing in an empty motel hallway next to the vending machine and it’s crappy food scattered around your feet. plastic crinkling and rustling when you get closer, and a hunger so insatiable that it makes it hard to breathe.

when you finally break away, panting just a bit, sam’s eyes swim with concern as his mind flashes back to you just an hour ago.

“i’m okay,” you interrupt his paranoid thoughts and loop your arms around his neck, “i’m okay, sam. ‘s just you. baby, i know this is a horrible time to say this, but you always take my breath away, in the best way. you’re so pretty, and i’m so in love with you that when i look at you for too long, i forget to breathe, and–”

his lips are back on yours, telling you me too, me too, me too. saying as they push and mold against yours, you take my breath away and i love you for it.

[camryn-haitani]

omgg heyy so i binge read all of your writings and like im speechless.. like holy crap. but like youre legt so talented, so i was thinking if you could maybe like write about sam golbach hearing colby and I from the other room doing some nasty.. and like he cant help and after we finish he wants to recreate it?? i hope u unferstand what im yapping abt here.. anyways once i LOVE you work !! <3

YES OFC

it's like you're in my mind

I hope you like this <3

you sound heavenly, doll

Sam and Colby x FemReader

you and Colby start to get nasty in y'all's shared room. Sam decides to surprise Colby by coming by y'all's house all while he hears y'all and he can't help but make you sound like that too.

TW: SMUT, cursing, masturbating (Sam), p in v sex, name calling (darling, love, sugar, baby, princess, slut), smelling (colbys smells you a few times), fingering (fem receiving), unprotected sex, pussy eating, slapping (thighs, pussy, face), squirting, crying, hair pulling

I'm sorry if this is a lil short

"fuck, colby!" his cock is hitting your sweet spot over and over. he can't help it, you feel so good wrapped around him.

"I know, darling. just a lil more, I promise." colbys head in your neck, breathing in your scent. he can't get enough. whatever perfume, deodorant, body wash you use, keep using it because he loves it.

"c-cumm-ing" you manage to let out in breaths. all while Colby keeps hitting your spot over and over and over. he knows exactly where it is, he just loves to tease you, acting like he doesn't.

"cum with me, darling. take all of it, take all of me." the words flow right out as your walls flutter around him.

you both calm down from your high as Colby goes to get a washcloth to clean you both.

"imma go get some dinner for tonight, I'll be back soon, love." he kisses your temple and leaves.

you roll over and scroll through social media until you hear a knock on your door. still being sore from Colby, you wobble your way over to the door to open it.

"oh... hi Sam. what's up?" you ask him.

he brings you in for a hug. you, of course, hug him back. he trails his hands down to the fat of your ass. "you sounded heavenly, darlin'." he says in your neck, tickling your ear.

Earlier

the sound of Sam's fist hitting against his balls match with the pace colbys fucking you at. Sam angles his hand more upward to create the illusion he's actually fucking you.

"fuck y/n.... you feel so good." he throws his head back as he came on his chest and stomach. he had been teasing himself ever since you and Colby started. palming himself through his jeans, only fisting the top of his leaking cock, even going so painfully slow. sam couldn't take it anymore.

Now

you've been standing for a good minute and the more you do, the more your legs get weak. Sam feels your weight shift and he gets an idea.

"jump, doll." he orders. you nod as you jump with your remaining strength. Sam's hands still on your ass as he walks you over to your bed.

"been waiting for this, sugar. bet you taste like it too." he squeezes your thighs then gives them a slap. you pull up your legs to spread them even more.

"god you look divine, baby" he licks a fat stripe up your pussy. your hands immediately find a way into his hair. your thighs subconsciously close but Sam pulls away and gives your cunt a warning slap.

"keep them open darling, I need to taste all of you." Sam dove his tongue back into your wet hole.

the knot in your stomach begins to unfold and he could tell, so he pulls away.

"w-what no no no no, Sam please." you beg.

"I don't think so, princess. want you to cum hard on my cock. can you do that for me , sweet thing?"

you nod but you felt a sharp sting on your cheek. you moan at the contact and sam gripped your chin to make you look at him.

"I want words, slut. now answer me properly." he doesn't let go until you answer him.

"yes! 'm sorry!"

Sam's fingers circle ever so slowly on your clit. he coat his two middle fingers with your slick and his spit and push them past your dripping walls. Sam moved his fingers so fast, you never had time to speak. only little squeaks everytime his fingertips hit that special spot in you. with everytime he pushed them back in, your thighs ripple every time his knuckles hit your skin.

"sa-! 'm gon-! cum!" he didn't react in enough time when he felt warm liquids coat his stomach.

"fuck, doll... do that again for me, ok?" he pulls his fingers out and aligns his cock with your pussy. he pushes past your ring of muscle, Sam restrains himself from pushing all of himself in and fucking you. but he knew you need to adjust to him.

you give the nod of approval to continue, and he did just that. he gets to the base and pulls back out just to push back in.

he can finally start going faster when your little pained whimpers turn into moans.

"fuck, your doing so good for me, aren't you doll?" his head hung in your shoulder.

"yes! doing so good for you." when he out his head down, he reached an angle that he didn't hit before. that knot in your stomach came a little too early than you wanted it to but you didn't mind.

"sa-m cu- cum-ing 'gain" you somehow managed to get out. the same feeling on Sam's stomach appeared again but he didn't stop. you were soo sensitive that tears started to form in the corners of your eyes.

"I know darling, just a little more for me." Sam muffled in your shoulder.

"fuck, pull my hair y/n." and you did just that. you grabbed a handful of his blonde hair and tugged. he let out the most erotic moan you've ever heard.

"shit lemme cum inside you please?" his 'please' came out higher than the rest of his words.

"please! Sam cum in me, please please please!"

he gets himself up and pushed himself a few more times to make sure it's not coming out. he slides his cock out of you and goes to clean y'all up.

you hear the door unlock and bags being set down on the counter. the footsteps come closer to your room. your sprawled out on your bed, tears down your pretty cheeks along with a red spot from Sam, legs twitching, and pussy leaking with Sam's cum. Colby opens the door and basks in your position.

"I see y'all had some fun."

all you do is whine as they both laugh.

[vilf-lover]

i’m not one of those cool fanfic writers so don’t expect greatness and i’m idk how to make a title and fancy specifications but

this is how i imagine darlin getting everyone kicked out of the club because of them fighting went down ⭐️

gn!darlin

1400 words 😭😭😭 certified yapper

“I LOVE THIS SONG!!” angel shouted into darlin’s ear while an intense edm rendition of ‘baby’ by justin bieber roared from every crevice of the club

they were wondering if anyone was going to be able to hear after tonight, but they didn’t care because of how much fun they were having. though, they were questioning angel’s taste in music…

“OKAY I AM GOING TO GO GET A WATER AND GO SIT DOWN WITH MR PARTY POOPER OVER THERE” obviously darlin was referring to their wonderful mate that just happened to come to the club again- even after last time ;))

he claimed he came again for safety reasons but they knew it’s because he had a blast, even before their “dance lesson”. sam may not be a dancer, but he always talks about how music makes him feel truly alive, how he felt when he was human. a reminder of his livelihood.

darlin ends up sitting next to their mate the rest of their night as they both enjoy shirley temples and nice cold waters.

as the night grows older, the pack decides they’ll stay for 30 more minutes before leaving.

about five minutes before they plan to leave-“darlin’ i’m gonna use the restroom before we head out. don’t get in any trouble without me.” he chuckles as he jostles out of his seat and makes his way to the back.

about a minute passes before a man, about 6’0, shoulder-length hair, one full sleeve of tattoos sits on the chair next to them; in the seat sam was occupying.

“so gorgeous, you leaving here with that guy? because i know something that would make you much happier” he smiles smugly as the words leave his lips

they’re a bit taken aback. while this was not their first rodeo, no cowboy pun intended, they now felt way different when being hit on. as though it was an insult to them and sam.

“oh really.” they say in such an unenthused tone that most people would stand up and walk away right then and there.

it seems as though he takes this as a challenge. “yeah hun, i’m sure i could treat you better than he could. tenfold. how about i prove it?” you can hear the smirk on his face.

this is when darlin’ decides to stop being civil. there is nothing they hate more than a person that won’t take no for an answer. they would know after being in a relationship with one for way too long. boundaries are boundaries.

“listen. i am trying to give you the chance to leave this conversation right now. rejection is hard, i know. i’m sure you’re horny and lonely, but i’m not. so leave me alone.” they scoff and turn their chair back to the bar

“well didn’t know you were such a fucking bitch who didn’t know how to have fun but whatever” he starts mumbling to himself as he walks off, head hanging low

sam appears in the crowd of people, making his way back to his seat. “phew- sorry, the line was so long. how’re you doin’ darlin?”

“well- other than a guy poorly hitting on me, i’m doing okay” they scoff thinking about the interaction

sam is puzzled. “who did what? i left for like two minutes and you’re being ambushed. what am i going to do with such a fine specimen of a mate”

he leans in for a kiss as they both laugh and get up from their seats to meet everyone at the front

darlin and sam are walking out of the club with ash, milo, david and their mates when they hear something behind them

an agitated voice yells at the group, “oh so you have a little posse. and there’s your little boyfriend too. cute.”

confused, they all give glances to each other before darlin’ says to just keep looking forward and walk.

soon it would become obvious that this was not the end of the interaction.

“ignoring me? it’s good to know they’re all fucking bitches! just like you!” the man slurring his words and getting progressively louder as his sentences drag on

darlin’, upset, turns around and approaches the man while still keeping a good five feet of distance to try and maintain some civility. “can you leave me and my friends alone. you are obviously tipsy so i’m giving you this last warning”

they go to turn around before getting kicked in the stomach

“i’m not scared of you or your little friends! and i won’t take a pathetic ass threat!” he says, now screaming.

everyone is in shock- a person they don’t know is now attempting to hurt the person they all know won’t take shit.

“holy shit!” milo gasps, possibly for dramatic effect

david sighs while rubbing his temples, “this is not going to end well for him”

darlin is now standing up after falling into the ground, brushing the rubble off of their hands. there’s an annoyed look on their face as they walk over to sam. “i really did not want to do this tonight but can you take my bag and my rings?”

the man is standing there distraught, wondering why they are acting so leisurely after getting kicked.

darlin’ gives sam a kiss on the cheek and looks at the pack, “enjoy the show, i guess” they roll their eyes before turning back to the man

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you think this is some kind of jo-“ he tries to mutter a sentence, before getting punched square in the face

usually, darlin likes making fighting a game. something they can drag out and feel some adrenaline before ending it. but tonight? no, not tonight.

the man looks up, his nose is bleeding immensely. he looks terrified, skittering back on his feet and hands as darlin’ approaches them.

darlin’ is now towering over him, the dim illumination of a streetlight overhead creates a silhouette of their figure thats spine-chilling, they look menacing as ever

“i’ll let you stand up once.” they say under their breath, “give you some dignity. so it won’t be so embarrassing to remember tomorrow.”

they walk back as he very slowly gets up

the man laughs, “giving pity? not a good idea. i can destroy you hun. i just wasn’t prepared.”

he goes to throw a right jab after swinging his left leg in between their feet to knock them over.

in theory, it’s a good idea. make them unstable then hit them when they’re not excepting it. unfortunately for him- that’s not how it went…

darlin is not affected by the leg, and instead squeezes his leg in between their feet. making him stuck- falling directly on his side. a painful landing to say the least

as the pack is watching, they’re also making full commentary. not loud enough for them to hear, as that would be a detrimental mistake.

“do you think they’re going easy?” david asks

“oh absolutely” sam chuckles, “this is nothin’”

asher laughs, “yeah i think they’ve thrown a punch harder than that at me!”

the man is now in fetal position on his left side, wincing in pain.

darlin’ leans down to a crouch, frightenly close, and whispers, “next time, know. no means fucking no. don’t do this ever again. prick.”

the emphasis of their words would’ve been enough to make him topple over in the first place

he does nothing but nod as they walk off.

with impeccable timing, the security guard from the back of the club walks up to the group.

“i’ve been asked to escort you and your party off of the premises.” the man had a deep voice and is quite taller than anyone in the group.

darlin’ chuckles, “are you joking? i mean- this dude was harassing me and then my “party” this whole time and you didn’t feel the need to interject.”

the guard seems to give a glance that says “yeah, i know. i’m just doing my job” which everyone in that group has given before.

“okay. we were just leaving anyway. thanks sir, have a good night” david seems to be the only peaceful one at the moment. at most moments actually.

there’s silence in the pack as they continue walking away from the club until a overly-enthusiastic “wow! that was awesome!” spouts from asher

i am not a fic writer to say the least but i have a very active imagination and i hope this lives up to standard in one way or another

@rarelyisa

@infinitelovewithoutfulfillment

@aimedis

i hope you guys enjoy :>>

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Is a New Fic Coming Soon...?

Hey everyone! Here's a little teaser to a fic I finished a little while ago and didn't know if I'd post. If there's still some interest in AU Dean Winchester stories, and you guys want it... I might start posting the whole thing!

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: “Family Don't End With Blood,” takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her is what happens when she falls in love again.  

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader | Dean Winchester x F!Reader (eventual)

Dean 2:26am

You really need to stop working so late, dude. Drive safe and get home to that girl of yours!

Knowing that Sam had likely responded to a text Dean had sent much earlier in the day just before he set off on that fatal car journey hits you like a freight train. And knowing Dean’s reply, telling his brother to come home to you had come through when the police were telling you he’d died, was gut-wrenching. Fighting back more tears, you unlock your own cell phone and call the number you’d been dreading for hours now.

“Y/N, darlin’? It’s early… is everything alright?” The gravelly voice on the other end of the phone sounds tired, scared and confused. You figure getting a call at 6am will do that to a person.

“John–” You’d fought hard to keep your voice steady and strong, but what came out was shaky and meek. “It’s Sam…”

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice startles you out of your daze and you blink up at him from the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. Unsteadily, you rise to your feet and make your way over to him, throwing yourself into his outstretched arms.

“Dean,” you cry as more tears fall from your sore and swollen eyes. Dean is on you in an instant, wrapping you in his arms and holding on tight.

“C’mere. You shoulda called us, sweetheart. We’d have been here with you,” Dean’s voice is strong, but it still cracks with emotion. “You didn’t need to do this alone.” You sob into his chest until your legs give way, and he lowers you both to the ground, keeping his arms around you the whole time and settling you onto the floor.

You cling to him with every ounce of strength you have, knuckles going white, afraid that another person you love might leave you. But Dean holds you tighter, shushing you and stroking your back in a desperate bid to calm you down. The sobs only ease and your body stops trembling when he begins to rock you and hum Nothing Else Matters by Metallica in your ear.

John looks on from the doorway, seeming utterly devastated. Not only has he lost his youngest child today, but it's like he knows he’s also lost a part of his daughter-in-law that might not ever come back.

“Come on, darlin’. Let’s get you out of here, huh?” His soft voice floats from somewhere in the distance, but your vision is too blurry from tears and swollen from puffiness to see exactly where. 

Dean places a gentle kiss on your temple and helps you stand on shaky legs. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you home. There’s nothing more we can do here.” 

You nod at Dean and let him guide you to his car. 

[zozo-01]

Hiya darlin'

For the 200 followers, I dare you to do a short thing of Professor Sam

;-P

~Star 🌟

@starlitangels!!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONEEEE!!!!! Anyone who knows me knows that I adoreee my lil professor Sam AU!!! SO HOPEFULLY I DON'T GO OVERBOARD WITH THIS REQUEST!!!! Gonna sneak in my lil headcanon of Darlin' being a law student, hehe. >:333

CW: The story is a lil suggestive, but there is no smut!!!

"study hard (and you'll get something in return)."

Sam didn't even need to look up to see who it was in his office. They knew it was partly because he memorized their heartbeat, a skill he's proud of.

"Darlin', if you're looking to get fucked over my desk, tonight is not the night."

They scoffed and dropped their pile of books and papers onto his desk. "Oh, believe me, I would very much love that right now." Darlin' sat down in Sam's lap, groaning in frustration and burying their face in his neck. "Gotta get these notes down for an exam, and is frustratin'," they mumbled into his shirt.

The migraine that plagued Darlin' for days dissipated with every stroke of Sam's hand in their hair. It was exactly what they needed after staring at words for so long. They took a deep breath, letting Sam's scent wash over and soothe them.

For the last few days, Sam had been stuck marking his students' assignments. Avior would have been the one doing the marking, being the lovely TA he was, but Sam had dismissed him. He wanted to give the daemon the well-earned break that he and his partner deserved.

Darlin' on the other had been stuck home studying for their midterms. (Seriously, they were taking 5 courses this semester and had 12 exams? Who would plan something like that?) Despite their relaxed and unbothered nature, they were a studious person. They simply couldn't accept a grade less than perfect and would spend hours to achieve that. It often left them burnt out and drained, something they'd usually fight through.

But now they had Sam, and there was no better place to rest and recharge than in his arms. And every second they spent away from him was a crime against humanity.

They sighed, finally feeling at ease for the first time in weeks. "Thank you, Sammy. For always being here for me." They kissed his neck in hopes to convey the immense gratitude they feel for having him in their life.

He responded with his own kiss, one filled with love and placed by their temple, their favourite spot. "No need to thank me, Darlin'. You know I'd do anythin' for you."

They pull their head away from his chest. (They didn't miss the way Sam growled or how he tightened his arms around their waist to keep them close.) Darlin' stared deeply into his silver eyes, focusing on his blond- almost golden hair. He looked stunning under the artificial light of his office. He looked ethereal under the moonlight. He looked like Sam, and he was the most gorgeous man they will ever lay their eyes on.

They pressed their forehead onto his, and with a voice as soft as their fur, they asked him, "can I kiss you?"

Leaning in, Sam whispered against their lips, "of course." He pressed his lips against theirs, holding them so impossibly close to his body. Darlin' melted in his hold, fully giving themselves up to him. It felt as right as it did terrifying, knowingly relinquishing the control they so desperately desired. But it was ok with Sam. They're willing to give everything they had over to him.

Sam's hands trailed down their back, firmly grabbing their ass to pull them closer. He grinned at the moan Darlin' let out, and the dark look in his eyes told them that they were in for a whole world of pleasure.

Darlin' shamelessly grinds into his lap. Their hands held onto his shoulder to keep themselves steady. "What- shit- what happened to marking the…" Their voice trailed off with a moan with Sam's lips trailing down to their neck.

He chuckled at the effect he had on them saying, "I only gotta couple left. And you damn sure need to take a break." His hands trailed up under their shirt (it was his, actually), relishing in the warmth their skin provided.

Darlin' raised an eyebrow. "I though you weren't gonna fuck me over the table, hmmm?" They couldn't help but tease their mate a little more.

Sam thrust up into them. "Who needs a desk when we have a perfectly good chair here?"

[gavinsdeviant]

Feel the Light

cw/tw- talks of past harm done to character, talks of torture, emotional distress, trauma response, a traumatic flashback, hurt/comfort, Quinn, insults and harsh language

word count- 1,645

pairing- Sam & Darlin

fandom- Redacted Audio

fic inspired by the song feel the light by Jennifer Lopez

@davidshawswife @daveysangelsposts @angelcactus @morgansplace @annahhopee @romeo-the-homeo @zozosrandomthings @miyowmiyow

hope you enjoy!

“Quinn doesn’t get to keep hidin’ from you, not now. Not anymore.” Darlin’ gives a small smile, squeezing his cold palm in theirs. He brings their hands to his mouth and kisses a line down their wrist.

Do you remember,

“I’ll be fine. They ain’t gonna know what’s hitting ‘em,” he adds, flashing them a toothy grin. They laugh, even as nerves bounce around in their stomach. They reach up to press a kiss to his cheek.

When we feel under,

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin.”

—

Fifteen minutes later the shifter and their Alpha are seated overlooking a drab, empty room. The air is cold, quiet.

Darlin’ scrunches their nose at the smell of stale coffee.

“Where is he?” David asks again. He’d been hounded Detective Clark as soon as they had sat down, hackles raised at the room that still appeared vacant. Their stomach churns.

The fluorescent lights hum, buzzing as they drum fingers along the cold rim of the table they were sat at.

Henry beckons them to look. The door slides open and a familiar silhouette steps out seconds later. *Sam.*

Hurry up, hurry up,

There’s no more waiting,

He shuffles over to take his seat, flannel sleeves pulled up to the elbows. They smile to themselves as their chest warms. ”Samual Collins. He’s your partner, correct?”

He glances back to the glass, saluting them, something akin to mischief alight in his eyes.

We’re still worth saving,

The scrape of a large chain rattles the door before they can find a way to reply and then, with a slow creak the door swings open. With dusty hair and a charming smile, the man in the door almost appeared normal.

Sam’s smile drops.

I left my pack for him,

I gave my heart to him, my fears to him,

I put myself second for him,

Everything for him.

All they had done had been to have him behind bars and now, they couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Coward, their mind hissed.

Feel the light,

Shining in the dark of night,

Their heart pounds in their ears as their cruel vampire ex regards the man who had let down his walls for them— had let them love him for who he was, even when it wasn’t pretty. “I keep these walls high so those feelings don’t get the better of me but… you climbed over them. And you’re in here. I love you, Darlin’. Deeply.”

“Is my little mouse here?” Quinn demands, leaving in as if in whisper. A vein throbs in Sam’s temple.

They knew he’d ask— knew he’d try and draw them out, to no avail.

“No matter,” he snarls, smile too wide,” I don’t need them here for the things I’m going to tell you.” He lets out a huff, fangs flashing. “My pretty little pet didn’t share the details, did they?”

Sam bites back a growl.

“You really don’t know half the shit there is to know about your darlin. Oh, now you’ve got me excited.” A pause.

“Ever notice their limp?”

With a sharp scrape, their chair goes flying back as they press closer to the glass. “He doesn’t get to do that,” they hiss, turning to the detective. He shakes his head. “We need this information out of him. We’ve got him talking… now he just has to keep talking.”

Slowly, they turn back to the creature, one they’d called “lover” so many years ago, its eyes faint with delight. “Oh, the things I’ve done. Seen the scar on their ankle?” He seems almost nostalgic, eyes cast to the ceiling in thought.

Remember what we forgot,

I know its a long shot,

“I broke them, bit by precious bit, and I liked it,” he mused. They swallow hard. “Broke that ankle five, maybe six times, until my name became a prayer.”

“You,” Sam bites out,” don’t get to pretend you’re still apart of them, that you know anythin’ about them.”

“You new bloods are all the same. Young and naive. Don’t know what you’re saying.”

In a flash, Sam has him pressed to the wall, breaths coming hard.

Quinn only huffs out another laugh. “I would’ve made an example out of them. For all the empowered and non-empowered humans dead at my hand, they’d be a living example. Say, ever heard of the blood eagle?”

There’s a silence, long enough for darlin to hear their pulse in their ears before he continues.

“The Brazen Bull then? Eaten by rats, perhaps? They will always be a pathetic fucking mutt, in my eyes. Meant to be taught a lesson—“

Without a word, the shifter slowly rises from their seat and pushes the door open, grimacing at the ache that creeps up their ankle. Sam had never asked and hadn’t wanted to push anything they weren’t willing to give, but oh how they had wished he did.

They were humiliated.

Here I go, here I go,

Their eyes burned with tears, ones that they furiously wiped away. He didn’t deserve their tears, not when he fed on their pain like a sadism demon took to brutality.

A few minutes pass, the cold wall pressed to their back as they breathe in, and out. Their heart still beat like a thousand drums in their chest and they couldn’t seem to make it slow. They glance at the door just as it opens, David’s muscled frame waiting.

Feel better now, feel better now,

He hesitates, face taut.

And then, with long strides towards them, wraps them up in his arms, head to his chest. They shudder.

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “You don’t have to go back in there, if you don’t want to. That fucker doesn’t get to take that choice from you too.”

They nod.

“Do you want Sam?” Again they nod, eyes burning.

“I’ll go get him.”

“He should be in there,” they try weakly. “Trying to save that girl.”

“I don’t care. There are other ways.”

Without a further word their friend pushes up from where he’d practically sunk down on his knees in front of them, and swings open the door. It shuts with a resounding click behind him as they slump back against the wall.

Here I go, here I go,

Feel better now, feel better now,

Their shoulders shake, chest heaving as they bite back tears. They were just messing things up— if it weren’t for them, none of this would have happened.

You’re his thrall… always will be.

And then, Sam is there, gently cradling their face in his hands and whispering soft words.

“Hey, hey— you needed me, and I’m here.”

They see the panic in his eyes, the hurt as if reflected mirror-like in front of them.

No.

They lay a gentle hand on his chest, pushing back. He doesn’t touch, only opens his palms instead.

“These hands will always be for you, darlin. Always. Never to hurt or bruise. To hold, whenever you might need it. We’re safe.”

”Oh pet, my name tastes so good on your lips… as you scream it. How’s your leg, hmm? Holding, and healing, I hope.”

They roll their ankle, over and over again, tapping along the ridge where the scar had healed.

Still here, still here.

Still here still here still here still here still—

“Darlin.”

”Nice and crooked. Shifter bones are harder to shift and clay, but this… Now you can never run away. Why would you? Such a masochistic wolf you are. And so the wolf traded their life for another. The fox and the wolf.” He smiles. “What a tragic tale. Sly fox, stupid wolf.”

“I had this horse on the farm I grew up on, way back, in Mont Blanc.” They blink, lights unbearably bright. “Athena, we called her. And me, bein’ the small stubborn boy that I was, decided that I could damn well ride her if I pleased.”

There’s a pause, the shifter tapping a finger along the bone of their left ankle as they look up at him, present now.

“I fell off a horse that day, and my mama was not impressed.” They smile, reaching a hand out to take his palm.

“I’m sorry, its just—“

“No apologizin’.” They shrug but gesture for him to continue.

“Well, Athena got up to a whole lotta trouble in my day. She loved goin’ out and never wanted to come back,” he smiles, somber. “Couldn’t really blame her.”

They take his hand in theirs, squeezing as if to say I’m here.

“We can go back,” they say suddenly, the quiet too big. He looks concerned by pulls them gently to their feet anyway, a stream of tears drying on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, voice raw. “You shouldn’t have had to live through that.”

They smile, a genuine smile, one they hadn’t felt in weeks.

From behind them Detective Clark clears his throat. The shifter and vampire both turn to him looking distraught, hands behind his back.

“Quinn lashed out. He managed to shatter the glass to the back room and has been placed again under a magical suppression. We don’t believe it’s safe for Mr. Collins to return back in there.”

He walks closer, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You did well. Thank you both for coming, we appreciate the patience in this difficult case in finding Mr. Fox.”

An hour later, Darlin and Sam are standing on the sidewalk, breathing in the cold evening air, feeling lighter than they had ever been.

Sam throws his head up to the stars, eyes bright.

“As long as those stars burn,” he points. “And as long as I live, I will always be here for you— morning, noon and night. Whenever you need me, darlin. I love you.”

Here we go, here we go

“I love you too, cowboy.”

Feel better now, feel better now

[dominimoonbeam]

No Luck Left - Part 2

Remember when I was like, “I don’t know, maybe I’ll write a part two...” well I did! And now I’m working on part three...

Posting here and over on ao3!

Darlin/Sam and Darlin & David. Pack feels and even a King Vincent moment.

Tags: Alexis and Quinn teamed up to take what’s theirs (all those tags), non-con invoking, non-con turning, angst, hurt/comfort, memory alteration...

No Luck Left - Part 2

Darlin woke up and wished they hadn’t.

They were so cold.

Sam was right there. They could see him, could probably touch him if they could just lift their arm. But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at Alexis—watching her with cold focus that Darlin imagined Alexis thought was adoration or love. They had no idea what he looked like when he loved. Darlin closed their eyes. Too tired. David or Vincent would catch up to Alexis eventually now. They would save Sam.

“There you are,” Quinn whispered against their temple and Darlin jolted, realizing suddenly that they were sitting in his lap, his arm wrapped around them and his thighs bracketing their hips. Sam and Alexis turned their heads to look too now. Alexis grinned big but it was empty. And Sam… Oh, Sam.

They remembered the hallway of their apartment building and Sam dragging them to the floor. And then teeth. All three vampires had descended on them, pinned them and bled them until they’d lost consciousness.

Quinn snaked a hand up their side, under their shredded shirt. Their jacket was gone. His mouth brushed their already torn neck. “It’s almost sundown, but I wanted to do this right before we go.”

Go? Go where? Who was going? Were they taking Sam with them after they killed them and ran?

Alexis leaned in and whispered something to Sam. He curled his lip briefly but slid away from her and toward Darlin. No. Nonono. That wasn’t him. Not really. Not right now.

“You did this,” Quinn whispered against their skin. “If you’d just stayed with me, Misfit…”

They tried to kick, to move, to shift. Quinn lifted one of their arms and held it out toward Sam. They must have planned this because Sam didn’t say anything. He didn’t look confused or worried. He took Darlin’s arm in his hand, skin to skin, but everything so different from before. From usual. Quinn still had his arms around them and they hated the sound they were making, this confused awful sound because it was all wrong—like their mind was cracking as it tried to make sense of having contact with both of them at the same time. They were nothing alike. They couldn’t be more different. But then they both had teeth in Darlin’s skin, sapping what little they had left to hang on to.

Oh god, they were going to die. Their heart was beating so fast it felt like their chest might break.

Their vision blurred, their hearing sliding in and out. They were going to die. And Sam, when the pack or the Solaires saved him, he’d remember this, wouldn’t he? They hoped not.

Let him forget.

Let him forget everything.

Quinn laughed when he took his teeth from them, his arms all around them, cradling them to his chest, kissing their face and making promises they couldn’t hear clearly.

They didn’t want his arms or his promises.

They only wanted Sam.

They died wanting Sam even though he was right there next to them.

 -

 It took Vincent five months to find Alexis and Sam, or rather, to catch up to them. He seemed to find himself again and again in the aftermath of Alexis—in the damage she had reaped in a city. It seemed that Alexis and Quinn had parted ways months ago and that suspicion was underlined when he spent three nights stalking her. He watched where she went and who she was spending her time with. He watched her with Sam and damn if they didn’t look like a real couple from the outside. Vincent would never have been able to stand on the sidelines, allowing his friend—his brother—to be used like that right in front of him for those three days if it weren’t for Darlin. No one had found them yet. No one had caught up to Quinn but worst—no one had even been able to confirm if Darlin was undead or just dead.

Sam might know, for better or worse, but Vincent had waited out those three days in the sheer hope that Alexis would lead him to Quinn or Darlin. But she didn’t. She only led him to blood dens and flashy clubs and then back to her penthouse.

And then one night, almost close to dawn, Alexis sent Sam home first. She was playing with other people tonight and had gotten annoyed with Sam. It had to grate her nerves, the way he obeyed on the surface but it never went any deeper, no matter how long she maintained the lies of their love for each other.

He followed her through the lightening night, to another vampire’s home. He snuck in with Lovely on his heels just before dawn trapped them all inside together. And then he and his Lovely killed everyone but Alexis.

He had questions but she had no answers. She threatened, begged, and cursed. She screamed for Sam even though he was out of earshot. There was a reason Vincent had waited until she was alone—so that she couldn’t force Sam to protect her.

Lovely yawned big and then zapped Alexis again. It was almost noon. They’d been at it for seven hours.

“I told you! I told you!” Alexis wailed. And she had. She had told them what she knew. Quinn had approached her with the idea of working together to each get what they wanted. He’d turned the wolf and they’d all left Dahlia together. She said they’d spent a few weeks together, the four of them, before losing interest in each other and going their own ways. Last she had known, he was heading west with Darlin.

Vincent stood over Alexis. She should have been a sister to him, a part of his family, but she wasn’t. Not even close. Sam was his family and Alexis had violated him and made him party to the death of his mate. What would that do to Sam? If he was there when it happened, if he saw it, he would remember. Just as he would remember anything and everything else she made him do those last five months.

Alexis stared back at him, eyes growing larger. She had realized why he was still asking—why they were still playing this game even though she had no more information. “You’re really going to kill me?” she whispered, truly shocked. And hurt?

Vincent tipped his head to the side, never taking his eyes off her. “Not until sundown,” he promised and then Lovely gave her another jolt right to the spine. He wouldn’t risk his brother waking up with all those memories and all that pain only to be alone with the sun for the next half-day. No. He’d let him sleep soundly before waking him up to hell.

 -

 Sam woke and it was like sitting up out of a fevered sleep. He looked around the room, confused for long seconds before her death registered in his bones and his blood. The veils Alexis had placed in his mind, the lies and the stories, were gone. They didn’t melt away slowly. They were just gone. His breath came faster and faster as the last five months rolled back on him. They were all his own memories, nothing was forgotten, but… But they meant more now. He understood what had happened now. He knew why he’d done what he’d done—how Alexis had invoked him and forced him to feel and think and do differently than he would have. That would have been a violation that had him screaming right now if it weren’t for all the memories of what he'd done to Darlin. Darlin.

He practically fell out of the large bed he’d shared with Alexis, clawing at his own chest and trying to breathe around the agony growing inside him. No. No! They were dead. His Darlin was dead. And he’d… Oh god.

He threw up on the floor, red sliding everywhere. He remembered them in Quinn’s arms. They’d shared the last drink. Sam had participated in their death and then just watched Quinn turn them like it was nothing to him.

And then…

He heaved again, struggling to breathe.

A door in the apartment splintered and flew open in the other room and for one delirious moment he was terrified that it would be Alexis again. That she would tell him to get back into her bed and he would do it—that she’d tell him what to say to her and he’d say it—that she’d move her hands over him and tell him to moan.

But Alexis was dead.

Vincent was beside him, on his knees in the blood, and wrapping arms around him.

“I know,” he kept saying, rocking him.

It was then that Sam realized he was crying, not just tears but whole-body wracking sobs. He hadn’t cried like that since they first let him be alone after she turned him. He’d been mourning his life then. What was he mourning now? Darlin’s life? Or his soul? Were they the same?

“Have they found Darlin?” Sam finally asked the only question that mattered. David would be looking for them, no matter what. He would find them and kill Quinn and they would be okay. As okay as they could be, anyway.

But Vincent didn’t answer.

Sam closed his eyes. If Darlin wasn’t found, then… Then they were still out there somewhere, with Quinn.

“So, he turned them?” Vincent asked carefully.

Sam dragged breaths, shaking, trying to get himself under control. “Yes.” They didn’t even know if Darlin was dead or not? That had to have been agony for their pack—not even knowing if they were looking for a vamp or proof of death. Guilt gnawed at his chest until he was sure it would kill him—but guilt had never been that merciful. “Quinn… The four of us traveled together for a while but Quinn and Alexis could never get along. Even when we went into a new city, we split up. I think Alexis was afraid Quinn would kill me and Alexis was definitely thinking about killing Darlin. The only thing keeping her from doing it was that she wasn’t sure she could kill Quinn too.”

“Even with you?”

He opened his eyes, staring through tears at the floor. “I don’t think she was sure I would help her, not enough to bet her life on it.”

Vincent still had his arms around him, brushing hair back from his face like he was a child. “Even though she could invoke you?”

He exhaled hard, remembering why. It was such a small thing but he remembered how upset she’d been. “They invoked us all the time, to say and do things. To think a certain way and feel a certain way. For long stretches they’d have us convinced we hated each other. But…” He tried to make sense of it. He’d felt like he hated Darlin. Annoyed at everything they said and did, and Darlin had been starting fight with him all the time. But sometimes, without realizing it, they’d find themselves holding hands. He’d blamed them and they’d blamed him in the moment but now…Now he thought it was just their bodies knowing the truth. “Sometimes we held hands. Sometimes we were soft despite all the bullshit.” He waved at his forehead as if the clouds that had been there were a real and physical thing to be swept away.

Vincent looked surprised but nodded slowly, accepting this information. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find you soon,” he said, voice rough.

Sam laughed darkly. “You found me, Vin. It means everything. You killed her?”

Something dark rippled across Vincent’s features, there and then gone. He nodded once. “I tried to get information about Darlin and Quinn but she didn’t have much.”

Sam nodded grimly. After they parted ways, she hadn’t cared where the other two went as long as they didn’t cross her path again.  Vincent pulled at his arms, easily dragging him to his feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up and out of here.” He walked him into the big bathroom, leaving doors open and flicking lights on. Sam didn’t argue, not even when Vincent stripped him down and put him in the shower. What pride or modesty did he have left to claim? How many times had Alexis showered with him now? He pushed the thoughts away and scrubbed himself down. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter right now, because whatever he’d gone through, Darlin had gone through worse. Darlin had died. Lost their wolf and been turned against their will.

They’d never even talked about it before. He thought they’d have so much time and it would come up naturally later on—when Darlin had more time to think about whether or not they’d want to be a vampire. And he’d been preparing himself for them to decide not to be. They were a wolf, after all. And who, if not him, could better understand wanting to live and die in their own time? That had been his plan once. He would have happily spent one, precious lifetime with Darlin and suspected he would have been looking after their pack forever after that.

But that wasn’t how things had happened.

Lovely appeared at the door of the bathroom but didn’t step over the threshold, just holding out a bag to Vincent. He took it and when Sam got out of the shower and dried off, he was relieved beyond belief to see his own clothes in that bag. He hadn’t thought about it yet, but he would have rather walked out of the building naked than put on anything here. Alexis had picked out everything—had her scent in everything.

He had to get out of this place before sunup. He couldn’t spend another night there or he’d throw himself off the fucking balcony and, as appealing at the idea of death seemed right then, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just check out and leave Darlin to whatever fate he’d helped seal for them.

He pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, his socks and his shoes.

“Your jacket’s in the car,” Lovely whispered from the door, not looking.

Sam’s heart softened just a tiny bit then, warming by the weight of what they had done—how far they had gone—and how much they had thought about him. “Thank you,” he said and meant it. The words would never be enough. He sighed, body heavy with a guilt he wasn’t sure would ever let up—wasn’t sure he deserved to shake. “Get me the hell out of here?”

Vincent cracked a smile and curled an arm around his back, steering him out of the bathroom and through the apartment. They followed Lovely into the hall and down through the upscale building.

 -

 The pack had taken turns on the search. Either David or Asher was always in Dahlia while the other was out hunting for Darlin.

And then the damnedest thing happened.

David woke up to his phone ringing. For a split second he wasn’t sure if he was on the road or home, but then Angel squirmed against his side and his bedroom came into focus around him. Home. He was home. He grabbed his phone and frowned. It was one in the morning. He answered because it was Arden. “What—”

“They’re here.”

“What?” he asked but he was sitting up. He knew.

Arden’s side of the call was loud, too many voices and music and the clanking of glasses. “I’m at that dive bar on 5th. Darlin is sitting ten people away from me right now. They’re…They’re a vamp,” their voice broke a little when they confirmed it. He couldn’t tell if it was relief or grief. He was already pulling on his pants and heading for the door, grabbing a shirt. “I don’t know what to… They haven’t even looked at me. I don’t think they recognize me… Is that possible? Should I talk to them—”

“No,” he snapped. “Are you alone?”

“I’m with Miguel and a couple of friends. Empowered friends…” they added, not sure if it mattered but obviously preparing for it to.

“Okay. Stay where you are, stay together. If they leave, try to follow, but don’t split up. If Darlin is there, then Quinn might be there too.” He hung up and told Angel where he was going before stepping into his boots and heading out, keys in hand.

He had to fight the urge to call Asher and tell him to come home. He needed to make sure this really was Darlin before getting anyone else’s hopes up. He tried to temper his own. Had they really just come home on their own? Or was Quinn fucking with them?

The drive felt ten times longer than normal. He parked in a no parking zone because what the fuck did he care if his truck got towed tonight? He walked in and took a moment. He spotted Arden and Miguel on the far side of the room and then, right there at the bar, was Darlin. They were wearing their usual boots and ripped jeans and leather jacket. They sat at the bar, working on a second beer and looking at their phone like they were anywhere else. Completely unaware of him. If they’d been a wolf, his wolf, they would have felt him walk in.

He pushed that thought aside. They would always be his family. He glanced around the busy bar but didn’t spot Quinn anywhere. There were only a handful of vampires, none of them seeming to be skulking about or paying any attention.

He did the only thing he could. He walked over to them and leaned his side into the bar, looking down at them. They were different in a thousand minute ways, but still Darlin. It was right there in the annoyed lift of their eyebrow when they took notice of him and turned just enough to look up. They took another long drink of their beer, just staring at him like they might any other night. “Are you going to tell me this is your seat?” they asked, flicking their gaze pointedly over him from head to toe, and then turning sideways on their stool to stare right at him. They smirked, flashing those sharp new fangs. “I wouldn’t mind starting a bar fight, big guy.”

David stared back, soaking everything in. They were acting so…normal. What had he expected? Tears? No. But he hadn’t expected to find them right there either. Why would they come back to Dahlia but not come find him? Were they just waiting from him to find them? “Wouldn’t be your first,” he said absently, still trying to wrap his head and heart around this. They were right there in front of him. Safe. Alive. Well, undead, but he’d take what he could get.

Darlin’s eyes narrowed and mouth twisted curiously at him. It wasn’t a normal reaction for them. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen. “Is that your way of saying I look like trouble?” They smirked a little, like they weren’t sure if they should take it as a compliment or an insult. And then they cocked their head to the side and flicked their gaze over him, gauging him, appraising him, flirting with him? What the fuck?

“When did you get back into town?” he asked, buying time. Something was wrong, more wrong than them being undead, more wrong than having been without them for nearly six months.

Darlin smiled but looked confused. “Get back?” They shook their head, taking another drink of their beer, finishing it off this time. “I think you’re mixing me up with someone else, big guy.” They scoffed when they put the bottle down, standing up this time.

David’s heart lurched in his chest. No. God, no. They started to walk away and he caught their arm. “Darlin?”

The vampire laughed, gaze shifting between his hand on their arm and back up to his face. “Nicknames already? I don’t really think that one suits me… Darlin’s don’t usually start bar fights, right?”

Their Darlin did. He forced himself to let go. He had been thinking about killing Quinn for months, ever since he stared at the hallway outside their apartment door, full of claw marks and blood splatter. “Sorry, you look like someone I know,” he said.

They grinned at that, turning to face him again, hands in their jacket pockets just like usual. “Really? Scars and all?” they sounded skeptical.

David nodded. “Scars and all.”

“Well, shit. If you find them, send them my way? Could be fun to have a doppelganger.”

David leaned back against the bar and then did the most unnatural thing in his life. He held out his hand to Darlin, a person he’d known almost his whole life, and introduced himself. They took his hand and he saw when they recognized his name—not immediately, but after a few seconds.

“As in Shaw Pack? That David Shaw?” They shook, their palm so cool against his warm. “So I guess if I was in your seat you really could have tossed me out for it.” Their hand returned to their jacket pocket, but they didn’t move to leave yet.

David shrugged. “I could have tried,” he said and they lit up. Fuck. They were so like themselves but not quiet. It was uncanny. It was horrifying. But at least he had eyes on them—at least he knew they were okay. Now, he just had to figure out how to keep them around. If he told them everything, they might not believe him. Quinn might have invoked a reaction to that truth, something that makes them resist believing it. “So, it’s your first time in Dahlia? Know someone in town?”

Darlin grinned, those teeth looked good on them. “Nope. Had this blow out breakup and ended up on the road. Just kind of landed here, you know? A stop on my way nowhere.”

David nodded like he didn’t care. He nodded like a liar. A breakup with Quinn? Somehow that made sense. Even invoked, Darlin wasn’t going to be pliable, and Quinn didn’t exactly have the longest attention span. But they’d come home. Darlin hadn’t known where they were going, but they’d come home. They’d driven to Dahlia and sat down in a bar smack in the middle of Shaw territory.

“Can I buy you a drink then? An apology for mistaking you for someone else.”

Darlin swayed, considering it before shrugging and sitting down again. “Never had a wolf buy me a drink before…”

Yes, you have. He gestured to the bartender for two more beers. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Misfit.”

David was grateful they weren’t looking at him—didn’t see the wince and snarl. Quinn had called them that—a reminder that they never belonged with their pack, with anyone, but him. Getting a closer look at them, Darlin looked…healthier. Which was almost hilarious considering they were undead. But they didn’t have the usual bags under their eyes or bruises or scrapes from scrapping with others. They had always lived rough. He supposed it didn’t mean that had changed, just that they healed faster now. The bartender brought them another round. David honestly couldn’t remember the last time he sat a bar with Darlin and had a drink, but they ended up sitting there for two hours.

Darlin had questions about Dahlia that anyone who’d never been before might and even got bolder later on to ask about being a wolf and having a pack.

“I can’t decided if that sounds great or terrible,” they confessed, laughing. “Having that many people in your family…”

“You don’t have many in your clan?” he asked, hoping it sounded easy.

Darlin snorted. “Just Quinn. He’s such a dick.”

“Your ex?”

“And maker.” They rolled their eyes. “Talk about complicated. I used to think he was just a narcissist but now I’m thinking he’s a masochist too.”

David watched them, definitely interested now but trying not to show too much. Darlin was always more perceptive than they let on and they had amazing instincts.

“I mean, what the fuck was he thinking turning me? Half the time he’s pissed I don’t do what he wants or adore him as much as he thinks he’s owed. The fucker keeps invoking me to make me do things,” their teeth ground a little on that before smirking, lifting the bottle they were working on. “But then I always make him pay for it later. Sometimes I’d attack him for no reason. At least, I don’t know what the reason is, but like, I know there is one, you know? Does that make sense? I guess I just sound like a psycho.”

David shook his head. “No, that makes sense. The invoking thing seems fucked up. You probably had good reasons even if you couldn’t remember them.”

Darlin glanced at him curiously then, maybe thinking his response was too correct? Too close to what they were thinking? “Isn’t it the same with wolves though? You’re alpha. You tell them to jump and they jump.”

David tensed, not liking the comparison at all. “True, but I guess the difference is that if I tell them to jump, they’re compelled by instinct to do it—to trust me—but if they decide not to, I can’t make them. If I give them reasons not to trust me, if I’m a bad alpha,” God it hurt even to say it. “Then they could vote to remove me from the position and give it to someone else.”

Darlin mulled that over, finishing their beer. “Huh. Definitely more democratic than vampires.”

He shrugged. “You should stick around for a while,” he chanced. The bar was close to closing. He had to find a way to stretch this out. “I’ve got some openings if you’re looking for work and could really use a vampire in the mix.” He’d never hired outside of the pack before and it wouldn’t be now even if they agreed—they just wouldn’t know that.

Darlin looked dubious, which he’d expected. Darlin never bit when offered a good thing too easily.

“Hours are shit, of course, and you might have to break up some brawls rather than start them.”

Darlin smiled then. “Punching people is punching people either way…” They got up just as the bartender was announcing closing.

David did the same, tossing bills onto the counter.

Darlin saw them, seemed to have done quick math and realized he’d paid for everything. They were instantly tense, calculating. David knew them so well that he could tell they were even considering his height to theirs and who had the advantage here in a fight. It would be him. It was his territory, his community, and he was an alpha, while Darlin was a new vamp alone. He had been planning to offer them a ride back to wherever they were staying but he decided against it right then. Darlin would assume he was after something else—maybe even that he thought he’d paid for it and was owed. Too many people had been wearing Darlin down long before Quinn showed up. It was instinct now, just like the instinct that brought them home to him.

He stretched and started for the door. “Tomorrow night? We can meet here and walk over to the den. You can meet my mate. You’ll like them. They also like the idea of starting bar fights.” It wasn’t a coincidence he mentioned Angel. He needed Darlin to believe he wasn’t after anything more than their company and maybe their muscle for hire.

Darlin nodded, hands in pockets, following him out of the building and onto the sidewalk. The sky was getting lighter by fractions and Darlin squinted at it like it was full sunlight blaring down on them. Some things had changed.

“You got someplace to crash for the day?” he asked, walking toward his truck, voice louder to cover the growing distance between them. Leaving them was the hardest thing he’d done in a long time. Everything in him wanted to scoop them up and bring them home with him—wanted to hold on to them no matter how they kicked and screamed and just know that they were safe because he could see them. But Darlin would kick and scream. Darlin would think they were being abducted and held prisoner, and then he would be holding them prisoner. He was prepared to do that too—if they tried to leave town. But God he didn’t want to cross that line. He didn’t want to be another villain in their life.

“Yeah,” Darlin called back, waving as they started in the opposite direction. “See you tomorrow.” And then they were gone, moving so fast that they were a blur of color.

David fought the sinking feeling in his gut that made him want to shift and hunt. He saw the glimmer of Arden down the street, darting from shadow to shadow in wolf form. Miguel would be close. He had texted them at the bar and told them to track Darlin but not to get caught. He just wanted to know where they were staying.

He got into his truck, closed the door and took deep breaths. They were alive. They were away from Quinn. There was so much to be grateful for.

His phone chimed almost ten minutes later when Arden told him where Darlin had gone.

He sighed and picked up the phone, sending a text to Vincent. He knew Vincent had recovered Sam last month and they’d still been out looking for Quinn. Sam hadn’t been back to Dahlia. David suspected he wouldn’t have come back without Darlin, not even when the search ended and Vincent and his mate came back to their throne. ‘Darlin is in Dahlia. No Quinn. No memories of us.’ He sent the text and then called Asher.

The sun was rising. At least he knew Darlin couldn’t go anywhere until sundown. Asher answered despite the hour. His voice was clipped, serious, lacking the usual cheer that had been so signature for him before. David would fix that too, as soon as all of this was done, as soon as they could be home again. “Darlin is in town,” he said. “I have eyes on them. They’re okay.” They weren’t, not really, but they were physically and unfortunately that was more than he'd been able to hope for before. He heard Asher exhale hard. He believed him, which was why he hadn’t called before he knew for sure. “I need you to find Quinn,” he said, like they hadn’t been searching all this time. Only, they’d been searching for a Quinn with Darlin. He told him the city where the two had parted ways. “He invoked them… They don’t remember us or who they are. They think he’s their ex-boyfriend.”

“What? If they don’t know who they are, then why did they go to Dahlia?”

“Instinct? They came home.” And David meant to keep them there.

“Okay.”

“Asher…” He didn’t know how to ask this because he wouldn’t command it. If they brought Quinn back to the Department alive, he might never let go of the invocations he’d made. The Department might lock him away forever for killing and turning Darlin like he did, but then again, they might not. They weren’t exactly good at justice or keeping hold of their own inmates.

“I’ll find him,” Asher promised, renewed. “I’ll kill him.”

David exhaled hard, so relieved that Asher understood what they had to do. “If you don’t want to do it, you can bring him back here—”

“I’ll handle it. You just keep eyes on our baby vamp.”

Our baby vamp. David almost smiled. Almost. He would when it was done. They would do whatever they had to to get Darlin through this. He knew they would assume they weren’t pack anymore—would mourn the wolf they had been and the family they’d had like it was lost—like it wasn’t so deeply a part of who they were that it could n ever be lost.

[taelonsamada]

half asleep darlin nuzzling into sams chest and clinging to him while he’s brushing a hand through their hair - they’re practically purring

Sam was definitely doing his best to keep his breathing even and not lose his shit over how adorable it was seeing Darlin behaving in such a way the first time. By now, it’s not so much that he’s USED to it as he knows what to expect lol so when burnt out/exhausted/half asleep Darlin flops against him and latches on, he just smiles and wraps them up in his arms, playing gently with their hair and scattering kisses along their forehead and temples, all while silently screaming in his head about how it’s too fucking cute

[fire-or-clear]

"Rings on or off, baby?"

───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※─── ───※ ·❆· ※───

summary ~ riding with the winchesters isn't exactly a walk in the park, but you wouldn't give it up for anything, especially now that you've got john wrapped around your finger.

pairing ~ John Winchester x reader

warnings ~ significant age gap, very slight daddy kink, a bit suggestive, talk of weaponry and hunting

rating ~ T

this isn't much, just me trying to get back into writing using a prompt i saw a long time ago. it's been an age, and even when i wrote a whole lot more, i've only ever posted like two things on tumblr, so i really have no idea what i'm doing lol. please let me know what you think, and if the rating or warnings need to be changed(:

You take John’s hand as he helps you climb down from his truck, and you absently note the feeling of cold metal against your fingers. You hide a small smile at the reminder of this morning.

You and John wake up like you usually do, wrapped around each other. The sheets are bunched up at the foot of the bed, like normal. He always gets hot in the middle of the night, whereas you’re always cold, but having John’s overly warm body pressed against yours, head to toe, usually does the trick to keep you warm.

John presses a sleepy kiss to your lips, and the two of you get distracted for a few minutes, before John forces himself to climb out of bed with a groan. You chuckle and watch as he ambles into the bathroom to shower, and then you roll over and get comfortable in the warm spot he left behind. Perks of taking night showers, you get to sleep in while John wakes himself up with his morning showers.

You doze off, and you don’t know how long it’s been before you feel fingertips drag lightly down your spine. You hum sleepily and turn your head to face John. He’s crouched down beside the bed in just jeans, with a small smile on his face.

“Time to get up, baby.” He informs you. You pout and bury your face in the pillow. john chuckles and you hear him moving around, and you look up in time to see him tug a t shirt over his head. You watch as he pulls his usual jacket on, and you finally climb out of bed as he sits down on the edge to put on his boots. You walk over to your bag and pull on a pair of panties, and then you hunt around the room for your bra, which always disappears when John is the one to take it off of you. You find it draped over a chair, and you pull it on as well, and then you return to your bag and grab a pair of jeans. You tug them on, and then you grab the shirt John was wearing yesterday and tug that on as well. John smirks and pulls you down into his lap as you pass by. You wrap an arm around his neck and press a kiss to his jaw. He tangles his fingers in the shirt.

“You don’t have a clean one to wear?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“Of course I do. But why would I do that when I could wear your shirt and smell like you all day?” You drawl. John presses a kiss to your throat, and you shiver as his stubble scrapes your skin.

“Now why would you want that?” He wonders.

“Cause I love the way you smell. Your cologne, your favorite whiskey, wood smoke, and something that’s just.. You. Makes me feel safe. It also makes me want the real thing.” You murmur, before tugging him into a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist, and you slide a hand up to tangle your fingers in his hair as he nips at your lower lip. You two get distracted, again, but this time you’re the one to pull away.

“Hmm, we got work to do. You gonna let me up?” You ask, looking down into his eyes. He smirks at you.

“You gonna ask nicely?” He retorts. You give him a shy little smile and lean in so your lips are brushing the edge of his ear.

“Please, Daddy.” You murmur sweetly. John groans and loosens his grip on your waist, and you climb off his lap. He smacks your ass when you turn to walk away, and you give a surprised yelp.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you just wait, sweetheart.” He drawls. You give him a wink as you sit down on the coffee table to tug on socks and your boots.

“Whaddaya think, rings or no rings today?” He asks, and you look up and see him turning one of them between his fingers. You finish lacing up you boots, and then walk over to where he’s standing. You grab your three favorite rings and slide them onto the correct fingers, pressing a kiss to each one.

“Rings. They look good on you, and I like the way they sound against your gun.” You answer. John chuckles and cups your cheek, tracing your lower lip with his thumb.

“Is that right? What makes you think I’ll be using a gun today?” He asks. You give him a little smirk.

“We’re in Texas, darlin’. You’re in my world now, and I’m telling you, you’ll find a use for that gun today, one way or another.” You answer, pressing a kiss to his thumb. He smiles and shakes his head.

“I’ll take your word for it. You wanna load the truck, or wake the boys?” He asks.

“I’ll take the boys, far be it from me to stop you from lifting heavy things where I can see.” You answer with a grin. John rolls his eyes.

“I’ll take you to the gym next time I go, then you can look all you want.” He retorts. You scoff.

“I like the gym, darlin, you’re the one who can’t be assed to set foot in one.” You remind him as you pull away and tug your jacket on.

“Why would I, I get enough of a workout while I hunt.” John grumbles. You laugh and shake your head.

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you in a minute.” You tell him. He gives you a quick kiss, and then you head next door. You have a key, so you give the door a warning knock, and then you unlock it and step into the room Sam and Dean are sharing. You hear the shower running, and note that Sam must be awake. Dean, however, is still in bed, buried beneath a mountain of blankets. You head over and sit on the edge, pulling the blankets back a little and then pressing your ice cold fingertips to Dean’s bare back. He flinches and groans into his pillow.

“‘Go ‘way.” He mumbles. You laugh.

“Not gonna happen. Cmon, John is loading the truck and Sam is in the shower. We’re waiting on you, pretty boy.” You hum. Dean turns his head towards you with a sleepy glare.

“Not a pretty boy. Sam’s the pretty one.” He huffs. You press your lips together to keep from laughing.

“Sure darlin. Now get up, or I’m telling Sam that you said he can drive the impala today.” You reply. Dean’s glare intensifies, and then he sits up with a groan. The blankets pool at his waist, and he quickly grabs them and yanks them up to his neck.

“Why is it so cold in here?” He asks. You shrug.

“No idea. Did you mess with the thermostat last night?” You ask. Dean shakes his head.

“Sammy, did you turn down the temperature last night?” Dean says, and you turn and see Sam exit the bathroom. Thankfully he’s already dressed, otherwise he’d be blushing right now. You, Dean and John don’t give a shit how dressed or undressed you are around each other, Dean cause he’s just laidback that way, John because these are his sons and you're his lover, and yourself because you were in the army and it’s just skin. That’s not to say you'd like to be completely naked in front of your lovers sons, but if you're just wearing a towel, or if they catch you in a sports bra and spandex, you don’t really give a shit.

“No, I think it’s broken. I tried to adjust it before I showered, but it didn’t work.” Sam answers, rubbing through his hair with a towel. Dean starts cursing, and continues to curse as he jumps out of bed and stumbles over to his bag, yanking on clothes as quick as he can. You chuckle and turn to Sam.

“The impala already packed?” You ask. Sam nods.

“Yeah, I threw our bags in there before my shower. You and dad all set?” He asks, and you're silently thankful that it’s not weird for him to say that anymore. You get it though, you knew Sam and Dean before you knew John, and then there’s the fact that you and Sam are the same age and Dean is only 4 years older than you, and here you are, sleeping with their dad. So you get how it’s a little weird.

“Should be, he’s packing the truck now.” You answer. Sam nods and sits down to put on his shoes, and Dean does as well.

“Let us know when you’re ready to hit the road.” You tell them before you step outside the motel room. You pull your pack of cigarettes from your jacket pocket and slide one out, along with the lighter in your jeans pocket. You light up and take a long drag, and lean against the wall. You turn and watch as John checks his weapons cache in the truck. Then you walk over and open the passenger door, and climb up and reach behind the bench seat. You grab your holsters and start strapping them on. You shrug off your jacket so you can pull on your shoulder holster that holds four daggers, and then pull your jacket on over it. Next, you tug your pant leg up and tuck two knives each into the compartments on the insides of your boots. You strap a hunting knife to your hip, and then climb down and walk around the truck to stand beside John. You flick the ash off the end of your cigarette, and watch as John straps on his preferred assortment of weapons, including, you note with a grin, his gun, hidden beneath his shirt and jacket at the small of his back. He catches you grinning, and he scoffs. He reaches out and pulls you close.

“It’s just in case.” He says. You nod.

“I know. You’ll need it.” You tell him matter of factly. He rolls his eyes and plucks the cigarette from your lips. And proceeds to take a puff and then drops the cigarette and stubs it out with his boot. You pout up at him.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You complain. He chuckles.

“Those aren’t very good for you.” He retorts, exhaling the smoke. You scoff.

“Well I know they aren’t very good for me, but darlin’, I’m not very good for me.” You reply. He chuckles and leans in close.

“No, but you leave that to me. I ever been bad to you?” He drawls. You bite your lip and tilt your head.

“Only when I ask for it.” You murmur. He chuckles lowly.

“What can I say. Sometimes you deserve it.” He tells you, lips brushing against your temple. You flush and bury your face in his chest, and he wraps his arms tight around you.

“Look at you, going all shy on me. Gonna have to get a room away from the boys tonight. I’m gonna make you scream.” He informs you. You glance up at him and see how dark his eyes are, and lick your lips.

“You promise?” You ask innocently.

“Yeah baby. I promise.” He rumbles, sliding a hand beneath your shirt and running it up and down your spine. You shiver as the cold metal of his rings grazes your skin.

“You alright?” You hear, and you look up and see that Sam and Dean are standing with you and John next to the truck. John and Sam are looking over something on the hood of the truck, and Dean is right beside you. You smile and nod at him.

“I’m fine. Just a little scatterbrained is all.” You tell him. He nods.

"You ready to show us how to hunt, the Texas way?" He asks. You chuckle.

"Sure, D. But are you ready, is the real question." You retort. He scoffs.

"How hard could it be." He grumbles, and you laugh and get ready for another day with your boys.

[fairlyspnfanfic]

The Ties That Bind Us - Part 8

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail?  Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old.  The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do.  But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests.  I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2438

Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room, all the angst

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE  PART SIX   PART SEVEN

I hesitated to open my eyes, for fear that I’d wake up and it would all have been a dream. My lips felt warm and pleasantly swollen as I reached my hand up slowly to touch them, keeping my eyes shut.  I took a deep breath and lifted my eyelids, coming eye to eye with Dean as he lay next to me staring.  

Sheepishly, I smiled and released a small chuckle with my fingertips still glazing over my bottom lip.  “Well,” I said meekly.  “Not a dream.”  His eyebrows were still knitted together as if he was unsure as to what my reaction would be.  But the corner of his mouth twitched upward as the hint of a smirk began to spread.  

“Kinda was for me,” he said through an exhale of breath as he ran the back of his fingers along my cheek.  I leaned into his touch, relishing in the delightful feel of his skin on mine.  

“How long,” I asked him.  

“How long what?  How long have I wanted to do that?”  He paused, leaving the silence pregnant with anticipation.  He let out a quick breath, looking to the ceiling as he thought. “Six years ago, St. Patrick’s Day. I told you to kiss me cause I’m Irish. You called me an idiot and threw a pillow at my face.” I laughed at his response. “Been hooked ever since.”  

I could feel heat rushing to my cheeks as they blushed and a coy smile wound itself across my face.  

“Or did you mean how long have I known you wanted me to? Cause that’s a very different answer.”  

I ducked my head down, attempting to hide from his view, and buried my nose into the crook of his neck.  “I mean, I’d be happy to answer that one for you, too, sweetheart but I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”  His words dripped with sarcasm as he pursed his lips and left a trail of kisses from the crown of my head and down the side of my face, slowly pulling my head back up to face him.  

“See, when things weren’t looking all that great for you?  I wasn’t doing so well.  I wasn’t the pillar of strength you’re used to on the day to day.”  His face returned to seriousness now, and my eyes fixated on him.  “I kind of fell apart.  No, that’s not true.  I completely fell apart.  A world without you in it?  That’s not a world I want to be in.”  

I felt tears pooling in my eyes, but I held them at bay.  

“So, my baby brother, he decides he needs to cheer me up.  See, he yanks me up to my feet, slams me up against a wall and tells me to stop being a selfish prick.  Tells me I can help you by just keeping it together, by staying with you.”  Dean’s hand lifted as he pushed my hair gently behind my ear.  “Now I’m lost at this point.  He’s talking crazy and all I want to do is hide from the world.  But the big oaf that Sam is, he wouldn’t allow that.”  He leaned in towards me again, pressing a short, chaste kiss to my lips before tucking his chin over the crown of my head.  

“Instead, he looks me in the eye, tells me I’m a moron, and lets me go.  But not before just blurting out ‘She loves you, you jackass,’ and proceeding to lecture me about how dumb I am.”  The smile on his face is beyond genuine and my entire body feels as though it’s turned to gelatin.  “That true,” he asks me, his eyes back on mine.  The confident smirk on his face is betrayed only by the pleading desperation in his green orbs that are so focused on mine that I dare not even blink.  

Slowly, I nod my head, feeling that same blush rise in my cheeks again.  “Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking as I did so.  

“Thank god,” he breathed out as his lips once again plastered themselves against mine, knocking the air out of me as he slowly wound his arm around my waist.  He leaned into me, rolling me over onto my back as he rested his body on top of mine, his hips jutting against my own.  I could feel his calloused hands wandering; one tangled in my hair as his fingers deftly caressed my ear lobe as his other held our bodies closer together.  

I had wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him with desperation.  Dean pushed against me harder as I felt his excitement growing against my groin.  I broke our lips apart, breathing deeply as I lifted my hand to the back of his head, entwining my fingers in his hair.  He began grinding his hips against me; an act I longed for but subsequently found intolerable.  Shocks of pain tore through my abdomen in waves and I cried out, gasping for air as I ground my teeth together.  

“Fuck,” I grimaced, wincing.  Dean instantly backed away, holding himself almost as if he were doing a pushup.  

“What’s wrong?”  His panicked voice rang out as his eyes examined me.  

I removed one hand from his firm waist and grabbed for my side, desperate to alleviate some of the pain.  

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath, looking down towards my waist.  It seemed instantaneous that I sprang off the bed and frantically searched for the remote control with the nurse call button.  A few seconds passed and the pain had ebbed.  

“Dean, I’m fine, really.”  My attempt to settle him did nothing as I spoke to his back.  He was running towards the doorway now, yelling for help.  

I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was surely overreacting.  Pulling my hand away, I glanced down and took in the sight of dark red blood pooling slowly on the sheet beneath me.  “Well, crap.”  

Dean walked back into the room, a female nurse clad in dark purple scrubs in tow.  He raised his hand and pointed towards my wound, and she immediately got to work.  My gown was quickly pushed to the side as she took a look at the damage that had been done.  

“You’ve popped a staple out.  Haven’t seen that too often!”  Her voice was cheery and calming as she smiled sweetly at me.  

“I’ll get the doctor and we’ll get you patched up again in no time.  Good as new, huh?  How are you feeling in the meantime?  What’s your pain level?”  

“I’m good,” I answered simply.  

“Are you sure, darlin’?  You look a little flushed.”  Her eyes were intent now, taking in every physical cue that she could.  

“That, uh,” Dean began with that devilish half smile of his. “That could be my fault.”  He held up a finger as if claiming victory.  I rolled my eyes in response and watched as the nurse did the same.  

She turned her head to face him and took up the absolutely accurate stance of an angry mother about to berate their petulant child.  “You do know that she’s recently had invasive surgery, yes?”  

I watched as Dean shrank under the nurse’s stare.  He nodded solemnly.  

“And that a team of highly trained surgeons spent several hours fixing her up and putting her back together again with slim odds that she’d even wake up, let alone thrive and begin healing?”  Her question was obviously rhetorical.  Dean held eye contact with her and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”  He’d never sounded so young and childlike.  

“So maybe, just maybe, we can pause on the hanky panky funny stuff until after she’s discharged, yeah?”  

I stifled my laughter as Dean nodded again, and the nurse exited the room, patting his shoulder as she walked by; the smile on her face betrayed the entertainment she had felt at Dean’s expense.  

Dean skulked back towards me, lowering himself into the chair beside my bed.  The laughter that I had been withholding came pouring out of me, eliciting more pain as I again held my side.  

“Geez, Y/N, you’re going to open yourself up more.”  Dean placed his hands on my arms, attempting to hold me still.  

“Yeah, well. You started it.”

His eyes went wide with incredulity.  “How do you figure?”  

“You were the one who opened up first!”  My cheesy joke landed flat.  

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning backwards in his chair as he sighed dramatically.  “Good to see you didn’t lose your awful sense of humor.”  

I smiled at him exaggeratedly.  “I’m delightful.”  

He smiled at me again, reaching over and raking his fingertips down my cheek. “Yeah,” he paused. “You are.”  

The doctors had swooped into the room, getting me all stitched back together in a blur of lights, antiseptic, and latex gloves.  The same nurse had accompanied them, insisting on administering more morphine when she did so.  

They moved me into a wheelchair as they waited for my bedsheets to be taken out and laundered.  I was struggling to keep my head up as I leaned my temple against my palm, fighting to hold my eyelids open.  I could feel Dean’s warm hand drawing comforting circles on my back, but my head was swimming.  His soothing voice rang out every few minutes, letting me know that it was okay if I wanted to fall asleep.  Encouraged even. But stubbornly, I refused, shaking my head and insisting on waiting until Sam came back.

It wasn’t too long until Sam peaked his head into my room; his long hair unkept and falling in his face.  

“Hey, Tarzan,” I mumbled, giggling at my own joke.  Both the boys stared at me quizzically as my eyes closed and I leaned further over onto the side, my chuckles growing quieter.  

“Tarzan? I thought it was Thor.”  Sam’s voice drifted in as if he were speaking through static.  

“She’s out of her mind on morphine, Sammy.  Don’t worry.”  I could hear the jest in Dean’s voice as he spoke from just behind me.  

There was a small hint of commotion as an orderly came in with a rolling tray full of food for me.  With my eyes still closed, I took a deep breath, attempting to smell my meal.  But my sense of smell reacted negatively as I breathed in the scent of hard-boiled eggs, squash and fish.  

“Gross,” I protested, grabbing at the wheels of the wheelchair I sat in and attempting to push myself away.  

“No. Don’t want that,” I murmured as I shook my head.  There was a strong hand grasping my shoulders as someone gently whispered in my ear to relax.  “Mom made me lasagna,” I groaned, as large tears overwhelmed my lids and began cascading down my cheeks.  

I felt warm fingers press against my cheeks as Dean’s familiar voice repeated my name softly.  

“Hey, Y/N.  Can you open your eyes for me?”  

I stubbornly shook my head, opting for the darkness my closed eyelids afforded me.  I could feel panic rising in my chest, and my breaths began coming in stuttered waves.  Sam’s voice was screaming into the hallway, demanding a nurse or any sort of help.  But my head was swimming.  I could still smell the garlic and tomatoes as the cheese bubbled on the top of my favorite dish.  I could hear my mother’s voice as she spoke with me. My father’s warm, teddy-bear embrace still ghosted over my arms.  But all I could see was black.  I longed for the comfort their memories had afforded me.  

“Daddy,” I mumbled out as I felt the familiar push of medication run up my arm as forced, restless sleep overtook me.  

I woke hours later.  Days possibly.  The sky outside my window was still dark and the light in the room too dim.  Running my dry hands down my face, I pulled myself slowly to sit up in the bed.  The ache in my side not entirely unnoticed.  Every muscle in my body was sore and resisted moving.  I kicked my legs out gently over the bed, glaring at my thighs as I balanced myself on them with the palms of my hands.  

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean’s voice was stern as he spoke from the chair in the corner of the room.  I watched his arms flex as he walked towards me, squatting effortlessly in front of me as his eyes locked onto mine.  

“Back in bed.”  His words were stern, but his eyes betrayed some sadness that lingered on his face.  

“Dean?”  My voice was groggy and sounded foreign to me.  

“Y/N get your ass back in bed, now.”  He sounded almost defeated; an unfamiliar tone for him.  

I acquiesced and pulled my legs back onto the uncomfortable air mattress, keeping my eyes set on his face.  “What’s wrong,” I asked him. “You seem grumpy.”  He took his seat again in the lounge chair next to me, leaning on his knees with his elbows.

A forced, quick breath leaked through his nostrils, full of incredulity.  “Grumpy, huh?”  He paused.  “Can’t imagine why.”  His eyes fell to his hands, focusing on the thin piece of fabric that he was fiddling with.  He flicked his gaze up to me, following my gaze back down to his hands.  

“It’s part of your shirt,” he explained.  “Or, well, was.”  He paused again. “It tore off in your back there,” he gestured towards my side.  “Had to dig it out on the way here.”  

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my surprise.  “I’m sorry, Dean.”  

He pursed his eyebrows and looked up towards me slowly.  “For what?  Getting stabbed?  Not your fault.”  

I reached towards him, surprised when I watched him pull away and lean back into his seat.  “See, getting stabbed? Hurt?  Happens to all of us.  But you,” he said, holding the fabric up towards me. “You were reckless.  You ditched me and Sam and did your damnedest to be in more danger than you needed to be.”  His eyes shot up towards mine again, that same pained sadness shooting out of his eyes as he let silence stretch between us.  

“And here, in this hospital.  Some of the things you’re saying, been saying.  They’ve got me wondering.”  

I let his statement stand, wanting desperately to not discuss the topic at hand. “See, I’m wondering if there’s not something you’re hiding.  Something you didn’t or aren’t telling me. And that?  That won’t work.  That’s something else.”  He dropped his head, clenching his hand into a fist as he held onto the scrap of clothing.  “So, talk.”  

To be continued….

Part Nine

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[stusbunker]

A Gentlemen’s Agreement Epilogue

A Supernatural Denny AU Fan-fiction Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny Lafitte

Other characters: Pamela, Jesse, Caesar, Crowley, Balthazar, Meg, Jo, Lee, Lisa, Sam (mentioned), Drea OFC, Robbie and SJ OMCs, Deanna OFC

Word count: 2340

A/N: Enjoy! xoxo Stu

Brunch

    The sun was bright, but the air was crisp. The remnants of the early snowstorm had left soggy lawns and damp sidewalks. Benny pulled up to the restaurant and parked on the curb, smiling over at Dean. He waited patiently. 

    “You sure this is a good idea?” Dean squinted in the midday light.

    “Been dying to meet ya. Figured it’s only fair, I met your folks, you can meet my people too,” Benny said simply. “But I’m not gonna force ya.”

    “I just, I’m not used to being out in public. In numbers,” Dean sputtered.

    Benny raised a single eyebrow at him. “Well, I guess this is your best shot to try it out, dontcha think?”

    “What if they don’t like me? I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your friends,” Dean explained the root of the problem.

    “I like you, they will too. Just relax, be your charming self and if you don’t know what to say, you can just keep eating.” Benny put his hand on Dean’s thigh, squeezing just so.

    Dean growled out a sigh. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

    Like that could make an uncomfortable situation worth it. Benny smirked at Dean’s logic, waiting for his face to soften from grouchy to amiable. Once Dean relaxed, Benny kissed him, just long enough to keep him flustered and climbed out of the truck.

     They approached a large round table midway along the heated patio, where four people were already seated.

A raven haired woman waved them over. “My good Benjamin, did you bring a straight boy to brunch, just for me?!”

“Pammy!” Benny leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Hate to disappoint ya darlin', but ain't nothing straight about this'n."

 “Hey, now! Can’t a guy speak for himself?!” Dean snipped defensively as he sat in the spot beside Benny.

Everyone laughed. Pamela raised her eyebrow in question.

Dean licked his lips and put on the smolder, “Sorry sweetheart, but I’m taken.”

“Wait, this--- THIS is your sassy mechanic?!” Crowley leaned forward, extending his hand, his English brogue gruff and pandering. “Nice to finally meet you, handsome.”

       Dean gave Benny the side eye and all Benny could do was shrug coyly. Dean shook the man’s hand, trying not to show his discomfort from his lingering glances. Benny made the rest of the introductions, Jesse and Cesar were also a couple, but had been married for a few years. They seemed to be waiting on someone before they ordered. The group sipped their cocktails with a fresh pitcher of Bloody Mary in the center of the kitsch tablecloth.

Benny poured Dean a generous portion of the red drink and slipped seamlessly into the conversation. Dean sucked the palmeto out of an olive and listened casually, not too sure where he fit in this part of Benny’s life.

Twenty minutes later a rail of a guy swaggered in, with oversized aviators and a black linen suit. 

“Oh, thank Christ for booze,” he huffed, grabbing Dean’s glass without even acknowledging Dean was there. The blonde chugged the entire drink, before breaking for air. “I just had the worst hook up of my life, no, well, the year at least. He took me to his mother’s house. She tried to make me breakfast. I was simply mortified. I just left. What could I even do at that point, honestly?!”

Now that his audience had his attention back, the man gawked at Dean. He even pulled down his sunglasses for a better look. “Now who the fuck is this? Is it show and tell?! Because I am not prepared in the least.” 

He casually patted at his hair and eyed Dean from top to toe. Benny chuckled, but Pamela was the one to make the introduction.

“Balthazar, our regular hangover diva. Meet Dean, Benny’s boy toy,” she deadpanned, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh you can’t be serious,” Balthazar lamented, looking from Pam to Benny to Crowley and finally at Dean. “Fuck you southerners and your goddamn accents--- always gets the hotter ones,” he muttered defensively as he threw himself against the armrest of the chair, crossing his legs.

“Well, now that we’re all here,” Cesar ended the dramatics concisely. “Maybe somebody should find our waitress?”

Dean looked at Benny confused. “We’re always here for a while, she doesn’t bother us until we’re actually ready to order. Tend to annoy her otherwise.”

Crowley volunteered as he needed to head to the men’s room anyhow. Five minutes later he arrived with an obviously surly waitress.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Meg’s smokey voice broke through Balthazar's latest story. She centered herself between Cesar and Crowley’s seat and cocked her hip, tongue firmly in cheek as she waited for Dean to take her bait.

“Heya, Meg,” Dean sighed. The inevitable caught up with him after all, they just had to run into someone he knew.

“Oh, this has got to be good, now, pray tell, how do you two know each other?” Crowley probed.

“Oh me and this schmuck? We go way back.” Meg smiled without teeth.

“Is that so?” Benny tested the waters.

“Not like that,” Dean grumbled. “Meg, here, took my little brother Sammy out for a few spins, back in the day. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? It was high school.” Meg let her indifference coat her entire being until curiosity sparked to life in her eyes. “So what are you doing with this crowd, or did they bring you in just to add a new level of torture to my Sunday shifts?”

“Well---.” Dean swallowed, looked at Benny for clarification and got mild amusement instead. “I think you’re stuck with me now.”

“Joy,” Meg bristled before taking their orders, knowing most of the table’s usuals before they even opened their mouths.

News

    Benny rushed into the customer entrance of the shop, the wet October air had kept the service doors closed for the past week. He leaned against the counter, decorated in local business cards and charity fliers, anxiously waiting for someone to talk to. His chest was so tight he worried he’d pass out from excitement. He just needed to see him was all, once he saw Dean it would be easier.

    Lee sauntered in from the service bay, they both had drawn the short straw it seemed.

    “Hey, mind getting Dean for me? It’s important,” Benny asked, unable to keep the burning smile from his face.

    Lee eyed him curiously but nodded and headed back the way he came. He didn’t shout, not really. “Dean-o, your boyfriend’s looking for ya.”

    Dean unfurled himself from the engine he had been tinkering with all morning and glared at Lee.

    “Husband, whatever, seems urgent,” Lee acquiesced. Dean nodded and wiped his hands off on the closest rag. Dean pulled his wedding band out from his undershirt out of habit more than anything. He couldn’t wear it on his hands at work, but he didn’t want to lose it so Benny made him a braided leather necklace once they got back from their honeymoon.

    Dean ignored formality and walked straight into the waiting room. Once he saw the look on Benny’s face he knew what was happening.

    “It’s go time?” He asked, shock and exhilaration sparking his instinct to move.

    “It’s go time, cher. Lisa called me on the way to the hospital. Sam’s driving her from the office. Her water broke about 9:30,” Benny explained, the nervousness slipping into his cadence.

    “Alright, I’m gonna clean up, you want me to drive?” Dean asked, gauging the unsteadiness in his usually stalwart husband.

    “That’s probably best, yeah,” Benny agreed. 

Dean leaned in and kissed him firmly, resting his forehead against Benny’s temple before pulling away.“Hey, we got this, alright? That kid is gonna be so spoiled having you for a daddy, you know that?”

“Look who’s talking, gonna have you wrapped around their finger before they can even crawl,” Benny teased back, inhaling with contentment.

Dean headed back to warn his coworkers that he had a baby on the way and to clean up enough to be allowed into a hospital. Jo followed Dean out into the lobby. Quickly, she hugged Benny before demanding regular updates to the group chat.

“Alright, get out of here, we’ve got you covered for the rest of the week. Let me know and I will put in paternity leave as soon as everyone’s home, okay?” Jo got all professional about things as Dean left.

“Oh, right, shit. Well, I guess I’ll let you know when you can come over and---,” Dean started before Benny pulled him by his elbow.

“We should be goin’” Benny urged. Dean looked at Jo one last time and nodded.

This was it.

   Dean held Benny’s hand the whole way to the hospital, their grip tightening every so often, grounding them both. Because Lisa was a friend and the surrogacy was looser than most circumstances, both Benny and Dean were allowed in the delivery room. They were the best cheerleaders a birth mom could have ever asked for. Seven hours later, one chubby baby girl entered the world screaming to high heaven and splitting her fathers’ hearts open for an entirely new level of love and devotion.

    Mary Andrea Lafitte-Winchester, or Drea for short, was a happy and healthy little girl. And an overprotective big sister to her twin brothers, Samuel Joel and Robert Fergus, who came along four years later.

Sunset

    They’re old men now. Dean is five years retired, while Benny works the register for their sons on the weekends. Both of their hands aren’t what they used to be. But they keep busy. Drea is bringing the kids round tomorrow, it’s the start of summer break and Dean’s been dying to teach her kids to fish.  

    Dean went grey after he turned fifty, but it hasn’t changed since, in color at least. Benny’s beard is as white as Santa Claus and he hides what little hair he has left under a cap. They’re both a little rounder, a little lower to the ground, but they got that way together and neither of them notice it on one another anyhow.

       Every year they visit Jesse and Cesar in Arizona for New Year's. Though they fly more than make the drive these days.

        They still take turns cooking the meals and the movie nights from their early days resurfaced into movie afternoons when their kids moved out. Dean can’t hear for shit anymore and, naturally, Benny makes fun of him for it. But Dean’ll put in his hearing aids if company is over.

 It’s early evening in the beginning of June and the bugs are orchestrating quite the soundtrack to their time on the porch. Dean pours his whiskey. Benny’s already sipping his sweet tea, his medications don’t let him drink much anymore. Jo’ll come by on Sunday, along with SJ and his wife and Robbie. Sam and Jess usually make it to every other dinner or so.

    “Hey there, handsome. Mind if I join you?” Dean teases, once a flirt always a flirt.

    “Not at all, cher. It’s a helluva view,” Benny glances at his husband, watches Dean take in the peaches and pinks kissing the slopes of the fields. They sit like that for an hour, until the dark is too thick to see through. Groaning and creaking they stand in turn. Dean keeps his hand on the small of Benny’s back as they head inside for the night, steadying them both.

    They moved their bedroom to the ground floor after Dean’s heart attack, a lot less worry about making it upstairs that way. After being married forty years, Dean still makes jokes about it being Benny’s place. But it’s always been his home. He kisses Benny goodnight, makes it a little saucy because he can. He’s the first to close his eyes.

    In the morning Benny makes waffles and tofu bacon. Dean pretends he can’t taste the difference, fooling no one. They make out while the sink fills for the dishes, too few to run the machine. Benny gets handsy first and Dean tries to squirm into the upperhand. They’re interrupted by a car pulling in the drive.

    “Busted,” Benny whispers.

    “You’re the one who wanted kids,” Dean grumbles against Benny’s neck, an old, unfounded retort.

    “Yeah, but the grandkids---,” Benny starts.

    “Were made to be spoiled,” Dean finishes and kisses Benny once more. Drea’s yelling at her kids to slow down before her dads even make it outside to greet them. Her eyes, blue as her daddy’s are tired. They don’t envy her the school aged years. Dean bends down as baby Deanna, who’s nearly four, comes crashing into his arms. He pulls her up and holds her tight, reminds him of her mama and he can’t help but get a little weepy over the passing years. 

    “It’s so good to see you, baby girl.” Benny pulls his daughter into a hug before helping with their bags. The older kids don’t come inside until it’s time to eat, climbing through the barn and splashing in the creek until they’re soaked. But Deanna sticks with her Grandpa on a simple stroll, while Pappy and Mama catch up.

    Dean still has the jacket he bought from Benny, though the pants are long gone. He’ll leave it to Robbie when the time comes, when his son finds himself a stud that’s worth settling down for. If that’s what he chooses. 

    For now, Dean lets his granddaughter pick up every rock and stick she finds and examines it to the nth degree. He explains what he can about each one. She’s very curious. He even lets her wipe her chubby little hands on his pants’ leg when she needs to. They get back to the house just in time to start dinner, but before they go inside Dean takes a mental picture of his husband on the porch, their daughter beside him and his granddaughter running past him.

   It is a helluva view after all. 

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[peridottea91]

Birthday Cake

Summary: Today is Dean’s birthday, so you decide to bake him a long-overdue surprise.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam mentioned

Words: 1670

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff

Beta’d by: n/a

Divider by: @firefly-in-darkness​ / @firefly-graphics​

A/N: This is my submission for @firefly-in-darkness’ 2k Follower Challenge; my prompt was baking a cake.

MAIN MASTERLIST - DEAN MASTERLIST

Your phone buzzed loudly from the nightstand, pulling you from your slumber. Quickly turning off your alarm, you glanced at the screen and let out a quiet groan.  You flipped your phone over and buried your face back into the pillow—you hated being awake so early, and the bed was so warm and comfortable.  

The soft snores coming from the warm body next to you, however, reminded you why you were awake to begin with, and so you pulled yourself away.  Slowly you rolled from the bed, careful not to jostle your sleeping companion.  Tiptoeing through the darkness, you grabbed your lounge shorts from the desk and quietly slipped from the room.  Padding down the halls of the bunker, you made your way to the kitchen to put your plan into motion.

Everything had been timed perfectly for today.  You had specifically set the alarm on your phone so that Sam would be out on his morning run and Dean would still be asleep for at least two more hours. The last thing you needed was Sam crowding the kitchen while you were trying to work, or even worse, Dean snooping about.  Baking a new recipe was stressful enough, even without your two companions peeking over your shoulder.

Pulling out the ingredients that you had hidden in the back of the fridge, you set about baking the cakes—sifting flour and cocoa powder, mixing the batter, and splitting it into three, round pans.  It would have been much easier to do this using box cake mix, but that just wasn’t your style.  Besides, Dean Winchester was more than worth the amount of effort you were putting in.

With the three cakes in the oven, you set about making the filling for between the layers of German chocolate cake—French silk pie filling.  By the time you had finished the filling and set it in the fridge to chill, the timer dinged for the cakes.  After checking for doneness, you clicked off the oven and popped the cakes out of their pans onto cooling racks.  Everything was right on schedule, leaving you plenty of time to put everything together and decorate the cakes once everything cooled.

There were a few moments where you had wondered if all this effort was even worth it. Dean Winchester was a man of simple pleasures—sex, cheap booze, diner food.  He had never been someone who wanted to be fussed over.  Then again, he had never been fussed over, to begin with. From a young age, he had been forced into the roles of protector and caregiver for Sam while being neglected himself.  Growing up, he never got to enjoy celebrating birthdays and holidays, let alone home-cooked food.  Hell, a store-bought pie would have even been good enough for him.  

But you weren’t satisfied with just “good enough.”  Dean Winchester deserved the world, and you were determined to prove it to him any and every way you could.  If that meant putting in the extra effort to bake him a (hopefully) delicious cake from scratch, then so be it.  On today of all days, you wanted to show Dean just how special he was to you.

You had known the Winchesters for years, hunting with them on-and-off until maybe two or three years ago, when they asked you to move in.  Things slowly just sort of fell into place, and, as of almost six months ago, you and Dean became an item.  You weren’t really sure how it happened, but it did, nonetheless.  You moved into his room about two months in, stubbornly not wanting to have to share a closet or a bed.  Once he had finally convinced you to move in, secretly moving your stuff in bit by bit, you were so glad you did.

Dean wasn’t the type of guy to share his feelings or be overly emotional in a relationship, let alone be in a relationship.  That’s part of why you had been so surprised when the two of you fell into step, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.  Dean hadn’t said those three little words yet, which was okay. He showed you how much you meant to him in other ways, making sure you never needed to question his feelings for you. Now, you were doing the same for him.

Roughly 20 minutes had passed before you were able to finally start assembling the cake. You had bought a cake stand just for the occasion and, after spreading a small dab of the French silk pie filling, began stacking.  Cake, pie filling, cake—everything stacked up rather nicely.  You did have to level out the round cakes, creating an even surface for each layer to sit on.  You made it a point not to skimp on the filling between each cake layer, knowing how much Dean had loved your aunt’s pie recipe.  What better way to include his favorite food in a cake?

Finally, it came time to frost and decorate the outside of the cake. Glancing at the clock, you saw that you had roughly 30 minutes before Dean would be waking up, so your nerves began to bubble up slightly.  Using more of the filling you made, you spread a crumb coat and topcoat around the sides and top of the cake.  Then, you took out the frozen candy pieces that you had crushed the night before—chunks of Snickers, Twix, and Milky Ways—and sprinkled them all over the top.

You had just set the candles into place when you heard the tell-tale sound of Dean’s door opening down the hall.  It was now or never!  You began bouncing lightly, a mixture of excitement and anxiety coursing through you as you waited.

Dean shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep.  He didn’t notice you at first as he made his way directly to the coffee pot, which you had been smart enough to turn on for him right before you started putting together the cake.  You tried not to laugh as he robotically moved about, leaning against the kitchen island while you watched.

“Good morning, hun,” You greeted cheerily, finally catching his attention.

Dean hummed in acknowledgment, “Mornin’, darlin’.”

Shuffling to you, Dean took a swig from his coffee cup and smacked his lips in satisfaction.  He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close for a good morning kiss. He had just broken away when his eyes popped comedically wide, and he leaned to the side slightly, looking around you at the large chocolate and candy topped cake.

“Happy birthday,” you said sweetly with a smile.

“Shit, Y/N, did you make this for me?”

“No, I made it for Sam,” you sassed, “of course I made this for you!  German chocolate cake with French Silk Pie frosting and topped with chocolate candy chunks.”

“Ooooohhhhh,” Dean awed at the cake and stepped around you.  His green eyes lit up with a rare excitement as he stooped down and ogled at the cake.  “Ya know, we don’t really celebrate birthdays, Y/N.”

“I know. But I wanted to do something special for you.  You always told me how you never really got to enjoy the little things that normal people do.  So, I figured, what would be better than your own birthday cake?”

Dean swiped his finger along the bottom edge of the cake, gathering a bit of makeshift frosting on his finger and popping it into his mouth.  He moaned happily at the taste and nodded his head in approval before standing straight and turning back to you.  Reaching out, he pulled you close and kissed you deeply, humming happily into your mouth and giving you an affectionate squeeze.

“Thank you, honey.  I really appreciate it,” he said between kisses.

“You don’t need to thank me, De.  I just wanted to do something special for you because you’re special to me,” you admitted softly against his lips, the two of you swaying slightly.

Dean gave your lips another peck before leaving a light trail of kisses along your cheek and burying his face in your hair.  He continued to sway you both back and forth while you wrapped your arms around him.  You lightly scratched your fingernails in the hair at the base of his neck, just like you knew Dean liked.

“I don’t deserve you, Y/N.”

“Shut up,” you retorted quickly, “you deserve me plenty.  And it’s the least I could do because I care about you.”

Dean hummed into your hair before pulling back and looking down at you, “You’re too good to me.  Please tell me I get to eat cake for breakfast.”

You couldn’t help but laugh in response, “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?  But you gotta blow out your candles first.”

Dean smirked and nodded, “Alright, alright.”

You turned away from your boyfriend, lit a match, and lit the candles on the cake. Dean paused for a moment, a warm smile gracing his lips as he looked at the cake you made.  Closing his eyes, he blew out the candles and opened them to you clapping happily.  With a wave of his hand, Dean bowed dramatically, causing you to laugh again.

Shooing the birthday boy out of the way, you reached for the knife on the counter and began cutting.  Dean remained pressed up behind you, one hand on your hip while he eagerly watched over your shoulder.  You plated his piece and passed it along, earning a grin and another kiss before he shuffled off to the table to eat.  You chuckled to yourself and shook your head at your boyfriend.  The man was in his 40s and yet still had all the excitability of a child.

You had just turned back to cut your own slice when you felt a set of lips pressed against your temple, “Thank you for this, Y/N...  I love you.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, reaching a hand up to cup his head affectionately, “I love you too.  Happy Birthday, Dean.”

[zozo-01]

"round and round on a horse like a carousel."

Here we are!! We finally got this massive fic out and done! I've always wanted to write a fic with Sam and Gavin, anddd my official bodycount is now up to two (thousand)!!! Special shout out to my lovely 'zo keeper' @gingerbreadmonsters who is enjoying some perfectly desrved R&R on the other side of the world!!! Thank you for letting me play with your theory and shoving Sam and Darlin' into it!!!

 CW: Angst, Multiple Major Character Death (most of it is shown but only one is described), Grieving Characters, (they are not handling the grieving process well), Hopelessness and Despair all around, Ambiguous Ending, Manipulation, Slight Coercion, Follows Ginger's "Echo is Gavin" Theory, Multiverse (kind of), Poor Sam is going t h r o u g h it, Echo doesn't care, Despite everything Echo does care for Sam, Mentions of Alexis invoking Sam to kill Darlin', You need to read 'have and hold' and 'reeling' to understand what is going on

click here for the ao3 link!!!

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“Well you’re as handsome as the day I met you.”

He didn’t know what he let out, if it was a chuckle or sob. To be quite honest, he couldn’t hear anything except for the voice of the raspy shifter in bed. He needed to hear them, for what limited time they had left together. If he can’t go on with eternity with them, then at least let him burn their voice, their magical laugh, in his head. For the nights (or days he suppose) when everything is too much and he feels like he’ll burst, the memory of their voice will bring him back. Calm the angry threads that are barely bursting from the seams.

Although, one could argue that the memory of them in any capacity would shatter him more than what trivial and worldly matter will plague him.

“And you’re just as beautiful, Darlin’.”

Darlin’s hoarse chuckle led to a series of coughs. Realistically, Sam knows that their lungs aren’t what they used to be, but every cough had his core pulsating with the need to heal them. Not that healing magic would do them any good.

Another moment of silence passed, the clock ticking becoming louder. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy.”

He shook his head and repeated the same phrase once again. “It ain’t your fault.”

With a stubborn glint, one that had weakened with time, Darlin’ replied, “But I don’t want to leave you!” Their eyes were watery and their voice strained with pain in their chest. Part of him was scared that they were wasting precious energy trying to stay strong for him. Leave it to them to not rest in their final moments.

(Wait a minute, was that crack in the corner always there?) He wiped their tears, feeling his own build up, not that he’ll ever let himself cry when they needed more comfort than himself. He’ll have all the time to be selfish later. “I understand, you didn’t wanna be turned, I get it more than anyone else.”

But his words weren’t enough to change their mind. He’s long accepted that fact yet he continues. “We both knew this day was going to come. And listen to me,” he kneeled on the ground and held their hands, “I had the time of my life with you. You’ve made me the happiest man I could be, and to this day I still think I don’t deserve it. But I am the luckiest man ever to call you my mate.” He kissed their temple. “I love you, Darlin’.”

They gave a weak smile. “I love you too, my Nashira.” Their breathing slowed and they relaxed on the bed. “I’m tired, baby…” Their voice drifted off and Sam accepted the worst.

“Sleep, my love, you deserve to rest.” He kissed their forehead for the last time and watched them take their last breath. 

(Seriously, the hospital was brand new, why were there cracks in the ceiling?) Now that he was confident they were gone, he clutched onto this body, sobbing into their shoulder and mumbling about how they deserve peace in the afterlife. 

But it wasn’t fair.

Why couldn’t he have been made human so he could at least join them soon? A selfish part of his wishes that Darlin’ was turned into a vampire so they could be immortal and happy. Whatever the case, why must he lose his love when everyone else can have theirs? Why must he have a bad ending after being dealt a bad life and bad death? 

His mother always warned him to always be careful of what he wished for, but right now, he’d suffer any and all consequences just to meet them again. 

(Ok this is getting concerning now, because now the entire ceiling is gone-)

“What a shame. Another iteration, another failed attempt.”

Sam had wondered if a foreign voice could sound so familiar. It was cold and distant, like a scientist viewing the results of an experiment. But it had a sense of sorrow, a type of exasperation. Whoever this ‘scientist’ was wanted his experiment to work, but something told Sam that he was used to failure. In a weird sense, it sounded like a mixture of every voice he heard in his life. A strange concoction of dialects and accents and tones that left him unsure who to pin the owner of this voice. 

(There was one person that came to his head, but he shook that thought immediately. The voice in his head was too cruel to be him.)

There were other voices in his brain too. The ones that belonged to one of the few friends his mate made in their youth. (They’d always called it their Starboy era.) 

An incubus that they had met in one of the many clubs they adored and his partner that he worshipped over anything else.

“You’re my sky, deviant. The space between my stars… In a lifetime of sensing the emotions of others, I never imagined I could feel like this... This much… And I am so grateful for it, and for you.”

Who the fuck was that-

Gone was the bed where his Darlin’ passed in their sleep, the world had cracked and broke around him, only for them to be replaced with a clear sarcophagus and an eternal night sky.

Inside was the body of the Freelancer that was once adored by his incubus friend. 

(Wait a minute, didn’t he see them last week?)

Before he can think any further, from the neverending nothing, a body emerged. It was an incubus, that much Sam could tell from his aura, but instead of the pink colouring that most incubi had, this one was all black. The tips of his horns were a midnight shade, without any of the stars that make the night sky beautiful. His eyes were devoid of any light, and he had the feeling that something ripped the light from his eyes and used it to paint the stars. 

There was something else that was off with him. Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off the outline of the not-so-incubus incubus, puzzled by the glitching effect that surrounded him. The false sex demon (or at least, he thinks it’s a fake) was outlined with a pink and white hue, not like the usual red and blue glitches he’s seen before. He was causing disturbances in the otherwise stunning galaxy themed room. It was clear that this… Whatever this being was, he didn’t belong here. Sam had an inkling that this irregularity hadn’t come to give his condolences for his mate’s death.

(He could never understand how the term incubus, a term referring to creatures of light and fun and sex could also refer to a dark and twisted nightmare.)

(He was about to find out soon.)

The demon smiled, leaning his arms against the sarcophagus and chuckled, “Hello Nashira.”

Sam bared his fangs at the stranger, distrust filling his body. “You don’t get to fuckin’ call me that.” There were only two people who could call him that. One of them was dead. And the other was about to become dead inside. (Shh. Don't tell Sam that, this is our secret.)

The demon pouted, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh? You don’t remember me, Samuel? We go all the way back.” He gave a sly smile that Sam found all too familiar. “Your mate loves- oh, excuse my language, I had forgotten, loved having me around.”

Sam growled, “Don’t you fuckin’ talk like that around me.” He glanced at the dead or sleeping freelancer in the sarcophagus. “Or else you’ll be seein’ my mate and that partner of yours real fuckin’ soon.” Sure it was a low blow, but this incubi impersonator struck first and Sam’s never been known to hold back any punches, especially when it comes to his mate. In his anger, he even forgot the contradiction presented by the body in the sarcophagus. 

(Came. He meant when it came with his mate. No one tells you how hard it is to change the tenses in his words, let alone his mind.)

The impersonator raised an eyebrow, his eyes becoming darker, but that smile remained on his face. “Samuel, Samuel, Samuel. It’s adorable that you think a vampire can overpower a demon, but I shall let you feed your own delusions.” 

The demon paused for a minute. “You know, you and I used to get along so well,” he sighed. “Though I can’t blame you. It’s been years since we last saw each other, after all.”

“As if I’d befriend a prick like you,” Sam scoffed. Ok, maybe pissing off a demon isn’t a good idea, even when he considers his own immortality, but man oh fucking man, this demon’s a dipshit asshole and he wants to knock him down a peg.

The demon barked out a laugh, and Sam wonders where he’s heard that before. “Alright, then I’ll just have to remind you, Nashira. How about a trip down our memory lane?” 

It was a deal. With the way his voice sounded, it seemed like the impersonator made countless deals in his lifetime. The tone came to him naturally, he definitely has used it before. (Sam wonders if he was one of this creature’s past deals). Everything in him was screaming at him to turn away from this devil’s ploy, but his morbid curiosity craved the apple the demon was offering. 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” …The pun was honestly unintentional, but by God, if this demon is going to make a comment about it, he’s going to-

The smirk from the demon said it all. “You vampires sure love to bite things don’t you. Am I the next thing on your ‘to-be-bitten list’?”

“Shut up, demon, and get on with your story,” he grumbled, fully knowing he walked into that himself.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get off your case, Nashira,” he said, the sly smirk faded into a small smile, his eyes giving away that he was reminiscing on a memory. “I brought them, your darlin’, home one night. They had decided to get absolutely inebriated, so I had to carry them.” He walked around the sarcophagus and in front of Sam. “You chastised them for going above their limit, and they insisted that they were absolutely fine and it didn’t matter because I was there.” 

He went silent for a moment, a fond smile on his face. “They were always so stubborn…” His voice was quiet yet filled with adoration. Why was he talking about Dar-

The demon shook his head, breaking his trance and continued. “After you put them to bed, we caught up and I told you to be careful with their heart, that you were their ‘Nashira’. And you promised that-”

“That I’d burn the world and kill anyone in their way to make sure they’d never suffer another day again…” Shock filled his body, mouth hanging open and eyes embedded onto the demon. “How did you know?”

There was no way. His darlin’ was asleep and now permanently so, so they couldn’t have somehow told this stranger. And there was only one other person in the room that night. So it has to be him. But it’s impossible, there’s no way. The demon in front of him was far more cruel than the one he shared that sentiment with. Although… The body was similar to him, bar for the glitches and black colouring… And his voice was eerily similar, easily discernible from the cacophony of voices when the demon opened his mouth… And even that fucking bite joke is so him…

So then…

“Gavin? Is that you?”

There was a wistful smile on the stranger's face, almost happy by Sam’s attempt at discerning his identity. He let out a hollow chuckle, eyes glistening for a quick moment. “Ah, it’s been a while since someone has called me by that name, I almost forgot what it sounded like coming from another person’s mouth.” 

Sam stared, aghast. Surely it couldn’t be possible.

The shadow-man continued. “I only hear that name within the fleeting memories I torment myself with, willing to endure the pain so I can hear my name with their voice, just as it should be.”

He paused, mockingly bowing in front of the vampire. “So thank you, Samuel, for reminding me of that accursed name, but you are mistaken, my Nashira.” He cruelly smirked, eyes becoming blacker than black, whatever sliver of light that remained had gone, leaving the bitter and powerful entity. “The Gavin you knew is dead within the stadium walls, along with my deviant and your mate, all those years ago in the Inversion.”

A friend, wearing a stranger’s face. Familiarity and foreignness mixing together in an uncomfortable manner. 

“These days, I go by Echo.”

(Ok, that’s impossible. He can clearly picture his Darlin’ charging through the crowd in the aftermath in their gorgeous wolf form, and he remembers watching them like they were an angel sent from above. There was no way, no fucking way, that they could have died.)

(They weren’t even in the wards during that god forsaken day.)

Gav- Echo stood straighter, like he was proud of the person he’s become. Sam still couldn’t believe it. The incubus he knew was sweet and kind, with a heart of the purest gold that’s ever been mined. He was the type of man who’d carry old ladies’ purses while they cross the street, or make funny faces at the baby in the stroller. 

He loves unconditionally, becoming immortal not by the magic flowing through his veins, but by the magic he leaves behind in the hearts of the people he interacted with.

But this person… This echo of the demon he knew… He was the furthest from what he remembered of him. 

Echo chuckled at the puzzled thoughts that shone in Sam’s eyes. “This still is my favourite part, reminding you of our mission and updating you on how close I am to finishing it.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about? What mission? I didn’t agree to shit. And that still doesn’t explain what the hell happen to you Gavin! I saw you last week with your partner at the hospital! So how are they in that glass coffin!”

Echo snarled at his old name and raised his voice. “I told you, I go by Echo now.” He caressed the clear sarcophagus in a gentle way, like a lover caresses their partner’s cheek. “Gavin died when they did,” he whispered, like it was a secret between the two men. 

Sam understood it, recognized that pain. Part of him died with Darlin’ and now he might hurl any time someone not them calls him ‘Samuel’. It was their name to use and now it’ll have no use.

He furrowed his eyes, taken aback by Echo’s statement. But they were alive, he spoke to them last week. Despite their equal old age to his mate, them and their Gavin (the nice one, not this monstrosity in front of him), would constantly come by the hospital to see how Darlin’ was doing. It was nice, the support they, the clan and the pack provided was vital for him to keep his sanity.

Despite every logical sense making it seem like Echo is lying, the pain in his voice, the despair in his eyes, it was too real. The flinch his body did when he called him ‘Gavin’ was way too specific for it to be a simple mimicry of other grieving lovers. Whatever this version of the Gavin he cared for was, he’d experience the loss of his Deviant.

Either that or Echo should be given an Oscar for his performance tonight.  

Perplexed by this paradox, he opened his mouth to ask. Surely he deserves some answers as to what’s going on in this fever dream. “But they’re alive… I saw them breathin’.” He dared to step closer, a small part of him wanting to comfort Echo over their shared pain. 

A bittersweet smile graced his face, and yet again, it was too raw and real for anyone to fake. “They won’t be alive for much longer, Nashira.” With a wave of his hand, the starry night scene that they’d been in had morphed into a house.

This was Gavin’s and Freelancer’s house.

Sam looked over to the couch to see the human and incubus sitting there, laughing at the TV in front of them. Of course they were watching ‘Pingu’. He still couldn’t fathom why on earth either of them adore that show, but you can bet that their nights had consisted of curling up in their Cinnamoroll pajamas and laughing at the absurdity of the penguins on the screen. It was cute and wholesome and the exact domesticity that both of them deserved, so he never said anything. He can appreciate cuddles and a show to laugh at, even if he didn’t agree with the entertainment itself. Besides, it was nice to see the tradition be continued all these years later.

“I don’t even know why I loved that penguin show, but it’s just too damn loveable to not be obsessed with it,” Echo mused, walking towards the older version of his freelancer. “Admittedly, the pajamas were also my idea. I know, I know, seems out of character for me, but I digress. I do look damn good in a Keroppi onesie.” He chuckled and knelt before the older freelancer, caressing their cheek, even though Sam had a feeling the freelancer couldn’t feel his touch. His iconic glitches had calmed, and he became more grounded in reality.

Sam wondered if the freelancer calmed Echo’s rage, the same way Darlin’ did for him.

He felt a bubble of smugness burst through him, happy at the thought that for the first time during this fever dream, he got a leg up on Echo. “See? Told you they’re still alive, so you can cut the horse shit and tell me what the fuck is goin’ on here.”

A beat passed and Freelancer fell onto the ground, clutching their heart in deep agony.

Any and all pride that Sam felt a few seconds ago gave way to dread, forgetting that once again that darker incubus had been right again. He rushed forward, instincts taking over to try to heal his friend, only to be stopped when Echo put a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no use, Nashira, they’re already gone.” His face had a hardened look, like he’d watch this scene happen over and over, but his voice had a resigned sadness in it. That despite expecting this result, he wished it would end differently. 

Wish carefully, listener. Actions have consequences. And wishes granted have a cost.

He tried to plead, struggling against the demon’s grip, “I can help! It ain’t fair that he loses his partner too! Send me back and let me save them-”

“Do you think I haven’t tried that?!” Echo responded with a question that Sam was sure rhetorical. His voice kept a steady tone, but it didn’t do much to hide the rage from his voice. “I have tried every single variation, every single possibility, changed every single variable but it leads to the same fucking outcome. Your mate dies and my deviant follows them to the River.” He pulled the vampire up on his feet and whisked them both back to the starry room that they began this conversation in. “How dare you be so arrogant that you think you can change this? If anyone can save them both, it will be me.” He seethed every word, and Sam could finally see the total toll it had taken on Echo.

That still didn’t explain what he had gone through, and Sam wanted to understand. Whether or not he could comprehend it was up to how well Echo explained everything to him. 

Echo sighed, rage leaving his face and replacing it with apathy. “Apologies Samuel, I know you don’t remember anything. But can you blame me for losing my shit when you’re being, and I’m putting this gently, a goddamned idiot.” He looked back at the sarcophagus, affectionately rubbing it once again. 

(Come to think of it, the way Echo rubs the coffin reminds him of the window cleaners on the skyscrapers he’s seen. He can even picture the cloth in Echo’s hand, methodically wiping it clean. Huh, no wonder why the sarcophagus is all sparkly and shiny.)

Sam had taken offence of the insult, but he remembered the ache in his voice a moment prior. He could see the gears turning in Echo’s head, a restless mind coming up with another plan to achieve his ultimate desire. 

An unconscious part of him wanted to help the former incubus (the jury is still at the stands) succeed in his goal. Was it because despite evidence to the contrary, Echo looked and spoke and moved like his best friend? Or was it in his nature to heal people, lend a helping hand to those who needed it? 

(Was it because his Darlin’ would have jumped at the opportunity to help a ‘friend’ out and he needed to keep their soul tethered to the mortal world for a little while longer?)

(But maybe he’s always been a selfish man, and this was his way to get his Darlin’ back permanently.)

Apple firmly in his hand, he weighed the consequences of taking the fated bite. His mind screamed that indebting his soul to the devil is a terrible idea. But he needed to get some answers, to understand the clusterfuck chain of events that leads him to this very moment. A deal with a devil never killed anybody, especially if he knows that the devil was once an angel. 

“You mentioned earlier that we been through this before?” Sam recalled.

Echo nodded thoughtfully, choosing his next words carefully. “Are you sure, Samuel? You don’t understand what you’re asking to learn.”

“More than anythin’ in my life,” he confidently answered, stamping out any fear or uncertainty from his voice. His mate would’ve been disappointed in him. They hadn’t gone to law school just to see their mate agree to a contract without seeing the terms.

“If you’re gonna sign your ass away, at least do it with consent and knowledge, Sammy.”

God, he missed their voice. He wanted to hear it again like a dark forest craves the sun.

The far-too-demonic incubus narrowed his eyes at the vampire, his scowl growing deeper. His cold voice spoke, “Well fine, I’ll make that decision for you.” He stalked closer to Sam, the once pink and white glitches surrounding his body becoming more intense. The distortions seemed to respond to Echo’s emotions, and by the looks of it, he had a fury that rivaled the most spiteful Gods. 

Had his teeth become sharper? His horns larger? Sam didn’t have time to answer these questions because faster than he could perceive, Echo stopped within striking distance of the vampire, snarling in disgust and rage. 

“Absolutely no.”

Sam opened his mouth to retort, “Hold on, ain’t you the one who just said that we been through this before?” If there was anything he hated more than a two faced, back-stabbing, lying bitch ass, it’s a motherfucker who goes back on his word. 

Echo pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering an ‘I don’t have time for this’ under his breath. “Look, I get it. You want to save your mate, really I do. But learning the grander plan at play would only bring you more pain.” He placed both his hands on Sam’s shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze. “We can do this without you having to bear the weight of this knowledge. Let this be my burden to carry.”

Fuck that shit. Sam had never been the type to let someone else solve his problems, especially when it comes to his mate, and no dimension-breaking asshole imitation of his mate’s best friend is going to change that. 

“Gav- Echo,” he said hesitantly, “I wanna help you save both of our partners, and me knowin’ will just help your cause.” Sam felt the urge to get on his knees and beg, just so he can understand what the fuck is going on. “Please, I need to know.”

He let go of Sam’s shoulder and takes a step back. Echo’s face conformed into a cold fury, a far cry from the comforting tone he used a second prior. “I tried to make this as painless as possible for you, Nashira,” he spat out, with an effort to remain as calm as he could. But with every word Echo said, his composure wavered, a strained frustration creeping into his voice. “Yet you clearly, want to make things harder for yourself.” 

Sam watched as Echo’s glitches threatened to rip apart the reality they presided in. Tears appeared in the night sky and the stars were falling on the “ground” they stood on, crashing and exploding into a brilliant white light. For each star that descended from this makeshift heaven, Sam could hear Gavin’s voice from a life from long ago.

“I can be both a good man and a very bad incubus all at once.”

“You can let yourself feel everything right now, and I’ll weather this storm with you. Just like you did for me.”

“Now, there’s an idea. You know I’m a sucker for a callback.”

(Sam also noted that the sarcophagus carrying Freelancer’s body had vanished. Where to? He hadn’t the faintest clue, but something told him that even in death, Echo didn’t want his deviant to see him in this rageful state.)

His pondering was cut off with Echo’s booming and well, for lack of a better term, echoing voice. “Do you have any idea how it feels to carry millennia worth of memories that no one but I understand? How it kills me to know everything about you and your mate and Damien and Lasko and Huxley and them, but knowing all you will only exist in my life for a fraction of the time I’ve spent observing this world?”

A moment of silence passed.

Everything stopped.

Sam half expected for Echo to evaporate into non-existence. (What that meant he had no idea, but he didn’t have time to contemplate existentialism right now.) 

Instead, Echo composed himself. He waved a hand and every fallen star rose back into the sky and the reality-breaking tears stitched themselves back. “If you wish to become a stubborn, unnecessary martyr, then be my guest. But don’t you dare regret this decision later on.”

Sam couldn’t get a word in before Echo spoke once again. The room went dark again, but before he could panic about the sudden blindness, Echo spoke directly into his mind, a cacophony of every voice Sam has ever heard blanding into one harmonious tune. 

"Wish carefully, Nashira. Actions have consequences. And wishes granted have a cost."

(Glad to know Echo keeps the talks-a-lot-incubus tradition alive.)

On an unrelated note, Sam’s eyes felt heavy, like he hadn’t slept for eons. Sure he’s not known for his impeccable sleep schedule, but he’s never one to turn down the chance at some shut eye. Besides he’s had a hard life, let him lay down… And get some sleep… Maybe dream of them if he’s lucky.

(When has Samuel Collins ever been lucky?)

…

You know how when you fall asleep on a bus? Or on the train? (Or the tube as the British call it.) You don’t know when you fall asleep, and you know for a damn fact that you shouldn’t be sleeping in public where anyone can just… You’re sleeping on a train, you can fill in the rest.

That was what Sam experienced. Should he be sleeping in front of an omnipotent being that’s only one step away from a God? Absolutely no, but he did it anyway. Though on the bright side, at least he’s been blessed with a dream. 

But it's not them. 

“Samuel, I promise there’s a way to bring them back! But you have to believe me!”

“How Gavin!? How the fuck am I supposed believe when you say you’re gonna bring them back? I saw that shade fuckin’ drain ‘em! I saw the life fade from their eyes! You’re either delusional for thinkin’ you can save both of’ our partners, or your bein’ cruel for no goddamn reason.”

“Well you better believe me, because I can. But… It means watching them die over and over again until we get it right. Can you do that? Can you fall in love with them, only to know that you will only be guaranteed eternal happiness once?”

“...You do it everyday with your freelancer, don’t you? Why shouldn’t this be any different?”

“I’m not asking for me. Are you able to handle that kind of pain?”

“Lord knows I’d endure a thousand hells for them. I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

“Alright, my dear Nashira, just remember…

…Actions have consequences. And wishes granted have a cost."

Oh right. He agreed to a deal. There was no point in wondering if he was making a deal with the devil because he bit the damned fruit long before he could even remember it.

A snapping sound slowly drags him back to consciousness, and a harsh reminder from Echo brings him back all the way. 

(Come to think of it, Sam didn’t even think he fell asleep. He just disassociated so hard that he felt his soul leave his body and relieve that past memory. Or maybe it wasn’t all in his head? Great, add time travel to the weird shit that’s happened so far.)

“Wake up, Sam,” he says with a harsh tone. If Echo had the same mannerisms, and everything tonight (or today?) proved that to be true, then Echo calling Sam ‘Sam’ and not some nickname or ‘Samuel’ or ‘Nashira’ meant that he’s pissed. Not in a ‘Freelancer not giving him affection for more than five minutes’ kind of way, but in a more ‘watching some professor antagonize Damien for being a fire elemental’ way.

Sam just hoped that perhaps Echo will have more mercy on him than the scarred professor.

(Emotionally scarred. She wasn’t worth having to deal with all the paperwork from D.U.M.P.)

“So you finally remember everything?” He may have posed it as a question, but the mocking undertone was a clear indication that he already knew that answer. It was silent for a moment, only to be broken when Echo clasped his hands together. “Well it’s always wonderful to speak to you, Nashira, but we have partners to revive, which if we’re being honest, would have been done quite earlier if someone would keep his reckless wolf alive.” 

What… No, he can’t…

Again? He had to go through that again? How on Earth did Echo expect him to go through the same love story for the thousandth time? If the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and over again, then he has long gone past the deep end. He didn’t even know what possessed him to agree to this fucking deal those lifetimes ago. God damn it, he should have never bit the apple. Bringing people back? From the dead? The closest anyone has gotten to that is a vampire’s turning, but he knew his Darlin’ would rather die than give up their wolf. So he has to find a way to keep them immortal without turning them.

Cool. No pressure. When you boil it down to a simple sentence, it seems doable. 

That was before he had to watch them die a thousand times, and having to prepare himself from watching them die a thousand more.

He remembers it all now. The doomed timelines, the sinking and permanent dread that accompanied him around their death, the constant beratement from Echo whenever he failed. Given that he’s still here, talking to Echo and not enjoying immortal bliss with Darlin’ goes to show how much he has failed.

How dare Samuel Collins be so arrogant as to think as he could reverse an event so vital to the timelines he has the privilege of residing in. Does he not know his misery keeps his world spinning?

(Of course he knows why he agreed to all of this. Echo… Gavin’s voice held so much conviction, so much belief, that this plan could work. To call it a plan is giving it more credit than it deserves. It’s more of a hypothesis. However, theory can only be made fact if there is evidence behind it. At this point, it’s proving to be more fictitious everyday.)

In a meek voice, not out of fear but hesitation, Sam spoke for what seems to be the first time in a while.

“No.”

Echo halted. No, scratch that, the entire room just stopped. 

Before the stars and little clouds in the sky moved, twirling and twinkling in the false night sky.

The room seemed to forget how to breathe. Sam had to remind himself that despite his undead status, he wasn’t allowed the luxury of forgetting.

Echo scoffed, once then twice. Then he started cackling, bending over and clutching his stomach in a failed attempt to control this burst of joy. Or perhaps the absurdity of the entire situation has finally caught up to him. 

The ground cracked underneath the demon’s feet as he stomped around the room-dimension thing. “Of course, of course! I should have known that this would happen!” He muttered to himself. “Every single time we meet like this, you try to bail out because of your bullshit morals. Morals, that mind you, you only have because of them.” The stars heated up as his glare intensified. “Need I remind you how you treated Fred’s progeny?”

Sam was still living with the guilt of how he treated them and how they're relationship fell apart. 

If only he met Darlin' earlier-

“That's exactly it!” He yelled and the room shook with his fury. Did Echo just read his mind? “You’ve always based your decisions on what they would want you to do.” He scoffed, the temperature dropping as ice laced his voice. “Not that it ever stopped you before.”

Sam didn’t know if the chill down his spine came from the cold of the room or the cold hard truth his deranged friend was speaking. He was right. Sam will whine and cry about morals and standards and questions and thoughts of ‘what would Darlin’ do’, but it didn’t matter. In the end, he’d continue on with Echo’s mad experiment to save them. (Save them both.)

Bite the apple from the snake, suffer the consequences of the sin, go back to the Garden of Eden and do it all over again.

(Does that make his darlin’ the Adam in this story? Convincing him that eternal damnation wasn’t worth the pain of immortality? It wasn’t that Darlin’ didn’t wouldn’t agree with the plan. His Darlin’ was as selfless and kind as the Saints he was forced to pray towards. Death was nothing to them if it meant they could be the cause of that salvation that saves their friends. No, they’d disagree with the plan because they couldn’t bear seeing their beloved in constant, perpetual and unavoidable pain.)

(Or maybe their mercy  makes them Jesu’? A martyr destined to die over and over and over for the sins of those who have ruined them? If that’s the case, then he’s Judas, the fool who damned Jesus with a kiss.)

The demon rolled his eyes back in the dramatic fashion that he was known for. With a wicked smile and a faux concern dripping from his voice, he taunted the vampire, “Come on, Sam, we both know what you want.” Any and all anger was gone, replaced with the smug satisfaction of a man (or interdimensional magical being) who knows he’s been right in every scenario. Why, of course he is. Echo has had this same argument a thousand times over.

And he’s won every single time. 

(What can he say, he’s had a lot of practice.)

“Do I need to remind you of the times where you were the one who killed your precious mate?” He asked to continue to poke and infuriate the vampire.

Of course he didn’t need to. There have been timelines where Alexis had invoked him to kill his wolf out of petty revenge. (Let it be said that the actions of these Alexises are not indicative of the Alexis you are familiar with.) He remembers the taste of their blood when he killed them. It wasn’t of fear or disgust, it was of acceptance and peace. Like he was making love to them in their bed and not violating their body. They had always said, “If I wanted anyone to kill me, I want it to be you, since you’ll make sure I’d be loved in my final moments.” 

He wished they had hated him instead. The wild fire, the raging blizzard, within their blood hurt more than any acid in this or any world. 

Echo, satisfied with the memories that were returning to Sam, put the final nail to the coffin carrying Sam’s flimsy convictions. “You don’t want all of that pain and suffering they had to endure to go to waste, don’t you? So I ask you again, Nashira, don’t you want to have them again?”

The most infuriating part was that he was right, so fucking right. This is what Sam wants.

He wants to drag his Darlin’ from the river by the hair he loved to pull when kissing them and hold them close and keep them safe and alive for all of eternity. Wants to gently place them down on their bed and play with his hair and tell them that nothing will hurt them. His arms were the shield they desperately needed after a lifetime of fighting. To make up for all the pain he has caused them in multiple timelines and create the most perfect future possible for them, just for them. Helping Echo with his own predicament is an added benefit.

The sunk cost fallacy is a phenomenon where a person is reluctant to abandon a strategy because they’ve invested everything ounce of themselves to see it succeed. Echo and Sam were becoming too familiar with the ocean floor.

Quiet resignation and deep laughter filled the room, with the demon wiping his nonexistent tears from his eyes. “It’s always fun to break you, Nashira, but we have work to do. And this time,” his eyes darkened and the stars flickered out, leaving the two men visible, “I expect results.”

Sam nodded and an apple appeared in front of him. When he takes another bite, the cycle of pain will continue, and it will end with him. And he will end it.

He has to.

If not for his happiness, than for the happiness of the twisted demon he once called a friend. 

–

Now that the cycle restarted and Sam was sent back to the beginning, Echo remained in the room. Alone and perfectly still, like water that hasn’t been agitated.

The false memories always work. He gave himself a pat on the back for coming up with that idea after the first few cycles, when Sam was becoming resistant. 

The ‘multiple timelines’ that Sam had experienced were really just simulations that Echo created to cycle through in order to find the perfect solution. Each one contained a different ‘what if’ to reveal more information about how this world works. 

What if Alexis was a petty and jealous ex?

What if David turned on Darlin’ and let Quinn take them? 

What if they had a normal life and died of old age?

They all had a different purpose, but none of them were real enough to have any lasting consequences, but lovely Sam didn’t need to know that.

In truth, while Echo can make all the alternate universes or lifelike dreams he wants, he can only reset the prime universe, the one we know and love, only once. So he had to make absolutely, one hundred percent sure that he can manipulate the right factors to create his desired outcome. And he finally thinks he did it. After years of self-isolation and watching his friend be tortured, he finally broke the crystal.

(Whoever gets that joke has quite good taste in TV shows.)

Echo looked up at the black void and smiled. “Are you seeing this?! You said I could never and I fucking did!” Silence was his only response but he didn’t mind.

It took him much too long to learn about the secrets of turning humans into concubines, but better late than never. Considering that Darlin’ is a shifter, a human that is closer to a demon than a freelancer, it only makes sense to make them his first and successful attempt. (Mark his words, he will succeed.)

From his pocket, he held a photo in his hands. It was taken in front of the local cowboy club in Dahlia and the incubus and shifter were smiling. Happiness coursed through their veins and unbeknownst to neither, more was on the way. Echo studied how lively and youthful Darlin’ looked back then. Before Quinn had forced them to let go of themselves and the carefree nature that made them loveable. While he thanks Sam for bringing that side out of them, he was going to make sure they stay like that.

Permanently. 

He took a deep breath and braced himself. Once he saves them, he can save his beloved deviant.

He was going to see his beloved deviant again.

And he will make sure they all live happily ever after.  (But do you know what they say about those who try to alter destiny? The fates will not take kindly to anyone to change their plans and will do anything to get back on the right track. Certain events can never change, lest the universe unravels on itself. But Echo would relish that type of destruction, wouldn’t he.)

[crashdevlin]

Jump The Shark

Author’s Note: This is part nineteen of The Best Laid Plans series

Summary: When John gets a call from the youngest son he never got to meet, Y/n goes with him to find out what happened to the one-night stand John had back in 1990.

Pairing: Alpha!John x Omega!Reader

Word count: 3597

Story Warnings: angst...A/B/O dynamics, canon divergence, angst, mentions of physical violence, mentions of mindfuckery, mentions of ferality, pining, did I mention angst?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hadn't said anything. Not from the moment you and John found the truck. You climbed up into the cab and changed into jeans, a black and green plaid flannel and a pair of hiking boots. You dropped your suit skirt and blouse out the window going 80 down the interstate, and then you closed your eyes and listened to the Rolling Stones.

You had to open your eyes when your memories started attacking you.

Dean had been so sure that you were the one he wanted, the one he was looking for...but that was Dean Smith and Y/n Colt. That was a Stanford MBA and a former Miss Teen USA runner-up. The idea that he wanted to mark you was particularly hurtful and you were kinda glad you made him wait because you weren't sure if it would have reset like the first mark Sam gave you and the last thing you wanted was for Dean to be tethered to you when he could barely stand to be around you.

He only wanted you because he was someone else. He was someone else, but his soul was still stuck on you. You both felt that pull because you were connected but he didn't want you. Smith liked Colt, but Winchester would never love Y/l/n.

John just drove. It was obvious he had no destination in mind, he just pointed the truck West and drove. Part of you wished that he would go back to Mississippi but you knew that your semi-normal was gone...and it was better. You were a hunter and so were your alphas. No normal for you.

"It hit her hard, Sammy," you heard John whispering as he drove when you woke up a few hours into Missouri. "She hasn’t been that close with your brother in years and the fact that it was all fake is killing her."

A pang of sadness hit you as your brain called forth what John was talking about. The haze of sleep had taken the memory, but now it was clear why your heart felt like so many broken pieces shoved into a box in your chest.

"Yeah, we know that but he won't say it and she probably wouldn't be able to hear it now anyway." John sighed as Sam spoke through the phone. "Son, I don't know what we can do other than what we always do. If you need help, just call, but she definitely doesn't need to be around your brother for a while. All right. Keep me updated," John said before setting his phone on the dashboard. "I know you’re awake, 'mega. Can't fool me."

"Wasn't trying to fool you. Just letting you finish your conversation," you responded, sitting up and stretching as best as you could in the truck cab. "What'd Sam want?"

"Tell me that the whole deal in Cincinnati was the Angels fucking with us. Specifically fucking with Dean. They wanted to prove to him that he was always supposed to be a Hunter or something."

"And we just got pulled along for the ride? That was nice of them." You rolled your eyes and reached down for your purse, pulling out a travel mouthwash. "So, what, everything's dandy now?" you asked as you took a drink of the mint liquid, swished it around in your mouth and swallowed.

"You know, you're supposed to spit that out, right?"

"Only quitters spit," you said automatically. You ran your hand across your face as you dropped the bottle to the floorboard. Dirty jokes Dean told you as a teen were not what you needed to get out of your funk. “I’ve put worse things in my body.”

“Girl, we...we’ll get through this.”

“Not like we have a lot of options, right?” You licked your lips and shook your head. “I’m fine, John. I slept. I’m better. I’m fine.”

“When are you gonna learn that it’s useless to lie to me?” John asked.

“I’m sure it’ll sink in eventually,” you responded, chuckling. “I promise...I’m going to be fine.”

“I know you will,” John said, reaching over to pat your knee.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks passed and you were getting better at putting it behind you. The might’ve-beens dragged up by the Angels in Cincinnati were slowly being pushed back into the recesses of your mind and you were feeling better. Sam emailed John to tell him about some jerk in Ohio writing books about the boys’ lives, someone Castiel revealed to be a Prophet of the Lord who was writing The Winchester Gospels. There were books about the boys’ lives, their actions, their innermost thoughts, just hanging out on bookshelves around the world. You wondered if you were in any of the stories, the gospels.

John’s secondary cell phone went off as you pulled the truck into the parking lot of a coffee shop and he frowned as he looked down at the screen before he answered, “Hello?” A beat of time as you parked the truck and turned to him. “He’s not available. Can I help you?” He had a severe look on his face and you shook your head at him, confused by his reaction to the call. “What’d you say your name was? Milligan...and, uh, what are you callin’ John for?”

He made a fist and hammered it into his forehead. “Right, well, uh, I hate to have to tell you this over the phone but John is dead. He died in 2001.” Your eyes went wide and John put a finger up to quiet you before you could even start to question. “If you need help, then I can meet with you, kid. I’m, uh, John Winchester’s son, Dean. Windom, Minnesota. Cousin Oliver Café. We’ll be there tomorrow at 8am. See ya then, kid.”

“What the fuck, John?!” you exclaimed when he ended the call.

“Fuck.” He scratches his fingernails across his forehead and sighs as he sets the phone on the dash. “I recognized the area code, knew it was Missouri, thought it might have something to do with...with this case I had around January 1990. Anybody I interacted with back then, they would’ve known me before I got hit with that hex. So, that’s why I answered the phone like that and I’m glad I did because...because the kid on the other end of the phone is…” He trailed off and you gave him a pointed look.

“The kid on the other end of the phone is what?”

“My youngest son, Adam.”

Your eyes went wide, confusion and anger filling your body. “Your what?”

“I told you...I told you that I had one dalliance before you after Mary died, remember? When I was on that ghoul hunt and I went into rut and I-I was almost feral and I had one night where I couldn’t fuckin’ control myself and-”

“You knocked her up with pups?” you whispered. For some reason, it hurt a lot more than it should, especially considering you were only seven years old at the time.

“Only one. Adam.” He shook his head at himself. “She never told me. I didn’t know anything about it until 2001...and by then…by the time Adam called the first time, I was a young man again. I couldn’t show up looking like a twenty-five year old and start a relationship with the boy. So I just never called him back, kinda put him on the back burner. I figured I’d go see him when we found the witch and fixed me but I never found the witch and-”

“So, why’s he calling again now?” you asked, trying to be understanding. It wasn’t John’s fault. He should have told you. He should have told his other sons, but he couldn’t do anything about it now.

“His mom, Kate, is missing.”

“And he called you because?” you asked.

“Because the cops aren’t worried and his mom told him to try to get a hold of me if anything weird ever happened. She knew about the hunting.”

“So, your plan is to...pretend to be your oldest son and go meet your youngest son for the first time and try to find his missing mother...who most probably is just normal-missing, not supernatural-missing?” you asked, cautious of your tone.

“I can drop you somewhere if you don’t wanna participate in this, girl,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

“No,” you responded vehemently. “You don’t get to leave me behind, Winchester. Not ever again, remember?”

“Okay, then I’m gonna need you to back me on this and you’re going to have to call me ‘Dean’.”

You nodded. “I can do that.” You weren’t sure you wanted to, but you’d do it for him.

“Thank you, darlin’.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was nervous. You could smell it in his scent. You leaned into his shoulder as you sat in the booth, trying to calm him with your own scent. You kept your head on his shoulder as he switched a glass of water out with a glass of holy water and set a trio of silverware on the opposite side of the table. “Just in case.”

“You really think-”

“I looked into him, ya know? Kid did real good without me in his life,” John said suddenly. “He’s real and he’s smart and he never had anything to do with this life. I’m scared it bled onto him anyway.”

You sighed and leaned up to press a kiss to his temple as the door opened and a tall, thin young man walked into the diner. He looked like a mix of Sam and Dean. “That’s him,” you whispered, recognizing him from the Facebook profile.

John, or rather ‘Dean’, stood and waved at the boy.

“Dean?” Adam asked, walking over. John nodded. The boy laughed. “Wow, you look just like the picture my mom had of-of John. You’re almost the spitting image of him.” He let out a scoff as he sat down, his eyes moving to you. “Who’s this?”

“My omega,” John said, a bit defensively.

“Y/n,” you said, offering your hand to him.

Adam took it with a smile. “Wow.”

You felt a cringe move through your body and you looked down. “What?”

“I just…” Adam cleared his throat. “There’s not a lot of omegas in Windom and none are as pretty as you.”

Another Winchester flirting with you was sending all sorts of bad signals through your body. You softly tugged your hand back and sat back down as Adam settled into the opposite side of the booth and picked up the water. You held your breath when he took a drink but the water went down easy so you relaxed a bit.

But not much.

He smelled wrong. John was lavender and orange and ylang ylang, Dean was lavender and honeysuckle and anise, Sam was vanilla and coffee and undercurrents of honeysuckle when he was in rut. Adam smelled like dirt.

Not grass and forest and mossy logs, dirt. Just dirt. He didn’t even have a secondary scent to him, no undercurrent or complementary smell. Just dirt.

There should have been some part of him that smelled like a Winchester, even if he wasn’t the same makeup of a Winchester as the ones you knew. He shouldn’t smell like that.

Adam didn’t seem to notice your musing or your deep breaths to try and find something else in his scent. He went off on a tangent as he ate his breakfast about how John and Kate met in the emergency room at the hospital room where she works and he went into rut after he got hurt and Adam tried to get a hold of John when he was a kid and John just never picked up the phone and he’s glad that ‘Dean’ answered the phone this time.

“At least I know why he didn’t answer when I was calling before. So, uh, what happened to John?”

“Heart attack,” John responded. “It was sudden.”

“Right, guess that makes sense. Heart disease is the number one killer of men his age in the US,” Adam said.

Your eyes focused on the silverware in the man’s fists. Not a shifter either then. But this was something. This was not a Winchester.

“Well, after we get done eating, why don’t you take us to the house and we’ll see if we can’t find something to tell us where your mom got to,” John offered.

“Thanks, Dean,” Adam said with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"He didn't react to silver or holy water," John argued as he followed Adam's car down the road.

"So? There's plenty of things that can alter people's perception of them that don't react to silver or holy water! Rakshasas, sirens, djinns, ghouls, do I need to go on?" you argued back. "He smells like dirt, John. That is not-"

"Maybe that's just-"

"What'd his mother smell like?" you interrupted.

"Passion fruit...and something else I can't remember."

"Not dirt. He shouldn't smell like that. He's not your son."

John sighed and scratched at his chin. "You might be right. He should smell more like one of us. He doesn't even smell like an alpha, honestly, but...if he's not Adam, then where the hell is Adam? And where's Kate? And why the fuck would whatever he is try to get me out here?"

"I don't know."

"Me either. For now, let's focus on finding Kate and we'll go from there." You held in a groan and focused out the windshield. "I know, 'mega. I'm just...I got this feeling...I lost my opportunity to be a part of this boy's life because of that witch."

"And that’s terrible, John...but you wouldn't have me if it wasn't for that witch so…"

“I’m not sayin’ I regret it, sweetheart, I just...wish I could have...met him once before I went after that bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, biting your thumbnail. “Sometimes I wish things were different, too.”

“You wish I never came over when you were going into that first heat,” he guessed.

You swallowed, but you didn’t answer. The truth was, you had thought through a lot of different wishes and butterfly-effect ripples of how it would change everything. If John didn’t show up, you wouldn’t be a hunter. If Dean hadn’t pushed you to let Sam take you when those apple-pie assholes put you in heat, you would have just been Dean’s. If you never sold your soul for Dean, you might have been able to move on, find another alpha...a non-Winchester.

“I don't think I'd be myself if you hadn't shown up,” you answered eventually. “I'd have stayed stuck at Bobby's, never ended up with an alpha let alone two, and I would be dying from never getting a knot in a few years' time...it’s better you did.”

"I'm...glad I did, Y/n. I like the woman you are, the strong and beautiful omega you are.”

You smiled and your cheeks heated up at the praise. “Let’s just get this done, huh?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t exactly happy that you were the one who had to crawl through the vents but Adam said, and John fucking agreed, that you were smallest and therefor the best choice. When you found the blood and pieces of skull and blond hair, you were happy to be small enough to pull your phone out of your pocket and text the news to John so he could break the news before you crawled back out.

“Call the cops. We gotta get out of here, though,” John said as he offered you a hand to help you up out of the vent.

“Wait, but-” Adam started to argue.

“We don’t mix with cops,” you responded, before stomping away from them, roughly brushing dust off of your jeans and shirt. “Come on, J-Dean. Let’s get out of here.”

“You don’t mix with-” Adam started to argue, but you pushed past him and stomped out to John’s truck.

“There was no surprise in his scent. There was no anger or sadness. I’ve lost both parents, John, there should have been-”

“Maybe he’s numb or-”

“Maybe he’s made of dirt or something!” you snapped. “That is not-”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong yet, ‘mega.”

You shook your head. “Yeah. Yet. You know what, John? I’m gonna go ahead and look into things that could be pretending to be your illegitimate pup.”

You barely looked at him as you got out of the truck and headed inside to start researching. When Adam showed up to find out what was going on with his missing mother and you and ‘Dean’ leaving before the cops showed up and “what the hell?!” John decided to explain about hunting as simply as he could. He didn’t explain who he really was, though. And then John decided to take Adam to explore other options of finding Kate.

It was a couple hours later that you came across a mention in an online lore forum that said ghouls, while normally scavengers who feast on dead flesh, could actually eat living specimens and have been shown to greatly enjoy fresh human meat and blood...and just like feasting on the dead, the ghoul can take the visage of their victim and their memories.

“Didn’t John say that’s what he was after when he was here before?” you whispered to yourself as you picked up your cell phone and dialed John’s number. It rang through until it went to voicemail. You called again. It went to voicemail again.

Panic fell over you. Your alpha was in trouble. Your alpha was in trouble and you had no idea where he was.

“Fuck!” You were almost shaking as you stood up and looked around aimlessly. What could you do? Another string of expletives fell from your mouth before you forced yourself to focus. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Your soul was connected to him. You needed to find him.

It only took a flash. A flash of the dining room at Kate’s house, John tied to the table had you grabbing the keys to John’s truck and rushing for your alpha. You pushed that truck as fast as it would go to get it to the house on the outskirts of Windom. The truck tires screeched as you slid to a stop in the front yard. You grabbed your shotgun from the rack in the truck bed and ran into the house.

John was tied to the table, ‘Adam’ and ‘Kate’ standing over him as he bled from his wrists. “Y/n,” he groaned. “They’re ghouls!”

“I know!” you snapped, aiming at Adam’s head and shooting. Parts of his head exploded onto the wall behind him and Kate shrieked before running at you. You moved to pump the shotgun for a second shot, but Kate grabbed you and tossed you into the wall like you were nothing.

“Y/n!”

“I’m fine, John!” you shouted, rolling onto your hands and knees.

“John?” Kate spat out, her tone dripping with poison.

“Forgot to mention before you started draining me,” John groaned. “I’m the one who killed your daddy, sweetheart.”

“Witches are better than plastic surgery, bitch,” you said, sweeping the woman’s leg with your foot. She fell to the floor and you jumped up, grabbing the shotgun and shooting her in the head, too. You licked your lips and panted as you limped over to the table and pulled out a knife, getting him loose from his binds. “You okay?” you asked, grabbing a rag and ripping it in half, wrapping each half around his wounds.

“Yeah. You...you got here in time.” He sat up, his legs hanging off the table as you secured the wraps around his wrists. “How’d you know?”

“I figured out ghouls could eat fresh and then I couldn’t get you on the phone and...I…” You licked your lips. “I knew where to find you.”

“How?” he pressed.

“How’d you know what motel room I was cutting Sam’s mark off of me?” you asked in answer.

“You felt it?” he asked and you nodded. He reached out, barely wincing at the pull on his wrist, and pulled you in for a soft, sad kiss. “They were siblings, kids of the ghoul I took down last time I was in Windom. They called to get revenge for me killing their dad.” He looked away. “Killed Kate and Adam to get revenge first. I was hoping I wasn’t right about my life bleeding on his.”

“It’s not your fault, John,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “I know. Shoulda stuck around to see if the thing left behind little monsters for me to kill, but...I went into rut...and then I had to get back to the boys.”

“John...it’s really not on you.”

“He’s dead because of me.”

“He was alive because of you,” you insisted. “He had nineteen years before these things...he had nineteen years because of you. Please, don’t let this get to you.” You chuckled, ruefully. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be barely floating in an ocean of shit. You’re supposed to be my life raft.”

He smiled and nodded. “I am. I am your life raft, darlin’. Just...a little blood-deprived right now. I’ll perk up after a glass of O.J. and some protein. Come on. Let’s get outta here.”

You nodded and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, helping him off of the table and walking him out to the truck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[lil-sweater-slut]

𝐏𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐮𝐝

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟎𝟗𝟐

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱. 𝘖𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 @𝘵𝘱𝘸𝘬.𝘭𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘪𝘬𝘛𝘰𝘬

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx, ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ!ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ, ꜱᴇɢɢꜱʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴅᴜʜ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ....

𝟭𝟴 + 𝗡𝗼 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗢𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗴. 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗥𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁𝘀.

The look you were giving him could make any man drop where they stand, bystanders where wondering what the hell he did to piss you off so badly. 

What was he doing? Grinning from ear to ear knowing exactly what was going through your head.

Earlier that day…

You were woken up with soft finger tips tracing along your temple and down your neck to your right shoulder. You rolled over to your right beeming up at the dark brunette smiling down at you, “G’mornin doll…” he whispered huskily in her ear, leaning down and kissing your temple. You smiled and moved your hand to the back of his head to move him down to your lips.

 He kissed you soft and tenderly, smiling with each brush across your lips. He lightly bit the bottom of your lip earning a morning giggle out of you as you let his tongue slip past and dance along yours, you pulled away and looking up at Bucky with adoration, “what time is it?” you whisper back to him. He huffs as you pull away and shuffles to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, “It is a little past 8:30.” You give a sad smile at him, “You should probably go back to your room Sarge.” He frowns and kisses your nose, “Yeah…I suppose you’re right. Alright I’m going” he ripped off the sheets from his body and standing out of bed eliciting a small squeal out of you and a laugh “Oh my god! Buck! Briefs! Please!” you scream out as you cover your eyes with the comforter. 

He laughs as he pulls on the pair of black briefs from late last night, “Nothin’ you haven’t seen before darlin’” he winks at you and closes your bedroom door shut as he sneaks off to his own room before everyone else decided to wake up in the building.

9:00am was when everyone else started to emerge from their respected rooms, groaning for coffee and any sustenance within the vicinity.

Throughout the day, everyone did their own things considering it was a laid-back kind of thing.

You tried doing your own things, you really did, unfortunately ol’ Manchurian candidate was branded in your head after last night…

His steel blues looking up at you between the valley of your breasts and your legs as his tongue encircled your clit making you buck your hips off the bed and moan out his name in such a sweet tune.

As these sultry thoughts provoked your inner whore, you had no idea you were burrowing holes into your lover,

“Man, what is her problem?” Sam poked at Bucky as he looked between you both with concern. Bucky shot a confused look until he turned his head over his shoulder and caught you staring right into his eyes. Your lips were opened just a smidge as you bit the inside of your cheek, He smirked and looked away knowing exactly what you were thinking of, “oh, she hates me.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. Sam scrunched his face looking at his friend, “how-what do you mean she hates you?” He glances back at you over his shoulder, seeing your eyes rake over his body like a damn predator, “just trust me, she fucking hates me.” He smiles lightly and goes back to cooking at the stove.

Later that night, Bucky was reading a book to relax himself for the night when you came busting through his bedroom door and took full strides towards his bed in the middle of the bedroom, “Well, Hello doll-“you cut him off with a  rough, hard kiss, immediately straddling his legs as you ground yourself down on him earning a groan out of both of you.

“You are such an ass Barnes.”

You panted through kisses as you both aided each other in stripping down to nothing, “You did that thing last night because you knew you’d be in my head all day.” He smirked up at you as he helped you steady yourself above his bobbing cock, “you really want everyone here to know we’re fucking?” You seethed through your teeth as you sat down on his member taking each inch, never failing to make you gasp each time. 

Bucky held you hips as he started getting you to rock on him slowly picking up the pace. He chuckled darkly as you bounced on his cock, in an instant he used all of weight to flip you both over so that you were on your back and he was hovering over you, never leaving your sopping wet mess.

“to be fair doll…” he thrusts harshly into you, “you were the one staring like you were gonna eat me alive..” He thrusts again, harder, “and another thing…” He hooks his elbows under your knees, planting his hands to the bed to keep you from moving your legs down, and resting his forehead against yours, “I want everyone here to know that you. Are. Mine.” Emphasizing each word with a deep, hard thrust causing you to shoot your hand up against the headboard of the bed to prevent any injuries to your head, “Fuck Bucky!”

He moved his hips in that way that made his hard cock graze along your soft spot in your walls. You covered your mouth to silence your cries of pleasure when Bucky ripped your hand off your mouth and pinned it at the top of your head, “Don’t you hold back now, I want this whole building to know who you belong to. Do you understand?” his pace is ruthless as he pounds into your mound, he moans when you clamp around him tightly, “Ah fuck Y/N…that’s it. Cum for me.”

You moan out louder and louder, his name falling off your lips like a newfound prayer. He grabs your face in between his hands urging you to look at him, “Open your eyes doll…I wanna see you when you cum all over my cock.”

You look into his as you come undone, willing yourself to keep your eyes open for him, you body shudders feeling yourself tighten around Bucky still buried deep inside you as he reaches his own release, eyes never leaving yours even as he came deep inside you.

He holds himself above you as you both try to catch your breaths, he starts to chuckle resting his forehead against your shoulder, “Well now everyone probably knows.”

You hear a bang on the wall towards the end of the bed followed by an angry Sam yelling, “Yeah no shit!”