captainjonnitkessler · 10 months ago
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I was trying to figure out why I was feeling so off and generically sad all day today until I opened up Stardew Valley and realized I haven't seen the sun in three weeks and no green plants for longer than that. I HAVE to move somewhere sunnier I was simply not cut out to live in this much gloom
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bethhxrmon · 6 years ago
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All I Ask of You Pt. 34
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“I can never go back, never look back anymore” - “I Can Do Better Than That” from The Last Five Years
Pairing: Peter Parker x Female OC
Word Count: 2.4k
Summary: They’re going back to Seattle!
Warnings: Idk rushed writing????
A/N: So we’re getting to the last stretch of stuff before the end of the story! And if that’s the real truth then this would be the first story I’ve ever finished???? Anywho I may have this done around when Endgame comes out! As always, I love feedback and my masterlist is in my bio!
After nearly a week of preparations, Annie still hadn’t seen her new suit. Harper was insisting on keeping it a secret until they got to Seattle. It left Annie apprehensive, but excited all the same. While there was plenty to worry about, Annie finally took the time to realize that it wasn’t her job to be worried.
It wasn’t her fault that Carnival was going crazy all over New York, he was the one who managed to follow her. Just like it wasn’t her fault that Tony was possibly her biological father. At least, that was what she had learned thanks to the therapy session she’d gone through in the last week.
While she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it, there was something that Annie loved about therapy that she just couldn’t get from everyone else. It was the one time she was finally sat down and given the chance to sort out her thoughts. Obviously the bad dreams and overall declined mental state weren’t going to be fixed by a few therapy sessions. There was a lot to be done, but Annie didn’t mind that as much.
“You know, I’d wager that you didn’t finish this suit until last night and that you knew this was going to happen,” Annie said, shrugging a bit as they piled into a small private plane.
Harper rolled their eyes, “Whatever you say, but it’s so awesome that it’s getting its own space in the tiny overhead bin. You’re so going to love this!”
“Look, you guys can keep bickering over the new suit, but I’m trying to figure out why we can fly to Seattle but we had to drive here in the first place,” Ned interjected, sitting down.
Harper shrugged, “Who knows, I definitely don’t.”
“Different modes of transportation makes it less likely for you to be tracked. No one’s going to think we’d be in Seattle if we’re operating over here,” Tony explained.
Peter sat down, “You know, I didn’t mind the road trip too much.”
“Says the person who got car sick on the way,” Annie pointed out, sitting next to him.
Tony and Pepper sat a little bit away from the teenagers who were quickly getting into a conversation about whether or not the road trip qualified as a good time. It was clear Harper was the most adamant about their distaste on being stuck in a car for the better part of a week. Which quickly turned into Annie trying to figure out more about her new suit.
“Is it mostly white or is it mostly silver? And if it’s silver is it too flashy?” Annie pressed.
Harper laughed, “You’re acting like I would let you walk out looking like a human disco ball. I would never do that to a friend!” “But it has both colors! And more, it’s so awesome and I think you’re gonna love it!” Ned exclaimed, “Like there’s this one part that-”
“Ned, shut it! I want her to be surprised! It’ll be way more satisfying to see Annie freak out over it in around… well I don’t know how much time, but it’ll be worth it,” Harper claimed.
Peter shook his head, “I’m with Annie, I definitely think you guys didn’t have it done until last night.”
“See? It looks fishy! Thanks, Pete,” Annie said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Harper sighed, “You know what we’re gonna have you two do?”
“Hm?”
“Annie, you’re gonna take your boyfriend on a date today and show him around the city. Ned and I are gonna take care of my parents. This way, you two can get out all your annoying PDA and it’s all good,” Harper replied.
Ned laughed, “I don’t think that’s gonna do it.If anything, I feel like it's just gonna make them worse."
"Well, that's rough. I don't have to deal with it when we get back. I'm going to a totally different school from you guys," Harper responded.
Ned pouted, "You wouldn't just leave me alone with them like that, would you? That's so mean!"
"Well, when you put it that way... yes, I would definitely leave you to deal with them on your own. You can take it!" they said with a wink.
Annie rolled her eyes, "You know Peter and I hear everything you're saying, right?"
"You know you guys are so cute it's painful to watch, right?" Harper retorted.
It didn't take much time for them to reach Seattle. Odds were, it was the shortest plane ride Annie had ever been on. Granted, she had only needed to fly once and that was from moving to New York. She seemed to be the one that was waiting for the plane to land. Her nose was pressed against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of something. Though, there wasn't anything to be seen through the clouds.
Peter shook his head, "I don't get it, it's so cloudy."
"That's the best part!" Annie replied excitedly.
He tilted his head to the side, "Yeah? Why's that?"
"I mean, it's almost always cloudy and then it gets rainy and the smell of the rain, that's freaking amazing! And then it's cloudy, but not, like, an oppressive cloudy? And then it gets sunny sometimes, but not so much that it's obnoxious. I don't know... it's just home," Annie explained, turning to face him.
Peter kissed her forehead, "You should get excited like that more often, it's cute."
"Okay, we've had enough of the cute coupley thing, let's get you to see this suit!" Harper exclaimed, rushing off of the plane.
Ned grinned, "It's so awesome, you don't even understand what kind of work we had to put into this thing. It is the best science project I've ever had to work on."
"Meaning we failed. A lot. That's why it took a hot minute, but it was so worth it because you're going to flip your shit, come on, we gotta show it to her!" Harper called out, hoping that would make Tony and Pepper hurry up.
Tony and Pepper eventually got off of the plane, "Well, we can't exactly do that right now. We gotta find somewhere private. Remember how we don't want anyone thinking that there's any reason to suspect us of doing anything?"
"Also meaning that we just don't want anyone thinking that I have powers. Do you guys know how rough that'd be if people figured out I was just born with crazy energy and electricity powers? I'd probably get imprisoned by the government and be forced to live out the rest of my days as a living physics equation," Annie pointed out.
Pepper raised an eyebrow, "Where'd you get that from?"
"Can't trust the government, obviously," Harper explained.
Annie nodded, "And it's easily my number one, absolute worst fear of all time."
"Hey, you don't need to worry about that happening. I wouldn't let it happen," Peter insisted, reaching to hold her hand.
Annie squeezed his hand, "I know."
"Okay, maybe we need a better vibe than this for unveiling a hella cool suit," Ned said, looking at the others.
Harper grinned, "Yep, this is gonna be so great. It's everything I've always wanted to make for you, but didn't have the chance to because I couldn't get the right material without drawing massive suspicion to the both of us."
"I've seen it, and I think it's something that might work," Tony told them.
Harper scoffed, "Might work? It's easily the best thing that you've ever seen in your life. I believe you were about two steps away from offering me a job for my design skills, no?"
"Not happening. I don't need a suit maker," he replied.
They shrugged, "Okay, but those shades of purple clashed so hard when you were wearing a suit that one time. Just saying. You need to do complimentary or the exact same shade for ties and pocket squares. I don't make the rules, I just enforce them."
"Are you trying to get a job or get shipped back to New York?"
"Both," Harper claimed, "Now where's the cool little side room place we can go to?"
Tony sighed, "If you'd keep quiet, maybe we'd get there faster."
"It definitely doesn't work like that."
After what felt like forever to Annie, they finally got to a room where they could unpack the small briefcase that held the new suit. Harper also looked like their hands were shaking just a little bit. They set it on an empty table.
Annie stared at the brown, leather briefcase and didn't move. How was she supposed to even begin to open it? If she did, that was almost too much of a move for her in some way. She'd have to leave behind the old suit. Which was for the best, but was she even ready to test it out? It was only then that she realized she hadn't tried being a superhero since everything with Carnival. There was no way she'd be ready.
Harper looked at Annie and then back at the briefcase, "Um... you gonna open it?"
"Y-yeah, sure," Annie replied and stepped up to the table and unlatched the briefcase.
Once the briefcase was opened, Annie's dark eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hands. She jumped up and down screaming and hugged Harper tightly. The suit was a blend of white and different shades of grey. Somehow it was exactly what she had always imagined whenever she tried to think about what she wanted to look like when gliding around the city.
Harper laughed, hugging back their friend, “You know? I think this means I was successful. See, I wanted to keep the original look we had going. I wanted to have the same half-face kinda domino mask where everyone sees your eyes, but I had no clue what to do with the hood. That’s mostly aesthetic and you can choose if you want it up or not.”
“It’s perfect, I-I can’t… you thought of everything!”
“Um… actually that’s my job. You have an amazing AI and it’s synced up to your phone so you can contact whoever,” Ned explained.
Annie grinned, “Wait, so I get to have a little, like… Siri type of thing?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be named Siri, it’s whatever you’d wanna name it. Keeping in mind I programmed it so that it kind of sounds like Idina Menzel,” he said.
Annie’s jaw dropped, “You’re kidding! I owe you both big time!”
“Hey, just go out there and patrol the city one last time, that’s all you gotta do,” Harper said, “And one more thing… you know the feathered texture around the sleeves?”
“Yeah.”
“They’re secret pockets and I stashed some knives in them for you in case things get out of hand,” they explained, “But anyways, get suited up and test it out!”
Before Annie really knew what she was doing, she was in the middle of the city, feeling the new suit clinging to her body. It had been quite a few months since she had last been in the city, but it didn’t take long for her to get to the top of a building and start almost right from where she had left off.
It was just an average day, no major crimes, but that didn’t change the fact that Annie was more than happy to do what she could. Even if it was something as simple as helping a lost kid find his parents, that was better than nothing.
After a couple of hours filled with testing out the new suit was when Annie’s AI decided to start talking.
“Harper is contacting you, would you like to answer?” asked a voice.
Annie nearly dropped from the rooftop she was on, “Um, not yet, hold on, you’re the suit AI?”
“Yes, I have been programmed to mesh with your personality as needed.”
“Do you have a name?”
“No.”
“Oh, can I give you one?”
“I suppose.”
“I’m gonna name you Eve!”
A little while later, Annie caught up with Peter when she learned Harper and Ned were still trying to get back the same designs they came to get in the first place. Not that Annie minded, they could take as long as they wanted to. She just wanted more time in Seattle, but she knew that no amount of time was going to prepare her to leave.
“Hey, you said you wanted to show me something?” Peter asked once she was back in normal clothes.
Annie nodded, “Yep! Only the best coffee house in this entire city. There’s a lot of coffee places, but this one is the best. I’ve tried all of them.”
“Yeah? You seem almost obsessed.”
“Well, in my defense… yeah, it was a huge obsession. But it was something my dad and I used to do. But since he can choke, you’re gonna come with me instead,” she replied with a small smile.
As they walked, raindrops started to hit both of them. Peter started to move a little bit faster, but Annie still went at the same pace.
“It rains in Queens too, you know,” Peter said.
She shook her head, “It’s not the same, I don’t know how to explain it.”
“You know… you don’t need to. This is the happiest I’ve seen you in months,” he told her, squeezing her hand.
Annie’s eyes lit up, “Hey, maybe this is super weird, but am I the only one who’s always wanted to kiss in the rain?”
“I feel like you’ve done that already.”
“Not with you,” Annie pointed out.
Peter laughed a bit before pressing a quick kiss to her lips, “Now let’s get out of the rain!”
“Well, we’re basically here,” Annie replied, opening the door of the coffee shop.
“Annika Hardwick, you’ve got a lot of nerve coming here,” said the barista.
Annie stopped, “Um… I’m just wandering around.”
“With… I wanna know who your new boy toy is,” she responded, batting her eyes.
Annie sighed, “Peter. He’s a friend.”
“Who I just saw you kissing two seconds ago.”
“I just wanted to order some coffee,” Annie said, “So maybe we should just get this over with.”
“But you’ve been gone so long! How many more relationships did you screw up?”
Peter opened his mouth before Annie spoke up, “That wasn’t me, you know that. Anyways. I’ll have one caramel latte and one green tea latte.”
Maybe Annie wasn’t going to miss Seattle as much as she had originally thought she was going to. If she had known what was going to happen, or who would be there, she would not have gone.
Tag List (if you want to be added, please ask!): @flushings-here / @gaypanda / @twilightparker / @parkerpuff / @ganseysblues / @dolphinsarecuteandstuff / @buzzinglee / @lcy-thot / @moonstruckholland
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writings-andstuff · 7 years ago
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Guilt and Rain (Sam x Reader)
All my writers out there: do you ever read something in a certain style of writing and then try it out? That’s sort of what I did with this. I’ve read lots of books written in this particular style. I’m calling it Contradictory because it’s a lot of writing things and then contradicting them because the second is the right one. 
Does that make sense?
Probably not. But yeah. It was a phase. But no that I’ve developed my style, I don’t write like this anymore. This is really the only fic that I ever did this for. 
Anyways. 
Happy Reading!
Words: 2876
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Warnings: kinda angsty but not too bad. Happy ending. 
Forever Tags: @fairchild21
Two gifs for this one. I’m a total Sam!Girl…it’s bad. This man is just beautiful.
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Stage One: Denial
Sam was definitely in denial.  Dean could see it, Cas could see it, the whole damn world could see it.  
“She’s not gone,” he’d say.  “She’s coming back.” And Dean would just go along with it because letting him mourn you was better than encouraging him to go find you and fix it.  He had walked away first, but he’d expected you to come back and beg him to come home.  That didn’t happen.  He’d expected, and that had been his downfall.  
He should’ve known, after two years with you, that you never went after him, not unless he was in danger.  He was angry, you let him cool off.  But the thing was, you’d been foolish to let yourself think the same thing.  
You should’ve known, after two years with him, that he’d never gone after you, not unless you were in danger.  You were angry, he let you cool off.  
You’d both been stupid, and it was because you both knew each other so well that you barely knew each other at all.  He knew that you knew he wasn’t going after you.  And you knew that he knew that you weren’t going after him.  But both of you were still in denial.  
Especially Sam.  You were coming back.  He knew you weren’t.  You were going to drag him home. He knew you weren’t going to do that either.  You were going to knock on the door, any minute, any hour, any day, and week now.  But he knew you weren’t going to do that.  Every cell phone ring—even if it wasn’t his—was you.  But it wasn’t.  Every tap of a twig on the window was you trying to sneak back into his life through the back door.  But it was the crazy winds of early May in Chicago.  
The shadows were you sneaking back into his bed.  But no, they were just shadows.  Just desolate blackness in the shape of someone who used to be there and now wasn’t.  
God, he missed you.  
God, you missed him.
“Dude,” Dean said.  Sam was suddenly back in the impala.  Had he been there all this time?  But no, he was in that motel room just a few moments ago.  No. The squeak of the seat beneath his weight and the smell of leather and stale beer: Baby.  Definitely the impala. “Where’d you go?”
Sam didn’t answer; Dean didn’t need an answer.  He knew Sam was thinking about you.  He knew that in a few hours, they’d hit Kansas, and then another hour or so and they’d get to the bunker.  Sam would go to his room, close the door and lay in silence, with your pillow pressed to his face and breathing in the smell of you, festering in his ignorance that you were coming back.  
You were not.
Dean also knew that you were in Seattle; you’d grown up there and that would be the place that you knew Sam would know to find you.  It was the new rendezvous point, even though it had never been formally decided on. They both knew that they’d find you there should they ever get split from you.
In his festering, Sam did not know this.  He was too oblivious. But he did know this, somewhere in his guilt-and-denial-ridden mind, he knew.  He had to know. Hell, Dean knew, so Sam, who dated you, must know.
He loved you.  You loved him.  And that all went to hell the day it happened.
Stage Two: Guilt/Flashbacks/Tears
“Hey,” Sam looked at you, his hazel eyes shining.  “Where’d you go?”
You were reminiscing about home.  You missed the rain.  Rainy days were days to stay in, to read that book you’ve been meaning to read, to catch up on some lore studying, to have coffee, to watch movies, to be with Sam.  
You missed the way that the air smelled just before a storm: like rain. There is no other way to describe it, you have to be there.  Now, riding in the back of the Impala, heading to a vamp nest you were going to bust, you couldn’t remember the smell.  You hated that you couldn’t remember the smell.  You hated yourself for forgetting.  
You fixed your gaze to look at Sam in the rearview mirror.  He nodded.  He knew you better than you knew yourself.  
“Home,” he said.
“Rain,” you corrected.  But he knew that too.  Dean snorted.  
“I don’t get your rain fetish,” he sniffed.  “At least have it be, like, men’s underwear or something.”
“Dean!” you and Sam both gasped at the same time before dissolving into laughter.  The whole cabin of the car filled with the sounds of three people laughing good-naturedly before a hunt that would probably leave them all incapacitated for days.  
Then, the hunt happened.  And you took a knife for Sam. As per usual, whenever you took anything for Sam, or even tried to protect him on a hunt, he got angry.  No, he was fuming.  And so, as you sat there, post-hunt, having him stitch up the four-inch gash in your thigh, he berated you for doing something as ghastly as saving his life. It was headed for his lower stomach, a blow that would have killed him almost instantly.  Instead, you hit the vamp’s arm at the last second, knocking it off course and into your upper-thigh instead.  
When he was done (stitching you up, not berating you), you limped over to the bed and sat down at the edge of it, wincing at the pain in your leg.  
He finished his tirade, and you sighed.  
This had happened so many times before, you’d stopped responding after the first few arguments.  You started letting him finish before telling him what you thought.  And then the two of you had a few beers and collapsed onto the sheets to sleep in each other’s embraces and talk more about it the next morning.  
It was a cycle.  But it was erratic and results often varied.  
“Yes, Sam, I took the freaking knife for you,” you said.  “I saved your life.  A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice.”
A vein in his neck popped, his temple ticked.  “Thank you!” Sam scoffed.  “No, I’m not going to thank you for almost getting yourself killed! No way, Y/N! I couldn’t,” his voice broke; he cleared his throat, “I couldn’t live with myself if you died, especially taking a hit for me.”
There was a long pause in which he breathed, you breathed, and neither of you said anything.  You let his words hang in the air between the two of you.  
Sam got teary-eyed. “I think you should leave.”
The words were barely whispers, but you heard them just fine.  It was like you’d been punched between the lungs and between the eyes simultaneously. You’re eyes became cloudy, the air was sucked out of your lungs, your head throbbed, your leg throbbed, your heart throbbed.  Your head knew what you’d heard, but your heart was telling you no no no no nononononono.  
This wasn’t happening.  He wasn’t seriously asking you to leave. But because you knew him so well, you knew he meant to have you walk out of his life, not just the motel room.  No.  No.  Nonono.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.  This was supposed to be your forever; he was supposed to be your forever.  No.  Just…no.
You’re not exactly sure what happened next.  You think he said something stupid like, “It’s better for you.” but you weren’t listening to him.  Your head was screaming, your heart was screaming, your mouth was screaming.  You weren’t sure what you said, but you were pretty sure that they were not words for a lady to say.  Not that you were a stereotypical lady.  They were unflattering words.  And they were pointed, loaded weapons pointed straight at Sam.  
A gun to his head.  A knife to his heart.  A saw to his arm.  
What he needed was an ice-pick to break the ice that formed around his heart at your words.  But no such luck.  Just stabbing.  And cutting.  And slashing.  And pain.  So much pain; it was almost physical.
And so, you took off; you ran.  Abandoned your stuff, besides your gun and essential supplies.  You took Sam’s heart and his sanity with you. And he kept yours.  
You found the nearest rest stop and hot-wired an ugly, red Toyota Corolla.  
You didn’t care.  You couldn’t care.  You shouldn’t care.  But you did.  And it hurt like hell.  
(I’ve got those Jet Pack Blues, just like Judy, the kind that make June feel like September. I’m the last one that you’ll ever remember.  And I’m tryna find my peace of mind behind these two-way highway lines when the city goes silent, the ringing in my ears gets violent.)
Sam remembered this.  You remembered this.  But neither of you were ready yet. You lay in a bed in a little motel in Seattle, too scared to go home, to tired to go to your apartment farther into the heart of the city.  So, after driving almost twenty-four hours straight, you decide to stay at a motel.  You stayed for a week later than you wanted to, but you did’t want to leave.  
You wore one of Sam’s old flannels and curled in on yourself in the lumpy bed that smelled like cigarettes.  But that smell was drowned out by the warm smell of Sam around you.  You weren’t even sure if you two were officially broken up. Tomorrow, you’d go back to your apartment, brave a phone conversation with your mother, telling her how sorry you were for disappearing and scaring her half to death.  You’d tell her it was a boy that made you leave and it would be the first time you’d have to decide if he was still your boyfriend since you left a week ago.  
He was.  He wasn’t.  He was.  He wasn’t.  You felt like a little girl picking petals off of a flower saying, “He loves me,” and “He loves me not.”  Now, it really felt like “He loves me not” but you’d fought with Sam before.  
It had just never been this bad.  You’d never left.  You’d never been one to walk away from a fight with Sam, but you’d also never been one for fighting in the first place.  You wanted to wake up the next morning in Sam’s embrace with his warmth pressed against you, cocooning you, keeping you safe.
You felt so vulnerable.
You weren’t sure when the tears had started, but soon enough you were wiping your eyes with Sam’s sleeve.  Angry tears. Sad tears.  Wrecked tears. Hot, searing tears.  
Sam remembered that day too.  That night, actually.  Things had been so amazing, and then they weren’t.  And it was all because he was so overprotective of you, and so scared he’d lose you like his mom, like Jess. Instead, he’d lost you like Amelia, who he’d left to keep her safe.  Only this time, he told you to leave because he simply couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you. 
He could handle you hating him for the rest of your life.  
No, he really couldn’t.  
But, to keep you safe, he would have to.  
Or maybe he wouldn’t.  Not if he got into the car right now and drove to Seattle where he knew you were.  He shouldn’t.  He should.  He shouldn’t.  He should. He loves you.  He’d never stop loving you.  Had you already stopped loving him? No.  You hadn’t.  And he knew because he knew you.  And he knew that you’d probably give him a very enthusiastic “Fuck you” when he opened the door to your apartment.  But he’d beg if he had to.  He’d tell you he made a colossal mistake; he’d tell you to come home.  
Stage Three: Anger
You made your way to your apartment the next day, but you didn’t call your mom.  You couldn’t face her after these last two years.  Two years ago you’d disappeared, and two years ago your mother stopped being your mother and became a daughterless husk.  Your father sat in prison, blissfully ignorant to the whole thing.  Or maybe he was with God now, you didn’t know.  You didn’t want to know.
You didn’t care at all.  You cared too much.
That night, as you cuddled up to Grey’s Anatomy and a pint of Breyers Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream, it began to rain.  You watched it out of your seventh story apartment window instead of watching the TV. The television became background noise.  
Then, you got mad.  Rain was your thing; rain was yours and Sam’s thing.  You threw your spoon into the sink, threw the pint into the freezer, threw the blanket off of your body, threw your arms around yourself, and screamed.  
You wanted to throw something else; the anger was white-hot and blinding.  You wanted to shoot something, to stab something, to punch a wall. Instead, you kicked your couch rather lamely and then crumpled to the floor in angry tears. If you ever saw Sam again, you’d shoot him.  Except, you wouldn’t.  You couldn’t.  You loved him.  
Sam got up the next morning and, after putting his fist through the motel wall, asked Dean for the car and didn’t wait for an answer as he grabbed the keys and sped off.  
Stage Four: Make-ups
The next day it was still raining.  You must have fallen asleep on the couch, curled up in Sam’s smell and crying.  Your eyes were crusty; you wiped them. You did your morning routine numbly, without feeling, and without your usual fervor.  
At around nine at night, it was still raining.  You sat yourself in front of your window in the living room and watched it pour outside.  You watched the city lights twinkle in and out with the falling rain.  It was beautiful.  If you had any artistic ability whatsoever, you’d paint it.  But instead, you watched the twinkling lights and heard the soft patter of the rain on the window, committing it to memory.  
A knock on the door.  You didn’t want to get up, but it was too late for it to be anyone sane.  You grabbed your gun from the counter and took off the safety.  You faced the muzzle to the door as you looked through the peephole: cold metal to warm wood.  All you saw was a checked blue and green shirt.  But you knew that shirt.  
You put the gun down and clicked the safety back on.  
You should open the door.  You shouldn’t open the door.  You should open the stupid door.  You shouldn’t open the stupid door.  
You placed your hand to the cold metal of the doorknob and turned it, your heart creeping its way into your throat.  
There, soaking wet, his hair dripping rain onto his already rain-spattered shoulders, was Sam Winchester.  And you did not in fact shoot him.  
(I’ve got those Jet Pack Blues, fight off the light tonight and just stay with me.  And honey don’t you leave.  Don’t you remember how we used to split a drink, it never mattered what it was, I think.  Our hands were just that close, the sweetness never lasts, you know.)
“Y/N,” Sam said.  
“Sam,” you said. “You found me.”
“Of course,” he said.  “I’ll always find you.”
(She’s in a long black coat tonight, waiting for me in the downpour outside.  She’s singing ‘Baby, come home’ in a melody of tears while the rhythm of the rain keeps time.)
You handed him a beer from your fridge and took one for yourself.
“Did you meant it?” your voice was barely a whisper.
“Mean what?” His hazel eyes were staring at you, disorienting you.
“‘You should leave,’” you tried to keep your voice neutral but you were having a hard time. “Sam, did you really want me to leave?”
He took a long swig of his beer.  “No, of course not.  I was just scared and. I thought being away from you, shutting you out, would help.”
“It made things worse,” you observed.
“I know that,” Sam admitted.  Then, abruptly, he turned to you, taking your beer and setting them both down.  “Come home. Please.”
(I remember…Baby, come home.  I remember…Baby, come home.  I remember…Baby, come home.  I remember…Baby, come home.  Did you ever love her, do you know? Did you never want to be alone? She was singing, Baby, come home.  I remember…Baby, come home.)
Did you have much of a choice? No. You really didn’t. You wanted to be angry, you wanted to hate him.  But instead, you ended up, encased in his arms in your bed.  Sam’s embrace with his warmth pressed against you, cocooning you, keeping you safe.  
You didn’t feel as vulnerable anymore.
After breakfast and a long talk the next morning, you headed back with him.  
You left the rain and your guilt behind you.  It would happen again, but you’d both learned from this, and it wouldn’t be this bad.  He’d never stop protecting you, you’d never stop protecting him. But next time, you’d stay, you’d talk, you’d get over it.  
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