#sam suicide

[twsupernaturalimagine]

Hold On

Author: stressed-zoe

Summary: A hunt with the boys had gone terribly wrong, and you blamed yourself. Based loosely on the song “Hold On” by Chord Overstreet

Word Count: 1,028

Warnings: death, depression, self harm, suicide, swearing

Fic:

your fault.

its all your fault.

she died. because of you.

its your fault.

You went on a hunt with Sam and Dean. It was simple, a ghost in someone’s house. But when you got there, it turned out it wasn’t any old ghost, it was a nasty demon. Everything had gone wrong. So so wrong. And it was your fault. You got distracted, and someone innocent had died because of it. The brothers were hurt. Dean had nearly broken his shoulder and a couple ribs. Sam got shot in the leg and has a dislocated elbow.

You barely had a scratch.

The car ride home from the hospital was unbearable. You could barely hold in the sobs. Sam and Dean told you numerous times it wasn’t your fault, it’s all part of the life. But you wouldn’t listen, you couldn’t. If you were just a few seconds quicker, just a little more attentive, you could’ve saved that poor girl’s life. But she had to suffer, because you were too slow.

You should be dead. Not her.

When you got back to the bunker you immediately ran to your room, not bothering to hold in your cries. it didn’t matter if they heard you, you’d be done soon, and it would be over.

You got to your room and slammed the door, locking it behind you. You could hear the brothers calling your name. But you didn’t care. You sank to the floor, letting the tears flow. You couldn’t handle it. You heard Sam and Dean approaching your room, so you ran into your bathroom and locked he door. By this point, you had no more tears to shed, all that as left was the dry, choking sobs.

Taped behind the toilet was a small envelope, it was where you kept your razors. It was the best place you could hide them so the brothers couldn’t find out. You grabbed the envelope and took out the sharpest razor. Marveling at how shiny and cold it felt. You heard the brothers break into your room, calling your name. You were running out of the time.

You had already thrown on some shorts, so with one deep breath, you made one long horizontal cut on your thigh. That was just the beginning. You kept cutting, and the tears started again. Soon you were full on sobbing, not paying attention to were you were cutting. If it wasn’t red, you cut it. Soon you felt dizzy, and noticed you had stopped crying, stopped cutting, and you were laying on the floor. 

Then you heard a crash.

“NO!!”

[Dean’s P.O.V.]

No, no,no, no, no. 

You’re lying on the floor, in a pool of your own blood. You’re barely conscious.

He picked you up and felt for a heartbeat, anything. After a few seconds he could feel it barely working.

“Oh god, (Y/N), hold on. Sam, get the car ready.”

Why her. Why did it have to be her.

“Come on (Y/N), come back to me, hold on.”

He grabbed some towels, trying to stop the blood as much as he could. He could see all of the old cuts. The ones that had healed, leaving nothing but scars now, the ones that had mostly healed but were still red and scabbed. Then there were the ones from the night before--now reopened from the aggressive cuts made tonight.

“Shit, (Y/N),” Dean muttered.

He picked you up, trying his best not to disturb anything, and carried you as quickly and carefully as he could with his shoulder injured how it was.

“It’s OK (Y/N), it’s all gonna be OK. Please don’t leave me. Just hold on.”

When you finally arrived at the hospital, Dean almost couldn’t let go of you, screaming as they took you away on a table. He paced back and forth the while they were operating. They had taken you into surgery. Sam was almost silent. Dean didn’t know if he was trying to be strong, or if he was so broken he couldn’t do anything.

The doctor finally let them visit you. When they saw you, Sam finally started crying, Dean was sobbing. You looked so broken and frail. The heart monitor beeped slowly, barely steady.

Dean didn’t sleep that night, all he could think about was why you would do this. You must not have realized how much you meant to the brothers. He felt guilty, he should’ve been there to help you. 

“Please….(Y/N)….don’t go. I just want to take you home. Come back, I need you.” 

Out of no where, your body seized, and the heart monitor started beeping rapidly.

“NURSE!!”

There was nothing he could do. You were dying.

“NURSES!! HURRY!!”

Sam was awake now. He ran off to find someone.

When he came back moments later, a group of about a dozen doctors and nurses followed him. They had the boys stand by the door while the doctors tried anything to save you. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean choked out. He couldn’t bear to watch this, but he did anyway. Just in case you would miraculously wake up, and everything would be OK.

The heart monitor was going even faster now. 

Then it stopped.

A flat line.

Dean broke down. He fell to his knees. 

He  would never get to hear you laugh at one of Sam’s dumb nerd jokes. 

He would never get to hear you sing some old rock song while driving in the Impala. 

He would never walk into the kitchen and see you dancing and singing while making breakfast for everybody.

He would never see you freaking out at some dog on the street or some picture of a guinea pig Cas had shown you.

He would never get to see you again. 

He would never get to enjoy the things he loved about you.

He would never get to tell you how much he had loved you.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Dean looked up, amazed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were alive. The doctors started yelling again, he and Sam stood up, jaws dropped, awe in there eyes.

You had decided to fight. 

You had decided to live.

[paxopalotls]

My totally 100% canon interpretation of the portal accident

[collegeboysam]

does it ever kill you that as spn seasons go by, sam gets bigger, stronger and can snap into a deadly machine anytime he needs to but a single paper cut will have him turning around to look at dean like 🥺🥺🥺 and dean will react like the world as he knows it is completely falling apart because of it every. single. time.

chef kiss, no notes

[2sw]

I was ready to die. I was ready. I should have died.

#samweek2024 Day Four Neurodivergent Sam ｜ Mental Health ｜ Sam & Healing

[420technoblazeit]

supernatural characters and whether or not they'd tell someone to kill themself ill go first. sam would say it without hesitation even if it was an in person conversation even if he was talking to a kid. he does it regularly on the monster lore forums also

[starlightshore]

Lingering Spirits - A Danny Phantom AU where Danny moves to Amity 2 years after the Portal Incident. Combo of Alicia Adoption (Farmboy AU) + Nobody Knows AU

A more serious/ Horror take on the AUs

Hoof, starting on a morbid foot. Please note that it's intentional that Sam is romanticizing death and has over-blown anti-human feelings. they're a depressed teenager! they're going through it and they're coping the only way they know how. They'll learn to grow more healthy world views and ways of dealing with their depression with time. Please don't assume I'm condoning their world-view lol.

Anyway on a lighter note, I wanted Sam and Tucker to look different than my usual AU stuff in this AU, so I hope you guys like the design change!

Updates will be infrequent as I'm pretty busy. However, I did this on a team call day so I was kind of productive in my other projects haha!

[and-not-where-we-choose]

won't lie, this bit from the original pilot script is kinda sexy

[raaorqtpbpdy]

This Sure as Hell Never Happened on Scooby-Doo

While investigating a fairly routine haunting in a Michigan hotel, Sam and Dean come face to face with a creature unlike any they've faced before. [Takes place around mid season 1 for SPN, and at a non-specific point in the DP timeline]

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week, Day 7: Supernatural | Veil

First off, congrats to Supernatural for finally making the main prompt list after two years of being an honorable mention lol. I had a lot of trouble coming up with an idea for this one for some reason, so it ended up being kind of generic. This is, however, the first time I've ever written the Full Hazmat AU, which was pretty exciting.

AO3 Link

[Warning for minor violence, and references to suicide throughout]

As a general rule, hunters steered clear of Amity Park, although the reason why varied from one to another.

Some believed all the so-called supernatural occurrences there were just a hoax, like Bigfoot, so there was no point wasting valuable time and energy looking into them. Others swore up and down that, hoax or not, there was something about that town that made you see things. Impossible things. Things that made even the most experienced hunters pause. Some simply believed that Amity Park could take care of itself. Outside interference would only cause more problems than it would solve.

Then there were those who believed that Amity Park, that the very town itself, didn't want them there. That hunters were just not welcome.

The town was infamous in the hunter community. Grizzled, plaid-wearing men would talk about it at roadhouses and truck-stop diners. They'd warn other people away, tell them not to even drive through it on their way to somewhere else. There was nothing in that town worth dying for, and they took care of their own. Hunters weren't needed, they weren't wanted, and they'd just do better if they stayed away.

Every once in a while though, Amity Park's unique brand of freaky bled out of that isolated town. And when it did, then it became the hunters' problem. Unfortunately, more often than not, they wouldn't know it until it was too late.

Sam and Dean were investigating a supposedly haunted hotel. Staff and guests they'd spoken to had all reported blinking lights, cold spots, scratching in the walls. The staff seemed content to blame it on the owner's unwillingness to spend money to fix or update anything. The guests, on the other hand, not so much.

Those who stayed overnight reported horrible nightmares about bleeding out from their wrists. Some of them even claimed to have seen things, although they couldn't seem to agree on what they saw. A few saw a woman, covered in blood from slit writs, and crying, who vanished in the blink of an eye. But another claimed to have seen a small figure in a partially melted hazmat suit.

"Could there be more than one?" Sam asked when they'd returned to their own room in the hotel.

It was more expensive than the crappy motels they usually stayed it, but it was more convenient, and it gave them an excuse to wander around if they were actually staying there.

"Maybe, but... I don't know. If someone committed suicide in the hotel, it makes sense that their spirit would linger," Dean said. "I just can't think of any reason why there would be a ghost in a hazmat suit. Can you?"

"If the building used to be some kind of lab or research facility, it's possible," Sam said, "But this hotel was established back in the late thirties, and even if there was a research facility here before the hotel, the hazmat suit he described was much more modern than they would have worn back then."

Dean scoffed as he plopped down on his bed.

"Of course, leave it to my nerd brother to know what hazmat suits looked like in the thirties," Dean mocked. "Seriously though, that second ghost just doesn't make any kind of sense."

"We'll know more once we find info about anyone whose died in this hotel," Sam said. "This place has been in business for almost seventy years, I'm sure we'll have plenty to wade through."

"It could have been that guy was just making up a story," Dean said. "We've got three people claiming they saw a woman who disappeared, but only one mentioned the hazmat suit. Maybe he was messing with us."

"He seemed pretty shaken up about it," Sam said. "I didn't think he was lying."

"I didn't either, but...." Dean shook his head thoughtfully. "Something about that story just doesn't sit right. And you know what else? That redheaded girl who got all defensive when we started acting questions. Something doesn't sit right about her, either. She acted like she was responsible, or trying to protect the person who was. Except we already know this is a haunting. We know there's at least one ghost, so why did she act like that?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "Could be she was trying to hide something else."

"Maybe...."

"Come on," Sam said. "Let's start by combing through local death records at the library."

"You go ahead," Dean told him. "I wanna talk to that girl's parents, see if they know anything. I'm starting to think there might be more to this case than just a standard haunting."

"Fine. We'll meet back here later."

—

"So, what'd you find?" Dean asked when his brother got back to their room.

"Okay, so get this," Sam began. "There have been several deaths in this hotel. A couple of heart attacks, a couple of accidents. One guy fell out his window, which caused the hotel to seal all the windows on the upper floors shut so they couldn't be opened. There have also been three suicides since the hotel's founding.

"A World War 2 vet shot himself in the head in December of 1945, just a few months after the war ended; A girl OD'ed in 1963, leaving a note about how the state of the world had made her unwilling to live in it; and lastly, a woman in 1992 slit her wrists in room 201 after her husband divorced her, blaming her for the murder of their only son."

"Sounds like we've ID'ed our first ghost," Dean noted. "We got a name?"

"Jennifer Bishop," Sam said. "She was accused of murdering her son, but never convicted because they never actually found the body, only a whole lot of blood they identified with DNA testing. She defended her innocence until her death, but the police never actually investigated anyone else for her son's disappearance and presumed death. Once she offed herself, they just closed the case."

"Another gold standard of police incompetence," Dean said. "Did you find out where she was buried?"

"Her family was catholic, but since she committed suicide, they couldn't bury her in their family plot at their church. Instead, she was buried in a public cemetery, Lincoln Memorial Park... but it's in her hometown: Petoskey, Michigan. She was only here for the trial."

"Great, so we gotta drive all night to get to friggin' Petoskey," Dean moaned. "Awesome. This is why hotel ghosts suck. Did you find any leads on hazmat suit?"

"Nothing. What about you?" Sam asked. "Get anything useful interviewing that red-headed girl's parents?"

"Nah," Dean said, shaking his head. "Remember those hellhoundslair dorks?"

Sam nodded.

"That's what they were like," he continued. "Overenthusiastic, but incompetent. She probably realized we were asking about ghosts and was nervous they'd overhear. While I was talking to them she reminded them they'd promised not to hunt any ghosts while their family was on vacation. They didn't seem too happy about that, but they at least stopped insisting they'd help me 'catch that slippery specter', so that was something, I guess.

"I did learn she has a younger brother, though. I didn't get to talk to him, but when I was leaving, I overheard the two kids talking, and he said something like, 'there's not enough of her there to talk to', and 'there's not a whole lot left of her at all," Dean finished. "Not sure what that was all about, but it seemed like they were trying to keep it on the down-low, especially from their parents."

"You think it could be related?" Sam asked.

"As far as I know, the brother never promised not to hunt ghosts," Dean replied with a shrug. "That and a gut feeling are pretty much all I have to base it on, though."

"Well, we know who our suicide is, at least," Sam said. "One of us should go take care of Jennifer Bishop while the other stays here in case she starts causing anymore trouble, or in case the hazmat ghost shows up again, if its even real."

"Why don't you take the salt-and-burn this time," Dean suggested.

Sam froze and looked at his brother, completely shocked. "You... want me to take your car and drive two hundred miles away... by myself?"

"And if you bring her back with so much as a scratch on her, I'll make you wish you were never born," Dean said. "But I feel like there's something at this hotel that I'm missing, and I'm gonna stick around until I figure it out."

"It's really bugging you, huh?" Sam noted. "Alright, well... it's a three hour drive, so I'd better get going."

"Yeah, and don't forget to fill up the tank on your way back."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said as he walked out the door.

They'd already brought some weapons from the trunk into the hotel room, so Dean wouldn't be unarmed if he ran into one of the ghosts.

He did some quick math in his head. The ghost, or ghosts, probably wouldn't show up until it was night. Sam had a six-hour round trip, plus a good hour to dig up old Jennifer, probably longer, since he wouldn't have help. It was early afternoon now. 1:18 pm, a glance at the clock told him, so he could expect Sam back around nine-ish, give or take an hour. Sunset was around seven.

Jennifer would be gone well before nightfall... but that other ghost... if it even existed, they didn't have a single lead on it.

Dean headed down to the lobby.

He'd noticed them yesterday, a group of older ladies with a basket of yarn in the middle of them, chatting up a storm. He and Sam hadn't spoken to them yesterday, but now that Sam was gone, it was time for Dean to dial up a very particular type of charm that Sam would tease him for mercilessly if he ever saw it. He stood nearby, waiting for his moment.

"I swear," one lady said. "I turned up my thermostat four times last night. I had it cranked all the way up to ninety, and I could hear the radiator groaning like anything, but my room was still freezing."

"Did you phone the concierge?" another lady said.

"I tried, but they just apologized and said it's an old hotel," replied the first. "Didn't even offer to send a handyman, or move me to a different room or anything. Anyway, that's why started coming down here during the day. I just can't stand it."

That was his chance. "You too?" he asked her. "Which room are you in?"

"I'm in 201, why?"

Bingo. 201. The same room as their suicide victim.

"Well, it got to a point where I got my tools outta my car and just fixed the darn radiator myself," Dean lied. "I could take a look at yours too, if you'd like."

"Would you?" she asked, sounding beyond relieved. "Oh, thank you so much. It's gotten so bad I can hardly sleep at night, so that would be a real godsend if you would do that. You're such a lamb."

"Oh, it's no problem, ma'am," Dean said, taking an empty seat nearby. "The name's Dean, by the way."

"I'm Millie," the woman said. "And these are my friends, Cathy and Debbie. We're in town for a big doll convention. We're collectors, you know. And Debbie even makes dolls herself out of felt."

"I do, and I've gotten pretty damn good at it, if I say so myself," Debbie said. "I even made a felt baby doll for my granddaughter's birthday a few months back and she was over the moon."

Upon closer inspection, all three of the ladies seemed to be knitting or crocheting very small clothes, presumably for dolls. Hopefully he could redirect the topic of conversation back to ghosts soon, because Dean didn't know Jack about dolls.

"What about you?" asked the third woman, Cathy. "What brings you to Lansing? I assume you don't live here, or you wouldn't be staying at a hotel."

"I'm here on business," he replied, silently thanking god that she'd changed the topic for him.

"What kind of business?" Millie asked. "You said you can fix a radiator, are you some kind of technician, or construction worker?"

"Actually... I'm a private investigator," he lied.

"Oooh, exciting!" Cathy said. "What are you investigating?"

"I'm afraid I can't share the details... but maybe you ladies could help me," he said. "Have any of you seen anything strange while you've been staying here?"

"I saw a man dancing near the park who could clasp his hands behind his back and pull them all the way in front of him," Debbie said. "That was pretty strange. I gave him a dollar."

"I was thinking more like in the hotel," Dean said. "Maybe like... a figure in a hazmat suit?"

Millie gasped, and Dean fixed his gaze on her.

"You have?"

"Well... you see, I have sleep paralysis," she said. "Last night, I had only managed to fall asleep for an hour or two because it was so cold, but then I woke up in the middle of the night because my room suddenly got even colder, but I couldn't move, of course. It takes me a while to be able to move after I wake up.

"And then I saw, like you said, someone wearing a hazmat suit, a black one with white gloves. They were small, like they weren't fully grown, and they were glowing," Millie explained. "Their suit was damaged, partly melted, it looked like. I'd never seen something like that before, but I just figured it had to be a sleep paralysis hallucination, and maybe it partly was, but do you think it could have been real? That someone broke into my room last night?"

"How frightening," Debbie said with a shiver.

"Maybe," Dean said. "Maybe not. I'm not really sure yet." He paused, consideringly. That was two people now who saw the hazmat suit, and this one saw it in the same room where the other ghost had died. "Did it say anything to you? Or do anything that you saw?"

"I couldn't really turn my head, but they seemed like they were looking for something, didn't seem to find it though. Nothing was missing from my room when I finally got up, at least," Millie said. "They didn't say anything, and only looked at me for a moment. Oh! But they might've been muttering something. Not sure what it was, though."

"Thanks, that's a lot of help," Dean said. "If you think of anything else, let me know?"

"Do you think I'm in danger?" Millie asked. "Should I request a room change after all?"

"If that would make you feel safer," Dean said. "I'm not sure it's as cut and dry as a break-in... but maybe you should just stay in one of your friend's rooms for a night."

"You can stay in my room tonight, Millie," Cathy volunteered.

He stayed for a little while, chatting with them. It wasn't something he wanted getting out, but old ladies always loved him for some reason. He even managed to get Cathy's key-lime pie recipe, which the other two swore up and down was absolutely to die for. Who knew when the next time he'd have a kitchen to try it out would be, but he'd make sure to write it down next chance he got, just in case.

It wasn't until he saw that red-haired teenage girl and a short, black-haired boy who was presumably her brother walk through the lobby that he excused himself to follow after them, claiming they were persons of interest in his case.

"If you didn't find anything, how did you even know it was the right room?" the sister was asking when Dean got close enough to hear.

He was trying hard not to be noticed while he tailed them, but as quietly as they were talking, he had to stick closer than he would have liked.

"That was where her presence was the strongest," the brother answered. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to help her when she's not strong enough to speak, and we're leaving tomorrow, so tonight is my last chance."

Could he be a psychic of some kind? Maybe a medium?

He turned around abruptly, and Dean barely had time to make it look like he was examining a shop's window display of... glass baubles and nick-knacks. Oh, yeah, he definitely seemed like the type to be interested in those. Hopefully they wouldn't question it.

"Is he staying at our hotel?" the brother whispered.

"Yeah," the sister confirmed, "and he was asking about cold spots and flickering lights, too. You think he knows something?"

"I think I'd rather stay away from him," replied the brother. "He could be the dangerous type."

After that, it seemed like the kids were deliberately trying to shake him, and it wasn't long before they did, almost as if they'd simply vanished into thin air.

Dean gave up searching and returned to the hotel. He found Millie in the lobby and asked if she'd let him into her room to fix the radiator, even brought the few tools that he'd had in his room to make the story more convincing.

"Even if you don't stay in here tonight, I figure I can at least do the hotel a favor," he said.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," she said. "Don't you go snooping around in my underwear drawer," she teased, and he laughed along with her until she closed the door behind her and headed back downstairs to her knitting.

Any evidence that there had been a suicide in this room had been long since erased. It was cold, just as Millie said it was, but there didn't appear to be any problem with the radiator. One of the tools he'd brought along was an iron crowbar, and he gripped it tightly.

"Jennifer, you in here?" he called out.

The time was 5:06, meaning Sam was probably digging up her grave right now.

He got no response.

"Jennifer?" he called again. "Jennifer Bishop?"

Nothing.... he was pretty sure that kid had been saying she wasn't a very powerful ghost, maybe that was why she hadn't done much. She hadn't actually killed or even hurt anyone beyond a couple of nightmares and a cold room. Maybe she couldn't show herself during the day.

The Winchester brothers had only stopped here because they happened to be so close by when Sam read an article that claimed guests at this hotel had seen apparitions, and experienced horrible nightmares about a woman slitting their wrists. But the nightmares weren't actually killing anybody. Normally, they wouldn't have even bothered, but they were only a few miles away, and nothing else was close by.

Dean opened his mouth to call out one more time, but before he could, there was a flash of light and a distant-sounding screen, and he watched as the ghost of Jennifer Bishop appeared and almost instantaneously disappeared.

One down. One to go.

And wow was this room suddenly sweltering. Millie wasn't kidding about turning her thermostat up to ninety. Dean adjusted it to a much more reasonable 74°F, and left to go tell Millie he'd fixed her radiator.

After she was done thanking him, he headed up to his room and called Sam.

"Dean?" Sam said. "I took care of Jennifer Bishop."

"I know, I saw her burn up," Dean replied. "Nicely done. Anyway, I got some new info about our second ghost."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

"The lady staying in the room where Jennifer offed herself said she saw a glowing figure in a hazmat suit in her room, thought it was a sleep paralysis thing until I brought it up. She said it seemed like it was looking for something, but it didn't seem to find anything."

"So we have a second witness for our hazmat ghost," Sam said. "And the description lined up?"

"Exactly," Dean confirmed. "I also have a new theory about those siblings, the red-headed girl and her brother. I think the brother might be a psychic, and was looking for a way to help Jennifer pass on peacefully, except she wasn't a strong enough spirit for him to connect with. Not sure how or even if this ties into the hazmat ghost at all."

"Still no clues about who it could be?" Sam asked.

"Nada," Dean said. "I did confirm that there was no lab or any kind of scientific facility at this site before the hotel was built. According to the hotel manager, before it was a hotel, it was a movie theater that went out of business during the great depression and got torn down, and before that, it was live-theater, but I'm pretty sure that was before hazmat suits were even invented. Before that, nothing. Just an empty lot."

"So maybe we're looking for someone who died somewhere else and their spirit was brought to the hotel connected to a cursed object," Sam suggested. "Have you seen anything in the hotel that looks like it might have come from a lab? Or belong to some kind of scientist?"

"If it was something that belonged to them, then it could be anything," Dean pointed out in exasperation. "A chair, or a painting, or a vase? I'm not gonna be able to find it unless I know what it is."

"You'd better start looking into any deaths in the area that might have been related to radioactive materials then," Sam said. "Any kind of death that might have occurred while the deceased was wearing a hazmat suit."

"Yeah, something that would have burned right through it," Dean said. "According to our descriptions, the suit is partially melted."

"You got this Dean?" I still have two and a half hours of driving to go.

"Yeah, I got it," Dean replied.

He did not got it. He got nothing. He stayed at the library until it closed at eight and didn't find a single death that fit the description. He got back to the hotel around the same time Sam did.

"Did you fill the tank?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, Dean, I filled the tank," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Did you identify our hazmat?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I couldn't find squat. It's like this ghost is..."

"A ghost?" Sam finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

Dean scowled. That had been what he was about to say, but he knew it sounded stupid, that's why he'd stopped.

"Yeah."

Sam shook his head as they went back up to their room.

—

The brothers were still puzzling out what to do about their second ghost, Dean cleaning his guns while Sam poured over their dad's journal, when they heard a muffled gasp from above them. Floating there on the ceiling was a figure in a hazmat suit, its faint glow barely visible in the light of the room.

For an instant, none of them moved. Then, acting quickly, Dean grabbed the crowbar that was next to him on the bed and flung it at the figure on the ceiling.

Rather than passing right through, causing the hazmat ghost to dissipate, the crowbar made contact with a clang, hitting it right on the head and knocking it to the floor between the two beds.

"Quick, salt, Sammy!" Dean shouted, rather than gape at the seemingly unconscious 'ghost' on their floor.

He tried to grab the hazmat-wearing figure, and to his surprise, it worked. He dragged it into the armchair in their room while Sam laid a ring of salt around it.

"Do you actually think this'll work, Dean?" Sam asked. "I mean, it doesn't seem like any ghost I've ever seen. Iron is supposed to repel ghosts, not actually hit them. I'm pretty sure this is something else."

"Iron hurt it—"

"Being hit in the head with a crowbar hurt it," Sam pointed out. "Based on that, it could be human for all we know."

"It was on the ceiling, Sam," Dean said flatly, grabbing the iron chains from under the bed and wrapping them around their captive. "And this don't look like Spider-Man to me."

"Well it doesn't look like a ghost, either," Sam insisted.

"So, what, you think this is some kind of Scooby-Doo situation?" Dean asked. "We'll pull off the mask and it turns out it's just some shady real-estate developer who wanted to get the hotel closed down so they could turn it into a theme park? Let's try it then."

Dean grabbed the hood of the hazmat suit and tore it off. 

They both gasped at what they saw.

Whoever it was, he looked young, maybe 13 or 14. His hair was as white as sheet and floated on an imaginary breeze. His face was dark. Lightning-bolt scars criss-crossed it all the way down to the neck until they disappeared under the suit's collar. His skin appeared to be badly burned, flaking off in ashes which vanished before they hit the ground.

He groaned as he started to come back to consciousness, and when he opened his eyes, they were a solid, eerie green, glowing so brightly they almost hurt to look at, even in the well-lit room.

"Still think he's human?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam shook his head, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

"This sure as hell never happened on Scooby-Doo."

"Ugh," the mysterious boy groaned again, blinking and shaking his head like he was trying to get his bearings. "Did you seriously throw a crowbar at my head?" he demanded after a moment. "What the hell, dude?!"

"What are you?" Sam demanded. "A demon?"

"I'm a ghost, what the hell does it look like?" the boy replied.

"You don't look like any ghost we've ever seen," Dean said.

"Let me guess, you're more used to shades like the other ghost that was floating around this hotel, right?" the kid guessed. "She seems to have left the building though. You two got any idea why?"

"We took care of her," Dean replied. "Sam dug her up and salted and burned her bones. And if you really are a ghost, then we can do the same to you."

"You... you straight up ended her?" he asked. "Just like that? You didn't even give her the chance to move on? Ancients, what the hell!"

"She had the chance to move on when she died, and she didn't take it," Dean said. "Instead she terrorized people, so we showed up to stop her."

"She gave a few people nightmares! Everyone has nightmares sometimes! You didn't have to destroy her!"

"What's it to you, did you know her?" Sam asked. "She a friend of yours?"

"Well... no, but I was trying to?" the boy replied. "She was too weak to capture, and I didn't want to destroy her by trying to fight, so I was trying to learn more about her and help her move on."

"If you're a ghost, why don't you move on?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, what's keeping you around?" Dean echoed the sentiment more harshly.

"The same thing preventing you from salting and burning my bones," came the reply. The so-called ghost did not elaborate.

"And what would that be?" Dean finally asked.

"I guess you could say I'm not dead enough yet."

"So you're not a ghost, then," Sam said.

"I am," said the boy. "I'm not a shade, like that woman you ended. I'm what a ghost is like when we actually have enough power to be a whole person and not just a shadow of our former self. I'm a ghost like you've never encountered before."

"Whatever you are, we're gonna get rid of you," Dean jeered.

"Why?" asked the boy. "I haven't hurt anyone. All I did was try to help another ghost pass peacefully through the veil. Don't you hunters have any sort of moral code?"

"So, what?" Sam asked. "You're proposing we just let you go?"

"Fat chance," Dean scoffed.

"Not exactly," the ghost replied with a smirk. "More like I'm telling you not to feel to guilty when I escape." Then the ghost stood up, iron chains falling right off him. "Iron is more difficult to pass through without destabilizing, but not too much of a challenge for ghosts like me. Sorry, but this will be the last time we see each other."

With that, he pulled his hood back on, obscuring his face once more, so the only thing visible was the glow of his eyes behind the black lenses of his mask. Then he flew right up through the ceiling.

The Winchesters tried to find him. They searched the hotel top to bottom, probably looking half-mad, but he was gone. He'd simply vanished without a trace. And they never did see him again.

[scarletcomet]

with great power comes great mental illness

[aliusfrater]

[twsupernaturalimagine]

Please [Don’t] Touch Me

Title: Please [Don’t] Touch Me

Author: Jenna

Original Imagine: Imagine being reluctant to other people’s touch and finally giving your first hug to the boys

Warnings: vague mentions of verbal/physical abuse, vague mention of attempted suicide, brief violence, swearing

Word Count: 2,652

Fic:

        "Here it comes, Y/N!“ you hear Sam call from deep within the depths of the thick forest somewhere in southern Kentucky. You, Sam, and Dean had come to the southern state interested in a particular case that you’d later learned involved an old vampire covenant. You’d been able to kill off a couple of the blood-suckers earlier in the evening, but the head honcho had yet to be found…until now. You stiffen at Sam’s call just in time to catch the vampire as it comes flying at you with Sam a few yards behind. You pin him down easily and are quick to take the stake you had in hand and plunge into his chest. The vampire hisses and spits at you, but his movements are weak. Blood pools from the wound in his chest but from his spastic kicks and punches you can tell it’s not deep enough to kill him.

          "Stand back,” orders Dean as he comes up behind you with a large stake in hand. You don’t move from your position and instead focus your strength on holding the flailing vampire down.

          Dean rolls his eyes at your refusal to move and instead takes the second stake and uses it as a hammer to jam your stake in deeper. The vampire leader gives one last sputtering cough, sending flecks of dark red blood on your face which makes you want to heave.

          “Good job, Y/N!” Sam calls as he rushes up to meet you and Dean. You can’t help but blush at his praise. Despite having a knife in one hand and stake with dried blood covering the point in the other, you feel your heart flutter as he smiles at you.

          “Good work boys,” you say.

          “Good work yourself,” replies Dean.

          You follow the two out of the forest you’d chased the coven leader into. At the edges of the woods you see the small cabin where the coven leader and his followers had been bunking. Sam and Dean are quick to work grabbing gasoline from Baby and setting the little cabin ablaze.

          “Just in case,” says Dean when he catches the confused look on your face, “Maybe one of the fuckers is asleep in the walls, who knows? Better to just burn it all to be safe.”

          “Sounds like something a serial arsonist would say,” you tease. He laughs.

          Once the cabin had burned to ashes and the boys had checked that there wasn’t a chance of a flame sprouting out and igniting the forest, the three of you pile into Baby and argue over where to go for post-hunt celebration dinner.

          You and Sam win out with McDonalds much to Dean’s dismay (he’d wanted Chinese), and with Sam at the wheel, you in the passenger seat, and Dean spread out in the back, you drive down the long country roads in search of a motel and a pair of golden arches.

          Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take you long to find a McDonalds. You can’t help but feel somewhat comforted by the familiar glow of the neon in the windows as you enter. No matter what state lines you crossed or what part of the country you were in, there was always a McDonalds somewhere that made you feel at home.

          “Oh Sammy, look!” Dean snorts as he motions towards a large cardboard cutout of Ronald McDonald. You almost cough up a lung when you feel Sam stiffen beside you.

          “He’s coming for you, Sammy.”

          You shoot Dean a look of absolute joy as the two of you watch Sam hustle past the cardboard cutout and into the store.

          “Y/N?” Sam asks an hour later with his hand poised over the two large fries the three of you’d ordered. The three of you are squeezed into a booth. You’re squished beside Dean, facing Sam who looks at you expectantly.

          “Mmm?” you reply around a large chunk of hamburger. Dean snorts.

          “Today’s the fifth,” he continues, the expression on his face suggesting that there’s something important about this information.

          You cock your head, unsure and unwilling to risk a guess, “Okay?”

          Sam sighs and shakes his head with a smile, “You joined up with us on this day one year ago!”

          Dean perks up beside you, “Hey! That’s right!” He outstretches his arms and leans towards you, “Can’t believe it’s been that long, can you Y/N?” Instinctively you lean back, but Dean doesn’t seem to get the message. The closer he gets, the farther you lean until you can feel yourself tumble out of the booth.

          You hit the ground with a thump and a “Shit!” The few other customers turn to look at the commotion and an old man in a wrinkled polo gives you a disgruntled look in response to your language. You fight the urge to flip him off.

          “Oh! Y/N!” You hear Sam move out of the booth and feel his warm, calloused hands grip your small, cold ones.

          “Fuck Y/N, you alright?” Dean asks. You wonder what kind of look the old man’s giving now.

          You let Sam pull you to your feet. You sway a bit and put a hand to your head. Despite the pain, there’s no blood.

          “You hit your head pretty hard there,” Sam remarks.

          “Shit, did I startle you?” Dean asks, his tone worried, “I thought we were past that.”

          You shake your head (which just makes the developing headache even worse but you ignore it) and put up hands in surrender. “No! No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” You bite your lip as you watch a look of confusion pass over their faces. Sam opens his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it.

          "I’m sorry I- I just have a thing with touch. I was caught off guard that’s all.”

          “Oh, Y/N, I didn’t know…”

          “How could you?” you ask, “Don’t apologize, Dean. I’ve never mentioned it before. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

          The three of you are quiet for a moment. The customers seem to have gotten past your spectacle and their background chatter is a comforting distraction from the awkward silence that passes between the three of you.

          “I-Is it because your father?” Sam asks, his tone apprehensive.

          “I’d rather not go into this right now,” you reply, your hands clasped together against your chest, eyes focused on your worn out shoes on the checkered tile.

          “Alright.”

          Wordlessly, Sam and Dean gather your garbage and toss the remaining scraps. You follow the two of them back out to Baby and crawl into the backseat. You don’t want to talk, just want to lay your head down.

          “Wait!” Sam says suddenly and he darts from the passenger seat back inside. He returns quickly with a bottled water and two Advil tablets which, upon re-entering Baby, he hands back to you. You gratefully take the pills as Sam settles back into the passenger seat and Dean starts the engine.

          You watch the scenery go by as Baby exits the McDonalds and heads out back onto the country roads.

          “We should find a place for the night,” Dean remarks and you and Sam nod in agreement. It’s gotten dark since you’d entered the McDonalds. Before there’d been a little later afternoon/early evening, but now there was nothing but the glow of the road lights and the moon.

          “Dean?” you ask. It’s been two hours since you departed from the McDonalds and the three of you had yet to find any place to crash for the night. The roads were empty. You couldn’t even find any stops for gas in the last couple of miles. You were beginning to wonder if you’d end up spending the night in the Impala.

          “Hm,” Dean replies, as he glances at you reflection in the rear view mirror.

          “Sam.“

          “Yeah.”

          You take a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”

          “Y/N,” the two chorus, both sounding very tired. “Don’t be.”

          “I just…” you start, “I’m sorry, we were having such a good night and I ruined it bein’ all weird with my sensory stuff.”

          “You didn’t ruin it,” says Dean.

          “I just wish we’d known sooner,” Sam adds, “I just keep thinking of all the situations we’d put you in where you must’ve felt weird…” He trails off and the three of you fall into silence.

          “You’re right you know,” you say after a few exit signs have passed, “It’s because of my dad.”

          A year ago the Winchester boys had come into your life and changed it for the better. You’d been a college dropout, nineteen years old with nowhere to go but home. Your father was wealthy in assets, poor in affection. He was bad to you. Treated you like an object he’d have dressed up for occasions or appearances, but ignored and starved for attention anytime else. Whenever he touched you it was because he wanted something. A hug meant he needed you to pay off his debts, a goodnight kiss on the cheek a promise that’d he’d use you as collateral in the coming weeks.

          Despite his money, his favorite thing to bet was you. Whether it be your body, your mind, or your companionship. He gladly offered it anyone who’d take you. You were an object to him. Something that he owned. His affection meant he wanted something in return.

          College had been a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty and regret. Finally you were free from his clutches and there was nothing he could do or say save hoping you’d flunk out. But scholarships can only take you so far and it was hard to handle the workload. Three months in and you were done. Depression. Anxiety. Fear of failure. Why try?

          Instead of returning to your father with your tail between your legs, you decided to take your own life. There was a bridge near campus that led across the water to a small island owned by some wealthy folks in the area. The bridge was high, the weather cool and the water freezing. You thought it’d be a quick and relatively painless way to die and you almost had too…

          Apparently the “wealthy folks in the area” were making their money off some kind of strange paranormal game complete with spirits and the occult and you never got the whole story from the boys but apparently it was a clusterfuck. Anyway, one of these wealthy folks had been possessed that night and running across the bridge followed closely by a very tried, very worn out Sam who just happened to see you standing on the ledge deliberating your choices.

          It was dark out and thinking you were the person he was after, he tackled you to the ground. You remember fighting him, throwing punches and kicks (a few of which had landed but not done much), but finally stopping when he grabbed your fists and got a good look at you in the moonlight.

          “Huh,” he’d said, “You don’t look like someone whose been possessed by a thousand year old ghost.”

          And you were so stressed and so confused that you’d started laughing until you were crying. And Sam had stayed there holding your wrists while you sobbed into his neck well into the night and long after Dean had handled set the bones of the possessed old folk ablaze.

          You’d refused to leave Sam’s side and begged the boys to take you with them. When questioned why you’d want to go with complete strangers you told them your story (leaving out some details) and the two had relented figuring that taking you on one hunt would scare you off for good…but it’d hadn’t.

          “You guys know I’m thankful for you, right? And for everything you’ve done for me?”

          “Aw, Y/N, you’re making me blush,” says Dean. He doesn’t turn back to look at you when he says it and instead continues focusing forward but you can see the corner of lips lift up in a teasing smile.

          You snort, “Dean.”

          Sam reaches back and takes one of your hand in his and squeezes. You quickly recoil, “I’m sorry I made dinner weird.”

          “Y/N,” say Sam, stern brown eyes catching your attention, “Everything we do is weird.”

          “Hell,” adds Dean, “You’ve only been around for a year. Trust me. It’s gonna get weirder.”

          A small laugh escapes your throat which is scratchy and dry. You feel a small stream of tears roll down your cheek. A warm feeling sits in your belly. You want to jump the seat and wrap your arms around the boys, but you keep this want at bay.

          “Y/N?” asks Sam, his tone worried as he watches tear after tear roll down your face. Noticing Sam’s change in tone, Dean pulls Baby over to the shoulder and turns off the ignition. Baby shutters to a stop and you’re left in the Impala with both the Winchester’s eyes on you.

          “I have a thing with touch,” you start softly. “I-I think it’s because whenever I was shown affection it was because somebody wanted something so…I dunno…affection feels weird…fake?”

          Sam nods, “Like there’s no point. It doesn’t feel real, it feels like somebody is playing you?”

          “Basically.”

          “Sorry Y/N,” says Dean and you’re quick to put your free hand to his cheek.

          “Dean,” you say, “Don’t be. You didn’t know…” You trail off, choosing your next words carefully, “I know I’ve been kind of vague about what my father was like. I told you it was bad, but never really gave specifics…”

          The two nod in confirmation.

          You continue, “But he was never honest with me. Everything felt like a trick and I was scared…” You pull your hand away from Dean and remark, “I feel safest when I’m with you two. But even now…” The steady stream of tears has grown heavier now and you can feel snot building up in your nose. “…I’m still afraid of contact. And that’s unfair to you two because you trust me and I love you two and…”

          Sam turns away from you and steps out of Baby, moving the seat back. Then he’s next to you, his big, bulky shoulders digging into you as he squeezes in the back. He motions to your hands which now sit clasped in your lap.

          “Do you want to be touched?” he asks and you nod without thinking.

          “I’m tired of being afraid,” you say.

          Sam holds out a hand to you and you tentatively place your hand in his. He squeezes and you squeeze back.

          “That’s not so bad,” you say.

          Dean chuckles as he watches you two, “Well now I feel left out.” He exits the front seat and pulls open the backdoor on your other side.

          “Dean,” warns Sam as the elder Winchester gently shoves you toward Sam. “Touch. We’re starting slow.”

          “It’s alright,” you whisper softly, “It’s nice.”

          Dean squeezes in next to you, turning the backseat into a sandwich with you as the center. The boys are warm and comforting. There’s a feeling of rising anxiety in your belly but you force it back down.

          “We love you Y/N,” Sam says softly.

          “Really?”

          “Of course,” replies Dean. “And you know I don’t say that easily.” Sam chuckles at that.

          You nibble your lip and lean closer into Sam. Finally, you bite the bullet and wrap your arms around his neck. He gives a soft “oh!” as you bury you face into his neck, but he doesn’t push you away. You fee his strong, tanned arms wrap around your waist and you’re quick to wiggle away and turn on Dean instead. You repeat your hug, but quickly pull away before they can respond. You worry you’ve hurt their feelings but a swift glance at each of their faces reveals nothing of the sort.

          In fact, when you pull away from Dean, he’s beaming.

          “How do you feel?”

          You return Dean’s grin. “It’s a start,” you say.

[moonlit-dreamers]

hot take but i dont think sun is suicidal

i dont think hes the one with the worst mental health in this show either

besides eclipse (bc thats obvious), id say solar has the worst mental health

hes already killed 2 ppl (didnt want to kill either of them and one was on accident), is insecure about his own identity (asked computer if hes like the other eclipses, and i also bet montys... "teasing" didnt help), has no hobbies of his own, refuses to actually acknowledge his own issues, doesnt communicate to ppl and tries to "not be a bother" to others, never does anything for himself and only ever does when someone tells him to, and probably more.

but i'll analyze solar and his shit mental health later; i wanna ramble about sun

i dont think sun has ever been actively suicidal, mainly passive. in case ur wondering wut the difference is:

being passively suicidal is having thoughts and "wishes" but never actually planning to do anything. a lot of ppl will think "i wish i was dead" when in reality wut they need is a break and they have no real desire to die (this is a common thought process to have when ur burnt out or generally in a mental rut)

being actively suicidal is actually planning to do something and seeking out ways to harm urself with the intent of being severely injured or dying. this is an immediate emergency

sun never went out in search of ways to die. he never planned out ways he could kill himself. the time we heard him say "i wish i was dead" was right after he hallucinated bloodmoon and old moon taunting him. he was tired and he needed a fucking break, so he expressed that through saying "i wish i was dead". now u might be thinking "but birdcage, he did go out and do risky things knowing he might die" yes, that is true. but that does not mean that dying was his intention. he went out and did dangerous things bc he wanted to help, not die.

but if we return to the current moment; he is absolutely not suicidal. his mental health is deteriorating, yes. but from wut i can tell he hasnt shown any signs of suicidal ideation. for a while sun said he had pretty stable mental health. it was only until eclipse came back did his health really start to deteriorate again. then if u add on to how hes constantly being pushed to the side and ignored by his own family (im more than mildly frustrated by that) that is absolutely a disaster brewing under the surface. but does that mean hes currently, at the very least passively, suicidal? no. probably not. at least, from wut we can tell there isnt much to back up the idea that he is.

wut sun needs is to be acknowledged and let in on the happenings of the family instead of being ignored. he also needs to learn how to communicate better bc the severe lack of it is wuts going to cause the downfall of everyone in the show

[hurtspideyparker]

The Avengers as High School Friend Group Archetypes

Tony Stark: Mentally ill friend. Made too many suicide jokes so his friends forced him into therapy. Flakes out on plans a lot. Either has a God complex or the worst self-esteem known to humankind. Freaks everyone out when he texts goodbye in the gc without context (he's just going on a business trip)

Bucky Barnes: Black cat. Hisses at everyone but Steve. Great at holding his boundaries but comes off aloof. Nobody is sure if he actually likes them but would secretly kill for all his friends. Hides in shadows and jumpscares everyone with his lurking. Secretly naps on Sam's bed when no one's looking

Steve Rogers: Mom friend. Always has granola bars, Tylenol, and a Tide to Go on him. Organizes the group hangouts and reminds everyone when they have a dentist appointment. Everyone's parents love him, "you can go if Steve's going" vibe. Constantly getting his friends out of trouble (secretly encourages them). His romantic life is a disaster

Thor Odinson: Gym bro. Eats eggs, chicken and rice everyday. Forces his friends to join him in the gym and comments about them not eating enough protein. Genuinely cares for their health, will get them out of bed for food and fresh air when they're sad. Goes through protein powder like Tony went through cocaine in the 80s

Peter Parker: Annoying little brother. Someone's mom definitely made them bring him to the big kid hangout. Everyone bullies him but he doesn't realize it, he just likes the attention from the cool older kids. Sam and Bucky hold him upside down from his ankles till he gets dizzy and Steve makes them put him down. Everyone is super protective of him when he's outside the friend group (hey, only we get to be mean to him)

Sam Wilson: Therapist friend. Gets way too many texts at 3 am. Extremely emotionally mature but laughs at fart jokes. Knows everyone's trauma and will use it against them if provoked. Strangers randomly vent to him in public. Gentle parents adults when they're upset. Nobody ever asks him how he is

Natasha Romanoff: Man hater. All her best friends are men and none of them are actually sure if she's joking about hating them. Mean but never takes things too far. Flirts constantly because she thinks it's funny but is really awkward and bad at it when she genuinely likes someone. Hates when someone treats her like a man / "one of the bros", wishes she had more female friends

Bruce Banner: Bad luck friend. Can not catch a break. Everytime they hear from him something new has gone wrong in his life. His dog threw up on his bed, his computer broke before a huge deadline, his favourite sweater shrunk in the dryer. Just a disaster of a human. Constantly has some minor injury, from inexplicable bruises to a sprained wrist. Never having a good day but tries to remain positive. Anxious

Clint Barton: Class clown. Will make a fool of himself in front of every pretty girl in his vicinity. Is actually only funny half the time, the other half he's just loudly wrong. Confidence is key for him. Can charm and talk his way out of anything. Will make everyone laugh at the worst moments. Women reject him because he has a girl best friend

Wanda Maximoff: Boy crazy. Is ready to talk about her crush, boyfriend, or situationship at any given moment. Is never single for longer than a month. Will not take shit from a man and makes sure her and her friends are treated properly. Surprisingly good at balancing her friendships and relationships, doesn't neglect people. Has Pinterest boards for her wedding, dream home, and decor. Wants to be a stay at home mom. Big Swiftie and went to the Eras Tour

Pietro Maximoff: Unemployed friend. Always doing the most random thing on a Tuesday morning. One day he's kayaking in British Columbia, the next he's joined an MLM scam. He has a new cat? He adopted him from Istanbul on that trip no one knows about. He's drinking fresh lemonade? He actually volunteers with disabled elderly and Doris gives him lemons from her tree. Knows how to cook a turkey. Unclear if he's homeless or not, usually sleeping on a friend's couch or at a random woman's place (still on the couch)

[ardentpoop]

remember when sam signed up for the exact same fate with lucifer and everyone around him agreed that sacrificing himself was Correct since the apocalypse was His Fault

remember how he spent the entirety of s5 being made to feel utterly worthless and not a single person in his life intervened or even asked him how he was coping

remember how he DID spend an eternity trapped with lucifer and michael who had nothing to do to entertain themselves besides torture him (and adam, oops)

[cramenjoyer]

imagine a beautiful world where spn only lasted three seasons BUT s3 follows sam actually getting worse and worse and doing more and more terrible things in an effort to save dean. he leans hard into his powers, even without ruby's influence, and starts drinking demon blood to get stronger. in the end, he learns that killing lilith won't free dean from his deal, and he does the only thing he can think of to do.

he walks into the devil's gate, drunk on lilith's blood and brandishing her little child-sized head, and declares himself the new king of hell. his first order of business is to save his brother. his second is to ensure there's no one strong enough to stop him.

it ends with dean in the cemetery, talking to the air, telling someone he doesn't think he's strong enough to live without sam. when sam climbs back out of hell to meet him, they close the doors to hell together and dean removes the colt from the lock. he looks toward where he'd been standing earlier and the audience finally sees john's ghost, and sam follows his gaze. he isn't looking at his brother. dean raises the gun... it cuts to black. bang. you never find out which of the three of them he aims for.