#yeah i gave up b4 i even got to cas lets not talk about it

[nevarroes]

yeagh

[stusbunker]

Less Than Well Received

A Supernatural Fan-ficiton

Featuring: Sam Winchester (x?) Female Reader, Cas, Jack, and Dean

A/N: This is for @bamby0304‘s Triple Threat Challenge. My prompts will be in bold. Angst? Angst. Fluff? A smidge in the middle. Crack? Yep, because I can. Then some more flangst to round it out. xoxo Stu

Masterlist

A6: “Of course, I remembered!”

B4: “Get that thing away from me!”

C9: “What did you just say?” 

Y/N awoke to an eerie quiet, the walls of the Bunker echoing the silence like a forgotten tomb. She shoved her feet into her fleece lined slippers and shuffled down the hall. The hallway lights were on, but the farther she wandered the darkened rooms seemed to increase. Glancing down at her watch she barely registered the five o’clock hour when--

“Mornin’!” A pointed whisper came up from behind. She jolted, shaking free from the clench of fear along her spine.

“Sam! Goddamnit! What the hell?!” She shoved his meaty upper arm in frustration, registering the hurt in his ever-shifting eyes before remembering to lower her voice. “Sorry, it’s just,” she shrugged.

“It’s super creepy when everyone is sleeping or out on a case?” Sam gave a knowing nod, absently rubbing the spot she had hit him. “Yeah, well, this is what we’re used to. I kind of like it.”

“Well, that’s because you were forged in the fire, man. Most mere mortals couldn’t stand this place like this 24/7.”

His lips twitched into a half smile, “Coffee?”

She couldn’t help but return the gesture, it was so rare these days. “Look at you, Mr. Smooth, skirting the topic and going straight for my weakness.”

Sam stood back and let Y/N step down into the kitchen first, “Yeah, well, us former-Hell-dwellers tend to know how to read minds.”

“Oh, Sam, no! I didn’t mean it like tha-”

“I know,” Sam’s head lolled into a slightly reassuring tilt as dragged his hand through his long hair. “How about we leave the playful banter for when we’re both more awake?”

She nodded, tugging the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands as Sam bee-lined for the coffee maker.

It always seemed to happen, she would be alone with their leader and everything would get awkward, or frustrating or Jack would ask too many questions and she would make an ass out of herself by not giving good enough responses. She just wanted to clear the air, but with Michael out there, with Dean; there was never a good time to do so. She didn’t want to be another helping of shit sandwich on Sam’s plate.

She just wanted to feel like part of the team.

Sam didn’t know why he was so snippy, no, he had plenty of reasons why. But he didn’t know why it was manifesting with uncalled for snapping at Y/N or Jack. He should be focusing on finding  Dean Michael. Not reliving the hurt in Y/N’s eyes when he raised his voice over their modest dinner of energy bars and a six pack. He slammed his eyes closed, trying to hide from the memory. The bed was lumpy, so he shifted, jostling Jack, who was asleep curled away from him. Sam let out a rattled breath.

Another motel, another town, another dead end.

It had been two weeks without Dean and the tension between Sam and Y/N had intensified to the point of Castiel stepping in to mediate. It seemed like even the angel’s good intentions were failing them as he walked into the library to find Sam slamming the laptop closed just to fold his hands in his lap.

“Go ahead, Y/N. Let’s hear what possibly can’t wait,” Sam’s brow pinched between annoyance and confusion.

“What the hell is the matter with you? You shoot down my ideas, you bark orders, you won’t even let me pair off with Jack anymore. What did I do wrong, Sam? Huh? What do you want from me? Do you want me to start saluting, to start calling you Chief?” Y/N was getting louder, the other hunters had noticed and while some quickly left the surrounding areas, a few lingered, watching the drama unfold.

Sam cleared his throat, noting the bystanders in his periphery. “Give us a minute?” He didn’t yell, but the tone made his point. Everyone left. Everyone but Y/N and Cas.

“You have been particularly pointed with Y/N, since Dean--”

“Cas? Look, you can stay, but Y/N just unloaded on me and I need to answer her, before you get to lay into me too. Alright?”

Cas looked to Y/N, she refused to meet his gaze, “I suppose.”

“You’re right,” Sam swallowed.

“What did you just say?” Y/N’s headed whipped up like a jack-in-the-box.

Sam inhaled through his nose, “And I’m sorry. I have been taking out all of my frustration on you.”

“Damn right you have. But that’s not all.” Y/N countered, plopping into the chair in front of Sam, lowering herself to his level. Cas watched quietly, noting the way Sam clenched his jaw against the flow of emotion. “There’s got to be a reason it’s me. Cas has known you the longest and Jack is your family. Is it because I am expendable? That I don’t matter in the grand scheme of your fucking gospels so I get all the bitterness and none of the respect? Newsflash! Still a person.”

Y/N splayed her hands in the air mimicking a camera’s flash before falling back in the wooden chair, one leg draped over the armrest as she waited for Sam to stop chewing his words. He watched her through clouding eyes, his guilt eating him from the inside out. She cut right to the quick and it stung too much to assemble another apology, much less an explanation.

His eyes stayed locked on his hands. “I don’t know what else to say. But, uh, I should go--,” he stood glancing at Cas before walking away. “Need some air,” was left hovering in the stunned space.

Jack strolled into the make-shift gym an hour after the fall out in the library. He didn’t know why everyone was whispering about Y/N and Sam, so he wanted to check on her. He found her beating the crap out of the punching bag.

“You’re angry?”

Y/N tried to ignore the Nephil, but his youthful persistence slowly beat her dwindling adrenaline rush.

“Why are you angry with Sam?” Jack squared his feet behind the bag to hold it steady for her next assault.

“Why aren’t you?” She replied, grunting against the slap of gloves against the bag. Jack’s face contorted in thought, she rolled her eyes. He was still so pure.

“He treats me like shit and isn’t very patient with you these days.” Y/N’s chest heaved, the sweat pooling down her back and between her breasts. She shifted against the sports bra.

“But, with Dean-”

“Dean’s been gone before. More than once, Jack. You know that right?” He nodded, pursing his lips as he remembered all that he had learned about his many dads.

“Sam is trying his damndest, Y/N.” Jack replied.

“That’s a weird thing to hear from you.” Y/N huffed out a single note of laughter, stepping back to grab a drink from her water bottle.

“That’s what Dean said. He said Sam was trying his damndest to court you.”

“He what now?”

“Because of the sex.”

“Sex? Sam wants to have sex with me?”

“That’s what Dean said.”

“Oh crap.”

Jack cocked his head and looked even more confused than ever.

New Year’s Eve in the Bunker was a forced affair. Though drinking hadn’t really wavered in Dean’s absence; the atmosphere had dulled to a lament instead of a celebration. Twenty eighteen was crap, even on the Winchester scale and everyone was ready to start anew.

A few couples had found corners to make insufferable heart eyes at each other, or worse, making out despite the remaining hunters within earshot, watching television or playing cards. Sam had resigned himself to a night in, letting the threat of Michael’s armies linger on all fronts. He was just too tired. And if he were to admit it to himself, lonely. Sam Winchester was usually a giggly drunk, but on that night, the last night of 2018, he indulged.

Sam was getting philosophical as he downed yet another shot, which he chased with a plastic flute of discount aisle champagne. “I mean, in the grand scheme of things. What’s one kiss?”

“Sam?” Cas eyed the large man.

“It’s only what? Five seconds? Nothing to spend a whole year building up in your mind. Five seconds, ten seconds, seconds are seconds. Time is vast.”

“Time is a construct, Sam. If you’re thinking about kissing someone, I think it would be best to get Y/N’s permission first.”

“Y/N? Is she here? I haven’t seen her lately.” Sam missed the angel’s point as he scanned the room from his perch against the war room map platform.

“She’s in her room. She said she just wanted to fall asleep to movies and forget the last year ever happened.” Jack replied, carefully pulling the bottle away from Sam’s reach and handing it to Cas.

“But that’s ridiculous. It happened. You can’t forget it, otherwise you won’t learn from it. I should tell her, right?”

“Tell Y/N what?”

“That.” Sam stood up, unevenly righting his shoulders before glancing at both sets of confused blue eyes. “And I’m going to.” Sam nodded to himself before he strutted determinedly and with a slight lean to Y/N’s room. Jack went to follow Sam, but Cas grabbed his arm.

“I think we’ve intervened enough with those two.”

“But what if she hurts him?”

“We can’t save each other from all pain, but we can be there to help tend the wounds,” Cas explained.

“Y/N?!” Sam half groaned/ half yelled through the locked door, before knocking insistently. “Y/N, Jack told me you’re in there. Don’t forget. Okay? It would be bad if you forget.”

Y/N’s attention was piqued with the sluggish delivery in her general direction. She hesitated for a few seconds before throwing back her covers and shuffling to the door in oversized flannel pants and a ratty tee, her killer NYE ensemble.

“Y/N! Talk to me! Please? Pretty please? Pretty please, pretty girl?” She opened the door before he could make more of a fool of himself. “Hey!” He smiled blindly, dimples sparkling along side his pearly whites.

“What am I forgetting?”

“You’re not! And that’s what’s important.” Sam stumbled passed her and into her dimly lit room, before turning and grasping at her hands. “Look, I know it’s not midnight, but it will be and time is a construct and I just really want to kiss you already.” Sam closed his eyes and leaned in and kissed Y/N hairline.

Once he recovered, Sam pulled back to assess her reaction. She wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t kissing him back. She was, amused? Concerned?

“What?”

“What? Where did me forgetting or not forgetting turn into you kissing me?!”

“So you don’t want to. Cas said to ask and I--” Sam scrunched his eyes closed and internally kicked himself.

“Stop Sam. Let’s just, sit? Yeah?” Y/N dragged him on her bed where he promptly fell back and stared at her ceiling.

“I’m going to die alone. Again.” He mirthlessly laughed.

“How do you go from sappy flirty Sam to morose? It’s got to be some kind of record.” Y/N asked, brushing the hair from his face, he leaned into her palm, relishing in the chill of her smooth skin.

“It’s why Dean never let me get too drunk, because I get chatty and pouty.” Sam sighed, throwing his arms back behind his head.

“Dean didn’t let you? Or you didn’t let yourself?”

“Both. Probably. I’m not sure anymore.”

Y/N took him in, his large arms like wings framing his broad shoulders, tanned firm skin over layers of muscle. He was a beautiful man, but he was also her boss. And had done nothing but treat her like crap lately. If it were another time and place, she could see herself enjoying his kiss. But tonight, she just felt like his minder and not in a sexy way.

“Do you want to kiss me because it’s New Years or do you want to kiss me for me?”

“Both, probably.” Sam muttered, his eyes staying closed as he lay perpendicularly on her bed, his large feet still on the floor.

“Probably doesn’t score you any points tonight, slugger.”

“ ‘Sokay. Shoulda asked, like Cas says.” He scrunched his overly straight nose and began to snore quietly. Y/N sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to move him on her own.

“Happy New Year, Chief.”

The next morning at breakfast, which was much more timely a lunch, Sam and Y/N found themselves sitting together in quiet, awkward silence. Castiel had made pancakes with extra bacon, because he remembered Dean always craved grease when he was hungover. The few hunters that lingered near the coffee pot made small talk and plans for their coming cases. Groups ready to get back out there with a hopeful glint that only January first could bring.

Y/N didn’t want to bring up the previous night, but it came glaringly back into focus when a fake sprig of mistletoe suddenly appeared above her head.

She shrieked and batted it away, “Get that thing away from me!”

Jack giggled behind their seats, “I thought you wished for a New Year’s kiss, Y/N?”

“Not now...” Y/N gave the young man a glare that could clear a vamp’s nest, but of course Sam had heard it all.

“Just not from me?” Sam asked in a croaking voice.

When Y/N finally looked back at Sam it was with a pained expression. He gave her a tight lipped nod, tortured but respectful.

364 days later

Dean ordered another round of drinks. “To all those we lost this year!”

The meager group took the shots before them as the bartender poured the next round with both hands.

“To the best damn friend a guy could ask for.” Dean drank again, biting back his grief.

“To Cas!” Y/N replied, finishing the toast.

Sam and Jack shared a sorrowful glance before taking their shots.

The bar filled with shouts as the ball dropped in New York City marking an hour out for the Kansas crowd.

“What a year,” Y/N leaned against the back of Jack’s stool.

“Are New Year’s celebrations always so bittersweet? Or is it just me?” Jack asked as he peeled the label from his beer bottle.

“It’s just the life, Jack.”

“Here’s to more sweet than bitter in 2020,” Y/N raised her glass to clink against Jack’s empty beer and Sam’s untouched one. Sam still looked at her like she hung the moon, Jack thought. But he knew that the moon fell into orbit long before Y/N’s birth. It was just another one of those expressions he found and clung to. The poetry of life, things that Cas would appreciate if he were here to share them with.

Dean sauntered back from flirting with a waitress and wished his small band of misfits goodnight, “Sorry, folks, but this smooth talker doesn’t have to hang around until midnight.”

“Be safe,” Y/N chided, leaning in for a quick kiss on his cheek. Jack joined in on the group hug and Sam chuckled as Dean dragged him in by the collar of his coat.

“Happy New Year, guys,” Dean gave a wink and a salute before he turned to follow his “date” to the door.

An hour and a half later, Sam heard a slight knock on his own door. He threw his shirt back on before opening it to find Y/N. He tried to put his hair back in place when she sighed and then brought her hand above her head. Her eyes closed and she stood silently, the nervous energy radiating from beneath the bundle of greenery.

“I thought you didn’t want my New Year’s kiss.” Sam whispered as his face hovered over hers.

“Well, maybe I don’t want another year like last year. What do you say?” She peeked with one eye, like a child cheating at hide-and-seek.

“Pretty please, pretty girl?” Sam crooned before she jumped into his arms at long last.

Five, ten, twenty; seconds were seconds and it was worth the wait.

They were both grinning idiots when they broke apart, gasping for air, but still trying to close the invisible distance between them. “You remembered your drunken ramblings from last year.”

“It was technically from the year before last, Y/N,” Sam corrected as she rolled her eyes. “Of course I remembered!”

“Happy New Year, Chief.”

His dimples greeted her like old friends.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

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