*Do Not Read if you are Triggered by any of the following Warnings
Warnings:cursing, funerals, using people for profit, unprotected sex/wrap it up kiddos, intentional poisoning, slow death by blood letting, buried alive, rough oral sex, gun/knife play, blood play, necrophilia
A/N:Set Season 6 between Clap Your Hands If You Believe & ..And Then There We’re None
Death was a peculiar thing to dance with, and Sam? Sam was nearing the end of his number. It was a page right out of the Winchester’s handbook. Sacrificing yourself for family, and surely this wasn’t Sam’s first time giving his life for another, only this time was extremely different. He had you.
“You’re crying, Dad…” you stated in a concerning way, “Are you hurt?” Tiny eyes tried to search his which avoided any eye contact. What was he supposed to say?
“No, no baby I’m not hurt.” He lied tragically, desperately trying to pull it together as he crouched in front of you to be at eye level. The type of pain he felt came from the soul, from the heart, not psychically.
“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice was small yet held powerful words with your question, hitting your father like a bullet to the chest.
Sam paused, wiping the tears from his face as they poured from his eyes like a broken dam. “You could never do anything wrong, y/n.” He tried to force the words out, choking his pain down. “I’m just sad, that’s all.”
Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, what could he be sad for? Did you make him upset?
“Dad’s gotta go away for awhile-“
“Like on a hunt with Uncle Dean?” You cut him off, trying to grasp an understanding on the situation and wrap it around your five year old mind.
“This hunt-“ Sam took a deep breath, unsure how to word to his daughter she may never see him again, that he had bargained with death one last time to get the chance to say goodbye to you, “this hunt Dad’s going on alone.” Sam spoke slow and low toned, he knew you’d be taken care even without him there.
“When will you be back?” In one arm you clung to your bunny, the other reached out to hold Sam’s hand trying to comfort him.
“Not for a very long time,” he instantly saw how his words a chord in your heart, one strong enough pools of sadness swelled in your sweet innocent eyes. “But I’ll see you again one day, and I love you, very verymuch.” No longer did he hold back his tears, and neither did you.
While you didn’t understand what was happening, or why he would be going away for so long, you knew one thing for certain..no matter how long he was gone, you’d always love him.
Looking down at your stuffed bunny, you smiled slightly, giving yourself a little nod. “Take Bunny with you. She can keep you safe while you’re gone.”
At first, Sam didn’t want to take the one thing you had by your side since birth, but you were persistent, not taking no for an answer. He too left something for you to have, the ring he had proposed to your mother with before she died in child birth. Something Dean would give to you later in life to keep close to you as you learned life’s many lessons.
“Can you tuck me in before you leave?” You hopped down off the couch, still clinging to Sam’s hand, not knowing when you would get that chance again.
“Of course, c’mon.” He picked you up effortlessly, holding onto you tightly in a hug before he began to carry you to your room to tuck you in one last time.
Requested by anon: Sam and Dean return back to the bunker after a hunt, were they had to kill a witch, and the reader is waiting for them- they’ve been gone for a few days and they’re anxious. When she see’s Sam she immediately kisses him (they’re dating), however what she doesn’t know is that the witch cursed the boys and they’ve switched bodies. So, she’s kissing Dean not Sam.
Warnings: It’s shitty.
Word count: 768
A/N: I haven’t watched Supernatural in at least two years, so I’M SORRY. I literally felt as if I was learning how to ride a bike or something like that cuz this is no longer me. :( So I hope it doesn’t suck that much. I’m sorry for ripping that request apart. I really tried my best.
Enjoy, I guess.
The loud roar from the Impala followed by a short silence announced the return of the Winchesters to the bunker. They had been out on a witch hunt that had apparently succeeded and know it was their time to rest – that is only IF they decided to rest.
(Y/N) had anxiously waited for them to come back. Specifically, she had been waiting for Sam.
She headed outside, not being able to wait for them to come inside, and ran straight towards Sam. He had been taking their bags out of the trunk when he got tackled by his girlfriend.
Without hesitation, (Y/N) puckered up and kissed him as if it had been years since she’d seen him – a habit she had acquired a long time ago. Sam, however, did not respond as she expected.
His lips remained still and his eyes widened. He held her tightly and pushed her away.
Dean followed quickly, holding (Y/N) softly from behind while Sam got up.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His puppy eyed mode was suddenly on.
“What?” (Y/N) panicked. “What is going on?”
Dean swallowed loudly and looked at (Y/N) for a second before looking directly to his brother. Sam hesitated, not knowing how to say what he meant to say.
“Oh my God, I knew it!” (Y/N) spoke. Her eyes were wide and full of shock.
“You do?” Sam asked, feeling a sudden relief. “Thank God, I thought this would be harder but if you know…”
“Yeah, it’s better that way,” Dean nodded and let go off (Y/N)’s arms.
“I should’ve known before, you don’t act like yourself and…” (Y/N) continued.
“Yes! I know!” Sam cheered, “See? I knew you would get it.”
Of course she got it. Sam hadn’t been the same ever since Castiel left. She didn’t think it would affect him as much as it would affect Dean, but truth was Sam did feel terribly after he left.
She had tried to be a good companion, she had tried to help Sam feel supported, she had really tried her best. Maybe it wasn’t enough.
The Winchesters always acted like that. If one friend left them, then they didn’t want any friend at all… Maybe Sam was feeling like she would leave too, just like Castiel, in spite of loving him.
She loved him. She really loved him and Sam was probably thinking she didn’t and so he was breaking up with her.
“Fine,” she said. Her head was now clear. “I… I tried my best, but I respect your choice.”
Sam suddenly looked even more confused.
“I will go and pack my stuff,” she said. “You are a good man, Sam,” she patted her shoulder and went back inside. Neither of the Winchesters followed her, they were gobsmacked and unable to even walk.
She went inside her shared room with Sam, refusing to shed a single tear in front of them, and took out her backpack from the closet.
How could she pack so many memories in just one backpack? She had built her home next to Sam and now…
Sam and Dean stormed inside the room.
“It’s not what you think it is!” Dean yelled, calling (Y/N)’s attention.
“What?” (Y/N) shrugged.
“You think that I… That Sam is breaking up with you, right?” Dean stuttered.
“Well, obviously, because…”
“He’s not.” Dean interrupted and cleared his throat. “I’m not.”
“What?”
“(Y/N),” Sam spoke, “I’m not Sam.”
“What do you mean?” (Y/N) stepped back.
“I am,” Dean stated.
(Y/N) stared at them in shock and then burst in laughter.
“The witch we killed cursed us as she died…” Dean continued to explain, “so now I’m Sam and he’s Dean, but me Sam is he Dean and he Dean is me Sam…”
“So… I kissed Dean?” (Y/N) inquired.
“Yes.”
“Dean in Sam’s body?”
“Yes.”
“That’s just…” (Y/N) shrugged in disgust. “So we’re not breaking up?”
“No, I would never,” Dean (Sam) shook his head and gave her his best Dean dreamy eyes.
“Oh, thank God!” She threw herself once more into his arms… Except those were Dean’s arms, and sighed.
Sam, in Dean’s body, kissed her passionately while Dean, in Sam’s body, just stared in awe. He always wondered how he’d look like with (Y/N). Not that liked her, it was just for funsies.
(Y/N) pulled away.
“This is too weird…” She said, “We must fix this.”
Both brothers agreed.
One call and thirty minutes later, the Winchesters were all set. It was not a hard curse to cast, therefore not a hard curse to remove.
“So (Y/N),” Dean inquired during dinner, “who’s a better kisser: me or Sam?”
-
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You are the girl Sam lives with between s7 and 8 and you are happy together until Dean shows up and forces you to leave.
I Really like this prompt. Hope you enjoy the story.
Sam peeled his tacky body off yours, panting in unison with you. Beads of sweat lay between his pecks and he gently rolled himself off of you and the couch on the floor, landing with a thud and a small chuckle to follow. You gathered your breath and brushed the clammy hairs off of your face, fixing you bra back in to the proper place and sitting up on the couch. You looked down at Sam who was laid on the rug, his forearm laid over his brow as a quiet smile played at his lips. You slid down the couch on to the floor next to him, he sat up and moved over beside you, both of your backs against the sofa. His arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders as he rested his head on top of yours.
“I’m so glad you brought me up to this cabin it’s been so much fun, just me and you, no distractions” your face beamed as you spoke, helplessly in love with this man and never been happier.
“Yeah, I’ve not been up here since.. Dean.” He paused for a moment, his brothers name always got stuck in his throat, almost too painful to say it.
“But it’s been amazing y/n. I didn’t know I could be this happy again.” He pressed a kiss to your head. He broke up the moment by standing up to dress himself, you followed suit. Throwing your bottoms on and staying in your bra, the heat in the room keeping you warm. Sam mirroring your decision and deciding to sport only his jeans.
He walked over to you and picked you up off your feet, you swung your legs around his waist as he carried you to his destination. He landed in the bedroom and dropped you on to the bed as he jumped down beside you and placing a sloppy wet kiss on your lips before getting back up to rummage through his bag.
“I got you something” he said excitedly as he dug through his duffel bag, in between his guns, shirts and books.
A small jewellery box was in the palm of his hand, as he clenched his fingers around it and walked over on his knees to you.
“This is an amulet bracelet” he explained as he opened up the box. A gorgeous fine silver bracelet lay in the case, with various colours and styles of small charms around it. Your eyes lit up as he took it and draped it over your wrist, fitting you perfectly.
“It is supposed to ward of bad spirits and energy and invite in the good.” He furthered his explanation. You cupped his face in your hands and brushed your lips on his lightly as you whispered you got him something too.
“Wait here it’s in my purse”
You left the bedroom and walked towards the living room you were about to bed over to grab your purse when the door bust open. You screamed at the man who had just booted the door open, who was drenched head to toe in blood, guts, goo and everything rotten.
“Who the hell are you!!??” He yelled at you, raising a gun in your direction. Sam heard the commotion and came charging through the halls with his gun, holding it up to the man, but only for a brief moment as they lowered them together.
“Sammy” the man cried as he charged over to your boyfriend and pulled him down into a hug. They stood there for about 40 seconds just latching on to each other before Sam stood up and walked towards you. His perfect body was now doused in whatever crap the man was covered in. He placed one hand loosely on your hip and as other motioned towards the man.
“Y/N this is Dean.” He introduced.
Your mouth bobbed up and down as your head flickered between Dean and Sam.
“Y-your brother?” You asked in disbelief. Sam had told you his brother died, although he did look like he had just climbed out of a grave.
“Nice to meet you. But if you don’t mind my brother and I have a lot of catching up to do.. so…” he motioned towards the door.
“Oh… yeah.. sorry I guess? I’ll go for a walk or something” you suggested, grabbing your t shirt that was laid across the couch and plunging it over your head to cover yourself up.
“Look lady, I’m sure you’re nice, but you’re going to have to leave. Like go home” He stayed firmly.
“Dean, she’s kind of living here at the minute, with me.” Sam confessed
“You a hunter?” Dean asked you. No you weren’t. You knew Sam was, that’s actually how you met. He was passing through town just driving anywhere and nowhere, and you both landed in the same bar. You had tried to escape the craziness in your home, where books and tables and shelves were being thrown around the room. Trying to avoid sounding mad you played it off as a joke to Sam, until he told you he could fix it. And he did. He stayed in your town for a while just to be near you, however he had quit hunting. It wasn’t the same for him to hunt without Dean.
“No” you shook your head at Dean.
“So you’re in here all cosy up with my baby brother…” he started scolding you then turned his attention to Sam.
“You know where I’ve been? Purgatory! The resting place of all things evil. I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten, haven’t done anything but kill for an entire year.. all this time you’re getting cosy with some whore?” He yelled at his baby brother, Sam opened his mouth to defend you before Dean cut him off again.
“How long did you even look? A few weeks?”
There was a long pause, the tension could be cut with a knife. A layer of tears glazed over Sam’s eyes as he looked up to the ceiling to avoid his brothers stare.
“You didn’t..” he laughed out of pure shock.
“You! Get the hell out of this cabin right now or I swear to god! I need to speak to my brother” Dean screamed at you raising his gun back up towards you and motioning towards to door with it. You grabbed your coat and ran out the door, leaving it wide open and running straight into the woods. Tears blurred your vision as you gently jogged away from the cabin, heading god knows where. You had to be as far away from that horrible man as possible. How could Sam be so sweet and his brother be so terrifying.
Your boots snapped branches and scuffled through leaves as you got to the heart of the woods. You squatted down for a moment to catch your breath when you heard twigs snapping behind you. The steps were slow and steady, heaving breathing followed them as your body started to tense up. Please be Sam. You spun around slowly, ready to face whatever was next to you, as you saw it your face dropped, and before you could run you were in its grasp, taken away into the night.
“Right here, kid. Right here,” he yelled from below. His words were steady, but his heart was not. “You able to get down?” He was pacing, though he didn’t stray too far from you.
You shuddered, held tighter to the inclined platform, and shouted down, “No.” Most of your weight was on the backboard of the basketball hoop, which was held up horizontally by pulleys on the ceiling. It was a twenty foot drop from where you sat, which was a fatal fall—or worse, paralyzing. If Bobby was any indication, that wasn’t fun.
“Do you want me to come up there?” He was already gauging the structure, figuring out how to get to you.
“No,” you said miserably, stopping him. Because what would that do? Then you’d both be stuck up here.
“Okay, okay, just—” A loud banging from outside the gymnasium cut him off.
The minotaur was close.
“Dean, you need to get out of here,” you urged.
A minotaur was not something you wanted to tango with unless you had the right weapon. They were bulls on steroids. If your research sessions with Sam had taught you anything, it was that bullets were hardly going to tickle this thing.
Dean edged closer. “No way.” He was both frustrated and scared for you. “How did you even get up there?”
“Do you really not see the person sized hole in the ceiling?!”
“I see it, I just—” another banging rattled against the gym’s doors, which made you both flinch. “I fail to see how you always end up in these kinds of situations!”
“Better this than five feet in any other direction!” Ironically, you were very lucky to land on the basketball hoop, and not straight down onto the polished hardwood floor.
“Right, I forgot. You’re the luckiest unlucky person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve met myself.”
You snorted, but it felt forced.
Dean paced, raking a hand through his messy hair and looking desperately around the gym. Then, he abruptly stopped, muscles tensing as an idea came to him. “I got an idea, but you’re not gonna like it,” he said. “At all.” He began walking over to the doors.
“Dean?” No reply. “Dean?!”
For a second, you thought he was going to open the doors for the minotaur, but then he paused right in front of the control panel and picked open the lock. “Do you trust me?!” he shouted across the gym. Even from so far away, the look in his eyes was intense.
“I—yes—but Dean—!”
He flipped a switch.
Without warning, the hoop lurched into motion. You scrambled, clutching onto any handhold for dear life as the backboard slowly got steeper. “DEAN?!”
“Easy, easy, I’m right here.” He was beneath you again, watching your every move.
You were tense, heart beating against your ribs like a bat in a cage. “A little warning would have been nice!”
“Trust me, okay? Just sit tight, I’ll catch you if you fall. You’re going to be okay, you hear me?” His arms were ready just in case you slipped.
The hoop was halfway down when the wooden gym door shattered.
The minotaur had rammed through it, having heard your commotion, and it was huge. It had horns as long as your entire leg; beady, soulless eyes; and clouds of dust stirring from its flared nostrils.
Your blood ran cold. “Run!” You kicked your right leg for emphasis, despite the risk of falling.
Dean hesitated.
The minotaur charged, leaving Dean barely enough time to roll out of the way.
It’s horns drove deep into the hardwood where he missed, tearing up the floor like butter.
Somewhat of a silence overcame the room, only to be filled by your hoop noisily clanking in place.
The minotaur paused, reared its massive head around to look at you, and growled.
For once, you were glad to be high up.
Until it stood, that is. It was at least nine feet tall, horns adding an extra few feet to its height. It could most certainly ram its head into the hoop and kill you.
Dean’s eyes were blown wide as he made the same conclusion. “Hey, you!” he shouted, pulling out his gun. “Pick on someone your own size!” And he shot it point blank.
As predicted, it just made it angry—except, it was too stupidto know who to be angry at. Funny, since it had nested in a freaking public school—because apparently they were the modern day labyrinths. But mostly not funny, considering it attacked you.
It roared, and the entire gym trembled.
Dean booked it for the doors. You couldn’t blame him, but… man, that was cold.
The minotaur stomped toward you until you could feel its furious breath in your face, its grunts sending all your hair flying back. This was it.
Without warning, everyone—including the minotaur—stopped to listen to another obnoxious creaking which overcame the room.
You were like a statue, still staring into the dark eyes of the beast, not even daring to turn your head in the direction of the sound.
The minotaur flared its nostrils once more, pivoting on an angry hoof to look at the basketball hoop that was slowly but surely descending from the other side of the gym.
Your heart lifted, and you spotted Dean beaming at you from the control panel, probably high on relief.
You gestured around you. Excellent work, but don’t get too smug, now. We still gotta get me out of here.
Dean mouthed one word, pointing to his phone: ‘Sam.’
Well, that was good news. If Sam was on his way, then he probably had a weapon to kill it.
You both jolted as the minotaur slammed its monstrous head into the adjacent hoop and ripped it to shreds. Glass and plastic the size of plates dropped and shattered on the surrounding floor. All that was left were the beams that once held the backboard.
That would have been me.
Dean ran to you—having set off the third, fourth, and fifth hoop—and urgently mimed for you to jump into his arms.
You mimed back that, no,that was not something you could do. But you paused, his words from before coming back to you. Do you trust me?
And, yeah, you trusted him. You trusted him with your life.
So you clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming and pushed yourself off of the hoop.
Dean caught you with bent knees, cushioning the impact of your landing. One hand supporting your legs, and the other catching your back. He set you down, and, locking eyes, gave you a proud nod before turning a wary head toward the minotaur.
The hoops still occupied it, as it violently bashed its head into one hoop after another. Glass rained down in sheets, gliding dangerously on the polished ground until there was a small mountain of glass surrounding the minotaur.
You tried to stand—to get away—but your knees were weak.
Dean noticed, slipping your arm over his shoulder, hauling you up, and guiding you to the emergency exit all in one move. His priority was you.
You held your breath as a heavy rumble reverberated from outside the exit. At the moment, you wanted to strangle Sam for the worst timing ever.
You and Dean shared looks, glancing back at the minotaur who was aware of you once more.
Dean scooped you up, not even bothering to deal with your uncooperative legs, and tore his way to the exit. He barreled through the door, tumbling onto the concrete, with you falling out of his arms.
You watched, stunned, as the minotaur rammed at the door. It’s horns were too large, locking in inside the building, for even it, for now, was no match for the sturdy brick that held it in place.
Dean interrupted your daze by breaking into a random fit of laughter. There he was, on the ground of a wet, public school parking lot, throwing his head back and enjoying himself for no obvious goddamn reason.
You weren’t sure whether to be concerned or laugh with him. “What the hell is so funny?”
“S—” he could barely spit it out. He couldn’t breathe. “S-Sam’s got a—ahaha—aha—hehehe’s got a—haha—”
You turned to see what on earth Sam hadand felt your eyebrows rise to your hairline as you watched a freaking wrecking ball crane align itself with the gym.
You had heard of the Winchesters 'borrowing’ equipment, but this was next level. Where had he come across a wrecking ball?
And that bass you had heard from before? As Sam came nearer, it became more distinct.
Your jaw dropped.
Sam was blasting the song ‘Wrecking Ball’.
Dean’s howling laughter only became louder as Sam drove closer.
You could tell Sam was smirking, obviously aware of what he was doing to Dean. As Sam hit the brakes, you could see him grin and chuckle—oh he was patting himself on the back for this one.
The minotaur, dumb as a rock, was still slamming itself at the doorway. If it had any brains, it would know to get out of the way because something much larger was about to come through those doors.
Dean eventually sighed, wiping tears, sitting up to watch the demolition.
“You think the cops’ll show?” you asked.
Dean shook his head. “Nah. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be blasting music at midnight for the entire neighborhood to hear with a wrecking ball crane on school premises.” He stood and offered you a hand.
You took it. “Good point.”
The wrecking ball collided with the doorway. It caught the minotaur by the chest, crushing every bone in its body.
“If it isn’t the Winchesters. And… Winchest-ee.”
Crowley.
“Did I miss the party?” When you both glared at him, he smiled. “Is Sam enjoying his little gift?”
“You gave it to him?”
Crowley hummed. “I’m letting him borrow it. In exchange for one minotaur.”
“You want the dead minotaur?” you asked. “Why?”
“I’m going to mount it on my wall.” Crowley shrugged.
“That's… it? Taxidermy?” Dean asked skeptically.
“Yes. Do I need a betterreason? It’s cool. Obviously, I want it in Hell. Why, did you expect I’d want his soul or something? Well… of course, I want his soul, but that would never happen. We all know he’s smarter than that, Dean, no need to go full mama bear.”
Once Sam dismounted the wrecking ball crane, it vanished with a dark smoke.
Crowley sighed. “Well, I suggest you skip town—I’m expecting the school won’t be happy about your renovation.” Crowley began walking toward the now destroyed exit, disappearing into the dust and not walking back out.
Sam made his way over, smirking at the ground with his hands in his pockets. “So, how did it go for you guys?”
“Horrible.”
“Great.”
Sam was glancing between you both. “Well, someone’s lying.”
You shot Dean an odd look. “If you count me getting stuck on a basketball hoop twenty feet in the air with a minotaur trying to kill us, then you have a twisted idea of 'great’.”
“Oh, c'mon, you handled it like a champ.”
Sam’s eyebrows quirked. “You were on the basketball hoop?”
“I fell through the cheap ceiling.”
Dean snorted. “Guess they needed a renovation anyway.”
You socked him in the shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
You woke up to a deep ache in your shoulders. It was sore all the way down your back. Probably bruised to hell.
You grunted, and your breath fanned back onto your face. You attempted to move, despite your smarting back, and your hands brushed against loose dirt and flaky wood. You tried to adjust your eyes, but there was nothing to see. Just… black. Wherever you were, it was a narrow space. A dirty narrow space.
Was it time to mention you were also slightly claustrophobic?
You were sweating. The air was stuffy. But there was something cold right next to you. Something cold and yielding. You reached for it, blindly patting with your hand flat out, until your fingers curled around something with contour.
You mapped out the dimensions of the object before recoiling in horror. That was no object—that… that was a body.
Which, with your odds, meant you were in a coffin. An oddly large, though still cramped, coffin. Underground. With no way out but through the suffocating dirt.
Freaking ghouls.
Your first instinct was to scream. To pound up against the wood and holler until your throat was raw. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t, either; it was that you couldn’t.
You couldn’t breathe.
There was something in your chest right now. There had to be. A void where your lungs had been, like a vacuum that swallowed up all the usable air. Your heart was in your throat.
Were you running out of oxygen? Was it already too late? Your shallow breaths were burning a hole in your chest. You couldn’t breathe.
You reached over to the corpse, this time with urgency. Cold but still flaccid. The body had been fresh for about an hour, then. Rigor mortis hadn’t even begun.
Does it matter? a part of your mind reasoned. It sounded a little like Dean. There’s a cold, dead body next to you, you’re on your last round of air, and you still can’t stop being a nerd?
“It matters,” you muttered to yourself. “Matters ‘cause that means I’ve been stuck down here for about an hour. Takes about five hours total to run short on oxygen. Means at the very least, I’m not dying… yet.”
As hard as a transition was going to be, you needed to breathe deep and slow. But there was still a tightness in your chest.
Relax your shoulders, you could almost hear Sam chiding.
“A little… difficult to do… suffocating in a pine box,” you said, but you relaxed them anyway. You then took in your first, full breath since you woke up. That was progress.
You couldn’t count on the Winchesters finding you in time, or at all. You were going to have to take matters into your own hands and try to climb out of the grave. Dean had done it before, so you could too.
Dean’s also, like, 200 pounds of muscle, Sam cautioned.
If you were going to climb out of your grave, you needed a mask to protect your face from the dirt. Which meant you were going to need to work your shirt off of your head. You brushed your hand over your stomach. Well, you must have put up a fight. Your shirt was shredded, so… that was a no go.
The dead guy had a shirt, Dean said.
Fantastic.
You looked over to your left, to the corpse you couldn’t see. You reached over, awkwardly pulling the shirt up. Its cool skin grazed yours as you worked the fabric over its head.
The neck didn’t jerk about; it was rigid, but the arms weren’t. Rigor mortis was kicking into gear. Which meant you had been down here for roughly two hours. Working as a hunter, you needed to have some level of knowledge on the dead.
Such a nerd, you could see Dean rolling his eyes.
You tied the bottom of the shirt which took a little while with your arms pinned down and the pitch darkness to guide you. Finally, though, you made a tight knot.
You pulled the shirt over your head like a bag and sat there for a moment. You wished the Winchesters could talk you through this.
That’s when you broke at the pine box. The dirt was cold, dry, and thankfully loose. It fell in clumps around your shoulders, and you shoved it down at your feet.
Climbing your way past the dirt was no joke. It was grimy and freaking difficult. It was like those foam pits that gymnasts use that are nearly impossible to work your way out of, except in complete darkness with limited space. In other words, a freaking nightmare.
But you kept working. Kept pushing up while pushing the dirt down. Six feet, Sam reminded you. Just six feet. Once you’re standing, just work upward. Should be about as tall as I am, yeah?
You made a risky move upward, throwing your hand up as far as it could go, and touched air. A light breeze fell over your skin.
To say it was encouragement was an exaggeration. You worked twice as hard, shoving your way to the top. When your hand felt hard dirt, you crunched your abs and pulled until your chest hit the surface. You frantically dug your legs out before collapsing on the ground.
You went into a fit of hysterical laughter, a result of your adrenaline high and the last throes of your panic.You threw the filthy t-shirt off of your head, inhaling the air that you had once taken for granted.
In your brief delirium, you recalled Dean Winchester retelling his old raising-from-perdition story. He had hardly mentioned climbing out of his grave, as if it hadn’t been important. His focus had mainly been on the mystery of the angels and how they turned out to be douches. He had made this part sound like a. Slice. Of. Pie.
And, well, you got a freaking reality check today. Because it was an entire body workout, and it was exactly as terrifying as it sounded—no, worse. Waking up in pitch darkness, in a small space, with a corpse, six feet under the ground? Hell naw. You were lucky you’d had enough trauma to know how to push back your panic. Because two years ago, you probably would have rotted down there, helpless.
It left you to wonder, though. Why the ghouls left you alive, and not the dead guy. All the other grave desecrations had been long dead—but you were the first to live.
First, you were going to have to get back to the motel. You already knew the boys were gonna freak.
///
When you opened up the hotel door, the Winchesters sprang out of their chairs, barking your name in surprise. “You're—you're…” Sam stammered as he took in your state. You couldn’t blame him; the grave had covered you in dirt from neck to toe.
“Alive. I know,” you said. “I’m also really dirty. You mind if I use your guys’ shower?”
Sam blinked. “No, not at all, but uh, seriously—what happened?”
You let out a halfhearted, breathy laugh. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” You tried to shrug past Dean, but he caught your arm.
“You were gone for three hours,” he said.
“Look, we’re just worried about you. Could you humor us?” Sam added. His eyes were pleading and damn hard to say no to.
You scowled. “You two gotta tell me what happened on your end first. Deal?”
“Deal,” Dean said. “You know most of it. Several grave desecrations of old gravestones, but fresh bodies where bones should be. People in town go missing a few days before that. We split: you went to check on the newest body, while we checked the cemetery. We ganked the ghoul, figured you were coming back from the morgue, but you never showed. After about three hours of looking, we came back here to see if you had maybe come back at all. Actually, we were just about to leave again.” Dean clapped his hands. “Did you ever find anything at the morgue?”
“Yeah, the guy had died from…” …asphyxiation. You trailed off. “Oh crap…”
“What? What is it?”
“Asphyxiation. The guy… he, uh, he had died from asphyxiation. Originally, I mean. The ghoul had been burying his food to eat later. Like… like a squirrel. Must have taken the guy out to snack on, but he was already dead.” It was all coming together. “The ghoul was either stupid or confident because he got sloppy. Probably because he was too hungry to care. That’s why… why I… why I…” Damn it, you let that slip. You peered around them, looking for escape. “Guys, hey, can I just shower? I really just wanna—”
This time, Sam caught your arm. He was gentle, but he had a firm grip. “That’s why you what?”
You clammed up, peeling your eyes away from them. “Why I… uh…” you couldn’t think of an excuse, and the silence was becoming too long to make a convincing one on the spot. You should have walked into this room with a workable lie in mind, but all you had wanted was to shower, scrub all the dirt off your skin, and to lather soap where you had touched that god-awful corpse. You just wanted to be clean and to sleep.
And you seriously were trying to tell them things. Lying sucked, but this? You weren’t sure if you could tell them this and come out of it in one piece.
Sam softly said your name again, trying to bring your eyes back to his. It was too easy. He knew your tells. Your eyes always gave you away if you lied.
We’re never going to let this die, your inner Dean voice sang. And you internally swatted it away.
I know, you thought sourly. Behind your eyes, a pressure built. Just let me go so I can cry alone. I can’t cry in front of you. I can’t. “He—it… might have… buried me alive.” It took everything you had in you for your voice to stay steady.
Both of them rocked back a little. Dean looked a little dazed, and Sam looked pale. Sam tilted his head, “Excuse me, buried—?”
“It explains the dirt,” Dean sighed. “No offense, sweetheart, but you smell like a toilet.”
Oh, shove it, Winchester.
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I just want to shower—”
“Hold on,” Sam said. He had his hands combing his hair. “Hold on, hold on, just— am I the only one bothered by this?! She— you could have died!”
“But I didn’t,” “But she didn’t,” you and Dean said in unison. He winked at you and you rolled your eyes back.
“Sam. I have been through a lot. You know it, I know it. I’m not that girl from two years ago. You said it yourself once before: I’m a Winchester now. And I’m not a Winchester without a few near death experiences.”
Sam scowled. “You two are so frustrating. Fine, go. Go take your shower. This conversation isn’t over, though.”
Thank God. You could handle this later. The conversation alone had keyed you up. You were burning with tension, anxiety, and trauma. You waved a hand at him. “Fine. But can we do it in the morning? I am so frickin’ exhausted.” It wasn’t a lie; you had bruises lining your entire back, and your face muscles hurt from all the fake expressions you were sending Sam.
They can’t know that I’m weak. How hard could it be, anyway?
Dean did it once, like a freaking champ. Why couldn’t you just suck it up and be a big girl?
He looked on at you with that sad, thoughtful look of his. Complete with the infamous Winchester puppy eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
You were happy to get out of the conversation—and this hunt—relatively unscathed. Hopefully, you would never have to go through that crap ever again, or you really didn’t think you’d be able to keep yourself together like you just had.
When you shut the bathroom door behind you, you let the silent tears run down your face. You bit your hand, heaving, wishing you had the freedom to scream. But you couldn’t, so you didn’t. All you did was turn on the shower right as you let out a quiet sob into a towel to muffle it out.
Why did your life suck so bad?
///
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You and Sam had been wrapping up a wendigo case. The wendigos had been twins, so you had split off. You and Sam taking on the first one, and Dean on the other side of the park taking the second.
Shortly after ganking the first wendigo twin, Dean called Sam for backup… which apparently didn’t include you, because Sam hadn’t even blinked when he abandoned you with the Impala.
It was ten miles up this stretch of road. Course, it wouldn’t take Sam very long. But you? That was at least a two-hour walk, if not three. Running would be faster, but you were wiped after being out in the blistering sun all day.
The sky was dimming, too. Even if you had ganked the wendigo, walking alone in the woods at dark was a big hunter no-no. Your pistol was useless against a wendigo, and Sam had taken the flare gun.
You could take a shortcut through the woods to get to the campground. Less than a half a mile in, and you’d be right next to tents and RV’s. Surely you could hitch a ride from that point, if not, hot-wire a car.
With that, you veered off the trail. The terrain was muddy and covered with old, dead leaves. “Stupid Winchesters,” you said, kicking at the tall grass and brooding. It was like you were a freaking balloon. Appealing, but easily forgotten. Replaceable. Dispensable.
You kicked again at a tree and a rock. And when that wasn’t satisfying, you kicked a patch of grass.
Excruciating. Pain.
Your vision whited out, momentarily going numb, then refocusing entirely on your leg. Your scream echoed back into your ears.
You had fallen. You wheezed, trying and failing to collect yourself before finally sitting up. Carefully, you moved your leg in front of you to look at the injury. Your teeth tore at your lip to hold back a scream when the movement jolted your leg.
It was a bear trap. The muscle and fat had cushioned most of the blow, but it had cut deep enough to let blood seep into your jeans.
You could still wiggle your toes, which was a good sign. It wasn’t like the movies; they designed bear traps to catch the leg of a bear, not cut it off. But holy hell if it didn’t feel like it had.
You need to push down on the springs. Dean’s voice bounced around in your head.
“Springs…” you muttered. “Okay, okay, springs.” You pressed down on each of the springs with all your might and the trap pried open. You pulled your leg out, releasing the trap altogether and letting it snap onto itself.
With your leg free, you rolled your jeans up so you could assess the damage. You had multiple stabs from where the spikes drove into your skin, and each spike had made about a centimeter long incision into your calf. You had dry blood caked along your leg, so it was hard to see how bad it really was.
Wearing layers as a hunter always came in handy. You ripped a large strip of fabric from your shirt, wrapping it around your leg wound; zipped your jacket closed; and pulled your jeans down over the wound, thankful that they were dark enough to hide the blood stain.
Now, to get help. Sam took the flares, so you pulled out your phone. You could probably call emergency numbers. Except… the Winchesters didn’t need ambulances, cops, or authorities snooping around until this Wendigo thing blew over. You would just be putting more people in danger.
You scrolled through your contacts, muscle memory bringing you to Dean’s number first, since it was alphabetical.
It rang for two beats before something clicked.
“Hey, what’s up?”
You fell back with relief. “Dean, hey, could you pick me up? Your stupid brother left me stranded out here.”
You could almost feel the glare Dean was giving his brother in his voice. “Course, where are you?”
It would probably be smarter if you had him pick you up on the trail, rather than search for you. “Sammy knows where it is. Same stretch of road.”
You could walk back. It wasn’t too far.
“Alright. Be there in a few.” And then he hung up.
You wiped the stray tears from your eyes and prepared yourself. You stood with the help of a tree, teetering. Your leg was painfully tender, and your knees rocked under your weight.
It was possible to walk, sure, and it wasn’t far on two good legs, but you had largely underestimated the effort you were going to need to get there.
You were going to take a helluva long nap when this was all over.
///
When you made it to the road, you took it upon yourself to sit down at a large stump. The day had faded into night, and you could hear the raccoons shrieking.
Finally, the low rumble of the Impala could be heard over the cicadas. You stood, albeit a little wobbly, and somehow walked closer to the road without limping.
Headlights washed over the ground and made long shadows. Dean’s window was rolled down, and his eyes drank you in. Satisfied that you didn’t look too roughed up, he motioned to the back door.
Sam had a tight smile. “Hey, I’m sorry about—”
“It’s cool,” you said. “Seriously. No harm done, I just wanna get back to the motel and shower.” Well, yes harm done, but the shower is the escape. I just need to escape for a little while. The last thing you wanted was the Winchesters getting all freaked.
Dean looked at you a little skeptical. “Forgiven that easy? Dude, if he had done that to me I’d’ve punched him.”
Sam scowled at his brother.
You laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not one for grudges. I know he didn’t mean it.” Or did he? Then, you went quiet.
Dean was giving you ‘the look’ in the rearview mirror, and you tried not to acknowledge it, but you could tell that he knew something was off. Did you leave blood somewhere?
“You sure you’re okay? You’re kinda pale,” he questioned.
You wanted to retaliate, to shout, Dean, shut up, I’m literally fine. But then he would know. So you shrugged instead. “I’m cool.” You stretched, careful to set your leg somewhere comfortable before resting your head on the window.
The peace didn’t last long. The Impala went over a pothole, jostling your leg and you cursed out loud before you could bite your tongue.
“What is it?” Dean asked.
“I’m trying to nap back here,” you snapped. “You’re shakin’ the whole car.”
“My bad.”
You rolled your eyes.
The rest of the ride went fine. Until you had to get out of the car. You swung your leg around, but when you put pressure on it, you nearly fell on your face. Fortunately, you caught yourself, gingerly shifting your weight onto your other leg.
“I knew it. I knew you were hurt,” Dean growled, coming over to haul you up by the shoulder. “Why do you insist on hiding this stuff from us?”
You let him shoulder most of your weight, leaning on him. “Because you baby me!”
“We don’t baby you, we make sure you’re freaking okay, so we don’t screw your injuries up even more. And you’re not really the reliable type,” Dean said, scowling.
He pulled you into the motel a little roughly. He was irate—the upturn of his lips were not a smile, rather, a sneer. Yeah, he was sick of your crap. You didn’t blame him.
He sat himself on the bed across from you, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see it.”
You didn’t move. You needed to explain first. “Dean, before you—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I was—”
He said you name in a low, warning tone.
Welp. You let your shoulders drop, sulking. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“I figured, when you decided not to tell me about it. Show me the damn wound, or so help me—”
“Promise you won’t yell.”
“I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”
That shut you up. You reached down reluctantly. Rolling up your jeans, you brought your eyes to the wall. You didn’t want to see his face. When he was silent for longer than you were comfortable with, you mumbled, “It was a bear trap.”
“Yeah, I’m seeing that,” he snapped.
That’s when Sam walked in with the bags. His expression crumpled. He murmured your name in alarm, tossing the bags on the adjacent desk. He looked so disappointed in you. “What the hell? You said you were—”
“I was fine. Cool. Yeah, I know. I lied, okay?” you admitted uncomfortably. “You two are just a bit overwhelming sometimes. I was going to tell you—”
“When? When were you going to tell us?” Dean barked.
You knew Dean loved you and was protective, but sometimes he was so pushy. “I don’t—I was handling it, okay?”
Sam’s expressions shifted into realization. “Hold up, did you walk back to the road?”
Dean analyzed you, and did not like his findings. “She did,” he announced. “She freaking—” he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom.
You sighed, pulling your head into your hands.
Sam shook his head. “The bear trap would have been in the woods, and we picked you up at the road.”
“I took a brief detour, which never would have happened if you hadn’t ditched me!”
Sam snapped his mouth shut.
Dean came out of the bathroom with a med kit. “Lets see how bad this thing is.” You stuck your leg out on display, wincing as you placed it on the bed.
Dean dug out the alcohol and cotton balls. Right. He had to sterilize the wound.
Not much missed Dean Winchester. He could read your body language pretty dang well. He watched as you stiffened, and his expression softened. He nodded to Sam, who moved to sit beside you on the bed.
You breathed deep, a slow panic setting in, and it hitched as Sam’s hands fell onto your shoulders. “Relax your shoulders”, he said. “It’s going to sting a little, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
Winchesters. In all irony, as much as they left you in the worst freaking moments, they were also there when you needed them afterward.
Or maybe that was just you getting sentimental before Dean agitated a painful wound of yours.
You hissed as he first dabbed the cotton ball onto the lacerations. He wasn’t harsh with it, but he wasn’t gentle, either. His movements had a clinical urgency to them— quick and fluid.
You leaned into Sam’s loose embrace, which tightened a little as you settled yourself.
Dean hummed at his work. “You’re lucky. It worked deep, but it’s nothing that some stitches can’t fix. You’ll have some ugly bruising tomorrow, though.”
That was some good news. You sent them a soft smile. “Thanks, guys. Really. I know I can be a bit… secretive. Sorry for that.”
“We just want you to open up a little more. That’s all we’re asking.”
You huffed a little laugh, then squirmed as Dean drove the needle in for the first stitch. “I wonder who I learned it from.”
Sam waved his flashlight around the porch of the house. “Neither do I. But this is our only chance to gank this shapeshifter before it moves to the next town.”
“I just have a gut feeling.” You met eyes. In the shadows, they were a deep, compassionate brown.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Well, that wasn’t happening. “Forget it,” you huffed, nervously stepping into the front yard.
“I mean it. If you aren’t comfortable, then I can do this myself. I’ll understand.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m coming with.”
Sam’s eyes lingered on you before nodding slowly and turning away, keeping the flashlight pointed at the door as he approached it. When the door handle didn’t turn, he fished his pockets for his lock pick.
Meanwhile, you stayed on guard, anxiously looking into the dark street like you expected a jump scare. You hugged yourself as the icy breeze bit through your jacket, saying, “I hate this.”
“My offer still stands.”
“Your offer still sucks.”
He shut up, leaving you some time to ponder about the case.
One who was oblivious to the supernatural might believe the MacDonalds—and, yes, Dean had a blast poking fun at their surname—were just an unfortunate family. It was a small home—or were small homes now, you supposed—containing two divorced parents and their only child.
Knowing that the shapeshifter would strike tonight, you had to split between the two households. Dean took to the father, meanwhile, you and Sam took the mother, knowing that the entire family went for a therapy session.
Dean’s little parody, ‘Old McDonald had a therapist’ played into your head. At most annoying, if a little pitchy.
The break-in, you suspected, was exactly where the shapeshifter was getting all his DNA to shift.
Most people didn’t realize the trauma that came with a theft, and you had the misfortune of experiencing it. You once lost trust in the lock of door—lost trust that it would hold or that you could sleep in peace knowing that you were alone. All because a werewolf-witch hybrid decided he wanted your heart, and not in a sexy way. But that was another story.
Thankfully, now, you felt more at ease with the Winchesters—though that didn’t mean you couldn’t relate with the poor family. Break-ins were terrifying.
And not only had there been one break-in, but two. The shifter had been in both homes, which put an even larger strain on the family’s relationship. They quickly turned against each other, throwing accusations and lawsuits to feel more powerful. When really, they were both victims.
It was really an unfortunate situation for everyone involved.
You shook your head. “I can’t even imagine what that kid went through. I wouldn’t doubt they were trying to get him to take sides. Just imagine your parents doing that to you. I could never.”
Sam gave you a funny look. “Can’t really imagine. Both of my parents are dead.”
Oh, damn. You should have known. “I’m so sorry—”
Sam shrugged. “It’s fine—you didn’t know. Anyway, it was… years ago.” He looked uncomfortable. “Can we focus?”
“Yeah.”
Sam jiggled the thing in the lock, and when it clicked, he straightened, slowly pushing the door open, slightly wincing as it creaked. He crept forward, entering the home and shining his flashlight on possible hiding spots in the shadows, wary of anyone that could be inside.
You followed close behind, unwilling to split up like people do in horror movies. Thankfully, Sam didn’t mention it. Perhaps he felt the same.
“This is so creepy.” The house was giving you the heebie-jeebies. There was a narrow staircase which slowly disappeared into the darkness of the upstairs, and none of the lights would turn on with the flipped switch.
“Huh,” Sam said, bouncing the flashlight in his hand. “Guess this will have to do.”
“You got a second one? Not a big fan of the dark.”
You could nearly see the gears turning in his head. It was no secret you were afraid of the dark. Ever since, well, multiple unpleasant experiences.
You probably needed a therapist more than the MacDonalds—but Dean had rubbed off on you, always talking negatively about those 'shrinks’.
Anyway, what was the point of a therapist when you always had to lie to them? It wasn’t like you could ever tell them the whole truth—you’d be sent to an insane asylum.
Even PTSD wasn’t worth that.
Sam hummed, patting his pockets. “Nah, Dean took it. We’ll have to share.” Then, to your surprise, he handed you the flashlight.
You blinked. “Thanks.”
He took a lighter from his breast pocket and shrugged. “No problem.”
You stepped further into the house, feeling bolder with the flashlight in your hands. The light fell over a cabinet, and with it, two framed photos alongside a small lamp.
Sam was your shadow, peering over your shoulder at the cabinet. He reached a hand, tracing over the dust of the family photo. The eyes of the child were flashing gold.
You stared. And stared some more. “Well, that’s…” you trailed off.
“…yeah,” Sam agreed.
“His eyes are…”
“…yeah.”
You both briefly took in that information. “So the kid was…”
Sam’s mind was on the same track. “I’ll call Dean,” he said, walking to the kitchen and using his lighter to see the buttons on his flip phone.
You scanned the room, waving the flashlight until it illuminated a thin gooey membrane on the bathroom floor, which trailed out into the hallway. “Oh, god, no,” you said. You inched closer, shining the light down on the mound of slimy shapeshifter skin on the tile.
“Sam!” you called, running back to the main of the house where you nearly crashed into him.
“We need to go,” you both said simultaneously.
Sam pointed to the foggy window where red and blue lights had replaced the black abyss of the night. “Save your I-told-you-so’s. We need to get out of here. Now,” Sam said.
As you made it for the backdoor, he grabbed your arm. “No,” he pointed to the kitchen. “Window."
The kitchen window was a decent sized opening. He climbed through easily, and you tumbled out after him, terrified to your core.
The lights were almost blinding.
An officer shouted, his silhouette darting out from the shadows. You hauled yourself over the tall wooden fence, just a hair behind Sam, right as the officer caught up.
A gloved hand grabbed your arm.
Like a deer in a bear trap, you fought as they tried to secure your wrist. "Help me, help, help, help,” was all you could cry as Sam ran back. You struggled to wrench your hand out of the tight grip; punching at it, but it was like iron. You could see more officers were nearing.
Sam set fire to the officer’s hand with his lighter, but it still didn’t let go. Smoke rose and you finally stabbed the hand with your silver knife.
The officer shouted and released you.
You and Sam sprinted down the grass to the sidewalk, feet rapid, aiming for the line of trees on the horizon. The forest would provide enough cover for the police to lose sight of you.
It had turned into a footrace.
You tried to match your steps with Sam, but his legs were longer and stronger than yours. You weren’t a poor runner by any means, but he surpassed your endurance by a long shot.
So did the officers, apparently, as they were gaining ground on you.
You were just a step behind Sam (who was hardly breaking a sweat), struggling to keep your distance between you and the advancing officers.
Your breath was hot, your lungs already burned, and you lost your pace. Sam noticed and grunted, glancing at you from his peripheral. It was just a little noise, but it brought the strength and energy back into your step.
The trees were a few blocks away. Just a little further, and you could catch your breath in the shadows.
You let out a strangled yell as your nervous system completely frizzed, seizing and crumpling to the ground in a breathless heap.
Sam shouted your name.
You blinked up, dazed and confused. What… what was… was I shot? What…
The officer was ordering you to put your hands behind your back, waving a yellow device at your chest.
A taser. One prong dug into your chest, while the other was deep in your leg.
And the officer was at liberty to light it up again.
You complied, slowly bringing your stiff arms back, so they could cuff them. And from the scuffling to your right, Sam was doing the same.
You could take on monsters any day, but three officers with loaded guns and tasers? It wasn’t a fair fight.
This officer was seemingly much more pleased with himself in comparison to his partners. He lugged you up beside a planted tree, not to be confused with the woods, which was standing ten feet away. How irritating.
His eyes flashed golden, and you tensed under his hold.
“You’re the shapeshifter,” you breathed.
“Must you spoil the surprise?” All at once, he raised his gun and killed the other officers with two resounding bangs.
You screamed.
Sam stumbled in his handcuffs, which had him secured to the chain link fence to your left. His eyes were like saucers as the officer arresting him dropped dead at his feet. “What… why… why did you…” he asked, stunned. “You’re the…”
You bit back another scream as the monster put a knife to your throat. The blade’s edge was cold, just enough to be painful against your skin.
Sam’s hazel eyes were dark. “What do you want?"
His cuffs were far too low for him to stand, so he had to awkwardly hunker down. It looked uncomfortable.
The maniac had the blade right against your jugular. All it would take is pissing this guy off, and it would be over—you’d be dead.
"You’re going to give me the demon knife,” the monster demanded. His hand was dripping blood from where you’d stabbed him.
“How entitled,“ you said.
The knife pressed harder. “I don’t care what you have to say, girl. Sam Winchester has the demon knife, and I want it.”
"Well, good luck, chuckles.” You spat, “Because Sam sure ain’t going to listen to you.”
Sam’s brooding, however, didn’t waver.
The shifter trailed the knife along the veins of your neck. “It wouldn’t be hard for me to kill her.”
"He’s bluffing,” you said, and you fell on the wet dirt, choking back a scream as he lit up the taser.
He leaned in, his breath warm on your ear. “Not bluffing,” the shifter said. "I just have better things to do than pick fights with noble Winchesters.” His eyes flashed. “My only exception is the knife. It’s the demon knife, or it’s her. You choose.”
“Sam…” you warned. “ Sam don’t—” The shifter pulled the taser’s trigger, and you keeled over into the dirt, trying not to cry. “Sam—” you tried in vain. You were met with another interval of several long, excruciating seconds.
Getting tased felt like a full-body charley horse. Pitchforks instead of prongs. Portable Hell.
Little tremors still ran through your arms. You wanted to tell Sam that you couldn’t let the knife get into the hands of this psycho, but from the look on his face, you could tell he was thinking the same.
It wasn’t that the knife mattered to you (because it didn’t, you had angel blades that worked just fine against demons) but it was that the knife would matter in the shifter’s hands. This guy was clearly unhinged.
You were all for killing demons, but giving any kind of knife to this guy just put a bad feeling in your gut. If there was anything you’d learned today, it was that your gut had a pretty good intuition.
“This can go on…” he sighed. “Though, I’m not sure how long a human heart can take this."
“Enough.” Sam finally said, glaring. "We’ll give you the knife.”
“Oh, you’re not giving me anything. You’re going to tell me where it is, and I’m taking it.”
You couldn’t let Sam tell him where it was. “What do you want it for, anyway?” you snarled. “It can’t be of any use to you. You kill people, not demons.”
“Sure, it’s of use to me. Demons are scum on the earth. They kidnapped and tortured my family, and the knife is just what I need to avenge them.”
“So that gives you the right to hurt the MacDonalds? What would you want with them anyway?”
The shifter laughed. “Oh, all that? That was just a case to reel you guys in. I knew you’d follow the little ‘omens’. And then you’d see the skin I left so clumsily by the dumpster, and you’d talk with the parents and find out that… oh, wow, their stories aren’t matching up about each other—how could I have been so messy? Silly, stupid shifter.”
He smiled, resting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing. “You know, it was funny watching you do the whole 'monster test’ on the parents. It was cute. You’d never assume it was the child, would you?”
The photo on the cabinet had been from before the parents had divorced, so this guy must have planted himself for at least four months, doing whatever he pleased until the Winchesters got wind of his ‘mistakes’.
“Honestly,” he said. “I couldn’t care less about the MacDonalds; I was just biding my time until the infamous Winchesters showed.”
Sam’s lips were curled in disgust. “All this for a knife?”
You noticed a shadow twitch from behind Sam and in the line of trees. So small a movement that if you blinked, you would have missed it.
The shifter sneered. “Rather hypocritical, coming from someone who would do anything for their family. Would do anything to get the Colt to kill the devil.”
“That’s a lot different—” Sam argued.
Again, you saw something move in the woods.
The monster cried, “No! No, it’s not! These demons—they’re slaying my kin. They’ve ruined everything, and so have you! All you’ve ever—”
You intervened before it got out of hand. “You know what? Fine. I’ll tell you where it is,” you said. “After all, just a knife, right Sam?”
Sam’s expression became one of absolute bewilderment. “What? What are you…”
“Where is it?” The blade dragged down and dug a little harder at your collarbone.
You couldn’t help but smile. “You’ll find it in Hell.”
Dean Winchester took the shot.
The silver bullet hit its target on point. Right through the shifter’s heart, and the monster crumpled, its skin already peeling.
Dean ran over, shotgun slung over his shoulder. "You guys okay?!”
“Yeah. The crazy shifter wanted the demon knife.” Sam nodded. “Lockpick in my left pocket.”
“Got one already,” Dean said, waving his. “Why didn’t you just give the knife to him? You guys look like he beat the shit out of you.” He worked on picking Sam’s cuffs.
“I had a bad gut feeling,” you grunted. “He would have killed us afterward.” You were in a daze. Your muscles were rigid and they smarted like a bitch. Your skin was tingling.
Dean glanced your way, and when he saw your condition, left Sam the lockpick to do the rest himself. “Jesus—hey. Kid? Hey, hey, you gotta stay awake.”
“M'fine,” you groaned. “Just really sore.”
“What happened?” His eyes flitted over you.
“Zzch zzch zzch,” you mumbled, imitating the noise. “Taser. Not fun.”
“How many times he get ya?”
“Too many.”
Dean angrily worked the cuffs off your wrists. “That could have killed you.”
You knew he was referring to your time with the werewitch, which left you with a few heart complications. You shrugged. “Didn’t.”
Sighing, Dean hauled you up. “All this for a gut feeling?”
“He would have actually killed us if we let him get his way,” you said, leaning into him. “Could see it in his eyes.”
Dean threw your arm over his shoulder. “You gonna recover?”
Dean flashed you a cheesy grin. “You did good out there tonight. Proud of you.” His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, but he still seemed mostly sober.
He was checking out the group of women up at the front of the bar, who wore more revealing clothing than you dared.
You envied their confidence. Sometimes you wished you had the grit to do that stuff.
Dean didn’t fake reluctance to leave you or Sam. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. When he finished his drink, he made his move, leaving the table, and you and Sam with it.
The younger Winchester smiled at you awkwardly. You could tell he wanted to leave as well—he and some girl at the bar had been making googly eyes at each other since he walked in—but was conflicted on leaving you.
“Sam,” you said impatiently. “That girl has been giving you the eyes since we walked in. And don’t think I don’t see you sending them back. If you don’t get up now, I’ll push you over there.”
You were glad that women weren’t assuming you and Sam—or Dean—were together; it made everything much less complicated. Both of the Winchesters were way out of your league. You were more likely the sister they never had.
He was a little surprised, and a little amused by your attitude. “Oh, really?”
“Don’t test me,” you joked.
He laughed, collecting his jacket and walking away.
Your deluding smile fell from your face once you were alone. Bars were usually their choice of festivity, but they mostly just made you uncomfortable.
You were now alone, as both of the boys hit on some chicks and snuck off to get laid. You were used to it. It wasn’t your ideal celebration, but if it made them happy, you’d bear it. You supposed they just assumed your interests matched theirs. Even if all you wanted to do was go home and sleep.
Anyway, the faster the Winchesters both left with broads, the faster you could leave. It was just that simple.
You sipped your whiskey that Dean had paid for. It was strong, and hard to swallow, but in small portions it was tolerable. You appreciated the gift, even if it wasn’t your preferred drink. Dean had a big heart, and you wouldn’t ruin your sweet moments with him because you were feeling picky.
You let your mind wander to a darker place.
You were still coming to terms with hunter life. And from what you’ve gathered, it was cruel, unfair, and thankless.
The Winchesters didn’t sugarcoat it, either. Everything that society looked down upon—the suspiciously cult-ish tattoos, borderline or over-the-line alcoholism (a line you were uncertain where Dean fell), and cheap clothing with leather jackets—was a signature of a hunter’s life. Not to mention the trigger-happy hands, suspicious glares, and their off-putting, dark looks.
It opened your eyes.
That “gothic” girl you saw in your neighborhood? That might have looked like a satanic tattoo, but it was actually an anti-possession tattoo that she got because she was terrified of the demons that wanted to kill her. And those knives in her pocket and backpack? That was for her safety, and probably yours, too.
Or that shady alcoholic up the street? Werewolves brutally murdered his friends, and he has to live with the survivor’s guilt. He drinks while obsessively researching how to hunt them down. Though he’ll likely die of a failing liver before ever taking on the pack.
The point was…
Looks weren’t always transparent.
And, well, you were everything hunters weren’t.
Your pain tolerance was pathetic, for one. Tattoos? Big nope. You hated all things needles, and despite tattoos looking cool, you liked to avoid pain, thanks.
Second, your wardrobe. As if that wasn’t blatantly obvious.
And, last, you were a hopeless lightweight. A few shots and you were tipsy. Dean thought it was hilarious.
Still, you drank your whiskey, feeling guilty that you hated it.
You were tired. It was dark out, and you could already feel the whiskey in your system. You just wanted to go home.
So the last thing you expected that night was for a guy to hit on you. You, feeling unlike yourself—and very drunk—warily flirted back.
He was charming. Thing was, with your buzzing vision, all you noticed were his eyes and handsome smile. You didn’t notice the more important things, like, say… the roofies dissolving in your drink.
Too bad you hadn’t—because you wouldn’t have let him breathe down your neck like he had been… or breathe at all, for that matter.
Your words slurred, and you leaned into him when he stood. “Hey, hey, h-hey, mister. Wheeere ya’ goin’ off to?”
You were smashed.
You didn’t feel too hot, either. You were practically dangling off his shoulders as he helped you from your chair, and your stomach churned. “I don’ feel so guud…” you slurred, keeling over to vomit on the pavement. Huh. You were outside?
You made out two shapes that looked dubiously like him. Albeit one may have very well been a trash can. “Yeeuur kindouf prr…retty.”
He snickered, though you weren’t sure what was so funny. “Just let it sink in,” he said. “It’s okay, babe.”
What was he talking about? You frowned, troubled. “Doe… don'ttt… calmeh that.”
There was only a muddy sense of direction. You fizzled in and out of consciousness, and your memory escaped you.
You were completely at this man’s mercy.
///
You woke up feeling like hell. The lights… the sounds…it was all too loud.
Your head felt like a crushed soda can. You turned—inch by inch—trying to get a view of the entire room, tied up—which, yeah, was a big red flag—and leaned awkwardly against the wall. When you finally saw behind you, you met the eyes of multiple other women in your same predicament.
The previous evening was a haze. Your mind was still catching up with the present, much less the past.
Something in the shadows of the room moved, and you watched as two figures loomed over an unconscious woman covered in dark, bloody bites around her neck and chest.
“Vamps,” you spat. But it came more like “vamffptss” through your gag with a few lisp-y expletives.
They spun around, smiling to themselves. A vampire crouched down to your level, taunting you, “Ah, so there is more to her than a pretty face! Who would have known? Are you a hunter, babe?”
A memory clicked as he said that. You might say it rang a bell—an alarm bell, anyway—but you couldn’t place it. His voice was bouncing around in your head and it was hard to focus.
“Sssgrew you.”
He stood, gave you a smirk, and drove his foot into your abdomen. Hard.
“Wow. I mean, you were a little feisty at the bar, but I never would have envisioned you’d have so much kick.” He winked at you, then turned back to his goonies. “Alright. Ship ‘em. Mark the pretty ones. They’ll be worth more.”
You puffed, still recovering from the harsh blow, as a skinny redhead yanked you up by the ropes. He was watching you like one looks in a microwave at their meal.
You thrashed. It was a weak move, hardly knocking him back on his heels, but it was also a minor triumph.
Then said vampire punched your throat, and all smugness disappeared.
The lead vamp turned to see the commotion and erupted, “Are you kidding me? Christ—get the gag off her, will you?!” When the others looked at him in alarm and skepticism, he barked, “She’s no use to us dead! Do you want her suffocating?”
Carrot Top worked the gag from your aching jaw, and you just laid there, winded, like a dead dog.
The Lead Vamp grabbed the shirt collar of your redhead attacker. “Hey, maybe don’t punch 'em in the throat next time. They’re gonna squirm a little—it’s what they do. So ignore it.”
“Yessir’.”
“Good. And, hey, guys—bag the ugly ones. I got a client for them.”
You coughed, propping yourself up by the elbow. You were concerned. Am I ugly?
The redhead vamp kicked you down by your arm, hissing, “Not you. We got a special guy for you. Likes the fighters.”
You were so tired and weak and helpless. Couldn’t do anything but lay there. You could only watch as the other vamps manhandled poor, terrified women.
“Leeches,” you said, earning you a foot to the face.
“Do yourself a favor and shut up.”
It was hard to not comply. As your head lolled, you spat blood at his feet. You would not go down easy.
He hauled you up, and his punch cracked like a whip.
You stared at his bloody knuckles, feeling your own arms twitch. The ropes were loose. You wondered briefly if you could even run—
Another strike had your vision swimming with stars.
“Hey. I got a question—huff—” You said, taking the punches like a champ and distracting him. “Has anyone ever told you—uff—that you look like—guh—Strawberry Shortcake?”
The ropes worked off your wrists and when he swung, you ducked—or fell, more like—away from his swing. Breathless, you pulled yourself to your feet to run.
The adrenaline was really the only thing keeping you going. Thing was, adrenaline didn’t give you accuracy, it just gave you strength. And little that strength was.
And, woah, was the ground spinning. You gagged as you watched the hallway sway. You were not in any shape to run, but you sure as hell tried to. You stumbled down the hallway, your knees giving out multiple times before you couldn’t pick yourself up again.
The vamp’s yell echoed down the hallway. “You’re not a hunter anymore, little lamb! You’re the hunted!” It probably wouldn’t take much for him to follow the sound of your hummingbird heart.
That was enough encouragement to get anyone on their toes. Even someone who was shaking like a leaf.
Whatever roofie they’d given you, it was enhanced. Everything was so hot and bright and loud. You wished the world could just be quiet. Your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your teeth.
You clambered to the exit, reaching for the doors to push them open.
Just then, a hand pitched you backward, pulling down on your shoulder. You yelled out, petrified.
“It’s me, it’s just me,” Dean whispered quickly, easing you through the door, around the corner, and to where Baby was parked.
Your heart was still jack hammering in your chest as he pulled you in for a hug. You were high as a kite on adrenaline.
“Been looking all over for you.” The pitch in his voice was more stressed than usual. You were like a little sister to him.
You leaned into his embrace. It was warm and solid and safe. And it was exactly what you needed to ground yourself.
“He drugged me,” you blurted. “He drugged me. I couldn’t—he just—”
He paled. “Did he touch you?” When you paused, his expression darkened. “I’ll rip his lungs out. I’ll kill every single one of them. I'll—”
“He didn’t touch me,” you interrupted. “Not like that.” You rested your forehead against his chest.
“Thank god.”
“But I think they would’ve.” You practically melted as he smoothed your hair down. “They’re human trafficking. Selling women as blood bags.”
Dean turned to Sam, who was leaned up against the Impala, and nodded at him. Sam took that as his cue to go ahead without Dean. “I got Sammy on it right now. You sure you’re alright?”
His arms around you were the only thing keeping you standing. “Just tired. And my head really hurts.” Gunshots went off behind you, and you flinched. Your ears were still sensitive.
“Sounds like nothing a little sleep can’t fix.” Dean patted your back and opened the back of the Impala.
You crawled in and fell asleep before Dean could even pull out of the parking lot.
You tried following your heart, once, as a senior in college with straight A’s, a bright future, a career so close you could almost touch it. You were so close to satisfaction. So close to that diploma.
And all at once, that dream ceased to be. And all you could think was my heart must be very very lost.
It all began on a cloudy Friday evening, you were just about to end your shift with the dogs. It was a tangled mess of leashes when you made it back to the animal shelter. Sweat and dog hair covered you, and after a good shower of puppy kisses, you finally untangled yourself from the mass of dogs and return them to their rightful cages.
You refused to meet their sad eyes. You made that mistake, once, and had spent half an hour reassuring each heartbroken dog that they were, indeed, a good boy.
“I’ll see you guys in the morning!” you promised with a wave and a jangle of your dog whistle, and after a reply of barks, you left the building at dusk.
The road was silent, the street lamps weren’t on yet, and the clouds had become heavier in the sky. You had read in the forecast it was going to rain, but hadn’t expected this.
The tightness in your chest only continued to build as you made it to the campus. The sun was just barely visible behind the storm clouds that had rolled in. The wind had become cool, and the wind had picked up, sending chills up and down your spine.
Perhaps it was just a combination of paranoia and reasonable worry for a woman walking alone at night to her college dorm, except your blood chilled the moment you unlocked your room and entered.
The hair on your arms and the back of your neck were on end. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you realized that the window was open, and the harsh breeze was whipping past you.
You laughed it off, feeling silly. Though that night you slept with your cover tight against your chest, back against the wall, and your little silver paring knife under your pillow.
The next day, you experienced the same fear. Except, this time, it was sunny out.
What was triggering these feelings of dread? It was like you couldn’t focus anymore. Everything just felt… itchy. That was the only way you could describe it.
With each day that passed, the source of your terror was slowly revealing itself. Little, weird things that wouldn’t be so noticeable to an outsider, but as someone who valued cleanliness and order, it might as well have been an elephant in the room.
Things were never as you left them. On Sunday morning you couldn’t find your hairbrush. Monday evening, your bed was mysteriously unkempt, even though you’d recalled making it that morning. Tuesday, the caps of your perfume bottles were all off and littered on the floor of your bathroom. Someone had been in your dorm.
You didn’t have a roommate.
You called the police at midnight on Wednesday, and they showed up to your dorm to find you locked in the bathroom. They chalked it up to a wild imagination. You were three floors up, after all. Nobody was breaking in. You were just a stupid, homesick college student.
Right?
Pah, it wasn’t like you were a senior, or anything. Or that you’d ever even cried wolf in the last three years of living alone. But yeah, sure, call it paranoia.
Three weeks later, there was a knock on your front door.
It startled you enough to send you on your ass. You stared at the door from the floor, and it loomed over you like a bad dream.
Your stalker had been your shadow for almost a month at that point. A gaze that burned into the back of your skull, even when there was no one around. You wanted them to keep their distance.
You stood like a whisper, careful not to make any noise as you tiptoed to the peephole of your door. This was it. There would finally be a face to your terror. Someone you could blame.
A weird combination of disappointment and relief washed over you when you saw two FBI agents instead. Your fear of it being your stalker morphed into a fear of the justice system. Had they come to laugh at you just as the police had?
When they knocked a second time, you opened the door.
They showed you their badges and introduced themselves. “Mind if we come in?” Agent Young asked. He had longer, brown hair and kind eyes. You couldn’t hold a gaze with him worth your life.
Strangers in your home, even authorities, made your hackles raise. What the helllllll was all you could think as you welcomed them into your tiny dorm as your legs shook.
A million questions raced around your head at once.
“Could we ask you about the death of your professor? Mr.Cleveland?”
Your heart plummeted and all hope died within you. Oh. This was about that whole freak-show. “What about it?” you said. Your feet shifted.
“Well, it’s said that you were there at the time of his death. Is that true?” Agent Scott asked. He was more intimidating—more rough around the edges—but you supposed he was just professional.
“Um. Uh, yeah. It…” the agents were watching you with intrigue, and you looked to the carpet. “It was horrible.” And it was. It was bloody and scary, and all your fault because you had just stood there—watched as the professor died right in front of you.
Upon seeing your haunted look, Agent Scott spoke a little gentler. “Did you see what happened?”
“I—yeah… I saw it all. He—he had been helping me with something. An essay. I was flunking and he suggested a one on one.” That had only been a week ago. Your grades had suffered as you juggled your classes. When Mr.Cleveland died… you abandoned college altogether and let the dog whistle collect dust.
“I don’t know… he just…” started dying at your feet. You hadn’t even tried to pick up a phone. You just stood there, and you watched. Your breath picked up. “…he just—”
Agent Young’s voice was sympathetic. “He started coughing up blood?”
“Yeah. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking about…” the stalker, you thought. I couldn’t stop thinking about the stalker. “I froze and, a-and I just watched—”
“Easy, easy. It’s okay. We just need to know the details,” Agent Scott said.
You paused, then. Something didn’t add up. “Wait… why is the FBI interested in a guy that died of a lung disease?” When the agents exchanged glances, you squinted at them, your anxiety briefly replaced with confusion.
“We don’t think it was, erm, lung disease,” Agent Scott said. “We think he might have been…” He searched for the word a little too long for your liking. “…uh, poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” you yelped. “Who could have… oh god, that makes me a suspect, doesn’t it?”
“Unfortunately.”
Your stomach sank, and that anxiety returned. “You guys have to know I wouldn't—I would never—”
“If we thought it was you, you would be in custody,” Agent Scott informed you curtly.
Agent Young frowned at his partner as if to say not helping and then turned back to you. “We just want to know what you saw that day. Anything weird? Strange noises? Smells?” He narrowed his eyes. “Is there anyone you know who would want to kill Mr.Cleveland?”
This was your chance to tell them about your stalker. If there was anyone who could help you, it was the FBI.
Yet you clammed up. "No, not really,“ you blurted. "Nobody I can think of, honest. Not to be rude, but I have finals tomorrow. Could you… leave?”
Who were you kidding, your grades had dropped so low lately that even finals wouldn’t save you. But they didn’t know that.
…probably.
They offered you a trained smile that didn’t reach the eyes. “Of course. We’ll get out of your hair. If you think of anything else, here’s our card.” And with that they left the room.
The tightness in your chest did not ease.
///
That night, you had dreams of monsters and of evil people that could poison someone and smile. You dreamed of your stalker, and them laughing as you choked on your own blood.
You woke up in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open to the glow of an agape window. It was shut when you fell asleep, but it was open now, blowing in a breeze that chilled your blood.
Your dog whistle was gone.
It was a fear like no other. Your gut was screaming at you to launch for the phone. You did, automatically dialling the number on the business card that laid discarded on the other end of the room. You had memorized it after hours of staring at the numbers, debating whether or not to call them, then ultimately deciding not to with anxiety gnawing away at you.
They answered it on the second ring.
“Hello?” said a gruff voice. Agent Scott.
“I remembered something,” you blurted. “You-you said to call… if I thought of something…” You trailed off when you saw the clock. “Oh god, it’s three in the morning. Maybe this can… this can… this can wait…” It couldn’t wait.
“No, wait. What is it? Might be important if it’s got you up at three in the morning. Unless it’s just finals?”
You shook your head and then realized he couldn’t hear that. “Not finals. Someone’s been stalking me for the past week. I thought… maybe, I was paranoid. I was… constantly told that I was paranoid. But someone was in here while I was asleep. And might… might still be close.”
“Okay, you got a knife?”
“A knife?” You squeaked.
“Yeah. A knife. To defend yourself.”
“Oh. Right. Right, okay. Uh. Well, uh, I have a paring knife?”
“You have… a paring knife,” he repeated.
“Um, yeah? Is that okay? The dorms have rules against big knives. For safety reasons. It’s a silver p—”
“Silver? Okay, you know what? That’s fine. That’s good. Use that. Is it sharp?”
“Sharp enough, I hope.” You ran over to your cabinet, pulling out the knife and holding it to your chest. Your ragged breaths were loud in your ears. “Now what?”
“Well,” he said, and you could hear an engine starting in the background. “We should be there in a few minutes. Stay on the phone, you hear me?”
“I—should I have called 911? This has never happened to me—”
“You’re doing fine. Now, what made you so sure that someone had been in your room?”
“Well, the open window. I live up a few floors. There is no way they could have opened it unless—”
“Unless someone had been in your room. Alright. Just sit tight, okay? Don’t hang up.”
“O-okay.” The agents will be here soon. They will help me. You had the knife and phone held so close to your chest and tight in your fist that your knuckles were white.
I will not die.
Without warning, you choked. It was wet, coppery, and lukewarm on your tongue. You clawed at your neck for air. You fell to your knees. The phone clattered on the wooden floor’; it buzzed with muffled shouting, but you couldn’t pick it up, nor could you answer.
Just then, a massive shadow crawled in from your window, and it grunted like an animal. You barely had enough strength to look at him as trails of red spit hung from your face.
The man had claws. The man had claws. The man—the thing, had—for the love of God, inch long claws.
Down the hallway, there was a muffling of running feet. They would be too late. You realized then: you were probably going to die. You were no fair match.
You could feel the monster’s breath on your neck when the beast abruptly fell down like a sack of potatoes, howling and twisting.
Blindly, you stabbed it in the chest with all your strength, twisting the blade and then collapsing once again into a fit of retching.
The agents burst into the room.
But instead of moving to help you, they tore the room apart in search of something. You couldn’t help but sob in despair. Why weren’t they helping you?
But when Agent Scott whipped out a little bag from your drawer and lit it on fire, the choking miraculously ceased.
You melted into the floor to catch your breath again. For a minute everyone just breathed. You really appreciated the minor break.
Agent Young helped you up, closely inspecting your heavy, slightly bloody, zoned-out face, and decided you were okay.
You licked your lips, still not processing any part of the last hour. “What,” you said, “just happened.”
The agents exchanged looks.
You looked at them. Really looked at them. “You’re not FBI, are you?”
Agent Scott shrugged at his partner. “You gonna give her the talk, Sammy, or should I?”
///
“Were-witches,” you deadpanned. Monsters, hunters, hex bags, and were-witches.
“Yep,” Agent Scott—or Dean Winchester, you were now learning—said. “He probably got a whiff of you covered in dog hair or something. You’re lucky we got here in time. The pervert was, I kid you not, jellifying human hearts with dark magic. Like, alive. And then he’d make you regurgitate—” He caught the hard look from Agent Young—Sam—and shut up. “But, yeah. Were-witches.”
You frowned. “I can accept witches and werewolves, but… were-witches? For real?”
“Trust me, we didn’t know they existed either,” Sam informed you.
Dean laughed to himself. “Hey Sammy, should we call him a son of a witch or a son of a bi—” His smile faltered with both Sam and your glaring. “Get it? Witch jokes? Dog jokes? Sheesh, okay, you guys are seriously no fun.”
Sam sighed. “We should probably take the, um, dead werewitch, out of here.”
You followed his eyes to the heap of fur on your floor. Seeing your stalker dead was a major weight off your shoulders. It was such a relief that you felt high.
Sam was still talking. “—and you have finals?”
You sobered. “Right. Those.” Like you would do anything except bomb them.
Sam must have known the look. “You haven’t studied, have you? At all.”
Shaking your head, you slumped into the mattress. “Nope. This stalker thing screwed me up big time. There’s just no way.” You sighed. Sam’s dark look made you squint at him. “What?”
“I just, uh, know the feeling,” Sam said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “I got a free ride to law school before the hunting life took me away. I was already a hunter, I didn’t have a choice. But you still do. You can still have that life you want.” He tapped the card, still on the desk from his last visit. “Stay out of trouble and call us whenever. Especially if it’s three in the morning.”
Right then, you noticed the dog whistle was back, as if it had never left. Realization hit you like a brick to the head. “You did that! You blew the whistle.”
“Yeah, well, I knew it was a werewolf. So I took a gamble and… borrowed it. Guess I didn’t think you’d miss it—it was pretty dusty.”
“You stole my whistle!”
“Hey, no, I borrowed it—”
“You gave me a heart attack! I thought the werewitch had stolen it! That’s what set me off and made me call you—not the window!”
Dean cracked a smile. “Hey, it saved you, though, yeah? If I hadn’t taken it, who’s to say I could have saved your damsel ass?”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean said automatically.
You blinked in surprise at the speed of his reply.
His eyes widened. “Sorry. That's… uh, Sam usually says that and I respond with…”
You laughed. Really laughed. You doubled over, struggling to breathe for the second time today, but this time it was welcome. The Winchesters inevitably joined in as you howled. You wiped away your tears of laughter, occasionally breaking into a smaller fit.
“You good?” Dean asked, grinning,
You sighed, the hysteria wearing off. “God, it wasn’t even that funny! You just caught me by surprise. Thanks, though. For saving me, and all.”
Dean smiled, patting you on the back. “No problem, kid.”
You settled into a comfortable silence. You were still trying to calm down as they watched you with looks of fondness.
“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Sam asked.
You knew what he meant: were you going to be able to sleep alone? And honestly, you had a feeling you would sleep like a baby tonight. However, you had no purpose staying here anymore. “Would I be stepping too far if I asked to come with you? Just for the night.”
Rating: Explicit WC: ~1200 CW: Sexual things and smut, Sam took some pain meds but is well within his faculties, unbeta’d. A/N:For Anon: “ Ooooo requests huh? Well…I will say the idea of Sam taking care of the reader’s sexual needs has been on my mind lately. Maybe he is really tired but he notices that the reader is REALLY turned on, so he fingers her and gives her amazing oral since he’s a little tired for sex but not tired enough to make sure you’re taken care of?” I swear this was supposed to just be a drabble, but here we are. Thanks for the request anon!
You knew it wasn’t personal. Weeks on the road, pulled muscles, and bruised ribs had kept getting in the way, one of you ready to go right when the other needed to stop. Despite a stolen kiss here and a grabby make-out session there, you were both starting to get frustrated.
You’d tried to sneak one or two solo sessions, only to be interrupted by one crisis or another. As the days went by you gave up - your own fingers weren’t gonna cut it anyway. Nothing could compare to the virtuosic way Sam played your body. You craved him. Needed him - the weight of his body on yours, his touch, the girth of his perfect cock stretching you open and fucking you deep - and told him as much during the ten-hour drive home with a string of salacious text messages.
A/N: I chose the title, based on the Beatles song, because I was reading a Rolling Stones article and Paul McCartney said he wrote the song after having tried weed the first time. And while it sounds like a love song to a woman, it’s actually a love song to weed. A little bit of trivia there for ya. Anywho, on to the stoner fic!
Sam burst out the main Bunker door, his head poking out first to look around. His eyes landed on Y/N, who stood in the corner of the door’s alcove, hiding beneath the brick wall and railings.
“There you are,” he smiled, letting the door gently close behind him as he approached Y/N. She jumped in alarm at seeing him, quickly hiding something behind her back. Sam frowned before the smell hit him. He smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“What?” Y/N choked out in a strangled voice as she held her breath.
“Just waiting for you to choke on that toke,” Sam grinned.
As if on cue, she began coughing, the smoke in her lungs burning from being held in for so long. After a drawn-out coughing fit, she finally took in a deep breath.
“Well, I guess you caught me,” she grinned, pulling the mostly-smoked joint from its hiding place behind her back and taking a small hit to ensure it was still lit before passing it to Sam.
He accepted it, examining it before taking a long, smooth hit. He let the smoke roll around in his mouth, the smell and flavor lingering for his enjoyment. He breathed deep, sucking the smoke into his lungs and gracefully blowing it out with a contented sigh.
“You need to work on your rolling,” he laughed, passing it back to her.
“Yeah, well, I usually smoke blunts. You only had papers in your stash.”
She smirked at him as she took another drag. Sam laughed, shaking his head.
“Of course, you found my stash.”
“You always have a stash, Sam,” Y/N laughed. “You’re the one that got me started if you remember.”
“And now you’re a stoner,” Sam teased, hitting the joint and fending off Y/N’s feeble attack with his other hand.
“Says the stoner,” she rolled her eyes at him, making him laugh and choke hard, which made her laugh heartily in turn.
Sam suddenly wanted another, the one he’d taken from her thin and smoked down low already, as he spotted his stash tin beside her and snatched it up quickly. They chuckled together, as Sam opened the tin and began separating out the items he needed.
Y/N became entranced by Sam’s actions, admiring his hands as his long, nimble fingers began to hand-pick the bud, the callouses on his fingers acting as a grinder, reducing the dense plant to near powder under his effort. His hands were so large and strong, yet somehow gentle and precise all at once. His long, capable fingers made her bite her lip as she imagined just how skillful he could be.
As he rolled the paper and brought it to his lips, her eyes drifted along his arm, up to his neck, and froze on his lips. His tongue peeked out, dragging along the length of the paper to moisten it ever-so-slightly, his fingers rolling it sealed with practiced ease.
Y/N clenched her thighs. Seeing his tongue - wet and dexterous - made her ache. She’d always found Sam attractive, dorky nerd that he was. They always had a good time hanging out, laughing, and swapping stories of their time on the road. They all tried to meet up often, as much as hunting allowed. She cherished quiet moments alone with Sam like this.
Sam’s lips were slightly damp, parting the slightest to allow room for the end of the joint. Y/N watched with rapt attention as he took a long draw. Her eyes focused on the lines of his jaw and mouth as he opened, allowing a stream of smoke to trickle forth, before releasing a plume in a huge breath.
That should not have been as hot as it was.
Sam grinned, dimples popping once more, as he passed the joint to Y/N. She quietly accepted, taking a long drag and locking eyes with Sam as he watched her intently. She was suddenly aware of every movement she made as she blew out the smoke, their eyes still locked in some silent trance.
Sam was suddenly struck by her natural beauty. It’s not as if he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d always had a thing for Y/N, maybe more than a thing. But the timing never seemed right. Looking at her now - her smile bright, eyes glassy, lips wet with a light sheen from her licking and biting absentmindedly - Sam thought maybe now would be a good time.
“Y/N?” Sam asked, swallowing hard as he came to stand in front of where she leaned against the wall.
She looked up at him with those eyes, her body relaxed, showing her comfort with him. It had always been easy and fun, with no judgment as they talked and hung out.
“Are you finally gonna kiss me, Winchester?” she chuckled, finding his bashfulness endearing.
“You been waitin’?” he inquired, stamping out the half-smoked joint before his hands slid to her waist, letting him press himself against her.
“Been hopin’,” she admitted with a nod, her arms wrapped behind his neck, her fingers playing in the stands of his hair as she met his gaze.
In the next heartbeat, Sam leaned in as he brought their mouths together. Her heart fluttered, the kiss firm but chaste. Their eyes met again as Sam barely pulled apart from her, watching for her reaction. She took in a shuddering breath before leaning forward to press her lips to his once more.
Sam returned the kiss as they both sighed and relaxed into it, giving back in kind, running the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, just as he had when moistening the paper.
As it grew with a little more heat, Sam pressed Y/N into the brickwork behind her, his mouth sampling her as if they had all the time in the world. His hands found the curves of her sides, squeezing the soft flesh, introducing her body to his touch.
Sam forced himself to stop as the kiss -and their roaming hands- grew hungry. He’d wanted this forever, but he didn’t want to rush it. He wanted to have sex with her -so much that he almost couldn’t stand it- but he didn’t want it to be just about sex, or to have her think that’s all it was supposed to be.
“Y/N, wait,” Sam whispered, not wanting to break whatever was happening between them, but needing her to understand how he felt.
He faltered a bit as she tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. Maybe it would be easier if he smoked some more, and was more comfortable.
“Let’s go back to my room,” he instead offered, holding one of her hands in his as he gathered the stash and supplies with the other.
“To sample more of your stash?” she smirked, hoping maybe they’d pick back up on that kissing ‘cause damn.
“And other things,” he insinuated with a filthy smirk, capturing her lips once more.
It was giggles and shushes and pauses to kiss against walls and archways, neither of them even thinking about Dean. They crashed through Sam’s door, their laughter bouncing in the small space as he closed it behind him, sealing them into their own little world.
Sam rushed to his nightstand, setting down the stash. As he turned around, Y/N was there, reaching out for him. Her hands found his pecks, smoothing up his shirt, and passed his collar.
Her hands continued their upwards path, fingers spreading out into his hair, then lightly scratching and tugging as they slowly came back down. Sam’s eyes fluttered shut, a shaky breath leaving his parted lips.
When he opened his eyes she was smiling at him, biting her bottom lip. He hadn’t realized his hands wrapped around her on their own at some point, holding her close.
The high from the weed mixed with the high from Y/N combined to make him feel absolutely blissful. He couldn’t help it, he had to kiss her again, and again.
Y/N giggled into the kisses, Sam giggling back but still kissing. She gently nudged him back, her hands on his chest, her smile still warm. One of her hands drifted down his torso as she held his gaze. He swallowed hard, wondering if she was going where he thought she was going, not that he’d stop her.
Her hand suddenly left him and then she took a couple of large steps backward, confusing Sam completely, his now empty arms dropping to his sides. She held up the half-smoked joint that she swiped from the nightstand with a triumphant grin.
“You’re such a tease,” Sam groaned, watching as she climbed on the bed, making herself comfortable against the headboard as she lit the joint.
“Tease implies that I am withholding something you want,” Y/N spoke as Sam relented and took up the space beside her. She blew out the smoke, smiling as she held it out to him, “Do I have something you want, Sam?”
Sam accepted the smokable, taking his fair share of hits as he mulled over her words. He below out the smoke, handing it back to her as he looked at her.
“You,” he finally spoke. Her eyes widened and he shook his head, looking down at his lap. “Everything I want, everything I think about, it all comes back to you.”
Y/N’s heart jumped into her throat, nearly choking her. The sight of Sam, hunched and not looking at her, told her all she needed to know.
He'd finally kissed her. She’d wanted it for so long, not wanting to push him. He’d been through so much, lost so many people. She needed to let him come to her. Now, the dam had broken as the moment she’d wished for was finally happening.
She dropped the joint in the ashtray -not wanting to cause a fire but not caring if it burned itself out in the tray- before crawling into Sam’s lap. Her actions forced him to sit straighter, his back against the headboard as she crowded herself into him as close as possible.
“Been waiting for you, Sam,” she breathed, his only warning before she kissed him deeply.
He moaned, his hands wrapping around her once more. He briefly wondered if they would always automatically find their way around her now before her kisses started moving down his neck, distracting him from his thoughts. When her hips ground down against him, his thoughts were obliterated, the woman in his arms his only concern.
Summary:A case at a strip club, a striptease, and a little fun Pairing:Dean Winchester x Sam Winchester x Reader A/N:This was written for @deanwanddamons Rock SPN Flash Fan Fic Challenge 3. I got the song “I Was Made For Loving You” by Kiss. This was by far the hardest thing I had to do, to write without any description, and I just might rewrite this to include a more detailed story AND the smut. Word Count: 495 (HA! I did it! UNDER 500!)
Y/N put on a final coat of red lipstick and adjusted her corset one final time. She smirked at her reflection as she checked out her own ass in the mirror. She might not be the skinniest or fittest girl around, but damn, if she didn’t feel hot in her stripper get up. She stepped away and headed toward the stage.
Glancing through the curtain, she noticed Dean sitting at a table near the stage with Sam next to him, facing the back . When she told the boys about a case in a strip club, Dean agreed before she could finish telling him about it. They agreed to meet her at the club in Fairfax and arrived much quicker than she anticipated.
“You sure you’re good to go on, Y/N?” Kathy asked. The old woman looked at the stage in concern. “Lost four girls to the monster creeping about, each just after dancing center stage,” Y/N smirked as she turned away from the curtains.
“My backup is waiting in the audience, Kathy. Neither of them are expecting me to take the stage which should make this a hell of a lot of fun,” Y/N said, hearing her music start. Kathy shook her head.
“You shouldn’t be using yourself as bait,” she retorted. With a fluff of her hair and a wink, Y/N threw open the curtains.
“No better way to make them want to keep their eyes on me.”
—————-
“You see Y/N anywhere yet?” Dean asked Sam, glancing around the stage curiously. He threw a flirty smile to the scantily clad waitress setting down his whiskey. Sam shook his head.
“No, not yet. She said she’d be here and we’d not be able to miss her,” he said.
“Alright, go over it again.”
“Four girls have gone missing after dancing center stage. Some kind of creature steals them away…” the beginning notes of Kiss’ I Was Made For Loving You interrupt Sam’s review and they turn to the stage as the lights dim. Their eyes widen as they see Y/N burst through the curtain, stalking down the stage with a purpose.
“Holy shit…” Sam mutters.
Y/N’s fingers drag up her sides sensuously, tracing over her curves before moving up to her neck and up into her hair, gathering it up to the top of her head. She flipped it around as she got to the pole in the center of the stage, wrapping her hand and one leg around it, swinging herself around sexily. She then dropped to her knees in front of the boys, legs open wide, lip between her teeth.
“Fuck me…” Dean said with a sigh.
Dean’s mouth was dropped open as he watched Y/N rip open the corset and reveal the strappy bra underneath, drop to her hands and knees, and crawl over to the brothers.
“Monster is over there, boys. Take care of him and I’ll give you a more x-rated private show,” she said with a wink.
Anon asked: I have read every single one of your sister!reader fics, and they are AMAZING, just for the record. Anyhoo, I was just curious if you could write one where the reader has a bad panic attack and Sam is like there to talk her through it and stuff. (obviously like sister/brother relationship) I have them really badly and stuff. And I only have one person who is able to touch me during them. And sometimes I wish that it was Sam. Also I love it when he calls her bug, so if you could add that in there to that would be great. No pressure or anything whatsoever. If you don’t want to do this, that is completely fine with me. Sending love
Pairings: sister!winchester
Word Count: 1,105
A/N: Hey guys. Thanks for all the likes and support given to this blog. I am very proud of this blog and where it’s gone, even though I am not active all the time on here, it makes me happy to see that you guys still like to read my stories. I really appreciate it!! I’ve been struggling with my mental health a lot over the past couple of months and just had a little spark of motivation to write. I really miss you all, hope you enjoy this fic.
Y/n Winchester. The great Sam and Dean Winchesters little sis, as most people knew her. She was special, no one could deny that. Y/n had her own spark, with confidence like her brother Dean, and crazy smarts like Sam- she was almost unstoppable. Except, there was one thing that held her back… her anxiety.
It wasn’t something that Y/n felt embarrassed about, she just didn’t feel the need to share it. Sam and Dean were aware of Y/n’s anxiety, although, Dean didn’t know the extent of it and neither did Sam for a while. That was until her anxiety started to worsen, hunting didn’t exactly ease her nerves.
Y/n started having panic episodes. She was afraid of making a scene in front of someone and decided to keep them to herself as much as possible. One day, Sam happened to pass by Y/n’s room in the bunker as an episode was occurring. He was able to talk her through it and calm her down. Ever since that day, Sam has been the only one that has been able to help Y/n’s mind ease off of whatever she was worrying about.
Something about the way he looked, as if nothing bad was going to happen, to try not to worry her further. The calming tone he spoke in as he used gentle words. Sam knew his little sister more than she knew herself sometimes. He decided to not say anything to Dean, not wanting him to be overbearing and worried all the time.
………………..
It was a rough few weeks for all three of the WInchester’s. There had been hunt after hunt, tons of locations to drive to, more motels, and some bad guys along the way.
While investigating one of the empty buildings in hopes of finding a lead, the three got into a scuffle with a few of the suspects. They noticed Y/n along for the hunt and started to taunt, trying to scare her. Sam and Dean dealt with it, and the few other incidents after that. Y/n was starting to feel paranoid, like all of the bad guys were going to follow them. After all, there were a lot of people that the Winchester’s had pissed off this week, even if they were just doing their jobs.
Dean pulled the impala up to the bunker garage, letting out an exhale. Everyone was exhausted and relieved to finally be home. Y/n grabbed her duffel bag and walked straight to her room without saying a word.
“She must be tired.” Dean huffed with a smirk, motioning to Sam.
Sam glanced over and proceeded to help unload the car. “I’m gonna go see if Y/n wants dinner. You hungry?” Dean asked as he set down the last of the bags.
“I’ll just make myself something.” Sam said as he retreated to the kitchen.
Dean sighed and proceeded to walk to Y/n’s room. He approached the open doorframe to see Y/n pacing her room.
“Hey, uh, what are you doing?” Dean asked.
“Just unpacking.” Y/n responded quickly, resting a hand on her bag.
“You’re not actually putting anything away…” Dean pointed out.
“What do you want.” She asked in an annoyed tone.
“Do you want me to make some food?”
“No, I’m okay.” Y/n said as she walked over to her desk.
“You look a little startled, are you sure you’re okay?” Dean noticed.
“Why are you still here?!” Y/n blurted out. “I mean, uh, sorry I- just- can you leave.”
“Y/n/n, what’s wrong? You can tell me.” Dean sympathized as he reached a loving arm out, resting it on her shoulder.
“No! Dean… just leave me alone. Please get out.” Y/n said shakily.
“Y/n-”
“Just get out Dean, I’ll come out later.” Y/n said as Dean backed up, shutting the door behind him.
Dean stood outside her bedroom door, hearing Y/n start to cry and breath heavy, in a hushed tone. He didn’t know what else to do, walking over to the kitchen where Sam was making a sandwich.
“Dude, you need to go talk to your sister.” Dean walked in.
“Why, what’s wrong?” Sam asked, concerned.
“I don’t know what I did, but she told me to get out and now she’s crying….” Dean blurted out in a stressed voice.
“Dean, what the hell did you do?” Sam raised his voice, looking agitated.
“Again, nothing. She was pacing and acting weird.” He said.
Sam had a look of realization on his face. “She’s probably anxious about something… I’ll be right back.”
Dean stood in the kitchen looking frazzled as Sam rushed down the halls to your room. He softly knocked on the door, hoping to get a response while hearing some shuffling.
“What!”
“Can I come in?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.”
Sam opened the door calmly to see Y/n sitting on the floor against the wall in distress.
“Y/n/n, are you okay?” Sam asked in a soft tone.
“I’m sorry… It’s happening again, I tried to control it but I can’t stop thinking about…”
“About what?”
“That one guy from apartment that said he knew where we lived. He said he’d break in and kill you guys.” Y/n’s voice broke.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Sam soothed as he placed his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them tightly. “Most of those threats are just meant for scare. If someone did manage to find the bunker, they’d have a very tough time trying to get in. Dean and I aren’t letting anyone dangerous through that door, you are safe.”
Y/n slowly comprehended Sam’s words and took a few deep breaths, easing her shaking form and heavy breathing.
“You okay, bug?” Sam looked over her.
“Yeah, I think I’m good.” She breathed out.
“I know things have been stressful lately, so if you ever need me, I’m here. Don’t be afraid to say something.” Sam reassured.
“I’ve been trying to handle this myself, I hate having to worry you. But, I know you care.” Y/n said awkwardly, self consciously not wanting Sam to see her weak. Deep down, she knew how much Sam cared and that she could always turn to him for anything.
“Just, thank you… It means a lot.” Y/n gave a half smile, trying not to make it a chick flick moment. She was more reserved with her feelings like Dean, she never liked any attention related to it. Sam respected the fact and didn’t make a big deal about it to Dean, but he made it known that he was there, and that is why Y/n gave him her trust.
“Anytime, bug.” He said softly as he wrapped Y/n into a hug.
Summary: Y/N has another encounter with Azazel and starts to see what his plans are for the future.
Word Count: 3,151
A/N: Damn, sorry this one is so long, I just didn’t want to drag along all this with a bunch of different parts so I just crammed it all into one part for this series. Hope y’all like it!
Y/N slowly opened her eyes, noticing the dim light that lit the room. She noticed she was sitting down in a chair and her head was throbbing with pain. She tried to move her arm to hoist herself out of the chair, but she was being held back by ropes that tied her wrists to the arms of the chair. Y/N opened her eyes a little more and saw she was somewhere she did not recognize, that’s when she realized she was in trouble.
Y/N looked around at the dilapidated room she was in. It was humid and damp inside, giving off the smell of mold. It scared her that she couldn’t remember when or how she got there. She heard some creaking from the pipes above her, when she heard the sound of floorboards creaking from what sounded like footsteps above her, that’s when she started to feel scared.
“Dad?” Y/N called out in a small voice. Learning nothing. “Daddy?” She yelled a little louder. The sound of footsteps started to approach the door that was across the room, her breaths became faster as the panic set in, having no idea what was behind that door. She kicked herself, hoping it was all a dream, and then the door flew open…
……………….
“We could just take a shortcut through the woods.” Sam suggested from the passenger seat.
“I’m not scratching baby up by driving her through a bunch of trees, and if we walked, we wouldn’t get there fast enough.” Dean sighed.
Sam continued to look at the map, barely taking his eyes off of it. Sam had located an old building that was down some old back roads. He was able to track Y/N’s phone before the signal was lost, and that was the only thing within miles going in that direction.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find her.” Dean said as he pressed the gas down, revving the engine up and accelerating the car.
……………….
The door across the room creaked open slowly. Y/N looked up to see Azazel walking in and smiling.
“What do you want? Where am I?” Y/N questioned in a worried voice.
“Don’t worry about a thing my dear, I just had to get you away from those two. We need some time, just the two of us.
“No we don’t, get me out of here!” Y/N shouted.
“I see you know what controls those powers now. Isn’t it great?”
“It’s not, I don’t want them.” Y/N huffed.
Azazel walked closer to her and kneeled down. Raising his arm, he slapped his hand across her face, leaving a stinging red mark.
“Why are you doing this?” Y/N cried.
“I want you to want them. I want you to use them! It’s a gift.” Azazel smiled.
“It’s not a gift, it’s a curse.” Y/N breathed out. Looking down at her ropes, she knew what Azazel wanted her to do. He wanted to see his spell come to life, meaning Y/N had to get angry and fired up.
She didn’t want to give in, but it was a chance to see if she could get out of a situation like this. Y/N closed her eyes and breathed in, trying to focus. She tried thinking about thinks that upset, but nothing seemed to work. Opening up her eyes, she looked up at Azazel who was waiting for her to perform.
“I can’t do anything anyway.” Y/N shrugged, not wanting to try any harder to do anything. She knew it would be best to leave it alone, and not let Azazel get what he wanted.
“I know you can. I know you have a few tricks up your sleeve that you can show me.” Azazel laughed.
“No.” Y/N turned her head away. Azazel’s expression changed as he became impatient.
“Well, I gave you the easy option.” Was all he said before raising his hand and twisting it. Y/N began to feel a sharp pain in her stomach, hunching over in agony.
“Stop!” Was all she could yell out.
“Just let it out, Y/N. It’ll be easy. I don’t think you want to upset me any further.”
Y/N tried to stick it out for as long as she could, but the pain was too much. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth and the ropes around her wrists snapped clean in half. She let out a loud gasp as the pain stopped.
Azazel stood up with a look of satisfaction on his face. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” He sneered.
Y/N looked up at him in anger. A million thoughts were going through her head right now, how he was the reason she was in this mess. He was the reason she had to leave her home and her school, he was the reason she had these abilities that she didn’t ask for. Y/N didn’t know where Sam was or if he knew where she was. Standing up abruptly, she walked with a fast pace towards Azazel. Reaching her hand out, Y/N grabbed Azazel around the neck, raising him up above her and throwing him across the room.
Y/N wasn’t finished, and walked over to where Azazel’s body had fallen, after smashing into the wall behind him. She hovered over him, and kicked her boot into his ribs. She kneeled down and punched him across the face, stepping back and wincing as she held her knuckle. Y/N tried to act tough, even though she had never punched someone before. Azazel started laughing which made Y/N pulse with more anger. She got down to his level and punched him again.
“LEAVE. ME. ALONE! I never want to see you again!” She yelled through punches and tears of anger.
She stopped and looked down at Azazel to see if she did any damage or not. “I’ll be back, Y/N. And next time… you’d best be ready.” He smiled before vanishing into thin air.
Y/N stood up and almost passed out from hyperventilating. She collected herself and looked around before rushing out of the room. She navigated around the building, trying to find a door that would get her out of there. Running down a hallway, she spotted an old rusted exit sign above one of the doors. She ran faster and pushed the door open, practically falling outside.
……………….
Dean drove as fast as he could, until Sam spotted the building creeping out from behind the trees. “There! Stop!” He yelled.
Dean pulled the impala into the grass, the two of them hopping out of the car and rushed over to the building.
Sam slowed down as he spotted a figure running at a fast pace towards them, he focused more and realized it was Y/N.
“Y/N!!” Sam yelled as he ran as fast as he could over to his daughter. Tears ran down Y/N’s face as she saw her dad running towards her, with Dean following behind.
Sam stopped in front of Y/N as she jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Are you okay? What happened?” Sam demanded to know.
“It was him, it was Azazel.” Y/N cried through her words into Sam’s shoulder.
“Where is he!” Dean asked.
“He’s gone.” Y/N said as she stood up from holding onto Sam.
“What happened?” Both men asked, looking over Y/N with worry.
“Can we just get out of here.” Y/N cried.
“Sure, sweetheart.” Sam said with sympathy as he guided Y/N back to the car.
……………….
Dean drove everyone back to the motel. Sam immediately noticed Y/N’s bloodied and bruised knuckles and fussed over it. He took out the first aid kit and cleaned off Y/N’s fists as she explained everything that happened.
“So you punched him? Azazel, the demon? Just got his ass kicked by you….” Dean asked in disbelief.
“Dean, you’ve seen what she can do.” Sam reminded him.
“I know, but he didn’t fight back or anything? I mean, that’s like something else.” Dean said in shock, but was also proud in some sort of way.
“Dean, this is bad. She said he’s gonna come back, and it’s not gonna be fun and games. This is serious, and we need to be prepared.” Sam said sternly.
“I’m sorry, I tried not to do anything to him.” Y/N spoke up.
“Y/N/N… you don’t have to apologize for anything. You did the right thing, I’d be afraid of what would happen if you did nothing. Look, I know this seems like it’s a curse, but try not to look at it like a bad curse. You have some cool abilities, and you were able to use them to your advantage. It’s your choice whether you want to use them or not, this does not control you. And, I’m sorry this had to end up this way. You know how much I wanted to keep you away from this life and protect you, but no matter what happens or how crappy things get, just know I will do whatever I can to be here for you.” Sam explained.
A small smile formed across Y/N’s face. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Remember, you’re stronger than you think.”
……………….
Y/N started to use her powers more often than usual after her encounter with Azazel. At first, she didn’t want to show that she had them at all, but after her talk with Sam she felt a little bit more comfortable. After all, it was a part of her now and Sam was right, it wasn’t all bad. He wouldn’t force her to use them at all though, and made it completely up to her if she wanted to make something happen or not.
Y/N would still keep to herself and was a little self conscious about using her powers. When Sam and Dean would leave the motel for interviews or hunts, Y/N would sneak out to the woods behind the building and practice moving things. Deep down, when she was by herself, she felt pretty cool being able to use her mind to do certain things. It was when Sam or Dean would bring it up was when she wouldn’t want to release any feelings of anger in fear that she would go too far and upset them.
The only thing that had Y/N on edge was the dreams that she would have at night.
At first, it was just a few weird coincidences here and there, seeing images of Azazel and other people along with him. Then it started to become consistent, Y/N got to the point where she was scared to go to sleep. Most nights, she would see fire, and hear screams, and the worst was when she saw pools of blood on the ground. She didn’t know what any of these dreams meant, but every time, it terrified her even more.
Sam had started to notice she was having more nightmares than usual. He and Dean would be awoken almost every other night with Y/N tossing and turning violently or shouting in her sleep.
Sam had tried to bring it up a few times, but Y/N didn’t want them to fuss over it.
“Hey, about last night… Have you been having nightmares?”
“No…”
“Well, it seems like somethings been disturbing your sleep, do you want to talk about it.”
“Not really much to talk about, I’m fine.”
But Sam saw past it, he knew something was up.
Sam and Dean had a hunt in Richmond, Virginia. From what they had been seeing in the news reports, they guessed that it had to be a djinn. After a 6 hour drive in the impala, Dean pulled the car into another motel.
Y/N got her bag and pillow out of the backseat and trudged up to the building. It wasn’t easy trying to get comfortable on the hard bench seat in the back of the car, and it was clear to both men that Y/N needed sleep.
“Hey, uh maybe you should go to bed earlier tonight. It’s been a long drive for all of us.” Sam played it off, suggesting Y/N should go to bed.
“Since when do I have a bedtime?” Y/N sassed, obviously not in the mood to joke around.
“Not saying you do, but you look exhausted and I don’t want to see you get sick.” Sam said.
“Ok, sure.” Y/N shrugged as she turned to Dean who had finally come back with the room keys.
Y/N set her stuff down on one of the beds and pulled her volleyball out of her duffel. She tossed it around for a few seconds and turned to Sam.
“I’m gonna go practice some hits outside.” She said, walking slowly towards the door to see if Sam would say yes or no.
Sam flashed a sad smile, knowing how much Y/N missed her friends and her sports team. It had been almost a year being on the road with them, and she hadn’t opened up much about anything. Sam noticed that she would try and be in a good mood most of the time and would go along with anything that they needed to do. It almost bothered him that she didn’t want to talk to him about anything, since they used to be so close just the two of them and that they would talk all the time.
“Okay, don’t be out too long.” Sam said, bringing himself out of his thoughts.
Y/N walked around the building to find a spot where she could throw her ball around. There was a large open space of grass on the side of the parking lot. Y/N started doing some passes and sets on the field, envisioning that she was back on the gymnasium floor. In her head, she remembered the sounds of her coach shouting at her from across the room, her teammates cheering for her on the sidelines, and the squeaking of her sneakers against the wood. She snapped out of her daydream when she heard someone whisper in her ear. Whipping her head around, she looked around and didn’t see anyone nearby.
Y/N slowly started bumping the ball on her arms, still scanning the grounds around her for anyone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a person standing in the road, it was a woman who was looking over in her direction. Y/N looked over at her, confused as to why she was in the road. Before she knew it, a large truck came rushing down the road, impacting the woman instantly. Y/N gasped at the sudden impact and took a few steps to see if she could see anything. A gust of wind rushed behind her, looking over her shoulder, her eyes widened when she saw the same woman that was standing in the street. Except, her eyes turned black as she flashed a devious smile.
Y/N stumbled back in shock and looked around. Everything was normal, like nothing had happened. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, guessing she was just seeing things from lack of sleep. Y/N decided to walk back to the room, as she was doing so, she started to hear crackling behind her, turning around to reveal the small town in front of her on fire, like it was the end of the world. Y/N turned around and started running back to the motel, as she was running, she felt something weird on her hands. Looking down, there was bloody hand prints on the volleyball. Y/N threw it in the other direction and kept running, she slowed down when she was approaching the door and looked back, the fire was gone and everything was back to normal.
Y/N took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair, not knowing if any of what she saw was real or not. She stood there frozen for a few minutes, trying to collect herself.
She finally came back into the motel room and walked swiftly to the bathroom, locking herself in until Sam made dinner. Sam was worried that she was acting different, but he hoped she was finally showing her emotions and that maybe she would talk to him. But instead, Y/N went to bed right after eating, even though she didn’t really want to let sleep consume her, she was way too exhausted.
Later that night, Y/N started tossing and turning again, but this time it was worse. Sam took his turn on the couch, Y/N and Dean had a bed to themselves. Dean was the lightest sleeper ever and stirred in bed once he heard the sheets being tossed back and forth. He sat up and blinked his eyes to try and focus in the dark, finally seeing Y/N’s sleeping figure moving around.
“Y/N?” Dean whispered, getting no response.
“Y/N?” He called out again when he heard her mumble something.
Y/N started thrashing around even more and let out a small worried cry. Dean turned to his side and sat up more. “Sam?” He whispered from across the room, trying to alert his brother awake.
Sam stirred and barely opened his eyes, wanting to go back to sleep. Y/N suddenly was dragged out of bed and slammed onto the floor, sounding a loud thud. Y/N started screaming, making Dean jump out of bed with Sam following close behind. Dean grabbed her shoulders, trying to shake her awake.
“Y/N!? C’mon, wake up!” Dean yelled, trying to wake the screaming girl.
Sam reached out and turned the lights on, making Y/N spring awake. Sam rushed over in shock as he saw the frightened look on his daughters face. She fell into Sam’s arms, letting out a few shaky breaths.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
Y/N said nothing and held her arms tight around Sam. Once she calmed down, Sam stayed up all night looking after the girl, this was one of the worst nightmares he had ever seen her have.
………………..
Y/N woke up fairly early the next morning, not being able to sleep that much. Sam ended up making everyone breakfast, and ended up trying to talk to Y/N.
“Hon, I know you had a rough night last night. I’d really appreciate it if you gave me an insight as to what is going on, maybe I can help.” Sam offered.
Y/N paused and looked up. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. I don’t know if it’s real or if it’s in my head. I just keep having weird dreams and I think I’m hallucinating…”
“Wait, you’re having hallucinations now? What are you seeing?” Dean asked.
“I don’t even know, I saw someone with black eyes… fire, and blood. I saw….” Y/N stopped.
“What?”
“There was a large hole in the ground. And I was being pulled into it…. with Azazel.” She paused.
“Dean… he wants to pull her down there with him.”
“That can’t be…” Dean didn’t want to believe that anything like that would be possible.
anon asked: Hey! I love your work! Do you think you could do a sister!reader fic where Dean, Sam and Cas are away on a long hunt, and the reader (younger, maybe between 11-14) has a panic attack? Since her brothers nor Cas can help, Crowley shows up… Thank you!
Word Count: 1,762
A/N: I know panic attacks can be different for a lot of people, so I kind of just made the panic attack in this story how mine usually are. I also set this before the boys found the bunker since Crowley is still around. *Also not my gif*
“Hey, wake up…. Y/N c’mon wake up.” Sam said as he shook your sleeping form.
You rolled over to your side and blinked your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the light shining in from the hallway.
“M’what?” You mumbled.
“Y/N, Cas called us. Dean and I have to leave to go help him, it’s important.”
“What’s going on?” You wondered, looking over at the clock on the nightstand to see that it was 2:30 in the morning.
“We’ll call you and explain everything later, but we have to leave. We might be gone for a few days but I wanted to let you know.” Sam said frantically.
“Okay, call me in the morning.” You said, still half asleep and not really understanding what was going on.
Sam nodded and shut the lights off as he and Dean gathered their things before leaving the motel room. You rolled to your other side and fell back asleep within minutes.
………………..
You woke up the next morning and sat up in bed, looking around, you were confused as to why Sam and Dean weren’t there. It took you a minute but you remembered Sam waking you up. Just as you were thinking about where the hell they went, your phone rang.
“Sam?”
“Hey, how’re you doing?”
“Uh, where are you guys and when are you coming back?”
“Sorry for leaving in such a rush. Cas called us about some other angels that are going around taking people out. Normally he’d be able to handle this himself but they’re moving pretty fast.” Sam explained.
“When will you be back?”
“Not sure, but this one might take a few days. Maybe a week at worst, but we’ll keep you updated.”
“What about food?” You asked, glancing at the small motel kitchen.
“Dean went on a supply run after you fell asleep last night, the fridge should be stocked. We wouldn’t leave you alone if we thought you couldn’t handle it.” Sam said.
“Okay, well, hurry back.”
“We will. Gotta go, we’ll talk to you later.” “Stay safe, Y/N/N.” You heard Dean say in the background.
………………..
It had been 4 days since the boys left and you were bored out of your mind. You had opened snack after snack, watched way too much tv, and even snuck two of Dean’s beers. You knew he would notice and be pissed off but you didn’t even care at the time.
Just when you thought you would be fine by yourself, you weren’t.
The paranoia started to set in, which happened often when the boys would leave on longer hunts and not take you with them. Sometimes, you were able to brush it off and be patient until they got back. Other times like this, it was like a nagging feeling of terrible thoughts that would set off a panic attack.
There was a string of bad thoughts that kept rushing through your head. Wondering if Sam and Dean would be okay, if they were going to make it back safely, or if they were already dead and you just didn’t know it yet.
These thoughts sent you pacing back and forth around the motel room. You chewed your lip as you imagined Sam and Dean walking through the door with their bags, trying your best to calm yourself down.
You sat down on the edge of the bed as you felt your breathing picking up, feeling so panicked and uncomfortable, being alone for longer than you were okay with. You wanted to call Sam and Dean to check in but you didn’t want to be a bother. Your brothers knew that you had occasional panic attacks, but they didn’t know the extent of them. It was also a little embarrassing, so you decided to keep it on the low.
That’s when your phone rang, seeing it was Sam, you answered almost right away.
“Sammy?” You breathed out.
“Hey kiddo. What’s up?” Dean answered instead.
“Uh, hey…. nothing much…. Is Sam there?”
“Yeah, he just fell asleep in the passenger seat. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, just um…. when will you be back?”
“We just finished up actually. We were able to track down the last string of dickhead angels so were on our way back right now.”
“How long?” You asked a little too eagerly.
“Should be there in about 4 hours, could be less…. You know how I drive.” Dean let out a chuckle.
“Ok great, hurry back.” Was all you could think of saying before hanging up the phone.
………………..
Sam stirred in his seat, waking up and turning to Dean to see his phone in his hand. “What are you doing with my phone?”
“Y/N called, she was just asking where we were.”
“Oh. How is she?”
“Good… sounded a little weird though.”
“What do you mean weird?”
“I dunno. She’s probably just getting impatient.”
Sam took a moment to think about how Dean worded that, realizing you might’ve been having an episode.
“No more stops tonight, let’s get back as soon as possible.”
“Why?”
“She might be panicking a little bit, we’ve been gone for almost a week.”
“She’ll be fine, she just needs to get used to being on her own.” Dean started being insensitive.
“Dean, I don’t think you know how panic attacks work.”
“She doesn’t still have those, does she?”
“Yes, as far as I know she does, and depending on the person, they can get pretty bad.”
Dean didn’t say anything after that and continued to drive faster.
………………..
You sat on the floor up against the motel bed and talked to yourself in your head, praying to Cas since your brothers were still a long ways away. You repeated the same message over and over, expecting to see Cas pop up in front of you, but it never happened.
You started to panic even more that you started to repeat your cry for help out loud, not to anyone directly, but in hopes of feeling like someone was listening.
You weren’t expecting it but someone was listening.
And that someone was Crowley.
Crowley appeared after minutes of you talking, it scared the shit out of you, making you spring up from where you were sitting.
“What the hell are you doing here?” You questioned.
“Well, someone is a little uneasy from what I heard.” He glanced back at you.
“Why are you even listening to me?”
“You clearly wanted someone to, and I was in the area.” Crowley said jokingly.
“Sam and Dean aren’t gonna like it when they see that you’re here.” You said as you backed up out of habit.
“Sam and Dean aren’t going to be here for a while now are they love? I might as well give you some sort of company.” He smirked, as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs to sit down.
“Why are you acting nice?”
“Who said I was acting? The king of hell can’t do little Winchester a favor?”
“Why would you want to though, it’s pretty unlike you.”
“Let’s say I owe you and your brothers one, I can’t always be ruining things can I? That would just be bad for my reputation.” Crowley sassed.
You scoffed at his sarcastic remarks, then realizing that he did a good job of distracting you from how you were feeling.
“Thanks” you gave a small smile, accepting the nice gesture Crowley gave.
“No need… Well, I guess my work here is done.” Crowley sighed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend.”
Before you could turn around to hear what Crowley was talking about, he was gone. Moments later, you heard a familiar car engine pull up in front of the motel room.
Perfect timing.
You drew the curtains to reveal your brothers emerging from the car, with Cas already walking up to the door.
You let out a sigh of relief as you welcomed all three of them inside.
“Hello Y/N…..” Cas paused and looked around with suspicion growing on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I had a sense that one from the opposite side was lingering in this vicinity.”
“Okay, I literally understood none of that.”
“There was a demon here at some point. I’m sure of it.”
“Y/N, what’s he rambling about?” Dean asked as he hauled in the last of the things from the impala.
“Uh, I don’t know.” You lied.
Sam could see right through you face and knew something had happened. You didn’t look okay.
“Y/N, was there someone here? Did something try to hurt you?” Sam asked, grabbing Dean’s attention, stopping him from what he was doing.
“Well, Crowley…”
“Crowley!? Was he here?” Dean’s voice boomed.
“Dean, can you please not make a big deal…”
“Big deal!!?”
“Dean, dude seriously chill out. Just tell us what happened, Y/N.” Sam interrupted.
You told the three boys everything that happened. Sam immediately felt bad that he wasn’t there. Dean was worried that his little sister dealt with panic attacks this bad, but he still wasn’t happy that the king of hell just decided to pop in without warning.
“Y/N/N, why didn’t you tell me over the phone?” Sam asked.
“I didn’t want you to worry. Plus, you were too far anyways.”
“Well next time that happens, you call us, no matter where we are. I promise, you mean more to us than our work, we’d drop everything, even if we were miles away just to get to you.” Sam explained.
“Yeah, what he said.” Dean chimed in.
“Wow, I love how much you care.” You joked.
“You know I love you Y/N/N….. but I’m gonna have to lay down some rules with Crowley, and one of them is no dropping in when I’m not here. I don’t trust that shady punk.”
Sam rolled his eyes and shrugged his arms, motioning for a hug which you gladly accepted.
“Nothing but chick flick moments over here. Get a room.” Dean scoffed.
“Shut up!”
“So, where is Crowley now?” Cas asked innocently.
“Were you even listening the whole time?” Sam asked confused.
“No, there is many things being said over angel radio.”
“God dammit, Cas.” Dean said as he got up to grab a beer out of the fridge. “Who drank my beers?”
“Wasn’t me…” Sam shrugged.
You knew you were in big trouble, forgetting about the choices you made earlier. So you slipped out the front door to let Dean cool down, but he had other plans. Sam quietly ratted you out as he motioned to the door that had just shut.
Summary: Sam makes the difficult decision to start hunting with Dean again, but this time he has his daughter to bring with him.
Word Count: 1,998
A/N: I can’t believe I have a part 10. This is the longest series I’ve ever written on this blog/in general. Thanks for the support with my fics and this series. I appreciate y’all so much!!
It had been at least two months since the altercation with Azazel showing up. Sam and Dean still weren’t able to find anything on what his “plan” was. Y/N had been getting used to the spell that she had, Sam tried his best to work with her on getting it under control. It was hard for him to try and mentor her with this, he didn’t want to encourage her to use it all the time but he also wanted her to know it was okay if something happened. Y/N started to get used to having Dean around, having him and Sam always talk about hunts and leads started to sound almost normal to her. Granted it was still a strange thing in her life but she grew to be okay with what it was.
Over those two months, Sam’s fear started to come true. Dean was a finding more and more hunts across the map from articles and news reports, it was starting to become more than he could handle by himself and asked Sam to help out. Sam was all he had, after hearing about John Winchester’s death. Dean went through a really hard time after that which kind of pulled him and Sam apart, which was the last thing he wanted. Sam knew it was going to come down to this at some point so he agreed to help out with a few here and there, specifically choosing hunts that weren’t far so he could be close to Y/N. He also felt Dean’s hurt and wanted to be there for him. After a few weeks, it started to get worse. More cases popping up everywhere, it became a bit of a hassle for Dean to stay on top of, he knew he was going to have to ask Sam the most difficult question at the time.
“Would you consider coming with me? Not just on hunts around here, I mean like old times.”
Sam wanted to decline, but after lots of time thinking it over, it seemed like there was no other option. This was the world that was in trouble and they were the guys to fix it. If Sam were to try and stick it out with Y/N like normal, he would end up going down with everyone else, and Y/N would be going down with him.
“What about Y/N? What about all of this?”
“Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance, Sammy. She’s apart of this anyway, and I need you both. I know its not what you want to hear…. but did you think you were gonna just be able to go on with life, without any trouble?” Dean explained.
Sam’s first reaction was offended and upset at Dean for even bringing that up, but he knew it was true. Even though all that was in him did not want to believe it was true, it was. And he wasn’t going to go through life without fighting. Sam made the biggest decision he had to make in a long time and pulled Y/N out of school.
“What do you mean I won’t be going to school anymore?” Y/N asked with confusion.
“Things are getting bad. There’s an abundance of hunts around the states, your uncle and I have to do our jobs and we can’t leave you here alone.”
“So we’re moving?”
Sam explained to Y/N that they would be moving from state to state, wherever the next hunt took them. He promised himself and Y/N that he would do his best to home school her, since one of his priorities from the day she was born was to make sure she finished school.
“What about my friends? My volleyball team? What do I tell them?” Y/N sulked.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. This is never what I wanted for you-.”
“But you knew that this would happen at some point, didn’t you? No matter what choices you made in the past, it was always going to come down to you having to go back to hunting.” Y/N blurted out.
“You’re right. And there is nothing I can say to make it better. But hunting or not, I want us to stick together. You and Dean are all I have. And as much as it sucks, this is what we have to do.” Sam said.
Y/N spent the next few days locked in her room after school. Sam and Dean understood she was upset, but they were still worried about her.
“MaybeI should go talk to her….”
“No, Dean. I know how she is, just give her some space, she’ll come around. This is all really hard on her.”
It was the week before the big move. Y/N was still pretty distant and only came out of her room for food or to move boxes of her things downstairs so that Sam could take them to the storage unit. Sam decided to leave most of their things in the unit since they weren’t going to be able to bring everything with them. Y/N had finally told all of her friends the news, and said her heartbreaking goodbyes to them. It broke Sam’s heart when she came home crying from saying goodbye to all of her friends. Sam wanted to scoop her up in a hug and let her know it was going to be okay, but she resorted to her room again, remaining distant.
The day finally came where the three Winchesters were headed out to go save the world. Y/N took one final look at her room and shut her door for the last time. She walked out to the car and tossed her last duffel bag in the trunk, she turned back around when she heard a loud clink from the impact. She leaned over the trunk and saw an opening on the floor. Moving the bags around, Y/N lifted up the opening to reveal a whole armory of guns, knives, holy water, chains, everything. Y/N had never seen anything like it and found it kind of cool. She shut the trunk, keeping what she saw to herself and came around the car to see Sam and Dean locking up the house.
Sam approached the car and took a deep breath, glancing at Y/N. “You ready?”
“I’m a Winchester, I was born ready.” Y/N smiled.
Sam’s expression changed as Y/N seemed less upset about the whole situation.
The three Winchester’s packed up the impala and shut the doors as Sam and Y/N looked at the house for the last time. It was bittersweet.
All that Sam had worked for, every risk he took to get to where he was in his life with Y/N, all gone- just like that. Y/N was also leaving the only life she had known. Sam hoped she would at least be able to graduate high school before something like this came into his life, but Azazel had other plans that couldn’t wait.
……………….
Arriving at the motel, Y/N set her duffel down on one of the beds. “Guess it’s gonna be a living out of my bag thing now?” She tried to joke.
Sam gave a half smile as he continued un packing a few things. Dean entered the room and gave Sam a ‘look’ to come outside. “Hey, I’m gonna go grab a few more things, keep putting stuff away.” Sam asked as he snuck out the door.
“How’s she doing?” Dean asked as Sam shut the door behind him.
“Honestly, I don’t know what else to say to her at this point. Her life was just ripped away from her, I can’t really do much else.” Sam said, feeling hopeless.
“Sammy, you’ve given her so much, more than we had growing up. But this is what our life is, and she’s just a part of it now. I know she’s a strong kid, she’ll adapt.” Dean said.
“You think?”
“I know she will. It’s in her blood, that strength and that fight.” Dean reassured.
A few weeks had passed, Sam and Dean had finished two hunts. Sam was worried about Y/N being by herself at the motel at first, which led to her asking.
“Why don’t I just come with you guys?”
“No way, kiddo.”
“Why not, I know what you guys do now.”
“Absolutely not. You are still very new to this.”
Y/N ended up doing just fine by herself, but she did get bored. On the other hand, Sam was on edge since nothing had happened regarding Azazel since that night at the house. He was getting suspicious as to where he was and was afraid that something would happen out of nowhere if he and Dean were gone on a hunt.
Sam and Dean pulled up to the motel parking lot, coming back from a supply run. Sam opened the motel door and looked around to find no signs of Y/N.
“Y/N? Y/N!” Sam called out as he looked under both beds and frantically looked around. Dean followed in behind him. “What’s going on?”
“Y/N is gone!” Sam yelled in panic. Dean’s face turned angry and worried as he double checked around the room for anything.
The bathroom door creaked open and out came Y/N, looking at both men like they were insane. “Why are we yelling, gentlemen?” Y/N asked, looking confused.
“Oh there you are.” Dean said, feeling like an idiot. Sam let out a big sigh of relief once he saw that Y/N was fine.
“Can I go get something from the vending machine?” She asked.
“Sure, kid.” Dean answered as he pulled out his wallet, handing Y/N a few singles. “Thanks!” She smiled as she skipped over to the door.
“You need to take it easy.” Dean pointed at Sam. He shook his head, walking over to the couch and exhaling as he hopped off his feet.
“I’m probably gonna go get something myself.” Dean chuckled as he grabbed his wallet.
“We just went and got snacks.” Sam pointed out.
“Vending machine snacks are different.” Dean said in a serious voice before leaving the room.
Dean walked down the sidewalk along the other rooms and turned the corner expecting to see Y/N, but she was no where to be seen. He turned the corner to look the other way towards the room but saw nothing. “Y/N?” He called out, but got nothing in response. The panic set in as Dean walked the whole perimeter of the motel and asked the woman at the front desk if she had been seen. Nothing.
Dean rushed back the the motel, dreading that he had to tell Sam that his worst fear just came true. The motel door flew open, catching Sam’s attention.
“Y/N is missing.”
Sam sprung out of his seat. “What!” He didn’t hesitate and ran outside to look around. “Y/N!” Sam yelled as loud as he could.
“I already tried Sam, she’s not anywhere near here.” Dean hated to say it.
Tears welled up in Sam’s eyes as he ran his hands over his head. “I don’t get it… weeks, no months that nothing has happened with this whole plan, and now he takes her from me!” Sam was livid.
“We don’t even know if it was him…”
“I DON’T CARE WHO TOOK HER! I promised myself I would protect her, so she wouldn’t have to be scared for her life and I’ve failed. I can’t even be a responsible father.”
“You can’t go blaming yourself Sam, that’s gonna get you nowhere. Let’s focus and find Y/N.
The two walked back to the room to collect themselves. Sam started looking around. “Hold up. Do you smell that?” He walked around and followed the smell to the bathroom. Sam looked up at the window and found sulfur sitting on the ledge.
“I know which way they went. Can’t be far from here.” Sam pulled out his phone and started looking at a map. Dean hopped in the impala and pulled up so Sam could get in.
“Let’s go.”
Requests are finally open! I am coming close to finishing this series and would like to have some requests to write in my free time. Feel free to send any ideas that you have to my inbox! I write pretty much everything supernatural related except for smut.
Summary: The Winchester’s run into Azazel again. Sam and Y/N find out what controls Y/N’s powers.
Word Count: 1,974
“It’s been a while.” Azazel spoke.
Everyone looked over at him in shock. The spell Rowena casted must have alerted him in some way.
“What the hell do you want.” Dean snapped.
“What do you think?” Azazel lit up with a devilish smirk.
“No. You are not taking her.” Sam made it clear as he pushed Y/N behind him.
“Oh Sammy, It’s not your choice now, isn’t it. Let me just talk to my girl, it’s about time we meet.”
Y/N poked her head out from behind Sam. Although she was scared, she was also curious as to who this Azazel was.
“My, you’ve grown so much. You feel those powers, I know you do.”
“Don’t even think about laying a finger on her-” Dean threatened. Azazel didn’t hesitate and flung Dean across the room, making him hit a wall and falling to the ground. Y/N looked up in shock, not even aware that what he did was possible. Azazel proceeded to do the same to Sam, which made Y/N really upset.
“You’d be smart not to touch me.” Rowena spoke. Azazel didn’t listen as he snapped his fingers, vanishing Rowena from the house.
“Now, finally I can have some one on one time with my muse.”
“What did you do to her?” Y/N spoke, puffing out her chest and trying to appear tough. The last thing she wanted was for some demon to think she was scared of him. Even though, deep down she was terrified.
“Oh don’t worry. She’s not dead, just away somewhere. Now where were we?”
“I’m not your muse.” Y/N said with disgust. “Just get rid of the spell that you gave me!”
“Why would you want me to take a gift like that away from you, ungrateful if you ask me.”
“It’s not a gift, it’s a curse.” Y/N snapped.
“Well, either way, it’s permanent.” Azazel smiled.
“What do you mean? You’re the one who did this to me, why can’t you take it back!”
“Because, I can already see it. You have so much potential and you don’t even know it. If you learn to control your powers, maybe it won’t be such a bad thing. Think about it, you’re special Y/N, use what you have to your advantage.” Azazel paced around the room.
“I don’t need to use anything.”
“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to. We have big plans for Earth you know, and once you get a hang of what you have, you’ll be able to help us win.” Azazel smiled.
“I’ll never help you do anything.” Y/N spat.
“Maybe this will change your mind.” Azazel paused. Y/N looked around, confused as to what he was referring to. Azazel raised his hand and clenched his fist. All of a sudden, Sam and Dean clenched their sides in pain.
“What are you doing to them!” Y/N yelled.
“Killing them.” He said like it was nothing. Y/N rushed to her father’s side and looked at him with concern.
“Daddy, what do I do!” Y/N cried. Sam looked like he was trying to say something but groaned as the pain got worse. Y/N stood up and turned to Azazel with a fiery look of anger on her face.
The house started to shake, a few photos ended up falling off the wall. Y/N became the most angry she had probably ever felt in her life at that point. The shaking stopped and everything was quiet for a second.
“Leave. Them. Alone.” Y/N spoke. The house went from quiet, to chaos in a split second. Y/N sent Azazel flying across the house and smashed him through a window. Sam and Dean were finally able to stand up, now that the pain was gone.
Azazel appeared once more in front of Y/N. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He laughed as he clapped his hands together. “Now you know what to do. I’ll be seeing you very soon, my dear.” He spoke before vanishing.
“Well, for someone who has never experienced anything like that, I’d say you handled yourself pretty well.” Dean smirked as he hoisted himself off the floor.
“This isn’t funny, what does he mean by all of that?” Y/N turned around.
“I think we have a case on our hands.” Sam said.
……………….
The three Winchester’s sat at Sam’s kitchen table. Dean had brought out files, notes, and books. Sam had his laptop open, Dean joked about how it was like the old days when they used to hunt together. Sam wasn’t in a joking mood, he was way too worried about Azazel and his evolvement with his daughter, who for sure had powers of some sort.
“Dean, I don’t think all of that is necessary. He made it pretty clear what’ll go down.” Sam said.
“Fine, Mr. know it all, you tell me what’s gonna happen.” Dean said.
Sam rolled his eyes. “He said he had plans for Earth, well, he said we. I don’t know who else is siding with him, but it sounded like he put that spell on Y/N because he wants her to be on his side, so she can help him with whatever he’s planning.”
“Like he wants to turn her against us.” Dean chimed in.
“Exactly. He wants us dead. He wants to finish what he started. Which means if he got the chance to kill us, he would end up saving Y/N for last…..” Sam explained.
“So what do we do?” Y/N asked.
“Maybe he’s right… about one thing. I mean, Y/N you were able to go against a demons powers with your own, you saw what you did to him… You could use them to your advantage, but instead of using them with him, you could use them against him. So whenever the time comes where he plans on doing his thing, you’ll be ready and he might not expect it.” Sam said.
“You really think that could work?” Dean questioned.
“You got anything better in mind?”
“Well, Y/N? You up for the challenge?” Dean asked.
“I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”
Hearing Y/N say that made Sam’s heart break into a million pieces. In this life, you never had a choice. Even if you try and make an escape, to be normal, it will always come back to bite you. Sam had it working for this long, but their time was up. They had no choice but to return to the hunting life.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Sam announced as he got up and went upstairs.
“Why is my dad look so upset?” Y/N asked once he left the room.
“There’s a lot of reasons. You know once you were born, your dad wanted to do everything to protect you from this. It was a hard decision for him. He knew the risks of having a kid in this life, but he couldn’t see you be raised by someone other than him. I know he would never confess his feelings about this stuff but I can tell. I know he wondered if he made the right decision, but deep down he did the right thing.” Dean explained.
“He wanted to protect me from all of this? Didn’t he?”
“Yup. But, its not exactly easy when you’re born a Winchester. I guess it’s not a terrible thing sometimes, we are pretty damn cool.” Dean smiled.
Y/N laughed. “I guess so.”
“I think your dad is just scared this is too much for you. It all just, kind of came up all of a sudden, no warning or anything. He probably blames himself for not being able to keep you away from this.”
“Well he doesn’t need to. I don’t want him to feel like that.” Y/N frowned.
“Then, make him proud. I know you’re strong Y/N, you’re a Winchester. You have that fight in you, you may just not know it yet.”
“Thanks Uncle Dean. I’m gonna go check on him.” Y/N said as she got up from the table.
“Anytime kid.”
Y/N walked up the stairs and hovered outside Sam’s bedroom door. She knocked a few times on his door, but heard nothing. Until she heard some sniffling, it wasn’t coming from the bedroom.
Y/N walked down the hallway and heard the sniffling near the bathroom door. “Dad?” She knocked on the door. Sam heard the knocks, turning on the sink and splashing water on his face.
She leaned on the door and accidentally pushed it open, to see Sam hunched over the sink. He was clearly upset about the whole situation.
“Y/N, I’m fine, I’ll be downstairs in a sec, okay.” Sam choked out. She didn’t listen and went up to Sam.
“It’s okay dad.” Y/N said softly as she wrapped her arms around his large frame. Sam didn’t resist and accepted the hug, bringing his daughter in closer, scared that she would be taken away from him.
“We can do this. We’re Winchesters right?”
Sam laughed softly and hugged her tighter.
……………….
A few days later, Sam tried to help Y/N learn the extent of her powers. He didn’t want to have to do something like this, but she was stuck with it for now and he knew there weren’t many options.
“So, can you just…. uh do you just make whatever you want to happen, happen?” Sam hesitantly asked.
“The last few times things have happened, I don’t really feel like I’m controlling anything.”
“Well it can’t be him that’s controlling them.” Sam thought. “He obviously wanted you to use them yourself…. Do you feel anything when that stuff happens?”
“Actually, yeah. It’s like, uh I don’t know. Can we do this later?” Y/N sighed.
“I’d like to understand this. Who knows, we might not have all the time in the world to figure out this ‘plan’.” Sam sympathized with her, knowing it was becoming a lot of stress.
“It’s like I’m really angry on the inside. And instead of releasing anger in some way, whatever spell I have creates chaos. I feel like I don’t have much control over it so it’s kind of hard to explain.” Y/N brushed her hair behind her ear.
Sam suddenly got an idea. “What if it’s controlled by anger? Maybe you have to be really mad in order to expel any kind of power.”
“Okay, how does that help?”
“Trust me with this, think about all of those times that girl at school picked on you.” Sam suggested.
“Why would I want to think about that?” Y/N’s expression changed.
Sam sighed. “I’m trying to anger you, c’mon take this seriously. Anything you can think about that has made you upset to your core. Dwell on that for a second.”
“Dad, I don’t think that’ll work….”
“Trust me, just close your eyes and think.”
Y/N sat at the kitchen table and slouched down onto the surface. She rested her chin on her arms and zoned in on a particular spot, thinking about the things that made her most angry. She started to focus in more once she felt that same feeling. Sam watched intently as he hoped for something to happen. Y/N shut her eyes tightly as the anger grew, until she snapped.
As she opened her eyes, the kitchen lights made a popping sound as the electricity went out within a second. A few of the chairs at the table slid out of position, making Sam jump. Y/N looked up at her father in shock, part of her being startled, the other part being impressed with herself.
“Sorry, I didn’t chose what would happen.” Y/N apologized.
“I think we found what fuels the power.” Sam said in a relieved voice.
Y/N let out a relieved laugh of hope as she sat in the dark kitchen.
But deep down, she was terrified of what’s to come.
