As a Kite

“Dean?!”

“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 love me.”

Six Feet Under

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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Catch You Later

You wanted to scream in frustration.

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.”

Dean drove in the next stitch a little harder.

“Hey! Ow! Okay, okay. I'll… open up.”

“Good.”

Stars in Your Eyes

“Sam, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

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?”

“Damn right, I will.”

“That'a girl.”

Chemical Attraction

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.

“Let’s get you home,” he breathed.

SPN Rock Flash Fic: Meant for Loving You

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.

Winchesters x Reader

Summary: When Sam and Dean visit a witness for questioning, they’re surprised to find someone else waiting for them instead. Though they haven’t a clue of who she is, she knows them all too well…

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“Hiya sweetheart. We have a few questions to ask, so what do you say you let us in?”

Y/N looked out the crack of the door, and saw two men waiting outside. The one who had just spoken flashed her a smile as the other nudged him in the side. 

She appraised them with a lifted brow. “You’re expecting me to invite two strangers into the house just like that?”

“Dean, be professional!” the taller man hissed. He turned back at Y/N and cleared his throat. “Sorry Miss, my partner is still a little hazy about the whole introductions thing.” He flashed a badge and gave a quick smile. “I’m agent Farell and this is my partner, Agent Hodgson. We’re here about the Riverside murders.” 

“FBI,” Y/N nodded. “Come on in.” 

She opened the door wide, and let the men follow her into the parlor. She smiled to herself when she heard them whispering behind her. 

“I don’t know about this, Sammy. This house is supposed to be owned by a Mrs McGregor. The chick that let us in looks kinda young to be an 86 years old granny…”

“Maybe she’s a relative? We can’t be sure until- Dean! Put the gun away!”

Y/N turned around and smiled sweetly. “Is everything alright back there, Agents?” She sensed Sam and Dean’s caution and was pleased by their obvious discomfort. This was going to be fun…

“Everything’s just dandy,” Dean replied with a bite. 

The trio made it to a brightly lit room and Y/N leaned against a table. “So, you guys wanted to talk about the Riverside killings?” 

Dean glared at her with pursed lips, his hand shadowing over his holster. Y/N eyed him warily. 

“That’s right,” Sam said. “But we came to see Mrs McGregor. Who are you?”

Y/N wracked her brain, trying to think of an answer. “I’m an aid,” she said quickly.

“Funny,” Dean huffed. “You see, we talked to McGregor’s son just this morning, and he told us that she lived alone.”

Y/N looked back at Sam and Dean’s darkened expressions. Both were slowly inching closer to her and teasing them suddenly wasn’t as fun as it was before. 

She backed up with a nervous laugh. “Okay, confession time… my name is Y/N and I’m not an aid. You guys are Sam and Dean Winchester, right?” 

Sam pulled out a silver blade as Dean cased the room. “How do you know our names?” he demanded.

Before she could respond, Dean yelled out from a far corner of the parlor. “Sam, I found Mrs McGregor!”

Y/N closed her eyes. “Oh crap,” she muttered. 

“Well?” Sam asked. “Where is she?” 

Dean stood up from the corner he was hunched over. “She’s dead,” he said simply. 

Y/N felt her heart race and she held her hands up in surrender. “Listen, I can explain-”

“Sorry sweetheart, there’s no explaining a dead body in your house,” Dean interrupted. “Something tells me you’re not keeping it there for décor.” 

“You’re a demon aren’t you?” Sam said, his eyes narrowed. He pointed his blade at her and cocked his head. 

“Yes. Well, no! A demon has been behind the Riverside murders, but I’m not-”

“Good enough for me!” Dean lunged at Y/N from the right and knocked her to the ground. She gasped for air as she landed on the dense tile. She managed to push him away as she scrambled to stand.

“You need to listen to me,” Y/N said. “I’m not your enemy!” She latched onto the edge of a table, but felt a strong grip pull her back and knock her to the ground once more. She looked up and saw Sam leaning over her, his blade lifted above her chest. 

She scratched at his polyester suit and looked at him pleadingly. “Sam, please. You have to believe me!”

He was just about to swing down his weapon when the front door opened with a bang. “What the hell do you idjits think you’re doing?” a voice boomed. 

“Hey Bobby.” Y/N managed weakly from underneath Sam. “A little help here?” 

The Winchesters turned in awe. “Bobby?” they said in unison. 

“In the flesh,” the hunter huffed, bounding over with a scowl. “Boy, lower the shank and get off her before I get over there, myself.”

Sam gulped and raised himself slowly. He offered out a hand sheepishly and helped Y/N to her feet. 

Dean took a few steps forward, his brows furrowed. “Alright, what are we missing here?” he asked. “She’s a demon!”

Bobby turned to him with a squint. “She ain’t no demon!” he barked. “She’s my protégé!”

Y/N cleared her throat and waved awkwardly. “Hey guys,” she said. “I’m Y/N. I’m new to the whole hunter thing, so Bobby has been helping me out.”

“When I heard you boys were working a case not far from us, I figured we’d drive over. Have you two give Y/N some pointers,” Bobby explained. “As luck would have it, we stumbled by McGregor’s home. Found her dead.”

Sam looked at Y/N and quirked a brow. “Why didn’t you tell us from the start?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “I’ve heard a lot about you two, I just wanted to mess around. Test the legendary Winchesters, you know?”

“That was stupid,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “Never get on Sam and Dean’s bad side.”

“I think I get that now,” Y/N mumbled. 

“So just to be clear,” Dean started, with a glint in his eye. “She’s a hunter, and not some dangerous entity from downstairs?” Bobby shot him a look of warning. “Boy-”

Dean waved him off and squeezed himself beside Y/N, pushing Sam aside. “I’ve gotta tell you, I’m so sorry about what my brother did back there. I still tried to tell him to get your side of the story before going all Ghost Face on you with the knife…” Y/N crossed her arms as Dean flashed her a bright smile. 

“Are you kidding me Dean?” Sam scoffed. “You’re the one who was pulling out the gun without-”

“Shhh… Give me a second here, Sammy,” Dean hissed before turning back at Y/N. “Anyway, I know a great little bar not too far from here. Maybe we could go for drinks sometime?” He winked and pointed with a snap. “My treat.”

Y/N looked at him, trying to hide her smile. Just five minutes earlier, he was on the verge of killing her over a mistaken identity, and now here he was, flirting shamelessly. She peered over at Bobby rolling his eyes by the front door, and Sam sulking just a few steps away. 

“What do you say we take care of the Riverside case first, then maybe we can talk about drinks?” 

Not sparing the Winchesters another glance, Y/N squeezed Bobby’s shoulder and walked out the door. She had only discovered the world of the supernatural three months ago, but so much had happened since then. Y/N understood that life as a hunter was dangerous, but damn was it fun…

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GiveCounting Shoulder a shot!!!

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Supernatural fics, just tell me in the comments… or visit mytaglist! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Supernatural fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Dean, Christmas with TFW series, etc…)

This sort of came to me about an hour ago, so I just had to write it…  Sorry if it’s a little jagged, I was in the middle of a study session then *poof* an idea. Okay, back to the books. 

Oh, last thing! Their FBI names are from Supertramp…

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

tagging the stupendous:   @the-chaotic-cow@tuttifuckinfruttifriday@adaydreamaway08@stitchintimefan@andthevillainshallrises@justyourlocalwhore@waiting-for-cas-to-save-me@leigh70 @eliwinchester99​ @cosbloos​@danzalladaggers

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary:It’s Valentine’s Day at the MOL Bunker!!! While Dean plans his usual bar hopping, Sam and Y/N stay home to spend the holiday together. Though they’re keeping their relationship a secret, Dean might be closer to catching on than they might think…

Requested by:@molotovedbyanangel​

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“Alright nerds, you know the drill.”

Sam and Y/N looked up from their books and turned to see Dean standing at the doorway. 

“What?” They asked in unison. 

Dean stepped into the library and approached the table at which Sam and Y/N were reading. He looked over the stacks of books piled up around them and rubbed the back of his neck. “Wow,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I dig the whole Brainiac dynamic you’ve got going on, but guys- we’re not even working a case. What the hell are you reading?” 

Sam closed his book and leaned back in his chair with a stretch. “We’re taking inventory, dude. Not that you would care, but our records are in rough shape.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, shooting Dean a pointed stare. “It seems not everyone in the bunker likes putting resources back in their place after use.”

“I’ll have to talk to Cas about that…” Dean replied sheepishly.  

“So what’s up? Are you headed out?” Sam asked with a small smile. 

Dean stood up and pointed at his brother with a cheerful snap of his fingers. “You know it, Sammy. I just came to say sayonara. It’s Valentine’s day and I’m feeling lucky.”

“Well, don’t let us keep you,” Y/N replied absentmindedly. She turned back at her ledgers and Sam followed suit. 

Dean raised a brow and narrowed his eyes at the pair. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he remarked. “You see, you guys never let me off the hook for my little Valentine’s soirées. You always find a way to try and kill my fun with your morals or whatever.” 

Sam furrowed his brows. “I’m not following,” he said earnestly. 

Dean nodded his head slowly. “Listen, you guys can bluff all you like, but I know what’s going on here.”

“The only thing that’s going on here is record keeping, Dean,” Y/N huffed. “You can join us if you’d like, or you can go break a couple hearts at the local bar.”

Dean quirked a brow and turned to his brother. Sam was glancing downwards, a guilty expression on his face. “You’re not keeping secrets from me, are you Sammy?” Dean asked. 

Sam’s gaze shot up. “Hmmm?” 

Dean clicked his tongue at his little brother’s unspoken affirmation and backed up slowly, his hands held up in surrender. “Alright, I get it. I’m cramping your style,” he said cheekily. “I’ll just head out now. Keep doing whatever it is you guys do alone in the bunker…”

With a final smirk, Dean fetched his keys and traipsed out the Bunker’s metal doors. 

Sam and Y/N sat quietly for a moment, frozen from the awkward interaction. It was Sam who finally broke the silence. “Was I being sketchy?” he asked. 

Y/N put her hand over his and squeezed. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met, Sam Winchester. Hell yeah, you were being sketchy.”

Sam laughed and ran a hand through his hair, a wide smile on his face. Y/N grinned at his poor acting skills and leaned over the table to give him a kiss. 

For the better part of a year, Sam and Y/N had been hiding their relationship from Dean and Castiel. They would steal kisses behind the library’s bookshelves, hold hands under the table, and sneak into each other’s rooms at night to talk until morning. In truth, neither knew why they were masking their affections. Dean would be thrilled at the coupling since he had been trying to get them together since Y/N first joined their circle. As for Castiel? The angel was his happiest whenever his friends found small joys in life. It seemed Sam and Y/N had simply become accustomed to keeping to themselves. 

Sam grabbed the book in front of him and closed it with a thump. His nose crinkled from the specs of floating dust, and Y/N watched, amused. “So,” he coughed. “Movie?”

She gave him a thumbs up. “Sounds like a plan!”

The Winchester sat up from his seat, and pulled Y/N by the hand. She giggled as he cleared his throat, still affected by the library’s dust. He looked back at her and sniffed. “You think this is funny?” he asked, feigning annoyance. 

“Just a little,” she teased. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he pressed. “Dean’s out, so that means our Valentine’s can finally start.” He grinned and Y/N felt her heart swell as his eyes crinkled with laughter. “We’re gonna have a blast!” 

The hunters scrambled to Sam’s room, both pushing past the other playfully as they raced to make it there first.

“You’re such a cheater!” Y/N hufffed when Sam rushed to the bed just seconds before her.

He lay down and raised a brow. “How is it my fault that you’re slow?”

She sat down beside him and punched his shoulder. “Okay, maybe I can’t prove it… But you’re still a cheater…”

Sam sighed and pulled Y/N closer to him, her head resting in the crook of his neck. “So what are we watching?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Y/N hummed happily and trailed a finger down his chest. “I don’t know,Sam. Does it matter?”

The Winchester shifted to look Y/N in the eyes. His hair was dishevelled from their race, but his breathing was steady.

“Movies are overrated, anyway,” he said softly. “Just stay with me.” Sam hooked a finger under her chin and leaned forward. She felt him smile against her lips and pulled back a moment to catch the look on his face.

“I love you, Sam,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her own. “Say it again,” he said softly. Y/N tilted her head up and kissed him lightly. “I love you,” she repeated.

He let out a breathy laugh and leaned back to study her. “I can’t get enough of hearing you say that,” he admitted.

Y/N nodded, taking in his crooked smile. “Happy Valentine’s day, Sam Winchester,” she said.

Sam wrapped his arms around Y/N once more, pulling her against his chest. He kissed the crown of her head and held her tightly. The hunters lay together, locked in each other’s embrace, a comfortable silence passing between them.

They hadn’t been at rest for more than a few minutes when the sound of footsteps echoed suddenly in the halls.

“I KNEW IT!” a voice called from the doorway. Sam and Y/N jumped up, both reaching for the shotguns they kept holstered to their belts.

They aimed their weapons, but lowered them just as quickly.

“Dean?” Sam asked incredulously.

The elder Winchester stood tapping his foot at the front of the room, a triumphant smile on his face.

“You guys really thought you could keep this from me?” he laughed.

“Dean… were you spying on us?”

“Course not,” he said. “I just came back for my wallet. And what do I find instead? You two making out, plain as day.” Dean stepped forwards and caught Sam and Y/N in a rough embrace. “I’m so happy for you guys,” he said. “It’s about time you made it official!”

He pulled back, all smiles. “And it’s about time you finally got some action, Sammy,” he said, giving his shoulder a shake.

Sam’s cheeks reddened. He made a move to tackle his brother, but Dean was quicker, rushing out the door. “I’m calling Cas!” he yelled out from the hall with a whoop. “Hell, I’m calling everyone!”

Sam and Y/N stayed back and shared a glance, smiling at Dean’s enthusiasm.

“Why do I get the feeling that Dean is more excited about usthen we are?” Y/N chuckled.

Sam turned to her and pulled her in for one more kiss. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said with a grin. “It’s me who couldn’t be happier.”

With the bunker finally to themselves, Sam and Y/N joined hands and set off to make the most of their Valentine’s Day, together.

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GiveAlways By Your Side a shot!!!!!

@molotovedbyanangel​ Heyyyy!!!! omg thanks for the request, I LOVE LOVE LOVE Sam but can never really think of what to write for him!!!! Okay, I’m actually pretty happy that I got this out before the week’s end, I’m not usually so timely with… well, anything, so this was a big deal for me. I hope you enjoyed it and OOOOOH!!! I’M LOVING YOUR BLOG’S NEW THEME!!! 

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Supernatural fics, just tell me in the comments… or visit mytaglist! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Supernatural fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Dean, Christmas with TFW series, etc…)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

tagging the sweetest:  @the-chaotic-cow@tuttifuckinfruttifriday@adaydreamaway08@stitchintimefan@andthevillainshallrises@justyourlocalwhore@waiting-for-cas-to-save-me@leigh70​ @cosbloos​@danzalladaggers

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: When Y/N is wounded on a hunt, Sam is the one who volunteers to patch her up. Though she never expected it to happen, a hunt gone wrong may be the only thing to shine a light on her feelings for the Winchester…

Requested by:@baby-bloos

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“Sam! You said four vamps, not eight!”

“Well, I guess I was wrong!”

“Yeah, no kidding!”

Y/N groaned as the Winchesters bickered behind her. The three hunters were spaced out in a circle, backs to each other as they held an offensive to the line of vampires coming from every corner of the warehouse. “Save the fight for the undead, you guys!” Y/N called behind her shoulder, machete poised. “This isn’t the time for your sibling rivalry!” 

“You hear that, Dean?” Sam asked smugly. “She says to shut up.”

Dean ducked a stiff blow from an oncoming monster and smashed an elbow to its side. “Sammy, I swear,” he huffed. “The second we’re out of the woods, I’m gonna kill you.”

Sam rolled his eyes before slashing his blade across a vamp’s exposed neck, bringing it to its knees. “You okay back there, Y/N?” he called out. 

“Looking good over here,” she gasped. “I think we’re nearly done!” Sam was turning away when he caught a flash of movement in his periphery. “Y/N!” he yelled in warning. “Vamp, nine o’clock!”

She turned to her right, startled. “I don’t see it!” Just as she pivoted around, a vampire burst out from the left and sliced her leg with a jagged steel rod. 

She cried out in pain and stumbled to the ground, cutting her hands on the shards of broken glass spread across the warehouse floor. “Sam!” she called out. 

Sam felt his heart lurch at the ache in Y/N’s voice and charged towards the monster that had attacked her, pushing it against the wall, and slaying it. 

“That was the last one,” Dean said grimly from across the room. Sam nodded stiffly and dashed to Y/N’s side, adrenaline coursing through him. He knelt down and put an arm around her. “I’ve got you,” he said gently. “Just hold on.” He winced when she stiffened in his hold. “I’m gonna lift you up, alright?” Y/N nodded as he raised her to her feet. 

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asked, walking towards the pair. 

Y/N stumbled and a sharp pain shot up her leg. She cringed and pushed her weight against Sam’s side. “Not great,” she admitted. “My leg’s hurt.”  

“That’s gotta sting…“ Dean whistled. “Hey, I think I saw a First Aid kit back there.” He gestured towards a dingy sitting area behind them. “Why don’t you let Sammy patch you up while I do a last scope of the place? The nest was bigger than we thought. There might be a couple stragglers hiding around.”

Sam crinkled his nose. “There were eight, Dean. I might have made a mistake before, but I’m sure about this one. There were only eight.”

Dean turned to his brother and stared at him through half lidded eyes. “I know that, genius. I’m just trying to give you two some privacy.Lord knows, you heartthrobs need it…” 

Sam’s mouth twitched as his brother walked away, and Y/N felt a heat creep up in her cheeks. “So,” she said awkwardly. “First Aid kit, right?”

Sam flashed her a half smile. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s go.”

The pair shuffled towards the corner, but Y/N felt her leg burn with every step. Sam listened to her shaky breaths and sighed. “Here, maybe this will help,” he said. He stopped walking and leaned down to scoop Y/N in his arms. Her hair brushed against his nose and he smiled in spite of himself. 

“Woah there,” she laughed. “Maybe a bit of warning next time you decide to carry me?“ 

Sam snorted and shifted to look at her. “Hopefully, there won’t be a next time,” he replied. 

Y/N gripped tightly at his ragged shirt and leaned her head against his shoulder. She could see Sam’s jaw twitch as he tried to suppress a smile, but said nothing about it. 

“Alright,” Sam groaned. “Putting you down, now.” He lowered her onto a tall counter, and grabbed a stark, white box that was propped against the backsplash. Y/N lifted her dangling leg up a fraction and winced at the pain that followed. “Take it easy there,” Sam warned. “Let me check you out first.”

He grabbed a chair and dragged it in front of Y/N, sitting down and resting her wounded leg on his lap. He leaned over and fetched a pair of medical scissors from the kit. Y/N watched as his brows furrowed in concentration, and he turned up to look at her. “The gash is above the knee,” he explained. “I’m going to have to snip your clothes.”

She could only nod, entranced by his method and purposeful movements. For a moment, the pain in her leg subsided, all thoughts on Sam.

Taking her nod as sufficient enough consent, Sam dragged the scissors up her pant leg and cut a ring around her thigh. He studied the wound, cocking his head as he assessed the damage. “I think it looks worse than it actually is,” he noted. “You might not even need stitches. I’ll just clean it up, then Cas can do his thing back at the bunker.” He slid a hand under Y/N’s leg and swiped a gauze over the injury. 

She gulped at his warm caress and felt goosebumps course over her skin. There was a subtle intimacy in the way his calloused fingertips made quick work of her wound. “I think we’re done here,” Sam said finally, wiping the sweat from his brow. Y/N’s heart swelled at the proud smile on his face, and she reached out to touch him, stopping herself just short of cupping his cheek.

He looked up and frowned at the expression on her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked her. “Is the wrapping too tight?” He let go of her leg and stood up, leaning against the counter to her right. She thought frantically of a response, not wanting to admit to ogling him. “No, it’s perfect,” she whispered. “It’s just my hands…”

She showed him the small cuts from the shards of glass, and Sam took both her hands in his own. “No problem,” he said. “There’s not much left in the kit, but maybe this’ll help.” Y/N watched as he unbuttoned his flannel and shrugged it off, revealing a snug crew neck shirt underneath. He smiled shyly before wrapping the plaid fabric around her damaged hands and tying it up as best he could. 

Sam took a step back and crossed his arms against his chest. He scratched his nose and looked at Y/N expectantly. “Well?” he asked. “How’s that?” Y/N appraised his work, lifting a brow at the unconventional mend. “It feels better,” she grinned. “Thanks Sam.”

He rolled his eyes. “You think it’s crappy,” he laughed. “It’s all over your face!” He waved off Y/N’s protests and helped her off the counter. 

She faltered a bit, but stood balanced when Sam supported her with a steady hold. “You ready to head home?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Yeah, I think we’re done here. I’ve faced enough danger for one day.”

“You know,” Sam mused, “It didn’t have to end this way.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He looked at her and grinned. “Remember when I warned you about the oncoming vamp?”

“Yeah, what about it?” 

“I told you nine o’clock, but you turned right.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before his words finally struck her. “Nine o’clock was to my left!” she moaned. 

Sam nudged her with an elbow. “No kidding!”

The pair laughed as they exited the warehouse, pressed against each other. When he heard the noise, Dean looked up from his spot against the Impala’s hood and smirked. “Did I miss something?” 

“Nah, it’s nothing, dude,” Sam replied breathily. 

Dean nodded knowingly. “Gotcha Sammy. It’s a couple’sthing, isn’t it?”

Y/N froze, silently cursing Dean for taunting his little brother. She turned to Sam, expecting him to shift his gaze away or stutter a response. Instead, she was surprised to see him raise his chin in defiance. “Yeah Dean, that’s right,” he affirmed, giving Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze. “It’s a couple’s thing.” 

Dean glanced at the pair and nodded. “Good times,” he grinned, standing up and moving to the driver’s side.

“Acouple’s thing, Sam Winchester?” Y/N inquired once Dean was gone. Sam smiled sheepishly under her gaze. 

"I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said softly.

“You didn’t,” she whispered back with a grin. “Sam, I-”

Just then, the Impala’s horn sounded. Dean beamed from inside the car, a glint in his eye. “I don’t mean to be a killjoy, but don’t we have a date with Doctor Cas? Save the cheesy confessions for after we all get patched up!”

“It’s alright, Sam,” Y/N said with a laugh. She leaned forwards and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “We’ve got all the time in the world to talk about the couple’s thing…” She struggled to the Impala’s backseat, looking over her shoulder to flash Sam a wink. “Besides, Dean is right about seeing Cas.” She gestured towards her bandaged leg with a smile. “Your medical skills really suck.”

Sam turned back at his brother and scowled. “Would you give us a minute?”

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Try reading Oversight!!!

@cosbloos​ Hello!!!! I really want to thank you for sending in a request!!! I really hope you liked this one, and I just want to say that YOU ARE AWESOME!!!!!

This could have very well have been a platonic wound mending but I had to go there…

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Supernatural fics, just tell me in the comments… or visit mytaglist! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Supernatural fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Dean, Christmas with TFW series, etc…)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

tagging the coolest:  @the-chaotic-cow@tuttifuckinfruttifriday@adaydreamaway08@stitchintimefan@andthevillainshallrises@justyourlocalwhore@waiting-for-cas-to-save-me@leigh70@cookiemumster1 @cosbloos​@danzalladaggers

My gangsters

Supernatural Season 14 Poster.

What are your thoughts about this?

My beautiful angels

Carry On My Wayward Son

Most shows have not lasted as long as they did, but other shows are not Supernatural. This show has been my favorite since I was four years old. We’ve watched the Winchester brothers die multiple times and come back and we’ve watched people they loved die. 15 amazing seasons of them

“Saving People, Hunting Things, The Family Business” -Dean Winchester

F A M I L Y

Who remembers this movie?

I love seeing J3 together

Young Jared Padalecki!!!!!

Pairing: Sam x Reader (eventually), Sam x OC!daughter

Summary: When Sam saves a little girl on a hunt, she bonds instantly to him, insisting he is her father. Sam, after convincing Dean, adopts the girl, and takes her back to the bunker, knowing he would do everything to make her safe and happy. But when she connects to Y/N as well, neither Sam nor Y/N, not even Dean, know just how much that one little girl will change their lives.

Words: 1683

Warnings: canon violence, paternal instinct

Playtime Masterlist

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“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Sam asked, worry shining in his eyes.

You smiled softly and nodded. “Yes, Sam, I’ll be okay. We have enough medicine, and more than enough food.”

Sam sighed. “Okay. Call if anything happens.”

“You know I will,” you replied. “Just go focus on the hunt. Really. I’ll see you when you and Dean get back.”

Sam nodded and smiled before getting into the impala. You waved at Sam and Dean as the impala drove out of the bunker garage, and sighed as the garage door closed. You moved back to your bed, ready to collapse and not get out of bed till you felt better.

Laying on the bed and pulling the covers over you, you thought about how Sam had been worried about you before he left. It seemed like he was always close, watching over you. Not that you minded, because you didn’t, at all. But it was getting harder and harder to hide your feelings for him when he was around.

“Oh well,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you felt sleep creep up on you. You would deal with that when you weren’t sick.

—

Dean glanced at Sam. “She’ll be fine, she’s an adult.”

“I know,” Sam replied. “It’s just been a long time since any of us got sick. I’m hoping it’s just a stomach bug.”

“It is,” Dean said. “And she’ll be okay. So let’s focus on the hunt.”

“Right,” Sam muttered, pulling out his laptop. “So- five families have gone missing in the past month. All five families had single parents though- only mom, no dad. But with one or two kids.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Alright. So why is it our kind of case?”

“Two days ago three bodies were found- the mothers of the first three families,” Sam explained. “All three were drained of blood completely. Not a drop left.”

“So vamps? That…want to start a family?” Dean speculated.

“Probably,” Sam agreed. “We’re five hours away though. Once we get there we can look at the bodies, double check that it’s vampires.”

“Sounds good,” Dean replied, revving the engine and speeding down the highway.

—

-three days later-

Sam moved through the underground dungeon system, his machete up and muscles tensed. It had turned out that it wasn’t just one vampire doing this, it was a nest of all males taking single mothers and their children. And they were taking families in over a 20 mile radius, and had been for almost a year.

Dean and Sam had found their nest easily, but then in the rush of the fight, had been split up. So here Sam was, rushing through the intertwining tunnels underground, trying to find Dean or a way out before the vampires found him..

Sam froze as he heard the scuffling of shoes, turning on his heel. “Who’s there?”

Staying silent after asking the question, he heard sniffing down the hall, as if someone was trying not to cry.

Sam slowly moved towards the sound. “Hello?”

Just ahead he could see a small figure rush out of the light of the hall into a corner. Sam followed and lowered his machete, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw a little girl trying to disappear into the dark.

Kneeling down, Sam set the blade on the ground. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The little girl peeked up at him, tear tracks staining her dirt covered face. “Y-you’re not?”

Sam shook his head. “No, not at all, I’m here to take you out of here.”

She slowly moved forward, and Sam instantly recognized her as the child of the first family that was taken, the mother and six year old girl that disappeared three weeks ago. But compared to the picture, this girl was filthy- her hair was marred, clothes torn, every part of her covered in dirt.

“You’re name’s Danielle, right?” He asked.

“Everyone calls me Dani,” she replied quietly.

“Well Dani, I’m Sam. Me and my brother Dean came here to save everyone,” Sam explained.

“You want to save me?” She whispered. “But t-they’ll find us and hurt us, and-”

“I’m not going to let anyone or anything hurt you,” Sam interrupted softly. “I’m going to keep you safe.”

She sniffed softly. “You promise?”

Sam nodded. “And I promise to take care of you, get you out of here. You’re gonna be alright.”

“…okay,” Dani said softly, moving closer to him.

“I’m gonna pick you up and carry you, okay?” Sam asked gently. He didn’t want to loose her in the tunnels, and he didn’t want her hurt on accident if a fight broke out. So holding her, carrying her was the best option.

She nodded and moved towards him more, letting him pull her close and wrap an arm around her. She was small enough Sam could carry her with one arm, which meant he could carry his machete in the other hand, protect himself and Dani.

Her small arms wrapped around his neck, gripping his shirt tightly as she buried her face into his shoulder. Sam could feel her shaking slightly, and it only made him want to do all he could to get her out, make sure she was safe and couldn’t get hurt again.

Keeping his arm around her, he picked up his machete and stood slowly, holding Dani easily. She stiffened at first as her feet left the ground, but relaxed as soon as she realized Sam wasn’t going to let her go.

Sam kissed the top of her head gently, and muttered, “Let’s get out of here,” before moving down the hall, hoping to find Dean or a way out soon.

—

About half an hour later, Sam was back at the entrance to the tunnels. He found Dean there as well, the rest of the kids and mothers with him. “Sammy, thank god,” Dean said, letting out a breath of relief. “Is that-”

“This is Dani,” Sam interrupted, nodding. “From the first family.”

Dean nodded. “Good. We got them all then. There are still vamps up there though.”

“Alright, let’s go take care of them,” Sam replied, moving to set Dani on the ground.

“No!” she cried, gripping his shirt.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, rubbing her back. “I’m just going to go make sure you and everyone else will be safe. I’m going to come right back, Dani.”

She sniffed, and pulled away enough to look up at his face, tears building in her eyes. “You promise?”

Sam nodded. “I promise.”

“…okay,” she said softly, letting go of him.

Sam fought the sudden urge to kiss her head again and stood, nodding to Dean. They both climbed the ladder to the exit of the tunnels, took care of the vampires, and not even ten minutes later climbed back down.

Dani instantly rushed to Sam, gripping his leg. Sam couldn’t help but smile, and kneel down to hug her. “See? I told you I would be back. It’s okay.”

Dani hugged him back tightly, and he could feel her shaking slowly stop as he rubbed her back.

“They’re all dead?” One of the mother’s asked, holding her children close.

Dean nodded. “Yep. All taken care of. Let’s get you all to safety.”

—

Sam glanced over all the families, taking with different police officers and ambulance techs. They had called the police as soon as everyone was out of the tunnels, multiple of the children and mothers needing medical assistance. The cover Dean had chosen, of course, was that they had been passing by and heard people calling for help. The bodies had already been there, they had just let out the people.

The cops had accepted that story, and Dean was already moving to the impala, ready to leave. Sam glanced at Dani, with a few ambulance techs and an officer. She still looked shaken up, and Sam couldn’t help but feel a kind of protectiveness rise in him. Shaking his head, he moved to the impala.

“No!!” Dani cried loudly, making Sam spin around. He watched as she pulled away from the ambulance techs and ran towards Sam. The police officer caught her easily, pulling her back. “No! Don’t take me away from Daddy!!”

“Hey, hey,” Sam said, moving to her, kneeling in front of her. He glanced at the officer, before meeting Dani’s eyes. “Dani…I’m not your daddy.”

“Yes you are!” she insisted loudly.

Sam could hear his brother move towards the group, but kept his eyes on Dani. Furrowing his eyebrows, he asked, “Why do you think that?”

“You promised to take care of me,” she said.

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, I did.”

“And you promised you’d protect me,” she continued.

Sam nodded again, still not understanding where she was going, what she meant. Dani seemed to sense that, and so she said softly, “Well that’s what daddies do, right? I’ve never had a daddy…and teacher says that daddy’s protect and take care of you. So you’re my daddy.”

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She already looked at him as a father, and didn’t want to leave his side. And Sam….part of him already cared for her. He could feel it inside him, the protectiveness rising up, and the want to hold her and help her.

Looking up at the police officer with a questioning gaze, the officer smiling. “She has no other family, so…I don’t see why you can’t adopt her.”

Sam smiled, and looked up as Dean’s hand moved to his shoulders. “…Sammy, are you sure?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded. “We’ll figure it out. I want this.” Sam had always wanted to be a father, have kids, a family. And maybe this was opposite way people normally did it, kids first with no wife or girlfriend, but Sam didn’t care.

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Sam’s smile grew, and he looked to Dani. “Yeah, sweetie. I’m your daddy.”

Dani smiled widely, and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, daddy.”

Sam hugged her back, kissing her head. “Anything for you, Dani.”