call me bea ;

𝟛𝟘𝕤 | 𝕤𝕙𝕖/𝕙𝕖𝕣 | 𝟙𝟠+ 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘 | 𝔸𝕆𝟛

if you feel like you have to, you can call me bea. my therapist told me I should journal. naturally, I write fan fiction instead.

╰┈➤ 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

╰┈➤ 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜

ᯓ 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥

ᯓ 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

ᯓ 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐬 (coming soon!)

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 ⁀➴ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

Cruel World: Chapter Twenty

Everything was perfect—you were about to welcome a baby girl into the world and finally leave the life of hunting behind. Sam was supposed to have it all: the house, the family, maybe even a dog in the backyard. But before the three of you could begin your new life in an old craftsman home on the prairie, the apocalypse arrived.

All Sam had to do was lock Lucifer in the cage…

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader, Dean Winchester x OFC

WC: 5.9K

CW: 18+ MDNI, canon-type violence/injury, blood, wound care, mild angst/emotional tension, language, implied smut, mentioned character death, some sweet, tooth rotting fluff these idiots deserve <3

A/n: this one's a little longer as I'm finally wrapping up my first multi-part fic! I separated this chapter into two parts to bring two storylines together.

Thank you to everyone who's come along for the ride, and I hope you enjoy!

Cruel World masterlist

“Share my body and my mind with you, that’s all over now. Did what I had to do, I found another anyhow.” - Cruel World, Lana Del Rey

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚

Dean had never been on that side of the line.

Waiting and wondering.

Pacing in front of the same row of motel rooms where she’d left him. Holding the empty coffee cup—her number scribbled across the cardboard sleeve in fading blue ink—in one hand and his phone in the other. He stared at the numbers like there was a punchline hidden somewhere among them.

He’d never been the one wondering how soon was too soon to call.

It had been two weeks since Rhi had pulled out of the parking lot in her old Bronco, glancing over her shoulder at him one last time.

He’d tried like hell to forget her.

It was pointless.

It wasn’t just that she was pretty, though that certainly wasn’t helping. She wasn’t the kind of woman Dean usually noticed first in a crowded bar. No impossible curves. No bright lipstick. No easy invitation.

Rhi made people earn her attention. And for some reason, he wanted it. She didn’t buy his “cowboy Casanova” act—as you’d once called it—which meant he didn’t feel the need to perform around her.

Without the act, he was just Dean. A guy who’d only ever been himself around a handful of people.

Leads about the wolves had dried up and Crowley was getting impatient. Maybe he could call her under the guise of chasing down leads. 

That might give her the impression that he’s using her. The thought made him shudder. 

Finally, he dialed her number with a shaky hand and continued to pace while he waited for her to deny his call. 

After three rings, he was ready to hang up. Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of the voice he’d been unable to forget.

“Hello?”

Silence. His mind went blank. He’d even forgotten her name. 

“Hey…Rhi.”

Nope. He’d forgotten his name. 

“Uh. It’s Dean—“

Nailed it, he thought. 

“Dean…”

His heart sank at the sound of her struggling to remember him. 

“Winchester.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

If he had died, he had just discovered a new circle of hell. One that Lucifer wouldn’t even visit. 

“Oh…I’m sorry—“

“Kidding! I was wondering if you’d ever call.”

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window outside of his motel room. He looked as flustered as Sam did when Dean brought him to a strip club for his eighteenth birthday. Ears tipped pink with an involuntary, nervous smile tugging at his cheeks. 

Rhi agreed to “assist” Dean on the case to track down the werewolves. Research only, he had insisted, to which she rolled her eyes. Her defiance frustrated the hell out of him. It prevented him from fulfilling his purpose in life—keeping people he cared about safe. 

“Haven’t you died a time or two, Dean? Why are you so worried about something happening to me?”

He couldn’t answer that. Not without spilling his guts, because he knew Rhi could see through his bullshit. He’d risk telling her that, even though he barely knew her, he didn’t want to lose her. 

“Shit shit shit shit—“

“Language, asshole.” Rhi laughed carefully before wincing. 

While the group was attempting to restrain the werewolves and bring them to Crowley, Rhi had let her guard down within striking distance. Of course, Dean was the only one remotely interested in her injury. He quickly guided her to the Impala. Shrugging off his flannel, he balled it up and pressed it hard against the bleeding wound near her hip.

Dean glared at her in the passenger seat, completely ignoring the blood that was staining the door and leather seat. He reached over her and pulled the fabric back enough to see if she was still bleeding, which resulted in fresh blood rising to the surface. 

“Son of a bitch—I’m takin’ you to the hospital.” 

“You’re not taking me to the hospital.” She winced through gritted teeth. “Just take me back to the motel.” 

His jaw ticked and his knuckles were pale from gripping the steering wheel. 

She was smart enough to know this wasn’t a wound she could stitch in a bathroom. She didn’t want to admit that she was terrified of hospitals. After the death of her parents, she associated the smell of antiseptic in a sterile environment with death. 

He could see the tiny dimples forming when her chin quivered. She pressed the shirt tighter against her hip and tried to cloak her fear with pain. 

Her face softened when she felt Dean grab her hand that was gripping the seat and tracing his thumb across her knuckles.

She was trying like hell to dislike the man. Trying to lessen the sting when he inevitably disappointed her. But doing things like that was making it difficult. He didn’t ask if she was scared. Didn’t patronize or crowd her. Just acknowledging that he saw her and didn’t think any less of her. 

Rhi was going to be down for at least a few weeks while she healed from the deep claw mark to her side. 

Dean stayed in the waiting room, dodging calls from the Campbells and Crowley. Eventually he was able to visit Rhi in her recovery room. 

“Just take me back to the motel and I’ll take it easy for a few days.”

Dean shook his head. 

“No. You don’t need to be staying in some shitty room trying to take care of yourself. Doc said you lost a lot of blood. You need to rest. And you need help keeping the wound clean.”

She folded her arms in front of her chest. 

“Why do you care, Dean?” Her voice was soft as she tried keeping it steady. “I’m basically a stranger to you.”

There was softness beneath the harshness in her expression.

“And what? Do you have some big fancy house with a white picket fence where I can put my feet up for a few weeks?”

“I mean… it doesn’t have a fence.”

The words were out before he could think them through. His stomach fluttered at the idea. He’d need to clear it with Sam and you first. But like you’d reminded him more than once, it was his home too.

Her eyes widened when she realized he wasn’t joking.

For some reason, that reaction stung more than he expected. He wasn’t offering because he felt obligated. He was offering because the thought of dropping her back into a smoke-stained motel room and driving away made his chest feel tight.

“Rhiannon, please—”

“This wasn’t your fault, Dean. You don’t owe me anything.”

She didn’t want him collecting guilt like spare change. Didn’t want to become another person he felt responsible for saving.

“You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me. I never shoulda called you.”

He pushed himself out of the chair and paced a few steps away before she could see how much he meant it.

“If we’re being honest…” she said quietly. “I’m glad you called.”

Dean stopped and she felt nervous under his gaze.

“I dunno. You’ve kinda grown on me.”

His shoulders relaxed.

“In a fungus-y sort of way.”

There she is, he thought. He breathed a sharp laugh and his gaze dropped to his feet to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“So you’ll stay with me? No strings attached. Just a free bed and home cooked meals—“

“—please stop talking.” The entire ordeal, coupled with the blood loss she sustained, was brewing a massive headache. She was also trying to fight the  warmth blooming in her chest and spreading to her cheeks. 

Rhi agreed to accept his hospitality for a couple of days only. She made it clear that even though she could barely walk, she could still kick his ass. Or at least shave a few more years off of his life. 

𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙤

After checking to make sure Willa hadn’t woken up from Walker’s playful barking, you joined Sam downstairs with Castiel. You were incredibly frustrated by the timing of his arrival. All of your hormonal need had been converted directly into bitterness.

Settling onto the couch beside Sam, he rested a hand on your bare thigh and squeezed lightly, shooting you a quick smile meant only for you. You sighed and let your head fall against his shoulder while you collected yourself.

Walker plopped down at the angel’s feet, happily panting and looking up at him for more attention.

Sam’s eyes flicked between the dog and Castiel.

“Oh. Some animals are drawn to celestial beings like myself. Your dog appears to be one of them.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, fascinated by Walker’s immediate attachment to him.

“Anyway…” Sam sighed and began wringing his hands together nervously. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Glancing over his shoulder, he found you already looking at him. You were clearly exhausted and frustrated. But you were still there—at his side like always.

He wanted to minimize the situation. Make it sound smaller than it was. The reality was that his nightmares about Hell, the Cage, and his time without a soul were threatening the fragile peace the two of you had finally found. They were warning signs that the barrier Death had constructed around his memories was failing.

“We’re retired, Sam.”

Your quiet voice reminded him of the conversation you’d had in the car. That the two of you didn’t do solo missions anymore. Not now. Not when you had everything to lose.

Sam explained everything. From the first memories that had started bleeding through. The dreams that no longer felt like dreams. The nightmares of his soul trapped in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael.

The things he’d witnessed through the eyes of a stranger.

The things he’d done to you.

Castiel listened silently, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t know what to do, Cas.” Sam rubbed a hand across his face. “I can’t afford to lose it completely. We can’t keep living like this.”

He looked at you again for reassurance. Your tired eyes were glossy as you listened to him recount the twisted reality of the last six months.

Sam’s return from Hell had really only marked the beginning of yours.

Even though you’d found peace, it had come at a cost.

“I can’t help but feel responsible,” Castiel admitted quietly.

You bit your tongue. Selfishly, irrationally, part of you still resented him. Sam had made his choice to stop the Apocalypse, but that didn’t mean you had forgiven everyone involved. You likely never would. 

Not when you hadn’t even fully forgiven Sam.

“Let me see what I can do.”

Castiel stood and stepped toward Sam. Before you realized what you were doing, you were already on your feet. Your arm moved protectively in front of Sam’s chest.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Your mistrust of him made you question every move he made.

“Y/N, it’s okay.” Sam reached for your hand.

“I need to examine whatever remains of the barrier Death created around his soul,” Castiel explained. “I need to know whether it can be repaired.”

A tense silence settled between you.

“And how exactly are you supposed to do that?” you asked.

“It’s difficult to explain.” Castiel tilted his head slightly. “But it won’t be pleasant.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, Sam remembered exactly what that meant. He remembered Castiel discovering his missing soul, and Death forcing it back into place. He knew it was agonizing. But the cost of losing everything was worse.

“Let’s just get it over with.”

Sam’s resigned sigh earned matching looks from both of you.

The three of you moved to the basement—technically the root cellar of the old house—so as not to risk waking Willa.

“Whatever happens,” Sam said firmly, “do not stop him.”

Your face fell as you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself. Partially to fight the icy chill pressing in from the cellar, and partially because of the edge in his voice.

It was every bit as terrible to witness as you’d expected. Every instinct in you screamed to eliminate the threat. Instead, you paced nervously, staying close enough to intervene if you needed to.

Even with his belt clenched between his teeth, Sam’s body was screaming for relief. His skin flushed red, every vein standing out beneath the surface. His brows were drawn tightly together.

Eventually, his body relaxed against the chair as he inhaled deeply, not realizing how desperately his lungs had been starved for air.

“Just as I suspected,” Castiel said, almost to himself, as he stepped away from Sam.

Sam was still catching his breath.

“The problem isn’t the wall. The problem is you, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed on him, confusion written plainly across his face.

“There are cracks, so to speak. But they aren’t from age or poor construction.” Castiel tilted his head slightly. “They’re from your inability to let things go.”

The weight of the truth settled over Sam in the form of guilt.

“Using some of my grace, I can seal off the remaining memories. But you have to let them go, Sam.”

You immediately turned toward him, hopeful he was receiving the offer the way you had—as a gift. As a key to finally moving forward.

Instead, he still looked cautious and unconvinced.

Castiel sighed. As an angel, he possessed strong moral convictions—arguably stronger than Sam’s. But he wasn’t burdened by human emotion the way people were.

“Humans do not heal by knowing everything. That is not how you were designed.” Castiel watched as the words settled over him. “They heal by deciding what they can survive without knowing.”

He paused.

“You were given free will, Sam. Use it. I can give you the opportunity to move forward.” His voice finally softened. “Please take it.”

He seemed almost as determined to help Sam as you were. There was desperation in his words and something uniquely human—hope.

“Sam.” Your hand settled on his shoulder, grounding him. “Please.”

He nodded and swallowed around the knot in his throat. There may not have been anything he could have done to make it home to you the night he was locked in the Cage. But now, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep his family together.

It was nearly dawn by the time you both made it upstairs. You were exhausted, but neither of you closed your eyes when you crawled into bed together.

Maybe it was the relief of the whole ordeal finally being over.

Maybe it was a side effect of Castiel’s grace.

Whatever it was, you both felt ten years younger. A hundred pounds lighter.

Curled against his side with your legs tangled together, your cheek squished against his chest and his fingers loosely threaded through your hair, you felt like twenty-somethings again.

He still got butterflies when you glanced up at him through your lashes, squinting playfully and asking what he was staring at.

Without warning, he rolled you onto your back and settled between your legs, caging you beneath his broad frame.

Your fingertips traced the hard lines of muscle in his arms before slipping into his hair.

“You should rest, Sammy.”

Your voice and your body were giving him very different messages.

“I know. And I will.”

He punctuated each statement with a kiss trailing along your throat.

“After I take care of you.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and let your eyes flutter shut as Sam turned onto the gravel driveway, trying to stave off the next wave of pain throbbing behind your eyes.

It had been three weeks since Castiel had shown up in the middle of the night and given you your life back.

Three weeks since Sam had finally chosen to let go of the past in exchange for the possibility of a future. A future that apparently included themed birthday parties for toddlers.

“Fucking Valerie,” you muttered under your breath. “Fucking face paint. Fucking glitter. What the fuck.”

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Sam huffed a laugh as he checked the rearview mirror to make sure Willa was still asleep. “The mouth on you.”

“Sorry,” you groaned, eyes still squeezed shut. “My head is killing me and that… toddler mosh pit… didn’t help.”

He fought back a smile. The party—if you could even call it that—had been an hour of pure chaos.

Willa had consumed roughly a month’s worth of artificial sugar and crashed the second she’d been buckled into her car seat. The emotional fallout would arrive before bedtime. He’d stake money on it.

“Well, I’ll take care of getting her inside—”

He trailed off.

You opened your eyes and noticed the Impala sat in its usual spot. Next to it sat an old Ford Bronco that you didn’t recognize.

Your brows furrowed.

“Just wait here.”

Sam’s voice was low, but lacked any real concern. Dean would never bring anyone dangerous around you or Willa. Still, he didn’t take chances anymore.

The smell of bacon grease and the sound of quiet conversation drew him toward the kitchen.

“Dean?”

Rhi stood so quickly her chair nearly tipped backward. One hand moved to grip her side while the other braced against the table. Her eyes never left Sam.

“Hey—relax. Sit down.”

Sam stopped short, immediately noticing her reaction.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I, uh, tried calling you.”

After a few rushed introductions, the tension eased slightly—slightly being the operative word.

Curiosity pulled you inside. After letting the door click shut behind you, you were immediately greeted by the familiar sight of Dean in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms loosely crossed over his chest, framed perfectly in the doorway.

He didn’t notice you, though. His attention was fixed on someone else. Someone who made his features soften and those subtle crow’s-feet appear when he smiled.

Willa was asleep on your hip, her head resting on your shoulder. Your view was suddenly obstructed by Sam, who noticed you standing in the entryway. He gently gathered Willa into his arms without waking her.

“Who is that?”

“A friend of Dean’s. I think she’s staying with us for a few days.” He kept his voice low, but Willa stirred anyway. He shot you an apologetic look before carrying her upstairs.

You continued to observe a version of Dean you hadn’t seen in a long time. One of genuine happiness and comfort.

His earthy green eyes had a spark in them again, and there was a healthy glow about him you hadn’t realized had been missing.

Walker wandered into view and sat at Dean’s feet, clearly interested in whatever was on his plate. When Dean glanced around to see if he could get away with sneaking him a scrap of food, his eyes finally landed on you.

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you quickly pulled yourself together. He hadn’t seen you since you’d completely fallen apart in front of him. It had only been about a month, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Even though you felt like a train wreck standing there, he seemed to immediately recognize the dramatic improvement in your condition.

You finally willed yourself forward into the kitchen and were overwhelmed by the mixture of scents, making your nose wrinkle. Strong coffee, breakfast food, and the hunter special—gun oil and motel soap. All familiar, but overpowering with the migraine you’d been fighting all day.

“You okay?”

Dean’s familiar, steady voice centered you.

You hummed and nodded, offering a quick smile to compensate for what your body language was probably saying.

Dean introduced you to Rhi, who waved politely mid-chew. She certainly looked the part of a young hunter. Edgy, alert, and hyperaware of her surroundings.

But there was more to it than that. She was pretty in an effortless way. The kind that looked good in harsh motel lighting and after sleeping in her truck. The kind that didn’t seem to require any effort at all.

You glanced down at yourself. There was still glitter on your sleeve. Probably in your hair, too.

“Rhi, this is Y/N.”

You smiled politely while tugging your sweater over your hand and attempting to rub at the glitter stain. It only spread the irritating substance.

Dean briefly explained the situation while watching your expression for any sign of apprehension.

“Well, we’ve all been there.” You gestured toward the bandage peeking out beneath the hem of her shirt. “Everyone in this house has, anyway.”

She tilted her head curiously.

“You’re a hunter too?”

You let out a weak laugh.

“Once upon a time, yeah. We had the opportunity to retire and took it.”

Almost on cue, a tired cry echoed from upstairs, followed by a frustrated sigh and the familiar creak of old floorboards beneath Sam’s feet.

You used it as an excuse to end the increasingly uncomfortable interaction.

“I’ll set some towels and blankets upstairs for you. Stay as long as you need to.”

Dean was visibly relieved by your warm reception, but he still watched you walk away, searching your expression for signs that you were saying one thing and feeling another.

Rhi noticed the way his gaze lingered. The way he seemed to be looking for something beneath the words. There was no resentment in the observation. She simply filed it away the way hunters do.

After Sam got Willa settled again, he found you decompressing in bed. Hovering somewhere between sleep and relaxation. After grabbing you a glass of water and a couple migraine tablets, he sat beside you on the edge of the mattress.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s just a migraine, Sam. I’ll live.”

He rested a hand on your leg and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

You finally cracked an eye open.

“What? Dean’s friend?”

He chuckled at your dismissive tone.

“You’re fine with her staying here?”

Frustrated, you pushed yourself upright and immediately winced when the pressure behind your eyes intensified.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checkin’.” Sam shrugged awkwardly.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading back downstairs to join his brother. Eager to hear about life on the road. Now more determined than ever to find Dean a way out of Crowley’s debt.

Sam couldn’t help but notice the chemistry between Dean and Rhi. And the way they both tried to ignore it. How they stared at each other when they talked before quickly looking away whenever the other noticed. 

She really was a female version of Dean. Less false bravado than him, but she still fought to maintain a hardened image of herself, even when cracks appeared and revealed her soft underbelly.

Guilt twisted in his gut when they described Rhi’s injury. The same way it did for Dean. Hunting was dangerous enough without the added risk of bringing live monsters back to Crowley.

“This has gotta stop, Dean. I never should have let you take this debt.”

He expected the usual cocky, dismissive retort.

“I’ve been doing some research.”

Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in disbelief.

“Now who’s the nerd?” he huffed under his breath.

Rhi looked equally surprised, seeing as Dean had attempted to assign her to research duty.

“Alright, alright.” Dean gestured dismissively. “It’s hard to find something to hold over the King of Hell. But—”

Dean paused and pulled out a weathered lore book that Sam recognized immediately. He tried not to let himself fantasize about long nights poring over ancient texts and a glowing computer screen.

“—if we could find the bones of his vessel?”

Sam’s interest was piqued when he realized where Dean was heading. He was thoroughly impressed. Burning the bones of a demon’s vessel killed the demon within.

“Isn’t he, like, four hundred years old though? And Scottish? How the hell are we gonna find his bones?”

“Without going to Scotland?” Rhi asked, pressing her knee against the edge of the table. “I have no idea.”

Her eyes flicked between the brothers as they arrived at the same conclusion through a silent exchange.

“Maybe Cas?”

“Worth a shot.”

Dean shrugged and agreed to try summoning the angel who had been particularly difficult to reach lately. As usual, it would be a waiting game.

After a tense standoff, Dean convinced Rhi to take his bed while he slept on the couch. It had been years since she’d slept on anything better than a stiff motel mattress or a pull-out couch. Most nights she slept in the back of the Bronco at a state park or national forest. To her, it was more comfortable than a stuffy motel room and reminded her of camping with her parents when she was a kid.

The soft mattress and fresh-smelling comforter were a welcome change.

The first day was unnaturally quiet despite the addition of two more people to the house. Willa was cautious of the stranger at first, but she was also the first to break the ice. Once she let her guard down enough to smile and laugh around Rhi, life resumed as normal.

Rhi was impressed by how a gun-wielding, battle-worn man like Dean could soften enough to carry a toddler without breaking her. The same booming voice that could break up a bar fight could read the same board book twenty times in a row without complaint.

She did her best to stay out of the way and quietly observe the household dynamic.

You and Sam were clearly in love and shared parenting responsibilities equally. There was never any question about Willa’s parentage—she was a spitting image of her father with her hazel eyes and messy brown locks. But some of her mannerisms and expressions were a curious blend of yours and Dean’s.

Dean had given a vague explanation of the last two years. She knew Sam had essentially been dead for a year and then simply… come back. It would have been miraculous if he wasn’t a Winchester.

He never mentioned the way your relationship had changed after his loss, but it was obvious that it had.

It was obvious in the same way a smoking candle revealed that it had once burned brightly. Love had existed there once. It had burned hot and fierce. Now all that remained was a pleasant lingering scent—a reminder of a different time.

It showed in the way Dean dished up your plate at dinner while you got Willa settled. Or how he always brewed enough coffee so there would be a fresh cup waiting when you woke up.

His touch didn’t linger. Your breath didn’t hitch. But your lives were still uniquely intertwined. In the way only surviving tragedy together can be. 

A few days later, you offered to help Rhi change her bandage while Dean was running errands with Sam.

“It’s really no problem. I’ve patched those idiots up more times than I can count.”

You asked about her life. Trying not to be too invasive, even though she was standing shirtless in your bathroom save for a sports bra.

It had been so long since you’d talked to another woman that you found yourself opening up without even trying. For once, you didn't have to lie about how you met Sam. Or what you did after high school instead of going to college and chasing a dream job.

It was easy to see why Dean liked her so much, even if she was nothing like the women he usually went for. She was more than tolerable—you actually liked her. Even if you were slightly intimidated.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.”

The words left your lips before you could catch them. You silently kicked yourself, hoping you hadn’t accidentally ruined something good for him.

Sensing your anxiety, Rhi gently nudged your shoulder.

“Girl. Chill.”

You let out a nervous sigh.

“Just try not to hurt him too badly.” You quipped, though there was a thread of sincerity beneath it. “He’s more sensitive than he looks.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The man cried watching a Disney movie. He should come with a handle with care sticker.”

“What movie?” Her voice was tight while she stifled a laugh.

You pressed your lips together, trying and failing to suppress your own laughter.

“The Brave Little Toaster.”

For a moment she just stared at you. Then both of you dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. 

At that moment, you weren’t a mom or a soon-to-be wife. You weren’t a former hunter. Or a survivor of tragedy. You were a woman laughing hysterically in a bathroom with another woman. Gossiping about a silly man. It was a tale as old as time.

You hadn’t heard the brothers when they came home. They just stood at the base of the stairs listening to the chorus of wheezing laughs. The thought passed between them silently that they hadn’t heard you laugh like that in years. 

“Guess I’m not as funny as I thought I was.” Sam shrugged at the idea. 

“Trust me, Sammy. Out of the two of us, I’m the funny one.” 

Eventually, Castiel did appear. Of course, it was at an inconvenient time and nearly gave everyone a heart attack. He agreed that the bones of Crowley’s vessel would make excellent leverage. If they could find them, Crowley would have little choice but to release Dean from any debt he believed Sam owed him.

Dean could finally move on and do whatever he wanted with his life. He didn’t want to leave hunting completely. It was too deeply ingrained in the fibers of his being. But he wanted the ability to choose it.

More than freedom, though, he wanted somewhere to belong. More importantly, he wanted someone to belong to. Whether or not that someone was Rhi, he wasn’t sure yet. But you had awakened something in him. A part of himself he’d buried beneath duty, guilt, and self-sacrifice.

You had shown him that he was worthy of belonging and being loved.

The rest happened surprisingly fast.

Once Castiel located the remains of Crowley’s vessel, you agreed to let Sam join his brother to handle the negotiations. The only condition was that Rhi went along to supervise.

Crowley complained loudly, threatened everyone equally, and eventually decided the arrangement was no longer worth the trouble.

Unlike that night more than a year and a half ago, Sam came home.

You both knew this would be the last time that you’d have to wonder. 

You were on him the second he set foot on the porch, nearly knocking him off his feet. Laughing, he caught you around the waist and helped you wrap your legs around him.

You buried your face in his shoulder while he held you effortlessly against his chest. Even after he set you down, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go.

“Why’re you crying?”

Sam tried pulling back when he felt your shoulders shaking.

“No.” You shook your head against him, laugh-sobbing into his shirt.

His hands rubbed slowly up and down your back.

“Baby… why?”

“I don’t know!” you cried through a nervous laugh. “I don’t know.”

Dean and Rhi were lost in their own world while they unloaded the Impala and casually debriefed in the driveway.

Neither of you noticed Castiel until he was standing a few feet away.

“Congratulations.”

Both of you jumped and you cursed under your breath. 

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam said automatically.

The angel simply stared while Sam’s smile slowly faded.

“Wait.” He frowned. “For what?”

You felt your stomach drop. Your eyes fluttered shut when the realization hit you.

Castiel was looking directly at you with the same puzzled expression he always wore when attempting to understand humans.

He tilted his head slightly.

“Is that not what humans say when they learn someone is expecting a child?”

The realization hadn’t reached Sam yet. You watched him trying to make sense of the words. Waiting for it to land. 

Finally his eyes widened and flicked towards you. He was puzzled by your lack of reaction.

“Did you know?”

You shrugged nervously, desperate to get a read on him.

“Know what?” Dean asked, stopping at the base of the porch steps.

Rhi’s eyes widened first. 

“Oh shit.” 

Dean looked between all of you.

“What am I missing here?”

The tension shattered when the weight of understanding finally crashed into Sam.

He laughed. A loud, disbelieving laugh that seemed to erupt from deep in his belly. The kind of laugh that only finds you safely on the other side of survival. 

“Really?”

His eyes were already shining.

You felt tears stinging your own again.

“I think so—”

You barely had time to squeak before he wrapped both arms around you and lifted you clean off the ground.

“Sam!”

His hands cradled your face when he finally set you down. His forehead pressed against yours. He wasn’t checking for injuries—physical or emotional. Not checking to see if you were falling apart at the seams. 

He wanted to confirm to himself that this was real. 

The smile that spread across his face was brighter than any you’d seen since before the Cage. There wasn’t a thread of panic there like the first time he held Willa.

After everything this world had thrown you two, there wasn't a shred of fear or hesitation anymore. 

Summer was boiling on the Kansas prairie. The only reprieve was in the evenings. The setting sun and gentle breeze made the heat more bearable. The rhythmic creaking of the porch swing punctuated the swelling chorus of cicadas. You and Sam were settled on the swing with Willa in his lap while you showed her the strip of ultrasound pictures. Trying to explain to her that the tiny black and white blob was her new sibling. 

Walker laid with his head between his paws on the porch. Releasing a deep sigh as he stared down the driveway bathed in golden light. Always on alert for intruders but letting his eyes gently shut while he baked in the glow.

The door creaking open behind him made him sit up. He slowly pushed himself up to watch Dean and Rhi step onto the porch, continuing a conversation they had started inside. 

“Ha, remember the last time you tried assigning me to research duty?” 

“Yeah! You put yourself in the hospital!” 

She stopped, her jaw fell slack in disbelief, while Dean continued down the steps with a cocky smirk. 

Walker’s head snapped back to the sound of Willa’s whimpering cry. She wiggled out of Sam’s lap to plod after Dean, gently nudging Walker out of her way. 

“Sorry kiddo.” He scooped her up and perched her on his bicep. “Gotta stay here.” 

He peppered her with kisses before handing her back to you. 

“We’ll be back in a few days.” 

“Be careful.” You said warmly while settling Willa on your lap. 

“Always am.” 

Dean smiled and scratched Walker between his ears. Walker watched as he joined Rhi at the bottom of the steps and they crossed the yard.

The familiar black car roared to life. He tilted his head as it disappeared down the gravel road and beyond the trees. For a moment, he continued staring after it and watched as the dust settled back onto the road.

The creak of the porch swing caught his attention. He watched as you stood up awkwardly and moved towards the front door to start dinner. 

He finally turned away from the empty driveway and walked back toward the porch swing. With a satisfied huff, he settled onto the warm boards and rested his head between his paws.

The familiar voices behind him blended into the evening chorus of cicadas. 

His family was home.

And this time, everyone who left would come back.

A/n: It's crazy that I started this fic when I was eight months pregnant with my daughter, and now I have an almost-three month old who's asleep on my shoulder right now.

It was so fun to learn and grow as a writer, and I hope you enjoyed! <3

My current taglist was made just for Cruel World. If you'd like to join my taglist for supernatural or other fandoms, fill out my form

𝙲𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@ambiguous-avery , @insensiblelimerence , @samiwinchester444 , @staley83, @little-rose-universe , @ferncloud0191

𝚂𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 - 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚟

⸝⸝ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

Being friends since childhood, their fates felt interwoven.

From stolen sunrises and first kisses to whispered promises beneath the Texas sky, there wasn't a version of the future where they weren't together. But after tragedy changes the world overnight, one impossible decision tears them apart.

As years pass and life takes them down different roads, old wounds refuse to stay buried. Some loves fade with time.

Theirs never did. ⸝⸝

Pairing: Cordell Walker x fem!reader

WC: 2.6K

CW: 18+, angsty tension, language, repressed emotions, alcohol abuse/drunkenness, mention of character death (canon), mutual pining, slow-burn, some tooth-rotting fluff. I will create content warnings for each part.

A/n: based on this request. This wasn't supposed to be so angsty! I've been on a big Zach Bryan kick lately. I promise there's a happy ending.

Cordell had seen you at your worst—helping you and your teenage daughter escape a toxic marriage by climbing out a bathroom window in the middle of the night. He asked for nothing in return. Even after you cursed him for refusing to buy into your delusion at the jail, he was still patient and kind enough to come when you finally asked for help.

Now, you summoned that same compassion as you watched him destroy himself with a fifth of whiskey in the back of his pickup truck.

“Get your things, Cordell. I’m taking you home.”

He watched you like he was waiting for you to vanish. Just like every vision of Emily did.

“I’m not goin’ back there. I can’t—“

He couldn’t go back to the home he built with Emily. He couldn’t bring himself to step over the cement stone that captured his kids’ tiny handprints. Not yet.

“Well I’m not taking you to the ranch. Your kids don’t need to see you like this.” Your heart ached at the sight of him coming apart at the seams. But the mother in you was angry with him. His kids had just lost their mom in the most traumatic way imaginable and they needed their dad.

“Come on. You can stay with me tonight.”

He trailed you by a few paces as you climbed the steps to your front porch. He still wasn’t entirely convinced this was real. That you were back home. Safe. And inviting him inside your space.

“Maeve is with her dad this weekend so I’ll sleep in her bed. You can take mine.”

He started to object, insisting he’d sleep on the couch.

“Cordi I can barely stand to sleep on that thing—“ the nickname slipped out too easily, but it seemed to soften him. His shoulders dropped away from his ears and the tension eased from his jaw.

You grabbed him a towel and an extra pillow and blanket, telling him to shower if he wanted and sleep wherever he felt comfortable. He paused and silence settled between you. Without thinking, you stepped toward him and loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. Your head naturally settled against his chest. He reciprocated, his chin resting gently atop your head.

It felt like coming home after being gone for years—a thousand miles away—and finding the porch light left on for you.

Like you were finally safe and warm after being out in the cold for so long.

Your eyes stung and the lump in your throat felt heavy as lead. The smell of alcohol made your nose wrinkle and reminded you of how broken he was.

That he had just lost the love of his life.

That his inhibitions were lowered and that was probably the only reason he was standing this close. You pulled away and noticed his eyes were glassy as he gazed down at you.

“I’m gonna get some sleep,” you said quietly. “Goodnight Cordi.”

His eyes followed you as you walked away. You glanced over your shoulder once before shutting the door behind you.

He tried lying in your bed for a moment. The sweet, faint scent of your perfume was too confusing. Too inviting. He ended up making a spot for himself on the floor. Naturally tossing and turning despite his exhaustion.

His eyes settled on a small box tucked beneath your bed. Had he been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have even considered it. He desperately fought the urge to investigate. He could see folded, worn pieces of paper sticking out from one corner.

It was wrong. So wrong. You’d invited him into your space and he was considering violating your privacy. Just a quick look, he convinced himself. It’d been so long since you’d talked—really talked. The way you’d spend hours telling him about nothing and everything. And he loved listening to you. Watching your expressions shift and your hands move as you spoke. Maybe this was just making up for lost time. Something to distract him from the constant pain he’d been carrying since Emily was killed.

He carefully unfolded the first and looked at the date.

October 15, 2001

A letter. Addressed to him.

He paused when he realized what a massive violation of trust it would be to read a letter you’d chosen not to send. Maybe they were like all the letters he wrote you in Afghanistan. The ones he intended to give you when he got home. He finally decided that regardless of what they said, he wouldn’t allow them to change anything between you. It would be as if he’d never read them at all.

The first was a mixture of fear and anger. You were terrified of losing him. Either to war, or to the possibility that he’d come home a broken man. The VA left soldiers to rot on the streets and created broken families. You worried they’d turn him into a ruthless killing machine. Destroying the parts of him you loved most. The parts that were inherently good.

Most of all, you said that as hard as you tried, you could never stop loving him, even if that love changed over time. Even if he lost the parts that made him who he was, you’d mourn them forever and remember them kindly.

November 9, 2001

You missed him. You admitted to calling friends back home and asking if they’d heard anything. You were full of regret for how things had ended. The way you left that night.

The government was tight-lipped about casualties, but Cordell’s name was never listed anywhere you could find. You’d send him letters once you figured out where to address them.

Some of the letters were short and lighthearted—talking about your aunt’s ranch. Stories about how a herd of goats managed to eat a hole through a barn wall to reach the feed storage. Or how tumbleweeds somehow found their way indoors on an almost daily basis.

He even found a small stack of Polaroids you’d taken. One was of a herd of longhorns that had wandered onto your aunt’s property at sunset. Another was of you and a colt you’d helped break. He couldn’t help but smile at how young you looked. Beaming proudly at the horse you were leading.

The last letter he found was dated the day he ran into you at the farmers market.

“I realized at that moment that I was wrong. The way Emily looked at you told me that your ability to love still existed in abundance.”

Cordell felt like he blinked and it was daylight. He’d fallen asleep with his arm folded beneath his head and a stack of letters resting on his chest. Almost on cue, he heard a gentle knock at the door. He scrambled to put everything back into the box before you rounded the corner of the bed where he’d slept.

“You okay?”

He managed to slide the box back into place in time, but he still looked stressed. You chuckled at his choice of sleeping arrangements.

The morning light filtering through the blinds took him back twenty years. You still had those small freckles scattered across your cheeks. The same crease in your nose when you laughed. Now, just like him, you had faint lines at the corners of your eyes from years of experience and emotion. They only made your features more defined. More beautiful.

“Cordi?”

His name brought him back.

He needed to shower and pull himself together before he could face his family again.

“Figured you could use these,” you said while gingerly offering him a razor and shaving cream. They’d made it into your bathroom supplies when you officially moved out of what was now Luke’s house. He hesitated for a moment and inspected his reflection.

“Here, sit.”

He obliged and maintained that confused puppy-dog expression as he sat on the closed toilet lid.

“Emily’d kill me if I let you go home like this.” You mumbled mostly to yourself.

He stifled an emotional laugh, trapping it in his chest.

Truth be told, you’d never shaved a man’s face before, but it couldn’t be that complicated. With your focus fixed on avoiding any nicks or scrapes, you stood awkwardly between his knees. His face was nearly level with your chest. He smelled the faint traces of yesterday’s perfume and whatever soft vanilla-scented lotion you kept on the counter. He couldn’t help but smile when he noticed the pink tip of your tongue pressed between your lips—always a sign of concentration.

“Be still.” You ordered him but struggled to keep a straight face yourself.

He mumbled an apology and, without thinking, his warm hand briefly cradled your elbow. Then lightly brushed your waist and hip before settling back on his knee. Your eyes fluttered at the unexpected jolt.

You wiped any excess shaving cream off his face and patted it dry. Feeling for any spots you might have missed, your fingertips lingered for a fraction of a second while his eyes remained fixed on you.

Neither of you moved.

The bathroom suddenly felt too small.

Your hand was still resting against his jaw. His gaze drifted to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. The air between you felt heavy.

“Cordi…”

The nickname came out softer than you intended.

He leaned forward before he seemed to realize what he was doing. Not enough to close the distance. Just enough that your breath caught in your throat.

Reality crashed back over him.

“Fuck—I’m sorry.” He groaned as he immediately stepped away, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him there. He was still deep in the throes of grief and crisis.

“Cordell…” you sighed, trying to gather yourself. “I’m not ready—we aren’t ready.”

He nodded emphatically and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work the tension from his muscles. Now that life had brought you together again, it was difficult to picture a future without him. You just didn’t know what that future would look like.

He knew it wasn’t the time. Part of him wondered if his desperation to be close to you was born from grief. He couldn’t dismiss how natural it felt—how it had always felt—to hold you. He wouldn’t write off his feelings as a need for distraction. But you were right.

His kids needed him.

Cordell did his best to stay involved in his kids’ daily lives while leading the investigation into his wife’s death. He faltered. Many times. Struggling to put them before the need to hunt down her killers.

He’d call you when he could. Usually when he pulled into his driveway late at night. Still wound too tightly after work and needing to ground himself before facing his family. Sometimes it would be a quick call. Swapping pleasantries and light banter. Other times you’d just let him vent while he tried to hide the strain in his voice.

Eventually, you started to anticipate the calls and missed them when they didn’t come.

It had been a year since Emily was killed. You knew the anniversary was quickly approaching and were preparing to be there for Cordell however he needed you to be. You hadn’t heard from him in weeks, though. The space he used to occupy in your daily routine, even if it was just a phone call, felt painfully barren.

A gentle knock at the door turned yours and Maeve’s heads from your spot on the couch. It was late and you never had visitors drop by unannounced, so you cautiously opened the door and were relieved to see Cordell standing on your porch. He looked tired—like he’d been through hell—but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he’d won whatever battle he’d been fighting.

“We got her.”

You hadn’t even gotten a word out before he told you that Emily’s killer had been a woman. Unfortunately, she’d died before she could be brought to justice, but he finally had answers. Out of instinct, you wrapped him in a tight hug. Tears born from equal parts relief and heartache staining his shirt where your face pressed against him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called.” 

You nodded softly before pulling yourself away from him. You hadn’t seen him since dropping him off at his truck that morning, a few weeks after losing Emily. Even though you were only a few miles apart, he had been on his own journey—one that, like many others, you weren’t a part of. You two always picked up where you left off, though.

“I wanna take you out. Dinner and drinks, or whatever you want.”

His smile melted through you, but it faded when you didn’t respond right away. You had read the letter Liam left with you the night he asked for your help. You knew that Cordell had loved you the way you’d loved him.

The way you were denying you still did, and probably always would.

It had been a year since you’d laid eyes on him, and now he was standing on your front porch, hat in hand, asking to be close to you again. Like you hadn’t spent the better part of your lives as a distant memory.

After some silent pleading on his part, you finally agreed to let him take you on a proper date. 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”

You cautiously agreed, trying to hide the emotional fireworks igniting in your chest.

“This is the part where you go home now, Cordi.” You teased when he didn’t turn to leave. He stayed rooted to his spot like he was waiting for something.

He laughed quietly and looked down at the brim of his hat, worrying it between his hands.

“Yeah. I know.” He huffed a weak laugh.

But he still didn’t move.

The string of porch lights cast long shadows across the weathered boards between you. For a moment neither of you spoke.

“I, um—I never thanked you.”

You blinked. “For what?”

His eyes finally met yours.

“For finding me. Reminding me where I belonged.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips.

“You did the same for me.”

When he helped you rescue yourself. When he believed you deserved better before you did. He cleared the lump from his throat and finally stepped off the porch.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Cordi.” You called before slipping back inside.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he watched the door close behind you.

Maeve was still waiting for you on the couch. Eager to continue watching an “old” horror movie she'd found in your collection. You tried explaining to her that 2005 wasn't that long ago, but it hadn't done any good.

“Who was that?”

“Cordell. You remember him.” She definitely remembered the man who helped you escape from her dad's house. Even if it had been two years by that point.

She gave you a curious look.

“What’s that look for?” You asked while taking your spot next to her again.

“I’ve just…never seen you smile like that.”

The comment caught you off guard. You had spent so many years convincing yourself that certain doors were closed. That some things only happened once. That first loves belonged in the past.

But somewhere between a faded letter, late-night phone calls, and a man standing on your porch with his hat in his hands, you'd allowed yourself to hope. Hope meant opening yourself up to disappointment and heartache.

But at that moment, hope didn't seem quite so dangerous.

⁀➴ part v (final)

𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@thesundontshineontheseeyebrows , @casanddeanswife , @mrs-cactus69

so honored to be one of you favs 🫶

some of the songs on my frequently played playlist (lately):

❥ burn, burn, burn - zach bryan

❥ oklahoma smokeshow - zach bryan

❥ east side of sorrow - zach bryan

❥ good girl - paris paloma

❥ silver springs - fleetwood mac

Cruel World: Chapter Nineteen

Everything was perfect—you were about to welcome a baby girl into the world and finally leave the life of hunting behind. Sam was supposed to have it all: the house, the family, maybe even a dog in the backyard. But before the three of you could begin your new life in an old craftsman home on the prairie, the apocalypse arrived.

All Sam had to do was lock Lucifer in the cage…

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader

WC: 3.4K

CW: 18+ MDNI, language, well-earned domestic fluffiness, ovulation (not projecting here at all), discussion of birth control, masturbation (f), unresolved sexual tension, mom-bod appreciation. This chapter is pretty tame overall

A/n: my husband forced me to watch the last couple episodes of the series that I had been boycotting and I'm dead inside now :') as much as I love being angsty, I think we all deserve some fluff.

Cruel World masterlist

“Share my body and my mind with you, that’s all over now. Did what I had to do, I found another anyhow.” - Cruel World, Lana Del Rey

Sam had taken a few days off to give you time to rest and recover. He started noticing flickers of a light he’d never seen before in your eyes. A stray ember returning to the warmth in your voice. It was subtle, but it caught his attention immediately.

There was a twinkle in your eye when you laughed—really laughed—at one of his jokes. It wasn’t funny. That was what made it funny. Usually only to him.

The house felt different, too. Not necessarily happier, but lighter somehow. As though it could finally breathe again after holding its breath for months. Like it was slowly releasing the grief and tension that had seeped into the walls.

You still tired easily. Sometimes he’d catch you staring off into space, your thoughts drifting somewhere he couldn’t follow. There were still nights when sleep abandoned you completely.

One of those sleepless nights, you rolled over and reached for Sam out of habit.

The other side of the bed was cold.

At first, you assumed he’d gotten up for water or to check on Willa. But when ten minutes stretched into twenty, you finally pushed yourself upright and padded quietly through the house.

You found him on the couch with Walker awkwardly threaded around his legs. His phone rested on his chest and, if you didn’t know him better, you might have been suspicious. But you knew he was waiting to hear from his brother. Ready to help Dean with a research question that would probably never come.

It crossed your mind to wake him and ask him to come back to bed, but he looked peaceful. His face was soft and his body relaxed. For once, he wasn’t being plagued by nightmares of the Cage.

Carefully, you lifted his phone from his chest, knowing Dean would never call this late, and draped a blanket over him.

The next night, you woke up alone. Again. That familiar emptiness was beginning to gnaw at you. You walked quietly, expecting to find Sam asleep on the couch once more.

Instead, from the top of the landing, you could make out what sounded like a one-sided conversation.

“Cas, I don’t know where you’re at—or why you’re ignoring me. I need your help.”

You froze. It was hard not to jump to conclusions. Hard not to assume this had something to do with hunting, or his time without a soul. You wondered if this was really why he’d been leaving you in the middle of the night.

The bed was still empty in the morning.

Downstairs, you could hear the muffled sounds of Sam making breakfast and the theme song of whatever cartoon Willa was currently obsessed with.

For the first time in days, you didn’t ache when you pushed yourself out of bed. You paused in front of the mirror and lifted your shirt enough to inspect the bruise on your chest. It had faded to a sickly yellow-green, but that was a sign you were healing beneath the skin.

Out of habit, your eyes drifted lower to your stomach—to the jagged silver lines earned from growing and carrying life inside you. None of the products you tried had done much more than soften their appearance. After spending an obscene amount of money on creams and lotions, you finally gave up.

Accepting them as scars earned in the hardest battle you’d ever fought. Motherhood. 

The familiar harmony of a chaotic morning grew louder as you made your way downstairs.

“Willa.” You called her name when you noticed she was standing far too close to the television. She spun around immediately.

You stifled a laugh at the awkward excuse for a ponytail her father had attempted. It bounced wildly as she ran toward you.

For the first time in days, you held your child without feeling like your chest was splitting open.

Now that you were eating three meals a day and sleeping most nights, you hadn’t realized how unwell you’d truly been.

Sam’s voice from the doorway startled you. It felt like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

“You okay?”

“Y-uh, yeah. I’m fine—” You winced. You’d promised to stop hiding behind that phrase. It had been your shield for years. “I mean… I feel good.”

He eyed you suspiciously but softened when he saw the smile on Willa’s face. Being held by what he firmly believed was her favorite person.

“Alright. I’ll allow it.”

He’d expected an eye roll. Or a tired sigh. Instead, you gave him a playful smirk while adjusting Willa on your hip.

“But you’ve gotta eat before we go.”

You cocked your head at him. The simple gesture melted him every time.

“Yeah, I figured it’s nice out. We should take Willa to the park.”

Willa squealed at the idea, the high-pitched noise making both of you flinch. She immediately began wiggling in your arms until you finally set her down.

“get my shoes!”

Those were the only words either of you managed to make out as she awkwardly charged toward the stairs.

You both laughed at her ostentatious exit. Knowing exactly where she’d learned it, And knowing it wasn’t from either of you.

“That sounds fun,” you said as Sam moved to follow her upstairs. “But I need to talk to you—”

A loud thud cut you off.

Both of you sighed in unison and turned toward the source of the noise. There was no crying, which probably meant she’d dropped something she wasn’t supposed to be carrying in the first place. Sam shot you an apologetic look before heading upstairs after her.

It was still cold, but the bite from winter was weakening into a softer, more invigorating sting. The first buds were starting to appear on the maple trees lining the country road into town. Still a few weeks before they would begin to sprout, but still a clear sign that spring was on its way. 

“Uh, Sam? You missed it.” You’d planned for a quick drive to the small city park closest to home. Instead, he drove past it and signaled for the next town over. Willa’s lip quivered as you passed her favorite place to visit. 

“That one’s so small and there aren’t any other kids for her to play with.” He was right. Willa was probably the youngest person in the dying prairie town you resided in by twenty years. The playground was easily forty years old and a tetanus shot waiting to happen. You knew it was important for her to socialize with other kids her age. But with kids her age came parents. People you didn’t trust and didn’t have anything in common with. “I’m pretty sure there’s a bigger one in Bridge Creek.” 

You relented and decided to use the longer drive as an opportunity to ask him about the conversation you overheard the previous night.  

“I need his help with something, that’s all.” He smiled and glanced over at you quickly to gauge your reaction. 

“Does it have anything to do with why you’re not sleeping in our bed?” 

You watched his face drop in your periphery. Even Willa seemed to sense the mood shift and her tiny feet stopped gently kicking in her car seat. 

“It’s the nightmares.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel before he shifted in his seat, trying to work some of the tension out of his shoulders. “I don’t wanna wake you up or… worse.” His voice faded at the end.

He meant he didn’t want to risk hurting you again. Saying it out loud would make it real.

“Okay.” You nodded gently. “You think he can help?”

In reality, Sam had no idea. Castiel was the only celestial being he knew who might have a chance of helping him the way Death once had.

He’d expected resistance from you. Maybe even an argument. He knew how wary you were of Castiel. Instead, he was surprised to see your expression soften.

“So, what do we do?”

“We?”

“Yes, Sam. We.” You gave him a look. “I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time you worked with him.”

“I don’t even know if he can help yet—”

“—well, we’ll find out together. We’re retired, Sammy.” You paused, smiling when you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch upward. “We don’t do solo missions anymore. We don’t split up.”

He rested a hand on your leg and gave three gentle squeezes.

A silent I love you.

Back when you were too afraid to say the words out loud, when you were all still on the road together, you’d squeeze his leg under the table at some diner in the middle of nowhere. Or he’d sneak a hand into the back seat where you were sitting.

Three gentle pulses.

It always made him fight back a smile while Dean watched the two of you with growing suspicion. Now, you glanced over and found him smiling at the memory he’d just summoned between you.

You threaded your fingers through his, smiling at the difference in the size of your hands before giving three squeezes back.

Before long, you rolled into Bridge Creek. Willa’s face lit up at the sight of the larger park and she started wiggling impatiently in her car seat.

He was right—there were plenty of other families there. Families that probably looked nothing like yours.

Anxiety twisted in your stomach when you noticed how busy it was. Sam kept his hand planted firmly on your leg, allowing you to fidget with his fingers while you grounded yourself.

“Ready?” Sam’s voice was gentle in a way that you needed it to be. “I think Willa is about two seconds from combusting.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of her practically gnawing on the straps of her car seat.

As usual, the moment her feet hit the ground, she took off toward the large wooden playground. Both of you scanned the area out of habit while simultaneously keeping an eye on Willa.

You noticed most of the parents sitting on benches, keeping only a passive eye on their children. Some had their faces buried in their phones. Others sat reading books beside expensive strollers, seemingly oblivious to whether their kids were hurt, lost, or hanging upside down from the monkey bars.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Willa. You watched every tiny handhold and careful foot placement. Sam stayed close enough to catch her if she fell.

Not wanting to crowd either of them, you stepped back and admired your favorite version of Sam—the father of your child.

“How old is she?”

You flinched at the sound of an unfamiliar voice beside you.

The woman looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She wore name-brand yoga pants, an athletic jacket, and enough makeup to look effortless. Her nails were perfectly manicured. It was hard not to compare yourself.

Glancing down, you noticed a few small stains from Willa’s breakfast on your shirt. You’d thrown your hair into a messy ponytail after fixing Willa’s bedhead that morning and rushed out the door. The most effort you’d made was applying cherry lip balm in the car.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you forced a polite smile.

“Eighteen months.”

The woman stared as though she expected a longer answer. You shifted your gaze toward Sam, silently begging him to rescue you from the interaction. He was blissfully unaware. Completely engrossed in watching Willa conquer the playground.

“Is that your husband?”

You chortled at the question. Not because it was ridiculous—because of how confidently she’d asked it. Then you glanced down at your hand and realized you weren’t wearing your engagement ring.

“Um, no. He’s not.” You cleared your throat when you noticed her gaze lingering on him. “We’re engaged.”

Your lips twitched upward. This complete stranger was the first person you’d actually told. You hadn’t even said the words out loud before.

You tensed when you noticed Willa interacting with another toddler. A wave of anxiety hit immediately. What if being isolated from other kids had put her behind? What if she didn’t know how to play with them?

Willa looked nervous and glanced toward her dad for reassurance. With a gentle nod and an encouraging smile from Sam, she let her guard down. Soon she was happily toddling around beside the other child.

You’d completely forgotten the woman next to you as you quietly celebrated another one of Willa’s victories. This time, Sam was there to see it.

Evidently, the child belonged to Valerie. Before you left, she scribbled her number on a scrap of paper and handed it directly to Sam to arrange a playdate. He promptly handed it to you while you did your best to stifle any laughter. 

On the drive home, you could feel him stealing glances in your direction while you stared out the window.

“So… Valerie?”

“Fucking Valerie,” you groaned. “I don’t think she believed me when I said we were together.”

He frowned at that.

Honestly, it didn’t bother you much. You’d never been the jealous type. If anything, you found it amusing watching him turn bright red when women flirted with him.

“Probably because I looked like a homeless person.” Your tone was playful, but there was a trace of insecurity underneath it.

“Or maybe because you weren’t wearing this.”

He awkwardly fished your engagement ring out of his pocket and handed it to you.

“Sorry…” You blushed while taking it from him. “I told you, I’m terrible with jewelry.”

“Yeah.” He smiled to himself. “You really are.”

You hugged one knee to your chest and stared out the window as guilt gnawed at you. You hated forgetting something that meant so much. Something that represented one of the happiest moments of your lives was forgotten like a set of car keys. 

“But I don’t want to marry you because you remember jewelry or wear expensive clothes.” He glanced over at you. “I mean, you look amazing in anything you wear.”

You rolled your eyes as heat crept up your neck.

“Is this you trying to flirt with me?”

“Is it working?” 

You shrugged playfully while admiring the pink hue in his cheeks and his nervous smile. After all these years, that effortless spark was still alive between you. 

Over the next few days, the three of you continued settling into a new rhythm of normalcy. Sam went back to work now that you were healthy again. He still made sure you ate before he left for his shift and let you sleep in on his days off.

He continued trying to summon Castiel, but he knew it could be a waiting game. In his experience, the angel had a habit of appearing and disappearing entirely on his own schedule.

Most nights when Sam worked, you went to bed early enough to wake up before Willa in the morning, giving you time to eat breakfast or shower in peace.

Tonight had been different.

You’d gotten engrossed in some trashy reality show—one of the many programs Sam loved teasing you about, even if he inevitably ended up watching whenever it was on.

Before you knew it, it was one in the morning.

You hurried through your bedtime routine and crawled beneath the blankets, fully expecting exhaustion to drag you under.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling. Sleep stayed just out of reach.

All day, you’d found yourself stealing glances at Sam. Watching him carry Willa on his shoulders through the yard. Watching the way his legs stretched while he read in the armchair by the window. The way his nose creased and his dimples showed when he laughed at one of his jokes.

Everything about him seemed to catch your attention lately. Maybe it was the feeling of safety in your new ‘normal’. It had been years since you saw him so relaxed. Not in a constant state of survival. 

You groaned quietly and rolled onto your side. Your body felt restless. Every nerve ending seemed to be humming beneath your skin.

A quick glance at the calendar earlier that day had offered a likely explanation. After years of birth control, you were still adjusting to paying attention to your body’s natural rhythms. You’d been on it long before you got pregnant with Willa. Now your body seemed determined to remind you exactly where you were in your cycle.

You were ovulating.

You buried your face in your pillow and laughed quietly at yourself. Sam hadn’t even done anything out of the ordinary.

He’d just smiled at you across the breakfast table that morning. Touched the small of your back while passing through the kitchen. Kissed your forehead before leaving for work. It was all painfully normal.

The clock on the nightstand ticked past two-thirty. You tossed and turned in bed trying to ignore the dull ache in your core. Eventually, your fingers started tracing delicate patterns on your low belly and teased the waistband of your panties. You could feel the growing heat between your thighs from the way you pressed them together. With one hand slipping below the soft cotton, the other massaging your breast and rolling your nipple between your fingers. 

Your fingers were as skilled as Sam’s, but it wasn’t the same. He had memorized the landscape of your body and mastered it the way you had. But you couldn’t reach that sensitive, spongy spot deep inside you. Your fingers didn’t have the perfect amount of callus that increased the friction tenfold. Still, you slid two fingers inside your tight channel, gathering some wetness to tease and rub your sensitive clit. You felt that familiar coil tightening—so frustratingly close. 

You were about to dig your vibrator out of the drawer when you heard the front door open and shut quietly, making your heart flutter. Both out of nervousness and excitement. Nervous about the humiliation that comes from being caught, not that he would care. And excitement because you knew he would take care of you. 

“Hey—what are you still doing up?” 

Still expecting you to be asleep, he had planned on holding you for a while before falling asleep downstairs. He knew by the look on your face and the way you were still breathing heavily that he interrupted something. 

He sat next to you on the edge of the bed and you rolled to face him. He assessed your desperate condition with a soft expression. 

“Couldn’t sleep. I missed you.”

He leaned over and kissed you softly, smiling at your responsiveness. You moaned at the intoxicating taste of him while his hand slid down your body underneath the covers. Your back arched into his touch to chase more of the delicious drag rippling across your skin. His rough pads excited every nerve ending and added to the excruciating need. 

“Dirty girl.” He teased and watched your cheeks blush a rosy pink.

You hadn’t moved your hand from between your legs and were still rubbing gentle circles. Just enough to stave off the growing ache. His fingers replaced your own and he watched as your jaw went slack and you knit your eyebrows together. 

Before he could slide a finger past your tight entrance, Walker’s sharp bark caused you to jolt upright. Sam strained to listen for whatever had caught the dog’s attention. Your heart was pounding and your breathing turned shallow as you remembered the last time Walker had alerted you in the middle of the night.

This bark was different. It was surprised—like the time Willa had tripped over him while he was asleep on the floor and her tiny foot caught his tail.

You leaned toward the nightstand to grab the handgun stashed there, but Sam quickly caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

He adjusted himself awkwardly before moving toward the landing. You watched his shoulders sag the moment he looked downstairs.

Curiosity finally overpowered your anxiety. Pulling your sleep shirt down to cover yourself, you followed him to the top of the stairs.

Your eyes fluttered shut in frustration.

Castiel.

Walker was sitting at his feet, panting happily while the angel absently scratched behind his ears. Like he was greeting an old friend instead of a celestial being who routinely appeared in people’s homes in the middle of the night.

“Cas,” Sam sighed.

“Hello, Sam.”

Castiel’s gaze shifted to you. “Y/N.”

“Do angels not have phones?”

You folded your arms across your chest. Castiel frowned.

“The voice told me I was out of minutes.”

a/n: thanks for being patient! it feels good to get this out finally. Also, y/n is totally her own OC at this point 😭

╰┈➤ 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

@ambiguous-avery , @insensiblelimerence , @mrs-cactus69 , @samiwinchester444 , @staley83, @little-rose-universe , @winchesterfields67 , @ferncloud0191 , @casanddeanswife