SPN FanFic Pond

“God, I hope not,” you murmured. In the fiasco that had been the night before, you hadn’t forgotten about Jamie and Danny. Two days were too short a time to want to visit them again, but you couldn’t help the longing. Sam had assured you that he would take you to see them again as soon as he could, but he was very wary of the scrutiny, even if he didn’t know where it came from. You knew, but couldn’t disclose. Maybe you should. The kids were safe, you were safe, but a primal fear barely let you speak. 

“You’re always so lost these days, Miss,” said Abby, subdued. “I don’t know what it is. Mr Winchester says you have a lot on your mind and that I should let you be. But you know nosy ol’ me. I have to remind you that you can talk to me.”

“Mr Winchester said that? To you?” Since when did Sam tell Abby anything? What was happening?

Abby blushed. “This morning. Martha’s son is visiting, and she’s showing him the countryside. I found Mr Winchester in the kitchen frying your eggs. Guess we both had the same idea.”

He’d been up and gone before you awoke. The blanket you’d laid on top of him had rested over you, and a thermos of steaming coffee, along with a plate of fried eggs and toast, had waited for you on the side table.

“Sam’s kindness shouldn’t surprise me,” you murmured. “But it still does.”

Abby snored. “I don’t think it’s kindness, Miss.”

Love. 

A jolt went up your spine at the memory of his confession. Oh, why couldn’t you have woken up on time?

“Did Sam say when he’d be back?” You changed the topic.

She nodded. “He’ll be back for dinner.”

“Did he seem…upset?”

Abby frowned. “Upset? No, Miss. He seemed… deep in thought. Cheered right up when he saw me. Asked me about Kristy’s fees.”

“Kristy’s fee?” You were starting to sound more and more clueless with every word you uttered. What was happening? Why didn’t you know any of this? Were you so lost, shut in your ivory tower, that the world outside, the world around Sam and Abby and everyone else you cared for had shifted, and you hadn’t noticed? A pattern repeating too many times. You should apologise, but words without actions were hollow. Abby was an important part of your life, your first friend here, your fiercest confidant. She deserved action, not just words. 

“Do you know if Castiel is here?” You asked. “I need to go out… and I don’t drive well.” At seventeen, when your dad passed, aunt Ethel had sold his rusting pick-up for alcohol money. No one had taught you how to drive until Carmen had forced you to take a few classes at the campus in her car. 

Abby bit into her lip as she frowned, “I think he’s with Mr Winchester. Where do you want to go?”

You shook your head. “We are going out of town. You are coming with me.”

“Oh, I can’t, Miss. I have so much dusting to do.”

“Oh, screw the dusting. The dust will be there when we get back. We can do it together.”

“But where are we going?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there. We just need to figure out how first.” You could call a cab service, but that might not be safe. Could Abby drive one of Sam’s fancy cars? Probably not. She had grown up with even fewer resources than you– on a farm of all places– surrounded by sexist uncles. So, how?

“Miss, when do you have to get there?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Can you wait a couple of hours?”

You blinked at her. “Why?”

“I think I might be able to find someone to drive us up there.”

It was just after noon when you made your way down to the garage, Abby confidently leading the way. Any time that you’d had to travel out of the house, Sam or Castiel brought the car around to the bottom of the entrance steps. You had, in fact, never seen the garage. 

Just as you stepped inside the shuttered doors, two hands wrapped themselves around your eyes. Only one person ever did that. You simply turned and opened your arms wide to embrace him, and Jack’s old textbook scent hit you in the face. “Where had you been?” You croaked through a thick throat.

“Here,” said Jack simply. “The real question is, “Where have you been?”

He’d been teasing on the evening of the gallery opening, a night that seemed ages ago now. Then again, you remembered the beige jacket outside your door in your days of self-imposed exile.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said. “I am here now, and we are all going for a ride.”

“Where?” He asked, puzzled.

“You get in the car, I’ll lead the way.”

Abby spent the ride chewing on her knuckles and tapping her feet in the backseat, while you directed from the shotgun. More than a few times, you caught Jack sneaking a look at her in the front-view mirror.

“Dean would have my head on a platter if he found out I took out his Impala,” whined Jack as you directed him onto the off-road that became the long driveway to your destination. “Please don’t tell him. Ever.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you grinned, unable to contain your excitement. The puzzlement on both their faces deepened as they parked the cars, and you led them into the small courtyard where you had waited not two days ago. The kids were delighted to see you, but Jamie, at least, was surprised at how soon you’d returned. They took their turns hugging you, and only then realised the two people standing behind were with you.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you married two more people.”

You had to smack him lightly on his head.

“I mean, the last person who got out of that car was your husband.” He whistled, and you smacked his head again.

You beckoned Jack and Abby, and after exchanging one short, confused look, they came forward.

“Abby,” you smiled, “These are my John and Kristy. James and Danielle.”

She started, taking in the kids. “I never knew…”

“Of course, you didn’t. I never told anyone, except–”

“–Sam,” Jack finished, his tawny eyes slightly narrowed as he studied the kids.

“Who’s this guy?” Jamie jerked a thumb towards Jack, while Danny stared at Abby and her uniform with round eyes.

“These are my friends, Jack and Abby.”

“Are they married to each other?” Danny asked, and both of them turned a bright shade of pink.

“What’s up with all the marriage talk?” You rounded on the two.

Danny shuffled from one foot to another. “Jamie told me you and Sam are married.” She craned her neck towards the car. “Where’s Sam? He didn’t come with you?”

“Sam’s at work. And yes, we are married.” In name, anyway. Not that Sam was getting anything out of it. “But more than anything, we are also the best of friends, yeah? So that part is entirely true. Come, now. I’ve spoken with your warden for permission to take you out to lunch. Change out of your school clothes, and we can all go for a ride.” The kids scrambled to the dorms, racing to get there first, laughter trailing in their wake.

Jack got it out first. “You have a brother and a sister? The hell, Y/N? You never thought to tell us this?”

In a lowered voice, you quickly explained everything to them. The kidnapping, the kids as collateral and what you were made to do in captivity. It felt like narrating someone else's story, and as long as you didn’t meet Abby’s tear-stained eyes, you were able to get most of it out.

“Sam… Well, he found them in a boarding school in Colorado from the uniform in the pictures. He drove them here. I wanted Abby to meet them,” you confessed. “She’s been my support system for so long, and you, too, Jack. I wanted you to know, to see the truth of me.”

They’d always known parts of it, Jack more than Abby, but even so, you had to come clean with everyone now. And if you couldn’t immediately find Sam and tell him all about Nick, you would start with Jack and Abby. There was a lot of truth to be told. By the time Jamie and Danny were back after ditching their bags and school clothes, Abby had wiped her eyes, and Jack even managed a smile. You ultimately chose the same diner you had been to with Sam, and the kids basically repeated their orders. 

“I think she turns into a vampire at night and looks down our windows,” Danny declared about her math teacher, as she shoved fries in her mouth. “Jamie thinks she’s a werewolf.”

James sighed. “You can’t be out and about in the day if you are a vampire! We’ve been through this a hundred times, Dee.”

“There’s an easy test,” said Abby. “You can test them with silver. Werewolves get burned by silver.”

“They’re kids!” Jack threw his arms up. “Where are they gonna find silver? Garlic, on the other hand...”

“Vampires have to eat the garlic, Jack! What do you want them to do? Shove it down her throat?”

“Mrs Heston is quite tall,” Danny added helpfully, apparently switching sides. “I can’t reach her face to feed her garlic.”

“Fine,” Jack crossed his arms. “Have it your way. Keep your curtains drawn at night, Abby. Maybe Mrs Heston will visit you instead.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow at you, and you grinned in collusion. Jack and Abby really were too obvious.

You hugged them both very tightly as you said your goodbyes. Maybe impulsively coming to see them had been a reckless idea, but an unnamed feeling in your gut hadn’t let you rest. Sam might disapprove, but you would talk him out of it. 

“Sam still has my daisy?” Danielle inquired as she hugged you. “Don’t forget to bring him next time.”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” you promised, and then pecked them both on their cheeks. You watched them disappear into the building before climbing into the car.

Jack started the engine. “Don’t think Sam will be too pleased about your trip,” he said, worry colouring his tone. “He’s concerned enough about this whole affair to not have confided in even me. You’ve flouted every last security measure, Y/N, since day one. That poor guy looks like he’s ready to drop. Don’t keep doing this to him.”

Yes, Sam most definitely looked ill. You had considered calling the doctor on him for a while now, and maybe you would. But you also knew that what Sam would appreciate the most now was the truth. 

Jack dropped you off at the entrance of the manor. Abby remained in the car, with a fumbling excuse of accompanying Jack from the garage, and you got out hurriedly to give them some time alone. Maybe the whole ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ worked for them.

When you rounded into the entrance hall corner, Nick found you at the base of the stairs, lounging against the balustrade, exactly where you had been the last time he had found you. 

“Honeybun!” He exclaimed in mocking glee, and then slowly uncurled himself from the step. “Long time, no see?”

Somehow, you had expected the bastard. Deep down, a low dread had been building up ever since you had found out about his relationship to Sam and the manor, refusing to leave. Nick had lived in your head for all these years–a reminder of the hurt, pain and betrayal. He’d come to you on long days as you lay on the cot, wishing for a miracle; whisper horrible words in your ears as you were forced to satisfy another man. The Winchester Manor had become your safe space, and now he’d ruined that, too, lurking in the corners.

“Get out of my way,” you spat, wishing you had talons long enough to plunge into his chest.

He simply spread out his arm to cover the staircase. 

“What if I don’t?”

“Your wish. It’s not as if you’ll be around for long.” You crossed your arms.

A sudden coldness came over his face. “You think you can tell him now, don’t you? Now that you have those kids back.”

A cold shiver went down your spine, but you kept your teeth from chattering. How did he know? “I’m not scared of you.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugged and pouted. “But I know you’re scared of him– the boss. Aren’t you?”

“Sam will protect the kids.”

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he said, slowly circling you. “You’re missing the point here, babe. It never was about the kids. It was about you, and to what extent you would go to protect what you love.”

The same instinct that had made you rush to the academy to see the kids made you desperately hope for Sam. As if you had to see him now, and if you didn’t, you never might. Something felt terribly wrong. 

Maybe the universe was listening to you because a tap of footsteps echoed in the foyer, and you backed two steps as Sam rounded the corner in the entrance hall.

He took the scene before him in mild disgust.

“How many times do I have to stop you from harassing my wife?” Sam said, “That, too, in my own home?”

“We were only chatting, Samuel,” Nick grinned. “It is difficult to find her anywhere but here, isn’t it? One would think you keep her shackled to the bed.” 

You flinched. 

So did Sam.

“If I recall, Y/N quite likes being restrained. Probably hasn’t changed much. Still likes it rough, does she?”

A crack like a whip split the air, and the next second Nick was on the ground, hand nursing his face.

“That’s my wife you’re talking about,” seethed Sam. “Get lost before I have you thrown out.” Sam didn’t say another word. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up the stairs with him. At the top, you turned to see Nick smiling at you through bloody teeth, right until you rounded the bend.

In your room, Sam flung his briefcase and let out an expletive, loudly–a rare thing for Sam, then dropped into the sofa and put his face in his hands. Blood dripped from the knuckles. Slowly, you moved to the mantle and retrieved the first aid box from there, then sank to the floor in front of Sam. You retrieved his hand from his face and blew on the bloody knuckles. 

“Why do you let him get to you?” The whispered question made Sam look up. You poured some antiseptic on a ball of cotton and gently dabbed it on the abraded skin. “You know what he’s like.”

“I’m not a jealous person, Y/N,” said Sam. “Envy does not come naturally to me, but the mere thought of him touching you feels like fire in my veins.”

“Because you haven’t?”

Sam looked up sharply, eyes wide. “No!” He breathed. “Never. I meant every word of what I said yesterday.” He twisted his wrist so that your hand tending to his was now encased in his fingers. He glanced at your entwined hand with such tenderness that tears sprang in your eyes. “This,” he said, raising your joined hands, “Is enough for me. You–just as you are–are enough for me, Y/N.”

The anger returned. “But he doesn’t even deserve breathing the same air as you, let alone touching you.”

A serrating pain sliced through your insides at the thought of telling Sam the whole truth. You were scared he might just kill Nick if he knew what he had done– the extent of it. But Sam had to know. The first night after meeting the children, you had passed out from all the crying, and last night… well, this was as good a moment as you were going to get.

“Sam, I–”

Abby came in with Sam’s evening coffee and your toast. She still looked pink in the cheek.

“Martha is back from her trip, Mr Winchester,” she said, placing the mug in front of Sam. “She says your coffee jar is nearly empty and has threatened to quit if you replace it with more Bali imported herbal coffee.”

Sam rolled his eyes and reached for the mug, winching as the skin over his knuckle split, and you were once more reminded of the injury. Abby’s eyes narrowed when she took in the blood-soaked cotton. 

“What did you do?” She rounded on Sam.

“Hit an asshole.”

She narrowed her eyes further, paused to assess his severe expression, then said, “Let me get some turmeric powder for that. My Maa says it’s better than your antiseptic. Good ol’ Indian remedy.”

You watched her leave and turned to gaze at Sam.

“Come here,” he beckoned, and you went to him, kneeling on the floor between his legs, and suddenly the tears wouldn’t stop. A sob escaped, and then another until you were a blubbering mess in his hands. Sam gently kissed the top of your hair.

“Shhh…” he murmured into your hair. “I’m here. Always.”

You hugged his knee, resting your face against the grey fabric, tears staining the material. “It kills me, Sam, that I can’t be the girl I used to be. If that girl from USC had met you, she might have touched you the way she wanted to. She might have let you touch her the way you want to. And don’t– just don’t say you get to touch me and that it’s enough. Maybe it is for you. But what about me? How do I stop feeling this way? I want you. God, I want you so much it hurts. But I don’t understand how to fix myself. How to get out of my head and not remember all those awful things.”

His fingers found your hair, gently carding through them.

“Sam?” Your voice was small. “There’s something you need to know.”

The softest “Yeah?”

You looked up into his watery eyes and saw every ounce of love he spoke of yesterday, and then some more. You couldn’t help but crane your neck and steal a kiss. One small kiss. At least, it was supposed to be small. However, the moment your lips touched his, you couldn’t help but give in to that urgent need to consume him and be consumed by him.

The kiss deepened, and his fingers found your arms as Sam helped you to your knees, adjusting you to his height as he straightened up, never breaking contact. You could taste the faint mint on his tongue and warmth and… the stinging iron of blood.

Confused, you pushed back just as Sam’s fingers went slack on your arms to see his eyes roll back into his head.

“Sam!” 

He fell off the Sofa, his entire body seizing, coughing blood on the floor. You must be screaming garbled words, his name, something, trying to hold him down with your body, until another set of hands joined yours.

“Doctor. Call the doctor,” you whispered to Abby. Under your hands, Sam went still. Thoughtlessly, you laid your head on his chest, holding him to you as Abby spoke frantically on the phone. His beating heart was suddenly the most important sound in the entire universe.

*************

A/N 2: *Hides face* So sorry about the cliffhanger, but I have one white flag to offer: The next chapter is nearly ready. I'll put it out as soon as I can. Love you guys <3

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You just finish the last toe when a soft knock sounds at your door. You look up, confused, then sigh and hobble awkwardly over to peer out the peephole, trying not to mess up your freshly painted nails. You freeze for a second when you see who’s standing there.

Dean.

The very reason you had come up with this brilliant getaway in the first place. What the hell is he doing here? You take a breath, blowing it out slowly and trying to control your body’s reactions to his proximity before opening the door.

“Dean?” You look at him, your eyebrows raised in question.

“Yeah, hi. I know, I’m not supposed to be here.”

Your expression shifts to concern. “Are you okay? Did something…”

He was shaking his head, looking down at the ground, scuffing at the concrete with his boot. “Nooo, no, world’s not blowing up or anything.” He looks up at you again, clearly out of his comfort zone. “Look, I didn’t plan to…” He stops and starts over. “I just came into town to have a few beers, and… I really didn’t mean to bust up your whole,” his hands gesture aimlessly, “girl-time, whatever.”

You recover yourself enough to take a step back and even manage a weak smile. “Come in, tell me what’s going on.”

Bottom lip in the grip of his teeth, he shuffles his way in, and you close the door behind him. You duck-walk your way over to the bed, and plop down, looking up as he smothers a laugh. “What? I just painted my toes, they’re not dry yet,” you protest, unable not to smile.

“Sorry, it was just cute. Couldn’t help it.”

“Well, make yourself useful and grab us a beer, there’s some in the mini-fridge.” He raises his eyebrows in approval and grabs two long necks, opening one and handing it to you. “Thanks. So maybe you should sit down and tell me what’s going on?”

He pulls a chair out and turns it to face you, then sits and takes a long pull from his bottle. He holds it up afterwards, nodding, “Thanks,” setting it on the table and then slowly exhaling before looking at you once again. “Just be honest with me. Did I do something? Did I piss you off? Or say something that hurt you?”

You stare at him in surprise. “Dean, no! Of course not. I told you and Sam, I just needed a little time alone. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He picks up his beer again and takes a swallow, then leans forward, arms on his knees, picking at the label as he goes on, stumbling a little as he searches for words. “It just feels like – not just today when you left, but all the time lately… We used to be so easy around each other, you know, and it seems like you’re not anymore. Comfortable, I mean. With me. Like you’re kind of trying to keep your distance or something, I don’t know. And maybe I’m just being stupid, but it felt like this whole time-to-yourself thing… like it was because of me.”

You’re beginning to feel trapped, and you’re doing everything you can to pretend things are normal – drinking your beer, pulling the foam spacers from between your toes, looking everywhere but at those candid moss-green eyes that are focused intently on you. You tuck one leg beneath you and glance his way, beginning to follow Dean’s example and destroy the label on your bottle.

He speaks again, and the quiet urgency in his voice sends a twinge of guilt through you. “Talk to me.”

You take a shaky breath and answer him softly. “Some things I just can’t talk to you about, Dean.” Your eyes are glued to the floor, and you close your eyes as he rises from his chair and comes to sit next to you on the edge of the mattress.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that.”

There’s a hard lump forming in your throat, and you swallow hard, trying to make it disappear. “Maybe I’ll just go lock myself in the bathroom until you go away,” you try to joke, but it falls flat.

“Like I can’t pick a lock?” You steal a sidelong glance at him, just in time to see the little smirk that curves his lips for a moment.

You attempt a smile, but it’s weak and short-lived, your eyes filling with tears. “Damn it, Dean. You can’t just let me crawl into a hole and hide in peace, can you?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p,’ and he raises his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “C’mon, Nug, tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head with a little smile at his nickname for you (Nugget because you’re smaller than him and Sam, like 90% of the population of the world) and blink some of those tears away before you look at him. He can see you were about to cry, he never misses anything, and his brows furrow a little, concern in his eyes. “Damn it, I can’t look at you,” you say, turning away a little, hugging your arms around yourself as if that could protect you. If you tell him how you feel, things will never be the same. Permanently never the same. He’ll never think of you the same way, treat you the same way. But he’s right, things haven’t been the same anyway. You have been avoiding him. You haven’t been comfortable around him. Because you’re in love with the jerk and he doesn’t have a clue.

“Okay, I’m gonna talk, but you have to listen and just – listen. Okay?”

He’s silent for a moment, then answers you softly. “Okay.” There’s hesitation there, and a little apprehension, like he’s not going to like what you have to say. He has no idea.

“So, I guess I have been kind of avoiding you a little. Okay, a lot. I can’t relax around you because I’m too busy tryingn to hide how my heart starts beating faster, and I can’t breathe like a normal person, and my brain goes all numb and I’m afraid I’ll make an ass of myself. My stupid body has a mind of its own when I’m around you.” There are tears in your voice as you continue, fighting to stay in control, but the dam has burst and words come pouring out of you in a torrent. “I tried really hard not to, but I’ve got feelings for you, Dean. Major, earth-moving kind of feelings that I can barely keep under control, and all I wanted was a couple of days away from you to try and get a handle on what’s happening with me. Because I never – never – want to mess up the relationship we have. And now you had to go and make me tell you and it’ll be awkward and awful and I’ll never be able to just be with you like we always used to. I miss cuddling up to you while we watch a movie, or having you lay with your head on my lap, or having you rub my shoulders or play with my hair. I can’t do any of that any more because it just makes me want more, makes me want everything, and that can’t happen so I’m just miserable and I was scared to let you see the effect you have on me, so I just run and hide and cringe away when you come near me.”

You finally take a breath after the endless rant, and swallow a sob that’s fighting to escape your throat. “So now you know, and you can go home and figure out how you can disappear on a hunting trip for like, the next year or so to avoid dealing with me.” You’re literally shaking now, your teeth clamped together so hard they ache to try and hold back tears. “So go, Dean! You made me tell you, now go away!”

Your nails are digging into your palms as you sit there, every part of you tense and rigid, waiting for him to leave so you can lose control in private. Instead, he just sits there, and you finally hear him take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly before he speaks. “Did you ever think that maybe you should just talk to me about it? That maybe I was feeling the same way?”

You turn your head, staring at him with tear-filled eyes, in shock at his words. He’s staring at the floor, his palm rubbing up and down his thigh, something he always does when he’s nervous. He finally raises his eyes, and the naked vulnerability there makes your heart lurch in your chest.

“I have feelings for you, too, but I – I just kept hoping you’d find somebody. Somebody who could give you a regular life - a normal life, and a normal family, somebody who’s not so twisted up and damaged that they can’t treat you like you deserve.”

“What makes you think I want normal?” Your voice is a little louder than you intended, and you take a beat to calm yourself, continuing in a more gentle tone. “If I wanted normal, I could have left a long time ago. I want you. I want you and I’ll take everything that goes along with that.” You feel a tear escape and run down your cheek, and you swipe it away impatiently. “Dean – if you’re not here to tell me I can have that, then I just need you to leave.”

The muscle in his jaw is twitching, his teeth clenched as he stares down at the floor again. “I wish I was strong enough to tell you what I should. But I’m not.” He looks into your eyes again, and his expression quickens your pulse, makes time seem to stop for a moment. His hand comes up to sweep your hair back, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone, and his gaze lingers on your parted lips before he leans in. He brushes his mouth across yours, sharing your breath, then seals his lips over yours in a kiss so filled with the longing you both feel that it makes your chest ache.

When you finally part, he looks at you, watching you, his hand still on your face. You lean into his touch, your eyes finally fluttering open as you meet his. “For the record, you have always treated me better than anyone in my life ever has. What you’ve been through has made you the most caring man I have ever known. I could never – never – find anyone better.”

His eyes are glistening, and he blinks hard a couple of times, gnawing at his lip a little before he speaks, his hand dropping down to take hold of yours. “So – if we’re gonna do this, maybe we should take it kinda slow, do you think?” His thumb is brushing over your hand, and you give his fingers a gentle squeeze as you nod.

“Yeah, I think so. We need to get used to us this way. And I think we’re worth the wait.” He smiles, a touch of something akin to shyness in his eyes as he glances down for a moment.

“So I guess I should leave then. Let you finish your little girly getaway.”

“Or…” You giggle as he looks up hopefully. “Or you could stay, we could order some pizza and you could suffer through a chick flick with me.”

He scoffs, then softens it with a smile. “I happen to love chick flicks. Well, some of ‘em.”

A little while later, you settle in with your backs propped up by pillows, legs stretched out on the bed with pizza and beer in hand, the opening credits of Overboard on the screen.

“I love Kurt Russell,” you say, your mouth full of pizza, and Dean smirks at you.

“Yeah? Well, I love Goldie Hawn,” he fires back, bumping you with his shoulder. You laugh, and then you’re both quiet as the movie gets started. Once the pizza is gone, he puts an arm around you and you settle onto his shoulder with a contented sigh. He leans closer and says softly, “Sorry I ruined your alone time.”

You look up at him, your heart shining in your eyes. “You didn’t ruin anything. Being alone with you is way better.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You snuggle closer. “Definitely.”

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