#sam reader insert

In truth, Sam didn’t even know what this latest argument was really about. It began with him showing concern for your well being. At least that is how he would describe it. You would probably give a very different appraisal of his intentions. One thing he does know is that he would do just about anything to wipe that damned smirk off of your face.

Yes, let the record show, Sam Winchester does not like to lose. Growing up with a brother like Dean so close in age and with his at times headstrong personality, Sam was used to debates, and more importantly winning them. At one point in his life, he even wanted to practice law, a profession in which he would quite literally argue for a living. But upon meeting you, it seemed all of his training was for naught. He just can’t seem to form a coherent point to save his own life. It’s gotten so bad that he has resigned himself to not looking at you out of necessity, choosing instead to lock his gaze slightly above your head like a child with stage fright in order to even have a fighting chance at a rebuttal. Your obstinance was simply too distracting. But he’d be damned again before he let you know that. 

“So what, Winchester? You’re not even going to look at me?” you demand, hands gesturing to emphasize your question before returning to their new found home on your hips with a huff of annoyance. Sam would never hurt you. You knew this intimately. Hell the only reason you were even arguing to begin with was the ‘unnecessary’ risk you took on the last hunt that left you with a nasty gash to your upper arm. Sure it looked pretty rough and needed a few well placed stitches, but when thinking about how that blow had been meant for Sam, aimed to mangle or worse, there was no doubt in your mind that the choice you made was worth it.

If Sam was honest with himself for even a moment, he would be forced to admit that the sight of your stubborn defiance did more to kindle his lust than anything else. Fanning a flame burning underneath his skin that he continued to fight tooth and nail in vain to control. Admitting to himself that these feelings existed would break his one rule. The one he clung to that held the chain together around his heart, protecting him from being hurt again like a weathered shield in battle. He has protected this boundary for years, and for good reason, in his mind. Since Jessica, since Madison, since Ruby and the tangled up mess of torn tissue and regret that she left in her wake. It was evident to Sam that he wasn’t meant to be happy, at least not in that way. He could have one night stands to his heart’s content, but they could never fill the void left in his soul, inflicting within him this aching emptiness of dissatisfaction and reopening a forever weeping wound that would seemingly never heal. He would never do that to you. He would never allow you to become a part of his rot. If Sam was to cross that line, it would have to mean to you even a fraction of what it would mean to him. Seeing this as a veritable impossibility, Sam resigned himself to the purgatory he built within his own mind, trapped between his devotion for you and desiring nothing at all, accepting your anger and frustration as a poor substitute for the passion he would never allow himself to even ask for, much less receive. 

“Call me Winchester again…,”he started, quickly thinking better of making his empty threat, “All I’m saying is you should let the real hunters handle it before you get yourself killed!” Sam knew as soon as he said it that he went too far. The bitter taste on his tongue, tinged with the acidic burn of regret, lingered long after the words left his lips. The stunned silence on your part leant credence to just out of line he had been. 

“What did you just say to me?” you ask, head pulling back on your shoulders like a venomous serpent preparing to strike at the moment of weakness. An ominous edge to your words that sent chills running in his blood. Watching you move with rapt attention, Sam can only attempt to anticipate you as you move, steadily advancing like a creeping death threatening to swallow him whole in your rage. 

He takes a few steps back to try to create some distance between himself and the oncoming storm that he can work with. His retreat is halted in its tracks when his back meets the immovable cool metal of the refrigerator door, finding no ground left to surrender. 

Though his withdrawal was halted, you show no sign of stopping. Truthfully, you didn’t know what you would do once you reached Sam. You knew the brothers often solved their disputes through physical violence. You also knew you could throw a decent punch, especially with your anger to fuel you. But one thing you knew above all else was that you would never hit Sam, no matter how frustrated he made you. That didn’t mean you would let his attitude slide though. Not by a long shot. 

Upon reaching Sam, you raise your hand to clutch the collar of his shirt, but something stops you. In a matter of seconds, Sam catches your hand in midair, spinning your bodies together in one smooth dancelike motion, leaving you pinned between the unforgiving cold metal door and the searing heat of his muscled chest. Looking up from your new position to meet his eyes, it is easy to see that you have changed places, both physically and figuratively, from stalking toward him like a predator to becoming his prey. 

In his gaze there is something different than rage. Something molten and gravitational in its passion that lacks all the malice of rage. This was the opposite of unbridled fury, as it sought to retain too much control, clawing endlessly in vain to maintain its grasp on the reins. The desire in his eyes was so intense, it left you speechless in its wake. The electric current running through your bodies was palpable, arcing through the hand he still hadn’t remembered to let go of. 

It seemed Sam was experiencing the same static charge as he broke the stare, only for a moment, to glance at your fingers still held firmly in his grasp before flicking his attention back to you, though not holding them there faithfully. In the moments that felt like an eternity but could have only been a minute at the very most, you watched as his hazel eyes jumped from your eyes to your lips and then back again. Once, twice, and then again, almost as if asking you to use your will to do what he could not. To end his torment with an act of your own that would send you both tumbling happily into oblivion.

Tired of the waiting and emboldened by the roaring surge of ardent need kindled in your earlier argument, you make your move as if by instinct alone. Tilting your head and rising onto the balls of your feet, you stretch slightly to close the distance between the two of you, gently at first as if testing the waters of this new experience. 

Alarm bells chimed in symphony inside Sam’s brain, warning of the impending danger he was hurtling toward by allowing himself to have this, to get too close. But at that moment, he was sure that he could not have cared any less if he tried. 

With all of the fervor of a man so often denied, Sam returned the kiss, moving to press your hand still in his grasp to the door above your head, entwining his fingers with your own. The flood gates had been opened. What followed was a frenzy, a gnashing of tongues and teeth. A veritable explosion of all of the pent up fury and passion you had both felt in secret for so long but avoided acknowledging for fear of the cosmic repercussions. A beast you had both created but refused to name. 

Sam’s other hand found purchase on the crest of your hip. A comfortable spot of skin where your shirt had ridden up in the earlier struggle, it was warm to the touch from the raging fire within. His thumb gently kneaded the flesh while he used the grip of his fingers to pull you ever closer, arching your back and slotting a knee between your legs to further weave your bodies together. 

Breaking the kiss for only a moment, Sam’s hand above your head breaks the connection, moving steadily down to move a piece of hair from your face. Tenderly, he laces his fingers into your hair cradling your cheek. As he looks you over, it is plain to see that he has been overtaken, pupils blown wide swallowing his hazel irises with lust. You allow yourself to nuzzle into his delicate grasp, the skin roughened by years of work and the scar that still crisscrossed his palm as a symbol of all of the pain he had endured in his past that still refused to let him go. You turn your head slightly in his hold to be able to plant a soft kiss to the marred flesh as if to soothe it, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment before returning to meet his again. Lost in each other’s embrace, you had no idea that you were no longer alone. 

“Finally!” Dean’s voice thundered from the kitchen doorway, shattering the intimate moment like glass on impact. “It was getting to be like a bad soap opera in here. Just not on the table, guys, please? People do eat here.”

Sam stumbled back from you out of surprise, leaving you to mourn the loss of his warmth. 

Sensing the unease as he rounded the corner into the kitchen behind Dean, Cas asked, “Did I miss something?” For an other-worldly being, he seemed to have the comedic timing of a trained professional.

Chuckling to himself at the positively wicked idea brewing in his head, Dean replied, “Yeah. Sammy will explain it to you later,” before leaving, tossing a, “Have fun, you two!” over his shoulder as he pulled Cas from the room by the collar of his trench coat. 

Finally alone again, Sam returns his attention to you, eyes wide and still slightly panting from the earlier excitement that his brother had so thoughtlessly interrupted. 

“We’re going to have to talk about this, aren’t we?” Sam asked, not sounding at all interested at the prospect. Having to put words to what just happened, to what he felt, seemed a Herculean task when his head was still spinning, and all he wanted to do was pick up where you had left off.

“Probably. But that can wait,” you reply, slowly dragging a palm down his chest, making sure to press just hard enough to rake your nails over the barely restrained muscle, drawing out the slightest hint of delicious pain. “Right, Winchester?”

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 ˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Thank you to @saradika-graphics for the dividers used! ˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

           He was hot—it was hot. The sun alone was nearly enough to make steam come off the blacktop itself, although you were nearly sure you’d heard that was an optical illusion most of the time. This certainly wasn’t; the huge, lean man in front of you, your car popped open behind him like a themed calendar. Sweat had slowly collected through the fabric of his t-shirt, the grey cotton first gaining a stripe down his back that had swelled to some Rorschach test by this point. You were staring when he ducked out from under the hood and had to pull yourself together to look as casual as possible when you realized he had already been talking. “It’s got a small, like, cylinder piece and a handle like a normal wrench?”

           “Oh, ah, sure,” you answered, rifling through the toolbox as quickly as you could to see if anything fitting that description popped out to you. You held up your best guess.

           “Perfect, yeah.” He held a palm out while keeping the other hand in the innards of the car, probably holding something in place. When you gave it to him, your fingers grazed his and you felt an electric shock blazed up your arm. Sliding the wrench in, his forearms rippled with tension under a light sheen of sweat as he cranked. After a few moments he drew back from the car, thoughtlessly dipping a hand under the hem of his t-shirt and lifting it as a makeshift handkerchief to dry his face and mouth. Seeing the taut muscles of his abdomen made you feel a little dizzy, and pulling the jersey against his body draped it almost pornographically off of him, the damp sticking in a way that left so little to the imagination he could have been dunked entirely in water. “Man, it’s hot as hell,” he said. “How long were you out here?”

           “Not that long, it wasn’t so bad.” Not if this was the reward.

           He nodded with an easy smile that showed he wasn’t so sure he believed you. “Well, it should be good now. Do you have a long way to go?”

           “Just to the next exit, my motel’s right off the highway.”

           Only a beat passed as he considered that. “I think maybe I should trail you? Until you get into town. In case this doesn’t hold out.” It startled you enough to pause before giving him a shy grin, and he seemed to mistake it for hesitation. “Or maybe to a gas station or something, not following you back to—”

           “No, no, that’s—that’s fine,” you answered a little too quickly. He smiled back at you, relieved. “Thank you so much, seriously. I don’t even know your name, you must think I’m a total asshole.”

           The dimples on both cheeks got even deeper as he extended his hand to you. “Sam. Don’t worry about it; I’m glad I could help.”

           It was warm as you shook it, as was everything else in the goddamned desert. Firm and gentle at the same time, calluses against the skin of your palm thick without being rough—a conscientious man who worked with his hands. “Then Sam, I feel like I should tell you that you have some grease on your chin.” Both his eyebrows lifted curiously as he tried to swipe blindly at it with also-dirty hands. You reached out, stopping just before touching his arm to stop him. “You’re—wait, hold on, you’re making it worse,” you giggled, the grey-black spot spreading along his jaw. He glanced over to the car, trying to use the reflection in the window to see himself. Rubbing for a couple seconds didn’t seem to help, and he held up a finger for you to wait.

           “I just need one sec and I’ll be ready. Why don’t you fire ‘er up and see if it feels okay to you?”

           You nodded, leaving the drivers’ side door open for some air flow and watching him as he walked back to the huge black muscle car he’d been in when he stopped on the road behind you. Bending down to use the mirror to help himself, he tried in vain to keep rubbing the grease off before seeming to lose patience and yanking his sweat-through shirt over his head, the cotton much more effective than his fingers alone. Your mouth dropped open a touch at the truly spectacular sight of him. His size was remarkable, of course, but it had been with his shirt on too. Without it, you saw that the glimpse of stomach you’d seen wasn’t a fluke; his whole body a model of sculpted, functional muscle, the swelled shoulders of a farmer or construction worker. Wholly masculine even without the dark hair collecting into a narrow stream, pouring down his stomach and dipping underneath a non-ostentatious belt buckle. He moved economically, his limbs showing an understanding of his body in space that felt almost elegant as he cleaned himself up and walked to the trunk, trading his now-balled grey shirt for a clean white one that must’ve been stored there.

           It was a shame, covering that work of art again. At the very least the freshly clothed man that walked back to you could’ve been out of any cologne ad, long lines of his legs in American jeans and boots kicking up desert dirt. You hoped you looked nonchalant by the time he got to you. “How’s it running?”

           “Seems okay, yeah.” You were going for coy but weren’t quite sure you were hitting it, not wanting to seem like a nutjob in front of him—Sam, a perfect name for this ultimate boy-next-door-knight-in-shining-armor, an accessible sense of rock-solidness in the sound itself. His lips split into a brilliant smile at the news.

           “Great! Okay, you ready, or do you want a minute?”

           “I’m all good if you are. I honestly can’t thank you enough, you totally saved me—”

           Sam waved it away. “It’s really nothing. You probably did me a favor, to be honest. My brother usually works on the car, doesn’t give me too many chances to stay sharp.” He smiled at your sheepishness. “So, I’ll just, ah, follow you?”

           And follow you he did. Trying your best to look casual in the event he could see you in the cab, you hunted around in your center console for any toiletries, finding a melted Chapstick that burned your finger when you opened it and a now-mushy stick of deodorant. Whatever cherry wax hadn’t spilled off your hand got rubbed into your lips, and you did your best to inconspicuously fish the deodorant through the neck of your shirt for a few swipes. You didn’t really know what you were even doing it for—Sam was, in all likelihood, going to ensure you weren’t so far from civilization that you’d die of exposure if the car broke down again and drive off to live whatever hot guy life he had, leaving you to fantasize about him in your stupid, scratchy motel bed.

           The drive gave you a second to muster up the courage to bring Sam and his gigantic Chevy to the parking lot of your motel. You reminded yourself you had nothing to lose, that if you didn’t go for it you’d likely never see this guy again anyway, your rejection an entirely private secret. By the time you saw the sign for vacancies, you’d almost convinced yourself it was a good idea, sticking your hand out the open window to wave Sam into the parking lot after you. When you saw his car park, you opened your door before you had a chance to talk yourself out of it.

           He met you about halfway between the vehicles. “Is something wrong?”

           Just an offer, don’t psych yourself out. “It’s really, um, hot. Out here. My AC’s barely cutting it and I’m betting yours isn’t either. I was wondering if you would want to, you know, cool off? Inside?”

           His eyebrows raised as he realized what you were asking, and his mouth formed around a silent word before he started over. “Ah—yeah. Yeah, okay,” he smirked somewhat disbelievingly. “Let me just, uh, lock the car, I guess.”

           You fought the urge to sell past the close and waited for him to return, feeling slightly more confident at the half-skip in his walk as he hurried to the Impala and back. The two of you walked into your room together somewhat awkwardly, standing almost close enough to touch without ever crossing the distance, reminded you were strangers in the middle of the afternoon, without cover of darkness or even a single drink to lubricate.  Inside was cool as promised though, the mechanically chilled air hitting you like a soothing curtain as you walked in. Waiting any longer would make you lose your resolve, so when he closed the door behind him a few seconds later you tried to channel someone extremely sexually confident and pressed the length of yourself up into him so that your lips could meet his.

           He seemed surprised by the force behind your push, pinning his body to the wall with a tiny grunt before seeming to become ravenous, his hands running through your hair desperately as he kissed you hard. Even with it the restraint in his movements was obvious as he curved down to meet you, his frame that much larger, stronger, this close to you. You felt something animal inside you flare at his hunger, and you let your nails run a little harder than you might’ve down his chest before biting his bottom lip, drawing it away from him as he groaned. Breaking away for only a beat to tug the back collar of his t-shirt over his head, you barely had enough time to relish your skin on that which you’d so admired back on the highway ahead of his flipping your positions and hitching below your thighs to pick you up, weight suspended between his arms and the wall. It made you gasp, and you felt Sam’s smirk against your lips. “Nice trick,” you breathed into the space between your mouths.

           “I have better ones,” he murmured, moving along your jaw to kiss-suck at your neck. You believed him entirely, feeling set alight already. A sharp sigh squeaked out when he ground some delicious trigger spot, and your head rolled back on your neck involuntarily. “Ow, fuck—” you snapped as your skull clunked hard against the wallpaper.

           “Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, reflexively covering the spot with paradoxical sweetness as his fingers dug beautiful perfect dimples into your ass. “Too rough, my bad—”

           “No, no.” It was too emphatic but you couldn’t be bothered to care. “Rough is good, I’m just clumsy.”

           He smiled, easy and light, letting his forehead tilt to touch yours as he chuckled. The grin was infectious as it spread to you through a brief, remarkably chaste kiss. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”

           You rolled your eyes. “Shut up,” you giggled as he tucked back into your neck, his pelvis tilting under you enough to feel the thick ache of him between your legs, through your jeans. After a minute or two, Sam’s arm behind your head folded somehow to become a seatbelt crossing your back and holding you to him as he walked you both to the bed, ease-dropping you down and ignoring the button and fly of your jeans in favor of shucking them off of you like some kind of cartoon, one incredibly hard pull taking them clean to your ankles as you tried not to shriek. By some miracle of modern elastic, your panties were jostled but still on as he covered your body with his, the heat of his body and the cold air of the room impossible contrast, and his fingers circled your neck. He didn’t apply any real pressure; his thumb rested in the hollow of your neck as he sucked on your tongue, the feeling of being completely overwhelmed almost too much to handle.

           The thumb brushed back and forth as Sam hovered for a moment, his fingers long enough to curl around the collar of your shirt with the same hand. “Off,” he growled simply, the smirk on his lips devilish. You grinned as you obeyed, shimmying out of not only your shirt but everything underneath it too, laying bare beneath him. He kissed you again before sliding down, teeth dragging lightly and stopping to catch tiny nips of skin as he moved to your hips, angling his broad shoulders and fitting through your legs to lick a firm stripe over the only fabric left covering you, the movement an electric shock.

           “I’m probably really—ah, sweaty,” you croaked.

           Sam just smiled, his tongue running along the inside of his molars before he drew it through the joint of your hip, his enthusiasm vibrating through his lips. He slipped then to taste a different kind of salt-tang, the sensation so much smoother than the panties pressed against it. When you began to rock against his glistening face, he took two fingers and turned them to hook confidently inside you, the rhythm of his mouth not changing at all as if this was choreography he’d practiced dozens of times. “Holy shit,” you breathed, grabbing a handful of Sam’s hair out of his eyes as he looked up at you. It was impossible not to squirm, and his other arm wrapped around your thigh like an iron bar, holding you in place while he worked magic before your body spasmed and clenched around him. He rode it out as you rode his jaw, leaving you a twitchy, heaving mess on the motel sheets.

           You caught your breath together, his head resting on your leg. Feeling slightly less jellied, you scooched back on the mattress until you could sit up, watching Sam slink to his knees at the foot of the bed. Swinging yourself around to get over to him, you slid into his mouth deep-dirty, tasting yourself on his lips and sinking as he clutched at your body, pulling you down onto his lap. The still-tender wet ground against his denim and God, could he really be that big zipped through your head while he pawed at your back.  You managed to get hold of the button of his jeans, undoing them as he realized what you were doing and leaned away to help you, his stomach flattening as he flicked them open and you rolled off of him. He rose in his kneel to get at the zipper until you grabbed his hands, stopping him to do it yourself. He got to his feet, about to move to the bed again, but you stayed down, freeing the length of him from the jeans and worn plaid boxers underneath.

           Fat drops of precum gathered on the tip of his cock tasted nearly sweet as they passed your lips, and Sam’s head rolled back. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned as you took him into your mouth with considerable effort. You tucked an errant piece of hair behind your ear and he reached down, holding the rest back as you bobbed. He was a playground, opportunity to try all the things you’d ever been curious about with the feedback of unconscious pulsing in his hips and the gorgeous, filthy things coming out of his mouth. The end goal had almost slipped your mind completely when the hand in your hair pulled you all the way off of him, Sam looking down at you on your knees. Motel quilt on your back reminded you how close you still were to the foot board and he bent down to kiss you, curling your head back onto the fabric to scoop under your thighs again. You tried to help scramble back to the mattress but weren’t fast enough as he picked you up and put you onto the bed, sucking down your neck as you giggled through the springs bouncing. “Wanted to bend you over the hood of your car out there, you looked so fucking good,” he growled along your throat.

           “Oh yeah?” you breathed, the chills down your spine and the feeling of his body on yours more than enough to distract you from how lame that must’ve sounded.

           Sam didn’t seem to care, grazing his teeth along your pulse. “Couldn’t stop thinking about what you looked like under those clothes—” he paused enough for you to feel the grin against you as he sucked an especially sweet spot and your breath hitched. It might as well have been one of those hypnosis recordings you’d tried a couple times to fall asleep, his low murmuring and movements slowly tugging you under a cloud of pheromone coated endorphins. “Tasting you—seeing your lips around my cock—‘s even better than I thought.”

           You whimpered like a virgin until Sam’s mouth finally caught yours. He rocked crystal-hard against your thigh and a small, hungry note came from the back of his throat when you bit his lip, forcing him to break.

           “Do you have…?” he asked, so close to your face you would’ve been able to count his eyelashes.

           You realized the question required a response at the same time you understood what he was asking. “Ye—yeah, of course. Sorry.” Fishing your arm out from the tangle of your bodies toward the nightstand, you were nowhere close to getting to the little bag of toiletries lying there even as you twisted your torso.

           “Bag?” Sam asked, his arm easily long enough to cover the distance when you nodded. His skin moved across your nipples as he reached, on its own something you would’ve been able to daydream about for months to come. Tanned fingers flicked purposefully through a handful of tampons and tiny bottles before finding a foil package he ripped open with his teeth, the hand disappearing. You felt him nudge against you before he seemed to change his mind, bringing two fingers to into his mouth while the other wound in hair at the back of your neck.

           Sam’s forehead pressed against yours. “Before I get distracted.” The fingers circled before dipping inside at the same time his tongue entered your mouth. You felt remarkably like he was a predator playing with his food without caring one bit. If it had been more elegant, less primal, it could’ve been watching an expert piano player. Within a couple minutes you were clutching for purchase along his chest, his arms, anything to try to hold yourself together as you fell apart. “Look at me,” he said, the hold on your hair tightening a fraction. His eyes were lit from within when you met them, the need in them nearly frenzied as you came spasming around his fingers. “Good girl, just like that.” It was virtually guaranteed your nails would leave marks digging into him. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathed as the heaving of your chest started to even out.  

           He brushed his cock back and forth against you, pausing. “Yeah?” he asked, something gentle there even with the dark hunger in his eyes. You couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more than you did in that moment, squirming toward him as though you physically couldn’t help it. Nodding made him grin, sly and cocky and excited, and he pushed into you.

           It was slow, at first—his quiet, confident self-awareness that you’d need it somehow not coming off like hubris. When you hooked your leg around his hips he started rocking into you, picking up the pace as you threw your head back. Soon he was pulsing fast, forcing you to brace yourself on the headboard behind you with outstretched arms. He curved forward, his teeth catching your neck to pull a groan from it. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed, endorphins suspending you in a frozen limbo you could’ve stayed in forever, when he scooped under your back and picked you up, lifting you as he laid down.

           His deft movements rearranged you like a doll, legs on either side of his waist. You nearly fell forward in surprise but the thick pillar of him kept you supported like a puppet, that much deeper than he’d already been with the added gravity of your body. Each pump skewered into you in the most delicious way; for a brief, flitting second of legible thought you felt you understood how people could feel so overcome they spoke in tongues. Taking each of your hips in the broad span of his hands, Sam began to ram up into you hard and fast, some tilt hitting you just right to fall apart again, your head falling back like you were being raptured. He slowed as you came down, wrapping his arms around you to pull in for a long, filthy kiss. “I could watch you all goddamn day,” he murmured against your skin.

           Again he moved you as you giggled giddily through the compliment, sliding you back on the bed and standing up. He came around the corner of the mattress and seemed to be making good on his promise, his eyes sliding over your body where you laid. Something about it, being seen like that by this glistening Tarzan, with his shining hair and perfect soft-rough balance, made you feel stripped past your skin to your bones, to the very core of yourself. An insane way to feel for a man you’d just met that day, but there you were.

           For what it was worth, the smile Sam gave you in that moment was equally as insane—you were sure then you weren’t imagining the affection there, that there was something just as sparkling in his hazel eyes as there was in the glint of his teeth. He stroked himself for a few seconds, the mere sight of your body a private piece of pornography, before grabbing behind your knees and yanking you down the mattress to where he stood, the backs of your thighs thudding against his and locking in place with his palms. The way he’d pulled you pressed his cock between your legs, as much a taunt as anything, the heat of it feeling like it throbbed against you. He rocked there, taunting with the grind before you drew back and slipped him inside you yourself. Knowing you wanted it that much made Sam bite his lip to keep from smiling too widely. With only a beat or two of buildup, he slammed into you—hands an iron grip on your thighs, pulling you in as much as he thrust forward, the force of it seeming like he could drill you right through the floor and you’d beg him to keep going.

           He took a thumb into his mouth and reached down without missing a single stroke, circling your clit. “You going to cum for me again?” he nearly murmured, low and steady.

           You would’ve done anything then, but more importantly, it seemed like your body had been crafted as a puzzle for him to take apart and would’ve obeyed without your input. He pounded harder, riding you through the inevitable before he came himself, the muscles in his arms and abdomen clenching while his breath got rough.

           The aftershocks had him bracing his weight on stretched, sculpted arms as his breathing evened out before he discreetly shucked the condom into a wastebin and laid down in one relatively fluid motion. If you hadn’t been so thoroughly spent, it might’ve even seemed a little too suave, a little too practiced in its coordination. He sidled up to you, spreading his wingspan in low-pressure invitation for you to lie along his side. It felt—gentlemanly, somehow; the pretense of sex already foregone, the ruse of manners drawn away to reveal a relaxed sincerity you weren’t expecting. It made the inappropriately profound crush you were developing on him worse, the hooks sunk in like ice picks.

           Sliding underneath the arm and resting your head on his chest felt treacherous, but it would’ve been more awkward not to. You half expected him to tip forward and kiss your hair, but the way his fingertips brushed back and forth on your bicep, holding you to him, was just as nice. The two of you laid for a few moments, letting your bodies soak in and the hormones float lazily through your bloodstreams.

           “Thanks for inviting me in,” he said after a few content minutes. His voice sounded like caramel, lilting enough you could hear the smile behind your head. Propping yourself up to your elbows, you grinned back at him.

           “Thanks for coming in,” you answered. He bit his lip, tracing the lines of your face with his eyes for a moment before looking up at the ceiling, letting his smile deepen enough to pull the dimples into his cheeks.

           Bashful silence reminiscent of some middle school dance hung in the air just long enough to start to feel awkward, and Sam cleared his throat. “Do you, maybe, ah, wanna get something to eat?” he asked, only a note off of breezy.

           The smile wiggled around on your face, threatening to beam. “Sure,” you finally answered. “I could eat.”

           He grinned back at you. “Cool. Let me just call my brother, I was supposed to be on my way to see him before you, ah, invited me over.”

           Sam did, politely covering himself with the top sheet as he sat up and grabbed his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He poured into them fluidly like a glass of water filling, tucking the phone under his chin while he threw the button together and stood up. You watched him cross to the bathroom, likely looking for some privacy and throwing you a silent, unnecessary ‘sorry!’ before snatching his shirt off the ground and closing the door behind him. Watching the slink of his spine, the jeans low-slung on his hips, even his bare feet, you were nearly thankful for the physical barrier forcing you to stop staring. You stood on then-coltish legs and tried to pull yourself together as quickly as possible, trying in vain to fix your hair in a tiny compact mirror when Sam came out, throwing his t-shirt on. “Ready to go?”

           “If you are.”

           Walking together across the street was a pleasant kind of silence. Without having to fill the space with words, it the intimacy felt more lived in between the two of you than you might’ve believed if you weren’t experiencing it.

           You probably could’ve guessed he’d open the door for you, but it didn’t make it any less gentlemanly when he did. The heat of his hand was palpable hovering over your lower back but he didn’t outright guide you which was somehow more attractive, although it’s possible anything he did would’ve been attractive at that moment. After ordering, you leaned onto the table to rest your chin in your palms.

           “So, Sam. You always so chivalrous?”

           “Chivalrous?” he asked, the tip of his tongue flicking out to grab his straw.

           “I came three times before you were even inside me.”

           Sam choked on a sip of Coke, his eyebrows raising in shock as he coughed once through it, smirking as he swallowed. “I didn’t know that was chivalrous.”

           You grinned, cheekily pleased you’d managed to surprise him and moving your cup out of the way as you saw the waitress walking over. “What would you call it, then?”

           He kept smiling, dimples staying deep as he said a small ‘thank you’ to the waitress and graciously denied a need for anything else when she asked. When his eyes met yours again, they were coy. “Guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

           Picking up a fry and blowing on it, you rolled your eyes. “Sounds like a yes to me. Is that some pickup artist always-leave-them-wanting-more thing?” It was Sam’s turn to roll his, accepting the teasing as flirtatious as you’d hoped he would. “Or are you some mythical being luring women in on the side of the road?”

           Bedroom eyes looked back at you atop his smile. “If I remember, it was you on the side of the road.”

           “Don’t change the subject,” you said, hoping the heat of flattered embarrassment wasn’t obvious on your face.

           After a few beats he realized you were serious and stretched back in the booth, running a hand over the back of his hair. “I don’t know, it’s less—distracting, maybe? If I don’t, ah, you know, take care of it, I have a hard time not thinking about it.”

           “Take care of it? How romantic,” you laughed.

           “Whatever, you know what I mean. Easier to have fun if everyone is.” He rolled his eyes but seemed to be a good sport about the ribbing, grabbing a fry and biting it in half. “Plus it’s hot.”

           The sly smile he gave made you giggle like a schoolgirl, and he grabbed a few more fries. He really was handsome—gorgeous, even—with high cheekbones and those dimples, his neck the wide-strong of an athlete. You only knew you’d been staring when one of his eyebrows twisted up, silent curiosity of whether something was wrong.

           “So, um, what do you do?” you tried to cover, intently focusing your gaze on picking the next fry.

           Sam swallowed and took a sip of his drink. “I work with my brother.”

           “Same brother you called? Hope I didn’t mess with your job.”

           “No, I—” he grinned, slightly embarrassed at misspeaking. “I mean yeah, same brother. But you didn’t mess with anything. And even if you had, I ah…I wouldn’t have cared.”

           That made you flush and you struggled to think of something clever to say before deciding you couldn’t come up with anything, wishing you could’ve held onto the spunky, raunchy girl you’d been able to put on before you got lost traveling his face. “What do you guys do? Are you from around here?” Stupid, don’t be clingy.

           He swallowed and you worried maybe you had mis-stepped. “Not from around here. We’re, uh, exterminators? Sort of exterminator consultants.”

           “Sexy,” you smirked, enjoying the reappearance of his dimples.

           “Family business, I guess. It’s what my dad did.” He pivoted abruptly, clear but sweet Not Interested In Discussing in his tone. “My guess is you’re not from around here.”

           “Oh really? What gave it away?”

           His eyebrows crooked incredulously. “The motel?”

           You hoped the ‘fuck, right’ didn’t show on your face too clearly, winking as if it was always a joke rather than a chunk of your brain shutting down for how badly you wanted this plate of fries to last forever, to split a milkshake with two straws like teenagers after a sock hop. “Maybe you should be a detective, Mr. Exterminator.”

           He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

           You’re losing him. “You must get along with your brother pretty well to work together.”

           “Yeah, we—yeah, we really do. We’re a good team, I guess. Makes it a lot easier to be on the road together all the time.”

           His fond smile was reassuring both in the way it seemed like you still had his attention and in the sweetness his being close to his brother showed. “How long have you guys been on the road?”

           “A while. Where are you from? Close to here?”

           You took a sip of your drink to stall. “No, not close really. I’m just passing through.”

           He considered that with a downward turn of his lips. “To where?”

           A deep breath blew out of your nose, continued inability to answer this question one of the recurring frustrations in your life. Something about Sam felt right, though—open, like he would understand—and if he didn’t get it, you probably wouldn’t ever see him again anyway. No harm, no foul. “To nowhere, really. You know, ‘finding myself’ or whatever,” you said, rolling your eyes to show you understood how it sounded and that you thought it was lame too even if secretly, sincerely, it didn’t. ‘Finding yourself’ may have been less accurate than ‘running’, but if you were worried about scaring this guy off by wondering what he did for work, you certainly weren’t going to tell him your whole life story right off the bat.

           Sam looked at the table, slowly rotating his glass with his fingers. “Well if nowhere is ever close by, it would be cool to, ah, see you. Again.” He finally glanced back up when he was done speaking, as though he could handle the aftermath but not the implied question itself.

           The heart thumping in your chest seemed not to remember this guy had already been inside you, ohmygodhelikesme bounding through your bloodstream and drawing a smile across your face like a crisp clean sheet. “I think that could be arranged.”

           You could’ve written a bubblegum pop ballad for those dimples. Sam’s tongue moved along the underside of his molars as he grinned across the table.

           He paid the check without looking at it, leaving a fold of bills on the table and walking you back across the street to the motel room door like he was dropping you off at home after a date on a school night. Standing at the threshold, you struggled with the feeling that you didn’t want him to leave, feeling ridiculously like you were saying goodbye to someone you really knew, not this random hot guy who’d fixed your car and blown your back out.

           “So. See you later?” Sam asked, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck nervously.

           You swallowed and nodded before pressing to your tiptoes and kissing him deeply, slipping your tongue into his mouth and biting his lower lip, dragging it a bit as you stood back. “See you later.”

           Sam smiled with his eyes closed. “Kiss me like that and you might regret it,” he murmured, his hand lingering on your lower back for a beat before dropping.

           “Somehow I doubt that,” you grinned into the heat of him.  

           It would’ve been enough, the memory of the day and the way he took a few steps backward like he couldn’t bear taking his eyes off you even a beat too early. But about fifteen minutes after you got back into your room, your phone went off:

-

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You had met Sam through Bucky, it was a situation in thought of if Bucky trusted him than you could, you had spent most of your time hidden in your shared apartment with him, the anxiety hydra had ridden you with making the task of being around people absolutely terrifying, frigid cold edges in your mind making it disabling, that was until you found comfort in a therapeutic coping mechanism referred to by therapists as age regression.

In your little headspace you happened to be a lot more curious, adventurous and just open to trying new things, Bucky knew this, he encouraged it, he'd take you on walks to the park where you’d sit and point out the ducks and turtles, the pretty flowers and shiny rocks.

All of this so subtle no figure in the public eye could even see it.

You ended up joining Bucky and Sam on morning runs, your stamina building the same as your voice, different stages but still growing all the same.

On days where Bucky would be busy with therapy Sam would take you for slower runs to keep you out of your head. He would stop and get snacks when you were to tired to run. He introduced you to the public library, your fascination made his heart swell, he decided right than that moment you needed a library card so he helped you get one, it would eventually become your favorite place.

You grew close to him, you felt normal, human, free, you had a friend outside of your experiences at hydra.

At night when the air grew cold and the sky grew dark the drowning feeling of being within the grasp of hydras icy hold, no matter how much of yourself you felt during the day it all ripped from you at night, the most alone time.

Bucky was used to it, he was taking healing a little easier than you thanks to his time around Steve when he came back, Bucky would sit up with you all night if so needed with you curled away in his arms, both little or big he was willing to be there for you.

You got the chance to experience a relationship with Sam the way normal people got to, little did you know Bucky had sat Sam down and made it clear that you weren't just for games. You made same happy and you felt sparks of such flit in your heart as well.

Today was a bit of a new experience, going to the shops, casual, normal, standard, just the way of life ordinary.

You had gone to three shops where the guys had found items they were interested in, but what’s the use of having something if it does not serve a daily need, the movie on the display tv holing your attention.

Bucky and Sam wandered through the section keeping you in sight looking through items stocked upon the shelves.

The movie unbeknownst to you was a horror movie so in the moment where the screen panned to the sight of walls shifting, eyes embedded in them blinking, bleeding, boring into your own, your body ran cold.

The people around you know who you are, they know your past, they’re staring, the walls are staring at you, the room is breathing, you rush to find Bucky, home, he’s your home, but he’s gone, they took him, they’re coming for you.

Turning in every direction, panic present in your movements Sam catch’s on.

Your headspace slipping, falling little to keep you safe from what’s to come. you find a glint of hope and safety when Sam cones into view, the rushing in your ears deafening everything he’s said you rush towards him letting him pull you into a hug, your grasp onto his shirt burying your face into his chest, this definitely took him by surprise, you weren't very often one for touch but he wasn't going to fight it, "hey is it okay if i hug you?" He says quietly for only you, you nod letting him wrap his arms around you running one up and down your back.

He could feel your heart slamming in your chest and your body trembling, a small sniffle and all he could think of was soothing his nephews like this and the few flash backs Bucky had with Sam around, you just need someone to help you ground yourself.

"Shhh you’re okay, its just you and me, no ones going to hurt you, Bucky is in the bathroom he'll be right back"

His hands taking your focus from the sounds around you to right here with Sam

Bucky returns and soon realizes you got really panicked, meaning you’re probably going to slip if you haven't already. "Do you want to go?" He hums causing you to finally look up at him.

He had returned, they didn't take him, your Bucky is safe still, he could see the gleam in your eyes that only shows when you’re little, a blank slate of emotions new to the function of the world, you look up to a perplexed Sam and back to Bucky, shaking your head you knew you could do this.

"Alright, lets walk around and find a snack in another part of the mall" Bucky leads, you take Sam’s hand and follow along, staying silent, you hadn’t even questioned taking to Sam, it felt like second nature.

By now Sam had put two and two together from your mannerisms and how some of his Colleagues in the air force with him had taken up for therapy.

Keeping himself alert to anything and everything that grasped your attention, rounding a corner in the mall the shop on the left warm and inviting for children caused a small hesitation in your step.

"Do you want to go in there?"

He points at the children's store

Weighing your options you nod and let him and Bucky lead you in.

He lets your hand loose and you just stand in your spot waiting for someone to say something. "Go ahead and look around dove" bucky remarks, letting you release from your spot, you walk round and they follow.

looking at the noisy toys and than the ones that move, the activity toys, the interactive ones and baby items that all took your interest, you walk to the other side of the store when a small fluffy orange and white lump in your peripheral vision grabs your attention.

You walk over to the stuffed animal pulling the orange and white fox off the shelf looking it over, petting its soft fabric and hugging it, you don’t remember the last him you had a stuffed animal, "do you want it bub?" Sam questions.

Guilt hits you deep, how shameful it must be that you’re taking a baby toy, that you’re wanting something useless to everyday life, you reluctantly put it back on the shelf but Sam grabs it and holds it out to you, looking you in the eyes he does his best to make it very clear, "love if you like the fox that’s okay, its allowed, you can have it, i will buy it, do you want the fluffy fox?"

You nod and he proceeds to take your hand leading you to check out, placing it on the counter and paying for it, handing it to you, you hug the stuffy close.

Bucky at the doors with a rare smile on his face mirrored by an even more uncommon smile upon yours.

You carry on walking until you find food, sitting down and eating before they both noticed how you slumped over against buckys shoulder, you all finish up and go out to the car, Sam helping you into the back seat and buckling up than handing you the stuffy once again, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead and getting in the passenger seat.

The hum of the car lulling you to sleep.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

The stuffed animal in question

I made a face. Trish was the only one that I worked with who knew I was an Omega.  I was on incredibly powerful suppressants.  My friend Charlie worked in R and D at a pharmaceutical company, and she got me the stuff that wasn’t even available to the public yet. This was the stuff they used in the military.

 No one had any idea what I was, which was fine with me. With my job and all the people I met, I needed to nip that shit in the bud. I didn’t have time for heats or any Alphas panting after me.  I was married to my job, and that’s the way I liked it.

But for Donna, I would make an exception and take some time off.  That is how much she meant to me.  I had met Donna Hanscum in college when she was a criminal justice major and I was pre-med and I had no way of keeping my Omega under control.

  We had both gotten a job as waitresses at this dive bar called Harvelle’s to make extra money. She had been leaving for the night and came across two huge Alphas hassling me in the parking lot. Several well-placed kicks later the Alphas had run crying for their mommies and Donna and I were BFFs. She seemed all perky and nice, but when you pissed her off, she was a badass. 

After medical school, I took a job in Nebraska, and Donna became a sheriff in Minnesota. A few years later she met a guy from Kansas during a routine traffic stop, and it was love. They did the long-distance thing for a bit, and then she decided to move to Kansas to be with him. I thought he almost sounded too good to be true, but on a rare weekend off I drove there to meet him, and I could clearly see that Dean Winchester loved my friend.  And the fact he was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t hurt.

“How come none of my patients ever look like him?” I grumbled good-naturedly as Donna and I washed dishes.

“Well, he has a brother….” Donna began, and I held up a hand to silence her.  

“I am not looking to be fixed up, Don. My work is my life right now.”

“I understand, but I want you to be as happy as I am.” she said with a sappy smile. After dating for less than a year, Dean proposed to Donna. They were both Betas, and they were actually very well suited. They had decided to get married in Aruba. and they would have a party when they got back. 

 When Donna called me to share the good news, “I want to go,” came out of my mouth  before I could stop myself. “I haven’t had a vacation in forever, and seeing my best friend married seems like a good reason.” Where had that come from?

Donna was thrilled of course and asked me to be her maid of Honor. I didn’t even hesitate before I accepted. 

I finished dictating before I answered Trish “It will be weird to not be here. I know its in the Bahamas, but I’m sure it’s going to be boring. I’ll be busy with all kinds of Maid-of-Honor stuff.”

 “When do you leave?” Trish asked curiously.

“The day after tomorrow. That gives me one day to pack.”

“You haven’t even started packing yet?” she laughed, shaking her head.  “Please tell me you have a suitable bathing suit at least.”

“I will after I buy one,” I said sheepishly.

“Girl, you are a hot mess.” She told me, but she was smiling.

Charting of course took longer than it should have. Dot, the supervisor of medical records would have my hide if I went on vacation and left charting to be done, so I staying until I was completely caught up and my inbox was empty.

When I got home, I should have gone straight to bed, but I started to panic I wouldn’t be ready so I started packing. I was coming off of a 12-hour ER shift, and when the adrenaline wore off, I was going to crash badly. So I might as well ride the wave as long as it lasted. I could always sleep on the plane, right?

Tagging:

You arrived at the forest, and when you pull up you see Haley, Ben and a man talking. They all stare at the three of you when you get out of the car.

Sam opens the back door of the Impala and pulls out the duffel bag.

“You guys got room for three more?” Dean asked

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley said surprised.

“Who are these guys?” asked the man that was with them.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue,” she scoffed.

Sam heads past everyone.

“You're rangers?” the man asks.

“That's right,” Dean nods.

“Yeah, we are,” you agree.

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?”

Dean looks down at himself., “Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts,” he shakes his head.

Dean heads past Haley, you follow him reaching Sam.

“What, you think this is funny?” the guy scoffs, “It's dangerous backcountry out there. Her brother might be hurt.”

You and Sam turn back to look at them.

“Believe me,” you say, “I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.”

Dean shrugs and heads past you, you shrug at the guy and follow his steps.

All of you hikes through the forest. This guy Roy is in the lead, followed by Dean, Haley, Ben, and Sam and you stay in the back bringing the gear.

“Roy,” Dean calls, “you said you did a little hunting.”

“Yeah, more than a little,” he answers.

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?”

“Mostly buck,” Roys says, “sometimes bear.”

Dean passes Roy. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?”

Roy grabs Dean by the shoulder and pulls him back, SAM and you look on.

“Whatcha doing, Roy?” Dean inquires.

Roy grabs a stick and pokes something on the floor, and when it snaps closed you realized it was a bear trap Dean had almost stepped in. Haley looks annoyed.

“You should watch where you're stepping,” Roy mocks, “Ranger.”

He drops the stick and retakes the lead.

“It's a bear trap.” Dean smiles, shrugging it off as if it was nothing.

“I’m not used to this amount of exercise,” you tell Sam.

“What do you mean?” he laughs, “We’re always running for our lives.”

“I know,” you sigh, “But on those moments we have adrenaline running through our system, so I don’t feel anything, but let’s be honest, this is boring. I mean, I love hiking and being surrounded by nature, but still… I’m saying a lot of buts”

“Yeah,” he smirks at you, “You are. I get you, though.”

You smile at him and you continue hiking in silence. Haley walks faster to catch up to Dean.

“You didn't pack any provisions,” she points out, “You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers.”

She grabs Dean's arm. “So who the hell are you?”

Ben goes past Haley and Dean. Sam and you look at Dean, who indicates with his expression for both of you to go on by, you raise your eyebrows at him but you obey him, Sam following you. As far as you can hear, he’s telling her that Sam’s his brother, you’re their friend and they’re looking for their father, who might be there.

Later that day, you all keep walking through the forest. Roy is leading the way, followed by Sam and you, Ben, Haley, and Dean.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge,” announces Roy.

Sam heads past Roy. “What coordinates are we at?”

Roy pulls out a GPS, “Thirty-five and minus one-eleven,” he answers.

Dean comes up to you, meanwhile you remain aware, trying to listen to something that can work as some kind of lead to catching whatever creature was there.

“You hear that?” Dean asks.

“Absolutely nothing, no wind... Nothing,” you say taking a look around, “I can hear the blood flowing through my ears.”

“Yeah. Not even crickets,” Sam agrees.

“I'm gonna go take a look around,” Roy announces.

“You shouldn't go off by yourself,” Sam told him.

“That's sweet. Don't worry about me.”

“Dude, seriously,” you try to stop him, “We should stay together.”

Roy takes a look at you, waves his gun and pushes between Dean and Sam, to retake the lead. Dean turns back to the others as Ben and Haley catch up.

“All right,” Dean says, “everybody stays together. Let's go.”

While you wait for Roy, Haley sits down next to a rock, Ben’s leaning against a tree. Dean climbs the rock near Haley. You see Ben spotting something and goes to have a look, you decide to follow him, and Sam does too.  

“What did you find Ben?” you ask him.

He moves a tree branch aside to have a look at what he saw, and it’s a stick figure.

“That’s a hell of a find, Ben,” Sam congratulates,

“Are those… Anasazi?” You ask, amazed.

“Yeah,” Sam nods.

You eye Dean coming over to you.

“What’s that?” Ben asks.

“Ancient Indians…” you answer, “First Nations, they were a whole civilization that just vanished. No one knows what happened.”

Another look at the stick figure.

“I've seen that somewhere before,” Sam says.

“Haley!” you hear Roy call, “Over here!”

Haley hurries to Roy, followed closely by the rest of you, coming to a halt.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

The tents are torn open and bloody and all the supplies are scattered around the campsite.

“Looks like a grizzly,” Roy points out.

All of you start to walk to take a look around the area, although there is no sign of anybody being there.

“Tommy?” Haley asks.

She takes off her backpack and goes through the campsite. “Tommy!” She yells.

Sam moves to catch up with Haley trying to quiet her, but she yells again, calling for Tommy. Sam steps in front of her and shushes her.

“Why?” she asks.

“Something might still be out there,” Sam answers.

“Sam! Y/N!” you can hear Dean calling.

You and Sam jog over to Dean, and you crouch next to him.

“The bodies were dragged from the campsite,” he tells you, “But here, the tracks just vanish. That's weird.”

You watch a trail of stirred dirt, clearly showing that someone had been dragged. The three of you stand up.

“I'll tell you what,” he makes a pause, “that's no skinwalker or black dog.”

Dean turns around and goes back to the campsite. You take a last look at the trail and you and Sam follow him. When you get back with the rest you see Haley picking up a cell phone with blood drops on it. She starts crying, turns the phone over and the back is open. Dean crouches next to her.

“Hey, he could still be alive,” he encourages her.

Haley gives Dean a look.

“Help!” you can hear someone crying for help, making all of you stop and listen, “Help!”

With the second scream, everyone runs to the aid of the shouter, Roy taking the lead.

“Help! Somebody!”

When you get to the place you all look around trying to see the person who was crying for help, but you find no one.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley asked.

You listen, but then again, nothing.

“Everybody back to camp,” you tell them.

You run back to the campsite, and once you get there, you see that all the supplies are missing.

“Our packs!” Haley complains.

“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone,” Roy sounded defeated, crouching.

“What the hell is going on?” Haley asks.

“It's smart,” Sam says. “It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.”

“You mean someone,” says Roy, “some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.”

Sam goes to Dean and makes a sign to you to come closer.

“I need to speak with you. In private,” he commands.

The three of you walk a little away from the group. “Good...” he says, “Let me see Dad's journal.”

Dean hands it over. Sam opens it and flips through until he finds a particular page.

“All right, check that out,” he points to a First Nations–style drawing of a figure.

“Oh come on,” Dean argues, “Wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west.”

“Think about it, Dean, the claws, the way it can mimic a human voice,” he points out.

“It actually makes sense,” you look at Sam, “Wendigos appear a lot in the Anasazi and Cree lore. And that thing Ben had found earlier? It was Anasazi.”

“Exactly,” Sam nods.

“Great,” Dean pouts. “Well,” he says taking out his pistol, “this is useless.”

Sam gives Dean back John's journal and heads past Dean stopping for a moment.

“We gotta get these people to safety,” you tell them.

You get back at the campsite, and Sam addresses the group.

“All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

“What?” Haley asks.

“Kid, don't worry,” Roy dismisses, “Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.”

“It's not me I'm worried about,” Sam tells him. “If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now.”

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders,” he argues.

“Relax,” Dean warns.

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right?” Sam tells him.

“You know, we’re just-” you start, “We’re just trying to protect all of you.”

“You protect me?” Roy defies Sam, stepping right in front of him. “I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.”

“Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter,” Sam tries to warn. “It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.”

Roy laughs, “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—” Sam almost slips out, but Dean pushes him.

Haley yells at Roy.

“Chill out,” you tell Sam.

“Stop. Stop it,” Haley says, “Everybody just stops. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.”

A long pause remains between all of you.

“It's getting late,” Dean says. “This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?” Haley wonders.

Night fell over your heads while you’re still outside in the forest. The group has built a campfire, and Dean was drawing protection symbols on the dirt around the campsite while Haley pokes at the fire.

“One more time, that's—” she starts.

“Anasazi symbols,” Dean tells her. “It's for protection. The wendigo can't cross over them.”

Roy laughs, gun over his shoulder.

“Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy,” you sass him.

Dean heads over to sit next to Sam and you, who are at the edge of the campsite. He looks at you and you shrug.

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” he asks Sam.

“Dean—” he starts but Dean cuts him off.

“No, you're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?”

A pause.

“Dad's not here,” another pause. “I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?”

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Dean agrees. “Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been to Lost Creek.”

“Then let's get these people back to town and let's hit the road,” He looks at you and then at Dean. “Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still even here?”

Dean stands up and crouches in front of Sam, holding up John’s journal. “This is why,” he says. “This book. This is Dad's single most valuable possession—everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business."

Sam shakes his head and stares at Dean, “That makes no sense.” he runs his hands on his face, “Why doesn't he just—call us? Why doesn't he—tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?”

“I dunno,” Dean answers him, “But the way I see it, Dad's giving us a job to do, and I intend to do it.”

“Dean...no. I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about.”

You look down at the floor.

“Okay, all right, Sam, we'll find them,” Dean concedes, “I promise. Listen to me. You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man.”

Sam looks down, then up at you.

“How do you do it? How does Dad do it?”

Dean looks over at Haley and Ben, you follow his gaze.

“Well for one, them,” Dean says.

You nod, and Sam looks over at them, too.

“I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.”

A pause.

“I'll tell you what else helps,” you grin, Sam, looking back at you, “Killing as many evil sons of bitches as we possibly can.”

“Hell yeah we do,” Dean smirks at you.

Sam smiles and you hear a twig snapping.

“Help me!” you hear a man screams, “Please!”

You all stand and readies his gun.

“Help!”

Sam shines a flashlight around and you try to take a better look.

“He's trying to draw us out,” you realize, “Just stay cool, stay put.”

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy mocks in a sarcastic tone.

“Help! Help me, ple-!” he screams and then you can hear some growling.

Roy points his gun at the sound, “Okay, that's no grizzly.”

Something rushes past and Haley shrieks.

“It's here,” Sam announces.

“Shit, it moves way too fast” you mumble.

Roy shoots at the rustling one, two, three times.

“I hit it!” he yells and runs to see what he hit.

“Roy, no! Roy!

“Don't move,” Dean commands to Haley and Ben.

Haley's holding a fire stick as a weapon.

“That’s actually a very good idea,” you tell her, staying behind protecting them while Sam and Dean run after Roy.

Next Part

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