dean’s outlook on his little sammy falling in love :(
reader is hungover in this!
dean was never one to believe in romantic love. his entire life has been surround by loss and heartbreak, so believing in something good, and pure, was difficult for him. sure, he knew familial love. he believes in the kind of love that was given from the moment he was born, the kind that is an obligation.
but when he sees you, curled into his brother’s side, fast asleep in a cheap, uncomfortable motel bed, he thinks, just for a moment, maybe romantic love is good.
from the moment the winchester brothers found you, covered in vampire blood, sitting outside of a nest, cussing to yourself about your car not starting, you and sam had a different kind of bond. despite dean being the one to handle your car’s issues, all of your thanks were thrown to sam. sam sat on the curb with you as dean checked under your hood, and worked whatever magic he could to get it up and running again. not that it lasted very long, shutting down again about a mile away from the nest. sam was the one who told you get into dean’s beloved impala. you shared the story of how you took care of the nest, but that one of the vamps, in a last ditch effort to keep you from a pressing the blade you held against his neck any further, mentioned something more dangerous that his nest that was lurking outside of town.
which led to your first hunt with the winchester boys, and the rest was history.
dean let out a sigh at the sight of you two. you were laying on your side, tucked right into sam’s shoulder. he was on his back, with a protective arm tracing down your back. your arm thrown over his waist, holding him close. you two fit together like two puzzle pieces would, dean observed, before heading out to pick up something greasy for breakfast.
“you awake?” sam mumbled, just a few minutes after he woke up himself. you let a mumble that sounded vaguely like a “yes”, before pressing yourself closer to sam. “hey hey,” he ushered you away, putting a slight gap between your face and his chest. just a small one.
“your nose is cold,” he complained, but pressed his arm against you. “‘m sorry,” you mumbled again.
sam let out a chuckle, before moving to get himself up. he looked over to dean’s bed where a small piece of paper was left. ‘went to get some grub’ was written across it, in dean’s messy handwriting. “dean went to get breakfast,” he informed you. you let out a noise of agreement, not mustering the energy for anything more. “hopefully it’s something greasy for ya,” sam called out as he made his way into the bathroom. if your hangover wasn’t so bad, you’d have flipped him off.
as the water from the shower turned on, you started to release yourself from the uncomfy confines of the motel bed. your head was pounding before dean slammed the motel door opened, and hammering afterwards. “chill,” was all you could say, hoping dean understood that you needed him to calm down some. “here ya go,” he said as a he passed you a bag with a greasy breakfast sandwich. “thanks,” you mumbled, sitting it on the bed next to you. you didn’t know if your stomach could handle it right now, so you decided to wait for sam.
“you’re not eatin’?” dean asked as he opened his own bag, sitting down at the little corner in the table. “waitin’ for sam,” you informed with a small gesture to the bathroom. “‘course you are,” dean huffed as if he was annoyed about it, but his chest felt a little bit lighter knowing that there was someone else in this world who loved sam enough to wait for him.
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Warnings: Weddings, marrying (third) cousins, awful exes and their families, kissing, fluff, slight angst
Summary: You’re going to a wedding, but you don’t want to go alone. Not when your ex is the groom, and not when your best friend is always up to be your plus one.
A/N: I watch too many rom-coms. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading. 🥰 Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Your chest expands on a shaky inhale, then shudders as you breathe out. Your reflection hasn’t changed since you first looked in the mirror a few moments ago, but you still stare at yourself in dismay. Plucking at the fabric of your dress doesn’t fix what’s bothering you, and neither does adjusting your hair.
“I can do this. It’s just a wedding,” you say, though you don’t believe it. You wait for the courage to come. If life were a movie, it would well up inside of you at this very moment and you would charge out the door, climb into your waiting Uber, and have a grand time all by yourself.
But life isn’t a movie, you think, and you glance down at your phone when it chimes. The Uber driver’s texting you again. After a second, you grab your phone and cancel the ride, texting a quick apology before opening the phone app and jamming your thumb against the contact at the top of your favorites list.
Sam picks up immediately. “Hey. Are you on your way to the church?”
A lump grows in your throat at the sound of his voice and you stare pointedly up at the ceiling, willing tears away. If you cry, you’ll have to do your makeup all over again.
“Y/N?”
“Um, I know I said I could do this on my own, but…” Your voice breaks and you suck in a breath to try and calm yourself. It doesn’t work.
“I’ll be ready in ten. Do you want me to pick you up?” Sam asks.
You swallow hard and let out a sigh of relief. Your shoulders slump and the ball of anxiety in your stomach loosens for the first time all day.
“Yes. Please.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
You end the call and look back up at the mirror. Your appearance is… suitable. The outfit you’d agonized over all morning is nice, but not too nice. Your hair is neat and your makeup is enough for a wedding, but not too much that it looks like you’re trying to find a date. Your goal for this afternoon is to blend in.
Plopping yourself down on the couch, you attempt to distract yourself by scrolling until Sam arrives. You only succeed for a few minutes before you’re back up again, pacing the length of the hallway. When he texts that he’s downstairs, you grab your bag and hurry down to his car.
He’s parked in a fire lane with his hazards on. You shout an apology at your nosy neighbor, just like you always do, and climb into the passenger seat. As soon as the door’s shut, Sam pulls out into traffic.
“You’re gonna get a ticket one of these days,” you laugh, catching Sam’s eye. “I swear, that man lives to call the cops on people. He’s always standing outside, just waiting for someone to mess up.”
He’s grinning. He’s combed his hair and it’s freshly cut. The ends brush the collar of his navy suit.
“I wasn’t sure what you were wearing,” Sam tells you. He stops at the intersection, the one at the end of your street that you swear has the longest red light in Wichita, and grabs something from the cupholder between you. “Which one?”
It’s three ties, all slightly crumpled in his fist. You take them and gingerly smooth them out in your lap. Miraculously, one of them is a perfect match. The others would have been perfect with your second and third choice outfits.
He really does know me too well.
You toss the extras onto the backseat before laying your choice over the center console.
“Thanks again for doing this. I don’t know if I could face him all by myself. I mean, I could barely get out of bed this morning.” You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a little self-conscious at the admission.
Sam glances over at you. He’s leaning back in his seat, his grip on the wheel relaxed as he navigates the tight city streets and weekend traffic.
“What are friends for?” he asks. “I wouldn’t make you face this on your own. He was a jerk to end things when he did, but then to invite you to his wedding less than a year later?” Sam scoffs.
“He’s not a bad guy.”
The excuse falls flat, and you both know it.
“Thank you,” you say again. “I mean it.”
“Anytime.”
The rest of the drive is silent. At the third light, Sam puts on the tie, straightening it in the rearview mirror. You people watch out the window, occasionally pointing out interesting things to him, but for the most part, you try not to overthink.
It’s just a wedding, you tell yourself. People go to their ex’s weddings all the time. It’s perfectly normal.
Sam parks down the street from the church. He has to parallel park. You start to tell him it’s okay if you walk from the lot they’d mentioned on the invitation—the one that’s almost a mile away—but he’s backing into the spot with little hesitation before you can even get a word out. You have to admit, you’re impressed. After all these years, you wonder how you’ve never seen him parallel park, and you wonder further how he manages to be so effortlessly good at it.
After pulling the keys from the ignition, he climbs out of the driver’s seat without a word, then walks around the front of the car to open your door for you.
“What is this? Special treatment?” you tease as you climb out, and he laughs.
“For a special occasion.” He offers you his arm, which you take, and you walk together to the entrance. “You sure you’re okay?”
You nod and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah. I think so. I will be, at least, now that you’re here.”
He smiles a little and opens the door for you. You take one of the wedding programs, ignoring the whispers coming from a group of your Trevor’s extended family. You’d met them last year at a family reunion. Being the girlfriend of four years, you’d been included in the festivities. If you’d known that only a month later you’d be single again, you wouldn’t have gone.
Sam leads you into the church sanctuary and you sit in the second to last pew. The stained glass is beautiful in the afternoon light and while a string quartet at the front plays through Pachelbel’s greatest hits, you read through the program.
“You didn’t tell me that she was his cousin,” Sam hisses in your ear.
You flinch and turn to look at him with wide eyes. “Keep it down!”
He’s staring at you with barely contained horror, and you grab his wrist. The jacket crumples under your grip and you pull him down, hunching over in the pew so you can whisper.
“I only just found out this morning, from Instagram,” you tell him, glancing around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I think they’re like… third cousins. Once removed, or something like that. I googled it—technically in Kansas, it’s legal.”
Sam’s face screws up in disgust and he sits up as an usher guides in an older woman entirely clad in Pepto-Bismol pink. You try not to stare, instead forcing yourself to look back at the program.
You’re reading the back when the organ blasts out a chord so loud that you jump. Sam steadies you with a hand on your thigh, and you glance at him once before your attention is caught by Trevor’s grandparents walking down the aisle together. Another older couple follows them in time to the music.
Sinking down in your seat, you have the sudden urge to run out one of the side doors of the church sanctuary. It’s only Sam’s hand on your leg that’s keeping you in place. You consider it again, however, when Trevor’s mom—the same woman who’d persistently brought up your lack of an engagement ring at the reunion—looks over and makes eye contact with you before she begins her walk to the front of the room. A few beats later, Trevor appears. He glances over at you, but his expression betrays nothing. You try not to feel disappointed, but your stomach still sinks and you bounce your leg in place. Your mind is already trying to pull you into another spiral as he takes his place near the altar.
What did I expect? For him to stop the wedding and tell me that he was wrong? That he shouldn’t have broken things off and that I should be marrying him today?
Sam’s hand finds yours. He laces your fingers together and you take a shaky breath, squeezing back when he squeezes once. His hand is warm. It’s a stark contrast to your own fingers, which have been freezing ever since your anxiety about coming to the wedding flared this morning.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, leaning closer so that only you can hear him. “I’ve got you.”
You nod and take another breath. You force your shoulders to relax and your leg to be still as the first bridesmaid and groomsmen enter the sanctuary. As the second pair enters, Sam’s thumb slowly rubs back and forth over yours, not quite in time with the march being played on the organ. You stare down at where your joined hands are resting on the faded blue cushion between you.
You’ve held hands plenty of times before. When you were kids, you held hands for games at recess and when you played after school. As you grew older, you held hands when you needed to navigate crowds together at baseball games and concerts. Sam would hold your hand at the airport too, making it easier to get to your gate for your trips home during college. A few times, he’d held your hand on the way to class or to your dorm, but that had been short-lived. You’d never asked why he’d started, and you never asked why he stopped. Now, it feels weird to hold his hand solely for comfort, but not in a bad way. You wonder why you’ve never done it before.
Sam stands and you quickly follow his lead, realizing that you’d zoned out. The bride enters in a dress that looks like it came straight off the runway. It suits her well, but you can’t help but wonder if your Trevor’s mom would have pushed you to choose a similar dress. Every single aspect of the wedding that you’ve seen so far is exactly how she’d described your potential wedding while at the reunion.
You sit when everyone else does, and you zone out again during the ceremony. It isn’t very long. By the time your thoughts have looped back around to, “I can’t believe he’s marrying his cousin,” the newlywed couple is walking back down the aisle. You’re certain that you imagine the triumphant look the bride sends you as she passes your pew.
“Bag,” Sam says. You blink and then he’s reaching over you to grab your purse from the seat. “You ready to go to the reception? Or did you want to use the bathroom first?”
“I’m fine,” you reply, but he raises an eyebrow at you. “What?”
“You’re anxious. You’ve been anxious all day. You always have to pee more when you’re anxious.”
It’s true, you do. If you’d actually stopped to think for a second before replying, you would’ve realized that you do, in fact, have to pee.
“Fine,” you relent, albeit reluctantly. You take your purse when he holds it out for you. “I’ll meet you out front?”
“I’ll wait for you at the doors.” Sam leads you out of the pew, then steps aside so you can exit the sanctuary first.
A handwritten sign attached to a gold stand points you in the direction of the bathrooms. You join the line, and after only a few minutes, you’re finished and washing up at the sinks. You pause to check your makeup, and it’s while you’re brushing away a stray eyelash that Trevor’s sister comes up beside you.
“What are you doing?” she asks. Her words drip with venom and disgust and you freeze for a moment before your self-preservation skills kick in.
“Fixing my makeup,” you coolly answer. You look back at your reflection and rub your thumb along the corner of your lip to make sure your lipstick hasn’t smudged.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she pushes. “Nobody wants you here.”
You smile at her, keeping it sweet. As much as you want to get the day over with, you can’t stand the idea of her talking down to you. Her brother had broken up with you, not vice versa.
“Trevor invited me, so clearly, somebody does.”
Her face turns an unnatural shade of red. “You’re lying.”
You’re not, but you don’t care enough to argue with her. “It was nice to see you again,” you say, and then you turn and leave the bathroom before she can reply.
Sam is waiting for you by the doors, just like he’d promised. He takes your purse once you’re within arm’s reach, and with his free hand, he holds open the door.
“Very chivalrous,” you point out, and he laughs.
“My mom would have my head if she found out I wasn’t on my best behavior at a wedding.”
You laugh and take his hand as you walk, almost without even thinking about it. Almost. If you were being honest, you had to psych yourself up in the bathroom stall. Now that the idea of holding his hand for something other than practicality has crossed your mind, you can’t stop thinking about it.
“That she would. Mary Winchester doesn’t play around when it comes to manners.”
“No she doesn’t,” Sam laughs.
The car unlocks with a beep, and he opens the door for you. You’re a little surprised at how natural it seems for him. Not once has he faltered, nor has he seemed awkward about opening doors for you, holding your hand, and even holding your purse.
Why should it be awkward? He’s done plenty of other things for me, you think. You buckle your seatbelt, thinking of all the times Sam carried your books for you in high school and college, or your backpack when it got heavy. He’s brought you food and coffee too many times to count, and he’s carried groceries up the stairs to your apartment so you didn’t have to. When you were in a car accident last year, he dropped everything to come pick you up and deal with the tow truck and your insurance, then the mechanic, and then the rental car company.
The realization isn’t a sudden one, or a life-changing one. It feels like fitting the last piece into a puzzle and finally seeing the big picture. It feels like settling into bed at night and realizing that you’ve found the best, most comfortable position. It’s natural.
“Sam?” you ask, turning in your seat to look at him as he maneuvers the car out of the parallel spot and back onto the road. He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at you.
“Are you being extra nice to me today because you know I’ve been anxious all day?”
“No.”
“Is it because we’re going to my ex’s wedding?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you being so nice to me? Why have you always been so nice to me?”
You can see a flush of pink climbing up his neck, but Sam laughs off your questions.
“What are you talking about? You’re my best friend, of course I’m nice to you.”
The light turns red and Sam stops behind a semi. He doesn’t look at you, though, so you chance it and reach over to grab his hand. You pull his fingers from the gear shift and lace them together with yours.
“Sam.”
This time, he meets your eyes, smiling. You know the smile, though, and it’s not his most genuine. He’s not telling you the whole truth.
“What, Y/N?”
“We’re friends. Best friends.”
“Yeah…”
“We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
He glances at the light. “Right.”
“So you’ll always tell me the truth? Even if it’s hard or awkward?”
He chuckles nervously, shifting his gaze between you and the stopped traffic. “Where are you going with this?”
“Do you like me?”
His ears are pink. So is his neck. “I don’t typically call people I don’t like my best friend, Y/N. What are you getting at?”
“You’re the lawyer, you tell me,” you say. You search his face, unsure if he’s purposefully avoiding the question or if he genuinely doesn’t understand. When his smile falters, you get your answer. “Sam…”
The semi starts to move and Sam looks forward again, slowly inching the car toward the intersection and then speeding up as traffic begins moving faster. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. He settles them on the center console. His arm rests on his arm rest and thankfully, so does yours, but the angle is still a little uncomfortable. Neither of you is used to this.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” says Sam, after a few moments. He doesn’t look at you while he drives. His voice is quieter, almost like he’s confessing something. You don’t reply, giving him space to think and speak.
“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to ruin that by pushing you into something more, especially if you’re not ready for it. Trevor… Trevor was a jerk, and after he broke up with you, I realized that I never want to put you in the same position he did. I never want you to feel like that again. I never want to make you feel like that ever again.”
“You won’t,” you assure him. You rub your thumb over his, just like he had during the ceremony. “You won’t, Sam.”
“How do you know that?” he asks.
“I just do. I trust you.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. He lets go of your hand before turning into the parking lot of the reception hall and parking the car in the third row from the door, up against the edge of the lot. A couple in the car beside yours climbs out. They’re arguing loud enough that you can hear them through the windows until they’re closer to the row of cars behind you.
“Sam…”
“We should go in, we don’t want to be late.”
Smiling wide, you take his hand again. “I love you. I think I have for a long time, even before Trevor broke up with me.”
He turns his head and you laugh a little, unable to control the giddiness that the revelation has brought you. Sam looks utterly bewildered, but the slow smile growing on his face makes you want to jump and dance and shout for joy.
“I love you, Sam. Did you hear me?” You squeeze his hand.
“I heard you,” he replies. “I’m just… processing. Are you sure?”
You nod. “I’m positive. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything in my life. You’re my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you. I want… I want more.”
“More?”
“Than just friends.”
He smiles then, and with his free hand, he unbuckles his seatbelt. You unbuckles yours, turning further in the passenger seat. Before you can say anything else, Sam’s hand is cupping your face. He pulls his other hand from yours to brush hair out of your eyes.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
You nod, staring at him. You’re still bursting with joy—the butterflies are swooping around in your stomach, flying in loops so wide that you’re not quite certain you’ll ever breathe right again—but the stillness of the moment makes you hold your breath.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” murmurs Sam, “if that’s okay with you.”
You nod again, and then you close your eyes when Sam’s lips press against yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped, but you want to memorize this moment. For a second, you’re still, but then you inhale through your nose and kiss him back, one hand clutching his sleeve and the other propping yourself up on the center console. The armrest digs into your abdomen but you don’t care, as long as Sam keeps kissing you.
His breath is hot against your mouth when he pulls away. You have the distinct thought that he’s going to have to clean lipstick off his face when you’re done, and then he’s kissing you again.
It’s short and sweet the second time. When you separate, you let your hand drop from his arm.
“Sam…”
“I’m going to get carried away if we don’t stop,” he tells you, searching your face.
You nod, a little dumbstruck. Sam’s only had a few girlfriends, and none in recent years.
“You haven’t dated since college,” you say. He nods in response, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the strange statement. “How’d you get that good at kissing?”
For a moment, Sam stares at you, but then he smiles wide. His eyes light up and he laughs, snorting once before you join in.
“That’s not what I thought you’d say!”
You laugh and bring your hand up to rub at the lipstick bordering his chapped lips with your thumb. You don’t get any off. In fact, you only succeed in making it worse. Sam looks like he just spent a week in the Yukon without chapstick. His mouth is swollen and pink all around, and you can only imagine that you look even worse.
“Let’s go home,” you say, smiling wide.
“You sure? We could go in, grab some cake before we ditch.”
“I’m sure. The last thing I want to do right now is see my ex kiss his cousin again.”
The car is still running. Sam reaches across you and in one smooth motion, grabs your seatbelt and buckles you in. You sit back against the seat and watch him, grinning as he buckles his one seatbelt once more, glances in the rearview mirror, and reverses the car out of the spot. When you’re back on the road, Sam heads the direction of your apartment with ease. He’s a good navigator—he got the lay of the land pretty quickly after the two of you moved to Wichita after college—and even though it’s been years, you truly have no idea how to get back through the city to your place from the reception hall. He seems to know already, though, so you sit back and enjoy the ride.
Sam grabs your hand to hold, just like he had before. You people watch again, too. Every once in a while, you glance over at him. He’s smiling while he drives. Knowing that you’re the one who made him this happy makes you feel giddy and light inside.
“Should we stop and get cake on the way home?” Sam suddenly asks, and you start laughing all over again.
Your cheeks ache from smiling. “I knew there was a reason I liked you!”
He holds your hand at the store, too. You can’t help but enjoy it.
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Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.
Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?
A/N: Guys, I so hope you like this chapter! It was a pleasure to write :)
Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23
“You are the most frustrating thing in the world,” you said to the burner phone standing silently on the tabletop. Only one person called or messaged on the phone and it had stayed quiet for a whole week. The longer it remained silent, the sadder you became. Sam’s desperation to prove his innocence must have turned into frustration and then anger. After all, he’d done everything right and had still been accused of something heinous by you. Anger would be natural. But you were scared that maybe the anger was turning into apathy now. Sam’s silence was proof.
Abby’s mother had fallen ill, and with a tight hug, she had bid you goodbye for the weekend. You felt lonelier than ever in the house. No Abby, no Jack, and no Han to wait for you at the pier when you lit a lamp. But most of all, no Sam.
The terror that had gripped you since first seeing Nick had dissipated some, but you were still afraid that he might turn up in the mansion and you would have to face him again. So, you spent most of your days in Martha’s kitchen, reading Wordsworth and his sad poetry.
However, after a week of skulking around the house like a phantom, you decided to open the forbidden connecting door to Sam’s room. Maybe seeing his pictures, trophies and books would bring some solace. The room looked as benign as the last time you had seen it, on the day before the gallery opening. The pictures were all there on Sam’s nightstand, now with a thin film of dust over them. Sam had locked the room from outside when he’d left, so no staff could get in, not a soul… except you.
The sheets on his bed were perfectly made and you wondered if this is how he treated all the hotel rooms in the world, too, leaving them just as he had found them as if he’d never been there. But these sheets had held him close in nights, wrapping their silk around his body in a way you could only dream of. Quietly, you lifted a well-made corner and slipped underneath, hoping to envelop yourself in some trace of him. The sheets did not smell of him anymore. Despite all your efforts, the room did not seem like his at all with him gone. You remembered the line from your story of Eros and Psyche. When Psyche lost her trust in her husband, Eros, left in anger and despair… All love and beauty seemed to evaporate from the world in its entirety.
You curled up on your side, twisting in the sheets, feeling Psyche’s frustration in every bone. Everything had been going smoothly, but you had let doubt corrupt your head and now Sam was gone. As you twisted on the bed, your hand touched something rough beneath the sheet. You sat up, discarding the sheets completely and reached out to find an envelope. You turned it around to see your name etched on top in Sam’s elegant handwriting.
You nearly tore the envelope in your hurry to get the contents out. Inside was a letter addressed to you.
Y/N,
I wanted to come clean. I wanted to tell you everything, but I’d be damned if I overstepped my boundaries and crossed the line of your consent. Not again. But if you are reading this, it means you’ve chosen to come to my room, and climbed into my bed of your own volition. It means that your consent was involved.
So, let me tell you how you ended up here in my bed, in this moment. Let me tell you everything from the very beginning.
Jo’s pie was still fresh on the table when we set out to find her, and that’s where we found it three days later when we returned. Dean took one look at it and his knees gave out. We’ve been through some tough times, Dean and I, but never had I seen him so scared in my entire life. When they found Jo’s body, Dean drove his car into a cliffside three days later. You probably don’t know this, but he loves that car and it came back wrecked, but still less wrecked than him. You told me about the days when your dad returned home between tours and he had this haunted look in his eyes, the look of witnessing death, causing it… seeing the people you love suddenly die. I might have looked that way, too. Jo was like a sister to me growing up and she was dead, and Dean wasn’t just my brother, he was my whole world. Slowly, but surely, I was watching him waste away right in front of my eyes.
I didn’t see my mother die– another person who died because of me; died for me– but I was old enough to watch my father slowly kill himself. He’d return from these long trips and I would run to him, but he never spared me a glance. After all, I was the reason his wife wasn’t with him. He’d loved that woman more than anything in the world. I believe Dean reminded him of all the good times he’d shared with his wife, but I was a reminder of the peace he’d lost. If she hadn’t run in to save me from the fire, she’d be alive and breathing with him. No, he wasn’t outright cruel, but slowly as he drowned himself in whiskey, the whiskey truly drowned him. Dean found him like that in his study one night, without a heartbeat, but a drink still in his hand.
Dean became just like that in the months after Jo’s death, always clutching a bottle, eyes red and out of his mind. I can’t count the number of times I’d picked him up from bars with bloody knuckles and a bruised face, and I felt helpless watching my brother go the same way as my father, wishing, just wishing I could go back in time to stop Jo from leaving alone. One day my life had been good, not perfect, but good, and the next day it had been dragged to hell.
The first time I saw a light in Dean’s eyes was when the sheriff, Jody Mills, came back with some definitive proof. Before Jo, two other bodies had been recovered from Lincoln lake. And though they bore signs of more heinous abuse, the MO appeared to be the same, similar disappearances, similar disposal. There had been other disappearances as well, but no trace of the bodies and more than half of those could be traced directly to the estate. It was easy to put together the story… a human trafficking ring was active in the area.
I saw my brother go from the edge of destruction to grasping at the threads of hope for justice. He threw himself into Jody’s investigation with this feverish energy. But no matter how hard he tried, or anybody tried, eventually, we all hit roadblocks. No one could get on top of the ring, and it got worse when Jody found out that even her superiors in the police were involved. She didn’t have any pull with federal law enforcement. Not then anyway. I was just starting to worry that I would lose my brother all over again when Jody came up with the plan… with this plan.
The plan was easy enough and by now I’m sure you know most of it, though, I didn’t think it would work. No one who has seen us growing up would believe I could throw him out, but Dean had a solution to that as well. ‘Just replace all staff’ he’d said. At first, I went along just in desperation to save Dean from the abyss he was in danger of falling into. Finding out who did this to Jo had become his life’s mission. I couldn’t take it away from him without losing him, too, but I didn’t really believe he and Jody would manage to implement it. But then there came a day when I had to make the decision, to be in or out.
I’d have died before letting Dean down, but that night he made me promise that I would go along. He had already transferred all his property and estate rights save for the shares, but that night he begged me to say yes… to do this abhorrent thing of paying money to own a human being. He justified it with fancy words… said I’d be saving a girl from life in hell, but I knew it for the depraved act it truly was. I don’t remember the things I said to my brother that night or the wreckage I left of the door and furniture, but in the end, I had to give in. How could I not?
And so, before the day break Dean left, and the very next day, I assumed power of the board and estate. The first to go was Dean’s portrait from the gallery, and then every last item that could be associated with him was purged from this God-forsaken house. I moved in a week later and then within a month, the staff was replaced. Being cold and detached from them was hardly even work once Dean left. I was heartbroken enough to shut myself within me. But still, selfishly, I couldn’t let go of Jack and Martha, I was scared that I would be lost to even myself without them. After all, do you even exist if no one around you knows you?
So far the plan was working, but then suddenly it worked too well. The whispers that we had planted were taking root now. The word that I was looking to buy finally reached the right ears and one day, a man accosted me outside the office, offering the deal. He handed me a card with a location and asked me to be there at eleven the next morning. There, he had a photo book ready for me to pick from. Up until then, I had never hated myself more. To even look at the pictures, as if I was some kind of God to choose which one to save… which of these women was eligible to be rescued from this prison, and put into a different one. My prison wouldn’t have the torture of this one, but a place where she would be dragged to without her own free will would be a prison nonetheless.
I had to choose. One. I closed my eyes, gulped and vowing to come back for the rest after this one, I opened that photo book. And there you were on the 5th page. I stopped there and did not flip further. The man said you were not up for sale, that you were Boss’s favourite. I doubled the price, he wouldn’t agree still, I tripled the price. He made a call, and when I offered to pay five times the amount, the man on the other end of the line must have agreed because we sealed the deal. I got to keep the photo.
And Y/N, this is what I don’t get… I could have decided to keep flipping through those horrifying pictures and picked another, but once I saw you, there was no one else. Something about the look in your eyes… At least that’s what I told myself as I signed the cheque and asked to keep the picture. But the truth was, I didn’t want another man to ever look at your picture again. I’ve never looked at it again, myself. I came back and nearly burnt it, but then decided against it. You’ll find it in a brown diary on the top of the cupboard. Do what you please with it, only you should have that right.
You accused me of not looking you in the eye because I thought less of you, but how could I? After what I had done, I could barely stand to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I keep telling myself it’s the look in your eyes in the picture that made me stop, but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair. In that moment I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips. How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that? How could I stand next to you on a podium and not want to die from the guilt of it all? How could I even breathe the same air? So, yes, Y/N, I didn’t meet your eyes. At the wedding, I didn’t look at you, didn’t touch your skin, because you deserved better than a depraved person like me even existing in the same room as you.
There’s one other thing I never told you. The night after the wedding, I opened the connecting door. I had to tell you the truth, fall at your feet and apologise profusely for the dastardly act, so my conscience could know some peace. The guilt of what I had done wouldn’t let me be, and when I did push that handle, I found you curled up on the floor, clutching your body. That’s when I knew that as long as I lived, I would never forgive myself for it, never hate myself more than I did in that moment. I vowed to never open the door again. Every night following that one, I would pace to the door, stand inches away, grazing the handle but never opening it. The routine reminded me of Pandora’s story. How in the end after unleashing all kinds of pain on the world, her box only held hope. Hope remained. Opening the door felt like that, it felt like giving up the little hope that someday you might forgive me.
Meeting your eyes in the dining hall that first time might be the bravest thing I’ve ever done, Y/N. It took all the courage in the world to hand you that portfolio, when I don’t even deserve to touch the sheets on which you drew. But each time you looked at me, smiled, or said yes to my beseeching efforts to take you around the property knowing you’d had several tours already, I let that hope bloom and when you agreed to be my friend, I vowed to never be untruthful to you. Ever.
So, no, I didn’t know you had already met Dean, that he was your friend. I hope you believe me.
From the very first attempt to speak with you, my only wish has been to gain your trust. Not to elicit information, but to become worthy of your faith, to be the confidant you confided in of your own free will and not out of a trick. I can see how wrong I was. I am sorry.
You’ve barged out on me twice now and locked yourself behind the door. But you shouldn’t have to put yourself in prison again and again. This letter might be a prelude to proving that Dean and I never colluded against you, but we’ve both had our interests in play. You’re the only party here that’s entirely faultless. You shall not be bound to a prison again. I will not allow it. And if the only way of setting you free from the bars of your room is for me to be out of sight, then that’s no price to pay at all.
I won’t be back for a couple of weeks, and even when I am, I’ll make sure to be out of your way.
I made you a promise, Y/N, that you will be safe in this house. That promise stands, even if it’s me you seek safety from. I may not be what you need. But I am still a man of my word.
You WILL be safe.
-Sam
A drop fell on Sam’s name at the end and you hurriedly shirked the paper before any more drops ruined the letter. Rapidly, blinking at the wetness on your lashes, you rushed to Sam’s cupboard, throwing the doors open. Blindly, you patted the topmost drawer and found the leather-bound diary. The picture was wedged right in the middle. You stared at your own nearly naked form, kneeling with your knees splayed wide, torso bent forward and eyes staring into the camera. With a shock you realised, you barely recognised the face.
The girl in the picture did not look anything like you. She had primmed eyebrows and a thin, perfect face full of make-up. Her wide eyes held not an invitation, but almost a challenge: Come find out for yourself.
Is that what Sam saw?
You moved to the mirror in Sam’s room to check your face, with fuller, unkempt eyebrows and hair that had long outgrown the coiffed cut. The skin didn’t have the perfect complexion but held faint splashes from where the sun had touched it. There were also the hints of wrinkles at the corner of your eyes– laugh lines.
Thinking back, everything seemed abundantly clear as to why Sam’s footsteps had always sounded so close to the door. You had assumed a cupboard or a desk there, but all those nights it was just him hovering, torn between guilt and self-hate. Why when you’d had the workers move his things to your room before the renovation, Sam had panicked about who touched his things, because he was scared of someone seeing the picture you now held in your hands.
Now that it was in your hands, you didn’t know what to do with it any more than Sam did. You should be feeling pity for that girl, chaffing her bare knees on the floor, but all you felt was a strange hatred. She was your past, but she would be your future, too. The imperfect but happy girl in the mirror would soon become a memory.
One week had passed and with one more week to go until Sam returned, you vowed to the girl in the mirror, that as long as she was your present, you would do everything in your power to keep her happy.
As far as Sam was concerned, he’d had his chance to get his truth out. It was your turn now.
*****************************
A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam's admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?
Oh, I can't wait to share what's coming with you!
Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!
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𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: Fingering, Praise, Fem Reader, Dom Sam, Established Relationship, Porn Without Plot
𝔸/ℕ:
𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃 {𝟷𝟾+}
You're sitting on Sam's lap, your back on his chest, your legs spread open, Sam's left hand playing with your sensitive nipples. His right hand slips between your panties, and his middle finger slowly slides up and down your slippery folds.
"D-don't tease me Sam." You whined as you bucked your hips against his hand. "Always so needy for me sweetheart." You moaned as Sam's middle finger entered your tight cunt. Sam groaned as he felt your cunt sucking on his finger. Sam inserted another finger and started massaging your g spot. "Oh, S-Sam, I'm going to cum," you cried out. "Go ahead baby make a mess all over my fingers." Your back arched, while you moaned loudly as you came on Sam's fingers.
Sam removed his fingers from your cunt, and you complained about the absence of contact. "Good girl, you did so good for me baby," Sam muttered in your ear as he kissed your temple.
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Summary: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Sam- and that scares the hell out of him. Based on the song “Close Behind” by Noah Kahan.
Warnings: Very very angst heavy. A poor, poor, messed up Sammy. Very slight reference to suicide. No uses of Y/N, completely gn
Word Count: 1.6k
A/N: Got the idea for this fic, sat down to write it, and posted it all in one sitting. This idea hurt my soul so bad that I had to share it with you all. I'll make sure to get some happy Sammy fluff in the works very soon because I literally broke my own heart writing this :'(
PLEASE PLEASE listen to the song before or while reading this. If you don't already know it, you're welcome. Such a beautiful song and so Winchester coded, in my humble opinion. I hope you enjoy <3
-
I think I found a fear of mine
That you might love for no reason
You know I worry only luck brought me to you
Sam’s favorite sound in the world was born out of a successful hunt. It was a quiet hum, comprised of the steady rumble of the Impala’s engine, the subtle rhythm of Dean’s more subdued playlist, and the soft breaths that escaped his love’s sleeping lips. Over the years, he had begun to associate this sound with momentary comfort and safety- threats eliminated, civilians saved, and his most important people alive and well. It was the sound of a job well done and the only thing that could pull his system out of fight-or-flight for a short while. On this particular night, Bobby had joined the team for the hunt, so Sam had conceded the passenger seat to him and happily slipped into the back to share space and warmth with you. It didn’t take the lonely highway long to lull you into a peaceful sleep, and for Sam’s mind to drag itself into a million directions. The rear seat was a rare vantage point for him, the unfamiliar setting disrupting the routine settlement of his thoughts and stirring them to the surface like sediment rising from the bottom of a lake.
Most people would say that their beloved was their peace, the one who kept them grounded and made them feel like everything would be okay. For Sam, this was partially true. You were the tether that anchored him to reality, but reality was scary. Simply knowing the name Sam Winchester put you in the line of fire, and that ate away at his conscience every single day. He knew he was so lucky to have you, but sometimes he wondered about the nature of luck’s intentions. When, in the past, had luck been truly on his side? He feared that was all that tied your heart to him- a fleeting, miraculous moment of luck that would expire any moment and pluck you out of his clutches. Someone to heal his soul and repair his damaged pieces, only so it would hurt even more when life stole you away and broke him back apart.
I'm half awake most of the time
It's just the timing of the seasons
So you know I worry that you're all I have to lose
These were the thoughts that Sam fought to keep at bay as best he could, but his mind was weary and his fears knew his every weakness. It was hard to ignore these worries when they were self created- his very demise was an inside job. You were the only easy thing in his life, a flickering candle in a dark, damp space- bright, and warm, and magnetically inviting. But Sam felt that when he got too close, when he reached out to touch you and his fingers lingered too long, he would burn himself and extinguish your flame in the process.
This didn’t stop him from loving you, and loving you well, but it made the act a burden. Caring for you was the hardest thing he had ever done. It was always his job to take care of those around him, but for everyone else he protected, he could breathe easy once the bodies hit the floor. For you, there was no safe. There was never an end to the threats that faced you, because there was never an end to the threats that faced him. And because of this, Sam Winchester never felt worthy of you. He could never truly protect you. The very act of loving him was a death sentence, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to free you from it.
And I should change this way of thinking
That all my fears are facts of life
But I could die tomorrow, you'd be close behind
I hate that you think of yourself that way, you would tell him. Every day I think how lucky I am to love, and to be loved by, you. You couldn’t keep me away if you tried. I’ve never felt safer than I do with you. Sam recognized the arsenal of responses you had developed to address his concerns- no worry he threw your way was ever left unanswered. But Sam was stubborn. His fears were informed by everything he had ever known, every loss he had ever faced. His life had been an uphill battle, and try as you might, there was never rest in a soldier’s mind. And for Sam, there was no way to win the war. Because if he lost you, he would lose everything. And if he died to protect you, there would be no one left to keep you safe. So all he could do was fight as hard as he could around the clock, destroying himself for the sake of your preservation.
I live my life in years to come
To prepare myself for sorrow
So I won't worry when I crumble at your feet
Losing you was always in the back of Sam’s mind. Sometimes when he let his mind wander too far, he would try to make plans for what he would do, how he would handle it, but he could never quite wrap his head around a desire to live even a minute longer than you. These were the thoughts that plagued his mind when he would roll over to hold you a little tighter at night. He would stir and you would wake, whispering reassurances that he would never accept. Still, it was nice to hold you close. It was a reminder that you were still here, that he could savor you for as many minutes as he was blessed with.
It wasn’t uncommon for Sam to break down in front of you. It was a heavy load he carried, and you told him time and time again to let you into his heart and mind. You do so much to care for me, Sam. Let me care for you. So every so often, when things got so dark that he lost his way, you were the one to try to coax him back to the light.
It's something sinister to love
Without regard for dear Tomorrow
To search for worry is to love without deceit
Dean would tell him he needed to stop worrying so much, that he was ruining the love he had right in front of him by not letting himself enjoy it. Live in the moment, he’d say. Enjoy what you have right now. But that was never an option for Sam. If he let his guard down, if he let himself become distracted, weak, he could lose you. It was because he truly loved you that he piled the world atop his shoulders. It was all he felt he could do to earn the right to be loved by you. Dean would shake his head, but he knew deep down that there was nothing he could do to change his brother’s line of thinking. As long as there were monsters to hunt, there would be danger. And as long as there was danger, Sam would throw himself in the line of fire to keep you safe- whether the enemy was a ghost, a demon, or his own mind.
So I fill my days with thinking
Though, I'm years from my true time
I could die tomorrow, you'd be close behind
Close behind.
Hey, hey. Sam. It’s okay, breathe with me.
Sam, I know you still worry, but we haven’t hunted for years now. There’s no more danger.
You and me? We’re safe and sound. You can breathe easy, you can relax.
I’m not going anywhere.
Sam would be lying if he said he didn’t still think about losing you every day. Though you had been out of the hunting game for years, though the world had found a new peace and many of the threats had been eliminated, the worry was too far engrained into his mind. He tried to hide it from you because there was nothing you could do to help. This was a burden Sam knew he would carry for the rest of his life. His eyes would always dart around a new room for escape routes. He would always carry holy water in case he got suspicious. He would skim through old lore books in secret to keep his knowledge sharp. He still slept with his gun in his nightstand, kept as far away from him as he could bear, out of fear that you would notice its presence and recognize his fear. But you already knew all of these things. You were so attuned to everything that weighed heavy on Sam’s heart- this had always been your own burden to carry.
I can’t wait to grow old with you, you’d hum, running your fingers through his hair or tracing circles on his forearm. Sam would nod, he would smile, he would humor you as you chatted about marriage and kids and retirement and everything he knew you deserved. You two built a beautiful, normal life together- dinner dates and romantic vacations and even a big white wedding one day. But even as he stood at the altar and watched you walk down the aisle, there was a pistol tucked into his waistband of his tux. When you moved into your first home, he would sneak out of your room in the middle of the night to stencil warding symbols underneath the paint you’d picked out for the living room. And when you were setting up the nursery before bringing home your first child…
Sam would grow old with you, but his heart would never grow any less weary.
A/N: It’s been ages. I’m not going to use my taglist, because idk if they all still wanna be on it. But, I was feeling smutty. And daydreaming about this little one shot all day. I can’t begin to describe how good it felt to put it on the computer. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3
PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.
*Gif not mine*
Warnings: Oral sex- female receiving. No plot, really. Short sweet, and straight to the point. No real editing. Read at your own discretion.
Word Count: Roughly 1,000
"Sammy!" Dean waved his meaty palm directly in front of glossy, shadow rimmed hazel eyes. Catching the taller, youngest man's attention finally. "Come on, man. What's gotten into ya, Sammy?"
"I really need you to drop the nickname, Dean." Was the answering groan. Large, calloused fingers rubbed over a too straight nose. One that somehow had been spared in the chaos of hunting. Attempting to clear his head from the memories assaulting him.
"Yeah, okay." The elder of the two huffed. Bringing his mug of jet black sludge to his pouty lips. Caffeine to counter the night of driving they'd undergone. "This 'bout that girl back east?"
"What girl?" Those hazel eyes whipped back to the menu. A smug smile tugging the corner of his dimple.
It was definitely about the girl. But Sam would drop dead before giving his brother the dirty details. Just under twenty four hours ago she'd walked in and wrecked everything he'd thought he'd known. About her. About himself. About sex. God, the sex. His fist shook against his thigh as his mind traveled back to it all.
Dean had ditched him and y/n at the bar. On the prowl for his own piece of ass. One shot of tequila was all it took for Sam to get brave. He'd grabbed her hand, tugging the quietest girl he'd ever met out into the snow chilled air.
They hadn't made it far. Sam's room was right around the block. Already, her laughter flowed easier. Her walls caving in the quiet of the night. And as suddenly as it'd started? Reality swept in. "What are we doing, Sam?"
The slight uncertainty hidden in the undertones of a tease pierced his gut, "That depends...What do you want to do?"
He watched the wheels turning in her head. It should've been an easy answer, he thought. In his mind? It was simple. He wanted the night with her. Wherever it took them. As long as he got to hear that light peal of laughter, again.
She was laid across his bed. H/C tresses haloed around her head. A sight so sweet, he could've died again, right there and been okay. He watched her chew her bottom lip until it swelled. E/c eyes taking him in.
"It doesn't matter what I want." She finally sighed. Turning to the ceiling. He hated the sudden distance between them. He'd known her mere days, and yet? It felt like he knew her. She'd never choose something for herself. Too used to pouring herself into those around her.
"Yes, it does." He couldn't stop himself if he'd tried. The tips of his fingers trailed down her shoulder to her hand. Raising goosebumps along her flesh. Watching the way her breathing shifted. He could practically hear her heart racing. Or maybe that was his. The innocent touch igniting something feral inside of him.
His brain couldn't quite decide on who'd made the first move. All he knew was the sweetest kiss he'd ever experienced turned filthy in an instant. One moment he'd held her close, comforting without words. The next? He was staring down the prettiest pussy he'd seen in his life. Drooling over the dampness that coated each fold.
Glancing up, he watched her hand tighten on the comforter. Every breath she took made him ache harder for her. Kiss stained breasts straining against the cool air. He blew the teeniest bit against the heat that radiated off the slick flesh in front of him. And then he dove deep. "Sam!" Y/n's hips writhed at his first taste. The perfect blend of sweet and salty. "Oh, fuck," Another buck against him was his reward as he flattened his tongue against her. He pulled back for just a moment, pressing his forearm down over her belly. His other hand searching for entry. "Sammy, please!" The desperate plea was broken and cracked. He'd have handed her his soul right there, if he could've. Just to hear it again. Instead, he licked back up to her clit. Sucking deep as a reward just as he pressed into the wet heat of her. Hunting for that little ridge that made her thighs shake. "There!" His quiet girl was no longer in sight. Instead, she told him just what he'd done right. Moaning out while her pussy pulled him deeper. Clenching as they both begged him for more. Her fingers wrapped through his hair. Tugging as his bruised her thighs and inner walls. "Sammy, don't stop. I'm...I'm so close. Please, Sammy."
She chanted his name. Praising the way he'd taken her over. Demanding everything from him and more with every twist of her body. He applied more pressure just how he'd learned she liked it. Both inside and out, until his name peaked from her lips in a final scream of bliss.
"Sammy..." "Sammy." "Sammy!" Dean's bellow broke him out of the memory. "Dude, gross. You're drooling."
"Shut up," Sam huffed. Shifting in his seat. Attempting to reduce some of the friction he was feeling below the belt. His dick begging to remember what had followed after. "And-"
"Stop callin' ya Sammy," Petulant as always, his older brother looked him dead in the eyes. Mischief gleaming in the green. "Is that what gave you a woody?"
"Dude," Sam's head whipped so fast, his chestnut hair whipped him in the eye. Making his brother cackle like a full blooded hyena. Trying to see who heard as his arm covered as much of the evidence as he could. "Shut up."
"I knew it." The wheezing drew more eyes their way, as the bitch face took over the younger of the two. Scowling deep did nothing to curb the mission Dean was on. "She pavloved your ass." Another dry cackle echoed as he slapped the table.
Sam sighed. Knowing that he was doomed. Dean was right. She'd ruined him. And the second he was given another chance? He'd dive right in headfirst. Desperate to hear that throaty "Sammy" leave her lips as he pumped into her. Over and over, again.
