#samxreader angst

StonyGurl499: Wanted: Salad Fork Washer. Duties Include: Washing salad forks only. Not the soup spoons or dessert plates. Just the salad forks.

God, you’d missed joking with t9. It was a relief to have this moment, untouched by the gross manipulation you’d been weaving. Sure, you knew very little about t9, but they were your friend. You weren’t lying to them. They weren’t lying to you. There was no reason for them to lie to you.

LivingForFlyFishing: Shut up

LivingForFlyFishing: Have you found anything on the Cs?

StonyGurl499: I’m sure you’ve found more than I have

StonyGurl499: Dad C just seems like a sleazy businessman. Par for his course though

StonyGurl499: Your beau is pretty normal, as far as rich dudes go

Beau? That was a dated term if you’d ever heard one.

LivingForFlyFishing: Yeah, B seems normal. He’s nice. I hate doing this to him.

StonyGurl499: But you have to. For your dad. Right?

You barely spoke of your dad to t9. Sure, t9 was your friend, but your dad was the topic that you held closest to your heart. Beyond the hacktivist group you and t9 ran for a few months, you barely knew anything about them.

Except that they were rich enough to just wire you ten thousand dollars on a whim, whenever you needed it.

LivingForFlyFishing: Yeah. For my dad. I still feel slimy when I use the credit card B gave me. Feels like I’m committing fraud.

LivingForFlyFishing: When you gave me money, it wasn’t slimy

LivingForFlyFishing: How’d you get so much so fast anyway?

You trusted t9, sure. But that didn’t mean you were wary of them. Why they had decided to help you out was a mystery and you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth… but I suppose you could try to take a peek.

StonyGurl499: Wired it from the Cs bank acct. Trust me. They’ll never notice my hack

LivingForFlyFishing: Haha. V funny. Keep your secrets if you want.

LivingForFlyFishing: but if you find something on the Cs and don’t share, Imma disown you

*****

*****

“You know, Y/N,” Dean started, purposefully not looking at you.

He had to keep going, right? Like, he couldn’t just stop once he started something. Not now. Not while you were stopped in the middle of nowhere getting gas on your way to kill your mother with your ex-boyfriend.

Besides, you only had a few minutes until Sam came out from the bathroom.

“Yes, Dean?” You prompted. You’d been on the road for hours, and this was the first time the two of you were alone. Obviously, Dean had waited until Sam left.

Dean huffed a deep sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “You and I… We… well, we haven’t really had it easy. We haven’t always gotten along.”

“This is not news to me, dude.”

“Would you shut up and let me finish?” He whirled around and finally faced you. Exasperation, you’d found, was the easiest way to get Dean to stop procrastinating.

“I would if you would actually get to the point.”

“The point is that I actually think I like you. You’re good for Sam.”

How could words make you feel so warm? And so quickly? Your brain hadn’t even processed the words, but your heart felt warm. “Thanks, Dean. That… that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just felt like I should say that. Just—just in case. You know, just in case…”

“Shit happens. I get it. I just… I don’t know. You’re the feel emotions in silence kind of person. Didn’t expect you to get all gushy.”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes and finished gassing up the car. And things were back to normal.

“No, seriously, while we’re doing this, you wanna, like confess anything else? Like… I don’t really know. But you’re already being all—”

“Fuck, Y/N, I try to be serious one time…”

“I like you too, asshole,” you said, laying a hand on his arm for a second before walking around the car. As soon as you had the barrier of the car between you, you leaned against the frame and looked him straight in the eyes. “I feel like this is it, Dean. By this time next week, everything is going to be done. It’ll be over with. So, I want you to know that even though we never really got along, I like you. And in a weird way, I even respect you.”

“You’re gonna make me say it too, aren’t you?”

“No,” you answered his question quickly. “And I’m not selfish enough to think that the few weeks I’ve spent with Sam will mean anything in the long run, but if something happens to me…”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Dean promised, eyes locked on yours. “I’m his big brother. It’s what I’ve always done.”

You managed a stiff smile. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“I could say the same about you.”

You were so done with this conversation. “You ready for this? Whatever comes next?”

“Sweetheart,” Dean replied, leaning against the other side of the car. “One thing I’ve learned is that we’re never ready for what comes next. But we’re gonna give it our all anyway.”

“Give it our all,” you repeated softly. “I guess the last five years of my life have built to this, hasn’t it?”

“One way or another, it’s all gonna end.” Dean let you turn those words over in your head while he finished up gassing up the car before he turned to you again. “You think you can handle it?”

The bell over the door to the gas station rang and you looked up to see Sam walking towards the two of you.

“I don’t know. Dean, I have no idea what I’ll do next. I mean, I started this insane mission to prove that my dad was innocent and… well… he’s d-dead. And I can barely believe everything I’ve learned since. And… I just don’t know.”

He nodded just as Sam reached your side.

“We good to go?” Sam asked, snaking his arm around your waist.

“At this point,” you said softly, keeping your eyes locked on Dean’s, “we don’t have an option, do we?”

“Let’s go.” Dean finished filling up the gas tank while Sam held open the back door of the Impala for you to get into.

The immediate second after Sam closed the door behind you, your phone rang. And you nearly ignored the call, but Braxton’s name lit up the screen and you answered after a deep breath. “Hey Brax. We’re, like, six hours away.”

“Change of plans, Y/N,” he replied. Dean and Sam both got into the car and looked back at you at the same time, immediately keying into the change in tone. As soon as the door were closed, neither spoke, waiting for your cue. And you waited for Braxton to explain. “We have an eye-witness placing your mom back in Virginia. She’s mobilizing her forces now. I’ve started moving my armies that way.”

“Armies,” you muttered under your breath. You hadn’t thought of the upcoming conflict as a battle, but I guess it was time to overcome your denial. “Right. Okay. So Virginia. I, uh, We’re not even close.”

“Tell me where you are and I can send a jet to you.”

You asked Dean where you were, since you’d been paying more attention to poring over your Dad’s research than the road. “Just outside of Grand Junction, Colorado.”

He repeated your location to someone beside him before returning to your conversation. “Drive to the Grand Junction airport. I have a jet in Denver that I’ll send to pick you up there.” There was a loud crash and he hurried to finish up the conversation. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you when you’re on the jet, okay? It’ll be at the airport in just over an hour.”

“Okay.” What else do you say in these scenarios? “Be safe, Brax.”

“You too,” he said shortly, obviously distracted by whatever was happening where he was. “Talk to you soon. Love you. Bye.”

“I—yeah. Bye.” Love you? You literally just stabbed him. Like, not figuratively. You had a knife and you plunged it into his arm. “Uh,” you said, catching sight of the boys watching you expectantly. “He’s sending a jet. It’ll be at the Grand Junction airport in about an hour.”

“Airport?” Sam looked between you and Dean and sighed. “You gonna be good with that?”

The reminder at your HELLicopter ride made you want to reflexively punch him for subjecting you to the memory, but you managed to refrain. “Yeah. I’m good on planes. You can, you know, close the window and pretend you’re not in the air. Helicopters are just torture devices.”

Sam nodded slowly, clearly not fully convinced.

Then you caught sight of Dean shifting in the front seat and avoiding all eye contact.

“Dean?” You asked. His eyes flashed to yours briefly before he started fumbling with the keys, turning the car on. “Holy shit. You’re scared of flying.”

“Shut up.”

You couldn’t exactly tease him for his fear, since yours was so similar, so you just sat back.

Sam, however, had no such qualms. “Just my luck. I’ve gotta fly across the country with two people scared of flying. Got my brother scared of planes, my girlfriend scared of helicopters, and here I am. Scared of nothing.”

He smirked at the both of you, clearly teasing, yet enjoying himself all the same.

Dean, however, was not about to let his little brother get away with it. He turned, looked Sam right in the eyes, and simply stated: “Clowns.”

Which shut Sam up right up.

*****

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The staring contest lasted a moment longer. Just before you were about to lose, you closed the rest of the distance and pecked him on the lips.

“C’mon. Let’s go find something to get you high. I can’t believe you’re thirty years old and you’ve never gotten high before. It’s tragic.”

“You don’t really strike me as the druggie type. More like the hacky type.”

“I was in an improv class in college too,” you mentioned, flashing him a grin as you pulled him out of his chair and led him out of the beach cottage in search of drugs. It was Bali. There had to be something somewhere, right? “And I am a hacky person. I have layers. Like an onion. I know my way around the dark web, and there’s a reason it’s not dot-com on the dark web. It’s dot-onion.”

“That sounds fake.”

“Google it, genius. It’s real.”

Okay. So getting high with Braxton in Bali wasn’t really serving a means to an end. It wasn’t like this was going to help you get your father out of prison. But you were actually enjoying this vacation with him. It felt like, for the first time since you’d met him, neither of you were fishing for information. You were just… normal. He was just your boyfriend. You were just his girlfriend. He wasn’t a mark. There was no agenda.

It was nice.

*****

*****

You weren’t the last person to have stepped foot in your father’s lab. It was obvious that someone else had come through, looking for something. Probably George’s people. Or Victoria’s. Or Braxton’s. They hadn’t found what they were looking for, though. Anything of value was locked away in your storage locker.

Still though, even as ransacked as the place was, it was achingly familiar.

Memories of make-believe danced around on the floor. Late nights when your father got so caught up in his research that he forgot to enforce your bedtime floated from wall to wall. This used to be your happy place. Your Land of Hollen. A place for you and your father only.

But he was dead now. And Hollen had been invaded.

“What did you find?” You asked, striding towards where Dean was crouched on the floor. It was best not to dwell on what could have beens and memories that would never happen.

“You said three feet in, six feet left, two feet down, right? Then your dad said to switch the numbers. Well, six feet in, three feet left, and two feet down, I found this.” He handed over a lockbox and reached back into the hole he’d dug. When he brought his hand out, it held three vials of liquid “And these.”

“What are they?” Sam asked, coming up beside you and placing his hand on your back for support.

This wasn’t your Hollen anymore. The only man who could answer that question right away was dead. And the person who killed him was most likely on her way here right now. So you handed the lock box to Sam and started whirling around the lab, grabbing various paraphernalia. “We’ll figure it out a few hundred miles from here. Dean, can you grab that bag over there? I need to put some of this equipment in it if we’re going to figure out what’s in the vials. We have to test them.”

Your father had died protecting this secret. His last words led you to these items. You could mourn later. But for now? Dean was right. You needed to finish what he had started.

So you ordered the Winchesters around until you had everything you thought you needed, then they led the way back to the Impala. Before you left the lab, you took one last look at the sacred space. It was as if you could see the ghost of your father standing at his table, bent over a microscope. There was a wisp of a young Y/N sitting at his feet, playing with some old wires that Kemuny had deemed probably not prone to electrocution, and definitely an acceptable toy for a small child.

“Thank you,” you whispered into the space. “And best of luck to the inhabitants of Hollen.”

It was the last time you would recite your standard parting remarks. Somehow, you knew that you would never again lay eyes upon your Land of Hollen again. This would be the last time you ever came home. The only reason you’d kept up on the payments to keep the house from foreclosing was your hope that one day you and your father would once again live there together.

You never imagined it would all end like this.

“You okay?” Sam asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern when you joined them at the Impala.

You just shook your head, dumped your armload of equipment into the backseat, and climbed over Sam so you sat between the brothers in the front seat. “Let’s get out of here.”

For the first hour, there was silence between you three. The ever present classic rock crooned softly in the background, but you were content to stay safe under Sam’s arm with Dean’s hand squeezing your fingers comfortingly every so often.

After an hour, Dean cleared his throat. “You know, that stuff wasn’t the only thing I found.”

“What?”

“Look in the backseat on top of the hot plate thing.”

After eyeing him curiously for a moment, you twisted around and saw a plain black binder lying atop the mound of scientific crap. It was bursting with pages of… whatever it had inside. You grabbed it and sat back down. “What is this?”

“Look inside.”

Slowly, you opened the front cover to reveal a simple white paper with your name written in marker in your father’s handwriting.

Y/N Entropy Y/L/N

There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One is roots, the other, wings. ~Hodding Carter

Already, you were holding back tears. Sam’s arm wrapped around you again, giving you the strength to turn the page. Inside a plastic sleeve was an ultrasound.

June 24 – Victoria and I are expecting. The doctor told us it is a girl. You’re going to be the most precious baby ever, Y/N. We’ve already picked out your name. I wanted Entropy to be your first name, but Victoria threatened to dump water into my solution I’ve been working on for three months. You should probably thank her for that. Either way, you’re going to be quite the pistol. With parents like us, who wouldn’t be?

A picture of your nursery followed, along with another handwritten note from your father explaining how they chose the decorations. It was no surprise that the walls were adorned with beakers and colorful pictures of solutions, a rainbow of vials, and all other kinds of science décor. You supposed there was never any hope that you would turn out as anything other than a geek.

Picture after picture of the day of your birth, the first month of your life, all of the landmarks of growing up. The first step. First tooth. First word. Carefully documented by your father with the precision of a scientist. Each and every drawing you brought home from school. Handwritten documentation of the new tales that emerged from the Land of Hollen. The ribbon for winning the spelling bee in eighth grade. Your acceptance letter from MIT.

“He loved you, Y/N,” Dean whispered after half an hour of you poring over the scrapbook. “He was so fucking proud of you.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks without abandon. “I loved him too. Still do.”

Sam pulled you closer, kissing the side of your head. “And now you’ll always have a piece of him.”

Quickly, you shook your head. Sam was wrong. “No. I’ll always have all of him with me.” You tapped your chest, just above your heart. “Right here.”

Part 41 of Avenging Angel

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Por supuesto, cuando volvió a nuestras vidas justo después de que Dean supuestamente se enamorara y le entregara el Black Grimoire a su alma gemela, supe que ella nos iba a joder al menos un poco. Así que no fue una gran sorpresa. Lo que fue una sorpresa es que estuviera dispuesta a renunciar al Black Grimoire para dárselo a Sam y hacerlo sin fanfarrias.

Bueno, hasta que más tarde Dean descubriera la página que faltaba del libro.

¿Aun así, una sola página? No era demasiado malo, teniendo en cuenta que nos estaba jodiendo Rowena.

“Dean, no tenemos un plan. No sabemos qué hacer, así-así que… ¿cómo?” insistió Sam.

“No lo sé,” dijo Sam. “Pero lo conseguiremos. Los tres.”

Sam asintió, pero me daba cuenta de que era sólo un movimiento. No se lo creía. Su voz y su postura desesperanzada coincidían cuando se separó del mostrador y se alejó. “Sí.”

Me dolía el corazón sólo con escuchar lo desesperanzado que se sentía Sam. Esta caza había traído de vuelta algo muy oscuro dentro de él, y yo no sabía lo que era o cómo ayudarle, o si ni siquiera si era asunto mío.

Veras, Sam y yo… como que teníamos algo. Algo que iba y venía, pero nunca se hacía oficial. Cuando piensas en una relación errática, supongo que tu mente siempre piensa en Dean. Él es más del tipo de mantener algo casual. Eso es lo que yo pensaba cuando empecé a cazar con ellos. Asumí que Sam sería más bien directo en las relaciones. Pero supongo que no.

No me importaba. En absoluto.

Sin embargo, cuando se trataba de cosas como esta… no estaba segura de si preguntarle si necesitaba ayuda con lo que fuera por lo que estuviera pasando era algo que un amigo haría. ¿A lo mejor era más de territorio novia? Porque yo era su amiga, eso seguro. Pero no sabía si era su novia.

Y Dean no estaba pillando los pequeños detalles que yo estaba viendo, así que él no iba a empezar a indagar en la cabeza de Sam.

¿Pero que podía hacer yo? No sabía cómo empezar esa conversación con Sam. No tenía ni la más ligera idea de lo que estaba preocupándole. Sí, aquello con Jack y Mary que había contado, por supuesto que le estaba preocupando.

Pero tenía que haber algo más. Algo por lo que yo no podía simplemente acercarme y decirle, “Eh, Sammy. ¿Por qué estás tan decaído?”

Nadie responde bien a ser expuesto de esa forma.

Así que me dirigí a mi habitación para pasar la noche. Estaba casi preparada para meterme en la cama cuando mi teléfono sonó y un número desconocido asomó en mi pantalla. “¿Hola?”

“T/N,” la voz de Rowena me trajo a la mente un montón de preguntas. ¿Qué había ocurrido entre Sam y ella en el coche, cuando Dean y yo nos fuimos a interrogar a la cajera? ¿qué hechizo había necesitado del Black Grimoire? ¿Por qué Sam estaba de repente portándose tan bien con ella?

Pero no le hice ninguna de las preguntas.

“¿Esperas que te de las gracias por salvarnos la vida?”

“En absoluto. Pero he pensado que debería llamarte y hacerte saber que puede que quieras preguntarle a Sam que le mantiene despierto por la noche.”

“¿Por qué?”

Sonó un gran suspiro al otro lado de la línea. “Querida, confía en mí esta vez. Sam me ha ayudado, y esta es mi forma de devolverle el favor. Ahora estamos en paz.”

Colgó y yo me quedé mirando al teléfono. ¿Qué mantenía a Sam despierto por las noches? Éramos cazadores. Había millones de pesadillas encerradas en nuestras cabezas. ¿Y que sabía Rowena sobre lo que mantenía a Sam despierto por la noche?

Tal vez esto era todo lo que necesitaba para que comenzara a hablar sobre lo que fuera que estuviera revolviendo esos pensamientos oscuros en su mente. Era posible que Rowena me hubiera dado la información que necesitaba para hacer que se abriera a mí. O a lo mejor sólo estaba confundiéndome, pero estaba demasiado preocupada por Sam como para no aprovechar la oportunidad.

Así que agarré la manta grande y esponjosa que siempre me hacía sentir cálida y a salvo y me dirigí por el pasillo hacia la habitación de Sam. Tres golpecitos anunciaron mi presencia y la voz suave de Sam me dio permiso para entrar. Pero no entré hasta dentro. No aún. No estaba segura de esta conversación, así que me detuve cerca de la puerta.

“¿Qué pasa?” Sam pareció darse cuenta de mi aprensión, y esto despertó su curiosidad.

“Yo, eh…” No quería que Dean nos escuchara, así que eché un vistazo al pasillo para asegurarme de que no andaba por allí antes de cerrar la puerta y dar un paso hacia adentro. Ahora Sam definitivamente sentía curiosidad.

Ladeó la cabeza. “¿T/N?”

“Me ha llamado Rowena.” Asintió con cautela, pero no dijo nada más. Así que cogí aire y continué. “Me ha dicho que debería preguntarte que es lo que te mantiene despierto por las noches?”

Los preciosos ojos de Sam se hicieron más grandes antes de que soltara un bufido y apartara la mirada. “Por supuesto que te lo ha dicho.”

Era una mala idea. No era cosa mía. Si Sam quería hablar de esto, iría a hablar con Dean. No con su amiga con la que de vez en cuando se acostaba. Había cruzado una línea y era tiempo de volverme a mi lugar.

Di un paso atrás en dirección a la puerta. “De hecho, olvídalo. No es cosa mía. Lo que hayas hablado con ella es privado y no debería haber compartido nada conmigo. Lo siento, es solo que—“

“T/N, espera.” Se estaba pasando la mano por el pelo y evitando mirarme. Una señal segura de que estaba pensando en algo que le hacía sentir incómodo. “¿Por qué te ha llamado?”

“No lo sé. Me dijo que tú la habías ayudado, y que era el momento de que ella te devolviera el favor. Pero no es asunto suyo, y no es asunto mío y siento haberlo mencionado, y me voy a ir.”

Ya casi había girado el picaporte cuando Sam habló en voz baja. “Lucifer.”

“¿Qué?”

Me giré y miré a Sam a los ojos. “Rowena te dijo que me preguntaras que me mantenía despierto por la noche, ¿verdad? Lucifer.”

Habían pasado ocho años desde que había estado en la Jaula con Lucifer. Ocho años. Solté el picaporte y di un paso hacia la cama. Esto era algo muy fuerte. No estaba segura de cómo manejarlo, para ser honesta. Tenía una broma para aligerar la tensión en la punta de la lengua, pero sabía que no era el momento.

“¿Has hablado con Rowena de esto?” ni siquiera le gustaba Rowena.

Sam se echó hacia atrás en la cama, una invitación silenciosa para que me uniera a él. En cuanto me instalé, agarró mi manta y la colocó cubriendo nuestros hombros, rodeándome con un brazo. “Sí, cuando lucifer la mató, él… le mostro su rostro. Su verdadero rostro. Ella tenía miedo, T/N.”

“Y tú también lo tienes.” ¿Cómo había tardado tanto tiempo en darme cuenta? Cuando estábamos cazando a Lucifer, unos meses antes, ¿Cómo no había visto que Sam tenía miedo? “Pero no has dicho nada.”

Se encogió de hombros y sus labios se tensaron. “Sí, bueno. Simplemente seguimos adelante. Tenemos que hacerlo.”

Y cuando pienso en cuál de los Winchesters pasaría ocho años suprimiendo un miedo tan oscuro, mi mente salta a Dean. Pero Sam me estaba enseñando que en realidad no soy nada buena juzgando a las personas.

“No esta noche,” susurré. El me miró con gesto confundido, así que lo elaboré un poco más. “No vamos a seguir adelante esta noche. Nos vamos a parar. No vamos a pensar en el mañana. Y si quieres hablar de ello, estoy aquí. Y si no, aun así estoy aquí.”

Soltó un largo suspiro y parte de la tensión de su cuerpo escapó con él. “Gracias, T/N,”

Hubo un momento en el que ninguno de los dos hablamos, así que me imaginé que probablemente Sam no estaba aún preparado para abrirse y contármelo todo. Estaba bien. Me estiré lo justo para agarrar su portátil de la mesilla de noche antes de volver a descansar entre sus brazos. “Me estoy muriendo por saber si averiguamos quien mató a Lila.”

 Mientras navegaba por su portátil, Sam permaneció callado. Entré en Netflix y pulsé en Como Defender A Un Asesino, la serie que estábamos actualmente viendo juntos. Había descubierto que era mucho más divertido ver Netflix con Sam que cualquier otra cosa a solas. Honestamente, hacer cosas con Sam era siempre mucho más divertido que hacerlo a solas. Cocinar, conducir, cazar, ver series, limpiar…

Tres episodios después, Sam finalmente habló. “Ha empeorado desde que salió de la Jaula.”

El ruido de fondo siempre me ha ayudado a abrirme y contar cosas, así que implemente bajé el volumen del portátil antes que pausar el episodio. Siempre podíamos volver a ver este episodio más tarde. No estaba segura de si podría lograr que Sam me hablara de su lucha con el Desorden Postraumático inducido por Lucifer más tarde.

“Supongo que es de esperar.” Imité su suspiro.

“Sí.” Y más silencio. Si ya había acabado de hablar por esa noche, podría el mismo subir de nuevo el volumen del portátil. Pero no yo iba a cerrar esa puerta. Le estaba dando a Sam todo el control esa noche. Dejando que el llevara el paso, el tono y toda la conversación.

“¿Tienes… tienes pesadillas de cosas que ocurrieron de verdad, o de otras cosas?” Vale, a lo mejor no iba a darle todo el control. Pero lo peor que podía pasar con mi insistencia es que se cerrara aún más. Lo mejor que podía hacer era darle una dirección desde la que empezara a hablar.

“Ambas. Eh, es, eh… ambas.” Sam se aclaró la garganta y bajó el volumen un poco más. “Es que… sé de lo que es capaz. Dean y tú y todos los demás… sólo os lo imagináis. Y ni siquiera ha alcanzado una fracción de todo lo que es capaz.

“¿Qué quieres decir?”

Tensó los brazos sobre mis hombros. Yo le pase el mío por la cintura, esperando poderle ofrecer algo de confort mientras decía en voz alta de las cosas que mantenía ocultas.

“Lucifer no ha, realmente… no ha dejado ver sus verdaderos colores. Podría fácilmente convertirse en el peor monstruo al que nos hemos enfrentado, pero se está conteniendo.”

Justo como Sam lo estaba haciendo ahora. Vale, estaba finalmente hablando, pero sabía que no me lo iba a contar todo. No ahora. No aún, al menos. “Y si trata de llegar a lo más profundo de su interior…”

Sam hablaba acortando las palabras. “No sabemos cómo matarle.”

Esa era la cruz de la cuestión. Sam no podía superar al monstruo al que no podía matar. ¿Cómo empiezas a recuperarte de la tortura infligida por alguien sabiendo que va a estar siempre allí? ¿Aivo? ¿Siempre ahí fuera, en un sitio u otro?

¿Y qué podía yo decir ante eso? No tenía ni idea de por lo que él estaba pasando.

Así que, en lugar de decir algo que probablemente sería erróneo, le abracé con más fuerza por la cintura y giré la cabeza para besarle el cuello, justo por encima de donde se notaba su pulso. “Lo siento mucho, Sam.”

Sus fuertes manos se cerraron en mi cintura y tiró de mi hasta que acabé sentada en su regazo, con las rodillas sobre el colchón a ambos lados de su cintura. Después me rodeó con los brazos con fuerza, clavándome los dedos y manteniéndome cerca. Su pelo era increíblemente suave entre mis dedos mientras le acariciaba la cabeza que tenía apoyada en mi hombro, esperando que la penumbra y mi olor ya familiar le calmaran, como constantemente él me calmaba a mí.

“Es más fácil contigo,” murmuró, su aliento rozando mi piel.

“Estoy aquí,” susurré. Dios, no tenía ni idea de lo que realmente quería decir con eso. Pero esperaba no estropearlo con mis siguientes palabras. “Siempre estoy aquí, Sam. Soy tuya. Toda tuya.”

Levantó la cabeza de donde la tenía apoyada en mi hombro. “¿Lo dices de verdad?”

Al menos no parecía decepcionado o algo. De hecho, parecía un poco… ¿esperanzado? Bajé las manos de su pelo a sus mejillas, la barbita que empezaba a crecerle rascándome la palma. “Por supuesto que lo digo en serio. Soy tuya. Al cien por cien. Cuando me necesites. No me voy a ir a ninguna parte.”

Puesto que ya le había entregado todo mi corazón, decidí que no me haría daño dar un paso más y sellar mi juramento con un beso.

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“Ew.” It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go camping. You were sure that you would have fun for most of it. A camping trip with your class for an entire week? You were sure to have some funny stories to tell your dad when you got home.

You’d just never been away from him for so long. At twelve years old, it might be strange to be so attached to one’s parent, but after having your mother leave you, you’d clung to your dad. You didn’t think you would be able to make it a whole week without him.

“Remember that ghost story I told you?”  You nodded. “Good. Make sure you scare everyone with that. Tell me how loudly they all scream, okay?”

“Okay,” came your small voice. You allowed him to herd you onto the bus and watched as he waved you off with a big smile on his face. Just before you pulled out of sight, you saw him tap his heart, reminding you that he was always with you.

One week. You could do this.

*****

*****

You stared at the burner phone in your hand. The phone number was already entered, all you had to do was push call.

Five years of your life.

Twenty-nine years of unconditional love.

It all ended like this.

You hit call.

The sun was setting behind the treeline and a crackle of the fire Dean started was behind you. It was a beautiful night. You didn’t notice a single part of it.

“Hello?”

“Braxton,” you breathed, relieved that he’d answered. If he hadn’t, you weren’t sure you would have gotten the courage to call him again.

“Y/N? Where are you? Where’s Kemuny?”

Your hand shot up to your mouth in an attempt to hold back a sob, but nothing in the world could help you there. “Dead. Braxton, he’s dead. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have taken him away from you. It was so stupid. Your people could have protected him, but I… I just wanted my dad back. I wanted him back and now he’s dead.”

No more words could get out when your throat closed up and your legs couldn’t hold you up anymore. The dirt was dry beneath your fingers, rocks digging into your palm.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re lying. Tell me you just want me to think he’s dead so I’ll leave you alone. He’s not really dead.”

“I’m so sorry, Brax.” There was no way he could mistake the strain of your voice. “I was selfish. I couldn’t see that he was our only hope against Victoria. I didn’t see that she’s the one we really need to take down. I just wanted my dad back and now Victoria’s going to kill us all and it’s all my fault.”

He was silent for a long moment. “Where are you? Let me come get you. We can figure something out together.”

Tears fell to the dirt, darkening the earth. “No. No, I can’t. I just—it’s over for me, Brax. I can’t fight anymore. Not without my dad.”

“Y/N, I know how much you must be hurting right now, just let me help—”

“I started this whole thing to save my dad. The last five years, I devoted my whole life to saving him and now he’s dead because of me. I can’t, Brax. I just can’t. I called to let you know that… that… that he’s dead and you can’t count on his help anymore. I hope you figure out how to beat Victoria. I hope you kill her. But I—I can’t do it anymore. Not without him.”

“Dammit Y/N! Where are you? You don’t have to go through this alone!”

Yes, you did.

“I have the Winchesters. And you have work to do. I’m so sorry, Brax.” Before he could say anything else, you hung up and your emotions rushed up in a sneak attack. Gasping for air, you curled in on yourself. The night was warm, but you were frozen. Your organs turned to ice and a dull, numbing buzz settled over your skin like a distant electric shock.

He was gone.

It was all your fault.

Strong arms wrapped around you, easing you off the ground and into Sam’s lap. For the longest time, he just held you as you sobbed into his shirt.

It was eternities later when he finally spoke. “How did he take the news?”

Easing out of where you’d buried your face in his neck, you forced the remainder of your tears away. “He thought I was lying at first, but then… then he was just worried about me.”

It was the worst feeling you’d ever felt. You didn’t deserve anyone’s concern. It was your fault that Kemuny Y/L/N was dead. It was your fault that Victoria was going to win. It was your fault. It was all your fault.

“Can’t say I blame him.” Sam tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “So what now? Do we try to help Braxton take down Victoria? Do we trust him that much?”

“You can,” came your small voice in reply. “I’m… I’m out, Sam. I came into this mess with one goal and I fucked that up so bad that I left my father’s body on the floor of a dirty motel room next to the corpse of the man who killed him. I’m of no use to anyone.”

He wanted to argue. You could tell by the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes. But thankfully he didn’t. Maybe he knew that you wouldn’t listen. Maybe he was starting to see that you weren’t the woman he thought you were. Whatever it was, you were grateful that he didn’t argue that point.

“So what? You’re gonna go back to the real world?”

A future without your father. Was it even possible?

“I’ve always wanted an apartment with a dog. Hell, maybe I’ll grab that bartender guy and we’ll go to Germany and be best friends. Or maybe I’ll just go to Scotland and get drunk every night and no one will think anything of it because they’ll all be drunk off their asses too.”

“Well,” he said after a moment of silence. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“Why are you doing this, Sam? Why aren’t you trying to give me some pep talk about how I’ll regret walking away from this fight some day? That it hurts now, but it’ll get better with time? Why aren’t you… being you?”

“Because it won’t help. I wasn’t half as close to my dad as you were to yours, but it was hell when he died. It did get better, but not as much as I thought it would.”

Dean came over and sat next to the two of you. He’d obviously been listening in. “But you will regret not fighting.”

“Dean, don’t—”

“Shut up and let me talk, Sam. Y/N, your dad didn’t want Victoria to have access to those files. He was fighting against her in his own way. Once you get past the worst of this, you’ll look back and realize that you should have finished the fight that Kemuny started.”

“He never wanted me in this fight in the first place.”

“That’s too damn bad. ‘Cause you’re already in it, sweetheart. And I bet he’s damn proud of everything you’ve done.”

“You mean like getting him killed?”

There was another silent Winchester communication over your head, but you didn’t care at all. You didn’t feel left out. You just felt… nothing.

“What did he say to you, Y/N?” Sam gently prodded. “Before he died, he said something to you.”

“Just some nonsense about switching numbers and going back to Hollen.” The pained memory of his final words nearly did you in and you found yourself involuntarily curling closer to Sam.

He tightened his hold around you. “Okay then. We’ll get some sleep tonight then head back to the storage locker tomorrow.”

“Not his Hollen. My Hollen. My childhood home. I’m not going back, though. I don’t even know what the fuck he was talking about and I… I can’t handle it right now.” Pushing off the ground, you stood up and took a few steps away from camp. Your eyes were locked on the moon, already following the sun below the horizon before night even begun. Disappearing way too soon. Just like your father. “You guys can go though. See if you can puzzle it out. You’d have better luck than I would anyway.”

Soft footsteps came up behind you and Sam’s heat at your back was the only indication that he was there. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“You guys should get some sleep. I’ll take watch tonight.” They would need the sleep more than you would anyway. They were the ones who were going to save the world. The ones who were going to fix the mess you’d made.

You were the one who was finally figuring out that they were better off without you.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t make me sleep alone tonight.”

Your heart beat once. The first time since your father’s heart stopped. You slowly turned around to face him, and your heart beat again. There was a depth of sorrow hidden behind his concerned hazel eyes. It broke you and you found yourself reaching for his hand. “Okay.”

Part 39 of Avenging Angel

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“Me atrevería a decir que la ha liado más en su corta vida de lo que yo lo hice estado vivo.”

Uñas arañaron el cristal mientras los fantasmas cacareaban de alegría. “Y tú estuviste viva el doble de tiempo que ella lo va a estar.”

Cualquier otro día, la conversación entre esos dos fantasmas te hubiera hecho reír. Hubieras sido capaz de reconocer lo ridículos que eran. Lo lejos de la realidad que sus mentes estaban. Cualquier otro día, hubieras sido capaz de echar sal y quemar los huesos y seguir adelante.

Por supuesto, cualquier otro día, no te hubieras peleado con tu novio solo unos días antes ni te hubieras ido por tu cuenta. Cualquier otro día, no hubieras dejado que tus emociones se llevaran lo mejor de ti.

Cualquier otro día, hubieras sido capar de manejar esos horribles recuerdos que los fantasmas seguían sacando de tu mente.

“¿La matamos ahora o nos divertimos un poco más con ella?”

“Su mente ha estado marinando esos recuerdos reprimidos durante tanto tiempo. ¡Es absolutamente delicioso! No podemos acabar con la diversión aún.” Otra risita chirriante perforó tu conciencia mientras el fantasma abría la caja de los recuerdos que habías escondido en las oscuras profundidades de tu mente. Los recuerdos de tu familia. 

En cuanto los recuerdos comenzaron a reproducirse en la habitación, los miembros de tu familia moviéndose como si ellos mismos fueran fantasmas, todo se disipó. Apenas fuiste consciente del eco de los disparos mientras caías al suelo. No importaba que las imágenes holográficas de tu familia hubieran desparecido. Aún podías verlo todo, reproduciéndose como si estuviera sucediendo de nuevo.

“T/N, ¿en qué estabas pensando?” Sam aulló. “¡No puedes salir huyendo y meterte en una caza como esta tu sola!.”

“Lo siento,” murmuraste entre lágrimas. No estabas segura de a quien le estabas pidiendo disculpas. ¿A Sam? ¿A la gente a la que no habías podido salvar? ¿A la gente que murió porque no habías sido capaz de hacer tu trabajo y matar al monstruo? ¿A tu familia?

“¿Lo siento? ¡Dean y yo hemos estado enfermos de preocupación desde que te fuiste!”

Las palabras de Sam fueron un clavo en el recuerdo de otra caza más que habías estropeado a lo grande. Otro recuerdo que tirar en la cada vez más grande pila de fallos de tu vida.

“Cuando te fuiste, pensé que volverías al día siguiente con resaca o algo así. ¡Podías al menos habernos llamado o al menos enviado un mensaje! Pero tal y como estaban las cosas, hemos tenido que—“

Sam se detuvo para disparar a uno de los fantasmas que acababa de reaparecer. El segundo fantasma apareció de nuevo, solo para arder en llamas. En un rincón de tu mente, donde la maquinaria que hacía trabajar la lógica aun funcionaba, supusiste que Dean debía haber encontrado los huesos que tú no habías encontrado.

“Hemos tenido que rastrearte y—“

“¡He dicho que lo siento!” le gritaste, incapaz de soportar un segundo enviste de su ira. “¿Vale? Siento ser una horrible excusa de cazadora e incluso una peor novia. ¡Siento haber preferido huir a tratar de arreglar las cosas! Siento haber matado a mi familia y siento que te estés dando cuenta ahora de que no soy una buena persona. ¡Siento haberte hecho perder el tiempo pero ya no soy problema tuyo, Sam!”

Sam comenzó a decir algo, pero desvió la mirada por encima de tu hombro y apuntó al fantasma justo antes de que ardiera en llamas. Soltó un gran suspiro, y respondió a Dean que le llamaba por teléfono. Tras asegurarle a su hermano que todo estaba bien, colgó y se acercó hacia ti. Dejándose caer al suelo a tu lado, Sam se estiró hasta alcanzar tu mano, ignorando tus intentos de poner algo de distancia entre vosotros dos.

“Estas equivocada, T/N. En todo. No estoy enfadado contigo. Estoy enfadado porque pensé que no podría hablar contigo nunca más y no podría hacerte entender que aún te quiero. Incluso después de nuestra pelea. Y no sé que es lo que esos fantasmas te han hecho, pero tu eres una de las mejores cazadoras que he visto nunca. Y estoy orgulloso de poder decir que eres mi novia.”

“Me escapé,” le recordaste, refiriéndote a tu comportamiento infantil de hace unos días.

“Sí, eso fue una mierda.” Sam te concedió. “Pero eso no cambia el hecho de que te quiero. Y sé que tú también me quieres. Podemos hacerlo, T/N. Sé que podemos. ¿Déjame que te convenza a ti también?”

Una nueva oleada de recuerdos recién extraídos te llegaron en cascada, pero a través del horror y la confusion, sentiste los ojos de Sam fijos en los tuyos. Su mano sujetaba la tuya. Podías escuchar su vos diciéndote que te amaba.

Y de repente, la oscura cascada comenzó a hacerse más ligera mientras que los recuerdos felices comenzaban a regresar. Recuerdos de Sam y tu riéndoos. Recuerdos de todas esas cazas que los Winchester y tú habíais podido celebrar. De la gente a la que habíais salvado. Recuerdos que te recordaban por qué aún te levantabas cada mañana.

Recorriste la distancia que te separaba de Sam y te sentaste en su regazo. Sujetándote a él como si fuera tu único salvavidas en el medio un océano atronador, tus lagrimas mojaron su camisa mientras sus brazos te rodeaban y grababan promesas en tu piel.

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"You here for...Richard?" The man finally asked.

With a shake of your head, you added a shadow to one of the petals. "No. My husband is buried a few rows over. I just come here every month and find the best bouquet to paint for him."

"I'm so sorry," he sincerely offered his condolences. "You can't have been married long. You look younger than me."

"Eight months." You set the paintbrush down and stared at Richard's gravestone. "But they were the best eight months of my life."

"If you don't mind me asking..."

By his soft voice, you knew that he would back off if you didn't want to talk about it. But maybe it was because of that, that you felt comfortable enough to open up to this stranger.

"Cancer. We were high school sweethearts and he got the bad news after our freshman year of college. That's when we decided that we wanted to spend however long he had left together. We eloped and it was the best decision we ever made." That was enough about you for now. "Who are you visiting?"

"My, uh, my girlfriend. Our apartment caught fire one day and she didn't make it."

"I can't even imagine." Your heart ached for this man. With Hayden, you had time to prepare yourself. You said what needed to be said and did what needed to be done. But to have someone you love ripped from your life so unexpectedly? "That's horrible."

The muscles in his cheeks clenched as he fought back a wave of emotion.

"Yeah. Anyway, she loved flowers, so I make sure to bring her new ones every week."

"Hayden loved flowers too. I've never really seen the appeal. They die too fast for my taste. But every time I brought home a rose or a daisy or even a handful of dandelions, his face would just light up. Every time I brought him flowers, I fell in love with him a little more."

"And now you paint flowers for him."

"Now I paint. He gets his flowers and I... I get to keep that part of him forever."

"I think that's why Jess baked so much," he mused. "She knew how much I loved her cookies."

Silence fell once again, and you resumed painting. It had been over a year since he died. You had an entire scrapbook filled with your flower paintings back home. A year's worth of flowers, preserved in pigment.

"How long ago did your girlfriend pass away?"

"Seven months ago."

"I'm coming up on a year and a half."

"Does it get easier?"

Once again, you set your paintbrush down and turned to look this man straight in the eyes. "Kind of. The bad days get less frequent, at least."

His sorrowful hazel eyes bore into yours. "How do you make it through?"

One day at a time. That was the standard answer that you gave to most people. But you knew that this man deserved the truth. He needed to hear something real.

"The week before Hayden died," you began, already fighting back tears at the memory, "He made me sit down by his hospital bed and he took my hand in his." Spanning the foot between you, you reached over and took this stranger's hand, earnestly looking into his eyes.

"And he said 'Y/N. Thank you for making these last few years of my life the best years anyone could ask for. You've filled everyday with your smiles and my flowers and not a day has gone by that you haven't made me laugh. I didn't know when I met you that we would have so little time together, but I knew that I wanted to squeeze everything I could out of every single second with you. We've managed to fit an entire lifetime of love into these six years together.'"

You didn't bother trying to hold back the tears now. "'My time is almost up. And I know that it's going to be hard for you to keep going. I know that you're going to feel so alone and adrift. I wish it didn't have to be this way. But I want you to keep squeezing the life out of every single minute that passes. Whenever you feel like climbing under the covers and hiding from the world, just know that flowers can't grow in the dark. I want you to feel my love every damn day, because I love you so much. Nothing is going to change that. 

“But I also want you to find someone else who loves you more than I do. You'll find them. I know you will. Because you're more amazing than words can describe. That's how I know that you are going to that through this. You're going to grow up and become even more wonderful than you are now. You're going to change the fucking world, Y/N. And I'll be with you every step of the way.'"

When you came out of the memory and focused on the man's face, you saw that he was crying just as hard as you were. With a tender hand, you reached over and wiped at the moisture on his cheek. Ever so slightly, he tilted his face into your palm, so you cupped his cheek and turned his face to yours once again.

This man was broken. He didn't know how to move on. You wondered how long it had been since he'd allowed anyone to show him any sort of affection.

"I'm sorry you weren't able to have a conversation like that with Jess. But I hope you know that she's still with you. She's still cheering for you. Remember that."

He covered your hand with his and closed his eyes for a moment. You gave him all the time he needed with just the symphony of birds and the breeze to bear witness.

"Thank you," he choked out. "Thank you."

With one last squeeze of your fingers he let go and stood up, brushing the grass off his pants. "I—I should get going."

He hadn't taken more than three steps away before you were calling for him. "Wait! I want you to have this."

You held out the painting you finished.

"No, I couldn't. You painted that for your husband. I can't accept it."

"Yes, you can. Hayden never kept the flowers I brought him. He would spend an hour looking at them while we talked, then we would go find someone else in the hospital who needed them more. You need this more than I do." You took a step forward and reached for his hand, placing the paper in his palm. "Every time you look at it, know that she's with you. She's cheering for you. And she loves you."

Sequel: Whisper On The Wind 

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“I dare say she’s messed up more in her short lifetime than I did when I was alive.”

Fingernails scratched on glass as the ghost cackled in glee. “And you lived twice as long as she will!”

Any other day, the conversation between the two ghosts would have made you laugh. You would have been able to recognize just how ridiculous they were. How far removed from reality their minds had moved. And any other day, you would have been able to salt and burn the bones and move right on.

Of course, any other day, you wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with your boyfriend a few days prior and taken off on your own. Any other day, you wouldn’t have let your emotions get the better of you.

And any other day, you would have been able to handle these horrible memories the ghosts kept dredging up.

“Do we kill her now or have more fun with her?”

“Her mind has been marinating in these repressed memories for so long. It’s absolutely delicious! We can’t cut the fun short quite yet.” Another grating giggle pierced your consciousness as the ghost managed to unlock the box of memories you’d shoved deep in the dark recesses of your mind. The memories of your family.

As soon as the memory started replaying itself in the room, your family members moving about as if ghosts themselves, everything dissipated. You were barely aware of the echo of the gunshot as you fell to the floor. It didn’t matter that the holographic visions of your family was gone. You could still see everything playing out as if it was happening again.

“Y/N, what were you thinking?” Sam bellowed. “You can’t just run off and take on a hunt like this on your own!”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled around your tears. You weren’t sure who you were apologizing to. Sam? The people you couldn’t save? The people who died because you couldn’t do your job and kill the monsters? Your family?

“Sorry? Dean and I have been worried sick over you since you left!”

Sam’s words hammered the final nails in yet another memory of a hunt you’d royally messed up. Another memory to throw on the ever-growing pile of failure in your life.

“When you took off, I thought you would come back the next day with a hangover or something. You could’ve at least called or texted us! As it was we had to—“

Sam broke off to shoot at one of the ghosts who had reappeared. The second ghost appeared again, only to go up in flames. In the corner of your mind, where the logical machinery still worked, you figured that Dean must have found the bones that you didn’t.

“You made us track you down and—“

“I said I’m sorry!” You yelled, not able to take another second of his anger. “Okay? I’m sorry that I’m a horrible excuse for a hunter and I’m an even worse girlfriend. I’m sorry that I’d rather run away than try and fix things! I’m sorry that I killed my family and I’m sorry that you’re just now realizing that I’m not a good person. I’m sorry that I wasted so much of your life, but I’m not your problem anymore, Sam!”

Sam started to say something, but his eyes flickered over your shoulder and he took aim at the ghost just as it flamed out. He let out a big breath, and answered Dean’s phone call. After assuring his brother that everything was okay, he hung up and walked over. Dropping down on the floor next to you, Sam reached for your hand, ignoring your attempts to put distance between the two of you.

“You’re wrong, Y/N. About all of that. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad because I thought I wouldn’t be able to talk to you again and make you understand that I still love you. Even after our fight. I don’t know what those ghosts did to you, but you’re one of the best hunters I’ve seen. And I’m proud to call you my girlfriend.”

“I ran away,” you reminded him, thinking back to your childish behavior a few days prior.

“Yeah, that kinda sucked.” Sam conceded. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. And I know that you love me. We can work, Y/N. I know we can. Let me convince you too?”

An onslaught of the newly dredged up memories cascaded onto you, but through the horror and confusion, you could feel Sam’s eyes on you. His hand gripping yours. You could hear his voice telling you that he loves you.

And suddenly, the dark waterfall starts to lighten as happier memories trickle in. Memories of you and Sam laughing. Memories of all the hunts you and the Winchesters could celebrate. The people you’d saved. Memories that reminded you why you still woke up every morning.

You closed the distance between you and Sam and crawled into his lap. Holding onto him like he was your only lifeline in the midst of a thunderous ocean, your tears soaked into his shirt while his arms encircled you and etched promises into your skin.

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