#souless sam

Cruel World: Chapter Thirteen

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

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

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader, Dean Winchester x fem!reader (platonic)

WC: 4.6K

CW: 18+ MDNI, TW!, possessive jealous protective Sam, references to past SA/trauma, tension/repressed feelings, mentions of infidelity, language, references to rough sex, implied smut, drinking (not drunk), some sweet fluffy fluff!

A/n: This one is a bit longer because I'm going on maternity leave on 4/3! I thought I had some more time, but babies have a mind of their own. I'll post another chapter when I'm feeling up to it. <3

Cruel World masterlist

"Share my body and my mind with you, that's all over now. I did what I had to do, cause you're so far past me now.” - Cruel World | Lana Del Rey

Winter was nearing its end when Sam made reservations at a restaurant in the city. You weren’t a fan of Valentine’s Day when you discovered that cupids were real and they enjoyed meddling in people’s relationships. Once you learned that Sam had made the reservation months in advance and arranged for a babysitter, you were excited.

It had been years since you were able to get dressed up for something other than posing as an FBI agent to chase down leads with Sam and Dean. You were able to find a sweater dress that still fit, even if it was a little tight in the midsection. You paired it with some boots and a light jacket, and added some makeup—just enough to highlight your features without overdoing it.

Sam poked his head into the bathroom when you were putting your hair up, and his chest tightened. You felt nervous under his stare.

“What’s wrong? Do I look okay?”

He shook his head and blushed. “No—you look amazing, Y/N,” he said, taking a few steps toward you and turning you to face him. Lifting you up to sit on the counter, he pressed himself between your legs.

“If we didn’t have reservations, I’d suggest skipping dinner.” Sam pressed a kiss to your jaw, trailing down your neck while he gently gripped your waist.

“No way,” you giggled, gently pushing him back to look at him. “I spent way too much time making myself look halfway decent, and you’re not robbing me of a night being child-free.”

He groaned and released his grip on your waist, trying to redirect the blood flow away from his groin.

Sam kept his hand on your knee for most of the drive, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. When you arrived, you actually let him open the door for you before he went to park the car.

He sat in the car for a minute once he found a parking spot, trying to calm his nerves. Normally he had Dean to tell him he was being a baby. He’d probably tell him it was just a question, and the worst you would say was ‘no’.

He fidgeted with the ring box in his jacket pocket—his mouth was painfully dry and he felt sweat beading on the back of his neck. Not wanting to keep you waiting, he stepped out of the car and made his way to the restaurant. The cool air helped sharpen his mind and steady his breathing—he was fully composed by the time he joined you in the waiting room.

You were on your second glass of wine and starting to feel buzzed—it had been months since you drank, not that you were a big drinker to begin with. The buzz made your cheeks flush a beautiful shade of pink, and Sam noticed. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask you—either it had been too noisy, or the waiter had come by to check on you. You seemed oblivious to his plan, or he was just good at hiding his nerves.

“I’m gonna run to the restroom, I’ll be right back,” you said quietly as you pushed yourself back from the table.

He took a moment to pause, taking a drink to steady himself.

“Agent Simmons?”

Sam didn’t react, not registering the name or the voice as familiar.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder.

“Agent Simmons?”

He quickly looked up in the direction of the voice. His eyes landed on a tall brunette, probably in her mid-30s.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” He was trying to be polite, but he didn’t recognize this woman at all.

She looked offended, but continued trying to jog his memory.

“Last year…Kansas City? You and that older agent helped solve my husband’s murder.”

Sam just stared like a deer in headlights. He had been locked in the Cage for a year, not working cases.

“Look—you gave me your card—told me to get a hold of you if there was anything I needed,” she said while handing him one of his old FBI business cards.

As soon as he grabbed it, flashes hit—what he now recognized as memories.

Him coldly interrogating a frightened witness in a holding cell.

Clearing out a vamp nest with a machete and hunters he didn’t recognize.

And then—him with the tall brunette—bending her over a bathroom sink, gripping the back of her neck as he took what he wanted from her without hesitation.

He didn’t remember any of it, but it must have happened. She had his card, and he saw it in his mind’s eye.

“Sam?”

Your voice—soft, uncertain—pulled him back to the present.

His gaze snapped toward you. You looked confused, glassy-eyed, trying to make sense of what you were seeing.

You flashed a polite smile to the woman before returning your eyes to Sam.

“Anyways, it was nice seeing you. Call me anytime, Agent,” she said with a wink as she walked away, her red fingernails grazing his shoulder.

“Who was that?” you asked quietly, slowly returning to your seat so as not to draw attention.

“I—I have no idea,” Sam stuttered. He wasn’t lying—he didn’t know who she was—but clearly, he should have.

“She seemed to know you,” you laughed awkwardly. You felt your throat tightening and your eyes beginning to sting.

Sam was at a loss for what to say—overwhelmed by the interaction and the memories it triggered, and now his instinct to protect you was in overdrive.

“She said she met me last year, but that’s impossible. Obviously.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen other women show interest in Sam, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Something about his reaction unsettled you, though.

You weren’t the jealous type by any means, but this woman really seemed to know Sam. The fact that she called him “agent” as she walked away, the way her hand lingered on his shoulder—it all felt wrong.

You knew Sam had been out of the Cage longer than he was aware of, but now you wondered exactly how long he had been back—and what he had done.

The pleasant buzz you had was gone, leaving behind a headache and a feeling of uncertainty. You considered drinking more to drown out the discomfort, but you just wanted to leave. Now.

Sam could sense your discomfort, and he realized that his plan to propose tonight was off the table. He frowned as he watched you shift in your seat, clearly uneasy. You had been excited for tonight—and you looked so beautiful—and he had ruined it.

He grabbed your hand under the table to get your attention. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I really don’t know what that was about. Are you okay?”

You just shrugged and smiled weakly, trying to brush it off.

“It’s okay…it’s not your fault. Can we go?” Your voice cracked at the end.

He nodded and squeezed your hand, signaling for the waiter to bring the check.

While you waited near the entrance for Sam to pull the car around, you spotted the woman seated at a table with another man. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found yourself approaching her. She ruined your evening—why should you feel bad about interrupting hers?

“Hi, excuse me. How exactly did you know the man at that table?”

She looked up at you, clearly unimpressed by the interruption.

“Um…he was the FBI agent assigned to my ex-husband’s murder. What are you, his wife or something?”

The audacity was almost amusing.

“Or something, yeah.”

She smiled knowingly. “You’re a very lucky woman, then.”

You felt your eye twitch as you forced yourself to stay composed, turning and walking away to wait for Sam at the front of the restaurant.

Sam had booked a hotel nearby so you didn’t have to drive home that night. He had also hoped you could celebrate your engagement if everything went well.

You were silent in the passenger seat the entire drive back, despite his attempts to talk to you. It’s not that you were angry—clearly Sam didn’t remember—you were mortified. Both of you had shared your bodies with someone else—the only difference was that you had assumed Sam was dead. The last thing you wanted was to react emotionally and risk hurting him.

“Please say something, Y/N.”

After taking a deep breath to release the tension in your throat, you spoke softly. “I’m a little upset about that whole interaction, but I’ll be okay.” You kept your gaze fixed out the window on the city skyline, worried that if you looked at him, you’d fall apart.

The hotel was beautiful, especially compared to the seedy motels you were used to. He had splurged and gotten a honeymoon suite—thanks to the money he saved working at the bar in town.

Your heart swelled when you saw the room had a whirlpool, but you were still weighed down by the night’s events. A small part of you had hoped Sam was going to propose—now you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

“What do you think?” he asked as you looked around the room.

“It’s really nice, Sam.”

“I figured you’d like the tub,” he said gently.

You smiled nervously as you sat on the edge of the bed. Sam was desperately trying to salvage what he could of the evening he had worked so hard to make special for you.

All you wanted to do was change and crawl into bed, but a bath sounded too appealing to pass up.

Relaxing into the warmth, you could feel the tension of the evening start to melt into the background.

Sam settled next to you, but you didn’t have the nerve to face him yet. One pitiful look from him was all it would take to soften you.

Almost like he could read your mind, he grabbed your waist and pulled you into his lap, your knees bracketing him.

“Hey—look at me,” he said, pinching your waist lightly.

You finally relented, knowing you were going to get lost in his hazel eyes.

“I’m really sorry about what happened, and we’re going to figure out what’s going on. Can we just try to enjoy tonight?”

It was hard, but you bit your lip and nodded.

He kissed you, gently cupping your cheek and tracing his thumb along your jaw. His other hand slid down your lower back, pressing you closer to him. You could feel your need pooling low in your stomach, but you hesitated.

You knew he had been with at least one other person—if not more—while he was soulless. Why wouldn’t there have been more?

“Sam—” you murmured quietly, pulling back.

He pressed a kiss into your neck, and your thighs tightened around him despite yourself. Your body and mind were at odds.

His teeth grazed the soft skin below your ear, and he kissed the goosebumps forming along your neck.

He didn’t even know what he had done—how could you be angry at him? You couldn’t be. But you were hurt.

You felt him getting hard beneath you, pressed against your core, and your nails dug into his shoulders.

It took every ounce of your willpower, but you pulled away and slid out of his lap. You could have sworn you heard him whimper from the loss.

“I’m sorry…I’m just not feeling good,” you said quietly as you stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around yourself.

Sam’s chest ached. He was angry at himself for something he didn’t remember doing—something he would never do to you. He needed to talk to Dean, or Bobby—someone who could help explain what was going on.

Not tonight, though.

You finally emerged from the bathroom after removing your makeup and letting your hair down, wearing one of his old shirts.

“Are you feeling better? Do you need anything?”

You shook your head and crawled into bed. The bedding felt soft and cool against your skin, and you relaxed quickly.

Sam joined you, sliding in to occupy the space behind you. With one hand tucked under your pillow, his other arm wrapped protectively around your waist, pulling you against his warm chest.

“Get some sleep, baby. I’m always here,” he murmured into your shoulder before pressing a kiss there. 

Waking up without an agenda or a child to attend to was heavenly. When you finally woke up, Sam was already awake, enjoying the slower pace.

He still had his arm around your waist, his palm resting on your bare stomach. You both could tell the other was awake by your breathing alone.

You turned around in his arms and nuzzled your face into his chest.

Tangled in the soft sheets with him, you almost forgot why you had been so upset. You were reminded of when you first got together in your early 20s, after he joined you and Dean following Stanford. After he lost Jess.

Those mornings usually smelled like cheap motel coffee, stale cigarettes, and takeout. The sheets weren’t as soft, but all you could focus on was the warm body next to you.

If you were lucky and the two of you got your own room, you’d wake up to him getting you ready to take him again. If you were in the same room as Dean, you’d still wake up wrapped around each other, just like you were this morning.

He rested his chin on your head, his palm settling against your lower back.

“You feeling better?” he muttered softly, his voice low and sweet.

“Yeah,” you mumbled against his chest. “It just feels good to lay with you.”

Sam had been awake longer than you, just enjoying the closeness—getting lost in the rhythmic rise and fall of your shoulders, the way the rising sun highlighted your silhouette.

At one point, he had quietly slipped out of bed, retrieving the tiny box from his jacket pocket hanging in the closet. He studied it for a moment before looking back at your sleeping form—wondering if someone as effortlessly beautiful would spend the rest of your life with someone like him. He had literally been yanked from the pits of Hell. He’d been possessed. Marked as a baby—destined for chaos and destruction. And now, he might have crossed a line he couldn’t come back from.

Still, his selfishness compelled him to want you forever.

He set the box down on his nightstand and slid back into bed behind you.

Now, with you tucked between his arms, completely at ease, his heart was pounding.

As soon as he worked up the nerve to open his mouth, you rolled away and slid out of bed.

“Hold that thought, gotta pee.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. That was the effortless charm he had always admired.

When you came back, he was sitting up with his back against the headboard, a nervous smile on his face. You blushed under his gaze and hurried back to bed.

You straddled his lap, pushing his soft bangs aside. His hands settled on your hips.

“Hey,” Sam said quietly.

You hummed in response.

“You know how much I love you—and Willa. Right?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, lowering your gaze to your hands resting on his chest. “And I love you, too.”

He shifted, fishing the ring box out from under his pillow. His hand trembled slightly as he opened it in front of you.

You stared at the beautiful ring, completely in shock.

“I understand if you say no…I just, um—”

Watching Sam stammer over his words made you forget whatever you had been angry about.

“Breathe, Sammy,” you whispered.

He let out a breathy sigh and smiled.

“Will you marry me? Please?”

You hadn’t seen him this nervous before—not even when you found out you were expecting. Never on a hunt.

You gently grabbed and inspected the ring. It wasn’t a typical engagement ring—a gold or silver band with a large central stone. Sure, they’re pretty, but they weren’t practical in your opinion. Sam had gotten you a gold band with a whimsical arrangement of small, nested diamonds, with a slightly larger stone at the center. Nothing with a high profile that can easily get snagged and lost. You rarely wore jewelry and probably wouldn’t notice if you lost a diamond. 

The ring represented your love story. It was long and dynamic. It wasn’t characterized by one particular event, but a series of small victories. It was unique and complex. 

“Y/N?”

You looked up at him with glassy eyes, still gently holding the ring.

Sliding it onto your finger, you inspected it on your hand.

He was desperately trying to read you. “You gotta give me something, baby.”

Blinking up at him, a tear finally slipped free and you smiled. “I just wanted to make sure it fit.”

Sam exhaled in relief, his eyes lighting up. He grabbed your face with both hands, pressing his forehead to yours before kissing you. You threaded your fingers through his hair and let yourself fall into him.

Wrapping his arms around you and peppering you with kisses, he laid you back so that he was hovering over you. He watched you squirm under his gaze, caged between his arms. His hand gripped the hem of your shirt, slowly sliding his rough palm underneath against your soft skin, when you wiggled away from his touch.

“Sam—checkout is in a half hour,” you whined.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be done before that.” 

It was a relief to be home and see Willa again. She had never done an overnight with a sitter, but she handled it well with only a minimal number of meltdowns.

Willa intently studied the shiny new addition on your finger, even if she didn’t understand its significance. Sam just smiled and pressed a kiss to your temple, slowly rubbing your back before taking your bags upstairs to unpack.

You took the rest of the day to settle in and bask in the glow of your new engagement as a family. In the back of your mind, though, you knew that your relationship was about to be tested.

The next day, Sam woke up early, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before getting out of bed. He went to get Willa before she had a chance to wake you. Seeing her standing in her crib with her toothy smile and wild brown hair sticking up in every direction made his heart swell.

Once Willa was set up in her highchair, making a mess of her breakfast, Sam pulled out his phone to call his brother.

“How ya been, Sammy?”

The boys exchanged awkward pleasantries while they tried to read each other through the phone.

“Listen, I’m having some…issues.”

“Aw, man, I don’t want to know about that—”

“No, nothing like that. I think I’m having memories, Dean. This random woman came up to us at dinner and gave me one of my old business cards. It made me remember things that I don’t remember.”

Sam paused, trying to collect himself and make sure you weren’t awake. “I think I did some shit, Dean. Some awful things.”

He expected his brother to dismiss him, but he was silent.

“I think we should talk. In person. I’ll be there in a couple days.”

The rest of the day was tense—Sam was withdrawn, which was completely out of character for him. He was always nearby, though, keeping a close eye on you and Willa, but he was disengaged.

Now that he recognized his visions as recovered memories, he was haunted by one in particular.

The image of you shaking and silently crying beneath him, in the safety of your own bed—the bed you shared.

What had made you so terrified of him that night? If he had really hurt you in that way, why would you let him come back?

Even if he didn’t remember doing it, he was still responsible. He didn’t feel right touching you—didn’t think he deserved to even look at you.

Watching Sam silently implode was painful. You did your best to draw him out, but it was pointless. Luckily, Dean was on his way. If he couldn’t help Sam, no one could.

Walker’s ears perked up at the sound of the Impala rumbling up the driveway. It had been months since any of you had seen Dean. Your heart skipped a beat and you stood immediately, fidgeting with your ring.

Sam watched your reaction as you moved to the window, and it made his heart sink.

As soon as Dean stepped inside, Walker was all over him, panting happily and thumping his tail against his leg.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean said, returning the affection with firm head scratches.

Willa was equally excited to see him, so you gave them space to have their moment. Sam stood next to you watching the interaction, his arm draped around your waist, keeping you anchored at his side.

Dean finally set Willa down, watching her toddle away happily, leaving the three of you in an awkward standoff.

“I’m gonna go make Willa some lunch,” you said, quietly excusing yourself—though not before briefly meeting Dean’s gaze.

The brothers gathered around the Impala, where Dean handed Sam a beer from a cooler in the backseat.

“Alright, Sam. What’s going on?” Dean popped the cap on his beer, offering the opener to Sam.

“How long have I been back, Dean? When did Cas actually pull me out of the Cage?”

Dean considered lying again, wanting to protect Sam—as usual.

“He uh…he pulled you out almost immediately.”

Sam’s face drained of color. He felt shock and rage begin to churn in his chest.

“A year?!”

The irony wasn’t lost on Dean. Just a few months ago, when Sam had shown up soulless, Dean had reacted the same way.

“What did I do, Dean? Please—don’t lie to me.”

There was no way he could fully explain how Sam had acted toward the people he loved most. Dean wasn’t even entirely aware of everything that had happened between you and Sam, but he knew it wasn’t good. Still, Sam deserved some version of the truth.

There was also the risk that telling him too much could shatter what remained of the wall in his mind, and Dean knew exactly what that could mean. He had to tread carefully.

“Yes—you did get pulled out immediately. But Cas wasn’t able to get all of you out. Your soul was…stuck. For a year. You disappeared, Sam. We had no idea you were alive. You just…showed up here after almost a year. Shocked the hell out of all of us—but you weren’t right. We all knew something was wrong, we just didn’t know what.”

Sam set his beer on the roof of the Impala and braced himself there, watching condensation collect on the glass bottle as he tried to absorb it all.

“From what I saw in that restaurant, it wasn’t anything good. I think I cheated on her—at least once. God knows what else I did.”

Dean tried to reassure him that he hadn’t been in his right mind—that it hadn’t really been him—but Sam was too far gone to hear it.

“I did something to Y/N. I don’t know what,” he said, voice breaking. “I remembered part of it. Why would she let me come back?”

“Because she knows that wasn’t you, Sam.” Dean felt anger simmer in his chest. “Listen—the reason you don’t remember any of this is because there’s a wall in your mind. It’s protecting you from the memories of being locked in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael. Those memories could destroy you—and so could these. That’s why we didn’t tell you. She needs you, man. So does your daughter.”

Sam shook his head, unable to let go of the blame. “I don’t deserve it. You survived without a wall in your mind, and you were in Hell longer than me.”

“I wasn’t locked in the Cage with two furious archangels. This is different. Cas said you might not even survive having your soul put back. It’s a miracle you’re even alive, Sam—”

“No—I need to know,” Sam cut in. “I’m responsible for what I did, even if it kills me.”

Before Sam could walk back into the house, Dean grabbed his shirt and yanked him back.

“You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to be a martyr—not when you’ve got two people depending on you! She already grieved you once and barely survived it. What gives you the right to do that to her again?”

Sam went quiet, trying to take it in.

“I have to make this right, Dean. I can’t just let it go.” His voice was strained, torn between guilt and instinct.

“You do that by showing up for her every day. Treating her right. Keeping her safe. Giving her the life she deserves. That’s how you make it right.”

Dean was right—but Sam struggled to accept it.

“Is that what you did?” Sam asked quietly, genuinely. Still, Dean’s jaw ticked at the question.

“We thought you were dead,” he answered flatly. “But yeah—that’s what I did. Because it’s what you would have done.”

Even if the reasoning was sound, Sam hadn’t come to terms with the relationship you and Dean had. Growing up, it had always been difficult not to feel overshadowed by Dean’s presence. Because of that, Sam had learned to be defensive of the things that were his.

“Look—if you want to know what you were up to before you got your soul back, you’ll have to talk to Bobby. He knew you were back and didn’t tell me,” Dean said, trying to shift the conversation. “If it were me, though, I don’t think I’d want to know.”

That was where Sam and Dean were different—Dean preferred to ignore his problems or drown them in alcohol. Sam needed to dissect them until he understood them, even if it hurt.

Dean’s words were heavy, and they began to sink in. Sam wanted to know what he had done to you, but he understood the risk of breaking the wall–both of you losing everything. 

You heard Dean’s distinct bootsteps entering the kitchen, causing you to turn around. It was such a familiar sound, but it had been so long since you’d heard them. 

“Hey–where’s Sam? Is everything okay?” 

“He’s outside, I just wanted to come see you for a minute. I gotta get back to Indiana.”

“To Lisa?”

Dean nodded, looking down. 

“Looks like he finally asked you,” he said, nodding towards the ring on your hand.

You started fidgeting with it again. “Finally?

“Yeah. He’s had that ring since you guys found out you were pregnant with Willa. Kept it hidden in the trunk of the Impala,” he smiled at the memory. “He was always too chicken to ask you. Sounds like he finally got the balls.” 

“Is he going to be okay? What about the memories?” 

“He remembers some things, but not everything. I think it’s better for him to leave it alone–”

“--but he doesn’t want to.”

You loved how altruistic Sam could be, but it often bordered on martyrdom. 

“I wish you could stay, De. I miss you–we all do.” 

His chest ached, but he knew the distance was the best thing. Even if this was home for him. 

He stepped towards you, pulling you into a hug. “Call me if you need me. I’m always here for you, Y/N.” 

Dean pressed a quick kiss into your temple before walking out, leaving you alone in the kitchen again 

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Last time i've seen the sun."