#spnmixedbingo

PART X

Bobby fiddled around with the unfinished box when, bingo, it popped open, revealing a bunch of rolled papers inside. He crossed to the garage and fired up a printer, making copies of the documents then returned everything to its original position because John would notice if anything were misplaced. Heading back to his room, Bobby noticed light still coming from underneath the boy's door and lightly rapped it before opening it.

The elder brother was spooning his mate from behind, which made sense since Bobby knew from personal experience that lying on bruised ribs dulled the pain. However, it was difficult for the man to process why his brother was sleeping snugly against her front, his fingers twined with Dean's, resting on her hip.

****

Bobby is jerked out of his troubled sleep by a truck engine rumbling to life. Moving the window, he sees the taillights as John's GMC crunches over the gravel driveway toward the gate. Cursing obscenities in multiple languages, he rushes downstairs and pivots toward the front door when a voice calls out, "Denver Pyle aware you stole his underwear?"

Doubling back, he finds Dean sitting at the kitchen table with a smirk, drinking coffee. "Don't think you're too big to be taken to the woodshed, boy." Bobby chastised with as much dignity as he could muster in his red flannel long johns, walking to the stove to pour himself a cup from the old blue enamel pot. Ignoring the other man's continued smirk sat down across from him. "Good to see your eyes back to normal. Ready to tell me what that was about last night?"

That sobered Dean up.

He inquired how much Bobby knew about everything, and the Beta was honest about what he'd been told and felt that familiar pang of resentment toward John, watching Dean retreat into himself, knowing self-recrimination was nothing new for him.

"Seeing it's too early to get breakfast from Micky D's, I'm guessing John's found somewhere else to be." The young Alpha shrugged, saying it is what it is, and fiddled with his mug. "Anyway, I gotta keep my nose clean so Sammy doesn't end up in CYF custody. And seeing how you're my warden, that's the parole officer we're supposed to meet today." Dean slid a piece of paper over with his parole officer's info. "Is there anything else I should know before seeing them?" Dean shook his head negatively. Bobby braced himself, knowing the next thing coming out of his mouth would raise the Alpha's hackles.

"Couldn't help noticing number girl shivering in those hand-me-downs last night, and Sam needs some warmer clothes for school; going to get damn cold before too much longer." Deans features shifted, "Bobby, it's my responsibility to provide. I'll get what they need after I find a job."

"Looks like John forgot a few details. Part of the agreement is you'll work for me, too. But if that's how you want to do things, I've got no problem docking your paycheck in reimbursement." After rinsing his mug, the older hunter crossed his arms, leaning against the counter, and decided to bring up what he saw last night.

"Considering we have an Omega in the house, I want to get a few things straight,. You boys have always been close, and don’t care if you still share a room, but don't take me for stupid." A flash of oh crap crosses Dean's features. "And I want to be clear: she's your property. It'll be your decision how to handle situations when they arise. Where Sam is concerned, there'd better not be any fighting over her 'cause I'm not getting in the middle of you two. And give me a heads up before you go into a rut 'cause that's another thing I'm not going to deal with either."

After getting a yes sir, Bobby heads back upstairs to get dressed when he runs into Sam, who asks why he is dressed like Uncle Jessie makes the Beta grumble; this is gonna be a long six months.

Bobby once again wonders where god got their twisted sense of humor.

The building Dean's parole officer directed them to look like a country feed store from the outside. Inside, that was a different story.

Bobby had learned a few things about people's kinks over the years, but this place shocked the seasoned hunter when a bubbly voice that didn't match the decor called out, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I help you with today?"

Bobby watches Dean lean against the glass counter, showcasing a variety of erotic toys, turns on the charm he's mastered at a young age, turning the female Beta into goo while explaining he needs the necessities for his recently acquired Omega.

The shop assistant leaned towards him, putting her ample bosom on display. "We carry all the approved items from the O divisions. But if you're interested in something more adventurous, we have a certified craftsman who does custom designs." Bobby slaps the list they'd compiled on the counter, "We just need this stuff."

The assistant does a quick read and, within minutes, has almost everything sitting on the counter. "Most of our customers prefer to custom order outfits for their O. Let me show you what we have in store; see if any strikes your fancy."

Exaggeratedly swaying her hips, she heads toward the clothes section, where Bobby picks up a shirt and says, "This stuff makes the lingerie I gave my wife look conservative." Dean nodded toward him and inquired. "Do you have anything not so revealing for an O about his height?" The assistant looked confused. "Are you kidding?" Dean shook his head, and her attitude changed. "If this is some prank, you can leave, or I'm calling the cops."

Bobby intervenes, and Dean can hear the testy assistant's insolent remark and Bobby's very Bobby response as he walks out of the store. Unlocking the Impala, Dean opens the rear door and helps the Omega out. As they enter the store, the manager is now arguing with Bobby. "O's are not that big; it's a biological impossibility!" Bobby replies, "Oh yeah," and peers around them, "Tell that to her!"

Dean sat a bowl of spaghetti covered in meat sauce and salad he'd made to appease Sam in the middle of the table, then went to pull the cheesy garlic bread from the broiler. "Damn, that smells good," Bobby said coming from the library with Sam in tow, and sat in their usual spots at the kitchen table.

Reaching for a piece of bread, Bobby asked, "Isn't your girl hungry?" Sam's eyes cut to his brother, waiting to see how he'd answer, and watched Bobby's narrow at Dean's casual response, knowing he was concealing something.

"She won't touch the stuff Dad bought, so Dean's been sneaking her food, but the only thing she'll take is broth." Sam yelped and kicked his brother back. "This true, boy?" Dean affirmed that he had, and Bobby wiped his mouth. "Show me the stuff John got."

Retrieving a bag resembling dry dog food Bobby opened it frowning, "This isn't fit to feed a hog, let alone a person! Why'd he get this crap?"

"It's on the list of approved nourishment."

Bobby sighed, "As long as you're in my house, we all will eat like other families."

Completing more paperwork made Dean gnaw on the end of the pen because the bureaucracy involved in owning an Omega annoyed the Alpha after spending most of his life trying to stay off the government radar. A cough drew his attention, and he saw the Omega shivering where she knelt on the tiled floor.

"Fuck this," Dean growled, tossing the clipboard aside, got up, and getting her up off the floor, removed his jacket and wrapped it around her before helping her sit in the chair next to his.

Returning the clipboard, Dean drew the receptionist's ire and let them know he doesn't give a shit about their rules before sitting down, glaring. He continued until they were called and slowly made their way to an examination room at the far end of the clinic, where the doctor Bobby knew was already waiting.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Stevenson. Could you please have her remove the coat and sit on the table? I've looked over the other clinic's paperwork. Are there any other issues you're concerned about?" Dean tells them about her not eating and the constant pain she seems to be in, even with the substantial pain reliever being given. "Let me do another examination, see if something got missed."

The doctor asks the O to indicate pain on a scale of one to ten, starting at her feet and working up her body. They are pleased that most reactions are under five until they touch her neck, and she throws herself off the table. "Believe we found the source," the doctor comments. They ask Dean to remove the collar, and he admits not knowing how it made them frown.

Dean helps the trembling O back up as the doctor pulls out a penlight and shines it over the collar, finding hidden stitching and their expression changes.

"What's wrong?"

"I haven't seen one of these since my residency. I'll find something to cut the leather while you hold her." Dean drew the O flush against him and gently guided her face into his neck, releasing calming pheromones to relax her.

Dr. Stevenson slid surgical scissors under the ties, quickly sniping, explaining the original high collars were redesigned for autoerotic asphyxiation. Their voice fades out as Dean feels like he's having needles pulling out from under the skin of his neck when she drops. "I was expecting that. Let's get the O back on the table."

The doctor continues talking as they slowly remove it, "And this is why they're outlawed," stepping back allows Dean to see deep purple bruises with black depressions stripping the unconscious O's neck.

Part XI

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva   @lassie-bird  @nancymcl   @spnbaby-67 @leigh70 @b3autyfuld1sast3r

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys  @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67

Dean was constantly doing research these days. Holing up in his room. Trying to find a way to get rid of the mark on his arm, or at least to relieve the terrible side effects that it came with. His mossy green eyes had lost their light. The fun-loving, Impala-driving, pie-eating, lady-charming Dean was gone. It pained Y/N to see him like that.

“You’re never too old to have a good time,” she argued, finally getting him to look up, to look her in the eye. And boy, did he look tired. “I miss my best friend,” she added.

Dean’s jaw clenched, a tiny spark of guilt flashing through his eyes. He was neglecting his relationships with the people closest to him, he knew that. But the mark was driving him insane. Slowly pushing him over the edge he’d been dancing on for ages. “Y/N, just let it go, okay? I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, holding his gaze with determination. “Because I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen you smile in weeks.” She missed his smile so bad. The way his pearly white teeth would show. The way his plump lips would curl upward. The faint dimples that would appear on his cheeks.

Dean’s jaw clenched yet again. His mesmerizing, angry eyes glared up at her. “What, and dragging me to the club, of all places, is gonna change that?”, he snapped.

Y/N wasn’t fazed by his attitude. She knew that beneath all the rage and hostility, he was suffering. And no matter how angry he was, she was never going to be afraid of him. “There’s nothing that music, booze, and attractive people can’t let you forget about. At least for a little while.” She bent down and grabbed his hand, pulling on it in an attempt to make him get up.

With a small grunt, Dean complied. Carelessly, he brushed the papers off of his lap and pushed himself up on his feet. Y/N took his other hand as well and started pulling him toward his dresser. With an exaggerated eye roll, Dean trudged along.

“Are you really gonna make me go?”, he sulked, his forehead puckering with annoyance.

“It’ll be fun,” she insisted, wriggling her eyebrows at him, “We’ll find that Hookup Henley of yours, go to the club, get wasted, and look for a beautiful woman for you to go home with.”

Dean scoffed. The Hookup Henley – the green Henley that he tended to wear whenever him and Y/N went looking for hookups. Honestly, he didn’t even believe that this particular shirt was the main ingredient for his success with women.

No. It was Y/N. The huntress was the key to his conquests. She was the perfect wingman. Well, wingwoman. With her smile, she could draw in any woman that Dean fancied. And when Y/N used her sweet voice to introduce him to his chosen ones, the deal was sealed within a matter of seconds.

“I hate you,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled the green Henley from his drawer.

“You love me,” she corrected, grinning at him, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

A nostalgic smile spread across Y/N’s mouth. It had been way too long since she’d felt the beat of vibrating music in her chest. The night club was packed with people who were dancing, drinking, laughing, chatting. She’d only just entered, but she was already having a good time.

Dean, on the other hand, didn’t like it nearly half as much. The lights were flashing too bright. The music was too upbeat. The people were too happy. He scowled bitterly as he followed his friend through the crowd.

“Come on! This is gonna be great!”, she yelled over the music, taking a hold of his hand. With a bounce in her step, she yanked Dean to the bar.

He rolled his eyes, but to his own dismay, he was unable to stop the teeny-tiny smile that suddenly laced his lips. Who was he kidding? Y/N’s enthusiasm never failed to tug on his heart strings. He watched her closely as she ordered their first drinks for the night, talking animatedly to the bartender.

Dean had no clue why Y/N hadn’t left him behind already. Why she hadn’t cut ties with him, especially now that he had the Mark of Cain. But then again, she’d never left him behind before. And deep down, he hoped she never would.

“Alright, big boy, drink up!”, she yelled over the music and handed him a shot, her black nail polish sparkling in the strobe lights.

Dean scowled, trying to hide the fact that he was actually grateful for the alcohol that was going to enter his system. Alcohol meant ease. Ease was good. Now that he had the mark, he was incapable of relaxing. He was constantly on guard, constantly trying to control his temper, constantly thinking about violence.

They both knocked back their drink, wincing as the alcohol streamed down their throats with a comforting burn.

“And now…” Y/N smacked her lips together, tasting the remaining sheen of booze. “Step two.”

Dean lifted his eyebrows and looked down at her with fearful anticipation. “Step two?”

“Let’s go dance!”, she exclaimed, just loud enough to be heard despite the booming music.

“No, no, no,” Dean blurted, shaking his head. He could feel the walls around him come up even higher. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “Alright, then… Another round of shots, it is. I will make you feel better tonight, Dean. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

"Come on! Give me at least one dance, Winchester,” Y/N mumbled, holding up one finger with a tipsy chuckle. She couldn’t tell anymore how many drinks they’d had. Not that it mattered.

"Alright, alright. One dance. Come 'ere." With two clumsy hands, he took her by the waist and pulled her close to his body. The ease had slowly but surely started to kick in after their last round of shots. "Damn, you're annoying today," he continued with a little amused smile on his face. He hadn’t smiled in so long that it made his cheeks feel strange.

Y/N laughed freely and snaked her arms around his neck, crossing them around the back. She leaned up to speak right into his ear. Between her and Dean, physical boundaries had never mattered much. "I'm just what you need."

Something about the tone in her voice sent a shiver down Dean's spine. He couldn't identify that shiver, and it bothered the hell out of him. People didn't always associate that quality with him, but Dean was very self-aware. Even drunk, he was aware of his thought patterns and physical reactions. But the shiver that Y/N made him feel… It was foreign to him. He hated foreign feelings, foreign sensations. He hated that the sensation felt so good. She was his friend, for God’s sake.

Y/N started to sway from side to side, using her arms to softly ease Dean into her rhythm.

He obliged and circled his arms around her middle, his hands landing on her lower back. Part of him felt stupid, swaying left and right in the middle of a crowd. He felt like a drunken fool. But he also felt good. For the first time in a long time. Which only made him more frustrated. He shouldn't get to feel good. Not now, not with the mark on his arm. Not after the things he'd done.

"You're overthinking," Y/N stated, looking Dean straight in the eye. Looking right through him, as usual.

And suddenly, it dawned on him. Why he'd been holing up in his room. Why he’d been hiding from his friend. He’d known that she was going to make him feel better. Make him feel hopeful. He didn’t deserve hope. He didn’t deserve her.

"It's kinda hard not to nowadays,” he blurted. He averted his eyes and focused on the rhythm of the music. Maybe going to the club hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all. There were lots of stimuli to focus on. To distract him. To get lost in.

“I know. But guess what?” Y/N lowered her head to catch Dean’s eye again. “You got this,” she reassured him with a nod of her head, “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Dean felt her fingers on the back of his neck, her fingertips gently grazing the exposed skin. On instinct, his hands went to her hips. He could feel their shape, feel Y/N’s fluid movements against his palms. She’d forced him to dance with her before, but it was different this time. Back then, their dances had been silly and dumb. This dance felt strangely… close. Sensual.

Just as Dean was about to reply, she added, “And one of the worst dancers.”

His eyes widened, an expression of feigned hurt popping up on his face. “Oh, shut up. You better get us another round of shots before I blow this joint.”

Y/N chuckled, the skin around her Y/E/C eyes wrinkling. She knew him well enough to know that the night club had awoken his interest by now. “Alright, one final round of shots before we find our hookups for the night?”

Dean nodded his head more eagerly than he intended.

The smile that Y/N responded with shone brighter than all the strobe lights combined.

“What about that one?”, she inquired, lazily nodding at a pretty brunette who was waiting to receive her drink at the bar. Y/N’s hips were moving from side to side, her back pressed against Dean’s solid chest. She ground herself against him, feeling his strong hands tighten around her hips. Yes, physical boundaries were nonexistent at this point.

“Nah.” Dean bent down over her shoulder, inching a little too close, to speak into her ear. “She’s here with a guy. I want it quick and easy tonight,” he mumbled as his scruffy cheek pressed against her smooth one. If anyone had told him that he was going to dance with Y/N in the middle of the dance floor of a night club, grinding against her body, he would never have believed it.

Y/N couldn’t deny the hot tingling sensation that rolled up and down her spine at Dean’s closeness, at the sound of his deep voice in her ear, at the smell of his cologne. “Who’s she with?”, she asked casually, feeling the hair at the back of her neck stand up.

Dean tightened his arms around her waist from behind and shifted on his feet, turning Y/N into the direction of a tall, dark-haired man. He held her closer than he needed to, but her body just felt like it was made for his greedy embrace. “With Pretty Boy over there.”

“Too bad,” Y/N sighed, laying her head back against Dean’s shoulder with a small pout. “He’s cute.”

“Please,” Dean scoffed. His hips automatically pushed forward as he felt Y/N’s ass move against his front. He could feel his pants get tight and suppressed the moan that threatened to leave his lips. “You can do better.”  

She smiled to herself and twirled around in Dean’s embrace, feeling woozy as she did so. As she came face to face with him, she wrapped her arms around his neck again. Pulling him down, she erased what little distance remained between them. “Nice moves, Winchester. I guess you’re a dancer after all,” she teased.

His hands reclaimed their place on her hips, his fingers dancing on the threshold to her ass. What wouldn’t he give to test the waters and let them slide down further? The dip of her lower back was tempting him to try it out. To touch her curves. They were playing a game of cat and mouse, and it excited him. Only, he wasn’t sure who was the cat and who was the mouse in this scenario.

“Those aren’t my only moves, Sweetheart.” He could feel the alcohol pulsating through his veins, clouding his mind. Y/N was gorgeous. How had he never noticed that? His eyes lingered on her face, mesmerized by the sheer beauty he found there. Her eyes were shining blue, green, yellow, red, perfectly reflecting each of the club’s flashing lights.

She arched an eyebrow, her lips morphing into a sultry smile. “Oh, yeah? Sounds like one of the ladies here is gonna get very lucky tonight.”

Alright, Y/N was definitely the cat. Every bone in Dean’s body screamed at him not to be the mouse, but the way she looked at him – like she was going to jump him any second – it made his knees weak. Before he could so much as think of a flirty remark, Y/N caught sight of a handsome man on the dance floor.

“Hey, look at that guy.” Chewing on her lower lip, she didn’t realize how enchanted Dean was by her beauty, how his eyes didn’t leave her face. “I think he might be tonight’s choice,” she added.

With hooded eyes, Dean tore his gaze away from Y/N and looked to the side. He had to admit the other guy was her type. Damn it, had he read her signs wrong? “Yeah… Why not?”, he replied, his voice sounding even and calm. But on the inside, he wasn’t feeling calm at all. He certainly didn’t want to feel that way, but there was a heavy stone sinking from his chest down to his stomach. In some strange way, despite his hate for clubs and dancing, he wanted to stay with Y/N. He wanted for Y/N to stay with him.

She dragged her bottom lip out between her teeth, missing the way Dean’s eyes lingered on her mouth. “I’m gonna go over there,” she declared and let go of his neck. She ruffled her Y/H/C hair, pushing it up with her hands. “How do I look?”

Begrudgingly, Dean let go of her, leaving his hands to hang awkwardly by his sides as Y/N cut the invisible tie between them. He cleared his throat and touched his Adam’s apple with his fingers. “You look good.”

“What about you?” Y/N smiled up at him, almost taking his breath away. “Who’re you gonna chat up?”

“Oh, I, uh…” He scratched the back of his head with his blunt fingernails. The mark on his arm started to pulsate, which he ignored to the best of his ability. Not now, he mentally scolded the mark. “I’ve had my eye on that blonde over there.” Weakly, he pointed at a beautiful blonde woman who was dancing with a friend.

“Good choice.” Y/N tilted her head and pursed her lips in approval. “You need any help?”

“Nah. Not tonight. I’m good.”

“Alright. Good luck.” Y/N found his hand and squeezed it, just as she always did before they parted ways. It was her own special way of saying ‘See you later.’

Slowly, her fingers slipped through his, their touch getting lost in their intentions to find someone else.

A million thoughts shot through Dean’s head as he watched her push through the crowd. On her way to another guy. When Y/N suddenly looked over her shoulder, meeting Dean’s eyes once more, he knew. He could tell by the way the Mark of Cain was itching and burning at the same time. It was yearning for her.

Dean wanted her.

Y/N’s back slid up and down the wall of the bathroom, over and over again. The man’s hands harshly gripped the flesh of her thighs, keeping them wrapped around his waist. Her dress was bunched up around her hips. His jeans were pushed down his legs as his length pounded into her.

She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and threw her head back. His lips instantly attached themselves to her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses to her skin. When he sucked on her favorite spot, she felt herself fall apart around him. Her body quivered nonstop while she came.

As she panted with pleasure, her hands curled around his shirt – the very same shirt that was supposed to help him sleep with someone else. But here she was, having sex with her best friend in a dirty public bathroom.

In his drunken state, Dean had gone after Y/N. He’d pushed through the crowd, crossing the dance floor until he’d caught up with her. His fingers had curled around her wrist. His hand had turned her around. His lips had landed on hers, effectively keeping her from hooking up with that other guy. Everything had happened so fast. And now, here they were, screwing each other’s brains out.

Y/N moaned, Dean’s name sitting on the tip of her tongue, ready to slip out. But she bit her lip, willing her mouth not to say his name. There was something so wrong, so naughty, about this. The forbidden fruit. The line that should never be crossed between friends. It was glorious.

Meanwhile, Dean grunted into Y/N’s ear, forcing himself not to groan her name. The way her pussy clenched around him felt incredible. Too good to be true. It was so wrong to have sex with his best friend, his wingwoman, in the club’s bathroom. And still, he never wanted it to end. He wanted to remain buried inside of her until the end of time. His mark vibrated in perfect sync with his thrusts, the pain mingling with the pleasure. Something primitive and carnal took over his soul, making him push into Y/N even harder.

She gripped his shoulders tightly, her tipsy mind admiring his strength, his power. His lips and tongue felt so good against her neck. The swollen tip of his dick was buried so deep inside of her that she knew he was going to ruin her for any other man.

Dean was sweating, grunting, grinding. He poured everything he had into his thrusts, hoping for the ache in his forearm to be replaced by the soreness in his muscles. He gave Y/N all he had. If he did something so wrong, he might as well do it right.

As he felt his orgasm approaching, his head started to spin. The pain intensified across his forearm – and turned into the same pain that he felt whenever he killed something. Or someone.

It was a satisfying ache. Until it wasn’t.

As he emptied himself into the condom, Dean felt like the skin was being carved from his forearm. The mark was burning so bad that he squeezed his eyes shut and released a pained, dragged-out groan. He sounded like an animal, a monster, like a demon that was being exorcised.

Dean could hear a faint, sweet sound passing his eardrums. It took him a second to realize that the sound was Y/N’s concerned voice. When he lifted his head to meet her gaze, he was met with wide, Y/E/C orbs. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in their beautiful color, to feel like everything was going to be alright.

“Dean… Dean, what’s wrong?”, she repeated in between harsh breaths, her legs still locked around his waist. Her hands cupped his stubbled jaw as she tried to get a good look at his face.

He suddenly realized he was still pinning her to the wall, still sheathed inside her. He pushed air from his lungs, clearing his throat with a small noise. He pulled out of her and slowly let her down. As soon as Y/N’s feet hit the ground, he turned away from her, wiping his hands down his face. He leaned against the bathroom sink and pulled off the condom, his back facing her.

Y/N could see that he was struggling and felt herself sober up a little. She wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug, to take away his suffering. But she had no idea whether he wanted her near him. He was like a wounded animal sometimes. He tended to lash out when he was in pain.

Dean gasped as he tossed the used condom into the trashcan next to the sink. His arm hurt like hell. He was feeling dizzy. With pain and shame thrumming through his bones, he pulled up his boxers and pants.

Y/N couldn’t rip her worried gaze away from him. She pushed her dress down to cover her legs and slowly approached Dean, her steps timid. He tensed visibly when her hand finally came into contact with his upper arm. “Dean, hey… What is it?”, she inquired quietly, fully prepared to be pushed away.

“The mark…,” he grunted, feeling the engorged skin pulsate violently as he stared down at it. He didn’t dare to look up. He couldn’t face Y/N.

“Let me see.” Her voice was soft and gentle as she reached out to touch the angry red mark. “Please.”

Dean bared his teeth, wincing when her fingertips brushed against the mark. But, against his expectations, the pain didn’t intensify.

Y/N’s fingers were cold. Her tender touch cooled down the burn. Dean’s eyelids became heavy with relief, prompting him to briefly shut his eyes. Within a matter of seconds, he went from a state of pure distress to a state of comfort.

“It’s okay,” Y/N whispered and started to run her thumb along the Mark of Cain, caressing it like it was something to be cherished. Something that wasn’t evil.

“Is it?” Dean opened his emerald eyes, a pained expression masking his face. He wasn’t looking for an honest answer. He wasn’t looking for a straight response. No, he was looking for reassurance. He knew Y/N would get that. She always knew what he needed.

“Yes. It is.” Honestly, she didn’t know what either of them were referring to. Was having the Mark of Cain okay? Were the two of them okay? She had no clue what they were talking about. All she knew was that, no matter what, she was going to remain by Dean’s side. “Now breathe with me.” Y/N inhaled deeply, raising her eyebrows in a silent demand for him to follow her lead.

He rolled his eyes, but held back his comment about shoving her self-help yoga crap, and complied. He breathed in deeply and slowly, just like her. And when Y/N released her breath, so did he. The pain in his arm was turning from sharp to dull, from threatening to bearable.

“Better?” Reluctantly, Y/N let go of his arm, letting her touch fade from his mark.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, mentally cursing himself for how fragile he sounded. He coughed in an awkward attempt to save face.

Y/N quickly realized that his moment of open vulnerability was over. She knew Dean well enough not to push it. She knew it was time to change the topic. With her cheeks still flushed from the sex they’d just had, she brushed some disheveled hair behind her ear. “We should do that again sometime,” she said in a lighthearted manner, thankful that she was still intoxicated enough to be bold. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and smiled as she waited for his response.

Dean eyed her with curiosity, even a little bit of awe. She was incredible. And hot, goddamn. When their eyes met, Y/N smiled the most stunning smile he’d ever seen. All of a sudden, their little incident didn’t seem so wrong anymore. The mark was quiet now.

Dean, too, bit his lower lip, contemplating his reply. Sleeping with his best friend was a risky game. A stupid idea. Destined to fail. Finally, he settled on a gruff, “You sure?”

She nodded her head. “Yeah, I mean… That was good, right?” As casually as she could, Y/N shrugged her shoulders, trying not to show the anxiety that was starting to overthrow her boldness. “Next time we need a relief, why not help each other?”

Once again, Dean felt a shiver run down his spine. His mind was yelling at him not to agree. But his emotions urged him to take his chance. “Yeah, why not?”

“Great.” Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest. “It’s a deal.”

“It’s a deal,” he echoed, tilting his mouth up in a half-smile.

With a wink in Dean’s direction, Y/N exited the public bathroom first. Leaving him to stare after her with wonder.

Despite that night, nothing more happened between the two of them in the following weeks. Neither of them brought up the sex, the Mark of Cain, or their agreement.

Dean wanted to bring it up so bad, though. Well, actually, he wanted to go to Y/N’s room down the hall and do all kinds of naughty things to her. As he sat on his bed, he thought about how much he wanted to explore every inch of her body. His mark needed to be fed. And he had a feeling that wrecking Y/N was going to feed it just as well as killing something.

With a sigh, he tossed his closed laptop to the side, watching it bounce across the memory foam. He frowned and looked down at the shirt he was wearing – the Hookup Henley.

Thanks to their night out together, Y/N was all Dean could think about whenever he was wearing it. Her scent had long since faded from his Henley, but he could still feel her fingers tug on the fabric if he imagined it hard enough. He could still hear her moan for him. He still recalled how loved she’d made him feel.

Dean looked up from his shirt when there was a knock on his door. Wearing a frown on his face, he got up from his bed and walked across his room on sock-clad feet.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find Y/N standing on the other side, all dressed up. Her hair was done in loose curls. Her little black dress fit her body like a glove. Her eyes beamed up at him through long lashes. She was stunning. Dean raised his eyebrows at her. “You goin’ out?”

Y/N observed his face, almost getting lost in his large, beautiful eyes. “I was going to, but…,” she trailed off as she spotted the green Henley that clung tightly to his chest. Damn, she wanted to curl her fingers around the fabric all over again. She could even see his defined pecs through the shirt.

“You want me to go with you?”, Dean asked, pointing his finger down the hall. Sometimes, Y/N asked him to accompany her because she felt safer that way. This time, she wasn’t gonna have to beg him to go out. He would do anything to be close to her again. Even if that meant dancing among a crowd of strangers.

Y/N was sick and tired of not bringing up the fact that they’d had sex a few weeks ago. She craved Dean. She felt like she was going to explode if she stayed away from him. Even though they’d hooked up in a disgusting public bathroom, it was the most intense, intimate experience she’d ever had. “No… Actually… I don’t think I wanna go out anymore.”

“You wanna stay here? We could go downstairs and do some target practice...” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like a teenager who was asking for his very first date.

“No. No target practice.” Y/N took a step closer to him. Her hands came up to grab the collar of his Henley. It was now or never. She felt anxious, giddy. The way Dean eyed her – with curiosity, and wonder – made her feel alive.

“What do you want?”, Dean muttered lowly, his hot beath fanning across Y/N’s face. His heart was about ready to jump out of his chest. She was so close to him. His for the taking.

Y/N briefly looked away and kicked the door shut behind her. When she faced him again, there was a primal glimmer in her eyes.

The next few seconds felt like a lifetime to Dean. He knew she deserved better than him. He still had the Mark of Cain. He was dangerous. But if Y/N actually wanted him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. He was going to give her everything he had.

“You.”

One single word and Dean was a goner. One single word made his whole miserable world come crashing down around him. Just a second later, his lips collided with hers in a fit of desperate desire. His self-control didn’t stand much of a chance.

Y/N’s hands went to his jaw, compelling Dean to kiss her even harder. His hands went to her ass and squeezed tightly, making her hum against his lips. Their tongues showed no mercy for each other. Dean wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and fisted part of her hair, pushing her as close to him as humanly possible.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Dean’s conscience mumbled in between heated kisses. His own voice sounded so far away, almost as if he wasn’t present in his own clouded mind.

“Shhh.” Y/N placed her finger against his kiss-swollen lips and gave Dean a smile. “Just shut up and take me to bed.” Then she pressed her mouth back to his for emphasis.

Dean’s heart took a leap. Grabbing the backs of her thighs, he lifted her up into his arms, swallowing her excited squeal with his mouth. He was overwhelmed by the sensations that flooded his whole body.

Still, the most prominent feeling was the ache in his forearm. The ache that haunted him whenever he did something wrong. But he couldn’t contain himself. He needed Y/N. God, he needed her so bad that he was willing to jeopardize their friendship – one of the best things he’d ever had.

As he pushed her down on his mattress, the urge to make her scream for him became almost unbearable. He felt like he was going to corrupt her. But as he thrust into her, he felt whole, sated. The mark thanked him for giving in.

Y/N was either going to be his savior or his downfall. And either way, he was going to take his chance.

You locked the door behind you as you stepped through the threshold of the room, watching as Misha took a seat on the small couch against the wall. He was engrossed in his phone for the time being, the suspicious locking of the door going unnoticed by him. He set his device down beside him when he noticed you walking over, smiling up at you as you came to stand between his legs, his hands coming to rest on your waist. You bit your lip as you looked him over, your eyes landing on the way those fucking pants stretched over his thighs, a barely audible whimper — but a whimper, nonetheless — escaping you.

“You alright?” he asked sweetly, oblivious to your mood, cocking an eyebrow in question. God, that fucking eyebrow. No, you were not “alright”.

“Mhm,” you replied, bringing your hand to his hair, running your fingers through his dark locks. “I just…” you paused, placing one of your knees on the couch beside him, straddling his left thigh, “… really, really want you. Right now.” You ground down onto him, your hands coming to grip at his shoulders.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, no doubt collecting every last ounce of self control he had, before grabbing ahold of your wrists and pulling your hands off of his shoulders. “We can’t right now, love. I’ve got to be out there in —” he checked his watch, “fifteen minutes.” 

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear. “You’ve made me cum in a lot less than fifteen minutes.”

“Y/N,” he warned, his hold on your wrists tightening, his eyebrow raised as he stared up at you. 

You ground down again in response, a mischievous glint in your eye. 

“Oh, really?” he questioned, his tone lined with disbelief at your deliberate disobedience. 

You shrugged, repeating the action, the pressure it provided on your core more than enough to convince you to keep going, despite your boyfriend’s warnings.

Misha shook his head at you, his hands coming to grip at your hips as you kept going, your stare never leaving his. “If you cum on my thigh, it’ll be the last time for a week,” he warned, and honestly, you couldn’t care less. You were too worked up and it felt too good to stop now. You picked up the pace in response, surprising him even further. 

You looked down at his thigh, a wet spot beginning to show as your arousal seeped through your leggings, and he followed your gaze. “Fuck,” he breathed, noticing the darkening patch on his pants. He grabbed you underneath your chin, his fingers pressing into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him, his eyes darkening. “You want everyone to see what a little slut you are, hm? Is that what this is about? You’re gonna leave a mess on my thigh for everyone out there to see?” 

You nodded in his grip, his words going straight to your core. 

“That’s not being a very good girl,” he scolded, pulling your face towards his and kissing you sloppily, hungrily, before breaking it, “but fuck, sometimes I love it when you’re bad.” He glanced down at his thigh again, then to the way your hips were moving, chasing your high. “That’s right, baby.” He moved his hand from your face to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to your windpipes. You gripped onto his forearm with both hands, on the edge of a release. “Go ahead, show me what a little slut you are,” he encouraged, giving your throat an extra squeeze, and that was enough to send you over the edge, coming undone on his thigh as you held back a scream. “Gooood,” he praised as you rode through it, and you could hear a smile in his voice. 

You collapsed on top of him moments later, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face into his shoulder, a low chuckle escaping him as he rubbed his hands gently up and down your back. 

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked. 

You shrugged, trying to steady your breathing. “Think it was this outfit,” you mumbled into his cardigan.

“Is that why you decided to ruin it? I’m gonna have to change pants, baby,” he laughed softly.

A knock on the door startled the both of you. “Misha? They’re ready for you.”

“Shit.”

You giggled as you rolled off of him, and he quickly grabbed a napkin from the nearby coffee table and poured some water onto it from his plastic bottle. Trying to get your mess out only caused a bigger stain, and it wasn’t until the second knock on the door came that he finally decided to give up. 

“Coming!”

He shot you a look, one that said, “you’re in trouble”, before heading out the door. 

A few moments later, you could hear him on stage. “By the way guys, if you want to know how my day is going, I just spilled water on myself backstage, so that’s what all this is.”

Jensen didn't say anything for the next few minutes. It was something you did often. No words said. You just wanted to be in each other's company even if it was through the illuminated screen of your respective electronic devices.

“I love you,” you said to him and he flashed you his most beautiful smile. The type of smile that instantly lit up your world and made you happy. The type of smile you adorned a lot. The type of smile that feels like you're home. He was your home.

“I love you too.” He said, “I'll do my best.”

“I know you will, Jay.” He nodded.

It was your birthday but it didn't feel like one. Since the morning, you hadn't heard from Jensen and you were worried out of your mind. In the evening, you stood there in your party dress, looking around at the smiling faces of your friends but there was one thing missing. You kept checking your phone. You wanted him to be here so you got your eyes on the door hoping he would walk in any minute but he didn't. And that's when the feeling sank in.

You were going to spend your birthday without Jensen.

You blew out the candles, your eyes burning with the unshed tears. You tried to smile for the guests and laugh with your friends but your heart was filled with despair.

It was close to ten. You were lying on your bed after making an excuse of not feeling well. Your close friends had lingered around for a while before they left. That's when you heard your sister call for you.

You sighed and pulled the covers close to you, not willing to socialise with anyone further. You heard the door creak open.

“Go away,” you grumbled.

“I didn't spend the last thirteen hours on a flight to hear this, sweetheart.” You sat up and your heart did a somersault in your chest. You knew this voice all too well and you missed hearing the way it reverberated off the walls surrounding you, providing you some deep comfort.

“Jensen?” You sprinted towards the figure of a man lingering at the doorway and crashed into him, colliding with his firm chest as a pair of arms came up to wrap themselves around you. He brought your face to his and kissed your lips. Tears threatened to spill as your lips molded with his. You missed him so much.

He picked you up and you jumped to hook your legs at his waist and he let out a chuckle. With you in his arms, he walked towards the bed and put you down gently on the soft mattress.

“Hi, baby. Happy birthday.” He said.

“Hi.” Your words were a mere whisper as Jensen traced the outline of your face with his finger and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Where are you goin’?” You asked as he got up to close the door.

“I have something for you.” Jensen said as he closed the door to the room behind him. You wiggled your eyebrows at him and he rolled his eyes. “Get your mind outta the gutter.”

You pouted and he said, “I'm saving that present for later. But first–” he took a deep breath “--I want you to have this.”

You watched as he slowly went down on one knee. Eyes wide, you saw as he pulled out a jewellery box out of his jacket’s pocket. You gasped, standing up while he opened the box in front of you to reveal a ring inside.

“Jens…”

“Y/N, I…Holy shit, I thought this will be easy after practicing for the last five hours straight–” you laughed, a tear rolling down your cheek “--Sweetheart, I had this big, beautiful speech prepared but as soon as I stepped in this room, all I can see, all I think of is you. You remember what I told you last night? I want that, I want you and I want us. Every night when I go to sleep I want to feel you in my arms and know that I’m right where I’m supposed to be and then in the early morning, I want to be woken up by our kids jumping on us demanding breakfast. I’m so grateful for you every second. I’m grateful that somehow in this crazy universe with infinite possibilities, I met you.”

You were clearly sobbing and through the tears you said, “Yay, comic con!”

He chuckled and continued, “In you I have found the love that I never knew I needed. You're my favourite human in the whole universe. There are many ways to be happy but all I need is you. So Y/N Y/L/N, make me the happiest person in the world and say yes, please?”

“Of course, yes! I will marry you, Jensen Ross Ackles!” You said and he grinned before putting the ring on your finger. He stood up and immediately pulled you for a kiss. It was enchanting and precious.

“I missed you, fuck…” he breathed in with his nose buried in the crook of your neck before moving his mouth to the south. You gasped, pulling your lip in between your teeth to stop the moan that was threatening to leave you as his lips found the sweet spot on your neck.

“Jay…we can't–”

“Why?” He asked.

“Everyone is present downstairs. I don't trust myself to not make a noise.” You said.

“I just need to feel you. Please,” he panted as he bucked his hips and his bulge grazed past your thighs. A whimper escaped your lips and you knew it would be impossible to not make a noise if Jensen carried on with his actions. But as much as he needed you, you needed him as well. It had been too damn long. So you reached out, roughly trying to get him out of his pants.

He smirked, raising a brow. “We got ten minutes. I need you inside me, now.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He pushed you down on the bed behind you, hiking up your skirt and discarding your panties, before shoving down his pants along with his boxers. He wrapped his palm around his cock, giving it a few strokes before aligning himself with your entrance. His swollen tip nudged at your wet pussy. “Fuck, sweetheart, you're fuckin’ wet.”

“You have been away for way too long!” You said, followed by a hiss as he pushed himself inside you at a tantalising pace. Your lips fell open to form an ‘O’ as he remained seated inside you, filling you to the brim. He started to move, pulling out to the tip before pushing himself in again, the move making you moan. Once he found his rhythm, he continued to thrust into you and you bucked your hips to match with his moves. His hand moved to rub at your clit and you cried out in utmost pleasure. Even after months of being apart, he knew how to get you going. Deliriously you both chased down your release. His thrusts had become more rough and small groans left his lips, filling the room.

He pressed his thumb against the bundle of nerves on your pussy and you were really close to your climax. His thrusts became erratic and a knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

“Jay–” your moan was ungraciously cut off by a knock on your door. Your eyes widened in shock and the same surprise was clearly evident on Jensen's face.

“Fuck–” he groaned, his pace faltering a bit but he kept circling his hips to not lose his rhythm. “Answer.”

“What?” You whispered but the look on his face sent a shiver down your back. The thrill of almost getting caught was such a turn on for him. As you opened your mouth to answer to whoever was on the other end of the door, he picked up his pace. Asshole.

You suppressed a moan and asked, “What is it?”

“Is Jensen stayin’ for dinner?” It was your sister who asked the question.

“Y-yeah–” you bit into your lip “--yeah he is.”

“Come for me. I need you to come for me.” You were so close and with another deep thrust, your coil finally snapped as a wave of sheer ecstasy washed over you. The scream that almost left your lips was swallowed by Jensen as he kissed you hard. He continued to fuck you through you release, his thrust never faltering s he closed on to his own climax. A few more thrusts and he spilled into you, coating your walls with his seed and growling when he came. He slowly stopped his thrusts, lazily circling his hips, until he went soft inside you.

“Holy shit!” He chuckled, and pulled out of you. You whimpered at the loss of him.

“Holy shit, indeed.” You panted and kissed the crown of your head softly and towards the bathroom to clean himself up. When you finally found your strength to walk, you followed his lead and went to the bathroom.

“I was gonna bring you a washcloth.” He said and you ruffled his hair, knowing how much he loved washing you and cuddling with you after sex.

“Well thank you for being a gentleman but we need to go downstairs as soon as possible.” You said before stepping in front of him to clean yourself.

It was a little over ten minutes after your sister called you for dinner, that you and Jensen went downstairs. He had cleaned up, changed into a much more comfortable sweatpants and tshirt and brushed his sex hair but the post coitus bliss on both your face was clearly visible and it got a raised brow from your sister. If the others had taken notice, they refrained from saying anything which soon turned into a huge ruckus of congratulations when you announced your engagement.

Later that night, you and Jensen were lying on the couch with your sister sitting in the chair as you three watched a movie when she said, “I can't keep covering for your asses.”

“What do you mean?”

“You guys were so not quiet. Thankfully, I turned up the music!” Your mouth fell open and a heat of embarrassment crept up your neck while Jensen just laughed.

“Can't help it when my fiancée is so hot.” Jensen said.

“Ew. Jensen, that's my sister, you're talking about.” She scrunched up her nose in disgust, “You guys are insufferable! I'm going to bed. Don't you dare christen the couch with your nonsense!”

“Can't make any promises!” You and Jensen yelled back together and when your sister gagged, you both laughed loudly and continued to watch the movie.

The end credits rolled in. You sighed, letting your head rest against his chest. He kissed your head, whispering, “I love you.”

Reds and yellows swirled into oranges and pinks on the far-off horizon as you stood on the first step of the porch. Sleeves folded at your elbows, shielded you from the brisk evening breeze blowing through.

Silently, you had watched as he packed up his things from the house you used to share. Watched him cinch, buckle and toss up the bags of his life into the backseat of the chevy.

Your coffee had gone cold as you sat at the kitchen table in the early hours of the morning, listening to the floors creak overhead as he went through the drawers and closet in the bedroom.

It had been one argument too many. Another misunderstanding that had shattered your heart; another patch he couldn’t bring himself to tend. After all, his own pride had been hurt. His loyalty questioned once again.

So, he packed, and you waited.

Broken hearts in the air, desperate for a word of comfort, but much too wounded to offer the care.

Now, with the last door slammed on his things, he circled the vehicle, his boots crunching in the gravel of the driveway. His intention clear, to slip behind the wheel and drive away without so much as a goodbye.

Hand gripping tightly to the banister, you stepped forward, attempting to call his name to try to fix this. But your body betrayed you; throat closing so that a single word could not crawl out.

But your movement was enough to catch his eye and give him pause.

His face was perfectly smoothed to keep his emotions below the surface. Yet, he must have seen everything on yours, for the coolness of his gaze wavered on a blink. Sorrow washed across his handsome features, his head tilting as if under the weight of it all.

And just as you couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move as instinct urged him to. Urged him to take you into his arms, pull you close into his chest and shield you from all the pain.

Tears dotted his lashes, his face flushed, and his lips parted but found he had no words.

You stepped down, just one shaky step.

“I,” his voice sounded on an exhalation. You could see him tearing himself apart for the chance to blow it all into the wind and just stay. “You can’t deny, how hard I tried for us.”

Your hand gripped tighter, halting your decent on the porch steps.

You knew.

Of course, you did.

All the times he held you up when the world was too much. The times he cradled you with whispers of affirmation and adoration when the demons in your head were shrieking your worthlessness.

He had been a well of love and light in your life.

But you had been too greedy.

And now he stood before you, hollow and struggling to give himself a chance at happiness that he deserved.

Your love for him in that moment overshadowed every ounce of despair. Swallowing every emotion to mimic the calm surface he had held all day; you lifted your chin and held his gaze.

In this one moment, you would be strong.

For him.

“Drive safe.”

His watery, green eyes flicked back and forth between yours, confused and searching for the truth. With a deep inhale, his lips pressed into a line and his shoulders straightened. His slight nod before turning away almost broke your resolve.

Still, you stood tall, watching as he slid behind the wheel to drive out of your life forever. And when the dust finally settled after he disappeared over the horizon, you slowly fell to sit, legs sprawled across the steps.

He took with him the sun and warmth of the day, and all the light in your life.

Your heart broke completely, like a star exploding in your chest, burning and destructive. Your sobs carried log into the night and still never long enough.

The pain in your chest carried over into the waking world and when your eyes slowly opened, tears fell from your lashes onto your folded arms. For a moment you didn’t know where you were, until the smell of freshly brewed coffee registered. You were home, in the bunker with the boys.

Lifting yourself from the table, you pieced together that you had fallen asleep while helping Sam research ways to remove the Mark of Cain. The last book you had been reading laid open and useless before you.

Steps approached from behind and a mug full of steaming coffee was placed on the table beside you.

“I wish you wouldn’t pull all-nighters on this,” Dean spoke on an exhalation.

His voice rang deep in your still aching chest so that you couldn’t immediately respond or even think about thanking him for the coffee. When he circled the table to peer over the books you had torn through the night before, you could only stare.

Between the loss in the dream and the waking fear of losing him in the real world, you found there was only one thing you wanted to make clear.

“I love you.”

Dean’s entire body froze one second and the next his eyes flashed up to yours, his face carefully smoothed to keep everything under the surface.

You didn’t know if it was the start of a goodbye or a hello.

Either way, the music was cut short when Garth killed the engine and sauntered around his coupe with a winning smile. “Heeey brothers! I brought backup! Allow me to introduce you,” he offered excitedly, throwing a casual arm around you when he got to your side, a gesture that seemed to send Sam’s heart leaping off a cliff, “Guys, this is Y/N and Y/N, these are the Winchesters, Dean and Sam.”

Sam tried to smile but you seemed so comfortable and content beneath Garth’s touch, he really wasn’t ready for the sour taste of envy that rose inside him, filling his throat like acid reflux.

“Garth, you wily son of a bitch!” called his brother from beside him. Sam didn’t need to look over to picture the smirk of approval Dean was sporting, and the thought alone brought forth more bile, which he desperately tried to swallow down with a couple violent bobs of his Adam’s apple.

“Oh Deano,” Garth shook his tilted head as he genuinely professed, “you always say the nicest things to me.” And as he launched himself towards Dean with puppy-like fervor for a somewhat one-sided hug, Sam felt bad about the groundless feelings of resentment he’d began to harbor for the scrawny yet respectable hunter. Still, he couldn’t help but try to catch your eye during the reprieve, only to find your soft gaze fixed on Garth’s back while the slightest vestige of a smile ghosted across your divine features.

She’s taken, Sam. Soulmates most likely, with the way you’re looking at the guy, his brain augmented bitterly. Damn it, Garth really was one lucky son of a bitch.

“And don’t think you’re not getting one too, Sam!” the oblivious bastard let go of Dean and came at Sam with open arms and nothing but love, so with a forced smile and mind full of warring thoughts, the younger Winchester had no choice but to awkwardly accept.

“So did you get us rooms yet?” Garth asked when he finally pulled away, “You know I’d love to bunk with you guys but ever since Y/N’s gotten used to my snoring, we’ve kinda become a package deal, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I sure do, buddy!” Dean exclaimed with a lewd grin, “Yours is Room 4B, but we’re right next door in 4A so try and keep that in mind when you’re uh- snoring it up, will ya?”

Having long since grown accustomed to Dean’s base brand of humor, Sam was surprised when he realized his usual reflexive eye roll had been supplanted with a deep breath and forceful clench of his teeth.

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise we’ll be quiet as mice through the night!” Garth’s good-natured retort felt like a twisting blade through Sam’s chest. He pulled his brows together and placed a large palm tentatively above his heart, unable to understand why the involuntary reaction felt so tangible as he watched Garth set off.

Following suit, you grabbed some luggage from the Ranchero’s cargo bed and made for your room. Sam knew he should try to stay away from you, but like a magnetic field, you pulled him in, so when he turned around to see you strutting by, Sam fumbled to help you with your duffle. But the fierce glare you shot him quickly stopped him in his tracks and he only barely managed to stay upright as he backtracked and scurried out of your way, big feet and long legs suddenly forgetting their own size.

“Woah, get it together, little bro,” Dean sniggered as soon as you were out of earshot, “You alright there, kiddo? I’ve never seen you fall so hard so fast… almost literally,” he teased, ignoring the bitch face Sam sent him in response, “Think you can make it through this hunt without jumping Garth’s girl?”

This time Sam did roll his eyes, though he left the question unanswered, feeling a bit skeptical himself.

“You think they’re soulmates?” Dean wondered aloud, turning to look off in the direction you’d gone, “Not sure how else to explain that. But either way, damn, did Fitzgerald hit a home run there!”

Sam was speechless as he stared alongside his brother, choked up on the unshakable yet impossible suspicion that you were somehow… his. But that couldn’t be, could it? Even if you weren’t with Garth, there was no way for him to know for sure. The demon blood Yellow Eyes had fed him as a baby inhibited his soulmate bond so not once could he remember dreaming of their memories, and Sam had never been more disappointed by the fact.

The case was cracked with almost no help from Sam, as his ability to focus on anything other than you proved a hopeless and desolate enterprise. Paired with the way his impetuous attempts to connect with you in any sense were harshly rebuffed by that gorgeous yet venomous get back stare of yours, and Sam was a complete mess of shaky hands and pained smiles. So when you announced you’d be retiring early for the night, claiming to want catch up on some rest before the big monster showdown the next day, Sam was both crestfallen and relieved.

“Have a good night,” Garth gave you a meaningful look that Sam couldn’t begin to decipher, a cruel reminder of the inexplicable nature of soulmate connections.

“So… what’s up with Y/N?” Dean asked whilst Sam was still gazing in vain at the door you’d left through.

“Oh, she’s uh… she’s complicated,” Garth responded slowly, nodding along to himself as an uncharacteristic expression of melancholy replaced the grin on his face, “Most people think she’s outta her mind… I mean, she’s not! …But it’s a pretty common misconception,” he shrugged in a ‘what-can-ya-do’ type of way, but the Winchesters’ frowns prompted him to continue, “She’s just… had it kinda rough, ya know? And the people around her haven’t exactly been empathetic about it all so she’s put up some walls over time and she comes off a bit strong and standoffish to most, but her heart’s in the right place and she really is a fantastic hunter so you don’t have to worry about her having your backs out there tomorrow, eh?”

Dean seemed to subscribe to this explanation, but the hunt wasn’t what Sam was worried about. Now, on top of the need to be close to you, he was also experiencing a compelling urge to hold you, understand you, and comfort you in whatever way you needed. His entire body throbbed with the desire to run to the adjoining room and kick the door in just to breathe the same air as you again, while his fingers itched to touch you – brush the hair from your eyes, caress your cheek, envelope your hand, explore other areas… Maybe in your dreams, Sam... He almost laughed at the ironic mockery of that saying, but instead pushed the corners of his mouth up as sincerely as he could before proceeding to ponder his inner dilemma with his elbows on his knees.

FIVE HOURS LATER

You awoke to your own scream, bolting upright and gasping for air. Shit. That one had been particularly bad; you’d probably made a lot of noise. Glancing over at the other bed in your room, you weren’t surprised to find Garth starfish-ing above the sheets and blissfully unconscious. That was part of why you liked the guy: he could sleep through just about anything, that and he’d never once judged you by the nightmares that plagued you since birth and reflected your soulmate’s preposterous life thus far.

Wait. As you blinked, you realized something felt different. On impulse, your eyes fluttered shut, but the flashing image of a malicious face that appeared behind your eyelids had them flying open in an instant. That was weird. You never remembered the faces from your dreams.

The names and faces always became blurry as soon as you woke up, but it’s said that once you meet and identify your soulmate, it all comes rushing back to you through a mental, movie-like recap of their life story up until that point, although exceptions to this rule weren’t unheard of, and many believed that every soulmate connection was unique.

Regardless, there was one thing you could never forget about your dreams, and that was the way they made you feel. Or was it the way your soulmate had felt? Starting from a tender young age, you’d dreamed nearly every night, so frequently they were beginning to feel like your own memories. You knew the in-depth tale of your soulmate’s existence, shared just about all of his experiences. From waiting alone in crummy motel rooms as a kid, overcome with the fear and anxiety of not knowing when or if his dad and brother would ever return from a hunt, to being physically and emotionally tortured and violated within a magical cage where time and the limits of the human body adhered to no laws, and his abuser wore a smile that could light his veins on fire, as you’d just had the pleasure of envisioning.

More often than not, your dreams were nightmares, and you’d make sounds of protest as you slept. It was why you had chosen to hit the sack early, with the hopes that their drunken hunter rowdiness might help mask your shouts. But it hadn’t been easy to walk away, harder still to fall asleep. Something had been eating at your subconscious since you got here, or rather someone. Most of the time, you avoided people at all costs, so often that it’d become instinct, but you found yourself actually wanting to be around that stupidly tall Winchester, to the point where it almost hurt to pry yourself away from him. And now that you’d recalled a face from your dream for the first time in your life, you couldn’t help but wonder…

No. Don’t get your hopes up, Y/N. There was no way. Sam was far too… normal. Besides, you’d imagined what your soulmate might look like before, and even in your wildest concoctions, he hadn’t looked that good. You’d kept your defences up until now so you weren’t about to let them drop just because you ran into a pretty boy. You really did need to stop thinking about him though, maybe grab a glass of water to soothe your sore throat.

Sam couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing as he laid atop the scratchy covers and stared at the ceiling. If the hunt went well tomorrow, you’d be riding off into the sunset in Garth’s Ranchero without so much as a ‘goodbye’. He couldn’t let that happen, not when every atom of his being was propelling him towards you, screeching at him to get his girl. But you weren’t his. You were with Garth. So why couldn’t he just respect that?

With a sigh, Sam let his eyes fall shut, squeezing them tight in a pointless effort to erase the image of you from the backs of his eyelids, but they shot wide open again when he heard your voice cry out from the next room.

Sam was up before he knew what he was doing. There was only one thing of which he was certain: you didn’t sound like you were in the midst of pleasure. You sounded like you were in pain, and that set every hair on his arm erect.

He noticed his breathing was harder than usual as well when he quietly got to his feet and crept toward the shared wall between your rooms, although he couldn’t seem to constrain it. Pressing his ear against the peeling wallpaper, he listened to your whimpers and wails crescendo until they peaked with a harrowing yell that made his heart feel as if it would burst through his ribcage. Dean grumbled in his sleep and rolled over but Sam was frozen in his spot, despite the erratic pumping of blood through his lengthy vessels.

It wasn’t until he heard the creaking of your bedsprings turn into running water in the communal dining area when Sam finally moved, drawing a deep breath and wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He didn’t know what to say to you, but he knew he had to try, so he made sure to let his footsteps carry sound and make himself appear as small as possible as he opened the back door and walked into the kitchenette.

You were standing by the counter, facing away from him, but before he could take another step, you’d whirled around with a gun in your hands, aimed directly at his heart.

Sam’s hands shot up before he whisper-shouted, “Whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s just me! It’s me!”

Advancing toward him without lowering your gun, you produced a flask from out of nowhere and threw its contents on Sam’s face before he could react.

He blinked the wetness away as you finally dropped your weapon, shrugging through a half-hearted apology, “Sorry, you can never be too careful on a demon case,” you explained lowly, flashing him the label that read ‘holy water’ before tucking the silver flask back into your pocket.

You took a moment to examine him, aggrieved that he somehow looked even better when he was wet. Trying to be cool about it, you crossed your arms across your chest and waited as he wiped a huge hand down his face.

The first words to come out of his sinful lips after your unceremonious attack took you by surprise, “Are you OK?”

“What?” It sounded harsher than you’d meant it and you had to remind yourself to stand down. He’d given you no reason to get combative; on the contrary, something about him just screamed… good.

“I- I heard you… it sounded like you were having a pretty bad nightmare.”

You gave him a slight nod, gulping your usual defense mechanisms back down your throat, “Oh, yeah… my soulmate has um… been through some things.” It was impossible not to huff at your own dramatic understatement.

“Right, yeah, I’m sure Garth has seen his fair share of monsters and other ordeals in his life.”

“Wh- what do you mean, Garth?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry, I just assumed that you guys were soulmates with the way you are and… everything,” Sam confessed with an adorable cock of his head.

You nearly laughed out loud, “Garth isn’t my soulmate. I mean, I wouldn’t be upset if he were, but we’ve exchanged dreams before and our souls definitely aren’t tied together.”

“Oh,” he heaved a sigh that seemed to emanate relief, “So the whole uh… ‘snoring’ thing is-”

“A cover. He knows I get loud during nightmares, and we room together because he has the unique ability to sleep through an entire torture sequence being played out in my head, as he just proved again tonight.” Shit. What are you doing, Y/N? Stop talking. “Oh, I should probably apologize for waking you. You can go back to bed though; I’ve gotten enough sleep for the night.”

Sam’s eyes were wide as he shook his head emphatically, “No, you didn’t wake me! I- I couldn’t sleep anyway. But please, don’t apologize for something you can’t control,” he beseeched with soft, imploring eyes that you immediately dreamed of letting yourself melt into. “Y-you said you were being tortured in your dream?”

Forcing a deep breath through your nose, you slowly conceded, “Well yeah, or at least remembering it the way my soulmate does, I guess… if he even exists.” The last four words were added sourly beneath your breath, but Sam caught them right away.

“You don’t think your soulmate exists?”

You looked up to find his eyebrows drawn together, color-changing eyes fraught with genuine concern. You weren’t sure why you were still talking to him but something about the guy made you feel safe, impelled you to open up to him, “I find it hard to believe he’s still out there functioning like a normal human being with all the shit he’s gone through... I mean, if I’ve been ostracized just for telling people about my dreams, I can’t imagine how he’s survived.”

“You’ve been ostracized because of the things your soulmate remembers?!”

The way he seemed almost offended for you buttered you up even more, “Yeah, Garth is pretty much the only friend I have left,” you admitted with a quiet, sardonic laugh.

There was pity in Sam’s eyes now, a reaction that had always irked you virtually just as much as the fear and revulsion, but it was clear that his was forged out of empathy rather than the usual disdain. And it didn’t stand alone among the emotions displayed across his face. His expression seemed to say ‘please, tell me more,’ and you did.

“I was raised in the suburbs by conservative folks who knew nothing about the supernatural… so they thought I was out of my mind the first time I told them about my dreams, took me to a soulmate bond expert and everything, tried to ‘fix’ me. When they couldn’t, they ignored me, soundproofed my bedroom walls while telling everyone I was crazy. Pretty much disowned me as soon I turned eighteen, fearing I might bring home a sociopathic serial killer one day. Word got around and people avoided me like I was a ticking time bomb. When I started hunting and finally made some friends in that community, I thought they’d be more understanding, but it turns out some things aren’t normal or acceptable even on hunter terms. So, I never really told anyone again, never tried to make friends again. Until Garth came along, that is.”

A small smile took hold of your lips, as it always did when you thought about the lanky and lovable dork, “He never judged me by my nightmares, never treated me any differently, never looked at me through a lens of apprehension.”

“Well, I’m glad you found him,” Sam said, a closed-lip smile of his own peeking through the stubble. Then, after a pregnant pause, “I don’t mean to intrude, but h-have you ever considered breaking your bond, you know, just to stop the nightmares?”

“Never.” Your response was instantaneous and adamant. “I couldn’t. If I-… He’s overcome odds of impossible proportions, suffered fates that no one should ever have to endure, despite doing nothing wrong, been blamed for things that were either completely out of his control or that he was manipulated into doing through a kind heart and good intentions-” you had to stop yourself before you got too riled up.

“You talk like you’re already in love with him,” Sam observed.

“Well, it’s hard not to be. It’s also why I stopped giving a fuck about what other people think of him. I used to try and hide it, lie about what I’d dream of, but they’d always find out. And then I realized it didn’t matter to me because I’ll always side with him, and having narrow-minded people in your life is such a chore anyway.”

“But how can you be so sure of someone you’ve never met?” There was no malice in his tone or body language, only earnest curiosity, and it made you wonder how someone so large could be so very cute.

“Because if he exists, he’s a hero.”

“Well if he’s so great, why does everyone in your life run away from the idea of him?” Sam chuckled lightly, but you thought you heard something that resembled envy within his words. Maybe people were right, maybe you really were out of your mind.

“Because he’s done things that most people can’t even begin to imagine, not even a hunter. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you half the things I’ve dreamt of.”

Though you didn’t expect to be rewarded with another glimpse of those splendid dimples, you were nonetheless grateful as they seemed to fill your chest with unfathomable peace and irrefutable joy. “Try me,” he said, with a beckoning grin.

“Well, I mean for starters, he’s been through literal hell.”

Sam’s jaw suddenly hung a littler looser, but you’d encountered far more theatrical receptions.

“Yeah, he’s been dealt some real shitty cards,” you started, “Been tormented by pure evil in more than every imaginable way for longer than any conceivable human lifetime, been stripped of his bodily autonomy and rights more times than I can count, been used and manipulated by a demon since he was a literal baby, and that’s on top of losing nearly everyone he’s ever loved including both parents at a young age… But did I mention he managed to stop the fucking apocalypse?”

The surprise on his face was more palpable now, and you almost laughed at his frozen expression.

“And we haven’t even gotten to the bizarre stuff yet. Would you believe me if I told you he’s died more than once? Or that he’s met a prophet who writes books about he and his brother’s lives? Oh, he also once traveled to an alternate universe where his doppelgänger was the actor who played him on a TV show. And, there was even a period of time, about a year ago, when the dreams got all fuzzy, which I later learned was because he was-“

“Soulless.” Sam finished your sentence with such gravity, it felt like the entire earth lurched beneath your feet.

“H-how did you know th-“ But even as you spoke the words, it dawned on you: that there was a reason you’d felt drawn to him, that he was in fact the answer to everything, the person you’d been dreaming of your entire life. And in that moment, you discovered that the stories were true, because your question was both interrupted and answered by a sudden onslaught of images flashing through your head, a fast-forwarded montage of every memory you’d ever dreamed, in chronological order, with the names and faces all filled in.

You doubled over and closed your eyes as Sam’s life replayed itself in your mind, unaware that you were panting loudly and clutching at your head until his beautiful yet distraught voice faded back into the forefront.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you OK?!”

Sam’s hand instinctively reached out for you, but when it made contact with your arm, his brain was instantly flooded with moving images of a young girl, developing rapidly into the woman standing in front of him through what must have been every momentous memory he’d been denied the privilege of seeing, forcing him to recoil and mirror your startled stance.

So when you finally reopened your eyes, it was to see Sam bent nearly in half, close-eyed and open-mouthed, while big hands grasped at the luscious mane on his head.

“Guess I should be the one asking you that,” you laughed, but the way his chest visibly rose and fell when he straightened back up made you feel breathless again, “Did you just-“

“Yeah,” he exhaled, shutting his eyes once more before blinking repeatedly, as if he could still see the images, “And I’m guessing you also-“

“Yeah,” you parroted, glancing up at Sam with an awestruck expression that unwittingly floored him with its beauty, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

The elaborate fortress you’d built around your heart and soul after an entire lifetime of facing scorn and neglect and repugnance from nearly everyone around you had effortlessly dissolved at his touch, and as you fully came to terms with the giant revelation before you, something within you gave way, letting every emotion you were feeling appear written across your face.

“You’re real?” Your whispered words sounded just as much a statement as they did a question, though in reality, they might have been a plea.

Taking a small, wary step toward him as your eyes flickered between his, your hand – with a mind of its own – slowly reached up to embrace his chiseled jaw, and your lips were incapable of resisting their joyous quirk when his light stubble tickled your palm and the skin beneath it proved warm and solid.

His long fingers wrapped around your wrist reverently, “Yeah, baby, I’m real.”

Your breath hitched at the gorgeous depth of his voice. “How are you real? And so fucking gorgeous?” you breathed, fingers dancing across his cheekbones before reveling in the silky softness of his hair, “And tall? I mean, I kinda guessed you’d be on the above average side with the way most people look up at you in your memories but jeez... You’re perfect.” Your body moved on its own accord as it traveled the short distance to anchor itself against his, wasting no time to pull him down and kiss him with every ounce of ‘you’ you could muster, to which Sam instantly and eagerly responded.

It was easily the best kiss of your life, decades worth of anticipation that balanced a delicate pendulum swaying between hope and desperation, combined with the fierce love you already felt for this impossibly perfect man poured through you until it found its release in Sam’s mouth.

He slid his fingers into the hair behind your neck, cradling the back of your head, while his other massive hand settled in the valley of your waist, pulling you snug into him until you could feel the lines of his abs. “You’re pretty damn perfect yourself. Been dreaming of this since I saw you step outta that damn car.”

“Yeah?” The single, slightly smug word was all you could articulate.

“Fuck yeah, that’s why seeing you with Garth felt like such a cruel joke, especially since I’d never had a single dream of your memories until I touched you just now, so there was no way for me to gauge anything.”

“Right, I guess I should’ve been more alert, but I figured brothers hunting together wasn’t all that uncommon. Can’t believe I couldn’t smell the co-dependency though,” you giggled but Sam shut you up with a swift kiss. “Mm, well now that you have seen some of my memories, what do you think?”

“I think you’re everything I could’ve possibly dreamt up and more.”

“Wow. I didn’t take you for the cheesy type,” you deadpanned.

“I’m just being honest.” Sam’s dimples broke through with a mirthful smile and already you knew they‘d become one of your favorite things in this world and beyond.

Biting your lip, you nodded, “OK, well in the spirit of honesty, I have to tell you that it was way more arousing to see you make those monster kills in that director’s cut in my head than to dream about it from your perspective.”

Sam’s smile turned into a smirk, “Yeah?”

You trailed your hands down his impressive torso, relishing every ridge and groove, mapping out the thick cords of his long neck, grazing the taut nipples beneath his cotton t-shirt, and lingering within the deep trenches of his V-line as you made your way down to the waistband of his jeans. Hooking your fingers into his belt loops, you tugged him toward you with a force that seemed to both surprise and excite him, if his quiet grunt and darkened pupils were any indication. “Fuck yeah,” you echoed before pushing your lips back against his.

Having waited much too long for this, you couldn’t hold back. Sam must’ve felt similarly because he pushed back just as hard, until you were forced to grip him tighter, digging your fingers into his muscled back just to hold on. His own fingers applied a similar pressure to your butt cheeks, squeezing them with a rough hunger that only spurred you on more.

But just as your tongues began to get acquainted – though it felt more like lovers reuniting after an unspeakably long and unbearable period of time – Sam somehow managed to retreat an inch from your hold, hissing through his teeth with crinkled brows and closed eyes. His chest heaved into yours a few times before he spoke, sounding about as regretful as you felt, “Wait… Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I’ve already ruined your life by being your soulmate. I can’t be good for you.”

“Sam, you do realize that our souls are literally bound together, right? And there’s nothing you could say or do that would make me stay away now that I’ve finally found you.”

“Y/N, I started the apocalypse!” Sam swore it took almost as much willpower to untangle himself from you as it had to overpower Lucifer in that godforsaken cemetery. He backed up in fear that your pull was stronger at closer distances, though he still couldn’t look at you, choosing an unfocused spot on the speckled floor to eye instead, as the shame and guilt began to cloud his mind.

“No, you thought you were saving the world!” you countered immediately, feeling the fiery mass of restrained ire you’d been carrying inside you for years blaze alight, as if with the click of a switch, “And then you did! By risking and sacrificing everything! Not to mention there were sixty-five other seals that had nothing to do with you!”

“Well how 'bout the fact that I was addicted to demon blood?” Sam’s voice grew louder. There was nothing like recounting his own sins to get him fired up. “I had a sexual relationship with a demon! Surely, you’re not OK with that?!”

With a scoff, you dismissed him, “You think people don’t have sex before they find their soulmates? I mean, yeah, it was a weird thing to dream about, but I’ve always felt what you felt, remember? So I know it started because you were desperate to save Dean and I know the weight of the grief you were feeling when you were with her. I know how you thought you were helping people by exorcising demons instead of killing their meatsuits. I know all of it. You can’t scare me off, Sam!”

While he was finding it surprisingly hard to dispute your claims, true to his Winchester genes, Sam was much too stubborn to give up. You were brilliant and beautiful and deserved so much more than anything he had to offer. “What about all the things I did when I was soulless?” he tried again.

But you had a retort on the ready for that one as well. “Sam, don’t you get it by now? That was out of your control. The same way you wouldn’t blame someone for all the things they do when they're possessed. Besides, as your soulmate, I’m not too concerned about your douchey behaviour when you were literally missing your soul.”

That seemed to shut him up, but the confliction swirling within his prismatic eyes told you he wasn’t convinced. “Look,” you sighed, “you always think you’ve got this darkness inside you, that you’re not ‘clean’… but you are.”

As you let that sink in, you smiled to yourself, “You know, you and Garth actually have that in common: you’re both good to the core. You’re clean, Sam. You’re the cleanest, purest soul I’ve ever known, but baby, you’re not normal.” Shaking your head apologetically, you resisted the temptation to kiss that disbelieving, forlorn look off his face. “I know you’ve always wanted to be but you’re anything but. I mean, you saved the fucking world, Sam! When the world has done nothing to deserve you. You suffered nearly two centuries of torture by the devil himself to save it, and not only did you never get any acclaim, but the whole thing has left you racked with wrongful blame and unreasonable guilt!? And I know you don’t think you do, but baby you have every goddamn right to be mad, to be furious.”

Your soulmate’s ridiculously puppy-like gaze almost had you leaping to wrap him up in your arms, but you willed yourself to continue, “But in the end, all the bullshit crap you took didn’t make you jaded; it didn’t make you violent or vengeful or bitter. No, you turned it into love, and strength, and empathy. You still care so deeply, still carry on saving everyone you can, still manage to find hope. Fuck, Sam, you’re the only reason I kept fighting. Cause I figured if you could do it, then I had no fucking excuses. You were always my light! There’s gotta be a reason we’re soulmates. I know you never felt the bond but I-”

Sam’s lips cut yours off with a forceful kiss, the first one he’d truly initiated and my god did it feel good. So good that you weren’t even embarrassed when you let out a soft whine as he pulled away tragically soon. At least his hands were still cupping your face.

“I did. I did feel the bond,” he declared, forehead resting on yours so you could feel the truth of his words through his breath on your skin, “I knew you were mine the moment I saw you, but I tried to push it down because I thought you were with Garth and every time I tried to reach out… you shot me down with that look.”

“What look?” Your fingers found their way to his thick and vascular forearms for it seemed unwise not to touch him whenever you were given the chance.

“You know, that get back stare.”

“A get back stare?” You pulled away slightly to shoot him a somewhat amused, questioning glance.

“Yeah, it was really hot but also very off-putting when you’re trying to get to know your soulmate.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you suppressed your laugh into a smile, “Well, it’s not my fault I’ve had to learn to defend myself and my misunderstood soulmate from nearly everyone in the world. And sometimes that means playing offence,” you admitted with a shrug.

Said soulmate’s giant hands glided down your arms to take hold of your significantly smaller hands, and his eyes, teeming with resolve and vivid remorse, were fixed on you as he said, “Well, I hope you know you don’t have to anymore now that you’ve got me.”

Sam was undeniably surprised and frankly a bit hurt when you snorted a chuckle in response, “Yeah, I highly doubt that. If anything, I might become more menacing.”

Though he didn’t pull away, you could tell by his expression that you’d bruised a somewhat masculine part of his ego. Sighing at his misinterpretation, you dropped one of his hands in favor of grasping the other with both of yours, fiddling with his gorgeous fingers as you began, “Hey, just because you’re all big and strong doesn’t mean you can’t also be a victim or ever need protection. You’ve been abused, Sam. And not just by the devil and every other monster. Sometimes the worst of it came from the people in your life, and I swear to god, there were times when I wanted to rip them to pieces!”

You looked down when you felt his free hand land on yours, its thumb running gentle circles along your skin that instantly calmed you and made you aware of how tight your grip had grown around his fingers. When you lifted your gaze again, Sam’s features were alight with awe, staring at you as if he were shocked that anyone could ever love him so much. It brought you back to how adorably sweet he’d been when you first met, not even twenty-four hours ago. That humble and innocent demeanor had led you to assume he couldn’t be your soulmate, the one who’d been through hell and back.

“I still don’t understand how you seem so… well-adjusted. I mean, after everything you’ve been through and never getting a chance to properly recover from or even address all the trauma.”

He raised your conjoined hands and kissed your knuckles while smiling softly at you. “It hasn’t been all that bad… you’re making me sound way more heroic than I really am.”

“Sam, your life was a prophecy from the very beginning, but you changed it. It was your destiny to destroy the world, but instead you saved it. Do you not realize how incredible that is?” Catching the glassy look in his beautiful eyes, you hurried to change the mood. This day would undoubtedly become one of the most important in your lives and you didn’t want to commemorate it with tears, so you released his hands and wound your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as you lowered your voice to ask, “Or how sexy?”

Your soulmate closed his eyes and breathed you in, strong arms automatically pulling you closer, until his nose caressed your cheek, “Fuck, what did I do to deserve you?”

“Do you want me to recap the things I just said, or do you want a comprehensive list of it all? Because that might take a while and I really wanna kiss you again,” you moaned across his jaw.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam exhaled into your skin before your mouths met in a passionate exchange of love and acceptance. This time, it was completely mutual and felt like a dream come true in every sense of the saying. What’s more, kissing your soulmate felt like a big ‘fuck you’ to the rest of the world, it felt like celestial invincibility and dazzling euphoria. But most importantly, it felt like home, and you never wanted to leave.

Though he still found it hard to believe this was really happening, Sam knew he could never let you go now. He just didn’t have it in him. Kissing you felt like rapture, better than any high demon blood could grant him and infinitely more satisfying. There was a healing component as well, as if the simple touch of your lips could cleanse him of his wrongdoings and wipe away his self-contempt. All his life, he questioned what it was he’d fought so hard for, and this was it, right here in his arms.

Even within his boggled mind, one thought rang consistently clear: that you and this bond you shared must be cherished. So Sam kept the kisses slow, deep, and sensual as he backed you up into the wall, pressing a large hand against it to temper your blow. Wet and wanton slurping sounds filled the room, interspersed with muffled moans and shortened breaths. His soft lips and talented tongue wouldn’t release you until his lungs were begging for air, forcing him to pant into your mouth as he gazed down at you with unrestrained wonder.

You stared up at him with an equivalent expression as you caught your breath, that stunning, miniscule trace of a smile he’d first seen you giving Garth, now pointed at him and loaded with a whole other level of fondness.

Wordless communication must’ve been a part of your soulmate connection for the two of you seemed to know exactly how to move together, where to touch, and how to feel, like you’d been doing this since the beginning of time. Sam believed every nerve in his body sparked to life as you hooked a leg behind his knee and pulled him close, so close that each bulging curve of him pressed seamlessly into each gorgeous nook of you.

The loudest harmony of moans yet pierced the air and reverberated through him, and Sam knew right away that he would spend lifetimes chasing that sound. He felt himself respond in ways he never knew possible as your lips moved from his jaw to his collar bone, and your delicate little hands roamed eagerly across his shoulders and back.

“Mmm, it makes sense that you’re so big though,” you mused into his heated skin.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Sam couldn’t hide the smirk in his voice.

“How else would you fit all that bravery-“ you paused to plant a kiss on his upper chest and continued to work your way up his neck after every subsequent word, “compassion… strength… forgiveness… devotion… and love?” This time his lips met yours in a tender kiss. “Not to mention brains.”

Sam was dizzy with joy. He had never felt so loved, so understood, or so appreciated. “You know, I’m starting to think we were made for each other?” Your smile stretched so big against his own, he wanted to drown in this moment forever. “And you know you’re incredible too, right?” Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, he chuckled at your suddenly bashful disposition, such a stark contrast to all those glares you’d sent him throughout the day. “Baby, you’re so strong. I mean, at least I almost always had Dean. You were alone practically all your life, thrust into this world you knew nothing about, with no one to teach you or guide you, and yet... Garth tells me you’re one hell of a hunter. And even if I hadn't seen those badass memories, just with the way you pulled that gun and holy water on me earlier, I’d be very inclined to believe him,” Sam joked.

It earned him a subtle roll of your beautiful eyes and a loving peck. “Well that’s not exactly true because I did kind of have someone to teach me… in my dreams. You might even say I learned from the best,” you whispered seductively whilst leaning up on your toes to run your nose across his cheekbone and your fingers through his hair.

Closing his eyes at the feeling of your gentle nails along his scalp, Sam released a content sigh as his hands found their way to your hips, squeezing lightly. “You know, you’re probably gonna get even more shit from all those people for actually being with me?”

“Screw all of them. They don’t understand that my soulmate isn’t just the boy with demon blood; he’s the man who saved the fucking world.” Your words were a low growl in his ear, and he just about jumped when he felt you rubbing up against his crotch to emphasize them.

“Oh fuck! Ungh, you really know how to talk me up, you know that?”

“We’ll see about that,” you answered with a wink.

And that was why when daylight rolled around, bringing with it a chipper Dean and the scent of bacon, both were greeted with the sight of Sam half seated on the table against the wall with you stood before him, chests nearly melded together and legs intermingled, both topless and groaning the other’s name.

“Oh, come on!”

The wafting aroma of breakfast had done nothing to alert you of Dean’s presence and you gave a little yelp at the abrupt outburst while Sam’s bulky arms hastily wrapped themselves more securely around your back, pressing you tighter to his chest in an attempt to hide yours. You huffed a laugh and nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and Sam couldn’t help but smile at how right it felt to hold you in his arms, in spite of the awkward circumstances and pending conversation.

Before he could answer his brother, however, Garth walked in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he peered up at the unfolding scene. “What’d I miss?”

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“How am I wrong?!”  he retorted, his brow furrowing slightly as he continued to gaze your way.

“Because it’s clearly not a werewolf!” You exclaimed, your arms flapping in frustration.

“And what makes you so sure that it’s a skinwalker?!” The way Sam was looking at you, like you had no idea what you were talking about, boiled your blood. You had been hunting for long enough to know when to trust your gut and yes, this case was still a mystery but you just knew it wasn’t something as simple as a werewolf.

“Because of that German Shepherd that our main person of interest owns,” you admitted, moving to grab your duffle bag from the floor and placing it onto one of the double beds with force. “He just stares at us constantly whenever we’re near. It’s unnatural.”

“So you’re basing your thesis on a curious dog?” The younger Winchester shot back, disbelief laced in his voice as a small smile pulled at his lips.

That look alone was enough to send you over the edge. Your frustrations and rage now beyond boiling point you snapped, slapping your hands against your thighs as you walked closer to him, shaking your head.

“And what do you have Sam, hm?” You pushed, folding your arms across your chest. “Who do you think could be the werewolf?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, moving uncomfortably in his seat, “maybe it could be Mrs Jennerson.”

“The middle aged woman with the poodle?!” You shot back, trying to hold in an irritated laugh. He was unbelievable, his theory a long shot just like yours, but you were the one that was being made to feel as though you had no idea what you were talking about.

“C’mon guys give it a rest, will you?” Dean huffed from the corner of the room, slamming the book together in his hands before he started to stride across the room. “You’re like an old married cou-”

“--Shut up, Dean!” You both shouted, effectively shutting up the older Winchester. The pair of you were staring down the green eyed negotiator as he rolled his eyes. You were seething, your hands and fingers shaking from the audacity of Sam.

The air in the motel room was thick,  and the silence that fell over the three of you became awkward. You turned your back on the brothers, your focus now on your duffle and began packing whatever supplies you needed for your hunt. You didn’t care what either of them said at this point, you just needed to get out of this space and away from the man who riled you up like no other soul was able to do.

“Alright well,” Dean announced, walking towards the door of the motel, “I ain’t staying around for this brewing love fest so I’m going to get a beer.” He pulled his keys from his pocket as you shot him a glare, but he just smiled and placed his palm on the handle. “Call me when you find something, yeah?”

“Dude--” Sam started, his eyes wide but his older brother interjected immediately.

“--and try not to kill each other,” he told you as he left, pointing between the two of you.

Brewing love fest, you scoffed in your mind, yeah right. Sure, the youngest Winchester was good looking, but were you attracted to him? That was debatable. Every time you looked his way you just wanted to grab his ridiculously soft hair and smash his head against his keyboard.

You let out a small huff and pulled in your bottom lip with your tongue before you gently bit down on it, attempting to calm yourself. You knew that you probably drove Dean mad, but in your defense, it was nearly always Sam that started off whatever argument you had. He would be the one to disagree with you, to find fault with your plan, to just be an annoying giant looming over your shoulder picking at every move you made.

“What are you doing?” His question hung in the air as you grabbed a hold of your gun, and checked the clip, ensuring there were silver bullets inside. Here we go. Here comes the lecture.

“Well I’m gearing up to go and hunt the skinwalker,” you stated matter of factly, forcefully slamming your ammo back into the chamber of your pistol.

“Y/N, you can’t just go and kill an innocent dog!” Sam fought back as you heard him stand up from his seat to walk over to you. As you looked over your shoulder, you saw him gesturing wildly.

“Who said I was going to shoot it?!” You exclaimed as you turned to face him, appalled at Sam for thinking that you were quite happy putting down animals. “But sitting around here is not solving this case, and you’re not doing anything about it, as always.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He barked and without hesitation, you retaliated, words flying out of your mouth.

“That it’s always the same whenever I work with you,” you fumed. “You sit and brood in front of your laptop, arguing every case point I have and make out like I have no idea what I’m doing when I’ve been hunting for nearly just as long as you.”

“Because you’re reckless, and impulsive,” Sam snapped and it caused you to spin back on your heel to grab your duffle. You didn’t need to take any of his shit.

“Well if I remember rightly, my reckless and impulsive self has saved your ass on more than one occasion!”

God, you were so angry, you could feel your rage pulsating out of you as you began to walk towards the door of the motel room, needing to get away from him.

“Yeah and you got your ass handed to you each time,” he answered back as he walked alongside you, his large hand resting on the solid wooden barrier to prevent you from leaving as he listed off your past injuries. “Dislocated shoulders, broken fingers, concussion.”

“You just love to point out my failures, don’t you?” You growled, slamming your bag to his feet with force, wanting him to know that you were incredibly pissed off as you stepped closer to him, your chest heaving. “God, you think you’re so fuckin’ special.”

“Failures?!” Sam scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head from side to side as he stared down at you, his palm leaving the door. “Do you not see that what you do actually puts you in danger? That you could actually lose your life doing it!?”

You were seething, the blood running through your veins almost like lava as you looked into his darkened eyes. How dare he lecture you like this after everything? How dare he shout at you and make you feel the way he is? You watched as his chest heaved, his expression falling stoic while you waited for a few moments. You were attempting to calm yourself down, trying anything you could to stop yourself from snapping and swinging for the giant who was blocking your exit. You would hate to mark such a handsome face.

“And what would you care if I did, huh?” You retaliated, your voice low but still resonating with the anger that you were feeling.  “You would be happy to have me out the way, I wouldn’t be getting under your feet all the time. Your life would be so much better, right?”

“Shut up!” The youngest Winchester snapped, his deep tones vibrating through you as his mouth drew a straight line. You just shook your head and you knew you had touched a nerve, so you continued to taunt.

“Can’t handle the tru--”

Your words were cut off by Sam’s lips on yours, his palms cupping your face as he maneuvered you, and pushed you up against the door. It took you a moment for your mind to catch up, for your thoughts to process what was happening, but your body was already reacting to his touch. You were already responding to his kisses, your hands winding in his long dark hair as you felt the weight of his chest upon yours.

“Just, shut up,” he whispered, his breath ragged against your mouth before he dipped down to seal your lips in another heated kiss.

This time, his hands roamed your body, his palms leaving your face to rest on your hips as he squeezed gently, his fingers applying a pleasurable pressure as he kept you pinned against the wood. You could feel your anger fading, the fury you harboured towards him now being channeled into this emotional and heated exchange. The small groans that were vibrating from his chest reverberated through you, causing you to whimper beneath him. The delicate but desperate touches he placed upon you, caused you to tremble under his fingertips. It all enabled the tiny whine that left your throat when he pulled away, his forehead touching yours as he looked into your eyes.  

“The only reason I’m on your ass all the time is because I don’t want you to get hurt,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin as you watched his chest rise and fall.  “Believe it or not, I kind of have a soft spot for you.”

“Is that so?” You replied, a suggestive expression adorning your face as you tried to bite back your smile. All thoughts about the previous heated discussion had been lost. Your focus was now only on how good he was making you feel, on how he had only been a pain in your ass because he wanted to keep you safe. Because he had a soft spot for you.

“Do I need to offer a more detailed example to back up my reason?” Sam chuckled softly, his nose gently brushing yours before his lips began to trace the edge of your jaw, his tongue pursuing a path to your neck before he started to place delicate kisses upon your skin.

“I think I could do with a little more convincing,” you remarked, your heart pounding as you began to lose yourself in the man who still had you pinned against the door, his mouth making you feel things that no other man had done in your lifetime.

As he let out a low chuckle, you felt his palms slide down to your thighs before he swiftly and effortlessly lifted you into his arms, leaving you completely at his mercy. “Then at last, we finally agree on something.”

Forevers: 

@katehuntington​ / @waywardbeanie​ / @chocolateheart​ / @deanwanddamons​ / @whatareyousearchingfordean​ / @deandreamernp​ / @smol-and-grumpy​ / @talesmaniac89​ / @jensengirl83​ / @wonder-cole​ / @atc74​ / @flamencodiva​ / @superfanficnatural / @janicho88 / @suckmyapplejacks / @emoryhemsworth / @malfoysqueen14 / @anaelsbrunette / @teresa-67 / @deaan-main / @tatted-trina6 / @msmarvelouswinchester / @that-one-gay-girl/ @akshi8278 / @lyarr24 / @phantom-soilder / @daughterofthenight117 / @donnaintx / @hobby27 / @jesseswartzwelder / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @iwantthedean / @i-make-questionable-choices / @briagallen / @snffbeebee / @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel / @amandamdiehl / @couldabeenamermaid / @thefaithfulwriter / @stoneyggirl / @afangirlsbubble /  @spnbaby-67 / @lynne1993 / @tranquility-or-chaos / @markofdean79 / @miraclesoflove / @cpag7 / @cockslut-padalecki / @s-ravenall / @broiderie / @death-unbecomes-you / @igotmadskills / @deangirl93 / @sams-sass / @deanwinchesterswitch / @cutiecowgirl / @downanddirtydean/ @katelynw93 /  @treat-winchesterswith-kindness / @percywinchester27 / @allys-creative-bubble / @440mxs-wife / @nerdyfangirl67 / @deascheck / @shawnie74​

Sammy Senoritas’ 

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down. Talk to me. What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Dean asked worriedly. Sam stood up and walked closer to his brother so he could hear the call. Something was most certainly wrong. “Baby, slow down, I can’t understand you.”

“… grabbed me from behind, I didn’t even see them…supposed to be hunting a ghoul…hit me in the head, knocked me unconscious,” Y/N got out between strangled sobs. Dean stood up and promptly went for his keys; Sam followed closely behind, grabbing his laptop along the way.

“Who has you? Who are they?” he demanded impatiently.

“I don’t know… I don’t… They keep drugging me…” Y/N said, trailing off.

“Baby, I need you to take a deep breath for me,” Dean said desperately. Y/N nodded despite Dean not being able to see her.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered fearfully, wearily leaning her head into the heel of her palm.

“Y/N, listen to me. Where are you?” Dean asked forcefully.

“I don’t know! I don’t know where I am!” she sobbed. “They had me in the trunk when they brought me here! I… I was able to… to fight… to hide… I knocked one of them out… I grabbed his cell phone, and I’m hiding, but they are looking for me… They…”

Y/N’s anxious voice was cut off when a loud banging was heard along with two or three male voices shouting furiously. Y/N covered her mouth to muffle the harsh sound of her breathing, making herself as small and as quiet as she could. She hugged the cell phone to her chest to hide the light as well. After a few minutes, the sound went away, and she pulled the phone back to her ear only to hear Dean shouting for her.

“De….” Y/N whispered. The profound relief Sam saw in Dean’s face when he heard Y/N’s whisper would be something he’d remember forever.

“How many are there?” Sam asked eagerly when Dean couldn’t speak.

“Five…. No, si…six. six of them,” Y/N whispered. Sam cursed under his breath.

“Well, that’s how they got her. No way she can take on six guys by herself. Y/N… Are you on a cell phone?” Sam asked while Dean gathered his raw emotions together.

“Ye… yeah. I stole it from one of them… I had to get to you… I had to get help…” Y/N said quietly. Sam nodded.

“Do you remember how to turn on the GPS?” Sam asked, flipping his laptop open.

“Ye…yeah,” she answered. Within minutes, Sam saw the blip show up on the screen.

“Perfect. We have it. Keep the phone with you, okay? We’re coming.”

“There you are!” an agitated voice bellowed behind her as she slipped out of the cracked window. Wide eyes looked back, and she dropped just as a gun went off above her head. Without wasting any time, Y/N took off running through the long grass and into the trees that surrounded what she now saw was a cabin inside the woods.

“Did you get her, Jackie?” a rough male voice frantically asked. A third male cursed as he saw her running in between trees.

“Bitch is in the woods. We got to stop her before someone finds her and she starts talking,” a younger male voice said. A sinister laugh echoed in the opening.

“Butch! Mikey! Marlo! Gear up! Looks like we’re going hunting…”

“Keep going straight, then at the third left, take it,” Sam said. His eyes kept bouncing between the map in his hands and the blip on the screen in front of him. They had been driving for roughly 45 minutes, and they were already out of Kansas and into Oklahoma. Dean was going 20 over the speed limit just to get to her as fast as possible.

“I never should have thrown her out,” he muttered fiercely under his breath, gently shaking his head. Sam dared an apprehensive glance up at his older brother, taking in the clenched jaw and the raw emotion he normally saw hidden from his eyes.

“You didn’t know this was going to happen, Dean,” Sam commented quietly. Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“If anything happens to her, I will never forgive myself,” Dean growled furiously.

“We’re gonna find her, and we’re gonna destroy the assholes who took her,” Sam said, his voice so dangerous Dean had to glance at him.

“Damn straight.”

Y/N ran as fast as her bare feet would let her go on the floor of the woods. She ignored the torn skin and puncture wounds she was getting from the sticks and stones stepped on along the way. She used her arms to help launch herself over a dead tree that had fallen and continued running. Having not eaten in over a week, she had no idea where the energy was coming from, but she knew she couldn’t stop.

If she stopped, she’d inevitably die.

She heard an apparent gunshot in the distance and paused her running to look around at her surroundings. Nothing looked familiar; it was all trees and underbrush. Y/N nervously looked at the phone and was relieved to see it still had service. She couldn’t be that far from modern civilization if the mobile phone had service.

The faint sounds of someone shouting met her ears. She darted a look behind her in fear then started looking for something she could use as a weapon. Spotting a length of wood, she followed it with her eyes to see it was embedded into the carcass of a dead animal. Moving carefully, she slid over to it and pulled the old arrow out of the decaying corpse. Thankfully, the flinty tip was still sharp. Breaking the used arrow in half, she tossed the worthless half aside.

Then she climbed up the closest tree and hid.

“Splitting up was a bad idea, Jackie,” the rough voice of Marlo grunted out. He held the double-barrel loosely in his hands and frowned as he walked by the trampled ferns, kicking at them as he went.

“Oh, shut up, Marlo. If you can’t take down one bitch, then there’s something wrong with you,” Jack said, using his pistol as an extension of his arm to lift up some low-hanging branches out of his way. Jack bristled at the direct insult.

“It ain’t that and you know it! This ain’t just some bitch!” Marlo growled. “This a hunter! An’ she ain’t all drugged up like you been keepin’ her!”

“Whatever, man, she’s just like the rest of them. Just a toy we can dispose of when we’re done with her,” Jack said gleefully, looking back at Marlo with a lewd grin. When Jack turned back around to face front, Y/N dropped down on his plump shoulders and brutally stabbed the arrow into his throat.

Marlo shouted frantically in surprise as he watched blood spurt from the ragged wound in Jack’s throat, the two tumbling to the ground. Y/N snatched up Jack’s pistol and raised it, but Marlo was faster, shooting off a round from his shotgun.

Buckshot scattered and Y/N cried out as some of it embedded itself into her battered body. As Marlo racked another shot ready, Y/N fired off two shots of her own. The hoarse cries from the burly man in front of her echoed off the trees. Somehow, he was still standing. Shoving Jack’s now dead body away from her, she got herself in a better position and with wide eyes on the wounded man, she fired again. She hit her mark as Marlo’s body dropped hard onto the wooded ground.

Panting hard, Y/N remained frozen, listening anxiously for any sounds of the other men who were after her. Hearing nothing, she slowly stood up, a sore arm covering her chest. Little red spots started to show up across her dirty white shirt from the buckshot that caught her. She hissed as she moved, looking down at herself to see at least six spots where there was now embedded metal in her skin.

“Dammit,” she muttered savagely.

Moving gingerly over to where Marlo lay, she pulled the shotgun toward her and patted down his shallow pockets for more ammo. She was able to find six more shells. With shaking hands, she slid them into the pocket of her now torn and stained jeans before turning away. Making her way back to where Jack lay, she dug around in his pockets next. Nothing.

Y/N took a moment to swallow back the abject despair threatening to overwhelm her. She was aching all over, desperately tired, hungry, so very thirsty, and four of her captors were still in the woods looking for her. She pulled the phone out of her back pocket. Still had four bars of service, still transmitting the information. Shoving it back into her pocket, she stood uneasily from her crouched position and heaved a sigh.

“Where are you, Dean?”

“We’re close. Turn into this park,” Sam said, pointing to a side road on the left. Dean took the turn at speed, leaving tread marks on the road behind them. The brothers looked around carefully at the drive, noting the hunting lodge motif that seemed to engulf the area.

“They took her to a hunting ground, where no one would be bothered by the sounds of gunfire,” Dean growled impatiently. Sam opened the glove box and started digging through their fake IDs until he found their Ranger ones as Dean proceeded up to the security stop. Handing Dean his, Sam took control of the worsening situation to cover for Dean’s uncontrolled rage.

“Evening, boys. Can I help you?” the security officer politely asked. Sam lifted his ID, nudging Dean to do the same.

“Yes, Sir, we’re looking for a group of men who may be staying on your property who may be hunting outside the limits set for the active season. Tell me, have you seen any groups of say five or six men come in and rent out a private cabin?” Sam asked. The officer frowned slightly, turning to pull a clipboard off the side of the wall of his hut.

“Well, Ranger, now that you mention it… We did have a group of six guys coming up here in the middle of the night about four or five days ago. Thought it was odd they came in so late. A couple of them were acting kind of nervous, constantly looking over their shoulder and whatnot,” the officer said. Sam nodded and glanced stealthily at Dean, undoubtedly noticing his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, those might be our guys. What cabin are they in? We’re going to pay them a surprise visit,” he asked. The officer flipped up the papers and read the paperwork in hand.

“Looks like they are staying at the Ravenwood Cabin. It’s the one that’s farthest back in the woods. Just follow the yellow trail all the way to the back, and then the black diamonds to get to the drive,” he said, promptly handing the boys a map. Sam took it and nodded.

“Thanks, Officer…” he started.

“Thoroughbred. Good luck in there, and be safe,” he said, punching a button to lift the gate. Dean forced himself to drive slowly through the gate but once he was out of sight of the security office, he picked up speed.

“Of course, they would pick the cabin farthest out,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth. Sam glanced at his laptop and saw the red dot had stopped moving. He compared it to where they were, then looked up and pointed eagerly.

“Keep going straight and keep your ears open.”

Y/N limped to a stop and leaned back against an overgrown tree, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the stolen cell phone. She was down to two bars of service. She prayed it was enough to send out a GPS signal to Sam. She stuffed the cell back into her pocket and looked down at her feet. They were torn up, bleeding heavily in some places. If those guys who took her had dogs, they would certainly be able to find her. She had to keep moving.

She desperately needed a break, though. Y/N was exhausted, and her last bit of energy was tapped. She could feel her battered body starting to shut down involuntarily. Y/N knew if she didn’t find a safe space to hide soon, she could be in real trouble.

Shoving away from the tree, she relentlessly pushed through the wooded area, desperately trying to find anything that looked familiar. Nothing but trees, brush, and branches surrounded her. She had walked for another fifteen minutes before she heard it. Freezing in place, she listened intently. Footsteps, and not in a cadence she recognized. With a terrified look behind her, she started to run frantically.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” she heard a maniacal voice shout. It only made her run faster and harder in the opposite direction. Glancing nervously behind her to see if she could spot the man chasing her, she stumbled awkwardly and as she tried to right herself – a strong hand lashed out and viciously grabbed her arm. She felt a sharp pain a second later in her neck.

“Gotcha,” a different male’s hateful voice said in her ear. Without rational thought, Y/N thrust the butt of the shotgun into the man’s face, shattering his nose. He cursed loudly, dropping her arm, and frantically grabbing his broken face with both hands. Y/N then spun on him and fired indiscriminately in his direction. She heard the man cry out as dark spots danced in front of her eyes. She fired again for good measure and heard a hoarse grunt before she turned uneasily and blindly started to stumble away, inadvertently dropping the shotgun in the process.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck FUCK she thought anxiously. Okay, we’ve dealt with this already. Take deep slow breaths. Slow your heart down. Control your movements. We can handle this. We beat the drugs once; we can beat them again.

Only this time, she wasn’t as positive.

“Wait, did you hear that?” Sam asked impatiently. Dean slowed the Impala down and listened intently through the open windows. Pulling the car off to the side of the road, he shut the engine down. The brothers listened intently to the world around them, hearing the wind blowing through the leaves and the odd cricket when suddenly

BANG! BANGBANG!

Dean’s furious eyes narrowed.

“They’re hunting something out in those woods,” Sam said, critical eyes on the tree line. He leaned back, vainly trying to see what was there.

“What are the chances it’s her?” Dean asked stonily. Sam turned to look back at the laptop, shrugging.

“It’s possible. She’s in the woods somewhere,” he responded. “Her signal is moving slowly, but I can’t pinpoint an exact location in the woods here.”

“Then we’re going in,” Dean said impatiently, opening his car door. Sam slapped his laptop shut and shoved it under his seat before following suit. When he got to the trunk of the car, Dean already had it open and a shotgun pulled out. He reached in and grabbed his own sawed-off, shoving shells into his pockets. Dean grabbed his pistol and shoved it into the back of his jeans along with a throwing knife. Sam grabbed his own pistol, then reached over to grab one of their empty backpacks and shoved a canteen and the first aid kit inside it. Dean looked at his brother with a raised brow.

“We don’t know what shape she is in. We should be prepared,” Sam explained gently. Dean’s eyes narrowed as he studied his brother, then he reached over and grabbed the other empty backpack and did the same. Dean added a blanket to his pack, while Sam added extra ammunition and a flare gun to his.

BANG! BANGBANG! BANG!

Gunshots rang out again, causing the brothers to look at the woods sharply. Dean slammed the trunk to the impala hard and racked the first shot in the shotgun.

“Let’s go, Sammy,” Dean snapped viciously as he led the way in.

Y/N blinked rapidly, desperately trying to clear her vision as she forced herself to move. She tripped and stumbled awkwardly into a nearby tree, scraping the skin off her arm in the process. A whimper escaped her as she forcefully pushed off the tree and forced her legs to keep moving. She had to keep going, she had to keep moving. She refused to die out here in the woods; she had to get back to Dean.

She wiped a hand across her neck and felt a small trickle of blood. She knew they injected her with whatever illegal drug they had been doping her with. She wiped her hand on her jeans, then reached behind her to grab the stolen pistol from the back of her pants. She didn’t know how many bullets she had left in it, but it made her feel comfortable having it in her hand.

She pressed on then, shoving away from the tree and moving slower than before as she made her way into the woods.

I can’t… I CAN’T…she thought miserably. A strangled sob got stuck in her parched throat as she stopped moving and leaned against a tree. Her breathing started growing ragged, almost like she couldn’t get enough air. She started yanking at her shirt, vainly trying to pull it away from her neck.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe,” she whispered brokenly to no one in particular. She pushed off the tree she leaned wearily against and attempted to walk again. She stumbled awkwardly with every few steps she took. The blurred vision and the dizziness told her the drugs were almost at full effect. It wouldn’t be long before she blacked out completely.

She felt an unknown hand grab her shirt to stop her, and with quick maneuvers made on instinct, she had it off her exhausted body in moments. With the remaining energy she had, she thrust her hand upward and felt the heel of her hand connect roughly with the nose of the person behind her. The sickening crunch and following yowl of pain was music to her ears. Y/N fought through the blurry vision and dizziness to grab the man’s head and forcibly bring it down sharply to her uplifted knee. She cried out herself at the violent contact, her entire leg aching terribly from the hit, but the man was unconscious and wouldn’t be bothering her anymore.

Four down. Two left.

Dean held up a hand with a closed fist when he heard the shrill cry of pain. He recognized that sound anywhere. He and Sam locked eyes, and Dean moved his fingers toward the direction he heard the sound coming from. Sam nodded and turned toward it. Slowly and silently, the two hunters crept forward until a gunshot had them running.

The following scream had Dean seeing red.

Fiery pain tore savagely through Y/N’s abdomen, ripping an agonized scream from her burning throat. She staggered her steps, colliding into a tree before collapsing into the brittle leaves on the dirt floor of the forest.

“Y/N!!!!” She heard someone shout frantically. Pulling on all the strength she had left, she yelled back.

“I’m here!!” her hoarse voice cried out. Y/N put both hands on her stomach and pressed, feeling lightning hot pain race through her, riding her veins down to her leg. She felt something warm and sticky there. When she lifted a hand to see what it was, she was mildly surprised to see something red on her fingertips.

She dropped her hand back to the bleeding wound, a hoarse groan ripped from her as complete exhaustion finally took hold. Her stinging, blurry eyes slowly drifted shut, tears making tracks through the dirt and blood on her face.

“She’s over here!” a gruff voice close to her shouted frantically. She listened carefully for the footsteps to come closer to her, but instead, she heard another gunshot. Shouting. Angry voices and crashing foliage. Flesh hitting flesh and another gunshot.

Y/N tried to hang on but felt herself start to drift. Between the drugs and now the gunshot wound, her desperate grip on reality was slipping fast. She felt her head fell back and her mouth open, which was helpful. It made breathing a little easier.

“Y/N. Y/N can you hear me? Y/N!!” she scarcely heard someone say, gently grabbing her face. She tried opening her eyes, but they wouldn’t listen to her. Her harsh breathing started to come in painful little gasps.

“I’m here,” she desperately tried to whisper. Everything sounded so distant, so far away from where she was right then.

“Dean!!” the voice shouted, fear lacing the word. Sam, then, she thought wearily. Her arms were getting heavier, numb even. Even the unbearable pain was going away. She hoped this was just the drugs making her feel this way. She didn’t want to die.

“You’re not gonna die, Y/N. Just hang on. DEAN!!” Sam shouted. That’s nice, she thought distractedly. She heard the distant rustling then the pain was back, sharp and engulfing her. She gasped, her eyes flying open to stare right into the brilliant green of Dean’s frantic ones as he relentessly pushed on her stomach wound.

“C’mon baby, you gotta stay awake for me,” Dean said, his voice filled with anguish and fear. Over his shoulder, Sam was on his phone. No doubt he was calling for help. Y/N’s eyes drooped.

“De…. Dru…gg…ed…” she got out through a pant, then grimaced as a violent wave of pain ran through her body, causing her to shiver violently. Dean’s eyes instantly started looking over her face and neck, before spotting the pinprick on her neck that was bleeding slightly.

“Drugged? They drugged you?” he asked frantically, but she was already out. “Babe? Y/N!? Y/N!!”

Dean started to panic, pushing two fingers into her neck to find your pulse. He found your pulse beating too slowly, but at least it was beating. He had no clue what kind of drug they gave her. Sam hung up the phone and turned back to his big brother.

“We need to get her to the road. They can’t land life flight in the woods,” he said, looking down at Y/N.

“They drugged her, Sammy. See if any of them have any drugs or syringes on them. I’ll start taking her to the car,” Dean demanded, moving to pick Y/N up bridal style so he could carry her. Sam nodded and started going through the pockets of the men around them.

Minutes later, Sam ran up to him with a syringe in his hand. Together they got Y/N to the car, then made it to the main road just as Rescue was pulling up.

The first thing she was aware of was the beeping of the heart rate monitor. The second was the heavy warmth around her hand. She could tell it had been there a while, that she had been there a while, simply by the ache in her joints and muscles. What she wouldn’t give to just stretch and instantly feel everything pop and move back into place like they were naturally supposed to be.

Instead, she tried opening her very heavy eyelids to see where exactly she was.

The hospital room she was in was dimly lit, just a lamp in the corner on the lowest setting. It looked dark outside the window, so it was either really late or really early. When her tired eyes caught the sleeping man in the chair next to her, a contented smile played on her face.

Dean looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes were rumpled. He was sleeping soundly on his folded arms, one eager hand wrapped around hers in a very tight grip. Suddenly, whatever they were arguing about before seemed so unimportant. She couldn’t even remember what it was about. All she really wanted more than anything right then was to see his gorgeous eyes and his charming smile.

Gently squeezing the hand he had a secure grip on, she tried to call his name with no success. Her throat was dry and scratchy, so any sound came out sounding broken and crackly. Thankfully, the door to her private room opened then and Sam walked in with a cup of coffee. When he realized she was awake, he smiled fondly at her with wet eyes.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said quietly, walking over to the opposite side of the hospital bed that Dean was resting on. He leaned down and gently kissed her on the top of the head, knowingly causing her to close her eyes and grin at him. “Welcome back.”

Sam then walked around the hospital bed to where Dean was and set his coffee down on one of the tables in the room. He put his hands on each one of Dean’s shoulders, squeezing slightly.

“Dean… Hey, I need you to wake up for me,” Sam said soothingly, rubbing his arms to gently wake him up. The older Winchester still woke with a jolt and a slight groan. Y/N watched him, eagerly waiting for him to look up at her.

“Look who’s awake, Dean,” Sam said softly. Dean immediately looked up at Y/N and his eager face broke into a relieved smile when he saw her pretty eyes looking back at him. He carefully moved from the chair to the side of her bed and gently pressed a chaste kiss to her mouth. Y/N pressed her hands to his face, needing to feel him, his skin on hers.

“Hey, baby,” Dean whispered tenderly. Y/N sniffled in response, carefully slipping her hands to his flannel shirt, and fisting it tightly. Sam had taken a step back, pouring some water into a cup with a straw for Y/N. He willingly handed it over to Dean who then took it and carefully held it out to Y/N. She took a few long sips of the water and attempted to clear her sore throat of the crude clogging it.

“Are they dead?” she asked, her pleasant voice sounding raw and painful. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, they’re all dead. You’re safe now,” Dean said, running his hand over her hair. “And I am so sorry…”

“No apologies,” Y/N mumbled, gently interrupting him. “You didn’t hang up the phone and got me away from them. That’s more than enough.” Dean shook his head, intentionally avoiding her eyes.

“If I never told you to leave, you would never have been in that position,” he said regretfully. Y/N couldn’t argue that one. Instead, she just took his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

“Lesson one in learning how to fight correctly: don’t kick each other out of the bunker,” she whispered tenderly, a gentle smile playing on her lips. Dean simply shook his head, swallowing hard. Y/N carefully studied his face. “Hey,”

Dean looked up at her, taking in the cuts and bruises scattered across her face. The guilt in his heart weighed down heavily on him and she could see it in his eyes. She pulled his face back down to hers and eagerly pressed their lips together again.

“I don’t blame you, Winchester,” she whispered fiercely against his lips. “But if it makes you feel better, I forgive you.”

Sam watched from the far side of the hospital room as his big brother and Y/N took the time to thank whoever listens to them that she made it out of this horrible ordeal alive. The drugs that those men kept pumping her full of took three full days to get out of her system. Thankfully, there should be no lasting damage to her. The gunshot wound was superficial, but thanks to the drugs, bled a lot. She’ll have an ugly scar, but she’ll live to talk about it.

It was the rape kit they had to do on her that infuriated the brothers. The doctors inadvertently discovered the need for it when they were prepping her for surgery. It took everything Sam could do to control Dean and his relentless fury. He was on the receiving end of a few punches before he invariably got Dean in a hold that stopped the violent attacks.

“Listen to me. HEY! LISTEN to me!” Sam shouted furiously at his brother once Dean was pressed up against the wall with his arms pinned. “Stop. You’re going to get kicked out of the hospital if you keep this up. The guys who kidnapped her are to blame for this. Not you, not me, and not the medical staff, alright?”

Dean stormed out of the hospital with Sam and Y/N’s doctor watching with frowns on their faces.

“Is he going to be okay?” they asked Sam. He didn’t know how to answer that, so Sam just shrugged. He told the doctors to do what they had to do for Y/N and he’d sign whatever paperwork was needed. Sam ended up sitting with Y/N for almost two days before Dean made his way back. When he arrived, he looked like he hadn’t slept and reeked of smoke and gasoline.

“They won’t be able to hurt her again,” he said as he stared at Y/N from the foot of her bed. Sam simply shook his head and sent Dean to the hotel room he rented to get a hot shower and some sleep.

Sam knew this was going to be new nightmare material for both his brother and Y/N. Dean’s overwhelming guilt would be enough to inevitably create new scenarios in his head that wouldn’t be real. He’ll wake up screaming horribly in the middle of the night thinking he didn’t save Y/N in time. And since Y/N had the Winchester habit of not talking about things, she’d be reliving this in her dreams as well. All Sam could do is be prepared to help them as best he could from the sidelines and remind them how to avoid getting to this place again.

Which does, in fact, start with not kicking each other out of the bunker during a fight.

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