and elizabeth almost loses her daughter

I Knew it Was a Bad Idea (But I Did it Anyway)

Summary: You left Sam fourteen years ago to try and give your daughter a normal life, but she is determined to find him. When you have to go and get her from the bunker… You almost lose your resolve.
Word Count: 3,468
Pairing: Sam x Reader; Sam & Your Daughter
Warning: None
A/N: If you like guys like maybe I’ll make a second part ^-^
“I” is your daughter, Elizabeth Casey, everyone else is in third person, this is a reader insert.
Also, a little bit of help, what tags should I use, or, what tags do you guys look for the most when you’re looking for this kind of thing. I’m still trying to figure out how to tag things.
Much love, hope you enjoy
Isabelle

Sam and Dean were sitting at a table doing research when someone knocked on the door. Dean and Sam locked eyes, each asking if the other had invited someone.

Dean took point, gun in hand and Sam right behind him, where he’d be hidden behind the open door.


So, I knew that it was a bad idea. I knew that, I just didn’t care. Mom would be pissed, so pissed, but you know what, this was what we both needed. To see Dad. Or, Sam, I guess I can’ trust call him Dad, or maybe I can. I’m not sure how that actually works.

Well, Dad/Sam was in for a surprise, if he was alive. Let’s be honest though, he’s alive. I know that he is. He has to be.

If Sam weren’t alive, that’d be a weird thing to leave out of the books.

So, if Sam and Dean weren’t dead yet, they’d probably be here, at this super secret bunker whose location a thirteen year old girl could find. Of course, I’m a very persistent thirteen year old girl.

I knocked on the door and waited, expecting to have a gun pointed at me when the doors opened, and I was right. I didn’t know who the person was pointing a gun at me, but I smiled and tried to act as naturally as possible. I’d never been told stories about my father by my mother, but I’d managed to coerce some other people into telling me stories, and this was the greeting that I was expecting. The intense man edging on fifty was fit and attractive, so I kind thought be might be one of the men I was looking for.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m looking for Sam Winchester.”

“You’re a kid,” He said, never lowering his gun.

“I’m his kid, more specifically. Hi,” I smiled, waving my hand at him. I was acting more bubbly than I normally would, but having a gun pointed at you is surprisingly scary.

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