“Woah (y/n), you look stunning.” Sam said as you walked out of the motel bathroom. “Thanks Sam, but I hate wearing this, if I wasn’t bait I’d have ripped it off a long time ago.” You joked.
“I’d love to rip it off of you.” He said you turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Let’s just get on with it.” Dean said interrupting your conversation with Sam. _____________
“Never again.” You said marching back into the room kicking off your heels before throwing yourself on the bed.
“Well if you want, I’ll undress you.” Sam said Dean huffed and threw himself onto his bed. “Maybe some other time Winchester.” You joked pulling yourself off of the bed and grabbing some jeans and a t-shirt and walked into the bathroom.
You didn’t get why Sam was acting so weird but luckily motel walls were thin and you got to hear the boys talking on the other side while you changed. “What the hell Sammy?” Dean asked.
“What?” You heard Sam reply. “I’ll undress you.” Dean said mockingly. “You don’t talk to her like that.” He said in a somewhat harsh manner. “Are you jealous of something?” Sam asked.
“Me? Jealous? Don’t be stupid Sam, I’m not into her like that.” You sighed and tuned out of the conversation after that, so much for having a chance with Dean. You walked out of the bathroom and both brothers were obviously still in a heated conversation.
“Sam, I’m hungry wanna go grab a bite?” You asked. “Sure.” He said turning to look at Dean before grabbing his jacket. “Is that my shirt?” Dean asked you. You looked down at the dark green shirt and shrugged. “Probably.” You said before pulling Sam out the door with you.
You were on your second drink of the night and still hadn’t had any effects. “Alright, spill Winchester, what’s with all the flirting?” You asked dying to know. “I don’t know-”
“Don’t even try it Winchester, something’s up with you, what is it?” You asked, he sighed and took a drink. “Dean likes you, I was hoping that if I flirted with you he would admit it.” He said you laughed.
“That was your plan college boy? Are we in a sitcom? Things don’t work that way in real life.” You said rolling your eyes. “Yeah, but I figured it was worth a shot.” He said.
“Yeah and obviously-”
“Sam, (y/n)! Finally I found you guys, I’ve been looking everywhere for you two.” Dean said pushing you and Sam apart and placing a stool in between the two of you.
“You wanna see how it’s done in real like college boy? Watch.” You said the you grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss. “Woah.” Dean said after you two broke apart.
“Well that was effective.” Sam said from next to Dean. “What was- that was- woah.” Dean had a smile on his face. “So, Dean, what do you say we end this early and head back to the motel?” You asked raising your eyebrows.
“Hell yeah.” He said following you towards the door.
“Wait guys where am I gonna stay?” Sam asked. You threw a fifty at him. “Figure something out.” You said still leading Dean out.
Request: SamxReader, reader looses her mum and she and Sam, who maybe had something in the past, meet up again, and he helps her through it. Smut maybe?
Warnings: Death of reader’s mother, smut
Old papers and files scattered the floor of your mother’s home office. Trash bags were placed strategically throughout the room, ready to be filled. You sat in the center of the room, hastily shoving things in to the bag you’d placed on your lap. Maybe you should’ve been looking through them, maybe you should’ve been checking to see if any of it was important, but at the moment it simply didn’t matter to you. The sooner you got all this crap gone, the sooner you could relax. If you’d have known just how hard this would be, you would’ve put it off, come after the news of your Mother’s death really had time to settle in.
You’d gotten the call a week ago from one of the neighbors, she’d told you your mother had been in a car accident. Apparently when the ambulance arrived the damage to her body had been much too serious to fix. Though her heart was still beating there was simply no way she’d be able to survive. Sure enough, on the ride to the hospital her heart stopped, she arrived D.O.A. It was strange to think your mother, a hunter of ten years, had been taken out by something so utterly normal.
The next item you found getting ready to be shoved in to the trash bag was a photograph, a baby blue picture frame encasing it. You smiled down at it in your hands, seeing the faces of your mom and you smiling back. It was a picture from Halloween when you were five, your mother was dressed in a witch costume, and you as a dinosaur.
You set the photo aside in a ‘keep’ pile, and moved on. The sheer amount of journals and sketchbooks filled with hunting instructions was a bit overwhelming. Though your mother had quit hunting four years ago, when you’d moved away, it seemed she’d kept the information in case it was ever needed. You threw it all in the bag, no one needed to remember those things. One thing caught your eye before it all went in though, a picture from when you were eighteen, a tall boy standing next to you with his arms wrapped around your shoulders. Sam Winchester.
Back when you and your mother were both still hunting, you’d met a man named John Winchester and his two sons, Sam and Dean. You’d been working on a case involving a vengeful spirit, and things seemed to go smoother with them around. It’s not like it had anything to do with your massive crush on Sam. Although he was the youngest of the Winchesters, he was also the tallest, and most certainly the nicest. His brother and father were both a bit abrasive, never really wanting to talk things out when it came down to it. He was kinder, softer, but deadly all the same. The three of them had stayed in contact with you and your mom through the entirety of your hunting days. Though they had a mission of their own, they were willing to lend a hand where they could. And it certainly didn’t hurt that you and Sam tended to hook up whenever they were around.
The moment you and Sam started to really talk it was clear you had quite a lot in common. Every time the five of you would work cases together you’d always be sure to get some alone time with him, chatting about your pasts, or futures, something it seemed John was extremely restrictive about. You had been his escape back then. The quick kisses and secret glances had been well hidden from the others, but it never made them mean any less. You had loved him and he had loved you. Saying goodbye to him as you left your home and town behind was one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do, but both of you understood it was the right thing. The hunting life just wasn’t for you, it never had been.
You sighed, shoving the picture in to the trash bag. That was the past, it was time to move on.
By the time you’d managed to go through all of the papers it was creeping up on 7 pm. You had moved all the bags to the trash bin out side and swept the floor. The things which you were keeping were piled neatly on the desk. You thought about staying at a hotel but decided against it, this technically was your house now. You mother left you the house and everything in it considering you were the only real family member she had left.
You took a seat at the kitchen table. It was strange sitting there alone, the memories of eating pancakes and bacon with your mom on days off seemed to vanish. It was just you know. The thought was painful, knowing you’d never see her again, never hear the smile in her voice as she teased you for sleeping in. You didn’t even notice you were crying until there were warm tears dripping on to your arm. Your mother had always been there for you and now she was just gone.
You hadn’t cried all that much in the past few days. Sure the news had crushed you, but it was strange, you hadn’t seen her in a few years since you’d moved, it was like it didn’t hurt as much as it should’ve. It seemed this house was bringing out all sorts of memories and feelings today.
That’s when you heard it. It wasn’t a loud noise, but it was definitely loud enough to hear from downstairs.
"What the hell?" You whispered to yourself. It seemed you were much less alone than you’d originally thought.
With the silent steps of hunter you made your way to the second floor of the house. The moment you reached the top of the steps the noise seemed to stop. You frowned, figuring it had been nothing. As you went to go back down the stairs however it started again, louder this time, the noise easily spreading throughout the house.
You jumped, nearly falling backwards. You grabbed a screwdriver, the only thing you could seem to find as a weapon, and made your way through the hallway. Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming from your old room, so that’s where you went, your screwdriver held out in front of you. The door opened easy and with the first few steps you took it was like walking back in time. Everything was as you left it when you moved, your bed, your old clothes, all of it.
Walking towards the back of the room you closed in on the window, the only place you could think the noise would possibly be coming from. You could just make out a figure beyond the glass, the dark of the night preventing you to see much more than an outline. You undid the lock on the window, pulling it up hesitantly. The figure- you could tell they were a guy now, pushed his way through the small opening, clearly much too large for it.
He stood up straight, and you were able to see his features clearly now. He had to be at least 6’4, shoulder length chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and stubble scattering his jaw and chin.
"Sam," his name left your lips in a whisper as you stared at him. He looked good. He looked really good.
"Hi Y/N," He gave you a wide smile, his dimples appearing on his cheeks.
"I… What are you doing here?" You didn’t mean to sound so blunt, but when the guy you’d dated randomly shows up after years of not talking, a girl’s going to have a few questions.
"I heard you were back in town, and about your mom," He trailed off. The mere mention of her hurt, and you nodded, looking down.
"Yeah, it was a, a car accident," Your eyes drifted to his, the same ones you stared in to, telling your thoughts and wishes so many years back. "Wait," A thought crossed your mind. "You said you heard I was in town, sure. But how did you know I’d be here tonight?" He froze up, a sheepish smile making it’s way across his face.
"Well I’ve been… watching out for you," You smirked.
"So you’ve been stalking me?" He scratched at the back of his neck.
"N-no, I’ve been looking around to see when you’d get here," You laughed.
"Okay, fine," You looked behind him, gesturing to the window. "But why the window? There is a door you know," He followed your gaze, moving to close the window and lock it.
"I don’t know, I guess old habits die hard," You smiled fondly at the memories of him climbing on to the slope of your roof, tapping on the window in the night. Your mom loved Sam, but if she’d known he was spending the night, she would have had his had on a platter. He looked towards your hand, spotting the screwdriver.
"That’s what you brought for self defense," He raised an eyebrow and you gave a shrug.
"It was the only thing I could find," He chuckled.
"Glad I came then, looks like you’re in need of extra protection," You rolled your eyes.
"So what are you doing here anyway, other than coming to visit? It doesn’t seem like a Winchester to drop by out of the blue, you must have some reason to be in the area," You could see him stiffen up slightly at your question.
"I just wanted to check in, making sure you were doing okay, you know with everything," He was clearly lying, and you knew it. You nodded along anyway though, figuring whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it. You made your way towards the door, setting the screwdriver on the nightstand as you went.
"You coming?" Turning back around you could see Sam still standing where he had been.
"Where are we going?" He followed along behind you.
"To the magical place where food comes from."
"So the kitchen?"
After nearly cutting off three of your fingers in an attempt to open the packaging of a frozen pizza, and almost setting the stove on fire due to you not-so-great cooking skills, you and Sam both had a plate with only mildly burnt pizza.
You grimaced at the crunching noise it made as you bit down, and looked over to Sam, who seemed had no problem with the pizza. The room was silent apart from the noises of chewing, no words being said. With anyone else it would likely seem awkward, but with Sam it seemed fine. Silence was comfortable with Sam, no words needing to be exchanged.
When you had both eaten what you could, you dumped the remains in to the trashcan and moved your plates to the sink. It was strange, standing there as you turned on the faucet, Sam coming up beside you to grab a drying towel. It brought you back to when you were eight, sitting on the counter as your mother washed the dishes, and you dried them, singing some Beatles song horribly off key. Her favorite had always been Here Comes The Sun, it was short, and she knew all the lyrics, so the two of you would hold out one of the big cooking spoons and belt out the lyrics in to it.
Reaching for the washcloth seemed ten times harder than it should have been as your walls slowly chipped away, every memory another swing from a pickax. Your mother was gone and you were here, every single move an effort to not break down. It was too much, unhealthy even, and you knew if you let it build up it would only get worse, so you let go. You let it all out, hoping that just maybe it would relieve some of the pain. Gripping on to the edge of the sink, you let the tears roll down your cheeks, sobs wracking your body.
Arms wrapped their way around you, pulling you in to a large, warm chest. It was nice, having someone there to hold you, especially that someone being Sam. He would never rush anything, never make you talk when you didn’t want to, but no matter what he would be there as long as you needed him. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hands gently smoothing down your hair. The two of you stayed like that for a while, standing in the kitchen, wrapped in each other, even once you’d calmed down.
When you finally did pull back, his eyes stayed on you, his gaze not one of pity, but only of concern. That was something great about Sam, he never looked at people like wounded animals, he never thought of them as broken, he merely saw them as what they were, he looked at them knowing they were capable of being fixed, and you loved him for that. You loved him for everything.
And just like that, you were seventeen again, standing on you tiptoes in front of Sam Winchester, your lips brushing against his. Except now, you weren’t stealing kisses after hunts, before you parted ways. Now it was just the two of you, free to be with each other in an empty house which was now only yours.
Sam smiled against your lips, his hand moving down to squeeze at your hips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his down closer to deepen the kiss. There was no fight for dominance, you gladly let him take control, moaning against his mouth as his tongue mapped out your every curve and turn. It could’ve been thirty years since you’d last seen each other, time didn’t matter, he would always remember the way you tasted and felt.
You raked your hands through Sam’s hair and he lifted you gently, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. Somehow he managed to make it up the stairs and down the hall to your room with out falling. It’s not like you needed privacy or anything, there was no one to barge in anyway, but it seemed that it brought some sort of normalcy to be somewhere you’d gone so many times in the past.
You pulled off your shirt quickly the moment you hit the bed, and you watched as he did the same, moving to unclasp your bra. Quickly wiggling out of your pants, you backed yourself up, moving until you lay against the pillows. Sam hovered above you, his hands at your sides so he could stay up as he pressed kissing down your chest and stomach, stopping when he reached your hips. Hooking his thumbs beneath the band of your underwear he pulled them off in one swift movement, tossing them carelessly to the side.
He grinned up at you from between your legs and pressed feather-light kisses to the inside of your thighs, his warm breath moving across your center. You let out a small whimper and pressed yourself closer to him. He ran his tongue between your folds, earning a moan from you. Your eyes fluttered shut, weaving your fingers in to his long hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers.
He moved his lips around your clit, replacing his tongue with two long fingers, pressing them in to you. You bucked slightly against his fingers, your spare hand moving to grip at the sheets. It wasn’t long before you felt that all too familiar coil building in your stomach. He pressed his teeth to your clit gently and curled his fingers inside you, skillfully hitting your g spot, and with that you were gone, yelling his name between moans. He lifted his head up from between your legs, his chin wet with your juices as he smiled at you.
Crawling his way back to eye level, he dragged his hands down your sides, making you shiver. His lips connected with yours and you could taste yourself on his mouth, your fingers sliding down his chest until they reached his belt, undoing it as quickly as a possible.
"God, I missed this," He sighed against you, moving his lips against your neck, sucking extremely visible hickeys against your collar bone.
"Me too," You panted, helping him shimmy out of his jeans. Tossing them to the side, you moved your hand beneath the waist band of his boxers, gripping around his erection.
"Wait," He grunted. You stopped, looking up at him. "Condom?" You nodded, leaning across the bed to reach your nightstand. Grabbing the little silver wrapper from the drawer you tossed it to him.
"Lucky no one’s touched my room in forever," He chuckled, rolling it on.
You moved so you were straddling him, pushing down on him until you were sat fully in his lap. He pushed your hair back from your shoulders, his finger tips trailing down your sides until they dug in to your hips. You were fairly sure you’d have bruises in the morning, but in all honesty, you really didn’t care. You went slow at first, still adjusting to his size, but started to speed up until you were bouncing in his lap. His hands moved from your hips to the small of your back, carefully moving you so you laying against the pillows again. He moved one of your legs to wrap around his waist, getting better leverage as he continued to pound in to you.
It wasn’t long until you felt that coil building up once again, your breaths becoming quicker.
"Sam- I’m-" Somehow even with your scrambled words he understood you, placing a quick kiss to your lips.
"Come for me, Baby,"That was all it took, you dug your nails in to his back, his name leaving your lips in a cry. Your legs tightened around his waist, your vision going white. You could feel him twitch inside you, coming as you did.
"Holy shit," He panted, pulling out, rolling on to his side next to you.
"That was amazing," You grinned, capturing his lips with yours.
You lay in the dark, one of Sam’s arms holding you against him, the other draped across your stomach, his finger intertwined with your own.
"Sam?" Your voice was quiet.
"Yeah?" He brushed the hair from your face, pushing it behind your shoulder.
"Where’s Dean? Not that I’m complaining, but why are you here alone?"He sighed, the subject clearly not one he wanted to dwell on.
"He’s gone, Y/N," Gone. You repeated the word in your head a few times. You knew what he meant by it. He didn’t mean he was ‘off to Florida’ gone. He meant he was gone for good, just like your mother. You decided to change the subject.
"How long are you staying for?"You moved impossibly closer to him, tucking your head in to his neck.
"However long you want me here," You smiled, stretching your neck to kiss him quickly.
"I love you, Sam," You whispered, your grip on his hand tightening.
"I love you too, Y/N," He smiled, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, wrapped safely in Sam’s arms, falling asleep easily. You were in love, and it was beautiful.
No. I cannot put this out on the shelves at Target without freaking out. YOU CANNOT EXPECT ME TO PUT THIS OUT WITHOUT THINKING BAD THOUGHTS OR HOPING IT REVOLVES AROUND A SEXY MECHANIC WITH A FETISH FOR QUIRKY MEN AND SEXY CARS. UGH.
This is totally what a hellhound looks like, imo. Horns, big claws, even bigger teeth and a long forked tail. Whenever they’re mentioned in SPN and whatnot this is always what I imagine is coming to get them!
Warnings: suicide attempt (it doesn’t go in to detail at all)
White, sterile walls greeted Dean Winchester as he woke up. The sight was nothing new, he saw them everyday. Dean stood carefully, the aged twin size bed creaking beneath his weight. Deans gaze drifted to the wall opposite to him, filled to the ceiling with sketches and notes. Half drawn pictures of Wendigos and Djins, and god knows what had been scattered across the small wooden frame of the little brown desk which sat pressed against the wall to his left.
The wall to the right of his bed was bare with the exception of a small window. The doctors had found looking out on the town was good for him, it seemed to calm him somehow. They didn’t understand how the window harbored hope for for Dean. They didn’t understand how he waited everyday, a book or journal in his hands, as he sat carefully in a small metal chair behind the window, waiting for his brother Sam to walk up those front steps, to come and visit him. That was the only thing Dean hoped for anymore, Sam walking up the steps and through the front door, coming in to visit him.
Dean remembered the fire well. Thirty two years ago it had happened, the raging flames devouring their small home with a vengeance. It had taken his mother and driven his father mad. Dean could still recall the heat, he could still feel his mother’s screams work their way in to his ears, and he could still hear his fathers voice shouting for him to run. Dean had passed Sam’s nursery on his way out, the fire billowing around the door, the metal handle scalding to the touch. Despite how hard he had tried he couldn’t get a grip on it, he couldn’t reach Sammy. His small four year old frame too small to break the door. He had yelled, oh how he had yelled, his cries doing nothing to retrieve his baby brother.
If only he’d known three hours earlier it was the last time he’s see Sam, he would’ve said something more, anything really. He was left with the words ‘Night Sammy’, they still haunted him.
Eventually he’d been knocked unconscious from smoke inhalation, his struggle to reach Sam successful. He had woken up in an ambulance about twenty minutes later, a man in a dark blue shirt stood above him, checking a large, beeping machine behind Dean’s head. His last memory of home was the view of his father’s 1967 Chevy Impala growing ever so smaller in the distance. After that he didn’t talk much. Simple words and requests was all. The last time he saw his father was when he was seven. The view of his back walking out of Dean’s hospital room was about all he remembered of John. He’d watched him with wide eyes, looking on silently as the last member of his family just walked out of his life. He hadn’t seen him since then.
Dean had been shipped off to a few foster homes. He was always very quiet, the rare times he had conversations would be when he was playing with his toy car. A 67 Chevy Impala model, just as the one he’d rode in when he was young. He would make up great chase scenes, the monster of his choice following after himself and his sidekick, Sam, in their car. The monsters were never any match for the brothers’ combined forces.
Eventually, foster homes weren’t enough. Dean needed more than a part time family. He needed professional help. His third family had figured this out after his first suicide attempt. They had found him in the bathtub at age sixteen, blood running down his arms from the self-inflicted cuts. He still blamed what had happened so long ago on himself.
He never gave the doctors a straight answer about why he wanted to end his life. When they asked the first time, he had mumbled on about some sort of psychic, the second he’d said something about Lucifer. After a while the doctors stopped asking.
The last hospital he’d been placed in, where he sat now, was his favorite. The doctors were very kind there. They asked him about his drawings, they seemed interested in his stories. His favorite doctor was a very tall man, around 6’3 he guessed, his hair was about shoulder length, and his eyes were a light hazel color. He was a very kind man, he never judged Dean, never labled him as crazy or strange. He didn’t look at him like a sad story, like Dean was broken, broken though he may be.
Once in a while, when Dean had a particularly bad day he would drag one of the chairs to Dean’s bedside and read to him. And whenever his birthday came around he always, always, brought Dean a small slice of pecan pie. He asked Dean a lot of questions. Nothing incredibly personal or intruding, but about the monsters Dean drew, and the stories he’d written. He enjoyed talking to the doctor, Dean didn’t feel as alone when he was around.
Dean thought that maybe, just maybe, if Sam had gotten out of the fire, if Dean had managed to break in to his room and been able to pull him out, he’d be someone like the kind doctor. Although Dean would never be able to see Sam grow up, he imagined how good of a person he’d be. He would help Dean fight the Wendigos, and the Djin, and the many other monsters Dean had thought up over the years. They would help people, stand for the greater good, they’d be heroes.
Dean daydreamed about this a lot, it was just about all he did anymore. He was always thinking of him and Sam, their Impala racing down the road, their guns loaded, knives freshly sharpened and ready to take down the next nightmare that dared cross their path. He had managed to create a world in his own head where they could withstand anything so long as they worked together. Dean no longer thought of the Winchester name as a weak one, one lost to flames, he thought of it as a legendary one instead. He imagined that he had, in fact carried Sam out of their burning home in his arms that dreadful night so many years ago. He imagined that Sam Winchester lived on, fighting at his side.
found yourself in a bar in Toledo, Ohio, finishing off a forth glass of whiskey
before raising a finger toward the irritatingly concerned bartender, who simply
rolled his eyes and poured you another without complaint. The necklace that you usually wore around
your neck—really it was just a cheap charm scavenged from a yard sale on a long
chain, allowing it to normally be easily concealed down by your stomach under
whatever shirt you decided to wear—was now between your fingers. You turned the charm around, full 360’s,
tapped it on the bar every once in a while, your eyes never really leaving the
small, silver charm unless you were taking a drink.