#hurt dean winchester | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweet-lost-husbands · 9 months

Text

To Save You

Dean Winchester x Castiel | Whump | Injured Dean Winchester

Hurt/Comfort Word count: 3.2k Summary: Dean and Cas are on a hunt when things go sidewards. Dean gets hurt and Cas's powers are to weak to heal him so he has to improvise. Warnings: Serious injury, blood, gore, cauterization. Italics are the character's thoughts REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Dean opened his eyes as a big bold head with dark skin came into view from the side. In that moment he propelled himself from the tree and started into a sprint.

“Oh, not so fast little hairless monkey.”

Dean didn’t turn around as the guy swiped his hand, sending him onto a tree with a thud. Dean let out a shriek of pain as the wind got knocked out of him. He tried to fight it, the energy that was pinning him, crushing him against the trunk but the more he fought the more violent the ripples of pain were sent through his body. Dean watched helplessly as the angel neared.

A shiny blade fell from his sleeve and into his hand. “I’m going to gut you, and I'm going to enjoy it.” A feral smile twisted in his lips.

Each beat of Dean’s heart thundered through his entire body. As the angel held the blade up. “The last image you will see is your own intestines outside of your body.”

Quick, he just wanted a quick death but hell maybe he deserved a slow one. At least, there was one fact that wouldn’t change, no matter how much pain he would or wouldn’t be put through, at the end, he’d be set free of this world. Free of his father and his trauma and everything that haunted his dreams.

In a swift and accurate movement, the angel swiped at his abdomen but at the same time was jolted backwards. Dean shuddered as his flesh tore and blood poured out.

He sank to the floor half resting on the base of the tree. He watched as Castiel threw the angel against the ground, kicking him then taking out his own angel blade, swinging his arm with force and jabbing it through his heart. Even dead, the angel’s eyes and mouth opened, glowing a bright white light before fading.

Cas rushed over to Dean squatting at his side. Worry and concern relishing in his features. Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him. Dean squirmed, trying to inch away from his grasp, he was to scared, to fucking scared. Dean was starting to become confused and disoriented. White spotted in his vision and a sharp pain blasted at his stomach.

“It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you. It's me, Dean. Your angel. Cas.” Cas’ voice was soft, but his eyes were laced with apprehension for what damage had been caused. He whispered little soothing nothings into Dean’s ear in hope they would coax Dean to let him help.

“Let me see your wound.” Cas slid a hand to the hem of Dean’s shirt readying to gently reveal the wound, but Dean pulled away, fighting off Cas’ hands. Cas withdrew trying to assess the wound from where he was. But all that he could see was red and a shit lot of it too.

“’m fine!” Dean shouted but his was voice hoarse with pain. There it was, his favourite phrase ‘’m fine,’ but the sad part was; he used it most of the time when he knew he wasn’t. It hurt like nothing he ever felt before. Everything was shaking and he gritted his teeth begging for the pain to stop. He didn’t want Cas to see it. He didn’t even want to see it himself. Right now, he could just pretend he’d gone through worse and just hope that it was okay. Even though he could feel the warmth of his own blood while his mind drifted and red stained his clothes and deep down, he knew it was bad.

“No, you're not, let me help.” Cas stared intensely at him, his beaming blue eyes grounding Dean but not yet conquering his acceptance. Dean tightened clutching his middle.

“Go away! I refuse to be a burden. I can patch myself up.”

Without warning Cas made the decision for Dean and drew closer once again. Dean swatted Cas’ hands away.

“Dean! Stop fighting me. I swear to god if you die, and I had an opportunity to help you-….. I can’t let that happen.”

Dean’s stomach radiated with pain and his eye lids felt heavy. Deep down he knew that he couldn’t afford to fight Castiel any longer.

Cas made eye contact with Dean giving him a serious look as a warning before he returned his gaze back to the wound and grabbed the bottom of Dean’s shirt. He half expected Dean to wriggle and object. When Dean didn’t do either of those things, Cas carefully lifted his shirt and started to analyse to damage, Dean winced as the fabric separated but too quietly for Cas to stop what he was doing.

Cas’ stomach turned at the sight of Dean’s torn flesh and the blood that pooled in the wound. It sickened him that this had happened to Dean and how much pain he was in. He’d do anything to take it away, to go back to before he was struck. If only Cas had reacted faster, killed the angel sooner, stayed at Dean’s side, this never would have ended like this.

It was deep and thin, running in a straight line from side to side on an angle but it didn’t seem to have hit anything vital. Cas knew how painful it would be, but Dean was doing his best to hide it. Bless him.

Cas would have to act quickly to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. Out here, infection killed far more than anything. The process was so tediously slow, losing each bit of themselves as it spread. He couldn’t let Dean have that kind of death, not if he was the only one who had enough decency to stay by his side so he wouldn’t die alone. Not when he’d have to watch every bit of his prolonged suffering. Cas’ mind sharped, he knew what he needed to do.

In a rapid action, Cas removed his trench coat, unbuttoned the clean shirt beneath and pressed it into the wound. Not caring that he was now shirtless and exposed.

“SON OF A BITCH.” Dean cried out, arching forward as Castiel elevated the pressure slightly. Right beneath Cas’ hands, he could feel Dean’s whole-body tense up. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but everything caused Dean agony despite his briskly fading ‘tough guy act’.

“Breathe.”

“What do you think I'm doing!?”

Castiel froze, unsure of what to do next. He glimpsed over his shoulder for anything that might come in use.

Must save Dean. Anything to save Dean.

“Keep pressure to stop the bleeding and try to be as still as possible.” Cas’ eyes met Dean’s for heartbeat. He took one of Dean’s hands by the wrist and pushed it on top. Dean groaned but didn’t take his hand away, following Cas’ words.

Cas left, bolting towards Dean’s bag a few trees away. He grabbed it and rushed back, opening it at Dean’s side. Cas tipped it upside down, all it’s contents spewing out before him. Cas turned back to Dean.

“This will be painful.”

Dean watched as Cas took out another clean shirt, this one smaller and scrunched up to fit in his hand. Not so long later, it was dabbed with a bit of cool water. Dean tried to ready himself in his mind as Cas lifted his now soaked shirt and started to work. Dean still hadn’t managed to look, purely based on what terrifying gory site he might see.

Try not to hurt him.

Cas put a hand on either side, stretching the skin in different ways to get a better view and to determine how deep it was. Dean let out a small shudder, eyes scrunched up, bearing it. Cas kept muttering apologises to Dean. It looked like the blade had narrowly missed any internal damage and only the skin was torn. There were, however, little bits of dirt that must have been flicked in there when Dean fell. Cas would have to remove them and thoroughly clean the wound.

Have to stop infection.

“The wound is too deep; there is too much blood, it needs to be sealed.” Cas tried not to let on the urgency of the matter. He was losing blood pretty quickly and Cas was too weak to heal him.

Cas grabbed the nearby shirt he had just splashed with cool water and used it to gently clean the wound and stem the flow of blood. Dean flinched with every touch. That made it a lot harder for Cas to do what needed to be done. By now, Dean had pulled both hands up, twisting his fingers around Cas strong arms trying to pry him away. He was gripping so tightly that Cas was sure it would bruise but also sure that somewhere in his pain struck mind, he couldn’t help it.

I’m so sorry Dean. I’m so fucking sorry.

“You got to relax; you’ll bleed out faster if you don’t.” Cas mentioned.

“Well, you try... AH.”

Dean felt as Cas pushed the material further into the wound causing a streak of pain that slowly expanded to every fibre in his being. He began to turn, trying to curl up into a ball but Cas managed to keep him on his back.

“You have to stay still.” He reminded Dean again.

Stop hurting him.

As Cas worked, he could feel his hands shaking with adrenaline and fear, but he pushed those feelings aside and focused on the task at hand. A sigh escaped Cas’ lips. He would have to put quite a lot of pressure on, in order to clean it properly, but Dean was in so much pain with even the slightest touch. Cas didn’t want to do it. Why was he the one to have to do this? Cas tapped a finger on Dean’s chest, trying to think. It only took an instant for the idea to come to his head but another for him to decide to go through with it. Cauterisation. It would be extremely painful but the only way to save Dean’s life.

Don’t do this, please don’t do this.

He hated himself for considering causing Dean that much pain. But he had to. Without a second more to dwell on the possibility's, Cas trusted his own judgement and reached for a lighter amid the other contents. He slid his angel blade from his sleeve, created a small fire and placed it in there. Dean, relaxed for a moment with the pressure suddenly gone, but there was also a doubt in his mind.

“Hey, hey, hey, Cas what ya doin?” Dean’s face was growing pale. It could have been a mix of fear and blood loss, but he didn’t know. The forest started to spin, his mind confused and panicked. His head lay on its side, eye’s running over the fire and the angel blade inside it. Cas turned to him and shifted obstructing his view.

Must save him.

“I’m so sorry.” Cas spoke, he didn’t answer Dean’s question, but he knew he would have too soon.

While Cas waited for it to heat up, he went back cleaning Dean’s wound. This time Dean didn’t try to pull his hands off, but he did whimper. Cas watched him blink away the wetness in his eyes. This, Cas hated but he knew he’d hate the bit that followed even more.

“I know it's scary, but I promise I won't hurt you. We need to clean the wound, stop the bleeding and prevent infection.” His voice was like an automatised message, at least this way Dean couldn’t sense all the feelings that swirled in Cas’ mind. The ones of worry and dread and most of all horror. He tried to just go for it and get it over with, but Dean let out a low sharp sound as Cas grazed the shirt over the opening. Cas couldn’t stop his hand from pulling away. He despised hurting Dean.

Find something to take his pain away.

“How's your days been?”

Dean croaked confused, “W'at?”

“I’m trying to distract you from the pain. So, how's your day been?” Cas was ready with the shirt, waiting for Dean to be slightly distracted before he did it.

“Peachy.” Cas smiled slightly, even in a vulnerable state, Dean was still Dean, witty comments and all. “Look oka’, I can handle the pain, I don’t need you to hold m’ hand. Just get it over w’th.”

“Alright, as you wish.”

Cas didn’t hold back; he found the will to do what was necessary. He pushed it deep into the flesh to clean it properly, trying to ignore Dean’s grunts that came deep from within his throat.

Dean gasped as Cas pulled away. Cas threw the shirt aside and lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder, comforting him, giving him a few breaths to recover. Then he turned around and took the angel blade out of the embers, its tip glowing bright red.

Don’t hurt him.

“Dean I need you to stay very still for this.”

“Wha’ r ya doin’ w’th that?” Dean slurred. There was a certain hollowness in his voice like he already knew the answer but needed someone to say it aloud. A hollowness like he was giving up fighting.

“Cas!”

Cas caved. “I need to cauterize it, it’s the only way I can stop the blood loss and prevent infection.”

“Don’t do th’s.” Dean started to wiggle, begging his tired and fatigued limbs to sprint into action even though he knew they wouldn’t. Dean’s back was already pressed up slightly against the tree trunk there was nowhere else to go. Cas held him down with his other hand, his knees digging into Dean’s thighs, immobilising them. The burning blade approaching. There was a moment amidst the struggle, where both of their eyes locked on each other. Dean’s expression so broken it shattered a piece of Cas’ heart right then and there.

Don’t hurt him. Must save him.

“Please, 'm begg’ng you, I don’t w’nt th’s.” The same hollowness surrounded his words but this time they sounded so much thicker. But Cas couldn’t let himself let go, Dean meant more then he realised, he loved him. He couldn’t let him die, not without existing every possible solution.

“This will hurt me more than it hurts you.” Cas placed a stick in Dean’s mouth, shutting out his words. Dean’s eyes gleamed up at him, now he was begging. Begging not to suffer, begging for there to be literally any other option. But Cas didn’t see, he didn’t want to.

You have to do this, it’s the only way.

“I’m sorry. Look at the sky, anywhere but here. If you have a happy place in your mind, then go there. Brace yourself. I’m so so sorry.” Dean was shaking his head, still trying to free himself. A wet sound escaped Dean’s throat, one that Cas would never forget.

Cas let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was almost in disbelief at what he was about to do. A moment later, he carefully placed the blade against the wound, and there was a sizzling sound as the wound began to seal shut. Dean screamed in agony, tears streaming down his face. His body trembling with pain and the veins of his neck popped out. He thrashed against Cas’ hold. Every cry seemed to echo through the forest, bouncing off the trees and landscape.

You're hurting him. Stop, dammit! Cas begged himself internally.

Cas could barely bring himself to watch. It took all of Cas’s willpower to keep his hand there. All of his instincts were shouting at him to stop, that he was hurting his human, but he knew that he had to keep going. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, a sickening smell.

As he worked, his mind raced with worry and concern. What if he made a mistake?

“Stop. Please.” Dean cried between gasps; his voice was muffled through the stick. Cas pulled away for a second, the skin beneath red and tender. In those horrible minutes, whatever bond had sprung up between him and Cas hadn’t broken. Cas had switched loyalties – he'd chosen to stand for Dean, fight for him. At any cost.

Save him. Save your human.

“Honeybee, I know it hurts but it’s imperative that I do this.” And the blade touched his skin once more. Cas could almost feel Dean's pain vibrating though his body, and it broke his heart to see him in such a state. The pet name just slipped out of his mouth, but he hoped it was comforting nonetheless.

“Please… stop ‘t… please…”

“Just breath. You're doing great. Just a little bit longer.” Cas soothed. Even in pain, Dean was breath-taking. His eyes were the colour of the leaves, and his hair shimmered like gold in the fading light. Cas felt his heart racing as he realized how close they were, and how much he meant.

“All done!” Dean lay still, slowly recovering from the pain, his face still contorted in agony. Even though Dean had stopped screaming, it all that Cas could hear.

You made him scream like that.

Cas immediately began to apply a homemade salve of pine sap, aloe vera and other natural ingredients to the wound, rubbing it as deep as he could while Dean strained and fought to get away from the hands that were hurting him. Afterwards Cas wrapped it up lightly with clean cloth.

Even though Cas knew that his intentions were good, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d betrayed Dean. He wanted to apologize, to make things right, but he didn't even know where to begin. How could he make up for the pain and fear he caused? How could he make Dean feel safe around him again? His thoughts dissolved the second he forced his eyes down to meet Dean’s. He expected Dean to look at him like he was a monster but instead, Dean’s face teemed with gratitude.

Don’t be fooled by his eyes, there's no way that he could trust you after that.

Then Dean, the solider he was, was trying to raise but Cas quickly pushed a firm hand down on his chest to keep him still.

“You have to rest, let your body heal. It will be a slow process but hopefully I can speed it up when my powers get stronger.”

#dean winchester x castiel #dean winchester #castiel #dean Winchester whump #hurt dean Winchester #supernatural #destiel #whump #caretaker x whumpee #whump fic #cauterization #injury #blood loss #cw: gore #hurt to heal #accidental torture #caretaker castiel

10 notes · View notes

saiacross · 8 months

Text

Bonds Unveiled

Supernatural FanFic: 7,258: Words: Series: Reader-Insert

Chapter 10: Young Sam

This Work is part of an overarching story that can be read as a one-shot with little overlapping information from other chapters.

⬅ Chapter 9 Hallucinations💜 Chapter 11 Together Again ⚠️ Dean ➡ Master List

Chapter 10: Young Sam Our trio has caught onto a case that, even after it was dealt with, continues to tear a riff among the brothers and Y/N. Sam is affected by a spell that brings back painful memories for Dean that cause him to speak his true feelings to Y/N about how he sees her. But that won't stop her from being there for Sam, as long as he needs her. Hurt Dean.

Dean had his hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel as the Impala raced down the highway, the wind rushing through the open windows. Sam, sitting shotgun, was focused on his laptop, scanning through various reports and news articles. Y/N, in the backseat, watched the scenery pass by, her thoughts wandering.

As they crossed the state line into Iowa, Sam's eyes widened as he stumbled upon an intriguing article. He turned to face Dean and Y/N, his expression a mix of excitement and concern.

"Guys, so get this," Sam interrupted the quiet rumble of the engine, turning his head to face Dean and Y/N. "I think we're dealing with a witch here. The reports mention incidents happening around town; an herbal shop was robbed in the middle of the night but no money was taken, dead ravens are being found all over town picked clean of their feathers, a lady got into a fight with someone over Black Salt, and……. a flower shop was held at gunpoint for it vervain and moonflowers ."

Dean nodded, his focus shifting from the road to Sam. "A witch, huh? Well, we've tangled with those before. What's the deal with these ingredients, that’s definitely not your typical grocery list."

Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Some witches are so stuck up, their ingredients always have to be as fresh as possible, what's wrong with just hitting up the grocery store? It’s the same shit ." Her annoyance seeped into her voice, and she crossed her arms in frustration.

Dean chuckled at Y/N's comment, finding her straightforward approach amusing. "Yeah, those witches with their gourmet spells, right?" he joked.

Sam shot a smile at Y/N, trying to lighten the mood. "Hey, I get it. It can be annoying, but some spells require specific ingredients for their potency. We just need to figure out what this witch is up to and stop them before it's too late."

With curiosity and determination in her eyes, Y/N pulled out her phone and dialed Angelique's number. As the phone rang, Sam and Dean watched her with interest, curious to see what her plan was.

“What better way to figure out what a Witch is doing than to ask a Witch?” Y/N had said to Dean and Sam when she noticed them watching her. Angelique, being an experienced and knowledgeable witch, could possibly shed light on the mysterious ingredients and the purpose of the spell.

"Hello?" Angelique's voice came through the phone. Y/N wasted no time and launched into an explanation.

"Hey, Angelique! It's Y/N, you’re on speaker and the guys are here. We're in Seymour, Iowa, and there's some weird witch activity going on here. We suspect someone is collecting ingredients for a powerful spell or ritual."

Intrigued, Angelique listened carefully, "Go on."

Y/N proceeded to read off the list of ingredients they had gathered so far—mandrake root, vervain, raven feathers, black salt, and moonflower petals. Each word she uttered carried a sense of wonder and puzzlement, hoping Angelique might recognize the combination.

After a moment of silence, Angelique responded, her voice serious and contemplative, "Hmm, that's quite an interesting mix of ingredients. Mandrake root and vervain are often used in protection spells, while raven feathers symbolize transformation. Black salt is for warding off negative energies, and moonflower petals can enhance psychic abilities. It's not a common combination, and without further information, it's hard to pinpoint the exact spell."

As Angelique pondered further over the list of ingredients Y/N had provided, her expression shifted from curiosity to concern. She read off the initial purposes for each component—the protection spells, transformation, warding, and enhancement of psychic abilities. But then, as her keen witch's intuition kicked in, she noticed a dark undertone associated with the vervain.

Her mind raced, connecting the dots between the ingredients and the history of the area. There were whispers of witches who had once practiced dark arts and rituals that involved raising the dead. As this understanding settled in, Angelique's voice became more urgent as she continued her explanation to Y/N.

"Y/N, listen carefully. The combination of ingredients you mentioned, particularly the vervain, hints at something far darker than we initially thought. Considering the history of Seymour and the potential intentions behind the spell, I'm almost certain the witch is trying to raise someone from the dead."

Y/N's eyes widened with a mix of shock and concern. The gravity of the situation was sinking in, and she knew they had to act quickly. "Raising the dead?”

“Listen, Resurrection spells are incredibly powerful and can disturb the natural balance. The witch must have a black candle on their altar, a symbol of the void that connects the realms of life and death. If they succeed in this ritual, the consequences could be disastrous."

Y/N's focus was sharp as she listened intently to Angelique's warning about the black candle. The gravity of the situation settled in her mind as she processed the potential consequences of such a dark spell. With determination in her voice, Y/N asked the important question, "Alright, so the candle is probably at their altar at their house?"

Y/N turned her attention to Sam, knowing that his research skills were invaluable in situations like this. With a look of hopefulness in her eyes, she asked, "Sam, do any of the articles mention the person who has been causing trouble?"

Before Sam could respond verbally, his fingers were already dancing across his keyboard, searching for any relevant information. The atmosphere in the Impala was filled with a mix of anticipation and urgency as they awaited Sam's findings.

"Got something," he said, his voice filled with determination. “Rebecca Thomson was caught on camera fleeing the salt incident. She's lived there for years, but hardly anyone ever sees her in town. She keeps to herself and avoids contact with others."

“Has she lost anyone close to her recently?” Y/N asked Sam.

“Her husband passed about 3 months ago, he was buried in the town cemetery.” Sam would explain to the others.

“Sound’s like our witch!” Dean would nod as he spoke.

Y/N's heart sank as she realized the pain that the witch must have endured after losing her husband just three months ago. The grief could have been the catalyst for Agnes seeking to resurrect him through dark magic. Y/N would sigh heavily.

Sam glanced back at Y/N, reading her unspoken thoughts written on her face.

Sam nodded in agreement. "It's understandable, but we can't let her go down this dark path. It could have severe consequences for everyone."

Y/N took a deep breath, preparing herself mentally for what was to come. "So, the graveyard where her husband is buried... That's where we'll find her?"

Sam nodded. "It's likely. She might be visiting his grave so to be there when he raises."

Dean's sudden change in demeanor caught both Sam and Y/N off guard. Sam glanced out the windshield, taking note of the rapidly approaching storm. The air grew heavy with tension as lightning continued to illuminate the darkening sky.

"Alright then, Sam and I will head to the graveyard, Y/N head to her house and see if you can’t find this candle. We’ll put an end to this before it gets worse."

Sam watched the unnatural storm overhead as they pulled into town, concern etched on his face. "Y/N, be careful. We don't know what we're dealing with here. If things get too dangerous, don't hesitate to call for backup."

"I've got this, Sam. Just focus on stopping the witch at the graveyard. We'll regroup afterward." Y/N was also intrigued but the magically enhanced clouds overhead.

"Alright, let's move. Time is running out." Dean parked the car with a jolt. With a sense of urgency, they all exited the Impala, each heading toward their assigned tasks. Dean and Sam rushed toward the direction of the graveyard, leaving Y/N to tackle the mission at the witch's house.

As Y/N made her way towards the house, she could feel the energy in the air intensify. The wind howled, leaves rustled, and the scent of rain permeated the atmosphere. It was as if the elements themselves were stirred by the impending clash between light and darkness.

Approaching the witch's house, Y/N steeled herself, knowing that she had to act swiftly. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing for what she might encounter inside.

Entering the house, the air felt heavy, as if it held the remnants of the witch's dark magic. Y/N's heart raced, but she pushed forward, determined to locate the black candle and disrupt the witch's plans.

Room by room, Y/N searched diligently, her senses on high alert. Every creak of the floorboards and flicker of shadow intensified her focus. Finally, in a dimly lit room at the back of the house, she discovered the altar adorned with various items, including the ominous black candle.

Y/N approached the altar cautiously, mindful of the power it contained. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and carefully extinguished the flame. As the black candle's dark magic dissipated, Y/N felt a surge of relief and a renewed sense of purpose.

But just as she turned to leave, a chilling voice echoed through the room. "You shouldn't have interfered."

Y/N's heart raced as she spun around, only to find the witch standing in the doorway, her eyes filled with anger and determination. It was a showdown between light and dark, and Y/N knew she had to stand her ground.

"I won't let you raise the dead," Y/N said, her voice steady despite the fear that coursed through her veins. "There's always another way to find closure."

The witch's laughter filled the room, sending shivers down Y/N's spine. But she held her ground, ready to protect the innocent and ensure that the dark magic was thwarted.

As the storm raged outside, the battle of wills unfolded inside the witch's house. Y/N's determination, paired with her newfound understanding of the witch's grief, became her strength in the face of darkness.

Meanwhile, Dean and Sam faced their own witch in the graveyard. But with their skills, they fought valiantly, determined to put an end to the witch's dangerous intentions.

The battles raged on in separate confrontations, each group unaware of the other's encounter with the witches. Y/N stood her ground against the daughter, desperately attempting to reach her humanity.

"Please, you have to stop this," Y/N pleaded, her voice laced with urgency. "The spell won't bring him back. It will only bring more pain and darkness."

The daughter's eyes burned with a mixture of grief and anger as she raised her hands, channeling her dark powers. "You don't understand my pain! I won't let him go!"

Y/N's heart sank as she realized that reasoning with the daughter was futile. With a heavy heart and a determined spirit, she reluctantly took action, engaging in a fierce battle to defeat the young witch. The clash of magic and physical blows echoed through the house, each strike carrying the weight of the daughter's desperation and Y/N's determination to protect the innocent.

Meanwhile, Dean and Sam faced off against the formidable mother witch, their own fight testing their skills and resilience. They fought with relentless determination, countering the mother with their own arsenal of weapons. The air crackled with energy as the hunters and the witch clashed, the room vibrating with their struggle.

As Y/N's battle reached its climax, her final strike broke through the daughter's defenses, bringing an end to the young witch's life. In that instant, a surge of energy pulsed through the house, severing the bond between mother and daughter.

The dark storm that had engulfed the area suddenly dissipated, replaced by calm and tranquility. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, and the house returned to its normal state, free from the taint of dark magic.

However, the mother witch, sensing the loss of her daughter and the crumbling of her spell, took advantage of the chaos and managed to escape, vanishing into the night but not before one final spell.

Breathing heavily, Y/N took a moment to collect herself, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and sorrow. She had done what was necessary, but the weight of the consequences settled upon her shoulders.

Y/N took a moment to compose herself, her eyes lingering on the family photos adorning the walls. The reminders of happier times only emphasized the tragedy that had unfolded. Just as she was about to leave the room, her phone suddenly rang, its sound cutting through the silence.

Startled, Y/N quickly retrieved her phone from her pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Dean's name flashed on the screen, and she wasted no time in answering the call.

"Dean," Y/N greeted, her voice filled with a mix of relief and concern. "The witch was here. I believe she was the daughter."

Dean's voice came through the phone, filled with urgency. "Yeah, the mother got away. Listen, you know that shady motel we passed on the way in, meet me there. We've got a situation."

Y/N's heart raced, her worry intensifying at Dean's words. She knew that if Dean deemed it necessary something serious must have occurred.

"Understood," Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the underlying anxiety. "I'm on my way.”

The call ended, and Y/N wasted no time in rushing out of the house. Her mind raced with possibilities, her concern for the safety of Dean and Sam consuming her thoughts. She hurriedly made her way to the Impala, her footsteps echoing with a mix of determination and trepidation.

As she approached the iconic black car, her eyes scanned the area, searching for any signs of trouble. She couldn't help but worry about what awaited her, praying that the situation hadn't taken a turn for the worse. Just as she was about to call out their names, the door of the nearby motel swung open, revealing Dean standing at the entrance. He waved her over, gesturing for her to come inside.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N approached the motel room, her steps cautious yet eager. Dean closed the door behind her, creating a sense of privacy. Inside Y/N was greeted by a small boy, no older than seven years old. His innocent eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked up at her.

"Hello," the boy greeted, his voice filled with warmth and friendliness.

Caught off guard by the unexpected encounter, Y/N stumbled over her words for a moment. She crouched down to the boy's level, a mix of surprise and curiosity etched on her face.

"Well, hello there," Y/N finally managed to respond, a gentle smile forming on her lips. "What's your name?"

The boy's smile grew wider as he proudly announced, "I'm Samuel, but my dad and brother call me Sammy."

Y/N's eyes widened in astonishment, her heart skipping a beat. The significance of the name and the boy's familiarity hit her like a wave. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"Sammy," Y/N repeated, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and wonder. "What's your last name, Sammy?"

The boy's smile remained, and he proudly declared, "Winchester."

Y/N slowly straightened herself up, her mind swirling with a whirlwind of emotions. She turned to face Dean, her eyes filled with disbelief and confusion. The words she wanted to shout at him came out as a barely audible whisper.

"Dean!"

Dean, standing just behind Y/N, nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“I know.” his expression mirroring the weight of the situation.

Y/N struggled to find her voice, her mind racing with a multitude of questions.

“How?” She managed to utter a few fragmented words.

“I don’t know.” Dean sighed heavily, his frustration evident. He shook his head, his brows furrowed in uncertainty.

“Does he?” Y/N's voice was still a hushed whisper.

“No, he does not.” Dean's response was filled with resignation.

Suddenly, the small child, Sammy, chimed in with a curious question. "Are you Dean's girlfriend?"

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze shifting back and forth between the innocent face of the child and Dean's frustrated expression. She stumbled over her words, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

"What!?" Y/N exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and confusion.

Dean, growing increasingly frustrated, grabbed Y/N's arm and pulled her towards the door. He glanced back at the child, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

"Hey, just wait here for a moment, okay? I need to talk to her in private," Dean instructed the young boy.

As Dean and Y/N stepped out of the motel room, Dean closed the door behind them, ensuring their conversation remained confidential.

"I can't believe this," Y/N finally managed to find her voice though still filled with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief.

Dean's voice dripped with anger as he looked directly at Y/N, his frustration palpable. "Look, I need you to just watch after Sam, alright?" he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Something like this happened to me once, and I already got the ingredients from Angelique for the reversal."

Y/N felt a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her as she tried to process the rapid progression of events. Confusion etched across her face as she struggled to comprehend Dean's intentions. "But why don't we all go together? It would make performing the reversal spell quicker," she suggested.

Dean's eyes hardened, and he swiftly dismissed Y/N's idea. "No!" he snapped, his voice laced with frustration. "You and Sam need to head back to the bunker while I go get what we need. It's not up for discussion."

Y/N's laughter bubbled up nervously, discomfort creeping into her voice. "Dean, I can't… This… Sam and I, we..." She trailed off, unable to find the right words to express how uncomfortable the situation made her.

Before she could finish her thought, Dean interrupted her, his anger intensifying. "Yeah, I know what happened between you and Sam," he spat, his words told Y/N that he knew more than he should know.

Y/N's feelings quickly shifted from discomfort to confusion as she confronted Dean with her realization. "Wait, Is... Is that why you hate me so much?" Her voice quivered as she posed the question.

Dean rolled his eyes, his anger mounting as he struggled to find the right words. "I don't hate you, Y/N," he snapped, his voice tinged with frustration. "It's just... how I am, alright?"

Determined, Y/N stepped forward, her eyes locked with Dean's as she spoke with conviction. "No, Dean. No, this isn't just how you are," she asserted. "This is how you feel about me. Because this isn't how you are with Angelique, or Charlie, or Jody, or anyone else. You avoid eye contact, you hate being alone together, and you're always pushing me away."

Dean's frustration mingled with a pang of guilt as he struggled to respond. "You don't understand, Y/N," he muttered, his voice tinged with regret. "It's complicated."

Y/N's voice gained strength as she held her ground, refusing to back down. "No, it’s not. You hate me because I accepted Sam's offer for help, you just don’t want to admit it.” Y/N took a deep breath before practically growling at Dean. “I didn't just use him as a meal, I’m not a monster, Dean!"

Dean snapped in that instance, took hold of Y/N by the front of her shirt, and slammed her against the motel door that led to their room.

“YOU don't get to tell me what you are after you fed off my brother's SOUL!” Dean yelled in Y/N’s face. Both Dean and Y/N stared directly into each other's eyes searching for some kind of answer to an unknown question. After several uninterrupted moments of silence, Dean's breathing began to calm.

Dean's jaw remained clenched, his inner turmoil evident as he fought to control his emotions. Slowly he loosened his grip on Y/N knowing he needed to tread carefully, especially for Sam's sake. After a long, tense pause, Dean finally spoke his gaze on the ground now.

"I can't do this right now, alright? I can't have... HIM around me right now." Dean’s voice strained.

Y/N's eyes widened with confusion, searching Dean's face for answers. Her voice trembled slightly as she asked, "What do you mean?"

Dean took a deep breath, his words forced through gritted teeth as he made an effort to convey the depth of his feelings.

"Right now, Sam is about 7 years old," he explained. "He doesn't know ANYTHING about what we do or the world we actually live in. He recognizes me as his brother, but still thinks Dad is in town somewhere, selling things for work."

The weight of Dean's revelation hit Y/N like a heavy blow, her heart sinking lower than she thought possible. The magnitude of the situation began to sink in, and Y/N's voice trembled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief, she leaned his head back against the door as she asked, "So... you mean that... that Sam is still 100% pure?"

Dean nodded solemnly, his eyes filled with a mixture of protectiveness and sorrow. It was a heavy burden to bear, knowing the harsh realities of their lives while Sam remained innocent and unaware.

"Yeah," he confirmed quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. "Sam, right now, is untouched by the craps we’ve been through."

The realization hung heavily in the air, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Y/N felt a surge of both empathy and sadness, understanding the tremendous weight that Dean carried as he tried to shield Sam from their harsh reality.

“Dean, what if… what if we don’t reverse the spell? Then Sam can grow up normal right?” Y/N's voice trembled with uncertainty as she voiced her question, her eyes avoiding direct contact with Dean's gaze. But Y/N knew that he had already considered the possibilities and weighed the options. The silence hung heavy between them, as both of them understood the unspoken answer.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N gathered her resolve. "Alright, Dean. It's about 6 or 7 hours until Kansas from here. I'll make arrangements to get us on the next bus and meet you at the Bunker. Just... don't take too long, okay? And, keep in touch."

Dean took a deep breath, trying to compose himself after the intense confrontation with Y/N. He ran a hand through his hair, a mix of frustration and concern etched on his face as he glanced down at the list of items in his hand.

As Y/N slowly picked herself up from the impact against the door, a small voice broke the tension in the room. The door to their motel room creaked open, revealing the young child version of Sam standing in the doorway, innocence radiating from his eyes.

The child, unaware of the previous altercation, innocently asked, "Are you guys done fighting?" His voice was filled with genuine curiosity and a desire for peace.

Dean's gaze softened as he approached the young Sam, crouching down to be at eye level with him. He placed a hand on the child's shoulder, a mix of affection and protectiveness evident in his touch.

Dean replied with a gentle smile, "Yeah, sorry about that, Sammy. But hey, Y/N here is going to take you home while I go... wrangle in Dad, alright? You can trust her, so do as she says, okay?"

Sam's eyes widened with curiosity as he looked up at Y/N, he moved closer to Dean. "But I want to stay with you, Dean." Sam protested softly, his childlike innocence longing for the comfort and familiarity of his older brother.

Dean's expression softened further, a mixture of love and sadness in his eyes. He spoke with a tender reassurance, "I know ya do Sammy. But right now, it's important that you go with Y/N. She'll keep you safe, just like I would. We'll be together again soon, I promise."

Sam hesitated for a moment, processing Dean's words. With a small nod, he reluctantly took a step towards Y/N, offering her a smile just like when he first met her moments ago.

Dean stood up, watching the interaction between Y/N and young Sam, a mix of emotions playing across his face. He knew the weight of the decision he had made, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of both relief and worry for what lay ahead.

With a final reassuring smile, Dean said, "Take care of him, Y/N. I'll see you both soon." As he headed to the Impala and drove off, watching the two in the rearview.

Y/N and young Sam managed to make it to the local bus station just in time to catch the last ride for the night. As they settled into their seats, the bus engine roared to life, and the vehicle began to move, taking them on their journey.

Young Sam, full of energy and curiosity, looked out the window as he was taking in the changing scenery as they passed by. His eyes widened with wonder, and he couldn't help but ask Y/N a question that had been on his mind.

"Y/N, are you sure you aren't dating my brother?"

Y/N chuckled at the unexpected question, finding the innocence and honesty of young Sam endearing. She turned to face him with a soft smile and replied.

"Oh, I'm very sure, Sammy. Actually, I'm pretty sure your brother hates me." Y/N couldn't help but find humor in the situation, her smile growing wider at the absurdity of it all.

Young Sam looked puzzled for a moment, trying to process Y/N's response.

"Why would Dean hate you?" he asked with genuine confusion, not understanding the complexities of the situation.

Y/N sat next to young Sammy, her heart warming at his innocent curiosity. She did her best to answer his questions honestly while treading carefully with her words.

"Well, Sammy, I did something a while back that your brother doesn't agree with, and it makes him mad," she explained with a knowing smile.

"Yeah, that sounds like Dean," young Sammy chuckled in response.

Curiosity burning in his eyes, young Sammy continued to inquire.

"How long have you known my brother?"

Y/N paused for a moment, considering her response before replying, "I think it's been about five or six months, give or take a little.”

“How did you two meet?”

“At work.” Y/N was beginning to wonder how long this would last. but before he could ask another, Y/N playfully beat him to the punch.

"What's with the twenty-question game here, huh?" she teased with a playful grin. "I'm sure Dean will tell you everything you want to know when he gets back."

Sammy let out an exasperated groan, his frustration evident.

"Dean doesn't tell me anything," he confessed with a hint of annoyance. "They treat me like a child."

Y/N's expression softened as she saw the genuine disappointment in young Sammy's eyes. She placed a comforting hand on top of his head, ruffling his hair.

"I'm sure Dean doesn't mean to keep things from you, Sammy. Sometimes, big brothers can be a bit overprotective, but it's only because they care about you so much."

Sammy looked up at her, his eyes seeking reassurance.

"Really?" he asked with a touch of hope.

"Absolutely," Y/N replied with a warm smile. "Your brother loves you more than anything in the world, and sometimes, he just wants to keep you safe and shield you from some of the harsher things out there."

Sammy seemed to ponder her words for a moment, and then he nodded, accepting her explanation.

"I guess that makes sense," he said, a small smile forming on his face. Y/N pulled the small boy under her arm and against her side while rubbing his arm.

As the bus journey continued, Y/N and young Sammy continued to chat.

The journey home had been long and exhausting, taking Y/N and young Sam a total of 6 hours to reach the town and an additional hour to finally arrive at the bunker. The sun had set, and darkness enveloped the surroundings. Y/N stepped out of the pickup truck they had hired for the final stretch of their journey. She paid the driver and thanked him again, ensuring that he understood she wanted to be left at this spot. Y/N gently pulled a sleeping young Sam out of the vehicle as well and watched the truck drive off.

Carrying the sleepy young boy in her arms, Y/N made her way down the stairs leading to the bunker's entrance hall. As they reached the bottom, young Sam stirred and groaned sleepily. Y/N gently set him down on the couch in the living area of the bunker.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, concern evident in her voice. "I can make some food real quick."

Young Sam rubbed his eyes and nodded drowsily.

"Yeah, I'm kinda hungry," he mumbled.

"Alright, just give me a few minutes, and I'll whip up something for you," she reassured him with a warm smile and patted his head. Y/N headed towards the kitchen area of the bunker, the dim lights casting a comforting glow.

As she prepared a simple meal, Y/N's mind couldn't help but wander back to her conversation with Dean. She knew he was dealing with his own inner turmoil and struggling with the situation at hand. Y/N understood that Dean's anger and protectiveness were driven by his love for his brother, but she also worried about what this meant for her..

Deep in thought, Y/N focused on cooking spaghetti with sausage meat sauce for young Sam. The aroma of food filled the bunker as she finished preparing the meal. Placing a plate in front of young Sam, Y/N smiled at him.

"Here you go, something warm to fill your belly," she said gently.

Young Sam looked up at her, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

"Thanks, Y/N," he said, the trust in his eyes evident.

Y/N ruffled his hair affectionately.

"You're welcome, Sammy. Now eat up," she encouraged him.

As young Sam enjoyed his meal, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility as they sat at the table talking, laughing, and eating together. Sam would even comment on how Y/N’s cooking was better than his brothers, a secret they promised to keep between each other.

The heavy metal door of the bunker swung open, and the sound reverberated through the halls. Dean's voice echoed as he called out to Y/N and Sam while descending the stairs.

"Hey, I'm back," he announced, his tone serious. Dean entered the kitchen area. “Where is Sam?”

Y/N turned her attention away from the dishes she was washing and looked at Dean with a hint of annoyance.

"Hi, welcome home, dear. How was your day?" she replied sarcastically.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What?" he asked, not fully understanding Y/N's response.

With a tired sigh, Y/N explained, "I just put Sam to bed. He's passed out. Did you find everything you needed?"

Dean's expression softened as he realized what she meant.

"Yeah, it took longer than I thought, but I finally got it all," he replied.

Y/N nodded and said, "Good. Well, let me know if you need any help. Otherwise, I left a plate out for you." She motioned to the table where a plate of spaghetti covered with cling wrap sat, waiting for Dean.

Dean paused for a moment feeling conflicted "Right, um.. thanks. I'm.. I’m going to go get this prepped and give it to Sam while he sleeps. Hopefully, this whole thing will just seem like a bad dream when he wakes up," Dean said, determination in his voice.

As Y/N stood in the kitchen, her mind was flooded with conflicting emotions. Watching Dean walk off to take care of young Sam, she couldn't help but feel a sense of heartache at the thought of Sam having to return to a world filled with darkness and danger. His innocent eyes turning dark once more weighed heavily on her heart.

At the same time, a part of Y/N couldn't deny the feeling of normalcy she experienced while spending time with the young boy. The laughter, the curiosity, the innocence—it was a refreshing break from the constant battles they faced as hunters. For a moment, she allowed herself to smile, cherishing the simplicity of that evening.

But amidst her mixed emotions, Y/N felt a growing sense of uncertainty and fear. She knew that with the reversal of the spell, things would change between her and the Winchester brothers. The truths they had buried, the unspoken feelings, the unresolved conflicts—they would all resurface, and the road ahead seemed daunting.

Y/N's smile faded as she contemplated the challenges ahead. It wasn't that she didn't want Sam to regain his true identity as the caring man she knew, but she feared what it would mean for their already complicated relationship. The thought of facing hurt, anger, and the potential for more fights weighed heavily on her mind.

At that moment, the idea of leaving crossed her mind. It felt like an escape, a way to avoid the pain and uncertainty that lay ahead.

The next morning, as the sun began to rise, Dean slowly woke from his slumber and sluggishly made his way into the kitchen. As he stood in the doorway, he was met with a surprising sight. The table before him was filled with a feast of delicious food—eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, hash browns, fruit, and a fresh pot of coffee. It was a spread that would have put a smile on anyone's face.

Dean's eyes scanned the kitchen, half-expecting to see his brother Sam cooking up a storm. However, he was met with the sight of Y/N instead. She stood near the stove, working on placing a few more pancakes on the table. Dean walked over to the table, still feeling a bit groggy, and couldn't help but ask, "What's all this?"

Y/N turned towards him, a hint of forced cheerfulness in her voice.

"Well, I didn't know if we would have young Sam or adult Sam this morning, so I figured what the hell—we will either celebrate or eat our stress away." She half-heartedly joked, attempting to force a laugh, but it was clear that there was more going on beneath the surface.

Dean studied her for a moment, not easily fooled by her act. He could sense that something was off.

"You never went to bed last night, did you?"

Y/N paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on the stove as she turned it off. She finally turned to face Dean, the facade of strength slipping away, and quietly admitted, "No." Her eyes reflected the exhaustion she felt, both physically and emotionally.

Silence lingered in the kitchen until Sam's voice suddenly broke the stillness.

"Morning," he said quietly, stepping further into the room. Dean turned to look at his brother, a mix of relief evident in his expression. Without hesitation, Dean walked over to Sam and pulled him into a tight hug, patting him a few times on the back. Sam returned the hug, but he didn't say anything, his emotions still a whirlwind after his recent ordeal.

Y/N watched the brothers reunite, a bittersweet feeling settling within her. She was glad that Sam was back to his normal self, but the weight of the past night's events still bore down on her. As she turned away, about to leave the room.

“Y/N, wait.” Sam's voice called to her.

She turned around just in time to find herself enveloped in Sam's arms, his embrace pulling her close against his chest. The warmth of his hug was comforting, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within her. With a deep breath, Sam said, "Thank you.”

“Sam, I didn’t….” Y/N began to explain it was Dean who did all the work for the reversal spell.

“I remember everything.” Sam cut her off. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at his words. She hadn't expected him to remember, and her heart skipped a beat. It was a lot to process, and she found herself momentarily at a loss for words. Sam continued to hold her, his gratitude evident in his embrace.

Finally finding her voice, Y/N whispered, "You remember... everything?"

Sam nodded, his eyes meeting hers with newfound clarity. "Yeah," he confirmed, a hint of wonder in his tone as he pulled away from her.

Dean, who had been quietly observing the exchange, approached them both. "That's good, Sammy," he said, smiling warmly at his brother trying to play off the hurt he felt watching his brother thank Y/N. "We were worried about you."

Dean noticed the hurt in Sam's eyes, and his confusion grew. He knew his brother was still processing the rush of memories that had returned, but he didn't expect this reaction.

"What, Sam?" Dean asked, genuinely concerned.

Sam hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts and find the right words to express himself. His emotions were evident on his face, and his jaw tightened, his nose flared. Finally, Sam managed to say, "Dean, can I see you in the other room for a moment? Now?"

Dean's brows furrowed further, but he nodded, understanding the need for privacy. He glanced at Y/N, who had been quietly observing the scene. With a concerned look, Dean followed Sam to a more secluded area of the bunker.

Once they were alone, Dean closed the door behind them and turned to face his brother.

"Alright, Sam, what's going on?" he asked, giving his brother his full attention.

The air in the bunker felt tense as Sam confronted Dean about his actions with Y/N. Sam's eyes were filled with disappointment and hurt as he recounted what he had witnessed through the motel window.

"Dean, I saw you and Y/N through the window at the motel," Sam began, his voice serious. "I heard what you said to her."

But Sam wasn't willing to let him off the hook so easily.

"You pinned her to the wall, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, his voice rising with frustration.

Dean's shoulders slumped as he realized there was no defense for what he had done. He knew he had crossed a line, but in that moment of anger, he couldn't control himself.

"I appreciate you getting the spell for me, I really do, man," Sam began, his voice softening. "But this has to stop. Even after everything you did and said, she STILL took care of me when you asked her to…. More than you know."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he asked, genuinely curious about what his brother was trying to say.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express himself.

"It was like... it felt like... what I imagine having mom around would have been like," he finally said, his voice tinged with emotion.

“Dude…” Dean’s face twisted as he became grossed out by the thought.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s reaction.

“She was warm, loving, caring. She talked to me like I was an actual person not just some kid, let me lean against her to sleep, cooked dinner for me. A real dinner Dean. We laughed and she even made sure I got to bed. All the things that I didn't get to experience with Mom.”

Dean still shook his head, trying to not let the weird thoughts in. “Dude come on you've slept with her."

“Dean you are missing the point! Yes, we slept in the same bed, but nothing happened. We didn't... You know, not really." Sam sighed again.

“The point is that you need to get over yourself because whether you believe it or not we are better with her around and you are going to be the reason she leaves.” Sam paused. “And I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.”

Silence fell among the two brothers just before Sam turned to leave Dean with that thought.

Sam sighed as he walked into the kitchen, his mind still preoccupied with the conversation he just had with his brother. He had left Dean in the other room to give them both some space to process everything that had happened. As he looked around the kitchen, he couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness.

"Y/N?" Sam called out, half-hoping she would magically appear, but there was no response. His eyes then caught a piece of paper on the table, and he picked it up with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Sam's heart sank as he read Y/N's note.

"No, no, no," Sam muttered to himself, crumpling the note in his hands with frustration. He had grown attached to Y/N during their time together, and the thought of her leaving hurt more than he anticipated. Sam sank into one of the kitchen chairs, his head in his hands, trying to process the sudden turn of events. A wave of sadness washed over him.

Dean emerged from the other room to find Sam sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Concern etched on his face, he approached his brother.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean asked, worried.

Sam didn’t look up, frustration and disappointment clear in his eyes. He held out the crumpled note to Dean.

"She's gone, Dean. Y/N left," he said, his voice tinged with sadness.

Dean unfolded the note and read its contents.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I can't stay and be the reason for your fights. I'll always care about you and Sam, but it's just too much. Take care." Dean's jaw tightened as he read the words.

He looked back at Sam, feeling a mixture of emotions. "Dammit," he muttered. "I'll go find her," he said firmly, wanting to make things right.

Dean headed up the stairs, determined to find Y/N and talk things through with her. As he reached the bunker's main door, he threw it open without hesitation and charged ahead.

Meanwhile, Sam remained at the table, his mind filled with worry and uncertainty. He stared at the feast Y/N had prepared for them, the food now feeling bittersweet in light of her sudden departure. He couldn't help but replay the moments they had spent together in his mind, the warmth and care Y/N had shown him. It was clear that she had touched his heart in a way he hadn't expected.

Sam found himself lost in thought, unsure of what the future held. All he could do was hope that they would find a way to mend things with Y/N and that she would be willing to give them another chance.

End Chapter

#supernatural #fanfic #supernatural fanfic #Dean x OFC x Sam #dean winchester #Fluff #Sam Winchester #Hurt/Comfort #Reader-Insert #Illness #Self-Insert #Angst #Kitsune #injuries #Dean x Reader X Sam #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #Trauma #Young Sam Winchester #Hurt Dean Winchester

6 notes · View notes

sylvanfreckles · 2 years

Text

The Walrider: Pt 5 of 5

(For Day 06: Proof of Life)

Fandom: Supernatural x Outlast Rating: M Chapter warnings: violence, death, burning alive/self immolation Story warnings: intense violence and gore, eventual body horror, references to torture

Summary: Run, hide, or die.

An investigation brings the Winchesters to Mount Massive Asylum, a supposed research hospital deep in the Colorado mountains. But what they thought was a run-of-the-mill exorcism turns into a terrifying tour of hell on earth as they come face-to-face with the inmates of a place built to feed off of their worst nightmares.

And deep at the heart of it lies something ancient and dark, waiting for its chance to walk the earth again. (read on AO3)

...

The first thing Dean noticed was the light. It was softer yet somehow more intense than he was expecting. Just a big, bright blur in front of his eyes. He was vaguely aware than he’d been unconscious again, with no idea of how long. He remembered struggling with the priest in the basement, but he wasn’t waking up there. This place was warm, almost feverish, and there was the bitter tang of gasoline in the air.

He was lying on his back with his hands resting on his stomach, like a corpse in a coffin, and his body almost hurt too much to move. It was all catching up to him—the fall through the window, the fight in the basement, too many knocks to the head and too much time unconscious.

“What the hell?” Dean murmured, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes. The smell was getting to him, and he realized his clothing was soaked. He sat up, regretting it instantly as the world tilted around him and he had to close his eyes until everything settled.

He was in the back of a small chapel, with the smell of gasoline and flare of candlelight surrounding him. Not a very safe combination. Dean staggered to his feet, arms clutched to his sides, and squinted through the light.

“You’re awake, my son.” The priest was standing down at the altar, arms raised. Dean could see a few others gathered around him on their knees—inmates or patients or victims, whatever they were.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at,” Dean said as he limped toward the priest.

“No, you don’t understand. But you will. You will bear witness to this final sacrament.”

Dean slowed, his shoes squeaking on the gasoline-slick for. “Final sacrament? You gonna kill all these people?”

The priest shook his head piteously. “The promise of the prophet is always freedom from death. And here it is.”

“Doesn’t look like any freedom I’ve ever seen, pal.”

“This is resurrection,” the priest hissed. His chest heaved and he tilted his head back. “You will witness my death and resurrection, and together we will be free!”

Dean swore and turned to hobble toward the back of the chapel, toward the door. The gasoline, the candles…they were going to burn this whole place down with everyone inside.

“Walrider!”

Other voices joined the priests, followed by the roar of flames. Dean had reached the door, but it was locked, and he slammed his shoulder into it. The old wood creaked but did not give. Heat was lapping at the back of his neck, and he tugged his jacket off with another oath as a spark caught the hem. He rammed the door again, the screams of the burning men behind him filling his ears.

“Come on,” Dean panted. He slammed into the door one more time and it gave, sending him stumbling into the cool darkness beyond. Strong hands caught him, and he struck out wildly, though his fists met something far too solid to be human.

“Dean!” The voice finally registered, and Dean froze as his eyes focused on the being in front of him. Blue eyes, furrowed brow, hair that looked like it had been styled by a busted-up jet engine.

“Cas.” His legs nearly buckled with relief, but Cas held him up. Dean didn’t even put up a fight as the angel hustled him over to a nearby bench and sat him down. “Don’t worry about me,” he gasped, trying to wave away Cas’s concerned touch. “Sam—Sammy’s still….”

“He’s alive.”

Hearing those words, Dean felt the knot of fear in his gut finally loosen. “You got him?”

“I spoke with him on the phone an hour ago.”

Dean blinked at his friend blearily. “Phones’r out.”

Cas squinted at him, peeling down his lower eyelids to look into his eyes. “You have a severe concussion.”

“M’okay,” Dean slurred, batting at Cas’s hands. His body had finally registered safe and Cas and Sammy alive and was letting him know, in no uncertain terms, that this would be an excellent time for a nap.

Cool fingers rested against his forehead, and with a surge of energy and the smell of ozone Dean’s mind cleared. “Thanks.”

Cas still didn’t look too happy, and he rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll go get Sam.”

“Cas…”

“Dean!” Cas’s hand was firm on his shoulder, holding him strongly enough that he couldn’t get back up. “Wait. Here.”

Dean huffed out a sigh as Cas strode away, back towards the massive asylum crouched beneath the moon.

He was most certainly not pouting.

…

Sam had been poring through Chris Walker’s file ever since his call with Cas. Skimming over the details of Walker’s life, he focused on the reports detailing the events of his death.

Two of Murkoff’s agents, Pauline Glick and Paul Marion, had been investigating the murder of three inmates at the asylum. Their investigation had led them to Walker, and he had been killed in the subsequent confrontation.

Which didn’t explain why he was here. He hadn’t died here, and his body had been cremated. There could be an object tying him to this place, but that would be impossible to find.

Unless….

Sam leaned closer to one of the pictures, trying to angle his flashlight to get a better look at it.

It was a partial shot of Walker’s body, sprawled across his living room floor among the blood splatters and destruction of the confrontation. In the corner of the picture, barely visible, was a ragged-looking stuffed pig.

Little pig.

His phone rang. He answered it without looking, still staring at the photo. “Cas?”

“Where are you?”

“What about Dean?”

“He’s safe.”

Sam let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes for a moment. If Cas had already gotten Dean out, that was one less thing to worry about. “Can you meet me on the second floor? Administrative wing, look for the executive elevators.”

“Sam?”

“There’s one more thing we have to do.”

Cas didn’t sound happy, but he’d agreed to Sam’s request. Sam stared dully at the body sprawled out in front of him before slowly pushing up to his feet to pick his way to the door. At least this floor should be safe now; it seemed like Walker never came up here.

Well. Walker’s spirit. It made sense. The inhuman strength, the tireless way he’d chased Sam, his ability to find him no matter what corner of the second floor he’d hidden in. Sam doubted Walker was the only thing haunting Mount Massive Asylum, but he had to be part of it. They’d need a full investigation to properly clear this place, which would be a hell of a lot easier without Walker.

He found the executive elevator and took it down to the second floor. The doors opened to reveal a worried-looking angel, already stepping forward to steady Sam.

“Am I glad to see you,” Sam’s voice shook as he grabbed a fistful of Cas’s trench coat. “We don’t have much time. We have to burn the pig.”

Cas caught Sam’s left hand by the wrist. He flinched, nearly pulling out of his friend’s grasp. “Your fingers?”

“Right.” Stomach rolling, Sam dug into the pocket of his jacket and produced the fabric-wrapped bundle. “I’ll just, uh…” he swallowed and turned his head away, closing his eyes. He heard the rustle of fabric as Cas unwrapped his severed fingers, then the pain as the angel unwound the blood-stiffened bandages on his hand. He knew it was bad, even if Cas didn’t say anything. It hurt. Bad enough to make his vision go dark at the edges.

Cas’s hands were warm and gentle as he cupped Sam’s mangled digits between them. There was a spark, a glow Sam could see through his closed eyelids, and the pain receded fast enough to make him gasp.

“That should do for now,” Cas announced. Sam held his hand up and studied it, flexing the fingers. They still ached, but they were solidly on his body now.

“Thanks, Cas.” He knew the angel’s grace was more limited now, so just doing this much was amazing. “Come on, we have to find Pauline Glick’s office.”

Cas followed him as Sam explained the situation. How they’d gotten trapped in the asylum. Walker. Trager. Being separated from Dean.

“That’s when I realized, something else must be tying him to this place,” Sam finished. He passed Cas the photo, which he’d torn out of the file. “See in the corner? There’s a toy pig, and I saw it in Glick’s office—she’s one of the ones who killed him. That has to be it.”

Cas started to reply, but the jingle of chains and thunder of footsteps behind them had Sam turning in panic. “We gotta move!”

He sprinted down the hall, Cas on his heels. The halls down here were all too familiar to him as he tried to trace the way back to the place where he’d seen the pig. A shove on his shoulder sent him sprawling forward, and he rolled just enough to see Cas standing his ground in the hallway.

“Go!” Cas called back to him. “I’ll hold him off.”

Sam stared for a moment, but as Walker charged into Cas and the angel held him back, he ran for it. They were so close. Some of the office nameplates had broken off, but it had to be here somewhere.

He yanked at one door, found it locked, and moved on to the next. Pauline’s office had been unlocked. Another door, also locked. He glanced over to see Walker manage to hoist Cas up and throw him, but Cas managed to twist in the air so that he landed on his feet, braced for the fight.

Too many doors. Too many locks. Sam darted from side to side, checking each door. Had he gone this far down? How long had he sprinted until he reached the elevators? Was it the other way?

One door finally opened, and he nearly fell into it. It was a familiar office, with the massive desk and discarded papers. And there, on the bookcase, was a ragged toy pig.

…

“Come on, Sammy, come on,” Dean muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the bench. Cas was taking too damn long. The chapel was a column of flames now, surely high enough for someone to have alerted the authorities.

Hell, where was everyone, anyway? Place like this didn’t just go under with no one noticing. They needed to get out before someone showed up to cover this up.

“Dean!”

He wouldn’t admit it, but relief rose high enough in his throat to fill his eyes when he saw his oversized brother loping toward him, an angel not far behind. It was probably the smoke making him tear up. That was it.

“What took you so long,” he demanded as they drew closer. Sam wasn’t looking much better than Dean was feeling but having his kid brother here and alive was the best he could have hoped for.

“Oh, you know,” Sam shrugged. “Had to barbecue a pig.”

Dean looked to Cas for a clue, but Cas just stared past him at the burning chapel.

“I didn’t do that,” Dean announced, waving a hand behind him. “Crazy priest did. Said the Walrider would resurrect him.”

“Walrider?” Cas said, his brow furrowed even further, if that were possible.

“I think it’s a Fae thing,” Sam explained. “Causes sleep paralysis and lucid dreaming. You know that painting of the sleeping woman with the monster on her stomach? That’s it.”

“No, it’s not Fae,” Cas pushed past the brothers, coat flapping back as he walked toward the church. “The Walrider is a demon, Sam.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open and he started to protest, just as a flaming being erupted from the remains of the chapel.

“What the hell?” Dean snarled. He automatically tried to shove Sam behind him, but gigantor wasn’t moving. Not that it mattered anyway, not with Cas in between them and the demon.

“Shield your eyes,” Cas called over his shoulder. He held his hand out, and for a second blue-white light flickered behind him. Dean got the impression, almost an after-image, of great, skeletal wings arcing out from Cas’s back as he charged in to smite the demon.

Dean brought his arm up to block his eyes, though the light that streamed around it was still bright enough to make his eyes water.

Then it was over. He dropped his arm to see Cas standing over the burned-out corpse of the possessed priest.

“Is it over?” Sam asked.

“Who the hell knows,” Dean smacked his arm and turned to trudge back toward the entrance. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dead leaves crunched over their feet, but Dean only heard two sets of footprints. He twisted back enough to see Cas was still standing in front of the chapel and staring down at the burning remains. “Hey!” he called. “Angelus ex machina! Let’s go!”

7 notes · View notes

professionalfangirlingblogger · 1 year

Text

Can’t Get Better

Summary: Dean reflects on the time Cas left without warning to the Empty, making him think that Cas abandoned him without explanation. It took a lot to get where they are now, safe in each other's arms.

---

It surely can’t get better than this, Dean thinks. Surely. His right cheek is warm, heated by the furnace that is Cas’s bare chest. Dean can’t even distinguish what Cas smells like anymore because he’s so used to, well, Cas . Dean’s left hand is resting next to his head, absentmindedly tracing shapes on Cas’s chest, sometimes brushing Cas’s nipple which produces a slight hitch in Cas’s steady ocean breath. Cas’s heart is like a medley to Dean’s ears, lulling him into the most peaceful state he’s been in in a while. He’s needed this.

After Sam decided to leave the life in order to settle with Eileen after finishing God, Dean had finally gotten the courage to go to Cas’s room after many, many sleepless nights.

Dean just crawled into Cas’s arms and no words were needed for Cas to know that Dean loves him, needs him, wants him. But Dean had felt wetness against his scalp and Cas was shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Cas had said, and that’s when Cas had disappeared, taken to the Empty in pure happiness. Which Dean didn’t know of until after Cas had returned. Dean had thought that Cas had left him in that moment, that Cas didn’t want him, that Cas didn’t need him like Dean needed Cas.

Continue on AO3

1 note · View note

highfunctioningflailgirl · 3 months

Text

Damage Control - 1x12 Faith

Dean is so unlike Dean when they leave for Nebraska the next morning, it hurts to see. He’s acting like Dean - the bravado, the self-deprecating jokes, the refusal to accept help - but he’s so weak that it’s a complete shit show, and Sam can see right through it. His brother moves like an octogenarian, slowly and using every surface his hands find for support. When he comes out of the shower, he has to sit down and catch his breath, his lips tinged blue, and no amount of complaining about the water pressure or claiming that all he needs is coffee will mask his frailty. Frailty. Not a word Sam thought he’d ever use for his unstoppable brother, but here it is.

Sam inconspicuously helps him pack, placing Dean’s items within reach to speed up the process. When they’re finally in the car, Sam insists on two stops - one for a healthy breakfast to go, and one at the hospital to pick up the medication Dean left behind when he checked himself out. One of them - a diuretic to take the strain off Dean’s ailing heart - makes him have to pee every hour or so, and the jokes about it quickly turn into sullen silence when they have to stop at yet another gas station.

Dean sleeps a lot between bathroom breaks, and while he’s always been able to immediately drop into slumber in the safety of the Impala, no matter how uncomfortable his position in the passenger seat, it’s a different kind of sleep now. Not the deep-breathing, childlike oblivion Dean usually has about him, all fanning lashes, parted lips and loose limbs. Now, his shallow breathing is barely audible, his brow is furrowed, and he looks so grey that Sam feels the urge to check his pulse every now and then.

How did this happen? How did Sam let this happen?

He should’ve been with Dean. Could’ve kept the idiot from using a taser while sitting in a puddle of fucking water. Physics, man! Had Dean never paid attention in school?! He wishes it’d been the other way around - Dean taking the kids to safety while Sam finished off the Rawhead. None of this would’ve happened and they’d be on their next hunt now instead of on a Hail Mary tour to a faith healer to keep Dean from dying of goddamn heart failure at twenty-six.

As if feeling Sam’s anger, Dean stirs beside him, one hand lifting to his chest to rub at it even before he’s fully awake. His face creases in discomfort, and his eyes flutter open, disoriented and bloodshot.

“You okay?” Sam asks immediately.

“Yeah.” Dean coughs dryly and sounds anything but okay. “Where are we?”

“Bout halfway. You need anything?”

Dean grimaces. “Gotta take a piss.” He shakes his head, looking drawn. “I swear, Sammy, this is the last time I’ve taken those stupid pills. I feel like a fucking sprinkler system.”

“You can’t stop taking them, Dean. They keep fluids from building up in your system. If you don’t take them, you’ll—“ Sam stops. He can’t go there.

“My ankles will swell to elephant size and I’ll drown in my own gunk,” Dean finishes cynically. “I heard what the doctor said, Sam. But frankly, I don’t care. If I only have a couple weeks left, I’d rather not spend half of them in front of urinals.”

“Dean…”

“What?” He throws up his hands in frustration, and even that small gesture looks like an effort. “It’s my life — well, my death. I get to decide what to do with it!”

He coughs again, and his breathing turns into that of a spent runner. Not for the first time, Sam thinks they should have brought the portable oxygen kit the hospital had offered, but, of course, Dean had refused.

“Hey, easy!” Sam says, cranking the window open for a little more air. “One: You’re not dying. I’m taking you to a specialist who’ll fix you up. And two: You’re taking the medicine. If this works out, you won’t need to take it much longer. And I don’t mind the pit stop. I need coffee.”

“Make that two.”

“Dean, you’re not supposed to—“

“Coffee, dude! And pie.”

At least his appetite is still normal.

Sam finds a Gas ‘n Sip and pulls up to the entrance as close as possible. Their short walk inside is this new tug-of-war of Sam offering assistance and Dean rejecting it until he loses to his weakened body and ends up leaning on Sam with an expression of grievous defeat. Sam helps him back to the Impala before getting their order of coffee and pie - pecan for Dean - and getting back on the road.

To his dismay, Sam watches his brother lose interest in his favorite food only halfway through, and that’s another unsettling new development to add to the quickly growing list. Dean listlessly picks at the pie with the plastic fork until he just stops and deflates, looking out the window with a thousand-yard-stare.

Sam’s own heart clenches in his chest. He can’t imagine Dean going down like this - frail, defeated, drained. And with no resistance whatsoever. Dean’s always been a fighter. Where is that fight now?

“It’s only a couple more hours, Dean,” he feels compelled to say. “We’ll get you right. You’ll see.”

Dean trains his big, wet, deeply shadowed eyes on him. “No, we won’t, Sammy.”

“Dean!” Sam grips the steering wheel harder. “How can you say that! I found this specialist, and he can save you!”

Dean shakes his head. “No, he can’t. Whatever hotshot doctor he is, Sam, it’s not gonna save me. It’s too late. I can feel it.”

Anger rises in Sam. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well, there’s this heart condition I have…”

“No, you fucking idiot!” Sam’s not taking it. “I mean what’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you fighting this? Why are you just giving up? That’s not you, man!”

“Because there’s nothing to fight, Sammy!” A blotch of color creeps into Dean’s pale cheeks. “I know how to gank a monster. I know how to torch a ghost. But this? There’s nothing to go up against! We always say ‘If you can grab it, you can kill it.’ But there’s nothing to grab here! Nothing to kill! There’s no way out, Sammy! And you gotta accept that.”

“I’ll never accept it,” Sam answers, and he fixes his brother with a determined stare. “I’m gonna save you. You’ll see. You’ll see.”

Dean huffs as if he’s dealing with a basket case and shrinks back into his seat. “Whatever.” The conversation seems to have depleted him. His lips have taken on that bluish tint again, and he’s holding his paper cup with both hands, shoulders tucked in, as if huddling for warmth.

“Want a blanket?”

“Shut up.”

Sam steps on the gas. If Dean doesn’t want to fight, he’ll have to do it for the both of them.

Read the entire series on AO3 here:

14 notes · View notes

futuristicenthusiastlight · 3 months

Text

Of course he couldn't leave it alone, Sammy.

You lost your soul, but he didn't.

For a whole year, he lived limp. With Lisa and Ben, an apple pie life as a construction worker. 8-5, some drinks with work pals after work, dinners and movie nights with his new family, sex with a hot woman seemingly in love with him. A son who's not his (sure?) looking like so much him.

No monsters, no things going bump in the night. No salt lines, no silver. No Baby.

No Sam.

Anyone knowing Dean, would they think he was really himself in that year? He was happy and ready to move over his little brother, fallen in the cage in Hell with two furious beings? Could he ever forget that?

Looking in his eyes close enough, they'd see immediately he was not happy. Not by a mile.

How could you really believe he'd have left it alone, Sam?

That's the first hint there's something amiss with Sam. He'd know better.

#the epic love story of sam and dean #spn #supernatural #hurt dean winchester #soulless sam #dean the big bro #the winchester brothers crush my damn heart all the times

4 notes · View notes

szlez · 5 months

Text

Let Me

Dean & Cas

#destiel #spn #supernatural #illustration #destiel art #destiel fanart #dean winchester #castiel #my art #whump #hurt/comfort #hands #healing

1K notes · View notes

lostwhump · 9 days

Text

Supernatural (2005-2020) || Bring 'em Back Alive (13.18)

#supernatural #dean winchester #jensen ackles #if the colouring seems off i apologise #this was a fucking nightmare #i would sooner set myself on fire than try this again lol #whump #whumpedit #spnedit #supernaturaledit #spndeanwinchester #deanedit #hurt!Dean #jensenacklesedit #jacklesedit

505 notes · View notes

jasmines-library · 2 months

Note

Hiii!! Firstly, I love your writing and I hope you’re having a great day!! I was hoping to request a Winchester sibling fic where the reader is really comforted by physical touch but is really observant and receptive to the fact their brothers are emotionally constipated and touch starved so the reader has never really asked for it but then one day either just a bad day or bad hunt and the reader just asks the boys to hold them or one of them to sit in the back of the Impala with them? Thank you so so much and I hope you have a lovely day!! 🫶

So close, yet too far.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Summary: You just really need a hug.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Touch Starved, character death mentioned, swearing

p.s. Sorry for the long wait! I've got exams at the moment so they're taking up a lot of my time.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Life as a hunter was never still. You were constantly moving. Constantly looking over your shoulder. Constantly chasing what could be your last day on earth. And you wouldn’t ever have said you regretted it. No. In fact, you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Hunting creatures and saving the world? It was all You couldn’t have imagined a better life…

But sometimes you found yourself wanting life to just slow down for a minute. It was so hectic and you just needed a breath. A hug. With such a busy life, there was no time for just spending quality time with your brothers. Or anyone for that matter. It was an endless cycle: Wake up. Research. Hunt. Drive. Sleep. There was no time for sitting on the couch and watching cheesy movies together. Nor was there any time for curling up together like you used to do when you were smaller. You found yourself yearning for it. For a hug or simply just a gentle arm around your shoulder. It used to bring you so much comfort. But times were tough with all that had happened recently. The three of you were even more on edge than ever before.

Your brothers had always told you that you could ask them for anything. That you could tell them whatever you wanted… but this wasn’t just something you could ask them for. You had seen how they often shunned away from touch. From relationships. Having seen so much pain and having lost so many people…they struggled to allow themselves to let their guard down enough to enjoy a tender moment. Even with you. So no matter how much you yearned for it you could never bring yourself to push the want from your mind and into words.

So when the hunt went worse than you could have imagined you kept quiet.

Dean’s hand was right there; peeking out from the hem of his flannel. His fingers were bloody and calloused, scarred and covered in small cuts and yet his touch was still tender. You felt your own fingers itch to reach out and lace them between his. You wanted for him or Sam to wrap you up in their arms and hold you close. To squeeze your hand. Or a shoulder. But you knew that they had much more pressing matters to deal with that overshadowed “needy little sister”.

You trailed behind them, dragging your feet ever so slightly to kick up the dirt and leave trails between the orange leaves. You did not look up at your brothers because you knew you would see Dean's set jaw and Sam’s pinched eyebrows as they too mourned the hunt.

A small boy had been caught by a shtriga. He had been no older than 5 or 6 with these big, blue eyes that got impossibly wider as the creature stalked toward him. And his scream…it pierced through the air like a beam of light: clear as day yet providing no clarity. No safety like light should bring. Instead it was cold and filled with a gripping terror.

The three of you had been too slow. No matter how hard you dragged your stubborn limbs you couldn’t get to him fast enough. So now you trudged along in silence.

The sight of Baby did not, in fact, provide you with the relief you thought it would. Instead the gleaming of the bonnet against the moonlight just made your stomach churn. You knew that you would all try to bury the memory in a box, deep in the back of your mind. But it was never that easy. They tried hard, but you would hear them late at night. Dean hardly slept as he tried to drink his troubles away and Sam barely left his room. And then there was you who lay awake staring blankly at the ceiling as you wept softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to curl up in a ball. It didn’t bring the same comfort as theirs did, like it had done when you were small and naive when you crawled into their bed after a nightmare. When things weren’t so fucking complicated.

Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you reached for the metal handle. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t sit in silence to be left with your own thoughts. You couldn’t be alone. Not right now.

“Sammy…” Your voice was quiet. Hushed. Barely a whisper pushed out on cracked lips that trembled.

Sam paused, his hand halfway between where he had been picking at the hem of his jeans and the handle of the passenger door. He lifted his head, humming softly in acknowledgement.

“Sit with me… Please.”

“Of course.” His face melted and he moved in one swift movement.

He slid in the backseat, leaning against the door frame and stretching out across the seats. He pulled you in to lean against his side, wrapping his arms around you. You lay your head on his shoulder, snuggling into his side. And began to weep.

“Kiddo?” Sam asked gently. “What’s up?” His hands traced small circles on your arm.

Dean reached over the back of the seat with a concerned look, though part of it could be easily mistaken for fear. “It’s not your fault, Sweetheart-” He started.

“Just…hold me. Please.” You clung onto Sam, your other hand reaching out to settle atop of Dean’s. Their touch was comforting, yet you couldn’t help the wavering as you wept. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

And so they did. Sam nestled you further into his side, tucking your head beneath his chin and Dean clambered out of his seat to join the two of you in the back. He settled down on your other side, sandwiching you between the two of you. And they held you. They ran their fingers through your hair, held your hand and spoke to you. They held you tight and the three of you stayed close together, with no intention of moving any time soon.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@defonotashleyr

@aestheticdaisies

@xxrougefangxx

@hell-o-kittys

@inlovewhithafairytale

@harleycao

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

#supernatural x reader #supernatural #spn x reader #spn x sister reader #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural x little sister reader #supernatural fanfiction #hurt/comfort #touch starved #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester x sister reader #Sam Winchester #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam Winchester x sister reader

328 notes · View notes

sylvanfreckles · 2 years

Text

The Walrider: Pt 3 of 5

(For Day 04: Dead Man Walking)

Fandom: Supernatural x Outlast Rating: M Chapter warnings: head trauma, violence Story warnings: intense violence and gore, eventual body horror, references to torture

Summary: Run, hide, or die.

And deep at the heart of it lies something ancient and dark, waiting for its chance to walk the earth again. (read on AO3)

...

Emergency lighting kicked in, illuminating the halls in a lurid orange glow. Sam froze, heart pounding, ears strained for the slightest hint of noise. He thought he caught a jingle of chains and whipped his head over, scanning the shadows for a hint of the looming bulk of the man who’d been chasing him.

Nothing.

He crept down the hall, ducking into the next open office and closing the door as quietly as possible. Sam didn’t know what happened to the building’s power, but he needed to get his bearings. Exhausting himself by running around in the dark wasn’t going to help him or Dean…he needed answers. Information.

This was an executive office that had gone relatively untouched, despite the chaos Sam had seen in the rest of the building. Though the phone and computer were useless, there was a locked drawer in the desk and a handful of papers haphazardly strewn across the floor, like the office’s occupant had left in a hurry.

He played the flashlight around the room, taking a closer look at the bookcase in the corner. In was a heavy, glass-fronted piece that was being used as a display case. There was an award for exemplary service in the line of duty addressed to Pauline Glick, several photos, a vase of dried flowers, and, oddly enough, a ragged toy pig tucked in the corner of one shelf.

But nothing useful. Sam sat down at the desk and studied the drawer, feeling under the desktop and around the sides for any key or latch. After a few moments of fruitless searching, he tucked his flashlight under his chin and pulled out his set of lockpicks and got to work on the lock.

…

Dean swore as he splashed down into waist-deep cold water. He’d finally found a way down to the basement, only to realize that turning the generator back on wasn’t nearly as simple as flipping the switch. It was connected to a set of gas pumps that had to be restarted first. Gas pumps that were, most likely, located on opposite sides of the sprawling, pitch-dark basement.

His head was still pounding, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep this off. Preferably back home on his memory foam. But no, here he was, in an asylum’s flooded basement, setting off on hell’s scavenger hunt.

The steps on the far side of the basement were slick with water, and the handrail had long been broken away. He hauled himself up the steps and stuck his head into the door, flashing his light up and down the dirty hall beyond. He kept hearing things, just at the edges of his senses. Maybe a whisper of movement or a muttered voice, but when he looked there was nothing there.

Just more dirt. Stacks of boxes. Broken chairs. A filthy mattress in a rusty frame. He followed the faint hum of machinery—there had to be a backup generator somewhere, to keep the emergency lights running—and found the first gas pump.

He spun around, hand going for a gun that wasn’t there, when something scraped across the floor near the door. He let the flashlight beam dance around, illuminating his own footsteps in the dust but little more. Dean held still for a moment longer, straining his ears, then turned back to the pump.

It was easy enough to switch it on, and the little LED went from red to green. Dean let out a slow breath and set his shoulders, turning around to make his way across the basement to the next switch.

A flurry of movement in the corner of his eye had him jerking back, fast enough that the heavy wrench barely glanced off his temple instead of cracking his skull open. The blow was still hard enough to send him staggering, and as he tried to turn to defend himself someone was on him.

“Found you! Found you!” someone shrieked in his ear, followed by maddened laughter. Dean’s flashlight went spinning away when he tried to block another blow from the wrench, casting the room into crazy shadows. He managed to catch his attacker’s arm and twist it to the side, but a knee struck him in the side hard enough that he thought he felt something crack.

The man was gibbering and shrieking. A clawed hand raked across Dean’s face, and he jerked his head back, only to collide with the lockers behind him. His attacker managed to twist his arm free, and Dean instinctively dove forward to catch the man around the waist, the heavy wrench striking his back instead of his head.

They went down, Dean on top but losing ground. The other man dropped the wrench and went after Dean with his bare hands, punching and clawing wildly. In the darkness of the basement Dean couldn’t see to defend himself and struck out blindly. His hand glanced off a brawny chest, so he aimed higher to catch the man under the chin.

There was an almost audible click as the man’s jaw slammed shut, and his arms went lack for a second. Dean scrambled away from him, fumbling in the dark for the wrench. His hands closed around the pitted metal just as his attacker gave a garbled cry and lunged for him. There was no time to aim or hold back. He was barely up on one knee, but he spun with all the force he could muster and swung the wrench like a cudgel. It hit something, and there was another cry as the man crumbled.

Dean pressed his advantage and lunged after him. They wrestled in the dark, fighting for control of the wrench, until Dean managed to get a knee on the other man’s sternum, He used the leverage to pull the weapon free and struck blindly, a shot straight down with the end of the wrench, like he was slamming the butt of a rifle into the man’s face. Hopefully not lethal force, but in this moment he was tired, cold, and his head had been hit more times than he wanted to count.

The man fell silent. Dean held himself still, wrench still upraised. The adrenaline from the fight was surging through his body, his pulse pounding in his ears. After a few seconds he heard a faint, wheezing breath from below him, but nothing else. No movement, no scrabbling in the dark.

“Yeah, stay down,” he said, pushing himself up to his feet. He staggered a little, his balance shot after taking another couple knocks to the head and followed the faint beam to his flashlight.

The world seemed to blur at the edges as he followed the hall back down to the central area of the basement, one hand on the wall for support. The basement seemed quieter now, though that could have been the static in his ears. His feet didn’t want to cooperate, and it was all he could do to force them forward one step at a time.

At least the second pump was easier to find, and Dean slumped against the wall for a moment to take a steadying breath. He stared at the green glow above the switch, not really seeing anything. Everything was foggy now, but he knew he had to get the generator on. Sammy…Sammy needed the generator. Couldn’t pass out. Needed the lights for Sam.

The cold water in the central basement brought him around a little more. Shivering, soaked, and aching to his bones he splashed across to the generator and heaved himself up onto the platform with monumental effort. Hit the button, flip the switch, and the basement was suddenly flooded with light bright enough to make him slam his eyes shut with a cry.

Dean leaned against the generator, head spinning, fighting back the nausea that gurgled up in his chest. Had to get…had to find Sam, or let Sam find him. Not in the basement.

“Well done, my son.”

A hand on his shoulder. Dean tried to twist away, but strong arms caught him and held him up. He was looking up into the dark eyes of the fake priest.

“You can rest now,” the man crooned, his image distorting in Dean’s wavering vision. “The Walrider will be pleased.”

…

Sam jerked his head up when the lights came back on, pulling his attention away from the papers he’d found. There wasn’t much in the office, but he’d found invoices for some of the security equipment—including a signal jammer. It looked like the jammer had been installed on the third floor, and if he could find and deactivate it then they could call for help.

“So. Down or up?” Sam muttered. He had to find Dean, but he could call Cas if he went for the jammer first. The angel couldn’t fly right to them, but he’d still be able to help.

He peeked out into the hall, making sure it was clear in every direction before he stepped out of the office. There had been a map of this section in the office—nothing detailed, but a basic outline of the area. Basically, the locations of the bathrooms and exits, which included the main stairs and elevators and a set of maintenance stairs.

Sam had barely taken a step when a sound behind him made his throat tighten in fear. The rattle of chains. Thundering footsteps. He glanced back just long enough to see the massive man who’d been chasing him, now sprinting down the hallway.

He ran. Down the corridor, into an open room, slamming the door shut and shoving a rack in front of it. The door shuddered as his pursuer rammed into it, and Sam spun around and darted out the far door just as the timbers started to crack.

“Not human,” Sam gasped to himself. “Can’t be human.” Another door, though he didn’t take the time to barricade this one. Was he moving away from the stairs? His mind was consumed with the need to run, even as exhaustion tugged at him. Had to get away. All those heads on shelves in the file room…bodies piled up like kindling.

He burst into another hall, slamming the door behind him. Where was he? Where was the monster? This looked like a sub-lobby, maybe. Private elevator.

Private elevator that was opening.

“You’re not one of them, are you?” The crackle of an intercom. A voice—a human voice. “Get in the elevator, quick!”

Sam surged forward as the door behind him began to shudder under the onslaught of his pursuer. He nearly fell into the elevator, slamming the button to close the door. He barely noticed that it was rising to the third floor as he slumped against the wall in relief. For the first time since his arrival at Mount Massive, he felt safe.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors swung open with a soft chime. Sam looked up, opening his mouth to thank his rescuer, but was met with the sight of a gaunt creature—desiccated flesh stretched over bone, mouth gaping in a nose-less face—rushing to meet him before a blow to the head sent him staggering back as darkness rushed up to claim him.

#whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead man walking #supernatural #outlast #fic #head trauma #violence #dean winchester #sam winchester #chris walker #richard trager #father martin #hurt/comfort #suspense #hurt dean winchester #hurt sam winchester

2 notes · View notes