#sam winchester ff
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pov: your camera roll if you were dating sam winchester
tagging my sun: @fleurfairie
supernatural masterlist
#sam winchester#supernatural#jared padalecki#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester moodboard#sam winchester fic#sam winchester x you#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester ff#sam winchester smut#dean winchester#sam winchester drabble#sam winchester supernatural
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Healing Wounds
Summary: Sequel to Empty - It had been close to a year since your run-in with Sam Winchester. You had spent the time hunting recklessly, which landed you in a predicament you didn’t think you could escape from. This tells the story of seeing Sam once more after his soul has been restored.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader
Word Count: ~4k
Warnings: Swearing, mention of vomit/nausea (no description), blood, Supernatural-y things (vamps), heartbreak (but fixing it with fluff), angsty, very limited talk about mental health and personal struggles
A/N: There may be one final part in this. I felt like there was too much to cover in one part. But this also wraps up all of the angst from Empty. Let me know what you think! And if you'd like to see this storyline continue at all :) Thanks in advance!
The first phone call came about eight months after you had seen Sam.
“Hello?” You answered, unsure of the number that had called you. But in the world of hunting, you always answered. Hunters were known to work their way through cell phones or have burners as back-up.
But this was a voice you had willed yourself to forget over the last eight months. Your name fell in a gentle murmur from his lips, but it sounded bitter to your ear. “It’s, uh, it’s Sam,” he cleared his throat in a way that told you he was uncomfortable making this phone call.
“Sam,” you said curtly. Your friend and hunting partner, Alicia McCaffrey, looked at you with wide eyes.
“Hang up that damn phone,” she muttered through gritted teeth as she followed you into the motel room and closed the door behind her.
You wanted to, really–you did. But somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet. “Are you and Dean alright?” You asked firmly. You had learned that just a few months after your run-in with Sam, Dean had gotten back in the game. Bobby had filled you in on a call he had made to ask you about a hunt you had been on. Dean had tried to reach out twice to see you, but he could tell by the sound of your voice and shortness of your responses, you weren’t willing to come back to hunt with the Winchester duo.
“Y-Yeah,” he stumbled over his words–and here again, he sounded different. But you knew better. You had witnessed it for yourself. “We’re fine, we’re okay,” you were able to breathe a little easier. There was a pause on his end, and you didn’t understand why. “God, this is so hard to explain over the phone. There’s…there’s so much I wanna say…” his voice fell off again.
“Sam, I don’t really have time for this–” your heart raced against your sternum.
“I know, I know I don’t deserve it. Please, just let me explain–” it was your turn to cut him off.
“Sam, all I want is for you to lose my number,” the words felt angry as they left your mouth. As much as it still hurt, you pulled the phone from your ear and hit ‘End’.
It had been months since you had heard from Sam Winchester. Months of reckless hunting, which wasn’t usually your style. But you had a hard time caring anymore. The heartache from your one night rendezvous with the youngest Winchester had wrecked you in ways you didn’t realize were possible.
Alicia McCaffrey had become one of your closest friends, but even she had to take a step back. “You’re dangerous,” she had breathed one night after a hunt. “I can’t keep putting myself in life or death situations with you, kid.” You knew she was right–she didn’t deserve to be put in precarious circumstances because you had gotten your heart broken. Hell, she had even warned you that she thought it was a bad idea. Had you trusted your gut, even you knew it was the wrong decision. Sam wasn’t the same man you had known, and yet you went through with it anyway. You would be paying the price for the rest of your life, even if that would be a short time.
So you hunted alone now. It was for the best. You avoided the phone calls from Bobby, and anyone else you knew from that past life because you refused to open up the book of pain. You no longer cared if another hunter was calling you for help, the emotions were too overwhelming: hurt, pain, embarrassment…
With a quick shift of your wrist, your blade slashed through a vampire’s neck. You didn’t even flinch as his head rolled–eyes wide open as he had a moment to process his demise.
“You bitch,” an older vampire spat in your direction as his body moved quicker than you could turn. He caught the spot on your neck in an instant. The shrill pain of his fangs as they gnawed through your warm flesh elicited a scream from your lips. Without hesitation, you reached in your back pocket and very quickly popped the plastic cap off before you smashed the syringe into the side of his neck. He pulled back from you with a shriek as he stumbled.
“Dead man’s blood, asshole,” you grumbled as your fingertips pressed to the wet spot on your neck. It almost felt like you could feel your pulse through the blood and torn flesh. You shook the white spots from your vision and didn’t falter as you swung your machete across his neck. For a moment, you were disappointed. You could hear others coming down the hall of the abandoned estate–their chatter and growling echoed along the halls and bounced off of the marble floors.
You weren’t sure why you were disappointed. For months now, you had been living life on the edge–like Alicia had said before she left, “You have a death wish, kid. And I’m not stickin’ around for you to see it through.” So wasn’t this it? Wasn’t this what you had wanted? You thought the answer was yes, so why did it feel so wrong now that you were practically staring Death in the face?
With a quick breath, you tried to swallow past the lump of emotion bubbling in your throat. You pulled your fingers from the spot on your neck that leaked with more blood every time your heart reverberated against your chest. With narrowed eyes, you stared down the hallway where the other vamps were swiftly approaching. After a few rotations of your machete, you took one last breath. “Come and get me!” The words fell from your lips in a hasty yell.
But then, something happened. Just beyond the heavy double doors made of a dark wood, you heard screaming; slashing. You gulped once, then twice…and then the doors opened.
In your heart, you had a sinking idea who stood behind those doors. But at the same time, you didn’t think they cared enough. Or maybe that he cared enough.
Even beyond the spots in your eyes and the darkness of the room around you, you noticed Sam’s jaw tighten as his eyes moved over your frame. From the distant look across your face–the one that told him you weren’t happy to see him–to the blood still dripping from the crook of your neck just above your collarbone. Without thinking, he moved forward towards you. He didn’t miss the way your body flinched as he moved, but he forced it out of his head as his machete clanked to the ground and echoed around your bodies.
“Don’t,” you muttered through gritted teeth. He stopped, only for a moment. “Don’t touch me.” You managed once more as his large hands moved fallen strands of hair away from your neck so he could get a better look at your open wound.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed with furrowed brows and a look in his eyes that took you by surprise. The way his eyes moved between yours, it made you pause–was that…was that the light that you were so desperately searching for the last time you encountered Sam? “I have to look at it, okay?” His voice was just above a whisper.
Anger rumbled in the pit of your stomach, but seemed to quiet down at the specks of glint you saw all of a sudden. You knew he was right; you had been seeing spots ever since that vamp snacked on your jugular, or so it felt. You managed a small nod.
With maybe a second passing, he moved. One hand cradled the side of your face while the other tilted your head a bit, so it relaxed in the feeling of his hand. His eyes moved over the injury as he quickly reached away with both hands to take off his flannel covering a sweat-stained gray undershirt. You wanted to vomit when his hands left your skin, and that made you angry again. “How dare you just waltz in here like a fucking knight in shining armor,” you hadn’t realized your mouth had picked up on your brain’s thoughts and instead of having an internal dialogue, you had spoken them out loud. Oh well…at least he knew how you felt now, if he hadn’t already.
Sam’s eyes moved to yours swiftly. He nodded once, then twice before he ducked his head to look at the ground. “Sorry will never be enough,” he murmured. His head moved back so he could look at you once more. He didn’t say anything before he took his flannel and pressed it to your neck with a pressure that made you hiss in pain and squeeze your eyes closed. “I know,” he continued. “We gotta keep pressure on it…” his voice trailed off as Dean spoke up.
“I know there’s a lotta shit happening right now,” he said as he looked around the abandoned space. “But we gotta keep moving. I don’t think that’s the last of the nest and we’re fightin’ an uphill battle. We’ll come back later, but let’s get you cleaned up.” He nodded to you–Dean’s way of saying ‘hello’.
Going with the Winchesters was the last thing you would ever decide to do at this moment–well, maybe not the last thing. It was settled on the list just above getting eaten by a vamp. But your options were limited, and you felt yourself feeling more and more lightheaded the longer your neck bled.
“Fine,” you managed as you followed them back to the Impala. Sam kept his distance, and you were thankful for that. As you climbed into the backseat, Sam hesitated by the door but got the message when you pulled it closed behind you. He settled for the front seat while Dean drove.
As you headed to whatever motel they were staying in, you repeated in your head: Get in, get cleaned up, have Dean take you back to your motel. Get in, get out. Get in…get out…
Your eyes watched as the yellow light from street poles moved past the car on the drive. Tears and emotion prickled the back of your eyes and throat, but you pushed them away. You’d be damned if you let Sam Winchester get under your skin again. Fool you once, shame on him. But fool you twice…
It was only a few minutes before the Impala shifted into park in the lot of a seedy highway motel. You internally groaned when you realized you recognized this seedy highway motel–it was the same one you had been crashing at for the last two nights. They must’ve gotten in that day, because there was no way you wouldn’t have noticed the Impala.
The ride had been silent, which made you realize that Dean must also know about what happened between you and Sam all those nights ago. That made your stomach flip flop even more than before–embarrassment crept up into your chest and face. Trying to brush it off was useless, but you still attempted. You pulled the car door handle open before Sam could try to help and brushed by him.
“Assuming you guys have a med kit here?” The bleeding had slowed to a stop, which you were thankful for because it meant the damage was mostly cosmetic and everything important was still intact.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Dean chuckled as he closed the driver side door. “We got you covered. It’s, uh…it’s good to see you.” He nodded as his eyes lingered over you–you couldn’t be sure what he was looking for, or maybe even seeing. But you felt like his eyes were full of pity and sympathy, which made you nauseous again.
“Yeah,” you nodded, not able to return the sentiment. “If we could get this over with, that’d be great. I have things to do.”
Dean led the way to the door of their motel room. Sam kept his distance, but you could feel his gaze again. His hands shoved into the front pockets of his dark jeans.
“Where ya staying?” Dean asked nonchalantly as he put the key card in the slot to unlock their door.
You took a moment before answering. “Here. Just down the hall,” your words were soft. You didn’t really want to share that information with them.
Dean nodded but didn’t seem surprised. There weren’t too many motels just off the highway, which was what the Winchesters always booked. In that realization, you wanted to kick yourself. Even though you hadn’t meant to, you were still following their rules of hunting. “Stay just off the highway so you can peel out quick if shit hits the fan,” Dean’s words echoed through your brain.
Dean nodded as the door opened and you followed him inside, Sam just behind you. “I gotta go pick something up,” you knew Dean was just trying to find an excuse to leave. Before you could argue, he tossed the med kit from the small bathroom onto one of the beds and hurried back to the door. “I’ll be back a bit later. Sammy will get you cleaned up.”
Before a word could flow from your brain to your lips, Dean was out the door. You closed your eyes for a minute and bit down hard on the inside of your lip—so hard, you thought you tasted blood.
He had the audacity to utter your name, and it made you want to scream.
“Don’t you dare say my name like that,” you gritted through the words. “You don’t get to talk to me anymore. Seriously.” You glanced around the room in his silence, and headed back for the door. “I have my own med kit, I can do it myself.” You muttered.
“Please, don’t go,” while everything inside of you told you to keep walking, the conviction and pain in his voice made your feet stop moving. “Please. I’m begging you. I just need a few minutes to explain. Let me take care of you and explain everything from the last year and a half, and then if you still want to leave, I won’t stand in your way.”
Against your better judgment, your feet moved to turn back to face him. You could see the same emotions on his face—the anguish, in typical Sam Winchester fashion. “Let me take care of you,” his words echoed internally and stung almost as much as the cool air that was about to hit the gash on your neck.
“You have five minutes,” you said carefully as you walked to the edge of the bed and pulled Sam’s flannel away from your skin. You winced as the fabric pulled at the already drying wound.
If you had blinked, you would have missed the way Sam’s jaw tightened and how his eyes traced a path from the wound on your neck to your eyes and back.
His hands opened the med kit; as he began to work, he spoke softly. “Cas pulled me out of Lucifer’s cage. But when he got me out, my soul got left behind,” your eyes darted to his face as he poured antiseptic onto a cotton pad.
“Your soul?” You asked, his eyes glued to the cotton pad as he focused on working.
He nodded once as he brought the pad to your neck. He hesitated for a second. “Yeah, my soul. This is gonna sting, okay?” He asked carefully. He waited for you to nod before he placed the pad, cool from the antiseptic, onto your skin. Your face contorted for a minute and you swallowed the hiss that threatened to escape. “I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. I didn’t know how I got out of the cage or what was wrong with me. I just felt…numb.”
So far, nothing Sam had said swayed your judgment or how you felt. Sam understood that by your silence. Nevertheless, he continued working on your wound.
“Dean got back in, and then Cas…and that’s when we realized my soul was just gone,” he moved on to unwrap some packing gauze and broke his train of thought. “It doesn’t look like it needs stitches, just a surface wound. You okay if I pack it and tape it up?”
You managed a nod and looked down a bit so your hair fell into your face. Sam’s fingers grazed your chin so gently, you weren’t sure you felt it until you saw his hand.
“Sorry, gotta get the right angle,” he cleared his throat. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and went back to work. “I remember everything now,” he started again and pulled his gaze away from your eyes. He busied his fingers with the packing gauze, but you could tell it was so he wouldn’t have to look directly into your eyes. “I didn’t right away…it’s kind of a long story. But I would get glimpses of memories and things that happened when I didn’t have my soul. And I saw you…and that night…” his voice trailed off.
“Alright, that’s enough,” you cut him off before your words were swallowed by emotions—emotions you had tried so hard not to feel for all of these months. You were on your feet pushing past his broad frame before he could say another word. “I’m not doing this, Sam. I’m not going to sit here and have some bullshit heart to heart about what happened. I can’t.”
Sam stood immediately but he didn’t approach—he knew better than that. “I know I don’t deserve it. God, I know…”
“Do you?” You spat back. This time, the emotion broke through. Everything you had fought so hard to swallow came tumbling back. “Do you know how hard it was when I watched you jump into the cage? Or how I mourned you and the loss of the person I considered my best friend? Or how about how the entire time I hunted with you I wanted so desperately for you to want me the way I wanted you?” You wondered if you would regret the words, but you couldn’t stop them. Nor could you stop the angry tears that began to pool in your eyes and spill just over the edge. The look on his face remained the same—pained. “How amazing it was when I saw you standing in the bar that night? And then how hurt I was when I realized you had been back for ten months and didn’t call? But then you wanted me…and you had me,” your voice fell and you could no longer look into his eyes. “And then you left.” Your voice was so low, you weren’t sure if he had heard you.
Sam couldn’t stand in one spot anymore. He moved to you so quickly, it took you by surprise. You could tell by the way he moved his arms he wanted to touch you, but he refrained.
“I know that saying sorry means absolutely nothing right now,” he said slowly, carefully. “But I am so incredibly sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sorry about anything before in my life.” His words dripped with an emotion you had never heard from him before. You thought he might cry—and you had never seen Sam Winchester cry. “If I could change it—”
“I know,” you cut him off with your eyes closed, only allowing more tears to slip through the cracks. “You would take it back. I know. It was a mistake, Sam.”
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “The only mistake I made that night was not showing you how much I care about you.”
Through blurry blinks you looked back at him, and it was then that you saw what you couldn’t see the last time you and Sam Winchester were in a motel room together–the light. There was still pain, but the emptiness was gone, filled again with what had been missing all along. He moved so slowly, cautiously as he brought his palm up to cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb swept under your eye to wipe at the tears that had settled there.
“You were the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt…I am so sorry I hurt you,” his eyes connected with yours to show you he meant it. “My feelings were real, I was just so screwed up…I had zero emotional connection to what was happening.”
You pulled back from his touch as your eyes found the multicolored carpet below your feet. While you had already spilled so many feelings to him that you hadn’t planned for, you couldn’t hold his gaze while you told him this one. “I wanted to die, Sam. I gave up. Being with you that night…it left a wound I couldn’t figure out how to heal. The pain was so bad, I didn’t care about anyone or anything anymore…”
This time, you knew you could see Sam’s eyes glass over. He was hurting because he knew his actions had left a scar deep within you and caused you so much anguish.
It was then that you realized—Sam hadn’t asked to be brought back without his soul. Hell, he hadn’t been asked to be brought back at all. When you had run into Sam that night, he didn’t even realize his soul was missing.
“But it’s not your fault,” suddenly, your heart fluttered. Since that night all those months ago, you hadn’t felt that flutter for anything or anyone. The feeling of emptiness was replaced with a flutter of hope. “You didn’t know, Sam.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered with a shake of his head, his eyes still on yours. “It doesn’t make it okay.”
“It doesn’t,” you breathed, your tears slowing. “But it isn’t fair for me to hold something against you that you didn’t even know was happening…” as he heard your words, you saw a gleam of hope in his eyes that matched the feeling in your chest.
His brows furrowed as he closed his eyes and dropped his head a bit. “Thank you,” the words fell in a breath.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to hear you out,” your fingers instinctively reached to touch the palms of his hands. His head jerked back up so his eyes were on you, his brows still knitted together in a frown. He grasped your hands tightly in his, and a feeling of warmth washed over you.
“Do not apologize to me,” he said firmly. “You don’t owe me anything, you hear me? I hurt you. I would do anything in the world to fix it.”
Your throat suddenly felt dry, so you swallowed so you could try to get the words out. “I don’t really know what that looks like, but I’m willing to work on it together…”
For the first time that night, you saw a smile tug at the corners of Sam’s lips. He gave your hands another squeeze. “Thank you…” his words trailed away before he cleared his throat. “Now, can I please finish packing that gash on your neck? We really need to get it covered.”
You managed a nod and allowed him to hold your hand as he led you back to the bed.
“I’ll do everything I can to help you heal,” he breathed as his eyes focused on yours again once you were on the edge of the bed. You wanted to tell him it was a superficial wound and would heal just fine, but you knew he was talking about more than just the spot the vampire had bitten. And you were willing to let him try.
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Tag List: @lacilou
#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfiction#supernatural fanfic#supernatural ff#spn fanfic#spn ff#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester x female reader#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester fanfic#sam winchester fan fic#sam winchester ff#sam winchester fan fiction#sam winchester fluff
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if you even care I started watching spn because I had a crush on jared after seeing him smile and laugh in the s1 gag reel on youtube. Like "this man has a gorgous smile&dimples, i should watch whatever this is" But no one told me sam only smiles once(1) per season
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Suptober Day 5 - Portrait
Extra info/discussion + the other two versions :)) ↓
So! This did not end up how I thought it would- at all. First I was gonna do like Crowley drawing Cas and Cas drawing Crowley cause I thought it could be cool to see like how they see eachother - yk trueforms and such. But then I thought about the variants of like tfw and demon dean, soulless Sam and godstiel/crazy Cas and I was like - how about I draw them. But then I ended up sketching this really weird shape and a few Sam doodles and decided to just stick with variants of him instead - states when he wasn't fully him but he was at least in essence him (aka he wasn't possessed - it was still him, something was just off) and so I narrowed it down to these three!
Psychic Sam - I loved all the turmoil surrounding Sam's powers and thought it could be really cool to portray :))
Soulless Sam - yeah so I didn't know how to portray the guy being soulless - I mean it's literally just he wasn't himself and he had no emotions or feelings. Originally I was gonna have him hold some light thing but then changed it to show like organs and the ribcage to make it seem like 'hey he's a functioning person but there's nothing beneath the surface - it's all on show'
Sam when he had his wall broken - I didn't know how to describe this part of Sam's life. Like it's easy to explain but harder to put a name to. Idk if it's already been named - in fact lemme Google that rq one sec.. k yeah idk. So i just went for 'broken' cause that's what he was. His thoughts were all over the place, I mean poor lad had trauma resurfacing left right and centre - he was hallucinating the devil for Christ's sake! He was not ok!!! (Also yeah the tears are supposed to look like fake/graphic esk. Idk why I made that decision I just thought it looked cool)
#supernatural#spn#supernatural fanart#spn fanart#sam winchester fanart#sam winchester#soulless sam#psychic sam winchester#suptober23#suptober#posting this at nearly 4am ffs#this took longer than i thought it would to get done#abt uhhhhh 11-3:40 so uhhhh what like five hours and a bit?#crazy man#not good for my sleep schedule#ffs#my art
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As I am watching the earlier seasons of SPN I find the relationship between Dean and Sam especially interesting. They care so much about each other, they are the brothers ever actually.
That episode with Gabriel trying to teach Sam that they can’t keep sacrificing oneself for the other one but they are just so devoted and dependent to each other that it’s impossible to live without the other one
I’ll try and explain better when my thoughts on them feel more coherent
#i have many thoughts#spn#supernatural#dean winchester#sam winchester#ff talks#personal#they make me unwell in the head#screaming crying throwing up#the brothers ever <3#also the flashback in the Christmas episode#heart breaking
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Sam: You think we will die before we get old?
Dean: Haven't we both already?
#actual real dialogue from spn#ffs#spn#sam and dean#spn 4x12#sam winchester#dean winchester#dean and sam#supernatural season 4#supernatural
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You're Beautiful
Arthur ketch x Insecure! reader
Summary: Y/n is feeling insecure and Ketch isn't really helping with how she feels by flirting with Mary Winchester
Warning: Feeling Insecure, angst, with fluff at the end.
View my Masterlist
A request from @lilacprincessofrecovery
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You and Arthur have been in a relationship for two years now, not a public relationship of course, If anyone from the British Men of Letters even found out about your relationship. One of you will be terminated immediately.
But, you can't ignore how he is publically flirting with Mary Winchester.
You could feel your blood boil watching them flirt across the room. Mary trying to play it off but you can tell she was enjoying it. Ketch gives all of his corny jokes and smiles.
What does bloody Mary Winchester have that you don't?
When you said that sentence to yourself, you could hear another voice telling you all kinds of things that she has and you don't. She is a better fighter, prettier than you, and has everything you don't. I am not like her.
You didn't realize that in the middle of the meeting you had tears falling down your face, Ketch looking straight at you. Worried.
You wipe the tears off your face and walk out the door. No words were spoken to anyone. But, you could feel his eyes watching your every move.
you walk down the hallway, head down. you can't let anyone see how weak you are.
You finally reached my quarters, closed the door behind me, and immediately fell on your knees sobbing. You wish you could be as strong as that woman, maybe Ketch would actually talk to you more. Mary was a pretty woman, you cannot even deny that.
you know your self-worth, but why can't you just be her? She is so tiny, barely wears makeup, and most of all she is a strong woman.
Everything you are not.
A knock at your door breaks your train of thought, you wipe the tears that were on your face and stand behind the door. "Who is it?" your voice even sounded like you were crying.
"It's Arthur, can I come in?"
Of course, it has to be him. you take a deep breath, walk away from the door to the bed, and sit. "Yes."
Arthur opens the door slowly like he would during a hunt if he feared something might attack him. His eyes finally landed on you and he shut the door. "What is wrong my love?"
You could fill the anger in you and move throughout your body, all the frustrations you have felt today, "What's wrong? You came in here to ask me what's wrong?" you laugh, trying to hide all your anger. You have to show him Your not weak. "Nothing is wrong Ketch, why don't you go back. and talk to your American barbie girl?"
Ketch looks at you confused, "You mean Mary? My love, you got it all wrong." He made his way closer to you and you put your hand out, your eyes already stinging with more tears threatening to fall.
"Two years Ketch, We have been together two years. Two bloody years. You think nothing is wrong when you are FLIRTING WIH HER RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!" You could feel my anger was now out, and you couldn't hold it anymore.
"Y/n, love cal-" Ketch couldn't get his sentence off before you lash out once more.
"Don't tell me to calm down!" Tears were streaming down your face, your eyes looking directly at his. "Go be with her!" Ketch's face changed once you said those words.
"Why would I want to be with her? When I got everything I want with you." Ketch explained, you tried to speak once more but his hand went up basically telling you to shush, "I don't know why you are being like this. Why? Do you not trust me?"
You look down now, Of course, you trusted him. But, Mary... you don't trust her at all. You feel like she could take him away from you. Because of how different we are.
"I do trust you...But, I don't trust her." you mumbled, "She is so much more interesting than me, stronger than me, she is even bloody prettier than me." you wipe the tears that are falling down my face.
Ketch kneels in front of you, grabbing your hands gently with one hand, using the other to tilt your face to look up at him and wipe your tears, "My love. You are so much better than her. In every way. Don't let your mind tell you all of those lies. You are beautiful, You are strong. You are one of the strongest women I know. I mean, who can spar with me and take me down almost with ease?"
You giggle at his words, "I can."
Ketch smiles at me, "No need to worry about Mary Winchester. But I do apologize for flirting with her. I am trying to get her more on our side so we can end all this rubbish and return home. I didn't realize how that made you feel my love, please forgive me."
You smile at Ketch, nodding your head in the process.
"I forgive you."
#supernatural#spn fandom#spn#spnfamily#spn cast#arthur ketch#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural headcanon#supernatural imagine#supernatural smut#arthur ketch x reader#sam winchester#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dating sam winchester would include#dating dean winchester would include#Britsh men of letter#ff#smut
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why are dean stans so annoying sometimes
#like ffs what did he do in s9 hello#and 8??? he was willing to die if it meant dean was safe#“oh but amelia and the dog” ok yeah fuck that#i didnt like that storyline either but cmon jesus#and season four???? the most badass version of sam???#we are entitled to our own opinions but these just dont make sense#yes im mad at this#fuck yall#supernatural#sam winchester
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Slip Away
“Do you think anything could ever tear us apart”
“No”
Sam Winchester x Reader
Warnings: Brief mentions of sex
Word Count: 2k+
You layed in bed staring at your ceiling thinking of what your life used to be like. When you didn't have to worry about anything. You had just started at Stanford, moving away to start your life after high school. Moving from a small town to California so you could study law.
On your first day of class, you walked in and took a seat near the front. Most seats were full so when the last few people came on there were only a few seats left. A tall boy with fluffy hair walked into the room. His eyes scan the room looking for an empty seat falling to the one next to you. He made his way towards you and sat down.
“I'm Sam.”
“Y/n.”
From that day forward you two had become friends. You would talk every day, it was like it was built into your routine. When winter break was coming up and you were going home to see your family, you had invited Sam to join you after hearing he wouldn't be doing anything over break. His family life was something you didn't know a lot about. But you would never push him to tell you.
The day before you left to go home you had given Sam his Christmas gift. It was a jacket which was good for the California weather but would be nice where in places it got cold too, and a necklace with a small moose on the pendant. When you met up to give him his gift you were excited. You had spent the previous night sitting on your floor wrapping them.
You met at your favorite coffee shop. When you arrived Sam was already there waiting at your usual booth. Walking up he stood to hug you before you both sat down. “Hey, Moose. Merry early Christmas.” He laughs at your name for him. “Merry early Christmas y/n. I got you your usual.”
“Thank you, Sam. I come bearing gifts! I know we aren't going to be together on Christmas, but I still wanted to get you something.” You pulled out both gifts, handing him the bigger one first. When he opened it a smile appeared on his face. “This was the coat I was looking at.” “You loved it but said it was too expensive. And because I knew you would never get it yourself I did.” He was still looking at it as you pulled out the smaller of the two placing it on the table before sliding it over. His eyes dropped to the smaller item now in front of him.
He looks up and sees you smiling back at him “Go on and open it.” The smile never leaves your face as he unwraps it. Opening the small box there is a necklace inside. A small rectangle pendant with a moose etched into the corner. Sam looks at you, tears pricking his eyes. He places the box down before standing up. Fear hits you for a second before you feel him pull you up and into a hug. His arms wrap around you and you feel him pull you tight against you.
You loved when he pulled you close to him like this. You felt safe in his arms.
When he pulls away he pulls a small box out of his pocket handing it to you. It was wrapped in light brown paper with a white ribbon around it. Unwrapping the box and opening it you see two necklaces, one with a thin chain and a bar in the center. Engraved on it was the day you and Sam met, and another with a thin chain but a single pearl in the middle. No matter what you always wore them. The same could be said about Sam. You never saw Sam without his necklace after that afternoon. Almost as if it was a part of him like yours felt to you.
~~~~
Your hand fell to your necklace, remembering that day like it was yesterday. You couldn't bring yourself to take the one with the single pearl off. But you also couldn't look at the engraving. They were from a key moment in your life when you were happy, and when you got to live in the moment. Before your life came crumbling into a million pieces. You would have never thought that someone would tear you and Sam apart.
~~~~~
You were walking around campus after getting back from summer break. You and Sam were now in your second year of college. Together you had made it through your first year of law school. That summer you stayed in California for a while so you and Sam could hang out before you went home to see family.
Sam had told you about a girl he met and you were happy for him. But as time passed and he started blowing you off or only talking about her when you hung out you realized that you no longer had your Sam. He was more distant towards you, making up obvious excuses to not follow through with plans. You had made plans for your birthday, excited to see your friends, but when you got a text from Sam telling you something came up you just wanted to curl up in bed and cry.
Moose Head: Hey y/n I’m sorry but something came up I can’t make it tonight
Y/n: Is everything okay?
Moose Head: Yeah Jess needs my help with something
Y/n: Oh, okay
Moose Head: I know today is your birthday but Jess needs me
Y/n: It's fine Sam, I’ll see you whenever
Moose Head: Are you sure?
You didn't respond to his last message. A few days later you ran into Jess at the coffee shop you and Sam used to go to all the time.
“Hey y/n, I heard your birthday was the other day. I know you wanted Sam there but let's just say he was a little preoccupied. The poor thing we were up all night. But what can I say, he got to spend a night with me and not with you as you look for some way to be close to him. We both know how pathetic you are, pining after him for a whole year but he chose me after one conversation. ” You were in utter shock. You had walked to the cafe for coffee and a muffin but now you were being accused of wanting to get with Sam.
You couldn’t say anything. Your mouth went dry, your breathing picked up, and you could feel tears starting to be known. Stumbling back a little you turn and rush out of the cafe. You got home as fast as you could. As soon as your door closed you pressed yourself against the wall to stabilize yourself: sliding down it you are now sitting on the floor. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. You were crying so hard you could barely breathe. Normally you would call Sam but you knew that it would either make the situation worse, or he wouldn't believe you.
The next few times you saw Jess on campus she would either accuse you of wanting to take Sam from her or she would tell you how good Sam was doing now that most of his time was spent with her.
You had seen Sam only a handful of times outside of class since he could have ditched you on your birthday for Jess. Your breaking point was then you had finally built up the courage to tell Sam what his girlfriend had been doing. But your worst fear of telling Sam came true. She had sunk her claws so far into him that he accused you of lying and trying to mess with his relationship.
You knew you wouldn't leave because of them, but you knew you couldn't live on campus knowing that you would have to see them together. Knowing the person you trusted and knew had your back was no longer that person to you. You had decided that it was in your best interest both academically and emotionally to transfer to another school and that's what you did.
The day you left you had stopped by his apartment knocking on his door. When the door opened you expected to just see Sam. But behind him stood Jess staring daggers into your soul. You looked back at Sam before handing him a letter. “This is for you.” “What is it?”
“Just read it. Not now. But when you're alone.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah will do”
“Sam I know this is kinda weird but can I have a hug?” You saw Jess roll her eyes behind him before mumbling something you couldn't hear.
“Come On y/n you know you don't have to ask for a hug.” He pulled you into a hug and you squeezed him a little tighter than normal. You knew this would be the last time you got to hug him.
That night you put all of your stuff into your car and left. After all, you had been through in your life you had hoped that things would have been better. But in reality, you just weren't going to get the normalcy that you hoped for.
Sam had opened that letter after Jess left the next morning.
Dear Sam,
Hey, Moose head. I know that things have been different lately. You found someone who makes you happy. And I'm happy you are happy. But I feel like I'm falling into an unfamiliar space. 'Cause I was drenched in you before I even knew your name. The day I saw you walk into that class I knew you would be someone important to me. And recently I've been fading with every breath you take. I tried to ignore what I was feeling but I can't pretend anymore. And I can see your southern heart hiding behind a city face. You are someone else with her. It's like you want to be someone else for her. Someone that's not yourself.
And I'm drownin' out the fires as I'm lyin' here awake because I can feel you slip away like I knew you would. And I begged you not to leave me in the silence. When you’ve seen all my mistakes. You told me to be honest with you and that's all I wanted from you. And now I'm looking for escapes, but a small part of me knew that I always would.
Stallin', stallin', stallin' 'til I take the blame because I don't want it to be you that made me feel so wanted just to leave. Yeah, I lied to you like a promise on New Year's Day. You saw me, and I had nowhere to hide. You know more than anyone else probably ever will because I trusted you. Yeah, the worst in me is racin' all-around your mind.
But now I can feel you slip away, and all I want is for you to come back. To be my Moose Head.
I loved you, Sam. And the worst part is I still love you. But you have Jess now and I don't want to be the reason you aren't happy. I heard Jess say you guys are serious, and that you have already talked about marriage. I'm happy for you Sam. Maybe one day we will meet again. And maybe then we will both be happy. But for now goodbye Sam.
Love, Y/n.
Sam tried calling that night. He was crying by the time he had finished reading your letter. He didn't realize how much it had affected you. Nor how much he had changed for Jess. When you heard what happened to Heryou, you wanted to call him. To send your condolences. But it felt inappropriate after you had left. It had only been a few months after you that she died.
You never talked after you said goodbye. It has been 7 years since that night. And not a day goes by that you don't think about Sam.
~~~~~~
You look over at your clock seeing it was seven in the morning. You had laid down at two but had spent all night thinking of your past. At this point, you knew sleep wasn't going to happen. Getting out of bed you hop in the shower to wake yourself up.
When you get out of the shower you hear your phone ringing. Picking it up you see it's an unknown number that has tried calling at least three times already. Thinking it might be important you decide to answer.
You clear your throat before accepting the call. “Hello?”
“Y/n?” Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel your entire body stiffen.
“Sam?”
#sam winchester#jared paladecki#supernatural fluff#fluff#supernatural#sam#winchester#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchecter ff#sam winchester fic#sam winchester smut#samwinchester#sam winchester fluff
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can someone rec me some merthur fics, ive never read any (like never in my life)
#well actually ive never read spn fics too so if you have a favorite fic send me the stuff. im tslking to you mutuals#give me sadness please#slow burn#i like angsty ones#canon stuff#unrequited love stuff mmm so good#merthur#bbc merlin#arthur pendragon#deleting later#merlin emrys#bradley james#colin morgan#supernatural#ff#ao3#spn#dean winchester#sam winchester
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I feel like I've said this already but they just didn't make Dean the way fanfic authors do—and in the context of destiel, it's him trying to work through the anger, it's finding peace within himself and killing the storm always raging in his veins, it's reciprocating Cas' soft touch outside of him dying on Dean. It is Cas readily forgiving most of Dean's mistakes and Dean doing his damnedest to be worthy anyways. Because listen.
Listen.
I am one half a Deangirl I will gladly spend my last days tinhatting and nerding out about the nuances of his character—but come on, he has crimes that should not have been skimmed over (ahem S9 Steve arc ahem S15 divorce arc ahem Mary's death ahem) that I know within my soul he would feel absolutely shitty about, post Cas confession. He may have done everything for love but he was also an asshole for a lot of it and they should ‼️ be‼️ able‼️ to‼️ work on that‼️‼️‼️‼️
And I'm not talking about Dean coddling Cas or whatever, I'm talking about Dean working past his issues to let himself have soft things and fully connect with someone. Healthy communication, healthy relationships, health coping mechanisms—that shivering wet cat of a man deserved therapy (news flash: they all did) and that kind of healing.
And that's something fanfic authors just understand better than the big name execs or whoever deemed it climactic to end Dean's story by dying.
#one of my many many gripes from the finale#this doesn't even need to be destiel dean and sam just fucking deserved therapy ok#in my head sam gets to go shortly after dean died bec he found the last time with mia cathartic#and he's the more pro therapy out of either of them I'm sure he figures his shit out before he died#but dean???? dean didn't even get to DO the things he wanted to do after finally getting control of his own narrative#he had experiences and people he wanted to feel differently maybe even for the first fucking time ffs#EVEN A BEACH EPISODE WOULD'VE FUCKING CUT IT Y'ALL#but nO they kill him and paint it as a happy ending like how tf...#if this WAS for destiel tho. dean would've done better#like. post empty rescue cas would try to bury that shit but dean??? won't be able to let it go#better yet he would want to try!!!!! bec for the longest time he thought HE couldn't have it. that HE needed to accept just *being*#thEY COULD'VE DONE SO MUCH MORE IF THEY ONLY HAD TIME#<yes that's a hamilton reference idk why it popped in my head just now#supernatural#spn#dean winchester#castiel#dean studies#destiel#spn finale#spn 15x20#15x20#deancas#destiel fanfic#fanfic authors#fic authors
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i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings ୨୧ ˻˳˯ₑ*॰¨̮
supernatural masterlist
#supernatural#sam winchester#sam winchester x you#sam winchester x y/n#sam winchester x reader#jared padalecki#sam winchester ff#sam winchester fanfic#sam winchester au#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester smut#sam winchester angst#sam winchester spn#sam winchester supernatural#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester blurb#sam winchester drabble#sam supernatural#taylor swift#taylor swift lyrics#taylor swift lover
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Little Secrets
Landing page for the Little Secrets series.
Summary: The trials and tribulations of two hunters who seemingly fall for one another while working various jobs. Neither of them want the eldest Winchester to find out, for various reasons. This is their story.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader
Rating: Mostly T, but part 6 is NSFW and not suitable for anyone under the age of 18!
Damn You, Sam Winchester
Blame it on the Whiskey
Newfound Territory
No Going Back Now
No Time
Breathe (WARNING - SMUT!)
#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester fanfiction#spn fanfiction#sam winchester x reader#supernatural fanfic#supernatural ff#sam winchester x female reader#sam winchester x you#spn fanfic#spn ff#sam winchester ff#sam winchester fan fic#sam winchester fan fiction
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there was a shot in this episode of criminal minds of a guy lying back on a bed. blood dripping on his face. and three people on the ceiling. criminal minds 6x19 i know what you are. i know what you take inspiration from.
#spn#criminal minds#i wanted a screenshot of it but streaming services dont allow that anymore. FFS.#spn pilot#criminal minds 6x19#supernatural#sam winchester
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I Want To Be Free - Chapter 0
This AU came to me nearly ten years ago. It didn't have a plot, just a vague idea of 'horror-esque One Piece' smashing into my other favourite fandom; Supernatural. So I put it away. Then OPLA came along and drop-kicked me back into the One Piece fandom a decade later, and suddenly, the ideas for how this AU would actually go started pouring in.
Idk how far I'm going to get with this, I'm still pretty stuck on a lot of 'but what would the other Straw Hats actually be' (which, if you have any ideas, drop a comment/some tags/an ask/whatever!), but I've got rough notes for another couple of chapters, I think?
Also, yes, I did play around a lot with the names to make them more real-world-y -waves creative liscence- I did it because it's fun, and gives me cool opportunities to play with worldbuilding, and I felt like it.
Prologue - Seven Years Ago
It’s early, but Didi is used to rising with the sun. Early to bed, early to rise, as they say! Besides, getting up early means no one, not even her husband, sees her without her face on, and she can make herself presentable in peace.
Face on, hair done, but still in her dressing gown, she leaves the en suite and heads downstairs to get breakfast started. Always good to remind the help that you’re watching, after all, else they might run off with the silver. As she passes the nursery, noises catch her attention, and she pauses, listening intently.
Voices. That’s voices. Plural. And while she wouldn’t put it past that useless boy to start talking to himself, since he’s never missed a moment to shame their family, Stacy is still a bit too young to be talking back!
Didi flings the door open, panic and outrage fighting a war in her breast. Outrage wins when she spots that little demon hanging half in the window on the opposite side of the room. He’s already tainted her first son with his filthy common ways, so to see him so close to the ornate crib holding her second precious child is infuriating.
Thankfully, he still seems focused on Sabino, standing like an idiot in the middle of the room, entirely undignified in an appalling mismatch of pyjamas and street clothes and formal attire, his mouth gaping open at her entrance. Hopeless boy! Useless! After all they’ve done for him, all the effort they’ve put into straightening out his life, and he doesn’t even have the decency to send this demon-child running before he put his grubby little hands all over Didi’s windowsill?!
“You-!” she shrieks furiously, waking poor Stacy and setting him to wailing in alarm. How dare that awful boy distress her poor sweet baby so?! Sabino snaps his mouth shut at last, but only to replace it with the most ugly glower.
This! This is all that little demon’s influence. And he’s just hanging there, watching her without so much as a hint of deference for his betters. It puts a tremble in Didi’s hands that she tells herself is entirely rage. “Get out! Get out of my house! I’m calling the police!”
“No.”
The sun is rising over the neighbour’s roof behind the boy. It sets his face in shadow, save for an odd cat-like gleam of white for the briefest of seconds where his eyes should be. Didi jerks backwards, hits the wall, and realises what just happened. “HOW DARE YOU?!”
“I’m not leaving without Sabo. You can’t keep him,” the filthy little creature insists.
Didi laughs, sharp and mocking and furious. What a stupid little boy, trying to insist the world be the way he wants it to be, throwing this ridiculous little tantrum because someone took his favourite toy away. “Of course we can,” she sneers, lifting her chin. She can’t believe she let a little trick of the light unnerve her! “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time? He’s ours. Our son, our blood. He belongs to us, whether the ungrateful little brat likes it or not!”
“No, I don’t!”
Sabino glares up at her, hands balled into fists. Didi’s hand is in the air before the intent fully crosses her mind, fury driving her past rational thought, but before the slap can connect, the boy in the window shifts.
Sunlight spears her eyes, bright white and blinding. She redirects with a cry, flinging her arm across her face as she recoils, eyes screwed shut against the sudden assault.
An acrid scent hits her nose. She blinks rapidly, trying to see past the gleaming spots of white-yellow-orange that are drifting across her vision. What is that? It reminds her a little of that time she left her hair curler plugged in and it melted a divot into her hairdryer.
She sucks in a horrified gasp, and promptly chokes on the smoke as she recoils. The doorknob jams painfully into her hip, but that’s fine! That means she knows where it is!
She spins and grabs for it, but the stupid thing won’t turn, her hands too sweaty to get proper traction on the shiny metal. She told Sabinus they ought to have gotten handles instead of knobs!
Something thuds across the room, and Didi whirls back around to see the window is shut, the demon boy gone, and Sabino along with him. Stacy is still crying, but there’s a wall of flame licking across the carpet between them, and she can’t reach him. The spots are fading, finally, but that’s no use when the room is quickly filling with black, acrid smoke.
Pain sears up the side of her leg, and she jerks away from the fire, only to realise it’s coming with her; the hem of her dressing-gown already alight. Flames lick eagerly up the velvet and silk, eating through to her skin in seconds.
Didi screams.
-
“Hey, boys. Think I got something for you.”
Sam sits up a little straighter in the passenger seat of the Impala, which gets Dean’s attention. He pauses his off-beat drumming on the steering wheel as he glances over, thank god. He even turns the music down, which is surprisingly considerate of him. “Yeah? What you got, Ash?”
“A fire in a nursery,” Ash deadpans.
“What? Where?!”
“East coast. Up near Boston. I’ll text you the address.”
“Alright,” Sam agrees, then lowers the phone to mouth ‘Boston’ at Dean, who nods, and takes the next turning eastward. “When did it happen?”
“Last night. Saw it in the news this morning,” Ash explains. “Checked my scanner, and sure enough, weather’s going haywire out there. There was supposed to be a storm rolling in, but instead they’re getting a nice little localised heatwave.”
Sam frowns thoughtfully. After all this time, he has everything his dad recorded about Yellow-Eyes’ patterns memorised, and that… “Doesn’t Yellow-Eyes cause storms, rather than stopping them?”
That gets Dean’s attention, but Sam is too busy thinking and listening to Ash to respond to his increasingly intense, irritated looks and gestures. “Yeah. Well, and wild fluctuations in temperature, so this could just be the opening salvo. Who knows, man?”
Dean gives up trying to get his attention, and simply floors the gas pedal. Sam shoots him a grateful look, to which Dean responds by flipping him off. Jerk. “Any survivors?”
“The dad and the kid. Mother and older brother both died in the fire.”
“Yikes.” Sam grimaces. “Well, thanks, Ash. We’ll get right on it,” he says, subdued, and Ash hangs up without so much as a goodbye. A moment later, Sam’s phone chimes with an incoming text. He rattles it off to Dean, along with the rest of the information Ash had relayed. By the end, Dean looked grim.
“Shit, this is the first time we’ve had a kid get caught in the crossfire of one of these.”
“Yeah…”
“Well, we’ll be there in a couple of hours.”
-
“This place is giving me hives,” Dean mutters under his breath as they’re shown through a gilded foyer into a lavish receiving room, where a portly man in a stuffy suit with the saddest little moustache Dean has ever seen in his life is standing stiff-backed in front of a huge bay window, bandage-wrapped hands clasped behind his back like he thinks he’s the tragic hero in a period drama.
Sam hisses at him and steps on his foot, to which Dean only rolls his eyes. He lets Sam spin the spiel about being FBI, wanting his side of the story, take his time, in his own words, blah blah blah, while Dean lets his eyes wander the room.
This house is fucking pristine. You wouldn’t know from looking at it that there’d been a fire here last night. Hell, you wouldn’t know there were supposed to be two kids under the age of sixteen here, either. There are delicate porcelain and glass figurines out on display, there’s no sign of anything that might possibly be mistaken for a toy, not a single thing out of place or wrinkled or messy at all. Hell, the carpet’s white.
“As I told your colleagues earlier today,” the man sniffs disdainfully at them, only half turned towards them in a display that makes Dean’s hackles rise instinctively. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Anything you can tell us,” Sam says patiently.
“I’ve already been over this! Can’t you people do your jobs without needing your hands held through the entire process? Get the report from the last lot of you incompetent louts, rather than harassing a grieving widower!”
“We’re from a different department,” Sam says, patiently. “We have to conduct our own investigation from the ground up, I’m afraid. If you could please answer the question, we’ll do our best to get out of your hair as soon as possible.”
The man huffs, blustery and impatient. “I woke up to my wife screaming, and our son crying. The nanny was already at the nursery when I got there, but the door was stuck. The doorknob was hot enough to burn me when I tried it.” He lifts one hand in demonstration. “Someone pulled me away – I’m not certain who – when smoke began to fill the hallway. Then the fire brigade arrived.”
“You couldn’t get into the room at all?” Dean asks, frowning a little.
“No,” the man snaps impatiently. “Like I said, the door was jammed. The fire department had to break it down to get inside. It’s going to cost a fortune to replace. It was solid mahogany.”
It takes everything Dean has not to say ‘your wife and son are dead and you’re worried about the cost of the damn door?’
“And when they did, your wife, was she still alive at the time, or…?”
“How am I supposed to know? I wasn’t standing around gawking like some common pleb. They informed me that my son was alive and being taken to hospital, so I assume not, or they would have mentioned it.”
Dean makes a mental note to get the reports from the fire brigade, since apparently Mr Saddest Moustache over there was too busy having a bracing cup of tea to give a shit about his wife or sons. “Your son. Was that-” Sam glances down at his dorky little notebook like he actually needs to check. Maybe he does; the names in this family are whack. “Stacy or, uh, Sabino?”
Who the hell calls their son Stacy?
“Stacy, of course,” the man huffs.
Of course?
“Do you know if Sabino was-”
“I already said I don’t!” the man snaps.
Sam plasters an entirely fake smile across his face. “Of course. Alright, well, I’m sorry for taking up your time, Mr Outlook, we’ll just-”
“The third,” the man interrupts, bristling.
“…Excuse me?”
“I am Sabinus Stacy Godefroy Outlook the Third, and I’ll thank you to remember it!”
Dean barely manages to choke back a laugh and turn it into a small coughing fit. He has to turn away, so he doesn’t see whatever expression Sam is making, but he can hear the straining of his composure in his voice when he says, “Alright, Mr Outlook the Third, we just need to have a quick look at the scene, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
Mr Sabinus Stacy Godefroy Outlook the Third sniffs at them. “Have the housekeeper show you up, I can’t bear to look at that room anymore,” he declares in tragic tones. Dean wonders if it’s the charred remains of his family that bother him, or the cost of replacing his fancy carpet.
-
The nursery is… Well, there definitely was a fire, but beyond the charring, it looks nothing like Sam’s expecting it to. For a start, the room’s still in tact. The ceiling is soot-stained and spotted with patches where the paint has obviously been singed, but it’s very clearly not the origin point. No, that’s on floor. There’s a small, lopsided hole in the wood under the melted remnants of the carpet, with edges that look like they’ve been seared, right in the middle of the burnt area.
If it weren’t for the pattern of said area, Sam might have wondered if there was anything supernatural about this fire at all. Except the fire very conspicuously did not spread into the area around the crib. Everything else is scorched black, melted or charred or some ugly combination of both, but there’s a wobbly semi-circle around the baby’s crib, and everything within it is untouched, if lightly speckled with soot.
Perhaps the fire was natural, but something wanted that baby to survive.
That something equally clearly didn’t care about the other occupant of the room. The child’s bed tucked into the corner next to the door is… well, it’s honestly hard to tell it was a bed. It’s a mangled lump of charred wood and melted plastic. Dean crouches down next to it and pokes at it with a pen he must have stolen from somewhere else in the house, because no way does he have anything that fancy just hanging about in his pocket.
He uses the pen to shift a stubborn little scrap of fabric that breaks apart into tinier pieces at the prodding, and frowns deeply. “Was the other kid in bed when the fire started?” he asks as he rises from his crouch.
“I would assume so,” the housekeeper says indifferently.
“I have it here that the eldest son – Sabino – he was thirteen?” Sam checks.
“That’s correct.”
Sam looks at the housekeeper, then down at the bed that could at most be four feet in length, and then back up at the housekeeper again with an expectant expression. “And this was his bed?” he presses.
“Yes,” the housekeeper says stiffly, chin kicking up, her level stare turning into something a little closer to a glare. Like she’s daring Sam to keep pressing the point.
“Exactly how tall was he, again?” Sam asks, meeting the woman stare for stare.
“I don’t see how that is at all relevant to catching the monster that killed Master Sabino,” the housekeeper retorts.
“You sure they did?” Dean interjects, making the both of them jump and turn to stare at him. Dean raises an eyebrow at the housekeeper.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t see any variation in the burn pattern, no smearing, no evidence of a struggle… And believe me, lady, when someone’s on fire, they don’t sit still about it.” Dean states grimly. Sam takes another, closer look, and sure enough, there aren’t even marks that would indicate where they body had been, and there should be.
“Perhaps he was already unconscious from the smoke,” the housekeeper says coldly.
“Uh-huh.” Dean says, heavy with scepticism. “Sure.”
-
Silence swells to fill the Impala once Sam and Dean slam their respective doors shut. Dean doesn’t know about Sam, but he needs a moment to process all the gold-plated shit they’d uncovered in that ugly fucking house. “That,” he says after a moment, “is one fucked up family.”
Sam blows out a harsh breath. “Yeah.”
“Was I the only one getting the vibes that Mr Sabinus Stacy Godefroy Outlook the Third,” Dean recites in the most pompous voice he can manage and Sam snorts a laugh without much feeling behind it, “wanted his kid to be dead?”
“I can’t tell if I think they’re covering up the fact that he isn’t, or if they’re covering up the fact that he is, it just wasn’t the fire that killed him,” Sam replies, darkly amused.
“What do you mean, covering up the fact that he isn’t? Why would they cover that up?” Dean asks, startled. He’s already pretty solidly convinced that Mr Saddest Moustache, or perhaps the late Mrs Saddest Moustache, offed the kid themself and is using the fire as a way to explain his death.
“Come on, Dean,” Sam says impatiently. When Dean doesn’t react with miraculous new understanding, he rolls his eyes. “You can’t argue that this-” He waves his hand towards the house. “-doesn’t quite fit Yellow-Eyes’ MO.”
“Fire in the nursery, dead mom, six-month old baby…”
“Except the fire didn’t start on the ceiling. There was someone else apparently in the room the whole time and it was only as the mum came in that the fire started? And the crib was untouched. If I remember your stories right, Dad had to grab me out of my crib because it was on fire just like everything else!”
“Okay, so what’s your point?”
“So what if Yellow-Eyes wasn’t the one to start the fire?” Sam asks.
Dean blinks. Stares out of the windshield as that idea slots into place. “You think this Sabo kid started the fire?” he checks, a little dubious.
“You saw how everyone in that house was acting, same as I did. You saw that bed, too. Who makes a thirteen year old sleep in a nursery with a literal baby, in a bed meant for a four year old?” Sam demands.
Turning that over in his mind, Dean starts the car and sets off for a less skin-crawling part of town. “You think the kid set his own mom on fire and then, what, ran away?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe… maybe not on purpose,” Sam hedges quietly. “If he’s… got some ability to control fire, then it would explain why it didn’t touch the baby, wouldn’t it? If it went out of control because he was scared or- or angry, but he managed to keep it away from his brother? And it would explain why no one wants to admit to it. That’s one image-conscious household, and ‘tragically dead’ is a much better look than ‘child arsonist reacting to abuse’.”
Dean has to give him that one.
-
“So get this,” Sam say, and ignores Dean’s groan as he peels his eyes open from where he fell asleep still mostly dressed with several stolen copies of police reports splayed across his chest. “This isn’t the first time around here that there’s been a weird fire followed by a heatwave in which a kid went missing,” he declares, and slaps his compiled research down on Dean’s chest.
Grumbling, Dean squints down and opens the file. On top there is a print-out of a newspaper article that reads ‘Freak Heatwave Starts Fire in Junkyard’ and is dated around three years ago. “Anyone die?” Dean asks as he leafs through the rest of it.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Sam says smugly. Then he falters as the reality of the answer dawns on him. “Quite a lot of people, actually. At least one of them was a suspected child trafficker, and several of the others were noted in the investigation as having ‘close ties’ to this James Blue person.”
“So more dead shitheads. Any conspicuous survivals?”
“Well, as far as I can tell, which isn’t certain because whoever did the investigation clearly didn’t care, the Junkyard was a safe haven for the homeless, but there’s no mention of any of them getting caught in the fire,” Sam explains, pulling a face. “There’s no John Does, and all the bodies have residences listed.”
“Not ironclad,” Dean mutters, but he’s clearly not expecting more. Sam pulls a face at him anyway. “What about this guy?” he asks, flicking a finger at the hospital report Sam had stuffed in at the back.
“That’s the weird thing,” Sam says.
Dean’s waking up properly now, and Sam can see the minute he actually reads the hospital report. “What the fuck? Dude loses an arm and just… fucks off outta the hospital the next day?”
“And then he drops off the radar. I can’t find any records of this guy, before or after. He just… poof.” Sam snaps his fingers. “He gave a statement saying he was in the Junkyard to look for the kid of a friend of his – that’s how he lost the arm, apparently, something fell on him and he took it rather than let it hit the kid – but that kid is marked down as having died in the fire. I checked the morgue reports.”
“No kid-sized bodies?”
“No kid-sized bodies.”
Dean stares at the file Sam put together, face screwing up in consternation. “And no sign of Armless here anywhere near the Outlook Estate,” he mutters, putting on a voice as he names the house. Sam doesn’t want to admit he finds Dean’s stubborn insistence in mocking the airs that family’s giving itself at every opportunity funny, but he really does.
“No sign of him anywhere. Check the end of his statement,” Sam adds, jerking his chin towards the file.
Dean glances up, then goes back to reading. He frowns. “What about it?”
“The bit about the kid,” Sam sighs.
Slowly, Dean’s frown turns from baffled to more serious. “He was really damn sure the kid was alive and okay when the paramedics turned up, wasn’t he?” he says slowly, looking up at Sam. Sam nods. “But everything else says he was among the dead,” Dean adds.
“And the one dissenting voice disappears the very next day,” Sam concludes.
Dean groans and drops the file into his lap to scrub his hands over his face. “So we’ve got a firestarter who hates child abusers but spares the homeless and kidnaps children but leaves the baby, and a mysterious badass who disappears after drawing attention to all this… Is this all starting to feel a bit… Neverland to you?”
“What, like some sort of fae spirit collecting lost and abused children and murdering people on the way out with its prize?” Sam asks.
“Well, yeah,” Dean agrees ruefully. “I can’t think of anything else that fits this mess,” he complains, whapping the file with the back of his hand. “Stealing children could be a Lamia, even killing men on the way out, but that doesn’t explain the mom.”
“And Lamias don’t like fire,” Sam adds.
Dean nods distractedly. “What do we know besides demons that can start fires like this?” he asks, baffled.
“Uh… witches?” Sam guesses. “Or… maybe psychics.”
“What, you mean like you?” Dean asks sharply.
Sam nods. “You said it yourself, Dean. The one thing we know can start fires is Yellow-Eyes, and… look at what Max did. It’s not too farfetched to think that if someone got fire powers, they might go all vigilante about it.”
“Except this is three years ago,” Dean reminds him, gesturing to the file. “Your whole Shining shtick didn’t start until last year, remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” Sam snaps, a little bitter at the reminder.
Dean gives him the hairy eyeball, but doesn’t press the point, to Sam’s relief. “Alright, I suppose we better go see if we can find anything left at the Junkyard, and then maybe try and shake some more information out of this first kid’s family. I thought I saw something about a grandfather in there…” Dean muses as he shoves the mess of paperwork aside and gets up with a spine-cracking stretch before heading for the bathroom.
“Yeah, but he’s actual FBI. I’m thinking we don’t want to go poking that dragon,” Sam calls ruefully through the door Dean left open. Dean grunts through his toothpaste. “We’d have more luck with the foster sister, I think.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Patricia Makino. She owns a bar down by the docks.”
-
“Welcome to Party’s Bar! Can I get you two anything?”
The woman behind the bar looks like she could have stepped right out of Dean’s favourite magazine, if with considerably more clothes on. Pretty, dark haired, Asian, and somehow managing to look like she just stepped out of an idyllic ranch in the middle of nowhere. She even has a cute patterned kerchief tied over her hair. “Two beers and the name of the pretty lady serving them to us?” Dean asks with his most charming grin.
“Don’t you know it’s not polite to ask for someone’s name without offering your own first?” the woman fires back, unimpressed and gently chiding, even as she goes to pour them a couple of beers.
“I’m Sam, the idiot’s my brother Dean,” Sam offers.
“Makino,” she replies. So this is the woman they’re looking for. Probably. When Dean saw the name of the bar, he’d assumed she preferred to go by Patty, but apparently not.
“Nice to meet you,” Sam says politely. Dean toasts the woman with his beer to echo the sentiment, and Sam rolls his eyes and gives Makino a commiserating look. “Brothers, am I right?” he asks, long-suffering.
Makino huffs a laugh. “They are a handful.”
“Spoken like an older sibling,” Dean says knowingly. “Don’t let this one fool you, he’s got pretty manners, but he’s really a troublemaker.”
“Oh, I know one like that, too,” she agrees, smiling more warmly. “He’s always forgetting that I’m the one who taught him those manners, so I can see right through them.”
Sam snorts, grinning with easy amusement. “Well, that wouldn’t work for Dean. He’d have to have manners before he could teach them to anyone else.”
“Hey,” Dean protests, pointing accusingly at Sam. “I raised you best as I knew how, gave you the clothes off my back and the food from my plate, and this is how you thank me? By dissing me in front of a pretty lady?”
Makino laughs when Sam splutters indignantly. Excellent. She’s relaxing into their easy banter, which should make it easier to get some answers out of her. “Little brothers are naturally skilled at cock-blocking, I’ve found,” she tells him.
“And here I thought that was just Sam,” Dean grouses, to another indignant yelp. “Your little brother is just as good at picking exactly the wrong moment, then?”
“Oh, yes. Entirely by accident, of course, but still…” She sighs dramatically, but there’s a fond, wistful smile on her face that suggests she’s not as mad about it as she’s pretending to be. “It didn’t help that he thought my date was just the coolest person ever and always wanted all of his attention for himself.”
Dean snorts. “Sounds like he’s quite a bit younger than you, huh? I don’t think Sam ever thought any of my dates were cool.”
“Yeah, but that’s because you have bad taste, not because of my age,” Sam mutters.
“More than ten years,” Makino confirms as though she couldn’t hear him, though her smirk tells a different story. That matches up to what Dean knows about her and the first missing kid from the files. It’s also not the reaction of a woman who’s beloved younger brother died three years ago.
They can’t seem to get her to talk about that, though. She’s quite happy to tell story after story about her little brother in between serving the other customers that wander through at irregular intervals, but it’s as though he’s just in the back room and could be scampering out to cause more trouble at any moment. She makes absolutely no mention of the junkyard fire, the armless man, or the kid’s disappearance.
Dean eventually gets frustrated enough to bring up – in the sparsest detail he can manage – saving his own little brother from a fire when they were younger. Makino barely reacts, but she does react. There’s the tiniest little flinch at the mention of the fire.
“Sorry,” Dean says, feigning a grimace. “Bit grim, isn’t it? I guess that fire that’s been in the news lately stirred up old memories.”
“Ah, yes. The Outlook place,” Makino agrees. “Tragic, that.”
She doesn’t actually sound very sincere. “You knew them?” Sam asks curiously.
“Oh, not personally,” Makino says, a little too quickly. “People like them are a dime a dozen around here- Well, not around here,” she laughs, waving a hand around at the bar, and Dean has to admit, this is definitely the sort of place that Sabinus Stacy Godefroy Outlook the Third would turn his pointy little nose up at. “But there’s a lot of old blood over in High Town that like to give themselves airs.”
“Rich people,” Dean mutters in disgust, and Makino grimaces in agreement.
“Whether or not the lady deserved it, I can’t believe the kid was all that bad,” Sam interjects, giving Dean a faintly chiding look.
At that, Makino sobers. “No,” she says softly, and then shakes herself. “Although, you’d be surprised how absolutely awful some of those kids can be. When your parents can just buy your way out of any sort of trouble you make so that the consequences never touch you,I suppose it’s easy to start thinking the harm you do doesn’t matter.”
“That sounds personal,” Dean says.
Makino gives him a dry look. “When you’ve seen your little brother put in life-threatening danger multiple times because of those stuck-up pricks, you tend to hold a grudge.”
“Life-threatening danger?” Sam asks, all alarmed concern and puppy-eyes. “What happened?”
“Which time?” Makino asks pointedly.
“That Sabino kid wasn’t one of them, though, was he?” Dean asks instead of trying to get her to elaborate. They might be able to talk her around to the junkyard fire, but he can’t think of a reason to bring it up without seeming suspiciously well informed or suspiciously invested in someone else’s misfortune.
“No,” Makino relents with a sigh. “No, Sabo was a good kid. Always so generous despite what his parents tried to teach him. He deserves- sorry, deserved better than the Outlooks.”
Dean does his very best not to react to that, but there’s a whole world of implications in the fact that victim number two knew victim number one’s older sister. “You knew him?” Sam prompts curiously, and then tacks on a hasty, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I did. He was friends with my brother.”
Dean catches Sam’s eye at that. “It doesn’t worry you?” Dean asks, throwing subtlety out the window. She’s obviously hiding something, given her complete non-reactions to the very striking parallels, and they’re not going to get it out of her by dancing around the issue. Makino cocks her head at him inquiringly. “That both Luffy and Sabino disappeared the exact same way?”
It’s a mistake. Dean can see that the moment the words leave his mouth. Makino’s body language closes off entirely. “I don’t recall mentioning my little brother’s name,” she tells him coldly.
“We’re looking into the disappearances,” Sam hastens to explain. “Like Dean said, something similar happened to me when I was a kid, so we thought it might be the same- same person that-”
“That’s very noble of you,” Makino says, entirely insincere. “But I don’t like talking about those events. I think it’d be best if you left now.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want the monster that stole your brother to be stopped? Even after it stole another child just two days ago?” he asks judgementally.
“Hey! My daughter asked you to leave!”
Dean jumps back with a curse as a walking stick smacks down against the edge of the bar mere inches away from where his hand was resting. The guy wielding it raises it in the air again and waves it at him aggressively, apparently undaunted by the fact that Dean has a good foot on him and is at least sixty years younger.
“Mr Wu, you’ll dent the bar…” Makino complains fondly.
“Out! Get out!” Mr Wu gripes, wagging his stick at them, and then devolving into what Dean can only assume is a vitriolic blue streak. He can’t be sure because it’s entirely in Chinese. He backs up, as does Sam, and they end up being driven right out of the door by the old man and having the door slammed in their faces.
“So, the foster family definitely knows what’s going on,” Sam concludes.
“Definitely.”
“…Stake-out?”
“Stake-out.”
“Ugh.”
-
An entire week of surveillance and everything they can dig up about the family reveals absolutely nothing. Wu Paiji is, by all accounts, a pillar of the community. A grouchy old stickler, according to basically everyone that knows him, who runs the local community centre and has been fostering children for the last fifty years.
Patricia Makino was fostered at age seven, and five years later, gained a little brother when a baby was abandoned on the community centre’s front steps. She started working at what was then The Old Dog straight out of high school, and was left it when the previous owner passed only a couple of years later. Absolutely no one they speak to in the area has a single bad word to say about her.
In fact, several of them immediately turn hostile the moment they realise Sam and Dean are the ones that got kicked out of Party’s Bar. It ends in a couple of fights that only make their reputation around there worse. One woman, with a cloud of aggressively frizzy red hair and a build like she bench-presses trucks for a living, very nearly breaks Dean’s skull when she takes a swipe at him with an honest-to-god metal pipe.
When they get arrested for stalking and informed that Ms. Makino has agreed not to file for a restraining order if they get the hell out of town, they reluctantly go. Every other trail they tried to chase has gone cold. Neither the Outlooks nor Luffy’s foster family will speak to them. None of the official records have anything helpful to say. They don’t even have a clue what kind of creature could have done this.
It sticks in Sam’s craw, leaving the job unfinished, but there’s a hunt out in Ohio, and he knows that’s where they’re needed more. He does make a note to keep an eye on any fires that happen in that area, though. Just in case.
#One Piece#Supernatural#Supernatural AU#Dean Winchester#Sam Winchester#Monkey D. Luffy#Revolutionary Sabo#One Piece Makino#Shanks x Makino#case fic#kind of#I'm trying to write each chapter like an episode of SPN#Luffy is a sun god#obviously#Shanks is maybe a succubus?#he just has that slutty red-haired mentor energy#if I had a nickel for every time I'd headcanoned a red-haired mentor as a complete and utter slut...#I'd have two nickles. but it's weird that it's happened twice#Ace doesn't really show up in this except by implication but#Ace is a cambion ('antichrist' ffs SPN your lore is so botched)#or possibly a cambion/nephilim hybrid depending on how weird I wanna get with this#Everyone else is plain old human#Makino might be a little bit psychic#but in that finding-lost-things knows-when-you're-lying eyes-in-the-back-of-her-head mum kind of way#that no one twigs as particularly weird#I wanted Makino to be Luffy's foster mum#but she was ELEVEN in canon when Luffy was born#so sister it is
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Was the whole gadreel thing dean did bad and wrong and fucked up? Yes, absolutely. Was it Also incredibly fucked up that Sam was just gonna nope out on dean when he knew full fucking well that dean would be permanently fucked up and would probably kill himself soon after???? Also, YES, absolutely.
#im not belittling sams suffering but ffs#people treat him like a child and im sick of it#hes also responsible for his actions especially when we're at a point in the show where he knows damn well how mentally unwell dean is#spn#supernatural#dean winchester#sam winchester#spnmeta
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