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happy74827 · 3 months

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Bring It In

[Sam Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: After a rough hunt, Sam seeks your comforting touch.

WC: 1747

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Sammy!! My adorable pookie. God, he was so precious in the early seasons that I just had to write about him.

『••✎••』

Waking up to a shadow in the middle of the night, especially when you were staying in a motel that was miles away from any civilization, was never a good thing. Especially when you could feel it even before opening your eyes, its presence heavy on the air. It made your senses scream and your heart race.

The feeling of being watched and studied was not something a normal person would like to wake up to, and as you lay there in bed with your eyes closed, that feeling struck you right into your core, making your muscles tense. Adding into the fact of the complete awareness of the supernatural world you were a part of, that was just the cherry on top of the cake.

But as you lay there, your brain going at 100 miles an hour, you realize this instance wasn’t one of those life-threatening situations you were so used to. It was an oddly comforting feeling as the flashlight you flew into the darkness was caught in the hands of someone you trusted with your life, the same hands that have touched every inch of your body in a way you could never forget.

He had been hunting all night, you could tell. Although it was dark, and only the soft glow from the motel sign illuminated the room, you knew his clothes were covered in dirt and leaves, and his hair was a mess. He didn't care, though, as he walked closer to you, his eyes becoming clear as he turned the flashlight on.

Sam had a tendency to get into these moods. A mood where he needed something to ground him and remind him that the life he was living was worth fighting for. You had always been that thing for him, his anchor, and as he approached the bed, his mind was racing with everything and nothing all at once.

As he sat down on the edge of the bed, his large hands reached out, touching you softly. It wasn’t sexual; he had no interest in that right now. He was looking for comfort. He just needed you.

You sighed, pulling yourself up from your position on the bed to get a better look at him. His eyes were tired and glistened over with some sort of sadness that he tried to keep hidden from you, but he knew he couldn’t. The tears reflected the moonlight that shined through the blinds and through the flashlight, and although the shadows under his eyes were more prominent than usual, he still looked at you with the most love you could imagine.

You didn't have to ask him why he was here, why he had been gone all night. You knew. He was a creature of habit, and Sam was very good at reading people. He knew when you were at your weakest when you needed him the most, and you did the same for him.

He needed reassurance. He needed to know he was doing the right thing, or else the guilt and shame would eat him alive. So when he saw the soft expression on your face, the gentle smile, and the look in your eyes, he nodded. It was soft, barely noticeable, but you saw it.

“You scared me.” You said, reaching forward to take his hand in yours. The flashlight was still clutched tightly in his other hand, the light shining up at the ceiling.

He sighed, squeezing your hand and looking away. It was silent for a moment before you felt him shift. The mattress moved slightly under his weight as he scooted closer, his eyes meeting yours once more.

Without a word, he reached forward, the hand that had been holding the flashlight coming up to rest on the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, the roughness of his hand feeling nice against your soft skin. He ran his thumb over your cheek before moving to cup the back of your head.

He was slow, almost hesitant, and you gave him a reassuring smile. You loved this man more than anything, and the gentle kisses he placed on your forehead and cheeks were the most tender of moments. You felt your heart swell as he finally kissed your lips, his hand moving from the back of your head to wrap around you, pulling you closer.

He let the flashlight fall to the floor, the loud thud it made against the carpet going unnoticed. You felt his lips tremble slightly, his emotions getting the best of him as he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled him closer.

It wasn’t long before he pulled away, just slightly, his breath warm against your lips. Now you saw the blood, the bruises, and the cuts covering his face. He didn’t seem to care about them, but you did. It broke your heart, knowing that he had spent all night killing monsters and demons just to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe.

He let out a sigh, a long, hard breath as if he had been holding it in forever. Relief, the kind that came after a good cry or after a bad case of the flu was gone, washed over his face, and you could see the tension leave his shoulders. He leaned forward, resting his head on your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

“I know,” He spoke, his voice cracking slightly. His tone was soft, his lips brushing against your ear. You shivered, rubbing your hands over his back. “I’m sorry, I just.. I needed- I needed to make sure that you were okay. That we were okay. It just... It gets overwhelming, and with what happened to Jess-”

You shushed him, turning to place a kiss on his temple. He sighed again, his breath tickling the side of your neck. His scent surrounded you, a mix of dirt and sweat and a hint of gunpowder. Dean’s presence was there, too, a bit of cologne and beer mixed into the air.

You didn't need to know where Dean was. You were pretty sure he had been on a hunt with Sam, and now he was at a bar, trying to get over his demons. The two brothers were so closely similar and yet so different, but in moments like this, where they were both torn down to their core, you could see the resemblance.

The two of them had a lot of things in common, but their biggest similarity was their stubbornness. They refused to ask for help, and they were afraid to show weakness, especially in front of each other.

Dean was off, drinking his worries away, while Sam came to you. A pattern the two had developed.

You had met the brothers in a motel very similar to the one you were in now. You were there for a simple vacation, a break from all the stresses of your life, but things changed when you were woken up to the sounds of gunshots and glass breaking.

Dean had burst into your room, dragging you out with him. He was a smart guy, and although he had no clue who you were, he knew you were in danger. He had gotten into a fight with a… well, it didn’t matter what it was; all that mattered was that the thing had a taste for human flesh.

You and Sam had bonded instantly, and Dean wasn't too far behind. It was the start of a beautiful friendship despite the poor circumstances. After a year of being around each other, helping each other out with whatever situation came, the three of you became closer than you ever thought possible. A little more with Sam, of course.

So, now, when Sam comes to you late at night, needing you, needing reassurance, you don’t hesitate. You give him all that he needs and more, and when he holds you close, his body trembling and his words shaky, you know it was the right decision.

His grip on you tightened, pulling you into him. You let him, holding him just as close, your hands gently running up and down his back. You could feel the fabric of his shirt under your fingertips, and the heat from his skin radiated through.

After a moment, he pulled back, his eyes searching yours. You could tell he was worried about Dean, about you, about the whole situation. He was afraid of what was coming, and although he didn’t know it, his fears were valid.

There was a lot to come, and it wasn’t going to be easy. The two of you had been through a lot, and although you didn't regret it, the thought of something happening to him was enough to drive you crazy.

You were about to say something, but the words never left your mouth. He was kissing you again, the force much stronger than the last, his hands gripping your arms tightly. It was an amazing kiss, filled with all the passion and love he had for you, and as he moved you, pushing you onto the bed, you felt his desperation.

It wasn’t a desperate need for sex, but a desperate need to be close to you. You knew this, and as you tangled your fingers into his hair, kissing him just as desperately, you knew he needed you more than anything. Who cared if you ended up losing more sleep than normal? Who cared if the sun came up and Dean returned to the room, finding the two of you still tangled up together in a mess of sheets? Who cared if the world was coming to an end and this was the last time the two of you would ever see each other?

He needed you, and as he whispered your name, his voice cracking with emotion, you knew he had no plans of letting you go. Not now, not ever. And when Dean did pop up a few hours later with messy hair and his shirt on backward, he would take a single glance and walk right back out the door, knowing he was going to be okay.

The three of you would be okay, and when the time comes and the world starts ending, you would fight till the very end. Because there is nothing worth fighting for more than your family, and you would do anything to protect the people you loved.

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happy74827 · 2 years

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Haunted Memory

[Winchester Family & Winchester!Reader]

Synopsis: Even after 10 years, the Winchesters can’t let go of the past (Written in Dean’s POV).

WC: 1,893

Category: Angst, Character Death

To be honest, I have no idea what made my mind come up with this lmao, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Feel free to reblog and drop a few comments, I’d love to hear what you think about this one.

『••✎••』

Dean stood between them with tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. His body froze as he was mortified by what had been said.

Just moments prior, he was begging his father and brother to stop arguing. Begging for a moment of peace between them but it was futile. He was a ghost, unable to be seen and heard. All he was able to do was watch and witness the argument enter chaos.

“Sam,” The eldest Winchester growled, fury hidden in his dark chocolate eyes. His hair was all matted, his body worn out from the current stress they were under. Dean could tell his dad was tired, tired of everything. “Don’t start this now.”

“No, Dad, I think I will.” Sam slammed the duffle bag on the ground, his hands gripping the end bar of the bed. A mash of green and purple radiated his knuckles as he clenched his palms to fists. “You think I wouldn’t find out? The stuff from Bobby? You’re planning on bringing the demon here, aren’t you? To have some… stupid macho showdown.”

“I have a plan, Sam—“

“That is exactly my point! Dean is dying, and you have a plan!” The young Winchester’s eyes flashed angrily, his grip tightening with every word. “You know… you care more about this demon than you do your own sons!”

At this, John exploded. Fury blinded him as he sat up, pointing his index finger at the boy. “Do not tell me how I feel! I am doing this for Dean.”

“How?! How’s revenge gonna help him?!“ Sam’s cheeks flushed, and his facial muscles became rigid. His hand released the bar, momentarily, before slamming back down onto it once again. “You’re not thinking about anyone but yourself, it’s the same selfish obsession.”

“Come on guys, don’t do this!” Dean pleaded, his eyes begging towards Sam, but nothing could be heard.

“It’s funny you know what, I thought this was your obsession too.” John argued, “this demon… it killed your mother, killed your girlfriend—“

“…but it didn’t kill her, now did it?”

The sounds of footsteps running back and forth. That could be heard all from within the room. The silence was deafening. Dean swore he could hear his own heart shatter into a million pieces as his eyes glossed over at his brother who, he himself, had to take a minute to realize what came out of his mouth.

Dean knew and understood the pain that Sam carried. John was never a good father to them, he was more of a drill sergeant than anything, but deep down he knew his father loved him. Loved all of you in his own twisted little way.

That’s why when Sam spat out that sentence, it stung him like venom as his angry self conscious knew it would.

Their sister, you, was an untouchable topic. It pained each and every one of them to think about it. Even the mention of it made Dean want to drown himself in alcohol to forget. Of course it never worked. He never forgot. He couldn’t. It was deeply engrained in his mind.

As Dean recalled, his 16-year old self was helping his dad pack the Impala for another drive. For another motel and another hunt. John had just wrapped up a werewolf hunt, killing its pack, before coming back to collect you all.

However, his father had unknowingly made the fatal mistake of not double tapping them, causing them to follow him home, leading them straight to you and Sam.

Dean remembered the gunshots and the screams of terror coming from the third story. He remembered the exact way his father knew the sound of his daughter, you, at the speed of a snap — reaching for his shotgun in the trunk compartment before storming up the stairs in lightning speed. Dean had followed close behind, not knowing what else to do.

John had loaded his shotgun “Terminator Style” before kicking the door open, revealing the horrific sight that Dean was never able to leave behind.

Sam was crying uncontrollably in the corner, petrified, as a werewolf laid on top of you. His claws deep in your chest. Dean had scanned the room, finding two more dead on the floor with a pistol residing just a couple feet from your bloodied-up hand.

In a half of a second, he had pieced together what had happened.

The window, which allowed your screams to echo down to the car, was infiltrated by the three werewolves that John had evidently missed. Two of them probably rushed Sam which resulted in silver-bullet headshots by you with dad’s pistol that he’d must’ve left on the table. The third, however, must’ve caught you by surprise, resulting in the pistol being knocked out of your reach.

John moved like a machine, rapidly shooting and reloading as he approached you, causing Dean to drag sobbing 11-year old Sam behind him to safety.

The werewolf looked up, growling and hissing with its teeth before one of John’s bullets went through its eyes, causing it to release its grip on you. After a few more bullets to the chest, Dean watched as his father pulled the corpse off of you, dropping his gun, before encasing you in his arms.

“Sweetheart, h-honey..” John’s voice was shaken, quivering as he took in the sight you. Dean couldn’t forget the amount of blood that stained the carpet, stained the furniture. It was nauseating.

He could still hear your whimpers and silent cries in his mind. You couldn’t speak or move, only gasping for air as dad started to apply a tourniquet with his belt against your gushing leg, one of the many wounds you had. Your name came out as whispers as he pleaded you to stay awake for him.

Dean still remembered the urgency in his dad’s voice. It was shaken and panicked, a sound he’d never heard from his father before. “Dean! Get me the towels out of the bathroom… all of them, now!”

After finishing the tourniquet, John had wrapped and packed your entire stomach with towels like you were a pillow case. Dean eventually had to drag Sam out of his frozen state by the arm, following his dad who rushed down the stairs, gingerly carrying you within his arms.

The drive to the hospital was John going about thirty miles over the speeding limit, barking orders at the boys to keep pressure on your stomach. Dean’s mind finally caught up with him as his hands found themselves covered with blood. You were dying.

His baby sister was dying.

And that you did, three nights later. And the bitch of it was? You had just turned fourteen.

Two weeks prior, you held an untamable smile when Dean was able to scrap enough extra money for the camera you had always wanted. Now, that birthday was a haunted memory. A joyful memory that was replaced with darkness.

Your heart gave out when Dean held your hand, begging for you to pull through. In a matter of seconds he and Sam were thrown out of the room, their eyes bloodshot with tears as the nurses and doctors shut the door and closed the binds.

The entire time of you being in the hospital, dad had only visited you twice — the first time was when you had gotten out of surgery. After seeing you in the hospital bed, all broken, he couldn’t bare to look at you. His heart sank at the constant reminder that he failed his daughter. His only job was to protect his kids and he failed. And for that, he had Bobby watch the boys for those long nights while dad sat there in the waiting room, refusing to see the pain he had inflicted.

The second time he saw you was when you were pronounced dead.

One thing about John Winchester was that he never allowed his kids to see him break down, especially little Sam. To him, he needed to be strong for them. Because in his eyes, “someone had to.” It was part of the reason why he’d dumped you all on Bobby’s porch so much. When his walls were about to shatter, he made sure you were all out of sight.

But that night, he cracked. His walls broke down and Dean witnessed it all.

Bobby had taken Sam to get some ice cream, offering Dean to join, but he’d declined wanting to stay behind for you. If there was a chance you’d wake up again, he wanted to be there when you did.

Dean was sitting in the waiting room when the doctors called it. He was unaware for a few minutes, waiting anxiously as his father disappeared into the hall with the doctor. It was about five minutes after midnight — twenty minutes later — when he heard crashes and sobs coming from the mens bathroom.

Dean quietly left his chair to investigate the noise to which he had soon regretted when he had peeked inside. His father was in the midst of smashing the sink’s mirror against the marble flooring, following with broken and angry sobs. The entire bathroom was destroyed. Toilet paper were covering each stall. The floors were covered in glass from the other mirrors with toilet paper holders that were smashed to oblivion… never in his life had Dean witnessed his father shattered from the inside out.

It was at that moment that your older brother realized you didn’t make it through the night. His father’s actions were confirmation enough.

Dean never spoke a word to this about Sam or John. He kept his discovery silent, acting shocked with Sam once Bobby confirmed the sad news. He had also found out later it was Bobby and dad’s old pal, Deacon, who paid the bill and the property damage.

After the burial, he never saw dad like that again. He became cold, colder than before. John had failed and so he practically dropped the father act completely, becoming a drill sergeant. Every chance he got, John shoved the hunter life and survival instincts down his kids’ throats. Never letting them forget it.

From there he’d done some pretty awful things, but the one thing he never did was blame your death onto them. Your death was a “horrid accident” as Bobby said, stating that it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Being the older brother, he had to constantly remind those words to Sam as the guilt for standing in the corner, watching the werewolf do nothing but tear your insides out, took over. A lot of those nights ended in Sam crying uncontrollably in his brother’s arms, faintly listening to Dean hum Hey Jude in his ear.

The memory made Dean shed a tear as he glanced back towards his broken family.

John had remained still, the anger long washed away at the slightest mention of you. It was evident the guilt still haunted him.

When Sam started up the fight again, bringing another past incident up, Dean drawed the line and surprised himself by Swayze-ing the glass that the nurse had left for their father. The two breathing Winchester’s paused rather quickly, with the youngest realizing that it hadn’t just been the two of them in there alone.

And unbeknownst to Dean, he wasn’t the only non-breathing Winchester in the room either.

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