A Good Man (Dean Winchester)
Pairing: Dean Winchester X Wife!Reader
Summary: Dean never wanted kids. Until he married you, and now he's changed his mind.
Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it children, you don't want kids) p in v, brief fingering, creampie, breeding kink, bit of dirty talk, established relationship, cursing.
WC: 3.4k I'm sorry
A/N: Idk what has gotten into me lately, but it's just filth all up in this head. Just one thought, dean and kids. That's it. He wouldve been a great dad if the writers didnt hate him, fight me. If this flops I'll cry myself to sleep. Kay enjoy the not soldier boy filth
Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!
Dean never wanted kids. Not really. How could he? He could never be selfish enough to bring a child into his life. His way of life wasn't the life any child deserved. He knew he didn't. But he didn't know if he could ever give up hunting, it was all he had ever known. All he was raised to do. And deep down, that's exactly what he didn't want, he didn't want to be the father he had, and in so many ways he and John were alike. So he promised himself he would never bring a child into this world, into his life.
And then he met you.
The sweetest girl he had ever met. You were the prettiest, too. The second he laid eyes on you when you served him at a local dinner in Lebanon, he knew you were something else. And the minute you flashed him a smile, he was done for. He wanted you. And good thing you wanted him too.
Dean never thought he would want to marry anyone, settling down, going to bed and waking up next to the same person for the rest of his life, he never thought he would have any of those things. But then, he fell in love with you. And much to his relief, you loved him too, exactly the way he was, hunting and all. Though that was a conversation that took weeks of processing before you were fully on board, but you moved past it. You would even, at times help them, or more like Sam, research. Hunting was a big part of who Dean was, it was his life, and you wanted to be part of it. How he was ever lucky enough to deserve someone like you he didn't know. Sometimes he wondered if he had died and had gone to heaven, you being a vision of the bliss and happiness he so desperately wanted. But no, he was alive and you were real.
So he married you.
Kids were never in the equation though. It was brought up here and there, the possibility, the fantasy, the what if, but you both figured it wasn't right. Dean thought it would be for the best, he would just ruin their life like his father ruined his and Sam's.
Until your sister gave birth to a baby girl.
Dean wasn't in the picture when your nephews had been born, they were in elementary school now. But when your sister got pregnant again, right around the time you and Dean got married, you were thrilled. You loved your nephews, and you were going to love having a niece now. You had shared your excitement with him, but he didn't see the hype. What was so exciting about a crying red-faced shit dispenser? But alas, he at least tried to share your excitement.
Until he actually saw you with the newborn in your arms.
Dean had driven you a few states over to your sister's, so you could help out with the boys while she got settled back home that weekend. He wasn't around much, he felt out of place and like he was intruding, he had only met your family a handful of times after all. But on the last night you stayed at your sister's, he found you in the nursery, the red-faced baby peacefully cradled in your arms. He was speechless. He had never seen you with a baby before. The way you held her with care and gentleness, the way you said loving words to her, the way you smiled at her. It was like his heart had stopped and he was frozen in place.
You heard the floorboards creak behind you and you turned around. You saw, Dean, standing by the door, face pale as a ghost. You raised a concerned eyebrow at him.
"You okay Dean? What are you doing just standing there?" You asked him softly, as not to disturb the almost sleeping newborn in your arms. Dean blinked twice, swallowed and nodded.
"Yeah I'm.. I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a nervous smile and half pointed at you, "I was just watching you. Not— Not watching like that, just y'know—"
"Oh jesus. Just come here, would you?" You giggled at his nervous rambling and nudged him in your direction. He looked at you with apprehension, but nodded regardless. He walked towards you and stood behind you. He was at least a head taller than you, so he could easily stand behind you and look over your shoulder. And his heart definitely stopped then.
"She's the cutest little thing isn't she?" You said to him, smiling at her as you rocked her in your arms.
Dean let out a long breath as his eyes landed on the tiny being in your arms, "Yeah she uh, she's somethin'." He met her eyes and he only smiled awkwardly. She giggled and lifted her tiny arms.
You laughed softly when she did and looked over your shoulder at him with a smile, "Baby, I think she likes you." You said to him when she kept her arms lifted and even fisted her tiny hands in his direction. "I think she wants you to hold her."
"Wha-what?"
You turned around to face him and his eyes were wide and his eyebrows were knitted into a nervous and confused expression. He was cute, sometimes he melted your heart without even trying.
"Do you know how to hold a baby?"
"Yeah but—"
"Okay then hold her. I'm right here, you'll be fine, she won't like, gauge your eyes out or anything." You reassured him, teasing him a bit. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at your comment.
"Hilarious." He rolled his eyes. He wanted to say no, but there was something about you, holding the little girl that made his stomach twist and turn. He couldn't even describe the feeling, but he knew he liked it. "Fine."
Dean tensed up the second he had the newborn in his arms. He didn't know if he was holding her too tight, if her head was supported enough, if he was holding her steady enough. He looked at you with panic for a second, but when the little girl reached out her tiny arms and her tiny fingers touched his jaw, he felt like his heart stopped. He looked down at her, his eyes finding her big ones and his face softened. And he smiled, he actually smiled.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean couldn't take his mind off it. You with a tiny being in your arms. He thought about what it would be like to see your belly grow with his child, to see you hold a baby with his eyes and your nose. He thought about doing all the things his father never did with him. He thought about being a better father.
The entire ride back home, Dean was absent, he said very little and you knew something was on his mind. You knew he could get lost in his own head and it'd be damn near impossible to get him to talk about it. You hoped he would eventually. Though you had the feeling neither of you were in much mood to talk. It was late, Dean was probably tired from hours of driving and you were exhausted from days of babysitting, though you loved spending time with your nephews and niece, you were exhausted. So whatever was on Dean's mind, you could wait until morning to try and beat it out of him.
You were already in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness when Dean walked in the room. He had been gone a little while, probably talking to Sam about how much he hated being at your sister's. He turned the light on when he walked in, but he immediately cursed to himself when he saw you on your side of the bed, deep under the covers. You lifted your head, looking around the room a bit confused until you found him.
"Sorry sweetheart, didn't know you were in bed already." He flashed you an apologetic smile as he undressed himself, only leaving his boxers and plain black t-shirt on before he turned the light back off and joined you in bed.
"It's okay," You mumbled, happily sighing when he wrapped an arm around your middle and pulled your back to his chest. "You know I have a hard time sleeping without you anyway."
He nodded and pressed a kiss to the back of your head. He laid there, his nose brushing against your neck, happily taking in your scent as his fingers unconsciously rubbed circles over your flat stomach. He didn't know what the fuck was going through his head. But he just couldn't get rid of that image of you with your niece in your arms, how peaceful and happy you looked. Maybe you did want it, a family, and he was being selfish by not allowing you to have that because of his insecurities and past trauma. It terrified him, the idea of messing up like his father did, the idea of being just like his father.
But maybe, maybe he was a better man than John Winchester. Maybe with such a sweet and gentle wife by his side, he had grown softer. He could be better.
"Hey baby," He mumbled against your neck. You half opened your eyes, not quite asleep yet and you hummed at him, letting him know you were listening. "Are you still on the pill?"
You opened your eyes fully at his question. Confused, you rolled over on your back and looked at him, "Uh yeah, why?"
"Have you thought about, you know, not taking it anymore?" He asked, clearing his throat a bit as his fingers stilled their patterns on your stomach. You looked at him even more confused.
"Unless you want to try abstinence, or you're missing wearing a condom, no, I haven't thought about it." You answered with furrowed brows as you looked at him in the darkness, trying to read his face. "Dean, why are you asking me this?"
"Do you want kids?" He blurted out, not being able to control his rambling thoughts. He could've been more subtle. He sighed and continued, "I mean, would you ever want to have kids.. With me?"
"I uh.. I mean, yeah at some point I thought about us having kids but," You paused, running your fingers up his arm reassuringly, sensing he was on edge and nervous. "I thought you didn't want kids."
"I didn't. Not before," He sighed, his hand sneaking under your shirt to lay on your flat stomach, his wedding band feeling cold on your skin. "I honestly thought I'd be a shitty dad. I'm all kinds of fucked up. My life is a mess and I thought I'd be cruel to bring a kid into this life, raise 'em the way I was raised."
"Dean, you're not fucked up, your life isn't exactly normal but, that doesn't mean your life is a mess. You're an amazing husband, I'm happy to be living the life I'm living with you. And you already are a good dad," You told him, your hand coming to run through his short hair. He frowned at you, like he didn't know what you meant, so you continued. "Who do you think raised Sam? Who do you think raised him to be the good man that he is? You did, you took care of him when you were just a kid, you taught him everything he knows, and he turned out well didn't he? You're a good man Dean, wouldn't that make you a good dad?"
"God I love you." He sighed, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he leaned down, capturing your lips into a kiss.
His hand lingered on your stomach, blunt nails scratching the skin even so slightly as his mouth covered yours. His lips were soft at first, but when he shifted so that he was hovering above you, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, taking as much as he could until you were pulling back for air. In the process, his hand had lingered further down your stomach, until his hand was slipping into your sleeping shorts. You gasped softly, feeling his middle finger brush over your clit.
"You know it's probably not gonna work if we try tonight, right?" You asked, your voice breaking when you felt one of his fingers rub small circles on your clit.
"No, I know. But there's nothing wrong with a bit of practice." His pink lips twisted into a small smirk as he dug his teeth into his bottom lip before he dived into your neck.
His lips ravished your pressure point, sucking and slightly digging his teeth until he felt a pool of wetness coat his fingers. His lips curved upwards and he moved downwards, leaving a trail of wet kisses until he found the hem of your shorts. He pulled back, pulling his hand with him. You squirmed slightly under him, face warm when his green eyes found yours just as he pulled your shorts down your legs. He shot you a wink before his face was between your legs. You gasped softly when you felt his warm breath fan against your core, but he pressed his lips to your inner thigh instead and squeezed the other between his fingers.
“Dean,” You exhaled heavily, trying to fight the urge to just push his head where you wanted him. He looked up, a playful glint in his eyes and his lips were curved into an equally playful smirk.
“Yeah I know baby.” He started to move up, hearing the urgency in your voice. He pressed his lips to your hip bone and trailed up. Though his lips lingered particularly long when he found your stomach, the idea of your belly growing with his child making his cock strain against his boxers.
Your fingers found his short hair and you pulled him up, crashing your lips against his with fervor. He settled between your parted thighs, you could already feel him against you, he wanted this as much as you did, hell maybe more. He pulled his shirt over his head before he kissed you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth and he tugged his boxers down his hips, his cock springing against his stomach. He held himself up on his forearm as he guided himself to your entrance. He groaned how wet you were, your slick walls taking him with ease.
“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath as he looked between you, watching himself disappeaar into your walls.
Dean didn’t waste much time. His hips found a pace, and he found it quick. It was hard and it was deep. He made sure you felt every thrust he gave you, every time he drew his hips back only to slam back in. But he wasn’t just fucking you, no. He was making love to you. He had a reason to. And fuck did he have a reason. He was fucking with you with purpose. And now that you were feeling it too, you were just as insatiable as he was. At some point, you weren't even quite sure when, Dean slipped your sleeping shirt off, which really was just one of his old t-shirts. For some reason, that habit of yours only got him off. The idea of you, his pretty wife, in his clothes. Fuck he often wondered when he ever got so lucky or if he even deserved it.
He pulled back a little, jaw slightly hanging open as he ran a hand over your breast, kneading one between his fingers. And then he was leaning down. His mouth found one of your breasts, the nipple already hard as a rock, and he suckled, giving the bud attention until it was red and puffy. And then he switched to the other. They would get bigger and plump with substance for his child, he thought. And maybe you realized that too, because as your body arched under his, your hand came up to cup his head, fingers threading through his hair.
“Fuck, Dean please, please don’t stop.” You trembled, your voice breaking as a broken moan left your lips. He could hear the desperation in your voice, that aching need for release, he knew you better than he knew himself.
“Come on, let me see it, let me see you fall apart,” He coaxed as he pulled back, hiking one of your legs high on his torso. He buried himself so deep it made your eyes roll into the back of your head when he brushed over your most sensitive spot. And he did it, again, and again. Until you were crying out. But what really sent you over the edge was his thumb brushing over your clit. He rubbed quick circles over the sensitive bud until your walls gripped him so tight it made his eye roll back. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s my girl.”
He held you as you trembled, his hips slightly faltering and his thrusts became a bit erratic as he chased his own release.
“Gonna fill you up,” He groaned in your ear, your juices allowing him to bury himself just a fraction into you. You held him, arms thrown over his neck and his name leaving your lips like a faint praise. Though you were still a bit hazy, you felt him press a hand to your stomach, cold wedding band sending slight chills down your spine. “Right here.”
You were trembling under his, thoughts barely coherent, but you breathed out, “Yes, please.”
Your lips found his jaw and your fingers pulled his hair so hard it made him groan. And suddenly he was still, buried deep inside you as pleasure overtook him. He spilled himself inside you with a groan, the muscles in his back tensing as his head fell over your neck. He sat still inside you, his pants and your own mixing in the air. He had come inside you many times before, hell, he didn’t remember the last time he didn’t, but fuck, this felt different. It felt so goddamn right, the idea of what this meant of it felt right.
Dean moved eventually, probably when his arm got tired of holding his weight. He pressed a wet kiss to your lips before he slipped out of you, the loss of him making you hiss softly when you felt your mixed juices drip down your thigh. Though you expected him to lay down beside you but he moved down instead, and you gasped in surprise when you felt his lips on your stomach. And he pressed his forehead against your belly, his ringed hand rubbing your side gently. You felt him sigh, and you heard him mutter something you couldn’t quite make out. He kissed your belly again, for a bit longer before he was on feet, telling you he would be right back as he tugged his boxers back on.
You were too tired to question him, you were fucked out and sleepy, so you simply nodded. You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes until you heard Dean say your name and you felt his hand on your face. You opened your eyes, squinting slightly as you looked at him. He had a wet rag on his hand, so you let him clean you up. He was silent the whole time, not a single sound came from him. And his expression was unreadable. You sometimes wished you could see what was on his man's mind. Even after being married and him opening up to you about a lot of things, the man was still impenetrable.
He found his spot beside you eventually, the room dark as you settled on his chest. He threw an arm around you and held you while his other arm was behind his head. You shifted, head tilted back and you brought a hand to his face, palm flat on his cheek as you planted a soft kiss to his lips. He hummed.
“You’re a good man Dean.” You said softly, catching the adoring look in his eyes, even in the darkest they were still bright. “And you’re a good husband, and there’s no one else I would rather have kids with some day.”
A smile tugged at his lips, “Some day? That means we gotta keep tryin’ right?”
You could hear the insinuation in his tone, and you could see the suggestive smile on his lips, even in the darkness, “Yes, yes we do.”
“Awesome.”
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making merry, oh my little fairy (2)
sam winchester x fairy!reader
wc: 5.3k
warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), hella pining, tooth-rotting fluff, destiel is canon, town being mean to reader, some shaky police jargon, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, canon-typical warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)
an: part 2 of my little fairy series! it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks and part 1 was pretty unpopular so i've been hesitant to post it but then i realized i write for myself and not for recognition! so enjoyyyyy. remember to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)
summary: you flew around Sam's mind with your pretty little wings all night and all day, it doesn't help that you're popping up around every corner of this case. he's trying not to think about it.
part one part three part four
They'd sat in the car parked out front maybe longer than they should have. Sam noticed you peak through the curtain at the twenty minute mark, he only noticed because he could feel your curious gaze.
It disturbed him enough to allow Dean to fly down the neighbourhood road noisily at too many miles an hour.
Naturally, sleep became a stranger.
Dean was long passed out on the questionably lumpy motel bed and Sam was still at the desk. The white light off his laptop made his eyes itch.
A dryad is a tree nymph, commonly inhabiting oak trees, and generally born into the form of beautiful women. Many dryads were considered to be originally human or children of the nature Gods and it is widely believed that they take on the physical characteristics of the trees they protect.
Your eyes returned to him again, if not for the hundredth time that day. The way the greenery reflected off of them at him. The strength of your legs, how they were wide and grounding like the tree that engulfed your house. Your movements, your walk, how you floated like how the leaves shivered in the forest beyond your garden walls.
Sam had given considerable thought to his soulmate, as most people did.
He was turning thirty-one in a few months time and it had occurred to him that maybe you were on the other side of the world. Maybe you were dead. But people had warned him that he'd know if that were true. He'd feel it, like a gaping wound in his soul.
Castiel had appeared to Dean in a flash of light. In a heroic swoop of love, and Sam thought maybe that could happen to him too.
His thumb was warm where it ran over the scar down his arm.
He wondered if you thought the same.
If you dreamed of his arrival the way he'd dreamed of yours.
It was a silly thing, to dream of meeting your true love. Far too trivial in the life of someone like Sam Winchester when the fate of the world, of good versus evil and heaven versus hell was always in the palm of his hand.
But your figure was burned into his corneas like a blinding torch.
It scared him. Not an easy feat for the man who'd seen it all.
Sam had asked Dean a few years back.
Can someone live without their soulmate?
Dean had shrugged. "Sure, plenty of people do."
Sam had sunk back another sip of his beer at the time, they were somewhere in Florida.
"What if they'd already met them? Can they decide that they don't want to be with them?"
Dean chuckled at that. "I doubt that works out very often."
It was already long after Dean had met Castiel. Long after he'd survived his "my soulmate is an angel and a man what the fuck--" stage.
"What makes you say that? I'm sure some people have a strong enough willpower."
Dean had answered him by referencing some movie, one that Sam knew he loved and it took a bit of pestering for Dean to admit he knew the quote by heart.
He'd blushed nearly red and shrugged, accompanying it by another long slug of his beer.
"It's like at the end of the movie--" When Harry Met Sally, specifically, "When they're at that New Years party and Billy Crystal goes up to Meg Ryan and gives that whole speech, and he says that line."
Sam was grinning by then. "What line?"
Like he hadn't seen the movie enough times to know.
"You know, he when says ... when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."
Sam had long made peace with the fact that even if you did ever come around, that it would be better to leave you be. To leave you in the safety of a life different to his own.
At least he had.
In the slim hours since leaving your doorstep he'd found himself choking over the thought of never seeing you again. Of his eyes never laying again on your face that gazed so happily up into his own, like you felt his warmth in a cold winter.
He was plagued, possessed, by the thought of never knowing more.
Never knowing the way you liked your tea, how you looked first thing in the morning, or worse, how your lips would feel slow and warm against his own.
He wanted to know your favourite song, and your worst fear. He wanted to know where you came from, how you found Fernglade, Washington. What's your favourite book, do you like to read? Would you like it if he read to you instead? Maybe you would, you'd be tucked against his side in bed and he'd tell you about his favourites. His favourite movies and the way he drinks his coffee and the shampoo he used. Maybe you'd play with his hair, braiding little flowers into the ends--
Sam groaned. His face fell into his hands.
This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not now.
But he supposed there would never be an adequate time for your arrival.
And god, you weren't even human.
Cross species soulmates weren't impossible - improbable, sure (about as much as being hit by lightening) - but not impossible.
It was only Sam's luck, the Winchester's luck, that they'd both been struck.
Castiel was an angel, but the concept seemed to fade off Dean quickly at the time.
Dean himself had been little help on the matter during the blurry drive back to the motel. "Hey. I mean, all things considered, fairy sex must be crazy."
Sam closed the tab on Dryads: A Modern Day Delve into Greek Mythology. Another page blinked up at him.
When the sun was still setting and Dean was still seated across from him, he had managed to do some work.
It distracted him, barely, but he managed to somewhat narrow the list of potential suspects.
The filters helped. Creatures that steal children. Creatures that live in the woods.
In all the webpages and in some text from John's journal he'd found a common thread. A thinly veiled one, but a lead regardless.
Goblins are generally found living in communities in burrows of forests across Western America. They are known to be mischievous and malignant spirits which often feed on small animals or easy prey and hunt during the warmer months before hibernating in Winter.
Children are easy prey, Sam thought.
Some subspecies were believed to be able to shift into the form of naughty children and sneak into nearby villages to prey on young humans.
It was the last thing his eyes ran over before he slipped the laptop shut. He crawled to the bed, wishing more than anything that his mind would cut him a break, before sliding under the sheets: seeking respite from the crisp autumn Washington
-
"Rise and shine, Sammy."
The hangers reeled noisily against the rod where Dean had ripped open the curtains and the stark light brought Sam to gasping consciousness.
Sam pulled the pillow up over his face, grumbling into it.
He made out the sound of Dean setting a coffee mug on the side table.
"What time did you get to sleep?"
Answered by another indiscernible whine, Dean sunk into the chair at the tiny table in the room. "Fine, fine ... but did you find anything helpful? Besides fairy porn probably."
It earned him a well-aimed smack in the face with a pillow.
Dean laughed jovially, "Okay, okay."
Sam rose up into a sitting position with a moan. He ran a hand over his face, the other grappling for the already cooling coffee mug on the table.
"Goblins." He muttered around the rim.
Dean paused his own sip, face falling into incredulity.
"Did you just say "goblins"?"
Sam nodded. He didn't elaborate.
"Listen, I know it's a conversation you probably don't wanna have ... but are you sure we're ruling out your little garden fairy from this equation? I mean, it really doesn't look good for her--"
"You're right. I don't want to have this conversation."
Dean shrugged. He fiddled with the coffee mug against his hand.
"It's not her." Sam added quietly.
Nodding slowly, Dean watched his brother with tentative eyes. "Have you thought about that? What you're gonna do?"
Sam rose from the bed, stripping off his shirt. "I don't know man. I don't even think she knows."
It had been a thought that occurred to him at some point in the previous night, that you didn't know. That it was probably selfish to keep it to himself.
"Right, well anyway," Dean reached into the tupperware you'd gifted them the previous afternoon. He'd already cleared out his own and was starting on a pastry from Sam's box. "I was thinking we should go speak to the third vic's mom. Kelly Williams. We haven't spoken to them yet and maybe they can tell us more."
Sam nodded. "Sure. You got an address?"
"No, but she's working a stall at..." Dean picked up a leaflet from the table that Sam assumed he'd found on his coffee run before he was up, "The Fernglade Sunday Market. We can find her there."
"Fine."
He disappeared into the bathroom, Dean heard the shower turn on.
"And you can tell me about this goblins story on the way there!" He called after him.
The door slammed shut.
-
"So you think goblins are coming into town and stealing kids out their back yards?"
The morning was warm and the market made it more so. It was out on a farm a couple roads down from the boys' motel.
There were little set-up stalls as far as he could see over lush green grass, selling cakes and jewellery and home-made soaps. Couples strolled hand-in-hand and children chased their parent's ankles.
Sam shrugged. "I mean yeah, it makes sense. Dad mentioned about the trees, Y/n mentioned about the forest too."
Dean nodded, his eyes rolling over the scenery. "Sure, but goblins? I've never heard of that anywhere, I mean, how do you even kill it?"
"Them." Sam corrected. "They live in groups."
Dean sighed. "Well that's gonna be fun."
Somewhere down the row, a man was singing behind a set up microphone with a guitar in his lap. A small crowd had formed to watch him.
Sam's stomach had begun churning with that feeling that made his organs feel like jelly again. He shrugged against the collar of his shirt.
"Right, well, there's Kelly Williams' stall." Dean glanced again down at the pamphlet, "Rings and Things ... how creative--"
But Sam's eyes had found on another stall. One further down from Kelly Williams', a little set-up of vases and stain glass sculptures. Rather ... they found the woman standing in front of it.
Of course it was you.
Standing against the breeze in another, unsurprisingly, light green dress. It was ruffled and shimmering and glittery and short. It made Sam's airways tighten to a shut.
You seemed intent on avoiding wearing anything that draped any further than just over the curve of your ass, and Sam prayed to anyone listening that it would stay that way.
"Sammy?"
Dean's face shrunk in confusion, he followed his brother's line of sight. He began to laugh, clearly finding you, and jostled Sam with a hand on his shoulder. "Well, isn't this just your luck."
Sam was sucking in deep breaths again. Dean shoved him in the side.
"Go talk to her, I'll speak to Mrs Williams."
Jumping back into semi-consciousness, Sam shook his head, "No, no, it's fine. We'll go--"
"Stop being a baby, Sam." Dean shrugged him off. "You're gonna have to talk to her eventually. And I hope you do a better job than you did yesterday, because that was a train-wreck."
"Thanks."
But Dean's figure was already retreating.
"Asshole." Sam muttered under his breath.
Eyes found you again, they strained against the sunlight. He could make out your face from where he stood: it was twisting, falling into a creased brow that Sam didn't like the look of.
His legs began moving before he had chance to instruct them and it only took a couple paces of his long structure to find your side, heart thumping violently in his ears.
Your eyes lifted from the table, there was an elderly lady sitting in the shade of the cover and looking unimpressed.
"Sam." You smiled up at him and he swore in that second he could listen to you saying his name forever on repeat and never grow bored. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Hey." He sighed, it was louder than he anticipated and he could feel his cheeks growing warmer. "W-What are you doing here?"
You stuttered, "Well, I was just looking at this cute little crocodile--"
His eyes found where your hand was motioning over the woman's table. He was unsurprised to find it littered with stained-glass sculptures of animals. Lions and fish and elephants among others.
But the woman interrupted before you could find the end of your sentence.
"I don't sell to kidnappers."
Her elderly face was curled up in disgust. Sam was taken aback by her directness.
He was more taken aback by your polite smile at her.
"That's fine. I'll be on my way." You nodded kindly, looking back up to Sam. "Wanna take a walk?"
Sam's bones had begun aching with fury in the small seconds since he'd arrived. His brow-bone was heavy set against his eyes.
He glanced over at the crocodile you'd referenced. It was about the size of a shoebox, glassy in bottle green tones and grinning a mouthful of sharp teeth up at him. He could already see it sitting happily on a spot between your books and photo frames, maybe up on the mantle above your fireplace.
Brushing softly against your elbow with his hand, a movement that sent a stone cold shiver up his whole body, he shook his head. "Just one sec--"
He turned to the woman, sticking his finger in the direction of the lifeless creature.
"I'd like to buy that crocodile please."
"Oh, Sam, you don't have to--"
But the woman was unmoved, "No. I'm not selling anything to anyone associated with her."
She stuck a shaking finger in your direction and Sam suddenly wanted to rip the stall to pieces.
"We should just go..." Your voice was small and he fought hard against pulling your frame into his side.
Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket for his FBI identification: flipping it out into the daylight for the woman to see. Her eyes widened behind thinly framed spectacles.
"I said I'd like to buy that crocodile." His voice was stern, heavy laden with his trembling aggravation. "How much is it?"
The woman's face flickered between emotions, before settling on vexation. "Forty dollars." She mumbled.
"I'm sorry?"
"Forty dollars." She replied more clearly, face turning red in embarrassment.
Sam slipped away his badge and dug for his wallet in his pocket, he flipped between the notes and handed her two twenty dollar bills. The woman was quiet while she wrapped the creature, avoiding your and Sam's eyes in the process.
She handed it over with a scathing, "Get away from my stall."
"With pleasure." He turned to you, your face was a cherry red shade. "I'll take you up on that walk."
You stepped away, offering a small sheepish "thanks" to the woman scowling at your and Sam's retreating figures.
"Here." He handed you the crocodile gently, and you took it with tentative hands. "Get a lot of that?"
But you shrugged off his question, grabbing for your purse. "You really didn't need to do this, Sam. Let me just pay you--"
Sam stopped, taking your forearm into his hand - the tingle it sent up his body again didn't go amiss - and he huffed. "Please, please. Don't. It's a gift."
The sun was shining off your dress and it made your face seem lighter. "Sam, really, I can't ask you to--"
"Please?"
You paused, lashes blinking carefully up at him and god he could really kiss you right there--
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Smiling again, easing the tightness in Sam's chest, you nodded. "Fine."
You held the crocodile up to your face, "What are we gonna name him?"
"We?" Sam laughed and you laughed back at him.
"Sure, he's ours now." You tucked it under your arm again.
Ours. He was fragmentally taken away with the thought of something belonging to them, to us. A house, a couch, a dog (or a fox if that's what you wanted)--
"Anyways, where's the other one?"
Sam was brought back to the conversation.
"Oh, uh, Dean?" his eyes grazed over the stalls, pointing over to where Dean was talking with the tall Kelly Williams behind a tray of seashell necklaces. "Talking to one of the victims."
"Right, I almost forgot." You fiddled with your bag over your shoulder. "He decided whether he's killing me yet?"
His mouth tilted teasingly. "What makes you think that I've decided I'm not here to kill you?"
You shrugged, teeth flashing in a gut-wrenchingly beautiful smile. "Well, you bought me this, and ... you don't seem the type."
"The type?"
"Nah, you're too sweet on me already."
Sam's stomach did a somersault in his chest. "I--"
"Besides, you couldn't do it here. Too much blood, too many witnesses ..."
Sam's hair flicked over his shoulder where he tossed his head back to laugh. "Right. You've thought about the logistics already."
"Sure have." You nodded. "Any headway on the kids?"
"Some." He shrugged. "There's this fairy--"
"Dryad."
"--living in this petting zoo in this cottage on the outskirts of town..."
"Fine." You conceded. "I won't ask."
"No, but we have--"
"Ah, look at you two. Getting along like a house on fire."
Sam hadn't noticed his brother's approaching footsteps. Dean clapped a jolly hand over his brother's arm.
You smiled in greeting. "Good morning Dean."
He nodded. "'Morning Tinkerbell."
"Dean."
Chuckling you nodded. "Good one. Haven't heard that before."
The sun was hot on Sam's shoulders, Dean was making it hotter with his conspicuous side eye.
"What's that you got there?" He motioned over the figure under your arm.
You lifted it up proudly, "It's my crocodile. Sam got it for me. The lady wouldn't sell it to me."
"Oh, Sam got it for you, huh?" Dean smirked, relishing in the admission.
"Yep."
The glitter in your eye was making Sam's knees buckle.
"W-We should get going ..." He shifted from his one leg to the other. "Work to do ... and stuff."
"Right," you agreed, fixing the strap over your shoulder again. "I should also head home, not very welcome 'round here anyways."
Confusion glazed briefly over Dean's face but he said nothing on it.
"Yeah, stuff to do." He nodded.
You began your walk past them, finding Sam's gaze. "Thanks again, Sam. I'll see you boys around."
His eyes followed you where your crystals were clinking around your neck. "Yeah. No problem."
Barely out of your earshot, Dean turned to Sam. "A crocodile, huh?"
"Shut up."
-
It wasn't another two days before Sam saw you again.
The boys dove head first back into research, Mrs Kelly Washington hadn't much more to add beyond the fact that she heard another child's voice in the moments before her daughter's disappearance.
"I mean, there was some mention in the lore about goblins being able to turn into kids. Naughty ones at that."
Dean sighed over his bar-top lunch. He took another swig of beer.
"Okay, so what, these ... goblins are coming into town as children and grabbing the kids from their yards? Maybe they'd met somewhere before then, at school or the park?"
Sam shifted the salad around his plate, bored. "Yeah, maybe."
There was a depressingly thin amount of information in John's journal on goblins and the website lore was too broad to even begin sifting through it before another child was taken.
"Well we know that eight kids are taken each time, right?"
Nodding, Sam took an unenthusiastic bite of tomato.
"That means there's still two kids to be taken. I mean, there's only been six victims and autumn is two weeks away from ending, if the story is true that they hunt before winter."
The boy's didn't have to wait long. They were less than an hour clear of the dilapidated bar they'd stopped in for lunch when the call came over the police monitor in the car.
"Units, this is dispatch. We have a suspected 134 at 98 Calvary, requesting assistance."
Code 134. Kidnapping.
Dean found Sam's eye across the front seat before taking a screeching turn into the next street.
Cavalry road was just a few streets down and the scene was as they'd expected. Burning red and blue cop cars littered the street and Dean pulled the Impala into a space between them.
There was a scuffle of officers, in the corner of the driveway a man holding a sobbing woman to his chest. The parents.
Dean and Sam flashed their badges at the nearest deputy.
"What's the situation?"
The officer huffed, tightening his grip on either side of his belt. "We think the kid was taken, Frankie Moore. Disappeared about two hours ago, the parents only called in the last twenty minutes. They thought he'd just run off."
Dean nodded and Sam watched over the scene around him.
"Any witnesses?"
The cop shook his head, Taylor, his badge read. "None. Right out the backyard, just like the others."
"Did the parents see anything, hear anything?" Sam pressed.
"Not from what we can gather from them right now, they're pretty out of shape." Taylor motioned back to where the Mrs Moore was desperately pushing out sentencing between racking sobs. "But we've got a suspect, they're out fetching them right now."
Dean glanced over the officer, "A suspect?"
Sam's hands were starting to itch. He twisted them against his the cuffs of his sleeve.
"Yeah, neighbour saw them out in the forest about an hour ago. Called it into dispatch. They never took it seriously until this call came in."
Somewhere behind them a short siren yelped from one of the cars.
"Did they have the kid or what?" Dean's face was laden with confusion, the story twisting around his brain.
"No, but they've been taken in on suspicion. Talk of the town and such." Taylor responded and Sam's heart sunk to his knees.
There was a click over the officer's radio. "Suspect is in custody."
He pulled it closer to his mouth, "Copy that."
Sam tugged up on the end of his sleeve, revealing his wrists in the afternoon light. They were turning a pinkish red. Handcuffs.
"Dean."
Dean's back stiffened at his brother's tone, eyes finding his wrists. He sighed. "You've got to be kidding me."
Sam's brain was turning muddy. "The suspect, is she a woman?"
Taylor nodded. "As far as I know, yes."
-
There was nothing else said.
Sam fled the scene as if the perpetrator himself. He flew into the passenger's seat with the force of an attacking bear.
Dean chased after him, slotting the key into the ignition: setting the car alight.
"Sam, I know what you're thinking--"
Houses flew past the car, streets and pedestrians, but Sam had no space to consider them.
"You don't know what I'm thinking."
But Dean was persistent, knuckles white around the wheel. "She's your ... your soulmate, I get that, but our leads are thin. Have you considered that she could really be doing this?"
The station came into view at the end of the road. Lights from the cars were flashing in Sam's eyes. His head spun.
"She's not a monster, Dean."
"But she is, Sam! She is! She's not a human."
Dean pushed down on the brake in front of the sheriff's station and Sam was out the car before it had fully pulled to a stop.
He threw the doors open. Officers were flocking around like seagulls over an abandoned hot dog.
Sam grabbed the arm of the nearest one, firm in his grip.
"The suspect, where is she?"
"Uh, they've just moved her to--"
The doors swung open again behind him and the rumbling of the station was overpowered by a loud low whine. It was followed by an equally distressed yelp.
Sam turned to find a row of officers, leading one after the other like ducks, each with a rattling metal cage of a different animal. Your animals.
Goose was yipping wildly in the confines of the box. A woman holding Lydia followed him. They come in procession: the rabbits, the ferrets, the ducks, the budgies.
"What the fuck!" An officer close to the door jumped out the way where Lydia hissed angrily at him from between the bars.
"No, please!"
Sam spun on his heel. His hands felt heavy with helplessness. It was your voice, echoing across the station and reverberating in his brain.
"Please, just leave them! They're not gonna hurt anyone. I haven't done anything--"
His feet chased after the sound. Sam found a long corridor near the back of the room, there were two officers tugging on either of your arms. Your eyes were bouncing wildly between each of the officers where they disappeared into the evidence room with your pets.
Your gaze found his own. "Sam!"
"Y/n." He was bounding down the corridor, long stretches of leg, but the officers were adamant in their grip.
"Sam, I promise I didn't-- it wasn't me. I swear--"
There was a loud huff and a heave and you stumbled backwards into a closed holding cell. Your hands wrapped between the bars.
"I know," Sam was breathless. "I know you didn't--"
Suddenly there was hands on his chest. "Sir, you need to get out of here."
"I need to speak with her--"
"Sir you can't do that. You need to speak to the sheriff."
Sam's chest was rumbling with a frenzied desperation. He couldn't pull his eyes off the fragments of your figure behind the bars.
The officers shoved him again. "Sir--"
He ripped himself off their grip, hair flushed back against his reddening face and he turned back down the corridor.
Dean was already at the sheriff's desk.
"--suspicious behaviour--"
"What the hell is going on?" Sam's voice rumbled across the room. "On what basis are you holding her?"
The sheriff was a small man and he looked smaller under Sam's furious stature.
"It's like I was telling your partner here, agent," He was patting a handkerchief over his balding head. "Y/n Y/l/n is being held on the basis of suspicious activity."
"What exactly is your definition of suspicious activity?"
The sheriff shrugged, "Well we got a call in of her roaming around the forest--"
Sam could feel his fists tightening at his sides, "What are people not allowed to go into the forest in this town or does that make them all kidnappers? You have no evidence--"
"Sammy, calm down." Dean's hand found Sam's chest but he shrugged him off.
"Release her. Right now."
But the sheriff shook his head. "Unfortunately, not even FBI have the power to do that. State's laws say she can be detained for 12 hours pending investigative procedures."
"Investigative procedures--?"
By then, Dean had him by the arm. "Okay, okay. Let's go cool off--"
He tugged Sam towards the door, surprising both himself and Dean by allowing him to do so successfully.
The cool dusk air rushed over his face. Sam took a deep breath.
"They have no evidence, Dean--"
"I get that, but you need to calm down. You're not helping the situation by threatening the sheriff."
An officer passed them with another cage. Three hedgehogs.
Sam ran a hand over his face. He took a deep breath.
"You don't even believe she's innocent, Dean."
There was quiet for a long moment.
Sam fell into a bench bolted against the side of the building. His hands found his face again. After a moment, Dean crouched into the spot beside him.
"Look." He sighed. "If you believe her, I believe you. Alright?"
Sam's eyes were watching his shoes. He nodded, only half believing his brother's claim.
They sat like that for nearly an hour with evening settling over Fernglade around them and the autumn crisp seeping into their suits.
After a long resounding silence, one that had stretched on past Dean's wide yawn, Dean rose to his feet.
"Sammy, we should go home. Get some headway on this goblins angle."
At that, Sam shook his head. "I'm gonna stay."
"What, until she's out?"
"Yeah."
Dean's eyes were dripping in pity and it made Sam's blood boil.
"That's--" he raised his watch into his eyeline, "She's still got another ten hours. It's only six o' clock now."
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"Sam--"
"Dean."
Another cold silence.
Sam pressed his hair back with a wide hand, conceding. "Look, I'm sorry. But I'm gonna stay. You head back to the motel, do some work and get some sleep. I'll be fine."
Dean considered him, but he made no further argument and Sam thought momentarily it was maybe because he knew he couldn't budge him in the same argument with Cas.
"Alright. Fine." Dean nodded, tugging his jacket closer against the cold. "I'll see you in the morning."
Sam watched his brother's retreating figure all the way until the Impala had disappeared down the next street before going to stand.
The doors swung open with a whine, the station had cooled to a quieter buzz than when he'd first burst in. The sheriff had disappeared into an office off in the corner of the room.
Finding the nearest officer, Johnson, behind a short wooden desk, Sam approached him.
Officer Johnson glanced warily up at him from the papers he'd been filling out. He'd probably been witness to his first outburst.
"Uhm," Sam cooled his voice to a deferential timber. "The animals at the back, what's gonna happen to them?"
The officer set his pen down, "Well I'm doing the paperwork on them now. They'll be released if and when she does."
"If?"
He shrugged, "Yeah, if they don't find anything they'll let her go. Only got twelve hours."
Sam shifted his weight, running his eyes over the station. Somehow it was colder inside than the bench he'd just abandoned.
"Right."
The image returned to him again of your tiny green dress, the satin sleeves that reached down over your arms - he wondered for a moment if you wore them to cover all his scars - and the shiny ends that left your legs a prize for the bite of the freezing air that nipped at him even through all his layers.
He dug his hands into his coat pocket, pulling out his badge and his wallet and his phone to slip them into his pant pockets. Then he shrugged out the jacket.
Sam held it out to the officer. "Would you mind giving this to her?"
The officer took it with tentative hands, he gave it a glance over but made no move to stand.
"There's nothing in it." Sam huffed. "It's freezing in here, and unless you want her to die of hypothermia before morning, I suggest you do what I've asked."
He was considering it, Sam could tell by how his eyes flickered over the office door behind which the sheriff was hiding, but eventually elected to stand.
"Fine."
-
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