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After he left your motel room, Sam never called or texted you again. Dean still called to check up on you, tell you how he and Sam missed you, and ask when you’d be joining them on hunts again. The older Winchester wasn’t a sentimental man; it was hard for him to say those words, and it made it even harder to refuse him.
You stayed with Bobby for a couple of weeks after they left his house. He wasn’t the prying kind, but he was worried about you, and he knew Dean was too.
One night, after a few too many beers, he tried to get you to open up. “So, what happened between you and the boys?” He tried to sound as casual as possible, taking another swig of his beer at the end of his sentence.
“Nothing.” You forced a smile, attempting to shut down the conversation.
“You’ve been huntin’ with them for years, and now all of a sudden you want to break off?” Bobby’s eyebrow raised as he pressed you further. If casual wouldn’t do it, then turning on uncle mode surely would.
“I wanted to take some time off to see you.” You placed your hand on his back and gave him your best puppy eyed look.
“Do I have idjit written on my forehead?” He scowled, turning in his chair to face you completely. Your hand fell from his back as you huffed in annoyance and leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms.
“I just feel like I’m too dependent on them. I want to prove to myself that I can still do it alone if I have to.” You were not about to tell Bobby the real reason you ran off. The humiliation was too great, and you’d never hear the end of it.
He sighed, defeated. “You’re breaking Dean’s heart.” You brought the beer bottle to your lips. “You’d be breaking Sam’s too, if he weren’t-“
“Soulless.” The beer bottle hit the table hard as you finished Bobby’s sentence for him, making the reason for your leaving clear.
“He got on your nerves, huh?” His expression eased.
“You could say that.” You mumbled. The answer raised a look of worry in the hunter’s face which had you waving your hands in front of your chest. “He didn’t do anything to me! It’s just- I need some time, Bobby. He’s not really Sam, and it’s starting to take a toll on me and our friendship - which doesn’t really even exist anymore.” The glum expression on your face showed him how much you were hurting. He knew how much you loved the boys; how inseparable you were, ever since you were kids. Making the decision to take some time away from them was surely painful, which meant the pain of being around this version of Sam could only be greater.
“Alright. I won’t press you further. We’ll find a solution to the Sam problem. In the meantime, stay as long as you need.” You leaned into the man you had called your uncle for years and hugged him, your hand coming around his stomach.
“Thank you, Bobby.”
“Anytime kiddo. I’m sure when Sam gets his soul back, he’ll understand.” I wouldn’t be so sure. The events of the past few months echoed through your mind, bringing back the anxiety of not knowing what would happen to your friendship if Sam did get his soul back. “That boy loves you, and so does Dean.”
His words made tears bloom in your eyes. “I know.” You whispered softly.
Following your conversation with Bobby, Dean still called; he still told you he missed you, though he stopped asking you about joining him and Sam on their hunts. Ever the good uncle, Bobby had called him. He reassured him, and made sure Dean would stop pressuring you to join them. “She needs some time, but she’ll come back. You can be sure of that.” He had said.
After two weeks with Bobby, you joined Rufus on a hunt. Despite his straightforwardness, impatience, and crankiness, you liked the man. He, on the other hand, seemed to tolerate you, much like he did Bobby, which basically meant he adored you. The case lasted about a week, and when you were done, it was finally time to go off on your own.
It had been about two months since you had last seen the Winchesters, when you got a call in the middle of the night. The phone rang loudly, filling the room with its blue light. You turned over and opened your eyes in a squint to read the caller’s name.
“Dean? Are you ok?” The panicked question came as quickly as you had answered.
“We did it. We got his soul back.” You immediately sat up.
“What? Where are you? Is he ok?”
“Bobby’s. He’s sleeping, we don’t know if he’ll wake up yet, but it’s done.” His voice was filled with emotion. You had promised Sam you’d still be there when he got his soul back, no matter what, and you were keeping that promise, even if only to be told to leave as soon as he saw you.
“I’m coming over. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” The call ended before he could reply, and you started packing in a hurry.
The drive from Georgia was long enough to fill you with dread. You weren’t even sure if Sam would wake up, and that thought clawed at your chest. A cloud of regret hovered over you. Had you seen him for the last time when you asked him to leave? Had that really been your last conversation? It felt like you were suffocating, and it made it hard to keep your head clear as you drove way above the speed limit.
You were about two hours away from Bobby’s when you got a text from Dean.
“He’s awake.”
The relief was so big you couldn’t help but scream, tears sliding down your face. You tried to calm down, remind yourself that now you knew he was ok. Nothing, however, was able to quell the fear you felt over what would happen when you got there.
You parked your car and, suddenly, the rush that had got you there dissipated, replaced by fear. The walk to the door was slow, and when you finally got there, you had to take a few deep breaths before knocking.
Dean got to the door quickly, and when he opened it, you were faced with the biggest smile you had ever seen on him, but it faded when he saw the look on your face.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He stroked your hair and gave you a kiss on the forehead. “He’s okay. Come see.” He pulled you inside by the hand and guided you to the den. You froze when you saw him, and both Dean and Bobby watched the two of you.
“Oh, my god.” Sam took three long steps to reach you, pulled you in, and hugged you so tight he lifted you into the air. “You’re alive!” He said teary-eyed, putting you down but not letting go.
“A-alive?” The question came in a small voice.
“Of course. Remember how Lucifer snapped your and Bobby’s neck? Before Sammy threw himself in the pit with him and Michael?” Dean said from behind you.
“What?” You turned to look at him, incredulous.
Sam grabbed your face to turn you to him. “Dean told me Cas brought you guys back.” He held you against his chest, a caressing hand at the back of your head. “I thought I’d never see you again.” It took you a few seconds to process what was happening. When it finally dawned on you that not only was Sam himself again, but he also didn’t remember the past year and a half, you burst into tears.
“Sam…” You clung to him like you were afraid he’d disappear. “I’ve missed you so much.” The way you were sobbing made Sam well up.
“It’s ok. I’m here now.” You thought you’d never hear that soft, comforting tone again, not earnestly. You thought you’d never feel those sweet, gentle touches you had missed so much; the ones that crumbled your defenses so completely you said yes to a half version of him. The memory of it only made you cry more. Sam felt a pang in his chest over seeing you so distressed.
He pulled you toward the couch, sitting down and making sure you followed. His hand didn’t leave your back as Dean explained to you how he managed to get Death to bring Sam back with his soul. You knew there were lies between the truths he was telling, but you’d wait until you were alone with him to ask him about it. Honestly, it was hard to even focus on what Dean was saying. Sam was back, and he was absentmindedly caressing your back like the last year and a half hadn’t happened.
Sam still had quite a bit of sleep to catch up on, so when he went back to bed, Dean finally told you the entire truth. Death had put up a wall in Sam’s head to keep him from remembering his time in the cage, and apparently it had made him forget the time he had spent with no soul. Under no circumstances were he to scratch at that wall, so you all had to pretend like everything was fine and hadn’t been there until now.
After a few days of insisting he was okay, Dean finally accepted Sam’s request to get back to hunting, as long as they were relatively simple cases. The initial bliss of having him back was quickly tainted by your experiences with his soulless version. You found yourself staring far too often, which, thankfully, he and his brother chalked up to the fact that he was back (and himself). Whenever he got too close, you felt yourself freeze up, or sometimes even retracting to avoid being too obvious about his effect on you. But you kept doing your best to make sure your friendship was the same as it always had been.
Following those first weeks of adapting, you all started to fall back into your routine, and the constant longing to kiss him came under control, like it had been before the pit. None of you could quite believe it, but you truly were back to making jokes, teasing each other, fighting over who got the FBI badge with the coolest name, and having long drives with loud singing.
Something started creeping back into Sam’s mind, though; that curiosity he had always pushed down so hard. He couldn’t even call it curiosity anymore, it was desire, and he knew it. It seemed to have grown tenfold in comparison to the time before he went to hell. A whiff of your perfume and he forgot what he was saying. If he allowed himself to look at you for too long, he stopped listening. Whenever you smiled with your face too close to him, he wanted nothing more than to pull you in and kiss you. But worst of all, those dirty, shameful thoughts he had from time to time started getting more and more frequent.
Sam turned in his bed to look over at Dean, who was sound asleep. He got up quietly and made his way to the chair his jacket was hanging from. Pulling out a key from its pocket, he left the room and made his way down the motel corridor. When he got to room 214, he took the key and unlocked the door, quietly making his way inside. It was dark, the only source of light being the crescent moon outside, and he saw a woman sleeping, facing away from him. Carefully, he stepped into bed and began caressing her arms, pulling her hair out of the way so he could kiss her neck. Her breaths became somewhat deeper, and she slowly began to wake up when his hand snaked up her shirt to find her breast.
“Sam?” She mumbled. Her voice was familiar.
“Told you I’d come and find you.” His hand slid down to squeeze her thigh, before he brushed his fingers over her underwear, making her sigh. “I still need to get a proper taste of you.” His fingers pressed lightly against her clit, and the moan she released as her hand found the back of his neck was so sweet, he found himself melting against her. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of her underwear and gently removed it. Pulling her shirt up to her ribs, Sam began kissing down her side, nipping here and there, until he reached her upper thigh. Her hand was now grasping the hair at the top of his head as he pulled her hip back and placed himself between her legs. She was dripping already, but he wanted – no – needed to take his time.
“God, I’ve missed this.” He said, finally beginning a trail of soft kisses that began at the inside of one thigh and ended on the other.
She giggled, another familiar sound. “It’s only been a week.” The giddiness in her tone vanished completely, replaced by little whines, when Sam gave her lips a small lick, followed by a soft kiss. “I thought you- couldn’t even- miss things.” She said in between moans.
“Oh, believe me. I know I’ve missed this.” His teasing fingers brushed against her core, making goosebumps form on her skin. Finally, he licked a slow, tortuous stripe up her folds, at which her grip on his hair tightened momentarily.
“Hmm, Sam…” He dove further into her, working his tongue to find what made her writhe and whine.
“Fuck- you taste like heaven, angel.” Sam was lost in the feeling of her grinding against his face, kissing, licking and suckling everywhere that got her to moan for him. Eventually, the grip on his hair started to become tighter, her breaths were getting ragged, and her whimpering louder.
“Sam- please- don’t stop.” She begged. He could tell she was getting closer, and he needed to see her come apart. His tongue kept circling her clit as he held her thighs closer to him, raising his gaze to admire what he was about to accomplish. When his eyes finally focused, trying to see through the weak moonlight, he saw your pretty, parted lips, your delicious, scrunched expression, and the quick rise and fall of your beautiful chest.
Sam woke with a gasp, immediately sitting up. The dull light that came just before dawn gave the shabby motel room a blueish tint. He rubbed his eyes, confused by his surroundings, and saw Dean still sleeping on the bed beside him. It felt so real. There were droplets of sweat running down his forehead, and he felt uncomfortably aroused. He tried to take a cold shower so he could get his mind off it, but the dream wouldn’t stop replaying in his mind. Every detail felt like he had been there, down to how you smelled. The more he tried to forget, the more it all stuck to his mind. How would he be able to face you? The truth was, he wasn’t. Not really.
That morning, when you joined the boys to go for breakfast at the diner, Sam could barely look at you. When he did, all he could picture was your bare skin against his, skin he had never even seen. He tried to get a grip, and you and Dean thought he was just having an off day. You tried not to press too much, afraid it would damage the wall Death had put up, and he eventually managed to get it more so together. The problem was that this wouldn’t be the first time he dreamed of you.
Every time Sam felt like he finally had himself under control, another dream would come to remind him of the shameful cravings he couldn’t seem to shake off. The worst of it was how worked up he got. Between visions of kissing, grinding, sweating, and moaning, he had to find a way to relieve himself, or he would go mad. He held on as much as he could, but every now and again, the dreams would be too intense, or you touched him a little too much, and he caved when he got to the shower. Those were his worst days. Having to act like everything was completely normal while an ignominious fire burned inside him only made him feel more unclean, disgraceful.
You and the Winchesters had gone down to Kansas to work a case on what appeared to be a haunting. The motel you were staying at only had one room available, so you all had to stay together. Sam was terrified of the idea of sleeping next to you, not only because of how you made him feel, but also because of the possibility of having another one of his dreams and freaking you out. He played rock paper scissors with Dean to figure out who would share the bed with you knowing full well he’d beat his brother, as always.
When night came, he felt anxious about allowing himself to fall asleep. What if he started moaning? What if he said your name? Dean had already mocked him a few times for the state he woke up in, or the sounds he had made in his sleep. The last thing he needed was having that happen in front of you. The problem was, although he didn’t know it, he still had a lot of sleep to catch up on, so staying up all night wasn’t an option. When he finally drifted off, the dream he had was different than the others.
He was on a hunt, judging by the gun in his hand and the shabby place he was sneaking about in. He heard a scream and immediately bolted in its direction. When he rounded the corner of the run-down farm, you were on the ground being clawed at by a werewolf, which he quickly shot dead. Next thing he knew, he was sitting beside you in a motel room bed. There was a huge gash on your leg, and he was carefully stitching it up. After that, everything was a haze. He was in the shower, touching and kissing you; then you were in bed, dripping wet, wiping droplets of water off each other. The last thing he saw before waking up was you under him, saying his name in between moans.
This time, thankfully, he woke up gently, his eyes flickering open. You and Dean were on the bed beside his. His brother was face down, snoring, and you were sleeping with your pillow over your head, probably to cover the noise. He took the chance to have a cold shower before the two of you woke up, and while he did, he tried to convince himself this dream was a sign that his pervertedness was subsiding. Just like the others, it felt real, like he was there. But this one wasn’t simply about sex. It had elements of real life: hunting, getting injured, him patching you up like the good friend he is, or should be. Sam focused on that aspect of the dream throughout the rest of the morning, using it as a shield between him and this burden he felt so eager to be rid of.
He was already nose deep in a book, and Dean was knotting the tie on his FBI suit, when you walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
“Shit, forgot my clothes.” You made your way to your duffle bag, dug out your FBI suit, along with your socks and underwear, and were about to walk back into the bathroom when Sam stopped you.
“Where did you get that scar?” It was exactly like the one in his dream, and he knew for a fact he had never seen it, much less stitched it up.
You looked down at your calf, where he was pointing, and immediately got flustered. “Uh, I – Hunting. Obviously.” You avoided looking Sam in the eye, and he knew something was up.
“When?”
“I don’t know, six months ago? Why?” You held your clothes close to your chest for a semblance of comfort in the face of a sudden inquiry.
“And who stitched it up?” He continued.
“I did, who else?” Dean answered before you could, turning away from the mirror and towards you two. “Why, you admiring my work? I can give you some pointers if you want.” He gave his brother a smug look.
Sam paused for a moment. Something was definitely up, and neither you or Dean would be giving him answers. “Yeah, actually. I wondered because I’ve seen your handy work before. You’ve improved a lot while I was gone.”
“Yeah, well, you know me, Sammy. I just keep getting better.” The older Winchester smirked. “Anyway, if that’s all, will you let the lady get dressed so we can go the precinct? Not everyone wants to stay in reading, like you.” You hurried to the bathroom, thankful to Dean for saving your ass. You were usually good at lying, but sometimes, mostly with Sam, it was like your brain just couldn’t come up with a story.
He waited about five minutes after you and his brother were gone, before he decided to call someone he knew wouldn’t even think of lying unless he was told to.
“Castiel - uhm – I’m back! So, if you’ve got a minute…” He looked behind him to check if his prayer had work, but there was nobody there. When he turned back around, Cas was standing before him.
“Sam.” He cocked his head; a stern expression painted his face. “It’s so good to see you alive.”
“Yeah, you too.” Sam smiled at the angel. He hadn’t seen him since Lucifer had blown him to bits, and he was thankful to see that his brother’s favorite heavenly creature was alright. Cas walked closer to him, slowly opening his arms, and Sam accepted the angel’s embrace. After a few seconds of awkwardly hugging, he pulled away. “So- crazy year!” He huffed. “I just, uh, talked to Dean this morning, and he told me everything that happened.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised that you survived” Sam’s eyes shot to the angel, wide in surprise. “I begged him not to do it.”
“Yeah – no – I-I understand.” He nodded.
“You know, it’s a miracle it didn’t kill you.” Cas was monotone, as usual.
“Yeah- yeah it’s a miracle alright…” The younger Winchester stared at the floor, trying to hide his confused look.
“So, how does it feel?” A small, awkward smile appeared in Cas’s lips.
Sam looked back up at him, his eyebrows scrunched. “What?”
“Well, to have your soul back, of course.” The angel squinted.
Sam was aghast. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find what to say. “Right- you mean, ‘cause I was- walking around with no soul…” He took a deep breath as he tried to process what he had just been told and tried to find an answer to Cas’s question. “Uh – Really good, Cas. I’m really good.” He nodded quickly. “You know, I’m just… a bit hazy on some of the details, though. You think you could… walk me through?”
“Why, of course.” He sat at the table, facing Sam, and began telling him everything he knew.
As soon as Cas left, Sam let out a panicked gasp. He had barely spent any earthly time in the cage, where his soul had been left to suffer at the hands of Michael and Lucifer. Instead, his body and mind had spent the last year and a half strutting around doing God knows what without it. On top of that, he wasn’t even supposed to try to remember it, because Death had put up a wall in his mind to protect him from the torture his soul had gone through. If that wall collapsed, there was no telling what would happen.
Sam paced around the room, sweating, shaking, panting. It was impossible to sit still, so he put on his workout gear and went for a run to try to process everything instead of sitting in the motel room panicking. The truth was, he hadn’t been trying to remember anything; he didn’t even know there was anything to remember. He thought about the dreams he had been having, how real they felt. There’s no way. Maybe he had spent the last year with no soul, hunting with you and Dean, maybe he had even saved you from a werewolf and stitched you up, but there was no way he had actually slept with you – more than once.
By the time he finally got back to the motel, the Impala was already parked outside. Sam took a deep breath before entering the room, and he found Dean sitting by the table with his arms crossed. “So, we spend our day working our asses off to find out what body needs to be burned and where it is, all so Mr. Fitness can go for a little jog?” He accused. “Did you even find anything at all?”
The younger Winchester sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Sorry, man. I just- I felt a bit off, needed to clear my head.” His brother shot up out of his seat and quickly made his way to him.
“What do you mean you felt off? What’s wrong?” He grabbed Sam’s shoulder, looking alarmed.
“Nothing, just felt a bit restless, needed to move a bit to settle down.” If he told him what he had found out, not only would Dean freak out, but Sam would also have to explain who gave him the details and how he thought to call Cas in the first place. That was a can of worms he wasn’t willing to open.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, man. I’m all good now.” He looked around and found no sign of you. “Where is she?”
“Went to the library to pick up a map of the old graveyard so we can salt and burn that son of a bitch, and get outta here.”
“That was quick.” Sam huffed.
“Told you, Sammy. Nothing but simple cases for a while. I want to enjoy having my little brother back without having to be scared some creature’s gonna gank his ass.” He said with a firm pat to Sam’s back.
Learning he had spent over a year with no soul wouldn’t have been so hard for Sam if he could actually remember what he had done. But the fact that so far all he had to go on was a bunch of sex dreams and the realization he had stitched you up once was the absolute worst scenario he could imagine. And it was about to get worse.
Dean had gone out to a bar for some fun before you guys started looking for your next case, while you and Sam stayed home researching, as usual. He hadn’t had any dreams since learning about his soullessness, but he had been avoiding you, having reduced your interactions to discussions of lore, cases, Dean, and routine stuff. You could tell, he knew you could, and it was starting to take a toll on you. He wouldn’t even sit at the table with you while you read, sticking to his own bed, on the opposite end of the room.
The way he was acting was eating at you, and you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out what you had done. You had been on your best behavior lately, never once allowing yourself to gaze at him for too long or get too distracted by him. Surely, you weren’t making him uncomfortable?
“Sam?” You looked up from your book at the man lying on the bed.
“Hm?” He hesitated, finishing the sentence he was reading before looking back at you.
“Have I done something?” The question came out small, but he heard it nonetheless.
“What?” Oh no. Sam wasn’t ready for this conversation. He had no idea what to say, how to reassure you without letting his greatest iniquities take over his mind.
You got up from your chair and walked towards him, slowly. He put down the book as he watched you approach. “A-are we okay? Have I done something wrong?” You stopped beside him, at the edge of the bedside, your hands fidgeting.
“N-no! Of course not.” His hands found support on the mattress beneath him so he could sit up straighter.
“Are you sure? I feel like you’ve been avoiding me or something.” You were doing your best to stay calm, but your eyes were already getting glassy. Sam noticed and let out a sigh, taking your hand so you’d sit down beside him.
“Everything’s fine, seriously.” He shut his eyes. “I’ve just been feeling a little ti- AH!” There was a sharp pain to the right side of his head, which he clung to as he doubled over.
The motel room was lit by a small bedside lamp; its warm light bathed your soft skin, casting shadows where it couldn’t reach. This time, you were sleeping peacefully in nothing but your soft burgundy underwear, stomach down, an arm under your pillow. Sam reached for the polaroid camera in your bag, something you insisted on carrying around. He got on his knees at the edge of the bed and snapped a picture. One of your legs was raised up toward your chest, giving him room get between them and move closer. His hand slid up the back of your thigh to cup your butt cheek, before he gave it a squeeze that made you sigh in your sleep. Keeping his hand in place, he took another picture; something to look at when he was all by himself. Unlike you, he didn’t sleep now, so the nights could get long and boring. He put the polaroid back into your bag and returned to the edge of the bed. Kneeling down between your legs again, he wondered what it was about you that always made him return. Sure, you were a good time, a great time even, but so were many other women. Maybe it was the way you smelled, or the way you said his name. Maybe it was the fact that he had restrained himself for so long, or that he enjoyed seeing your resolve crumble every time he touched you. Whatever it was, it didn’t really matter, so long as he got to touch you.
Leaning in closer to glide his hands over your hips and waist, he laid a kiss to your lower back, at which you stirred, bringing your leg back down and releasing a soft moan. He had already put you through enough for that night, hence why you were sleeping so heavily. Sam gently hooked his fingers around your underwear, keeping his eyes on your face to make sure you stayed sound asleep, and slowly slid it down your legs, removing it completely. Once he had collected all his tokens, he gave your thigh one last squeeze and left your room.
“Sam? Sam!” As he came back to, Sam felt your hands around his face, tapping him lightly as you called for him in a panic. His eyes blinked open and widened when he became aware of his surroundings again.
“Wh- what?” He was remembering things. It had felt like the visions he used to have, only more real, like he had been through it already.
“Oh my god, what happened? Are you ok? I’m calling Dean.” You turned away to reach for your phone, but Sam quickly grabbed your arm to stop you.
“No! Don’t.” His eyes scrunched closed, blinking several times to try to settle back into reality. “I’m okay.” There was a flush to his cheeks, and his pupils were blown.
“Okay? Sam you just passed out!” Your hand reached for his face again, his skin was warm and clammy.
“Please, I just- I think I’ve been doing too much. I just need some sleep and I’ll be fine.” His other hand grabbed your free wrist. “Please, promise me you won’t tell Dean. He’ll freak out and lock me up at Bobby’s for months.” You looked down at his pleading eyes, the hands around your wrists, and paused for a moment.
“I promise not to tell him. But only if you take some time off from working cases. Just skip this next one, at least.” You negotiated.
“I –“ The stern look on your face told him arguing was pointless. “Fine. I’ll tell him tomorrow morning.” He let go of you, and as soon as he did his gaze turned away. “Can I go and get some sleep now?” He clearly didn’t want you there, and you hadn’t even gotten a proper answer to your question. Nonetheless, you conceded.
“Ok... I’ll be in my room if you need me.” You got up and picked up your things so you could leave. “Goodnight, Sam.” He noted the sadness in your voice.
“Goodnight.”
As soon as you walked away from the door and he couldn’t hear your steps anymore, Sam ran to his duffle bag. He had built a little compartment under its sturdy bottom where he kept the things he didn’t want Dean to find. If what he had just seen had really happened, that’s where he would find the proof.
He took his belongings out of the way, removing them from the bag completely, and started fiddling to find the Velcro under a seam that held the slit shut. Once he found it, he lifted the panel at the bottom of the bag and shoved his hand underneath it. His breath froze. Sam pulled his hand out of the secret compartment, and in it was a pair of burgundy underwear, and the exact pictures he had seen himself take.