Supernatural Oneshots

Prank Week (4/5) (Sam Winchester/Hunter!Reader)

Sam Winchester/Hunter!Reader Fanfiction

Dean cried out, in pain and anger, as the blade raced toward your stomach. The world seemed to stop as you quickly blocked the object from implanting itself in you. The blade flew a couple of feet before resting in a tuff of grass, releasing a smirk from you. Sam pounced on you, unfortunately for him, you were faster, dodging out of the way. You hear Sam land on a startled Dean, a giggle escaping your lips.

It took thirty minutes before Sam finally realized you were alive, but instead of enveloping you in a well-deserved hug, he simply retreated to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Your face fell, your fears coming to life, as you laughed at yourself for your nativity. In a whirlwind, you glided to your room, ignoring Dean's outstretched arm to hold you back. The anger and disappointment bubbled beneath your skin, threatening to crack your façade. You closed the door behind you, sliding down the slick surface before tears flowed from your face.

Crying did nothing to help you, it only made things worse. Yes, it stripped away your emotions, but it left you hollow and frighteningly alone. You wiped your tears away as a plan surfaced in your empty mind. Smirking evilly, you slip from your room, picking up where you guys had left off. If you had remembered correctly, the boys still needed payback for the whole freezing your phone incident.

Two hours and no-sign-of-the-boys-later, you waited patiently at a table, pretending to read one of the thick leather books from the shelf.

Sam was the first to enter, not even glancing at you as he made his way to the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, you glance at your watch, the green numbers proudly pronouncing it was midnight. Sam then exits with a mug of coffee and takes a seat in front of you. His face is blank as you desperately search for any sign of Sam, the one you knew before this had all happened. Sighing in defeat, you slam your book, scooting your chair across the floor and turning to place the book back on the shelf. A warm hand clutched yours as you turned away and as your skin made contact, your head whipped around, a strangled gasp escaping you.

His eyes are shining with gathering tears, his face twisted in pain.

"Please....don't go." He utters out, his voice slightly cracking.

You roll your eyes, sliding back into your seat. You meet your (e/c) eyes with his, which have already began to leak tears.

If things had been different, if you hadn't just two hours earlier cried your feelings away, you would be bawling at this moment. Instead, you stared emptily at the broken man, watching him break down in front of you.

"Hey, hey. Sam." You sigh, earning the man's attention, "No chick flick moments okay?"

That gets a chuckle from the man as he takes a big swig of coffee. He suddenly spits the brown liquid all over the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before running into the kitchen. You burst out laughing as the sound of water echoes from the kitchen, where an angry Sam walks back in, the pot of sugar in hand.

"Really! Replacing the sugar with salt! Very immature (y/n)." He slams the pot on the table, shattering it into a million pieces.

"Sorry, I thought it would lighten the mood, since you guys are all down in the dump." You whisper, turning away from him.

He reaches out to grab your arm once more, but you swiftly turn around, slapping him across the face. He steps back, placing a hand on his red cheek, watching as you dart to your room.

Once inside, you began cleaning your room, the only way to get that Winchester off your mind. You quickly ripped the sheets off of your bed, gathering up piles of Sam's clothing and taking them down to wash them with your bed coverings. You vacuumed your carpet, dusted everything, cleaned out the toilet, reorganized your closet, washed your shower, rearranged your room, cleaned your entire bathroom, then put clean sheets on your bed before making it.

Finally finishing, you curled up into your bed, letting sleep claim your body.

Thursday

You awoke to find your door slightly ajar. Sleepily, you walk outside, getting attacked with silly string by the boys. You didn't even flinch as you continued your decent down to the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and plopping down at a table, munching on your food.

A blob of green silly string fell into your milk, which you plucked from the bowl, placing the sodden thing on the wood beside you.

Dean and Sam quietly walked into the room, watching you silently eat while silly string covered your entire being. Sam rested against the wall, while Dean sneaked past you to grab his next prank.

Lazily gazing at the plaid man, you pick up the fork you had gotten from the kitchen, mistaking it at that moment for a spoon. Flinging toward him, it impaled itself into the wall, the surprised moose gurgling out a shriek. Dean returned with a bottle of honey, ready to pour it atop your head when he saw his brother's arm stuck to the wall by a fork tethering his plaid sleeve.

Turning around quickly, you turned the tables on the eldest Hunter, pouring the honey on him instead.

"You couldn't have waited until I ate my breakfast, now could you!" You groaned, placing a glop of yellow silly string on top of his sticky hair.

The boys cleaned up the mess while you trotted to go change, finding a suitable black shirt with ripped jeans in the bottom of the closet.

Heading to the laundry room, you quickly pull out your faded shorts from the washer, setting them into the washer, when you notice something is wrong.

Horrified, you spread your black Led Zeppelin shirt out on top of the dryer. There, covering your shirt, were massive bleach stains.

Screaming, you drop the shirt, one of your childhood shirts ruined. Dean comes rushing in first, gun cocked and loaded to shoot the thing that made you scream. Finding you on the floor, tears streaming down your face, he sets his gun on the dryer, picking up the shirt on the floor.

"Holy... FUCK!" Dean bellows, causing Sam to come down, laughing his ass off.

"That's for messing with my shirts, (y/n)." He retorts, earning a death glare from Dean.

Seeing you on the floor, bawling, he rolls his eyes, scoffing at your immaturity.

"Those shirts are my life. Some aren't even mine. They were my Dad's." You hollow voice says, "They were handed down to me when he passed. Those bands were his life and you ruined the only thing I had left of him."

"Sam, that was low, even for you." Dean growled, his lip curling.

"It was a couple of shirts!" He argued.

He deserved what came next.

You lunged at him, earning a few good licks before Dean decided to pull you off of him. Sam's nose was bleeding, obviously broken while his cheek was starting to swell.

Sam took the opportunity to dart away, going to his room to nurse his wounds.

You'll show him who's boss around here.