WARNINGS: none (except extreme fluffiness sorrynotsorry) this is also slightly cliché, but bear with me plz I love this au
—
Sam smiled, looking down at his forearm.
He watched the black ballpoint pen ink swirl up his skin, delicate flowers and swirls appearing as his soulmate continued to doodle on her arm. In turn, her drawings would appear on his skin, wherever she had been drawing on herself. There had been times when he'd discover drawings on his stomach, and his thigh. There had even been a few on the tops of his feet, and his ankles.
"Geez, Sam. Doesn't that bother you?" Sam looked up at his brother.
"No. Why would it?"
Dean shrugged, popping the cap off a beer. "You get those girly drawings all over you all the time. Isn't it embarrassing?"
Sam shook his head. "No, not really. She draws them where they can be hidden. She scrubs them off a while afterwards, anyways."
Dean shook his head. He took a sip of his beer and leant back, kicking his feet up onto the library table. Sam gave him a disdainful look, picking up one of his lore books and flipping through the pages.
"My soulmate never draws on herself. Get the occasional phone number on my palm, but whenever I call them, it's either some spa place or a dude," Dean said, sighing.
Sam looked at his brother, but Dean was too busy knocking back his beer to see.
"Why don't you write your own number on your hand? See if she'll call you."
Dean grunted. "Maybe."
A flash of color caught Sam's eye, and he looked down at his left arm. The pen was still there, but it appeared that his soulmate wasn't quite finished: she was painting, filling in the drawings. A blend of pinks and purples and greens and blues appeared on his arm.
"Can the girl not afford canvases or paper?" Dean exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.
Sam looked down at his book, smiling softly.
"If she's happy doing it, I'm not complaining," Sam said, closing his book and standing.
•••
The impala pulled up outside a college in North Dakota—an art institute, to be exact. Founded by a guy ten years ago who had jumped off the roof of the condominium he was living in a day or so ago. Hell Hounds, the brothers expected. A week earlier, some doctor had been found torn to shreds in her house.
"Excuse me," Sam said as he and Dean approached the front desk in the administration building. "I'm agent Davidson and this is agent Mulder, we're with the FBI."
The old woman behind the desk peered over her spectacles at the two men, eyebrow raised. "An FBI agent named Mulder?"
Dean chuckled, flashing her a charming grin. "You don't know how many times people have asked me where Scully is."
The woman huffed, pushing her spectacles farther up the bridge of her nose. "How can I help you, agents?"
"We're here about Stephen Drury. We just want to ask some teachers about him, see if anyone knows anything."
"I thought that his death was suicide? Tragic, though. Such a man," she sighed, tutting as she shook her head.
"Yeah, well, we've had a few other deaths that look a lot like this one. Thought we'd check in—see if they're related," Dean explained.
"Well I can't tell you gentlemen much, but I'm sure some of the professors and students can. Mr. Drury was very involved with his school."
The brothers thanked the woman before making their way outside, examining the campus. Sam looked down at his left hand, noticing a swirling pattern looping around his thumb and curling up the back of his hand. He smiled slightly, before taking off after Dean, who decided to check out the Art History Professors first.
After an hour of walking around campus, all they'd learned was that Drury had been sleeping with one of the students, fired a janitor for stealing students' artworks and selling them online for a profit (and that the janitor got revenge by vandalizing his car, only to get arrested and fined a thousand bucks), and that he had a certain dislike for large dogs.
"Well, man," Dean sighed. "We've got a bunch of hell hounds."
"Yeah, but—" Sam was cut off as his shoulder caught someone else's, sending their books and papers flying to the ground. "Oh—I'm sorry," Sam rushed, kneeling down to help them.
A small hand reached out to grab a book at the same time as Sam's, and his eyes widened as he registered that they had matching blue pen ink swirling up their skin.
He brought his eyes up to meet yours, and he hoped you couldn't hear his heart thumping erratically in his chest. Your eyes were wide, like a doe's, and he could see a blush creeping up your cheeks. He felt his own cheeks heat up as he stacked your books and handed them to you.
"I'm Sam," he breathed, gazing down at you.
"[Y/N]," you told him, shyly glancing down at your feet.
"I guess, uh...we're..."
"Yeah," you giggled. "We are."
Dean watched you two with eyebrows raised, before he smirked. Sammy had found himself his Soulmate.
Sam glanced at his smirking brother, before looking down at you. "Uh, you wanna grab some coffee later?"
"Yeah sounds great. There's this little cafe a few blocks from here with the best coffee in town. Um, the Bean House," you said, tucking your hair behind your ear.
"Sounds great. Four okay?"
"Perfect," you said, nodding your head quickly. He grinned back, and you parted ways.
"Way to go, Sammy. Yours is a cutie!"
"Shut up, Dean."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
•••
Lame, I know I know. I feel bad for not posting in like 362628368 years. I have some requests (like 1 or 2) from like November that I haven't gotten done yet and I can't exactly promise that they'll be up soon. The only reason I'm posting this is because it's been in my drafts for almost a year lmao
