Supernatural one shots

Shadows of fear (SAM WINCHESTER X READER)

The cold night air stung your skin as you crept through the dense forest, flashlight in one hand and your gun in the other. You were chasing something—a creature the locals believed to be a wendigo. Sam had warned you about taking this hunt alone, but stubbornness ran deep in your family. If you could handle it without needing backup, that was one less thing for Sam and Dean to worry about.

You stepped carefully over a patch of undergrowth, the crunch of leaves beneath your boots almost too loud. The moonlight filtered through the branches above, giving you just enough visibility to make out the path ahead. You knew the signs to look for: animal bones, strange claw marks on trees, or the smell of decay. But so far, the forest was eerily quiet—too quiet.

A snap of a twig made you freeze. Heart pounding, you spun around, gun raised, but there was only darkness. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, every instinct screaming that something was close. You tightened your grip on your weapon and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves.

Then it hit you.

A blur of claws and teeth crashed into your side, sending you sprawling to the ground. The flashlight flew from your hand, landing several feet away as you rolled to your back just in time to see the creature looming over you. It wasn't a wendigo—its pale, skeletal face and yellow eyes marked it as a ghoul, but bigger than any you'd ever seen before.

Before you could react, it swiped at you with razor-sharp claws, slashing across your arm. Pain exploded in your shoulder, but you gritted your teeth, kicking out at its legs. The ghoul stumbled just long enough for you to grab your gun, firing off a shot into its chest.

The creature recoiled with a shriek but didn't go down. You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the searing pain in your arm, and fired again—this time aiming for its head. The bullet hit its mark, and the ghoul dropped with a sickening thud.

For a moment, you stood there, panting, your heartbeat thudding in your ears. But relief was short-lived. You felt a wave of dizziness crash over you as the blood from your shoulder wound began to soak through your jacket.

"Damn it..." you muttered, pressing your hand to the wound to slow the bleeding. You needed to get out of the woods, fast.

Staggering forward, you retrieved your flashlight and stumbled back toward the trail. Every step was a struggle, pain radiating down your arm and making it hard to focus. But you kept moving—if you could make it to your car, you'd be fine. You just had to hold out a little longer.

The forest seemed to close in around you, the shadows deeper and the silence more oppressive. Your vision blurred, and you knew you were losing too much blood. Just as you began to think you wouldn't make it, a familiar voice broke through the haze.

"Y/n!"

You looked up, squinting through the darkness, and saw Sam sprinting toward you. Relief flooded you at the sight of him—tall, worried, and very real.

He reached you just as your knees gave out, catching you before you could hit the ground. "I've got you," he said, his voice steady despite the panic in his eyes.

"Thought... you weren't coming," you mumbled, struggling to stay conscious.

"Yeah, well, you didn't leave me much choice." He shifted you in his arms, his hand pressing firmly over your wound. "You're bleeding bad. We need to get you back to the bunker, now."

You gave him a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood despite the pain. "Told you I could handle it..."

Sam huffed, clearly not amused, but his worry showed in the way he cradled you against his chest, careful but quick as he carried you through the woods. "Stop talking. Save your strength."

Normally, you might've argued with him, but exhaustion was pulling you under fast. You leaned your head against his shoulder, too tired to fight it anymore.

The next thing you knew, you were lying on a couch in the bunker, Sam kneeling beside you as he worked to clean and bandage your wound. His brows were drawn in concentration, his jaw tight with worry.

"How bad?" you asked, your voice raspier than you intended.

Sam looked up, meeting your gaze. "You'll live, but you're not leaving my sight for a while."

You smirked, though it hurt to do so. "That bad, huh?"

He shook his head, exasperated but fond. "You're impossible, you know that?"

You gave a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as the pain flared. Sam's expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on your good arm. "You scared the hell out of me, Y/n."

"I'm fine," you whispered, though you knew it was a lie. But you also knew that Sam was here now, and that was all that mattered.

He finished wrapping your shoulder, his hands steady despite the lingering tension in his frame. When he was done, he sat back on his heels, studying you with that same intense gaze he always wore when he was worried.

"Next time," he said quietly, "you wait for backup. I don't care how tough you think you are."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress the warmth his concern sparked in you. "Yes, sir," you muttered, and Sam gave a small, tired smile, the kind that made the weight on your chest feel a little lighter.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the bunker filling the space between you. Then Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he let out a breath.

"I mean it," he said, softer this time. "I can't—" He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

You reached out, resting your hand over his. "I know, Sam. I'm sorry."

He gave a small nod, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. "Just... don't do that again, okay?"

"Deal."

With a quiet sigh, Sam leaned back, still holding your hand like he wasn't quite ready to let go. And honestly, neither were you.