Gemini (Supernatural Rewrite Sam x Reader x Dean)

House of the Holy

A/N: Just a little housekeeping! As this fic keeps gaining traction and we move forward, I'm going to start using "Violet" more sparingly. This is a reader fic, and I want to try to structure my writing in a way that feels more immersive for you guys, if that's ok. Don't worry though, "Blue" isn't going anywhere. ❤️ Completely open to feedback about this shift btw! I'm writing FOR you guys so let me know your thoughts. ❤️

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Dean stands with his hands on his hips, jaw locked, watching you from across the room, ready for some kind of bomb to go off.

Sam lies on one of the beds, already half-asleep, arm thrown over his eyes. You suspect he dug into the sleeping pills he stole. He's not saying much tonight. He hasn't said much since the last time you stumbled into his head. The silence is enough to make you assume the worst. He's scared, even if he isn't saying it.

Dean clears his throat and shifts his weight. "Alright," he says, voice low but firm. "This is what we're gonna do. Sammy's gonna sleep. You're gonna... I don't know. Do whatever the hell it is you did before. Get in there. Find out if you can control it. Maybe we figure out what's triggering this."

You sit cross-legged on the other bed, blanket bunched up in your lap. "Dean," you murmur, eyes flicking up to meet his, "you make it sound like I'm launching a nuke."

He looks at you. "Because for all we know, you are."

Sam shifts and groans something unintelligible, barely coherent. "Dean," he mutters, voice dragging with sleep, "maybe shut up."

You huff softly but don't argue. You lean back against the pillow, stretching your legs out. "I don't even know how I did it. It wasn't like a spell or a trance. I just thought of him. And then I was there."

Dean doesn't move. Doesn't blink. His shoulders are stiff, arms still crossed. Cranky. "Then think of him harder."

"Wow," you say dryly, closing your eyes. "Helpful."

"Don't sass me." he says, though it's missing bite. Underneath all the bark, there's fear. You hear it. You hear it in the way he swallows too hard, in the way he hasn't sat down since you got back to the room, in the way he's watching you.

"Okay," you whisper, more to yourself. "Okay. Just breathe."

You let the motel room fade behind your eyelids. Let Sam's breathing guide you. Focus on the sound of the fan clicking. The soft hum of electricity. The weight of the clothes on your body. You let your mind float in that in-between space where sleep curls up at the corners of awareness. You think of Sam. Of his voice. His hands. The look in his eyes the moment before he drifts off. You follow the thread of him, like a string through water.

And then everything shifts.

The bed disappears. The room melts away. When you open your eyes again, you're standing in the middle of a stretch of road lined with trees. Night hangs heavy. Stars glimmer overhead. And Sam is there.

He's leaning against the hood of the Impala, arms crossed, a frown carved into his features.

You blink. "Sam?"

His eyes lift slowly, and the moment he sees you, the frown fades. Surprise flickers first. Then something softer blooms across his face.

"You did it again," he says. But it's not accusatory. It's not afraid. It's... impressed.

You step forward. "I didn't mean to at first. Dean was barking orders and—"

He lets out a low laugh, the kind that lives deep in his chest. "Yeah, I heard him."