Sam Winchester x Reader: Together (A Supernatural Fanfic)

A Sincere Apology.

I would like to issue this update as a sincere apology to my readers and any fans of this piece. I've disappeared for months and yet here I am now to deliver you some upsetting news. Due to a lack of inspiration and time, I will be further discontinuing this book. Yes, I am very aware that we almost reached the end of our tale, but I just cannot do it. I tried my best many times to find a way to liven it up again, but it had become too story driven with limited character development and style. Releasing a chapter far below my standards would hurt me  and the integrity of this all greatly, so this is where I'm calling it off. Below, I've saved what I had completed for the next chapter which would have been accurately named, "Search and Rescue". This takes place in the episode that the Winchesters and Metatron originally went to retrieve Casifer from Amara's clutches. I hope this does you well, and you get just a little more satisfaction out of this all.
~~~
"Gotcha a beer, don't know if you drink."
Dean says, walking into the room with beers in his hands. Donatello wrings his hands, inhaling deeply.
"Well, I do now."
The prophet mumbles, pulling the bottle towards him to take a long swig.
The eldest Winchester places one of the other bottles in front of me, and we nod to each other in a form of thanks. He then pulls out a chair next to me, sliding another bottle across the table to an empty spot for Sam as soon as he gets back.
"Well..."
Dean sighs, sitting down heavily. He cracks open his beer.
"I'm not sure if your dad is leaning our way."
I cock my head to the side, curious and worried. His tone of voice is laced with resignation.
"What do you mean?"
The light above us flickers momentarily, but soon returns to its regular state. Donatello finally puts down his drink.
"I think it's kind of important that we know. Why aren't you sure?"
He trips over his words, easily panicked. Though Donatello shakes for a second, he regains his composure shortly after. He's getting better at this.
Dean taps his finger on the table, tracing the lines.
"If we do... get Lucifer for the uh.. added muscle, then maybe he'll help out."
"But I thought they hated each other?"
Donatello inquires, and I cross my arms over the table, resting my head on them.
"Not necessarily. They are family, it's just that they aren't on the best of terms right now."
The two men stare at me, but with a lifeless gesture from me, Dean speaks again.
"I don't know. I think they do."
He sips from his bottle when the prophet speaks.
"I really miss being an atheist."
Then that man also drinks from his bottle. A creaking door near us opens slightly, and Sam's voice echoes out. He was told to go out for a moment, though I'm not really sure why. But, I find out within seconds.
"Okay, Metatron. Don't touch anything, and make it quick or I'll kick you out."
Sam waves quickly to his brother and I, but the scribe strolls between him and the table.
"Fine. Oh, Dean! Thanks for inviting me!"
"Inviting you? You've been circling the building all night, you sent me 200 text messages with dumbass emojis. You've got three minutes."
I can almost feel the anger radiating off of Dean, hot and spiked.
Metatron smirks, but goes to greet our prophet instead. He points, a full toothy grin on his face.
"Donatello!"
He holds out his hand to shake, and they do, however it seems to be very uncomfortable for the sitting man.
"Nice to meet you. Metatron; Scribe of God."
Then, he turns to greet me.
"Hey there, kiddo."
"Hi."
I smile, and he turns his attention back to where it was.
"I was there when you were designed. And I wrote your name on the inside of the angels' eyelids."
"He's kinda freaking me out."
Donatello states, eyes going back and forth between me and the brothers. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Oh- okay. Well, you said you wanted to help. What can you offer other than world-class douchery?"
Metatron frowns, staring ahead, very obviously unimpressed.
"I mean, he called you a douche, but at least you're a really high quality douche."
I shrug, earning a questioning look from the prophet and a face palm from Sam.
"What can I offer, Dean? Oh, I don't know. I may have just translated the angel tablet and learned all the spells. AND I know what makes Amara tick. AND I had a relationship for eons with the big guy upstairs. But, you know, why don't you tell me what I have to offer?"
He drops unceremoniously into the chair next to Sam, also grabbing his beer. Metatron tries to press the bottle to his lips to drink, but the taller man to his left pulls it away from him before he can get a chance. Nobody says anything for a bit, but bored glances are shared.
"I really hate to say this you guys, but he kinda has a point."
Sam groans, pursing his lips, instantly regretting what he said. But, the fact that he did indirectly compliment Metatron in a way makes me a little happier.
"I still don't know."
Dean monotonously grumbles. The scribe only chuckles.
"Seriously? You guys need all the help you can get right now."
"S-Since when did you even jump on the God wagon? You never used to give a damn about all this."
Dean squints, conflicted.
"I did at one time. Now that he's actually gone all kamikaze leaving us with the darkness..."
He pauses.
"I was by his side during the creation. He believed in me. I saw so many things be planned and eventually born, including the angels and archangels. Especially Y/N here. If there's something- anything- I can do to save him... It seems like I should."
Metatron finishes, and I look to Dean to see his reaction.
~~~
If you have any questions about what the ending would have been, or how the reader would have interacted with the British Men of Letters, feel free to private message me. Thank you so much for your loyalty to this story, and again, I am so, so sorry.