Cruel World: Chapter Seven
Everything was perfect—you were about to welcome a baby girl into the world and finally leave the life of hunting behind. Sam was supposed to have it all: the house, the family, maybe even a dog in the backyard. But before the three of you could begin your new life in an old craftsman home on the prairie, the apocalypse arrived.
All Sam had to do was lock Lucifer in the cage…
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader, Soulless Sam x fem!reader
WC: 4.7K
CW: 18+ MDNI, description of injury (human & animal-sorry), grief & loss, soulless Sam (he deserves a warning in himself), mentions of past trauma, emotional distress, repressed emotions/tension (obv, it’s Dean), language
A/n: This chapter takes place around s6ep11. Super sorry about this one, it gets better, I promise
❤️I’ll do my best to finish up this series before my due date next month!❤️
Cruel World masterlist
“I love your women, and all of your heroin, and I’m so happy, so happy now you’re gone.” - Cruel World Lana Del Rey
As you gained your bearings, icy panic flooded your veins. The thumping and muffled argument continued downstairs. You quickly grabbed your phone and called Dean.
No answer.
Are you fucking kidding me?
You tried again.
Nothing.
You left a voicemail telling him to call you immediately.
You were torn between staying upstairs to protect your daughter and helping Bobby downstairs—clearly something had gone very wrong.
For years, you had hunted alongside the Winchesters and could hold your own. But actually fighting one of them—especially Sam—was a different story.
Taking a steadying breath, you glanced at Willa, wide-eyed in her Pack and Play. To keep her safe, you needed to help Bobby.
Thinking quickly, you scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her head as your eyes darted around the room.
The closet.
Willa could already reach and open doors—thanks to her dad’s genes—but you needed to hide her.
You opened the door and set her down inside. Your chest ached at the thought of leaving her in the dark, but it was the best option you had.
“Please stay here and be quiet, baby girl. Mommy will be right back.”
Tears blurred your vision, but you forced a smile and handed her a stuffed animal—a plush dog Dean had picked out, brown and black, just like Walker. She took it and began fiddling with its little feet.
You slowly shut the closet door. You expected her to cry.
She didn’t.
Your throat tightened as you gripped the handle, then turned and unlocked the bedroom door, slipping into the hallway and easing it shut behind you.
Your heart pounded as the noise downstairs faded into something heavier—slower footsteps, deliberate. Before you could think, you were creeping down the stairs, careful to muffle the creaks beneath your feet.
At the bottom, a tall shadow stretched across the floor from the hallway light.
Sam.
A chill ran down your spine.
The house fell eerily silent—until you heard scratching and a soft whimper at the back door to your left.
Walker.
He must have jumped the fence to get here. How that old dog managed to clear six feet was beyond you.
Summoning your courage, you bolted left. Your pulse roared in your ears—though it might have been the heavy footsteps behind you.
Sure enough, Walker was there, whining and scratching at the door.
You yanked it open and grabbed his collar before he could rush past you. His gaze locked on Sam—axe in hand—as he barked and strained.
All you had to do was let go.
The nightmare would be over.
You froze.
You couldn’t do it.
And he knew it.
A sickening grin spread across his face.
“Don’t even think about it,” Bobby’s voice boomed from the hallway. “This beef is between us, Sam.”
Sam turned, momentarily refocusing—remembering his goal: committing patricide, to scar his vessel and make it uninhabitable for his soul.
Bobby held a blunt weapon, but to your shock, he retreated down the hallway as Sam advanced.
A door slammed at the far end.
Seriously, Bobby?
Fixated again, Sam followed him.
Walker lunged forward, pulling against your grip.
Then, a sickening crack of blade against wood.
“Don’t you dare say ‘here’s Johnny,’” Bobby called from behind the door.
“I’m sorry, Bobby, I gotta do this!” Sam shouted, bringing the axe down again.
At the end of the hallway, you watched, frozen, as Walker’s barking turned frantic—sharp, piercing, echoing.
Sam’s attention snapped toward you.
Bobby tried to keep his focus, stepping closer to you, irritation flashing across his face at Walker’s high-pitched warning.
Suddenly, the leather collar slipped from your grasp.
Time slowed.
Walker bolted.
Bobby didn’t realize the dog was loose when he pulled the lever.
The floor gave way.
Walker had nearly reached Sam when both of them dropped through the opening, slamming onto the basement floor below. The sound of impact was sickening—it was easily an eight-foot fall.
Walker yelped and the sound tore through you.
Bobby emerged from the closet, where the trapdoor lever had been hidden.
You ran towards the hole in the floor and looked down. Sam was already moving, groaning as he pushed himself up.
Walker wasn’t.
He lay still—alive, but clearly in pain, whining softly.
“Bobby, what did you do?!”
You lunged for the basement door, but Bobby grabbed your wrist, stopping you.
“Y/N, we need to keep Sam locked up. We can’t risk him getting loose.”
Footsteps thundered up the basement stairs as Bobby slammed the heavy metal door shut.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
Sam threw himself against it, over and over. The sound was deafening—but useless. Bobby had reinforced the door to hold anything inside.
Sam wasn’t getting out.
“Your dog’s not looking so good, Y/N,” Sam taunted, hearing the panic in your voice. “You should probably get him checked out.”
He was using Walker as leverage.
You were desperate—but you had to believe that somewhere inside, Sam would never hurt that dog.
Walker’s quiet whimpers carried through the trapdoor. At least he was alive.
Finally, a glimmer of hope. The roar of the Impala cuts through the tension outside, followed by a door slam and heavy footsteps rushing through the house.
Dean found all of you crowded in the hallway around the basement door, out of breath as he tried to take in the chaotic scene.
“Hey—what’s going on? Are you okay? Where’s—”
You cut him off. “Sam and Walker are locked in the basement. Walker’s hurt—I don’t know about Sam…”
Sam had gone quiet behind the door. Bobby pulled open the peephole and scanned the basement, seeing nothing in his field of vision.
“Shit.”
Dean’s attention snapped back to you.
“Where’s the baby?”
The question jolted you, and you ran upstairs, rushing into the bedroom.
You flung open the closet door and for a split second, you didn’t see her. Your heart dropped until you saw movement.
Willa peeked out from behind a stack of storage bins, squinting against the light, waving at you. Relief crashes over you as you scooped her up immediately—still clutching her stuffed “Walker”—and holding her close, one hand cradling her head. She babbled happily, completely unfazed, her little eyes wandering around the room.
You were still catching your breath when hurried footsteps pounded up the stairs. You moved to shut the door—but Dean’s hand caught it before it closed. He was still winded, worry etched deep into his expression—until he saw you.
Safe.
Your arms tightened around Willa as your body finally started to shake as your adrenaline crashed.
Dean stepped forward and pulled both of you into his arms. You fit against him like you were meant to be there.
For the first time since this started, you could breathe.
“We got Sam locked in the panic room—”
“Where’s Walker?” you interrupted, voice breaking. “He fell through the trapdoor with Sam… I tried to get him…”
“Hey, hey—relax,” Dean murmured, holding you tighter. “Bobby’s with him.”
“We need to get him to a vet, Dean,” you pleaded.
Downstairs, you joined Bobby, who had Walker laid out on a comforter on the floor. Your breath hitched at the sight of him—your loyal protector, hurt and barely moving. But you held your composure, for him and for Willa.
“I got a friend who’s a vet,” Bobby said. “Mostly works on horses and cows—but he eats like a horse, so I figure it’s close enough. She’ll take a look at him now.”
You tried to smile, but your throat was too tight to manage it.
Willa squirmed in your arms, letting out a soft whimper at the sight of him. You kneeled and set her beside Walker, keeping a careful hold on her so she didn’t accidentally hurt him.
With surprising gentleness, she crouched next to him and petted his muzzle, babbling his name.
Walker’s tail gave a faint thump in response.
Your chest tightened.
You joined Willa in giving him love and gentle praises, careful not to overstimulate him.
“Alright, let’s get you loaded up, boy,” Bobby murmured, carefully lifting the shepherd.
Dean helped him carry Walker outside, settling him into the truck. As they pulled away, Dean lingered for just a moment—watching. He was grateful the dog had been there when he wasn’t, but he hoped it hadn’t cost him everything.
Inside, you knew it would be a long time before you heard anything. As much as you wanted to join Bobby at the hospital, Willa needed you.
Glancing at the clock in the kitchen, you saw it was 8:00 p.m. You sighed. Willa still needed dinner and a diaper change.
Dean came in behind you, finding the two of you in the kitchen. He placed a steady hand on your lower back, immediately picking up on your tension.
“Let me take care of her, sweetheart.”
His calm tone surprised you.
Dean felt utterly defeated—he just needed to do something right.
The deal he’d made with Death—to take his place for a day—had fallen apart. When the time came to reap a twelve-year-old girl’s soul, he couldn’t do it.
Now he was out of options.
You handed Willa over, and she immediately lit up in his arms, smiling and giggling. His entire demeanor softened as he held her. Her tiny hands reached up, rubbing over the stubble on his face, and she laughed at the scratchy sensation against her fingers.
For a moment, he forgot everything, just overwhelmed with love for this tiny person.
Leaning against the counter, you watched him fix her dinner.
“What happened, Dean?”
Your voice was soft—no judgment, no edge.
He hesitated, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to face you.
“I fucked up.” His voice was rough. “I had to play Death for a day… I couldn’t do it.”
You saw it then—his eyes, glassy with emotion.
“I failed. And I don’t know what to do now.”
The last fragile piece of hope you’d been holding onto cracked. You knew he’d tried. You knew the task had been impossible, but it still hurt. You swallowed it down, forcing yourself to stay steady.
All you managed was a small nod, your gaze dropping to the floor. The last thing you wanted was to make him feel worse than he already did.
He looked like he had a year ago, and it broke your heart.
“Thank you, Dean,” you said quietly. “I know how hard you tried.”
He shook his head, like he couldn’t accept that—like he didn’t deserve it. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, heading for the living room to pour himself a drink.
From her high chair, Willa waved at him as he left, then turned back to you with a bright smile, completely unaware. You couldn’t help but smile back.
Balancing her on your hip, you made your way into the living room. Dean sat in the leather armchair, one ankle resting on his knee, staring into a glass of dark liquor.
“Do you want to come tuck her in?” you asked gently.
“I’ll be up in a bit,” he muttered, not looking up.
You knew what that meant.
Don’t wait up.
Later, after cleaning her up and reading to her in your lap, you laid Willa down and watched her settle beneath her blanket.
You turned off the light, then crawled into bed, leaning back against the headboard.
It hit you all at once.
Like a freight train to the chest.
You grabbed a pillow, pressing your face into it to muffle the sound as the sobs came. The grief stole the air from your lungs, leaving your chest hollow, aching.
This felt like losing him all over again.
That tiny sliver of hope had carried more weight than you’d let yourself believe.
When you lost him a year ago, there had still been hope.
This was worse.
You had to let him go.
This kind of grief felt lethal.
Dean would never forgive himself.
Walker might not survive.
You were all Willa had left.
At some point, exhaustion pulled you under.
You fell asleep on top of the covers, clutching the pillow like a life preserver.
You woke to the sound of Willa babbling. You’d actually slept later than her for once, and the disorientation hit immediately.
Dean hadn’t come to bed. That didn’t surprise you—but it still hurt.
After a quick diaper change, you carried your messy-haired toddler downstairs. You expected to find Dean passed out in the living room, but the space was empty—aside from an abandoned glass on the table beside the armchair he’d been sitting in.
A hollow feeling settled in your chest.
You set Willa in her high chair with a small bowl of cereal, then reached for your phone, hoping for an update on Walker.
One missed call.
Bobby
You didn’t bother with the voicemail—you knew it would be short, vague, and not nearly enough.
You hit redial, your fingers tight around the phone as you waited.
“Hey, kiddo,” Bobby answered. “I’ll let you talk to the vet.”
A brief pause.
It felt heavier than it should have.
“Hi, Y/N, I’m Dr. Green. I’m taking care of Walker—”
“Hi—yes, is he okay?” You kept your voice as steady as possible with Willa right there.
“He made it through the night, which is a good sign. We had to operate to repair a lacerated spleen—that was the most urgent issue.”
Your chest tightened.
Your fearless dog—broken—and it was your fault.
“We’re monitoring him for a few hours, and then we’ll need to operate again to repair a break in his hind leg with pins. He’ll likely need an external stabilizer for several weeks, but with proper rest, we expect a full recovery.”
Relief and dread tangled together in your chest.
“Is he in pain?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.
“We’ve got his pain well managed,” the vet assured you. “It’ll be a tough recovery—especially at his age—but he’s a strong pup.”
“Can we come see him?” you asked. “Before the next surgery… just in case…”
“That should be fine. We’re planning to operate again in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be there soon,” you said, ending the call.
You stood there for a moment, phone still in your hand.
There was one more thing you needed to do before you left.
After getting Willa cleaned up and dressed, you packed your bags. You wouldn’t be coming back to Bobby’s after visiting Walker.
Looking for Dean to let him know you were leaving, you found the door to the basement ajar.
You froze, feeling panic creeping up your neck and sending your senses into overdrive.
So many things you had planned to say to Sam, loaded like a bullet in the chamber. You were ready to say goodbye. Ready to let him go forever.
You slowly paced towards the top of the stairs, gazing down into the abyss.
Quiet conversations you couldn’t understand.
Your pulse hammering, you tiptoed down the stairs, eying your surroundings as you descended.
You found Dean and Cas, having a hushed conversation next to the panic room, the door wide open.
“If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright.” Cas glared before brushing past Dean.
“…Dean?”
He quickly spun around to face you, finding you wide eyed with your arms wrapped protectively around yourself.
He looked tired, wearing the same red flannel, jeans, and boots you had seen him in last night. His stubble was thicker and his eyes more sunken than you had seen in a long time.
His expression didn’t soften the way it normally did when he saw you.
“I guess…Death got Sam’s soul out of the Cage…”
You raised your eyebrows and shifted.
“Is he—is he okay?”
Dean gazed towards the panic room.
“I’m not sure yet. He’s out cold. But he’s alive.”
You cautiously stepped into the panic room, finding Sam shackled to the bed with an IV in his arm. He looked like he was sleeping, his face was softer than you had seen it since he “returned”.
Part of you was afraid to move, waiting for him to wake up and be the same monster he was last night. So badly you wanted to reach out and touch him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.
You couldn’t afford to have hope again.
Hope was breakable.
Hope was a dangerous thing for a woman like you to have.
You did your best to remember Sam like this. Safe and innocent. Turning around and leaving, Dean stopped you before you walked up the stairs.
“Death built a wall in his mind. If he…wakes up—he shouldn’t remember his time in Hell. I don’t know if he’ll remember any of this.”
A gentle nod was all you could answer with before walking up the stairs, leaving this behind you.
Dean followed you, silently begging you to say something. He stops in the living room seeing your bags by the door. You were bundling Willa up and shrugging your own jacket on.
“Where are you going?” Dean was feeling frantic and doing his best to keep his composure.
“We’re going to visit Walker at the hospital—”
He had almost forgotten, still overwhelmed by the recent chain of events.
“—and then we’re going home, Dean.”
His face fell and he frowned, walking towards you.
“What–why?”
“I can’t do this. Sam needs you now, and I can’t trust him. Not around my daughter–I can’t even trust him around our dog.” You hesitated for a moment, thinking back to the morning Sam showed up, the way he dehumanized you. “After he…I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe around him.”
Before he could question you further, you gathered your bags in one hand and Willa in the other and stepped out into the chilly morning.
Pulling up to the clinic that was set behind an old ranch house, surrounded by farm buildings and pasture, you saw Bobby’s truck parked out front. You rang the buzzer, Willa perched on your hip, and you were greeted by an older woman. Her hair was pinned back in a messy bun and she wore a button up shirt that bore the evidence of her labor–plenty of dirt and animal fur.
“You must be Y/N, come on in,” she smiled and shook your hand, guiding you inside. Bobby was lounging in the empty waiting room with his feet up, thumbing through an old magazine.
“He’s right back here.”
She guided you to the ICU kennels, where Walker was lounging on a comfy dog bed, hooked up to IVs. His belly was shaved and stitched up with a surgical cone around his neck to keep him from licking at his incisions.
He didn’t notice you at first until he heard Willa squeal at the sight of her best friend. His head perked up immediately and his tail wagged gently.
“That’s the most active I’ve seen him since he got here,” Dr. Green chirped.
You set Willa down, and immediately gave Walker some gentle head pats, scratching his favorite spot between his ears and planting kisses on his face.
“You’re such a good boy. So brave.” He returned the affection with some wet kisses.
“Be careful, Willa, Walker is hurt…” Willa seemed to understand his condition. She pet his face gently and mimicked your behavior, giving him gentle kisses and pats on his head.
“We’re gonna prep him for surgery now. I’ll give you a call when he’s up,” she said, shooting you a confident smile.
“Um…how much are you thinking, in terms of payment?” You scooped Willa up again, nervously shifting on your feet.
“Me and Bobby go way back. He saved me thousands of dollars in livestock by taking care of some weird critters nearby. Consider it a wash.”
You thanked her profusely–eternally grateful to Bobby and Dr. Green for helping save Walker.
Before you left, Willa offered her stuffed puppy to Dr. Green babbling “Walker”.
She laughed and accepted the toy, “Is this for Walker?”
Willa giggled and tucked her face against your neck.
“Maybe for him to cuddle after surgery…as long as he doesn’t destroy it,” you laughed, mostly serious. Plushies didn’t survive long at your home.
Dr. Green informed you that as long as there weren’t any complications after his surgery, Walker should be able to come home in a couple days. You thanked her again, said your goodbyes to Bobby, and piled back into the car to drive home.
Dean’s heart was torn when he watched you drive away from Bobby’s that morning. You were right—Sam needed someone he knew and trusted to be there when, or if, he woke up.
Something seemed off in the way you said goodbye that morning. Like you weren’t just going home—you were leaving. He didn’t have the mental capacity to dwell at that moment. He had been awake for nearly three days.
All he could do now was wait and see if Sam woke up.
A/n: Chapter 8 is already in the works, I hated how I had to end this chapter.
Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist:
@ambiguous-avery , @insensiblelimerence , @mrs-cactus69 , @samiwinchester444 , @staley83, @little-rose-universe
