sidekick in a hero world

Succession Masterlist

I got my first *adult*, *on my v own*, *by myself*, *only name on the lease* apartment!!!! 😱

Sam's Twin × Andy Gallagher Aesthetic

Imagine being Sam's twin with abilities of your own: Pt. 5

Your phone begins to buzz. You let it ring. Once, twice, before you worry.

"Y/n?" It's not Deans voice. All the anger rushes out of your body. You picture him beside you. What he'd be wearing, what he'd be doing. Imagining how close your hands are to one another. You say his name, wondering if it's really him. The fantasy ends. All you can see, all you remember, are the claw marks in his chest. The blood ran from the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth. He smiles at you, and his mouth is full of red. A gaping wound. He chokes on it, gurgling. He's trying to talk to you, to say something, but that's all that comes out. Over the phone, he says your name again. He sounds like he's smiling. "I miss you."

You can hear your own voice. It's alien. It's apologizing. Over and over. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. It's the first time you've cried for him after you died. Hysterical. Inconsolable. Like a child. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve to die there. You didn't deserve to die at all. You're screaming into the phone, fists balled, every emotion you've kept bottled up pouring out of you. It's too heavy to hold. The glass is too thin. Andy is gone, and you can't help yourself.

You fall apart.

He tries to console you. He makes his jokes. He laughs like he used to. You missed him. You missed this. Before you know it, you're telling him about the fight. About Dean's deal that saved you and Sammy. He tells you it would be easy. So easy. To be with him, to come to him. You know this isn't really Andy. You know that this demon has been plaguing this town. The dead wife, the dead mother, even your own father was calling Dean. Now Andy.

He's begging you. Please, please. It'd be so easy. You know it would be. You can feel something in you start to stir at the thought. You'd be gone. Gone for good. To disappear and never come back. It's just another demon, but maybe there's some truth to it. Maybe you'd see him again. Maybe you wouldn't have to feel like this anymore. "Y/n, are you still there?" He's crying now. You never heard Andy cry, not even when he was dying. It crushes you.

"I'm sorry," You say again. "I can't. I love you, but I can't."

"Where were you?" Bruises blossom across their skin, the two of them. Your brothers take note of your bloodshot eyes, but they don't say a thing. You shrug. You wait for the phone to ring again. You will it to. It won't, though. Sammy took care of the demon. He took care of everything. You and Dean, you lived in the past for a little while. Sam let you. Foolish. Naive. It wasn't Andy. It wasn't Dad. But you could pretend.

Imagine being Sam's twin with abilities of your own: Pt. 4

"Another nightmare?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Every agonizing second of it. Every claw mark inside you, tearing you to shreds. Sam didn't remember dying. Those moments you bled out were burned into your memory. Sometimes, you wondered if she left something in you. If there was something still torn up, carved into you. You wondered if you came back wrong. You could feel it in your back, your spinal chord. She'd toyed with it, plucked it from you and snapped it into pieces. You can still taste the blood in your mouth, choking on it. Every night since you've died, you die and die and die again. Every time you close your eyes, you relive that day. You and Andy and Ava. In that room. In that house. And every fucking time, every time, you end up dead. No matter what you do or say or think. It's inevitable. You wake up gasping for air. You wake up grasping for him.

"Do you wanna talk about Andy?" Sam saw the way you were over his body. The crying. The way you held him. That day, the way you looked at one another, constantly stealing glances and sharing jokes. There was more going on than they expected. When he told Dean, he couldn't believe it. You haven't brought him up, though. You haven't said a word about that day. He figured it was better to talk about it than bottle it up inside. You accused him of being a hypocrite. He shut down when Jess died. Why couldn't you? You said that Andy meant nothing, desperate to end the conversation from either one of them. Whatever you had or did or wanted, it was nothing. It killed you to say that, knowing somewhere he could hear you, but it was easier than facing it. It was easier than reminding yourself about the phone calls you used to have, the way he grabbed your hand, and how set he was on protecting you.

"Please, Sammy." You beg but don't have the energy to finish. He starts to say something else but decides to drop it. He knows he should keep asking and keep pushing, but he doesn't. You finally had your family back. The two of you are waiting in the car while Dean got to have a little fun. One year, that's how long he got for both of your lives. One year for Sam to figure out how to make it stop, to save him. He didn't want to waste it fighting with you. Dying did something to you, though. It made you colder. Harder. Quieter.

"Sometimes dead is better." You say finally, your head pressed against the window. You draw little circles into the condensation. A silence settles over the impala. Pet Sematary. You never thought you'd have anything in common with that stupid cat. You weren't mad at Dean for bringing you back. You were his kids, his twins, after all. His goal in life was to protect you. The two of you dying on the same day? That was just bad luck. But a very small piece of you, too small to name, wishes he hadn't. That piece wonders about the peace you felt after the agony. It wishes you could feel it again, if only for a few seconds.

It wishes he'd let you rest.

Bobby said you were grieving, yourself and Andy, caught in the depression stage. You thought it was bullshit. Sam wasn't so skeptical. He was so grateful to be alive, he couldn't believe what you were saying. Maybe they needed to get you help, real help. Maybe you needed to talk to someone. Dean was busy living his life to the fullest, but you? It's like you wanted to stay dead. It didn't make any sense to him.

Imagine being Sam's twin with abilities of your own: Pt. 3

"Gay porn. All hours of the day."

You're the only one who seems to find this funny. Sam gives you a look, the others do, too. Jake and Lily, they're both too serious for their own good. Angry. At least there was a little entertainment. Andy just smiles at you. You and him bonded the last time you saw one another. Being a twin freaked him out. You reminded him it wasn't all that bad, even if Webber had been evil. You two got along. He was weird, but so were you. He made you laugh. He lightened even the most dire situations. Andy was proof. Proof you guys weren't all that bad. That you wouldn't turn out bad. You knew, in some ways, he was a comfort to Sammy. He was to you, too.

You texted from time to time, even called one another when you could get away from your brothers. It was nice. Someone who understood without lecturing you. Mostly, though, he made you laugh. He couldn't send you thoughts. It didn't work on other people with abilities, so you mostly messed with Dean and only when he was sleeping. He always complained of weird dreams afterward. You told Andy about your ghosts, even about Gordon, all the things you couldn't tell anyone else. He liked listening. Made a lot of jokes, too. You kept these conversations secret. It was easier that way. Even now, it seemed like you gravitated towards one another. Sam was there, taking charge, but it was Andy you took comfort in.

You two stuck by each other. Both Sam and Dean had made fun of you, how he liked you so much. You told them he was just being friendly, like that with everyone, but you hoped, secretly, they were right. When Ava went missing, you followed him across the salt line, hand in hand. It wasn't the right time, and you and him weren't kids anymore, but it still made you giddy. You didn't talk about it, he just grabbed you and you grabbed back. Sam and Jake went searching outside. That left the two of you.

"Ava, we were calling for you. Where were you?" It's like she didn't even hear you. She turned around, looking at you both. Andy takes a step in front of you, letting go of your hand. It came through the window in a cloud of black. Her nails are long and she uses them to slice through him. Butcher him. You can't move or scream or do anything. All you can do is watch. When she's done, she disappears, leaving you and Ava staring at one another. That's when you regain your senses. You try to put pressure on his wounds, trying to talk to him, but he doesn't respond. The cuts, they're too deep. You're covered in his blood. The whole room is. Ava stands over you, your cries hysterical, deciding what to do with you. In the end, she makes her decision.

You can't leave him, you can't. You know she'll kill you if you don't. You apologize to Andy, his body, over and over, but it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel real. She moves towards you, another cloud forming beside her. You don't pray. You've never prayed. But this time you do. You hold Andy, and you pray. Pray that it will be painless. Pray for Sammy and Dean, and Bobby, who loved you like you were his own. You pray for Lily and Andy, who didn't deserve to die in a place like this. Mostly though, you say that you're sorry. For everything. You beg for forgiveness with your final breath.

It isn't as painful as you thought. She tears into your spinal chord, into your insides, and all you can do is cry. When Sammy finds you, he takes notice of two heartbreaking things: the way you're holding Andy, shielding him, and the tear stains down your cheeks. You died protecting his body.

You died scared.

Imagine your brothers Sam and Dean hearing you sing at a bar for the first time:

"Y/n's drunk."

"Probably." The two smile at one another. Your voice was steady, strong despite the alcohol. They weren't at all surprised by this. You were constantly singing or humming. In the car, in the shower, making up little songs to annoy them both. They knew you wrote songs, too. You never shared them with anyone. It was, in a way, your own journal similar to John's. The boys had no idea you were doing this, though. A bar full of people and you stood holding the microphone, completely unafraid.

"They used to do this when you were kids." Dean smiled. You would put on little shows for him and Sammy. You'd hold a fork or a hairbrush and belt out whatever song you were obsessed with. The ones you made up were the best. His personal favorites were "Sammy Sucks" and "Daddys Been Gone Forever" and even "Dean Loves Pie." All of them were classics. Everyone in the bar had ceased their conversations, turning their attentions to you.

"I don't think those songs count."

Imagine Dean realizing you're dead when the Jinn shows him a life where your mother lived:

"I can't call them, their number. It's gone."

"This isn't funny." A flash of something familiar takes over Sam's expression. He looked like himself again, like Sammy. It was grief. Grief and anger and hurt. Dean felt a knot in his stomach. You were at school, too. Somewhere far from him and mom and everyone. You were studying and partying and trying not to get into too much trouble. Right? You were free from the life he lived. You were free from monsters and creatures and all the horrible things you saw and did. Right? "You must be drunk."

"Sammy, please." He grabs Sam's wrist, stopping him from leaving. He needed to hear it. Sam needed to say it. He wouldn't believe it if it came from mom or Jess or anyone. It had to be him. You weren't a carefree college kid like you were supposed to be. You weren't worried about finals or hookups or papers or beer pong. Those pictures on the shelf, you stopped being in them when you were all teenagers. There was no high school graduation. There wasn't anything. He hadn't thought about it until now, the realization taking the air from his lungs.

"They're dead, Dean. You, of all people, should remember."

Imagine Ellen calling Sam and Dean after your family is killed: Pt. 2

"Dean, this isn't right."

"Then you can go wait in the car." The motel door swing open for him. Sam wanted to talk to you to ask all their burning questions, but Dean made them stay in the car. They followed you all over town. Your whole demeanor was off. They could sense it just from watching you. When you left, they assumed, for a hunt or for the bar, they found their way back to your room. "If you want to help y/n, you can start over there." He pointed towards the map hung on the wall, marked in your familiar handwriting. Dean went right for your bag.

"This is crazy." Sam muttered to himself but moved anyways. There were different things for different pen colors. He didn't like what red meant. Black were sightings, blue were suspects, red was the bodies. Other families. Families who'd been out of the game for generations. Good people who gave up the life. An x on each of their houses, including yours, which no longer existed. Headlines about them, but they were all wrong, putting blame on one person in the family rather than an outside attacker. Dad's mostly, some mothers. He wondered if the media would have blamed you. . . "Dean, let's get out of here."

"One second." All Dean found were clothes. Clothes and pictures. Of your parents, your brothers and sisters, your baby. He couldn't stop looking at one. Someone else must've taken it. It was one of the few you were in. You held two pudgy baby hands in your own, helping them stand beside you. Their diaper was bigger than they were, all gummy smiles. You two had the same squint when you smiled, as if you couldn't contain it. He got why you kept them, why it was the only keepsake you seemed to have held on to.

"Dean-" Sam starts, but the cock of a shotgun stops him. Dean freezes, pictures still in hand, watching Sam turn around, arms raised above his head. He looks relieved, though. He's about to say something when a voice stops him. Hoarse, scratchy, as if it hasn't been used in a while.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Being Sam's Twin With Your Own Abilities Would Include: Part 2 (Part 1)

A/N: I just love this character 💕

Imagine Ellen calling Sam and Dean after your family is killed: Pt. 1

"Y/n didn't tell us."

"Dean, they're not - it's not good." Ellen wasn't scared of a lot of things, but you spooked her pretty good. You showed up a few weeks ago. She'd known you since you were a kid, and your family were regulars. This time, though, something was different. Off. A large scar ran across the middle of your neck, deep and thick and shiny. You passed notes, refusing to talk. When she tried to converse with you, she was met with cold looks or thousand yard stares. You'd disappear for days and come back covered in blood and dirt, and god knows what else. A few times, you came back hurt but refused to be touched. If anyone came near you, you'd scare them off. One morning, while you were gone, she overheard what happened.

"We're on our way." When she told him, Dean's stomach sank. It was three months ago. Everyone came to visit, celebrating your toddlers' third birthday. You were finally settled down in a new house. The thought of going back to hunting hadn't even crossed your mind. It had been years since you were active. But your parents and siblings were. That was enough of a reason for them. You tried to fight them off, you really did, but there were too many of them. They were too strong. The screaming, the begging, the blood. You tried to bargain your life for your child's. They wouldn't listen. One by one, until it was your turn. You weren't supposed to survive. You were okay with dying. Relieved, even. But a neighbor called for help, concerned about the yelling, and they made it in time to save you.

"Don't tell them I called you." Ellen looks around the empty bar. There was no funeral, no wake, just a series of empty coffins. You salted and burned the bodies. You didn't want them coming back and suffering more than they had to. The house burned with them. Since then, you've been trying to track them. Ash has been helping you. He knew better than to joke around with you like he did others. Truthfully, you made him queasy. Your parents, your siblings, and your baby. An entire family murdered. The thought made Dean sick. Word would have spread quickly through the hunters, but you weren't saying anything. You didn't want anyone's help or sympathies. You wanted those monsters dead.

"What kind of thing would do this?" Dean heard you got out, they all had. He felt oddly sentimental about that: getting out for a better life for your kid, doing what none of your parents had. It gave him hope this life wasn't endgame. That was all gone now. He had a terrible feeling if they couldn't get through to you, this would be the last thing you ever did. Your brothers and sisters were all older. So, you became friends with Sammy. Dean babysat a few times while the rest of them were out. You were always sweet, even a little soft. You were afraid of your own shadow. Cried over lost dogs and insects with missing legs or bent wings. He wasn't the only one who worried you weren't made out for this life. That person was dead now, though.

"That's the problem. It was hunters."

Being Sam's twin with abilities of your own: aesthetic

Imagine pretending to be married to Dean:

"Y/n-"

"There you are, honey." You smile, sliding beside Dean, placing a hand on his chest. It takes him a second to realize what you're doing and what he should be doing. Only a second, though. His arm wraps around your waist, a smirk on his face. He liked the attention. "I was just telling. . . ?"

"Matt."

"Right. I was just telling Matt all about you." Your eyes are pleading, begging at this point. Dean hadn't noticed Matt when you walked in, though he'd been a little busy scoping out the place for himself. He didn't look like a creep, but he must've done something to freak you out so much you were clinging to him. "About our wedding?"

"The happiest day of my life." Dean beams, never skipping a beat. He puts his hand on your ass, something you'll deal with later, and Matt sees. They were like cavemen. One gave up when he realized you were already spoken for. You two talk more about this wedding (small) and the honeymoon (extravagant) and even about the house you were looking at (modest) before Matt got the message and backed off.

"If you don't take your hand off my ass, I'll cut it off myself."

Imagine pretending to be married to Sam:

"This is Sam, my husband."

You didn't tell Sam this was the plan. In towns like this, as religious as they were, it was easier to be a married couple getting a motel room than two single people. They asked too many questions. Without thinking, he puts his arm around you, emphasizing your relationship. He starts smiling like an idiot, even blushing, though you're more concerned with the man at the desk. He looked you both up and down before finally sliding the key towards you, wishing you both a good night.

"What was that all about?" He's almost giggly. You and Sam, you weren't anything. Your relationship was complicated, a constant will they, won't they. You both liked one another, but it was never the right time. It was never the right situation. Dean made plenty of jokes at Sam's expense about it, but he never wanted to make the first move because Dean, of all people, told him to. Being your anything made his heart skip a beat. Like he was on cloud nine.

"You didn't like it?" You smile. You let yourself inside, throwing your bag down. You liked Sam. Maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was better to keep it just as things were. You'd always been close to Sam. You bonded over similar interests, over hunts, over annoying Dean, but also school and art and books. Sam had always felt a little different than everyone else. From his dad and Dean, from other hunters. You made him feel less alone. Understood in a way he never felt before. You couldn't risk this friendship, this bond, could you?

"I didn't say that."

Imagine being Sam's twin with abilities of your own: Pt. 2

"You okay?"

"Dean," He starts, but he's not sure how to finish. He checks behind them, making sure you're still there, making sure you're still asleep. Safe. "Dean, it's y/n." Just thinking about it made his stomach sink. Dean wants to physically shake more information out of him, but with these things, he had to let you and Sam say it in your own time. "I don't know where or, or when, but I think someone's coming after them."

"Who?"

"Hunters." He saw you in the woods, yelling for someone to wait for you. It wasn't one of your ghosts. He could see them. You couldn't tell between the dead and the living, somehow they knew. They were using it against you. It was dark, but he couldn't tell if it was early morning or late at night. You trip over a tree root and land hard in a clearing. That's when they come out. Hunters like them, like you. He didn't recognize any of them, thankfully, but that made it harder to track them. Only a handful of people knew about what you and Sam could do. You finally admitted it to Ellen at her bar. Anyone could have overheard, though. Anyone who couldn't see the line between human and creature.

"What do we do?" They surround you, all of them with their weapons drawn. There's a scream for him and Dean, and that's when it ends. He was glad he didn't have to see what happened next, but he had a terrible feeling neither him nor Dean were anywhere near those woods. Dean feels sick all of a sudden, questioning if he should pull over just to throw up. He's made jokes about you and Sammy being his freak little siblings, and even admitted to Andy that he was scared you'd turn out like the others, but he never imagined that he'd have to worry about any of the people he respected and worked with. You weren't evil. There was nothing to fear. So why would they trick you? Why would they want you dead?

"I don't know."

Imagine finally seeing your brothers Sam and Dean after you went "missing": Pt. 2

"He doesn't mean it."

Little Sammy, always sticking up for your idiot brother. He follows you through the parking lot, towards the bar at the other end of the road. Dean lost it on you. Called you a coward, a snake, a traitor. You left them without warning. You left them, and you still won't tell them what happened. Instead, you give him attitude. He wanted you out, so you left. Not before Sammy could follow, wearing the same heartbroken look he wore as a kid when you and John fought. "Y/n, he's just upset. He's happy to see you. I am, too."

"It's okay, Sam, just go back." You shouldn't have come. You shouldn't have found them. You were better off alone. With your backpack on, you push through the bar doors, feeling everyone's eyes on you. Sam was a mess, covered in dirt and blood from a hunt. You looked like you did it to him. "Please, Sammy, it was a mistake." He can hear the crack in your voice. This wasn't going to be some big family reunion, you knew that, but you weren't expecting this. Anger, yes. There was always anger. But couldn't he understand, Dean of all people? The things you did, the things you saw, you couldn't put it into words. You couldn't vocalize it all. Years worth of hunts and friends and loss and hurting. You wanted to pretend, for a little while, that things were okay. Back to normal.

"I'm sorry y/n." You sat at the bar and ordered a drink, Sam, taking his place next to you. You caught him staring at your scars. In your hands and wrists, your cheeks. Down your back, your legs, and torso. It was so much worse underneath. The things you hunted, the things that wanted you dead, wanted you to pay for it first. Beg for your life. They had their own families and packs that were taken out by John or your brothers. So they blamed you. You couldn't escape them even if you tried. So, you learned. You got better. They hunted you, and you bit back.

"I know you are."

Imagine Dean keeping a spare pair of glasses in his car just for you:

Fuck.

You kept thinking it over and over again. The frame was broken, and the lenses cracked. This wasn't like last time where you could tape them together and suffer the consequences through Dean's jokes. They were done for. Dead. You climbed in the back of the car, glasses between your thighs. It wasn't too bad. You'd find some place to get them fixed or, if it was cheaper, get a new pair altogether. Still, you were miles from any town and you hated not being able to see. Shadows looked like ghosts, things in the road reminded you of demons. It was bad enough as it was, but ever since you became a hunter it's been progressively worse. Dean unceremoniously hands you a pair of glasses, not even taking his eyes off the front windshield, the exact ones that were sitting on your lap.

"Where did you get this?" You put them on. The correct prescription and everything. You could have hugged him you were so relieved. Dean had always made a fuss about your glasses. Jokes mostly, but sometimes you sensed he was being at least a little bit serious. You knew that it got in the way sometimes, made things more difficult when they broke or simply fell off, but you were getting better. They only needed to be replaced once, maybe twice, a year. You'd fix them and make them last as long as possible.

"I had a pair made last time they broke." He says it like it's nothing. To him, it is. He's not sure why he never told you. Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise. Maybe he just forgot. Either way, it really was no big deal. They'd been collecting dust in the impala. Every so often he checked to see if they were still in one piece, but it was the look on your face that reminded him he even had them. Now you were beaming, relieved, trying to hide just how big your smile was.

"Thanks Dean."