what were you doing while i was working

goslingverse (ryland grace/colt seavers/holland march)

supernatural

criminal minds

marvel (not caught up on multiverse)

brooklyn 99

daredevil (not caught up on born again)

i don't have a writing schedule. if i feel inspired, i write :)

masterlist is always updated right after i post a fic

i will not write nsfw ever - i might do some suggestive dialogue at most, but this blog is strictly sfw

i will not rp or discuss tickling in a sexual capacity

feel free to send asks! i'm always up for a chat :) headcanons and fic suggestions welcome, but i don't promise that it'll always get written (i've never worked on fic requests before, so unsure how to do it)

///

"Can you stop that?" Dean looked at you from under his brows. "It's setting my teeth on edge."

You adjusted your grip on your pen to stop yourself from tapping it against the table. The two of you caught eyes briefly, Dean likely just making sure you listened to him, ready to argue if you decided to be annoying. You weren't in the mood to antagonise, though.

You had a song stuck in your head. And you couldn't tell what it was.

You frowned deeply, trying to force your mind to supply you with any sliver of melody. Your leg bounced the harder you focused.

Slowly, a piece of lyrics formed in your brain.

"What's that song that goes-" you spoke up, disturbing the dead of the late night. "Something-something…'ooh I wanna take ya'?"

Silence.

Dean looked up to the ceiling, and you weren't sure if he was trying to find an answer to your question or sending a silent prayer for the heavens to save him. Sam sat quietly in his seat, but his eyes flickered across the room as he thought.

"And then I think it lists some places." You continued. "And then goes 'come on pretty mama'."

Sam frowned, looking to you. "Kokomo?"

"Yes!" You snapped your fingers and pointed at him triumphantly. You dropped back against your chair heavily. "God, it was driving me crazy."

"Since when do you listen to The Beach Boys?" Sam teased.

"I don't." You groaned. "It was in that stupid commercial."

"You watch too much TV." Dean chimed in, marking something on a newspaper clipping.

"Says you." You shot back. "Besides, I was waiting for the news."

"Now I know you're lying." Dean straightened in his seat. "You don't watch the news."

"I do when we're looking for information on that missing guy." You waved your hand. "What's-his-face - Todd?"

"Tim."

"Tim, then."

"I'm not sure that they'd say anything about killer dolls on the news." Sam chimed in.

"Well, maybe not the dolls." You agreed. "But I was expecting some kind of a search party annoucement, at least."

"There wasn't one?" Sam frowned, and the brothers exchanged a look when you shook your head. "Maybe we should try going to that charity, after all."

"It's worth trying." Dean sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms. He looked to you with a smirk forming across his mouth. "Ready to be an upstanding citizen?"

"You are not making me wear that sweater." You snapped.

Dean had, unfortunately, fixated on the idea of getting yout to wear and old, shabby sweater he saw at a yard sale. You had objected vehemently, storming off before he could start arguing. When the three of you got back to the motel room, Dean had revealed the sweater from his duffel bag. Apparently, it had cost him a whole quarter.

"The color goes so well with your skin." Dean grinned impishly.

"It's puce." You informed him, as if he was dumb. "It looks like boiled salmon."

"That's two different colors technically." Sam said, then dropped his gaze down to his book when you glared at him, hiding a smile.

"Don't tell me you're in on this." You said to him.

"I'm just saying." Sam avoided the question. "Get your colors right."

"Yeah," Dean drawled. "Get your colors right."

"I'm not wearing the sweater." You reiterated, turning back to your book.

@

You tugged at the collar of your sweater, trying to get it away from your neck.

"Quit doing that." Sam admonished from next to you. "You'll stretch out the fabric."

"It's itchy." You hissed. "And it's already stretched."

"You'll make it worse."

"Doubt it." You muttered. "Nothing could possibly make this sweater worse."

"Here." A paper plate appeared in your field of vision. "Focus on the free food."

You took the plate from him, examining its contents; hot dog with too much ketchup (exactly how you liked it), mac and cheese, and something that looked suspiciously like coleslaw.

"Is that coleslaw?" You wrinkled your nose, pointing.

"You need vegetables." Sam replied, pressing a plastic fork into your hand.

You rolled your eyes, maneouvering your fork so you could grab at the hot dog. Ketchup dripped between your fingers.

"Where do you think Dean is?" You asked around a mouthful of bun, scanning the park.

Sam shrugged, swallowing his lemonade. "Let's give him a few more minutes."

You grumbled, but didn't form a whole reply, focusing instead on people watching.

It wasn't a big crowd, but siezable enough. Mostly older folks, a handful of young children - which you suspected as grandkids - and a small group of college-age people. Those seemed to mostly be sticking together, speaking in low tones, casting occasional glances around them. You thought you saw a flash of Dean's leather jacket heading towards them.

"Are you humming Kokomo?" Sam asked, incredulous. You froze, fork halfway up to your mouth. You didn't even realise you were doing it, but now that he's made you aware of it - the lyrics swirled through your mind again.

"It's stuck in my head." You said simply, shovelling mac and cheese into your mouth.

Sam scoffed, but he sounded amused rather than annoyed. You thought you heard him mutter something that sounded like 'you're ridiculous'. You smirked, still looking out among the crowd.

"'Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna tak-'" You sing-songed.

"Don't." Sam cut you off. "You'll infect me."

You snickered.

Dean emerged, weaving his way through running children.

"Please tell me you got something and we can leave." You said to him before he could open his mouth.

"Yeah, I got somethin'." He said, grinning. "And, can I just say, you look lovely in your sweater."

"I look like a naked molerat." You seethed.

"Yes, but think of how wholesome you look." Dean waved a hand up-down over your body. "Real Christian-Southern-Belle of you."

"Let's go so I can burn it behind a dumpster." You glared. Sam rubbed his hand between your shoulder blades to soothe you. You pretended it didn't work.

"Come on." Dean made a throw-trick with his car keys, catching them again in mid-air. "Let's talk in the car." He walked off without waiting on either of you.

You turned to Sam mouthing 'I'm going to kill him'. He smoothed your hair back with one hand, ushering you to follow Dean with the other.

And still, the words echoed in your skull.

Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go?

@

You heaved, hauling another wooden beam onto your makeshift pyre. You could've sworn you felt something pull worryingly in your lower back.

Pausing, you braced your hands on your lower back, and stretched backwards. Your spine popped like bubble wrap, and you sighed in relief.

You turned back to the next splintered beam, grabbing one end and dragging it across the warehouse floor.

"Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya." You sang quietly to yourself, focused on your task. Nearing the pyre, you shifted the beam onto your shoulder. "To Bermuda, Bahama-"

You lifted, shifted your grip, and launched the beam on top of the pyre. It fell with a satisfying crack, settling on top of the other beams and pieces of plywood.

Dusting off your hands, you cast a look over the room. "- come on pretty mama."

"Are you still on that Kokomo shit?" Dean appeared in the room, holding two metal gerry cans of fuel. You placed your hands on your hips and watched him approach.

"Key Largo, Montego," you continued when he was next to you, leaning in close to him pointedly. "Baby, why don't we go?"

He rolled his eyes dramatically, lowering the cans. "We need to get you an exorcism."

"Did Sam get the bodies?" You ignored his comment.

"He's getting the last of them."

"Great." You said, then turned on your heel. "One sec."

Dean paused where he was leaning forward and unscrewing the cans. You felt his gaze on you as you rummaged in your duffel bag you had left near the back wall. Keeping your hands hidden behind your back, you made your way back to Dean.

"What the hell are you-" Dean asked when you stepped onto the pyre. You reached up to a beam in the middle of the structure, and tied the horrid puce sweater around it.

"It deserves a more painful death." You said, hopping off the pyre. "But this'll have to do."

Dean watched you for an extended moment.

"What?"

"Hm." His eyebrows twitched up, and he resumed his task.

"What?" You demanded.

"Go get Sammy." Dean tilted his head towards the door as he doused the makeshift pyre with fuel. You exhaled sharply through your nose, annoyed that he wouldn't explain what he was thinking. And he knew it annoyed you. You knew he did it on purpose.

"Ooh, I wanna take you down to Kokomo!" You sang as you walked away, making sure to be loud enough for Dean to hear.

@

The door swung open so violently that it slammed into the wall. Faintly, you worried about whether the impact from the door handle left a dent in the wall. Then you remembered the motel had only one star, and besides, you had other things to worry about.

Like the shooting pain coming from your shoulder.

"Get them on the bed." Dean ordered, pointing sharply, then yanking his jacket off.

Sam, arm wrapped around your back securely, the other hand gripping your elbow, guided you to the bed. You perched on the edge gingerly, cradling your useless arm with your opposite hand. Teeth clenched, you breathed through your nose, but couldn't quite get yourself to stop tears welling in your eyes.

Dean appeared in front of you, shooing Sam away to give him space. To his credit, he made sure to look directly into your eyes and waited for your nod before he reached out.

Hands careful but confident, he felt around your shoulder. You tried not to groan at the pain.

"It's dislocated." Dean surmised, pulling his hands back.

"No kidding." You grunted, voice strained, but Dean didn't hold that against you.

"Can you reset it?" Sam piped up from somewhere to your left. You purposely turned your head in the opposite direction from his voice.

"'Course." Dean said, putting his hands back on you. "Easy-peasy."

Knowing from previous instances where he fixed you up that any sort of warning or countdown made things worse for you, Dean didn't give indication for when he would move. He just increased his grip on your shoulder and arm, and then twised and pushed.

You couldn't help the choked off gasp that escaped you, but the relief was immediate, and you felt like you could breathe again. Making sure no tear stains remained on your face, you faced forward, inhaling deeply.

"I'm not gonna go off on you about how stupid you were at the warehouse." Dean informed you, then turned to Sam, but pointed to you. "Deal with them."

Then he was out the door.

You heaved another breath.

You didn't hold it against Dean for being annoyed. It was a stupid move, and you got distracted, and there were consequences. Dean's bristly reaction was just his way of covering up his fear. Once you reassure him you'll do better, all will be forgotten. Maybe quicker if you get him a beer, or something.

"You gotta be more careful." Sam said softly.

"I know." You groaned, rubbing a hand down your face. "I got distracted."

"What happened?"

You peeked at him from between your fingers. "You're not gonna like it."

He frowned, concerned, and leaned forward in the creaky motel chair to rest his elbows on his knees. You dropped your hand into your lap.

"Kokomo."

Sam's face went through a series of emotions; from initial concern, to confustion, to incredulousness, to annoyance, and, finally, exhaustion.

"Seriously?" Was his only question.

"I'm not happy about it either!" You raised your hands in surrender, though there was still a sensitive ache in your left shoulder. "God, I just want it out of my head."

Sam sighed, but nodded. Then, as if suddenly struck with something, his head tilted, eyes flickering around the room.

"What is it?" You asked.

"I have a theory…" Sam mused lightly.

"Oh?"

"For how to make you stop thinking."

You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. "If you're just trying to get in my pants-"

"No, no! Just-" Sam rose, and crossed the room to stand in front of you. "-here."

His fingers slid underneath your arms, and scribbled over the soft material of your longsleeve shirt. It was so unexpected that you folded in on yourself, forehead bumping into Sam's stomach.

"What the-" You choked out. "-hehell is thihis?"

"Distraction." Sam said, and you could tell he was shrugging. "Brain reset. Whatever you wanna call it."

"Ihi'm injuhured!" You protested, hands coming up to grip the sleeves of his flannel.

"I'm being gentle." He murmured. "Am I hurting you?"

He wasn't, was the thing. Your shoulder ached, sure, but he wasn't making it worse. And yet.

"Yehehes!"

"What's hurting?" His fingers slowed, but didn't stop entirely.

"My pride." You complained, twitching this way and that when Sam picked up his pace again.

"You'll live." He said, then asked. "Still thinking about Kokomo?"

"Noho." You shook your head against his stomach, flannel stratching slightly against your forehead.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm suhure!"

Sam listened, regardless of whether he believed you or not, and coaxed your head up gently by cupping both your cheeks in his palms. "I went easy on you because you got injured."

His features shifted into something more mischevious.

"Next time you bring up Kokomo, I won't be so merciful."