#hannahc56

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The day was winding to a close. Your feet ached from being on them all day at work. The life of a reporter in such a small town wasn’t always exciting, but the lack of headline news forced you to work to get the details as quick as they happened. Recently a bunch of people in the town, kids and adults, had gone missing. You’d been working to uncover dirt on the circumstances of the disappearances when it took a personal turn. A few nights ago, your best friend Liz was the newest missing victim. Her face was plastered on every telephone pole and bulletin board in the area. You had already been assigned the case by the time she turned up missing, but you insisted on staying on the project. You’d spent all day interviewing her mom and dad, as well as some of the people that you’d gone to high school with. The black and white picture of her had stained the back of your eyelids and all you could see was her smile whenever you shut your eyes. Mentally, you were drained. 

You shut the front door to your apartment behind you, using all of your self-control to not slide down the back of it in a mess of tears. As you kicked off your shoes, you rubbed at your temples and headed to the living room to gather yourself before making a microwave dinner, your thoughts only focused on the sleep you were in desperate need for. Just as you pulled your hair back in a low pony, headlights flooded through the front window and remained. Your apartment was right off of a busy street, but the way your stomach dropped when the headlights remained stationary gave you the feeling that they were coming for you. 

You walked through your cramped living room to the sheer curtains that hardly blocked out the halogen lights and peered out. A deep rumble filled your ears, before cutting off abruptly along with the lights. You turned and looked at the clock across the room. It’s almost midnight. Who would be coming here now? You crossed the room in a few hurried steps, carefully reaching for the pepper spray that you had hidden in your cabinet for scenarios like this. As your fingers wrapped around the small cylinder tube, the doorbell rang, effectively causing your heart to beat louder in your ears. You took a breath and walked to the door, staring out the peephole. Two men whose heads almost were out of eyesight because they were so tall stood in front of your door. The taller one had shaggy hair and a distinct nose and the other one, who was only a few inches shorter at best, had short spiked hair. Both men were dressed in cheap suits. You leaned away from the door, your mind going a thousand miles a minute. The doorbell rang again and a scream almost escaped your lips. You shook it off and slowly unlocked the door, opening it only a crack. The men, who were both looking away off into the distance, quickly redirected their attention to you, their faces plain and straight.

“Uh, Ms. Y/N?” The taller one leaned a little closer and cleared his throat. You hesitated and looked between the two of them. The shorter one reached down and fished around in his pocket, before pulling out a wallet that revealed a nice shiny badge that read FBI in royal blue letters. The taller man did the same. 

“We just have a few questions for you regarding the disappearance of Elizabeth Freddings.” The shorter one with the spiked hair said, his voice drastically deeper than the other man’s. You stayed where you were and hesitated. You could shut the door on them and tell them to come back another time, and a part of you found that option tempting. But the other part of you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping much because in all honesty, you hadn’t since Liz had been gone. Despite your better judgment, you opened the door and stuck a hand out to them. The taller man gave a kind smile and returned the handshake, then the shorter one, his handshake firm and lingering. You opened the door wide and motioned for them to come in.

“I’m Agent Clapton and this is Agent Harrison,” The taller one, Clapton, said as he stood awkwardly in your small hallway. He was tall, taller than your average height type of tall. But the way he carried himself was far from intimidating and you found yourself letting out a long breath. With everyone disappearing, and your reputation of sticking your nose in everyone’s business, it wasn’t the worst feeling to have two authoritative men with their watchful eye on you for a minute. You slid the pepper spray into your pocket for safe keeping.

“Hi, I’m-” You hesitated before replying, your wheels still turning, “Did you say that you’re Agent ‘Clapton’ and he’s Agent ‘Harrison’?” You eyed them up, a smile crossing your lips, “What, are you gonna tell me your name’s Eric and his is George?” You let a small laugh, your nerves taking over the chuckle that escaped your lips. The men looked at each other nervously, swallowing hard. The smile faded off your face and color rose to your cheeks. “I-I was just kidding,” You turned and walked them to the living room, “You guys just have some ironic names for partners.” You shrugged, trying to play off the tension that was in the air. You motioned for them to sit on the only couch that was in the living room and you walked to the kitchen to grab them glasses of water. “I’m really glad you’re looking into Lizzie,” You yelled from the kitchen as you pulled the cups from the cabinet and filled them with water. 

“Yeah, we asked around and heard the two of you were close,” The one with the deeper voice replied. You put in a few ice cubes and walked back to the living room with their refreshments in hand. Agent Clapton was sitting politely, while Agent Harrison slowly made his way around the room, inspecting the nook and crannies that the room had to offer. You walked up to him and handed him the glass and then the other one to Clapton. They both gave you a small nod of thanks and continued on with their questions. 

“We were the closest - She’s my best friend.” You stated as you leaned on the small arched entryway between the kitchen and living room. You looked down at your hands and tried your hardest to calm your anxious mind. Harrison was looking at you when you moved your gaze back up. 

“Was she acting weird before her disappearance? Or talking to anyone new, that you knew of?” Harrison asked, his eyes in this lighting now a bright green. You shrugged, thinking about the last time the two of you spoke.

“Nope. Nothing like that.” You said simply. Harrison nodded slow as if he was mentally recording it to remind himself of later. Neither of the men were writing notes or taking your direct quotes. Maybe it was different for the FBI. 

“And when was the last time you saw her?” Clapton asked from his spot on the couch.

“I-I think it was 5 days ago or something like that. It was Saturday night, we’d just left this hole in the wall biker bar outside of town. It wasn’t really her thing but, of course, I dragged her along,” You sighed and played with the hem of your shirt, “Anyhow, I got into it with a guy I’d been interviewing at the bar about something on his record I’d dug up on him and she slipped out the door.” You recalled the night, remembering how she texted you her goodbye. “Last I heard from her, she texted me saying she’d gone home and caught a cab back to her house.” You finished as you wiped your clammy hands on your high-waisted work slacks and crossed your arms in front of you, the conversation making you increasingly uncomfortable. I can forget about sleeping tonight. 

“And is that something she’d usually do? Just sneak off and go home by herself?” This time it was Harrison asking. You shrugged lightly.

“I mean, not really? But I also get a little in over my head when I get the ball rolling.” You admitted, “So it’s not that far off that she got tired of waiting and booked it.” 

“What do you mean by getting in over your head? Why were you interviewing him?” Harrison asked, his voice suspicious. 

“I-I’m a journalist,” You put your hands up in the air, “God, I should’ve led with that,” You said more to yourself than to the men in front of you, “Hence the deadbolt on the door and the jumpiness. The guy had run his bike off the road more times than I could count and I’m a naturally curious person, I just had some questions for him.” You informed them. The men looked at one another, silence filling the room. You cleared your throat. “Listen, I had my eyes on that guy the entire night, he’s clean in terms coming in contact with Lizzie. He came nowhere near her, it was just me.” You reassured them. The taller one stood up and straightened his jacket.

“And you’re sure that there wasn’t anything strange?” He inquired, his brows crunching.

“I-I’m not so sure what you mean by strange, I talk to strange people all the time and Lizzie wasn’t anything out of the ordinary as far as I noticed and I could read her like a book.” You replied, trying to satisfy his question.

“Strange as in, weird cold spots or anything that smells like sulfur,” Harrison butted in, now standing next to Clapton, “Just strange.” He stated, as if he asked something as usual as the weather. You looked between them and shook your head slow.

“U-Uh no, nothing sulfurs related.” You answered, your mind starting to turn. Clapton took a small white card out from his pocket and handed it over,

“Alright, well, thank you for your time, if you hear anything please don’t hesitate to reach out, alright?” He offered with a tight-lipped smile. You returned one hesitantly and shook each of their hands. You followed them closely as they walked through the front door and shut it slightly, just enough to see out of. 

You watched as they walked right past the Ford Explorer and the Crown Victoria parked in the lot and slid into the front seat of what looked to be a beautifully kept Chevrolet. An Impala, maybe? They started it up, the engine rumbling to life and surely waking some of the neighbors, as it pulled out and drove off. You could hear the engine’s hum as it drove down the road and out of sight. You closed the door the rest of the way and locked it. No way in hell does a FBI Agent drive a classic car like that.

You turned the lights off and walked to your bedroom, stripping as you made your way to your dresser to change into something to sleep in. Once you were situated, you pulled your laptop out and checked the time. It was past midnight now. So much for sleep. You looked at the card that Clapton had given you that you’d set on the table next to your bed and inspected it. The number looked peculiar, the area code was unfamiliar to you, starting with 785. You popped the code into your browser and “Lebanon, Kansas” came up in large, bold letters. The last time you checked, there weren’t FBI offices running outside of Kansas. Could these be undercover cops? You thought about it. No, that wouldn’t make sense. They still wouldn’t issue a mint condition Impala like that for an undercover case. You grazed over every fact you could think of in your exhausted state. Their cheap suits. The Impala. The late night visit. You sat back in your bed and pushed your laptop off to the side and shut your eyes in an attempt to focus. 

Then it hit you.

They weren’t FBI Agents.

---

Part 2 here.

A few hours had passed and you found yourself eagerly waiting for Daryn to pull into the gravel parking lot of the motel. You had put on a nice pair of jeans, without blood or holes, and a nice black tank top. You’d popped in a pair of earrings you always had sitting in the bottom of your bag that you never got to wear. With a few quick swipes of mascara, you were as dolled up as you were going to get. It wasn’t much, but you felt alright and put together for once and a small part of yourself wish you could do this more often. It was nice to feel pretty every now and then, but your lifestyle didn’t call for a nice manicure or decent clothes. Loud pounding on the door pulled you out of your thoughts, as you took one more look at yourself in the mirror before running to open it. The smile fell off your lips when the door revealed Dean. His face was hard, it was obvious he was in deep thought. When he looked up and saw you, his expression softened. The two of you stood there while he took every inch of you in. A heat rose to your cheeks and you cleared your throat. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked, leaning your arm on the door. Dean’s eyes shot up to yours and he slightly shook his head. 

“I-I just wanted to come and,” he hesitated, licking his lips, “Wish you good luck on your date.” He finished. You rolled your eyes and sighed. 

 “Funny, Dean. See ya.” You turned to shut the door, but his hand sprawled across it. 

“No, I mean it,” He nodded, “I know how much you cared about Daryn, I-I hope that it goes alright.” He said, letting his hand fall away from the door. You stared at him, your brows crunched in confusion of what sort of scheme he was playing at. His eyes darted back and forth between yours as your brain searched for words to string together to respond. When you didn’t say anything, his eyes fell to the ground and he nodded slow. “You look nice.” He said, his lips in a tight smile, “Anyways, have fun.” He finished, before turning and walking away, leaving you standing in the doorway. You blinked, trying to process the words that’d just come from his lips. Your heart felt like a cinder block in your chest. You let your hand fall to the door knob and slowly pushed the door shut. You leaned against it, your mind running a million miles a minute. Across the room from you was a dusty mirror, only your reflection stared back at you. Why was your heart pounding in your chest? Why were you even going on this date? Was this even to be considered a date? Before you could answer any of the questions that rattled around in your mind, a loud knock from behind the door you were leaning against shook you out of the deep consciousness you’d fallen into with a jump. Maybe Dean was back - maybe he was going to tell you not to go, that the two of you would spend the rest of the night tangled up in the scratchy motel sheets, whispering throughout the night, stealing kisses on exposed skin. The thought alone had you ready to bolt out of your room to find him. You turned and opened the door, Dean’s name about to fall off your tongue, when your eyes fell on Daryn. 

His eyes shimmered when he saw you, a smile lighting up his face. Your expression dropped for a moment, before you forced a smile. He pulled a small bouquet of roses from behind his back and flashed his picture perfect grin at you. 

“Daryn, these are beautiful,” You shook your head and accepted the gesture, “You shouldn’t have.” You turned and set them down on the table beside you. He threw a hand up and waved. 

“Hey, it’s the least I could do,” He laughed, as you pulled the door shut, locking it behind you. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you as if he was memorizing every detail of your face. Color rose to your cheeks and you looked down. “You ready?” He asked, your eyes floating up to meet his again. You nodded and followed him as he walked over to his car, a new sporty car that surely was meant to be impressive. He walked with you to the passenger side and held open the door for you as you got in. Right as you sat down, you heard someone call your name from down the motel strip. You looked around, scanning for someone underneath the overhead flicking lights of the walkway until your gaze fell on Dean. He waved a hand at Daryn, who hesitantly waved in return.

“Have her back by midnight alright? Trust me, you don’t wanna see what she looks like when the fairy godmother’s spell wears off.” He laughed, throwing a wink in your direction sarcastically before turning towards the motel room door and walking in. Daryn pulled open the driver side door and slide in the low-riding seat. His eyebrows were crunched in confusion as he looked over at you.

“So, do you guys usually share rooms or?” He trailed off, the awkward tension in the air filling the small cabin quickly. You felt embarrassment rise to your face as you shook your head, trying to laugh it off.

“No, no, most definitely not, he just was probably grabbing something from the room, I guess,” You struggled to string together a sentence and rubbed your hands against your thighs nervously. Daryn let out a strangled laugh and started the car without saying anything more. You looked out your window, silently cursing the older Winchester as your heart fluttered at the thought of the things the two of you did behind locked motel room doors. 

The ride to the bar was mostly quiet, the sound of the radio filling the spaces where neither of you could manage the right words to say. When you pulled up, Daryn escorted you to a booth in the corner. The place was packed. It was loud, lights strobing every second, making it hard for you to make out where you were walking, and you struggled to imagine how fun it would be to actually get drunk in this type of atmosphere. The bass music of the loud rap made your chest rumble and you found yourself yearning for a biker bar, squeezed between the boys at the bar while classic rock played from a jukebox.

“Y/N? Y/N/N?” Daryn said your name and you shook yourself out of your daydream.

“I-I am so sorry, was I spacing out?” You ran a hand through your hair and took a breath, letting out a light laugh, “Long day, you know how it goes.” You gave him a grin. He nodded and waved down the bartender before turning his attention back to you.

“I was just saying how great you looked tonight,” He said, his tone genuine and inviting. You couldn’t fight the smile that rose to your face thinking of the memories the two of you shared.

“Well thank you Daryn,” You tucked the hair behind your ears and leaned forward on the table, “You don’t look half bad yourself.” You beamed at him. Before he could answer, the bartender stepped up and asked for your orders.

“I’ll take a-” You began, but Daryn reached out and laid his hand on top of yours, effectively stopping you in your tracks. 

“I’ll take a beer and the beautiful lady will have a Vodka Cranberry please, extra cranberry.” He told the bartender as she nodded and walked off. A feeling you couldn’t put a name to filled your chest. Was it nostalgia? Or was it disappointment? You flashed him a quick smile. “Not too bad for not seeing you for this long, I still remember your favorite drink.” He laughed, reaching over and grabbing your other hand with his other hand, focusing entirely on you. 

“No, I’m impressed, that was pretty good. I gotta tell you though, I’m more of a whiskey bourbon kinda gal these past few years.” You said, trying not to visibly shiver as the thought of a Long Island Iced Tea hangover. His eyes grew wide for a moment before he let out a breath.

“Wow, you?” He shook his head, “Now that surprises me. You could hardly keep it down when we were younger.” He chuckled, bringing back memories of your high school days, sneaking around drinking your parents alcohol. 

“Well yeah,” You snorted, “We were drinking rubbing alcohol it seemed like, we had the nastiest stuff.” You felt yourself thinking of all the times you’d use a fake ID to get the cheapest vodka you could find, only for it to taste twice as bad the second time later on in the night. 

“Yeah, yeah, that led to some pretty rough nights,” He agreed, squeezing your hands softly, “But also some of the best nights too, you know?” He finished, his voice softening as his expression did. And there it was - that same pang in your chest. The more it happened, the more it began to feel like disappointment seeping through your lungs. He stared at you, his iri’s moving from your E/C eyes to your lips. You nodded and pulled your hands out of his, pretending to scratch the back of your neck. He leaned back in the booth, your mind grasping for things to talk about.

“So, what have you been up to? You were at State College for half the first year then disappeared off the face of the earth, no one knew where you went.” He pried, your heart sinking to the bottom of your chest. God, anything but that question. You cleared your throat and tried to force eye contact, but the topic proved too difficult. 

“T-That’s a very fair question,” You let out a laugh that came out more like a sigh, “I-I just needed some time off, I traveled for a while,” You said slowly, which wasn;t necessarily a lie, “And just needed to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.” You finished, trying to tell him as much of the half truth that was possible without getting too much into the nitty-gritty. It was true, technically. You did travel while hunting monsters with the brothers and you did struggle with what you wanted to do for awhile; keep fighting the good fight or take a stab at the apple pie life. He nodded slow, as if he was ingesting what you were telling him and you prayed he wasn’t overanalyzing it too much. The holes in your story would be too large for him not to notice how it didn’t add up. “Anyways,” You scrambled to try to change the subject, “What made you want to become a ranger? I never would have pegged you for the type.” You asked right as the bartender brought over your drinks. He smiled while looking down the neck of his beer, thinking of his answer. Before he had the chance, you phone rang in your pocket. You struggled to get it out of the small compartment of your tight jeans and threw a hand up to him and he nodded. The phone vibrated as Dean’s name flashed across the screen. Throwing your legs off the side of the booth, you made your way outside to answer. 

“Dean?” You tried, holding the phone to one ear while you pressed a hand over the other. Mumbles came through the other end that sounded like gibberish. “Dean, I can’t hear you, gimme a second.” You said, hoping he could make out your words better than you could of his. As soon as your reached the parlor doors to the outside, you called his name again through the phone. “Okay, sorry about that, what’s up?” You asked, shoving your hand in your pocket.

“Y/N,” Dean said, his voice raw, causing your heart to plummet, “Something’s wrong, you need to get back here,” He coughed, hardly audible on the other end. 

“Dean, talk to me, what’s going on?” You asked, panic rising in your tone.

“J-Just come home,” He wheezed before the line went dead. Your hands shook slightly, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You turned on your heel and ran through the crowd, bumping into people and elbowing your way through them. When you reached Daryn, his soft expression had turned to a look of confusion.

“Daryn, I have to get back, something’s wrong.” You shook your head, trying to settle your hands as Daryn quickly got up from his seat and threw a few bills down next to your untouched drinks. Without making sure he was following, you raced back to the front doors, beelining to his car. When the both of your reached it, you strapped yourself in and he drove off, leaving dust in the rearview. The drive back to the motel felt like it took hours. When you pulled up to the strip, you noticed the Impala still sitting outside and your feet were on the ground before the car was in park. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears, your eyes scanning the surroundings. You noticed your motel room light was on. You turned to Daryn.

“Listen, I really appreciate you taking me out tonight and I-I’m sorry it had to be cut short, but I need to make sure everythings alright.” You rushed through your words while you managed to throw him a smile over your shoulder.

“Y/N, I can stay and make sure- '' He bega, but the thought of what unnatural force could be inflicting pain onto Dean was enough to make you cut his speech off short.

“No, no, I got it under control - I can call you, you still have the same number?” You spoke fast, trying to politely get to your motel room as quickly as possible. Daryn looked at a loss for words. To see him scrambling to try to spend another minute with you made your chest heavy with guilt, but this was Dean at stake. You turned before he could answer and opened the door so quick, you almost hit the wall behind it yourself. You were in fight mode, ready to rip apart whatever was wreaking havoc, ready to patch up Dean if he needed it, a million thoughts going through your head. Taking in the scene in front of you, the breath you had in your lungs slipped from your lips.

The room was dimly lit by dozens of small candles of all different colors and heights. On the table next to you was the beautiful bouquet from Daryn and a simple rose sitting next to it. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, nervously rubbing his hands down his thighs. Your hand fell to your chest as you took a deep breath in.

“Dean,” Your eyes filled with tears that you begged not to slip down your face, “You scared the shit outta me.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. Dean looked down at his hands.

“I-I know, I didn’t know how else to get you to come back,” He said, his voice low. You couldn’t believe the sight before you and you stood still, taking it all in. “Y/N, I should’ve done this a long time ago, but seeing you with Daryn” He said, shaking his head as he looked up at you, “ I couldn’t take it, watching you leave with him.” He stood up and crossed the small room to you, his hands picking up yours and rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand. “I don’t have the fast car and the big bouquet and all that crap - but the way I feel about you,” He struggled to find the words and you knew that all of the effort he’d already put into this gesture was big for him, “What I can offer you is to always be there for you, to always stitch you up, to make sure you’re not alone when you wake up in the mornings - We don’t have to do this stuff alone Y/N and we’re crazy for thinking we had to.” He shook his head and his warm hand cupped your cheek. “I wanna do this with you, I mean it.” He finished, his eyes anxiously looking into yours, waiting for your response. Even in this lighting, his eyes were bright and lively, his nose peppered with the freckles you’ve loved since you noticed them the day you met him. Bringing your hand up to his other cheek, you pulled him in, your lips colliding together as if it were the first time. His other hand found its way to the side of your head and his fingers tangled in your hair as he pulled you in, passion filling your every movement. You pulled away, a few tears making their way down your flush cheeks.

“I would love to Dean,” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his, “I’ve been in love with you since I laid eyes on you.” You smiled, your heart beating loudly at the confessions the two of you were sharing. He leaned back and pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

“God, me too sweetheart.” He mumbled into the kiss, before pulling away and taking in every inch of your face before letting go of your hands and moving to the bed. Out of a small plastic bag, he pulled out a few styrofoam containers. “Got you your favorite,” He spoke as he opened the containers, spreading them around the bed. Two burgers sat in their separate containers with fries, and a few slices of pie in the other. You walked over and sat on the bed with him as he laid the food out and sat next to you. 

“Mhhh, bacon cheeseburger.” You took a deep breath in, the aroma of the greasy food filling the room. He rubbed your back, smiling.

“Extra bacon, the usual.” He laughed, still looking at you. You turned to him and kissed him once more, the feeling of his lips against yours making your heart drop to your toes. When you pulled away, his eyes were still shut, savoring every kiss the two of you shared.

“I am so in love with you, I hope you know.” You whispered, still close to his face. He blinked slow and a lazy grin crossed his features.

“I know.” He replied, his sarcasm causing you to throw your head back and let out a laugh. 

“Good, I’m glad.” You replied, smacking his shoulder. He took a deep breath and looked at the candles around you.

“Now can I blow these out? It’s starting to smell like a friggin’ hallmark movie in here it’s nauseating.” He grumbled, your laugh filling the room as you shook your head at him.You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing as he went around to each of the candles and huffed them out.

You put on the tv and played the first movie that popped up and thought about all of the choices you’ve made in your life that got you to this exact moment. Life with the Winchester boys isn't for everyone. The life you lived was fast and dangerous, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. With Dean’s arms around you, shitty take out food in front of you and a whole life to share with him ahead, you found yourself filled with the sort of peace you didn’t think you’d ever get your hands on. 

----

Holding your eyes open was a chore within itself, but the curiosity in you was fighting to keep you conscious. Your hands were folded in your lap, your wrists were red and irritated as if there had been rope around them. His calloused hands were wrapped under your knees and gripped solidly onto your thigh, holding you up against him. You could feel his arm underneath your back as he walked you throughout the night. You could hear another set of footprints coming from behind him. The tall FBI man walked past you in the other man’s arms, as the bobbing came to a halt. You heard him clear his throat and open and then slam closed what sounded like a trunk lid. You kept your eyes shut, forcing yourself to stay awake to gather as much information as you could. 

“Think she saw anything?” You heard the taller man with the shaggier hair mumble. The man who held you in his arms managed a slight shrug.

“I don’t know,” He said, his deep voice rumbling in the chest your head laid on, “I knew it was her following us, but I didn’t think she was so hot on our tails that she’d follow us in there.” 

“Yeah, well,” The taller man took a breath, “She wants her friend back.” He finished. The men said nothing more as they opened up the car doors and settled you in the back. The shorter man slid in the backset and gently picked your head up to rest on his lap, while the tall man got in the driver seat and fired up the car.

“Sammy, you good to drive?” The man in the backseat with you asked. Sammy. 

“I mean, yeah, but I think she’s alright to leave back there.” Sam answered. The other man hesitated.

“You saw the file on her, Sam. She has no one.” He said, his voice low. Your heart dropped so hard, you worried for a slight second that he may have felt the shift in your chest. “I think the last thing she needs is to be back here, confused and alone, with two strange guys wielding machetes and blood stains.” He finished. Neither of them spoke another word as the car roared into gear and left the mill. 

Your mind was begging you to succumb to the sleep that ached for you to give into it. You needed to stay awake, to listen, to gather as much information as you could. But your eyes were heavy and the thought of sleep was growing to be too warm and welcoming to ignore. As the thought passed your incoherent mind, a calloused hand made it way through your hair, brushing it lightly behind your ear. And before you could muster enough energy to fight it, you fell into a deep, comfortable sleep.

----

You cracked open an eye. Your head pounded as if you’d woken up after a weeks’ long bender. This time, you were in your room again. You sat up quick, the comforter moving off of your chest and landing in your lap. The sudden movement sent a body ache down the length of your back, your muscles sore as if they’d taken a beating. Did you take a beating? You turned and threw the bedding off of you, your feet landing on the floor. Your legs ached and your head felt as if you’d been put through the spin cycle one too many times. You fought the urge to collapse to the ground and leaned on the side of your bed to gather yourself. Footsteps gained momentum down the hallway and you looked up from squinted eyes, your free hand to your head. The fake feds turned the corner, the shorter one walking towards you before stopping in his tracks. You backed up a step.

“Who the fuck,” You tried to sound more threatening than you felt, “Are you guys?” You tried not to wobble on your legs that were beginning to feel increasingly weak underneath you. Sam threw his arms up in defense.

“Listen, Y/N,” He started, but you cut him off.

“And don’t tell me you guys are the feds, alright?” You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut for a second, “I don’t play stupid, I sniffed you out the second you walked in the door with your cheap suits.” You mocked, noticing the shorter one had taken offense.

“Okay, no,” Sam said and cleared his throat, his arms slowly making it back down to his sides, “I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean,” His head nodded in direction to Dean, who gave you a small grin as a hello, “We’re here for the same reason you are, alright? We’re looking for people that have gone missing around the same time as your friend.” The brothers stood next to each other and in the dim light that streamed through your bedroom window, you could see that they were weathered but attractive men. 

“Have you gotten anything?" You questioned, hardly any more at ease that these men were still in your apartment. 

“Uh, not really, no,” Sam said, throwing a look to Dean as he cleared his throat. The air in the room stiffened and the awkwardness was evident in the glare between the brothers.

“I’m sorry, let me ask that again without the bullshit,” You said, your voice wavering slightly. You cringed internally and begged that the weakness in your tone wasn’t obvious to the brothers. After a few moments of hesitation, Dean wiped a hand down his face.

“Okay, you want the no bullshit answer? The answer is that there is a gypsy wagon full of Djinns rolling through your town that is kidnapping people, draining the life outta them and then leaving em’ for dead.” He said, his voice stern and full of an authoritative tone, knowing full well you wouldn’t know what he was getting at. You stood there and stared at the men. 

“Djinn?” You asked, your brows crinkling, ”Djinn.” You took a breath and wiped at your eyes.

“Look, they did a number on you, you should get some rest-” Sam started, but the way your head shot up stopped him in his tracks.

“On me? They got to me?” Your eyes were the size of melons, meanwhile Dean looked as though you were wasting his time. You looked down and noticed the red trail of burns around your wrists and a few inconsistent spots on your arms that indicated fresh bruises. The way your head was swimming began to make sense. “Okay,” You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself as calm as possible, “And how did I get here?” 

“We killed them-” Dean started, his voice as plain and bored as his face.

“Jesus, Dean-'' Sam said exasperated, “Y-Yes, we killed them.” He said, his hands falling at his sides. Dean shot his brother a confused look before turning back to you. “They were going to kill you, Y/N.” Sam said, his tone serious. You connected the dots as you listened to the men talk.

“So, that’s who that woman was; The one that you killed? With the tattoos?” You inferred. Dean nodded.

“Yeah. their tattoos grow when they start to enchant you and their eyes have this-”

“Glow.” You finished his sentence for him. The men stood there, awkwardly. 

“Well, yeah - They glow,” Dean said and shrugged, “You’re handling this pretty okay.” He said, his expression giving away the concern behind his eyes.

“‘You think I’m taking this okay? I mean, I feel like I’m a second away from hitting the floor, but I’m glad you think I am.” You laughed nervously and sat on the edge of the bed. Sam walked out of the room and Dean made his way over to you. He looked down at you as if he was inspecting you. You patted the spot on the bed beside you and to your surprise, he followed. 

“Listen, kid-” He began, but you scoffed.

“Kid? I’m not a kid, I’m a news reporter - Do you realize I’ve snuck onto crime scenes before the cops had even gotten there? A-And I’ve seen things, a lot of bad things - So don’t act like I don’t know what I’m doing.” You defended yourself, “Don’t sugarcoat this. I can handle it, alright?” You took a breath and wondered how true that statement was. What if they told you Lizzie was dead? What could you handle? What would be the final straw? The thoughts of just where that line could be raced around your head, but a calloused hand on yours took your mind off of it. You looked up at him.

“I’m not saying you’re a kid. I’m saying it’s alright if you feel like the world just came crashing down on your shoulders,” He said, his hand leaving where it rested lightly on yours, “You don’t have to be the hero here.” The room grew silent and with every fiber in your body, you looked down and forced the tears from where they threatened behind your eyes. You nodded. Before you could muster up the words to answer, Sam walked back into the room with a glass of water and you graciously took it.

“So, it looks like last night we found their nest. The only downside of that is that we left it a bloodbath.” Dean stood up and crossed the room, thinking out loud.

“So they’re on the move,” You said, “They know they’ve been made so they won’t stake out there any longer than they have to.” You looked down at your glass, the water inside of it unsteady as your hands shook slightly. You put it on the end table next to you. Both boys stared at you a moment before moving on.

“Right,” Sam said, clearing his throat and cocking his head to one side, “The next question is where are they running to?” He finished.

And just like that, within a snap of fingers, you were in.

----

Before you knew it, you were sitting in a motel room. The walls were littered with impressions of fake tropical palms and the sheets that poked out from under the thin, scratchy comforter had stains splayed across them. You fought back the chills that climbed up your back and left the hairs on your arms on edge at the thought of what might have caused those stains. The brothers stood in front of you, wordlessly sifting through luggage and duffel bags full of weapons you’d never seen. Every so often, one of them would shoot you a look, as if they were half expecting you to be running for your life or passed out from the effort it took for you to wrap your head around this whole situation they’d just explained to you. If you were being honest, you were a little surprised you hadn’t done either of the two. Hell, you’d seen things in your time. The thought of what happened on that snowy day, the same day you went to in your dream, made your heart speed up in your chest. Color climbed up to your cheeks, and you could’ve sworn your fast heartbeat was audible from across the room. You forced your mind to another topic, focusing on the worn particle board dresser in front of you. Your mind wandered to those things, those Djinn. Naturally, questions were lined up on your tongue, ready to come spilling out whenever you let the floodgates open, but you decided to keep them to yourself for now. You picked at your nails, the only thing that lulled the shake in your hands to settle, even if only for a moment. When you looked up, Dean was eyeing you from the corner of the room. When your eyes met, you both shot your stare in another direction. The silence in the room was doing nothing to ease your mind. 

“So,” You cleared your throat and both brothers looked over at you, almost as if they too were thankful for the momentary break in silence, “What do these Djinn do? I-I mean I know you said that they drag you under and suck the life out of you but - What’s their point?” You rubbed your hands nervously against the length of your thighs, the thin layer of sweat that coated your palms now soaking into your denim. Dean walked over to you, a pearl accented gun in hand, and sat on the other bed adjacent to you.

“You’re food to them,” He shrugged, “They put you in this dream state where you get to see what your perfect dream life would be like so that you never fight it,” He looked down at the gun and pulled out a rag from his back pocket and began to mindlessly rub at the pearl accents that ran along the handle.

“Your perfect life? That’s what you’re supposed to see?” Your brows furrowed in confusion as you thought back to what you’d envisioned. There was nothing good about it. Dean matched your expression.

“Well, yeah,” His hand stopped moving along the gun, his attention fully now on you.

“Why?” Sam asked as he stepped closer from across the room, intrigued by the turn the conversation had taken. You swallowed hard and took a breath.

“I didn’t see that,” You ran a hand through your hair, “I didn’t see anything good when I went under - or whatever you call it.” You said as the temperature of the room began to feel warmer with the territory they began to get into. The brothers looked at each other and your heart beat faster in your chest. “What?” You asked. Being the only one left in the dark was starting to become an annoyance. Sam cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his neck. 

“I mean, I don’t know,” He said hesitantly, Dean looking at you as his brother spoke, “That’s never happened before.” He finished. The both of them looked at you, as if thinking that maybe if they glared a little longer, the answer would appear across your forehead. You rubbed your hands together anxiously.

“Okay, I guess that maybe that can happen to people, maybe you just didn’t know that.” You tried desperately to sound grounded. Dean shook his head and mindlessly chewed his lip.

“No, I don’t think so. They got their inky hands on me one time and,” He shook his head, “Let’s just say, with the things I’ve seen, they probably had to get creative to find anything good enough to make me wanna stay.” He stated the dark undertone of his statement obvious in his eyes. You decided it was best not to poke him about it any further.

“Okay, whatever,” You let out a nervous laugh, “Just forget I said anything.” You shook your head and forced a small smile. Neither of the boys returned it. 

Before they could interrogate you any more, a man in a trench coat appeared behind Sam. A scream left your lips and you fell back onto the bed, your eyes practically bulging out of your skull. The boys stood up quick at your screech and as quick as they’d gotten up, they’d calmed down once they turned and saw the man. You sat there, your chest heaving, looking from the brothers to the man who inspected you curiously as if he was the one who was interrupted by you. 

“Hey Cas,” Sam said, turning back to face you. Dean glanced over his shoulder and nodded a greeting to the man as he sat back down where he’d previously been across from you. 

“That’s our friend Cas,” Dean looked at you, “He’s uh, he’s-”

“An angel of the Lord.” A deep, scratchy voice finished the sentence for the elder sibling. You looked back and forth between the three men.

“A-An angel? Like an angel?” You asked, your voice coming out in soft, hesitant strangles at the sight before you. He looked normal; Almost too normal.

“Of the Lord; Correct.” The man answered your rhetoric question, his brows knitted in confusion as if his presence was an easy concept to digest.

“Okay, an angel,” You sat up straighter, inching closer to the headboard and further from the dark haired man, “So, you mean that even with all of the crappy things like the Djinn and other monsters, there’s still something good out there?” You tried to desperately make sense of this, of any of it. Dean shook his head.

“Nope, nothing good about em’ they’re all dicks.” He said, shooting a look over his shoulder at the man who claimed to be an angel. The tension in the air was obvious and was only slightly broken when Sam cleared his throat.

“No, Y/N, listen,” He shook his head emphatically and moved closer to you, “There is good out there. It’s not all crap. We just focus on the shit work so that maybe other people don’t have to.” He said, trying to sound reasonable despite the issue at hand. 

“Yeah,” Dean laughed sarcastically. There was no humor in his chuckle and it reminded you of the dark look in his eye he’d had moments before. “Well, I'm glad that at least someone still thinks that.” He ran a hand over his face and you could tell by the way he moved that he was worn. It was your job as a reporter to notice a person's stance, their body language and nonverbal cues. Dean’s were easy. You just had to pay attention to them.

“I’m not here for you,” Castiel walked over towards you as his cold glare focused on Dean, “I came for her.” He finished, his shockingly blue eyes now trained on you.

“Me?” You asked, pointing a finger inwards. The man hardly nodded in response.

“We called you about the Djinn, alright, leave her out of it.” Dean stood up, his demeanor puffed and irritated.

“Dean, just hear him out.” Sam said, his voice solid. You’d been able to pinpoint the dynamic between the brothers in the time you’d spent with them. Sam was the safe one. Sam was logic and fact driven, he’d hardly broken his calm attitude in the time you’d been observing him. But Dean - Dean was a fire, igniting everything in his path when he felt it deserving. You had no idea what had happened between the angel and them, but Dean’s reasoning ran deep. He had the type of calm that was unnerving, unlike Sam. As if he was almost always teetering that border of blowing up the whole building with only himself inside. Even in a tense conversation like the one you currently sat in, only Sam could bring his brother down off that edge. 

“I’d talk fast if I were you.” Dean said, his voice as cool as the delivery in which he’d said it. He sat back down on the bed and looked down at the gun he hadn’t finished cleaning. Castiel took in a long breath as if to shake off the threats before returning to the purpose of his being here.

“You said you didn’t see a dream world when the Djinn poisoned you,” He looked at you intently.

“Poisoned me?” You looked over at Dean who shook his head.

“Jesus, Cas. Baby steps here, maybe? The girl just got the talk an hour ago.” He wiped a hand down his face as Castiel turned back to you.

“Uh, my apologies,” He said, his voice as robotic as his movements, “I have to ask you; What did you see?” He finished, asking the question that you’d been avoiding this entire time. You maintained eye contact with him as you thought about what you should reply. Is it a sin to lie to an angel of the lord? Was he even an angel? 

“Nothing,” You said, praying that the eye contact you held with him would make your white lie appear to be more solid, “Just didn’t see a dream world or anything else for that matter.” You finished.

“Y/N, you do realize I can hear what you’re thinking,” He said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stared intently at you, “And no, keeping eye contact does not make your lie sound any more valid than it already is.” He finished, as if he had just said the most normal thing in this world. Your lips formed a line, trying to maintain some sort of composure.

“Alright then if you’re so high and mighty, you should already know exactly what I saw without asking me.” you replied, your tone tight and smug. Silence filled the room and before you could understand what was going on, he pressed two fingers to your forehead. 

----

The three of you sat in the library, all working on your own things. Sam sat in front of his laptop, tapping away, the clicking of the keyboard the only noise that floated through the bunker. You were neck-deep in a new book that you had gotten your hands on at a thrift store during the last job you’d worked a few towns over. It was some sappy love story that made your heart flutter and your face blush and you would never be caught dead reading it - which is why you’d ripped off the front cover. Dean sat closest to you, swirling around a glass of whiskey that was a sip from being empty. The silence between the three of you was comfortable and welcomed in your hectic lives. That was, of course, until Dean couldn’t sit still any longer.

“Okay I am officially ready to rip my eyes out,” He announced, standing and wiping his hand down his face. Sam stuttered a laugh and shook his head.

“Go kill something, you’re nicer when you're not bloodthirsty.” Sam finished, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. You smiled and looked up at Dean.

“You hungry? I can whip something up for dinner.” You asked, peering up at the elder Winchester. He looked at you pointedly.

“Y/N, in all fairness, the last time you cooked, I was feeling it for the rest of the week - and not with my mouth.” He squinted, wincing inaudibly. You rolled your eyes.

“Fine - starve for all I care,” You stood up and put your book under your arm. “I’m gonna go see what we have.”

“I think I might hit the sack, a nice afternoon delight don’t sound all that bad right about now.” Dean said to your back as a yawn interrupted his words.

“Dean you do realize what an afternoon delight is right?” Sam scoffed, amusing no one but yourself. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s the afternoon and it's delightful.” Dean’s voice dripped in sarcasm as his feet padded down the hallway. You turned and caught Sam’s eye, the both of you chuckling lightly. As you stepped into the kitchen, you reached for the light. The pantry in the open shelves was more than bare, only a box of pancake mix and a dwindling loaf of bread was in sight. You walked over and opened the fridge. 2 beers sat at eye level and a head of browned lettuce sat next to it. You tossed the lettuce and closed the fridge, grabbing the keys to one of the cars in the garage and searching for your coat. 

“Hey Sam, I’m gonna go for a run,” You walked out to the library, just as Sam was closing up his laptop. 

“Y/N, it’s already,” Sam started, looking down at his watch, blinking a few times, “6:30 - can it wait for tomorrow?” His eyes looked heavy as he questioned you.

“Unless you want a heaping plate of oxygen for dinner, no.” You smiled, “It’ll be quick, the longest part is the drive there and back, it won’t take awhile.” You finished, making it obvious that you weren’t asking. Sam nodded and rubbed his eyes. 

“Alright well, I think I might take a nap; I could recite the local news in my sleep at this point, I've read it so many times.” He scratched at his neck. Finally spotting your jacket hanging on the railing of the steps leading to the door, you crossed the room and put it on.

“I don’t blame you, get some rest and when you wake up I’ll have dinner made.” You padded up the iron steps, looking over at his large frame. A smile crawled up his features.

“Y/N, you don’t have to cook for him,” He squinted at you sarcastically, “You could burn the bunker down and he’d still love you.” He finished as you waved your hand at him.

“Shut up Sam.” You replied, snarky. With a small laugh, he turned and walked down the hallway, right as you slipped out the door.

The garage doors opened, letting in a blast of white snow. The road out in front of the drive was covered and it was coming down hard. When you pulled out onto the road, your back tires skidded and lost traction, causing you to fishtail for a brief moment. You slowed down and adjusted to the conditions, driving a little steadier and slower than you usually would. The sky was pitch black, if you didn’t know any better you’d guess it was 2am. As you made your way to the grocery store that was around half an hour away you promised yourself you’d make it quick before the weather got any worse.

Once you arrived, you rushed yourself around the store, grabbing peanut butter, jelly and bread for sandwiches, then grabbed some bacon, pie and lunchmeat. You made sure to get some salad, croutons and dressings for Sam, as well as some frozen fruit so he could make smoothies for after his morning jogs. After gathering together some pasta, chips and miscellaneous items you headed for the only open register. You got back into your car and checked the time. It was almost 8:00 and you’d spent well over 45 minutes in the store. Cursing at yourself slightly, you started up your car and slowly moved on your way back to the bunker. 

The snow had laid down thick, leaving an icy blanket across the pavement, your tires crunching it beneath their weight as you prayed you’d make it back. It had begun to sleet, the freezing rain making your windshield wipers useless. Your wheels were slipping and even time you slowed down, your breath hitched, fully expecting not to get moving again. You came to an intersection, looking around at your options. Straight ahead, there was more traffic, but not a straight shot home. To your right was a back road that led almost right to the bunker’s front door. You hesitated. Taking a breath you decided that maybe going the quicker route would leave you with a better outcome. 

You pulled the wheel, moving down the beaten path. Just as the final streetlight left your vision, your car slowly took you off course, slowly fishtailing into a ditch. You yanked the wheel in the opposite direction and smashed the accelerator, but it was no use. Your wheels spun as you settled, the right side of your car tipping into the frozen outcove. You looked down at the clock. You’d only made it about 10 minutes. You have got to be kidding me. Patting the pockets of your jacket, you found your phone and switched it on. “No Signal” flashed across the dim screen as if it was taunting you. You slid it back in your pocket and looked around. You reached for the door, but it didn’t budge. You pushed your body weight against it and bounced hard, yet it hardly moved an inch. So much for walking back to the store. You turned up the heat and turned up the music just a notch. Might as well get comfortable. You peered around the back, spotting a wrapped up blanket underneath the bench seat that you’d remembered leaving a few months back. You brought it up front and laid it across you and listened to the drone of the radio.

----

A few hours passed and you checked your phone like you had done every 10 minutes. Still no signal. Sighing, you glanced at the clock. 12:48am. How had they not noticed that you weren’t back yet? A chill slipped down your spine - it wasn’t from the cold that seeped in the sheet metal of the car - What if they’d fallen asleep for the night? You shook your head. No, you promised them food, they never forgot when you volunteered to make dinner. A flashing orange light on your dashboard drew your thoughts away from the boys; Your gas was running low. No gas, no heat. You sat up straight and looked around. There were no cars in sight, everyone preferring to stay inside during the blizzard. You leaned forward and twisted the key in the ignition, the engines’ rumble fizzing out along with the ambient music of the stereo. You sat back in your seat and tried to calm your mind, as the icy chill from outside slipped its way into the  car, minute by minute. 

----

The blanket was doing nothing at this point. Your movements were almost painful, your extremities vibrating with the numbness that fell over them hours ago. You had tried to turn the car on an hour or so ago, but it only sputtered in response. It was 6:57am. Your teeth had stopped chattering around 3 and you hadn’t slept a minute of it. The cold was oddly uncomforting, you couldn’t drift off in the state you were in. Your eyes had grown heavier now, which worried you more than anything. You fought to stay awake, but the cold unconsciousness welcomed you into the darkness. The upside was that you didn’t feel cold anymore; you just felt tingling. The sun had begun to rise, the orange glow casting a dim shadow through the thick snow-covered car. Your eyes fluttered. Stay awake. You tried to sit up but you were just so tired. A loud knock on your window forced your eyes open; you hadn’t even realized you’d shut them.

“Y/N?” A deep voice questioned, muffled by the layers of snow that had settled over your car since you’d landed there. The car shook lightly at first and then violently, until the door crackled and creaked next to your head, allowing the sunrise to pour in. Cold air blasted in the car, your hair whipping around your face. When you opened your eyes, you were met with Dean’s, searching yours. You tried to smile, but you couldn’t feel your face move, his name fell flat on your lips. His hand laid against your face like a hot iron scorching your cool skin. You sucked in a breath and he pulled away. 

“Dean,” You tried, licking your lips, “It’s looking like I’m gonna have to make dinner another night.” You tried to smile but your lips tingled, forcing your laugh sounding more like a wheeze. 

“Don’t worry about dinner, come on.” His brows were pulled up as he looked down at you, pulling you closer to him.

“Dean, it’s been below zero all night,” Sam walked over and whispered to his brother, not so quietly. “You can’t last all that long in weather like that, she ne-” He started, but Dean shot him a look.

“I know Sammy,” He growled, exchanging looks at one another, before Sam turned around and opened the door to the backseat of the Impala. Dean looked back down at you and pulled you up to his chest, holding you close to him. He was so warm. Your eyes fluttered, constantly at war with trying to keep them open. The Impala’s heat was blasting as he settled in the back with you in his lap. Sam walked to the front and pulled out, leaving your car in the ditch. There was no music, only the rumble of the engine drifting through the cabin. You felt like you could sleep for days. 

“Hey, hey, hey, keep those pretty eyes open, alright sweetheart?” Dean’s hand fell onto your cheek again as he held your head up lightly. 

“Dean, I’m-” You whispered and he leaned down closer, “I’m tired.” You slurred, your eyes rolling slightly. 

“C’mon Y/N wake up,” His deep voice pulled you momentarily out of the coma that was dragging you under, “Look at me, keep your eyes on mine, okay?” His face was inches away from yours, his warm breath slipping over your features. You looked up at him again, meeting his worried expression.

“I can’t-” You tried to explain it, but you couldn’t manage the words, “I’m tired.” You finished hardly above a whisper, as your eyes rolled back one last time and your world went dark. The last thing you felt was Dean shaking you. 

----

You woke up to arms surrounding you. Your body was sore and felt like you had gone 7 rounds with Lucifer and your head pounded. You moved your fingers around, feeling them and making sure that they were all still there. Looking up, you connected the arms to a body and the body to a head. Your heart dropped to your toes as you looked up, analyzing every freckle that splayed across his nose. His eye’s flickered underneath their lids. I wonder what he’s thinking. You looked around. You were in Dean’s room, the guns hanging on the walls a clear indicator of the Winchester’s belongings. Slowly pulling his arm off your waist, it suddenly tightened. He grumbled deeply behind you, before roping you back in and laying his hand on the side of your face. Except when you looked up at him this time, he was already looking back at you. 

“Mornin’ Frosty.” He grinned, his voice gravely and sexy. Hearing his voice like this woke up a beast in you that begged to be touched by him. You looked away as the thought ran through your head.

“Very funny.” You mused. His hand pulled your face up, his finger under your chin. 

“I’m not laughing,” He said, his expression blank, “Y/N, you were in zero degree weather for almost twelve hours, do you know how close of a call that is?” He shook his head slightly and leaned up on his arm while looking at you. “Why didn’t you call? I would’ve come, I would’ve got you.” He questioned.

“I had no signal, I tried - it didn’t work.” You shrugged, looking down at your hands. He let out a sigh.

“When I woke up and you weren’t there, I just about tore the place apart,” He ran a hand through his hair, “I thought something had taken you, but then Sam said you’d left to get some food. When I opened the door and saw the weather, I knew you had to be out there somewhere.” His hand reached up and caressed your face, taking you by surprise. “Y/N, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you.” His voice was hardly above a whisper. You stared at him, eyes wide.

“Dean,” You hesitated, not sure how to take it, “I appreciate you and Sam worrying about me-” You started.

“No it’s not like that,” He shook his head, inching closer to you, “I mean, I don’t worry about you the way Sam does,” He cocked his head to the side, “Well I hope it’s not the same, that would be an issue.” He said more to himself than to you, his eyes drifting past you in thought.

“I’m not sure I follow.” You muttered. His eyes looked down at you again.

“I’m saying that not knowing where you were for a minute there had me going like nothing else.”  His lips were plush and mere inches away from you and you had to mentally remind yourself not to stare at them. And you were failing miserably. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.” He whispered, pausing a moment before leaning in and brushing his lips gently to yours. The blood rushed through you, giving you chills for a whole different reason than earlier. His hand slid through your hair and with his other hand he pulled your body closer to his. You returned the kiss, leaning in, pressing against him harder, When he pulled back, he searched your eyes for a response.

“Then don’t.” You whispered in return, a small grin crawling over your features. He matched your smile and pulled you in. He smelled like old cologne and worn leather and you breathed it in all you could. When he pulled back, he gave you a grin and held your face in his hand.

“God, I have waited so long to do that.” He smirked, his confession taking you by surprise.

“Well, maybe you should do that more,” You shrugged sarcastically, “I don’t hate it all that much.” You beamed up at him, unable to hide your happiness.

“Oh you don’t hate it?” His eyebrows shot up, his words filled with the sarcasm that made you love him, “That’s good, I’m glad you don’t.” He chuckled, pulling you down to his chest. 

You knew that from now on, most of your days would be spent like this; laying on his chest, stealing kisses and exchanging laughs - and you didn’t want to spend them any other way.

----

You spent the night tossing and turning, your sheets damp from the sweat that slipped down your back and off your forehead. The dreams you had of Lizzie, the regret that filled your chest since she’d been gone and the stress of trying to put all the pieces together. You shouldn’t have brought her to that bar. Maybe she’d still be at home now if only she’d stayed away from you. You sat up straight in your bed and looked at the clock. The bold red numbers stared back at you, daunting you as the time ticked on, serving as a reminder of just how many things you’ve lost. Time. Your best friend. The people around you. You rubbed at your eyes at an attempt to rid your mind of the thoughts that riddled your mind during the late hours of the night, making sleep impossible. Your guilt left your soul heavy, leaving you without the peace of mind needed to catch some shut eye.

Giving up on the poor attempt to shut your mind off for a few hours, you threw your legs over the side of the bed and walked to the kitchen for some water. Your feet padded against the old hardwood, creaking under your weight. You kept the lights off as you headed for the cups, filling it with ice and water before putting it to your lips. You stood in front of your sink and thought back to the agents. You weren’t even certain you could call them that, but your mind wandered off to them. They were attractive, there was no doubt about it. The taller one seemed kind, while the one who called himself Harrison appeared to be more business minded. He was as suspicious of everything in your apartment as you were about their credibility. You turned and walked to the front door, your paranoia getting the better of you as you reached to make sure it was locked. 

That’s when you saw it. 

You’d cracked open the front window a few inches to let some fresh air in, the slight breeze moving the curtains enough for you to see straight into the parking lot. There, in the mix of a few deserted cars, sat the Impala you’d seen earlier. Carefully, you set your glass of water down on the table by the door and creeped your way back to your bedroom. Once there, you slipped off your pajama top and put on a sweatshirt, dark enough to blend in with the midnight colors in hopes to be discreet. As you moved around your room, the classic car outside roared to life, the silence of the night disturbed along with it, almost as if they’d known they’d been spotted. Quickly, you kicked on some jeans and pulled on the dirty sneakers that laid by the end of your bed and grabbed your car keys. You hurried to the door, your hand reaching for the cool metal of the knob as the engine of the Impala revved slightly, leaving the parking lot. You spilled through the front door and watched as their taillights sat hovering at the entrance of the road for a moment before taking a left onto the road that led out of your complex. Quickening your pace, you sped to your car, ripping open the driver side door and twisting the key in the ignition. Without giving it moment to settle, you tore it into reverse and tried to follow the boys wherever they were going. 

Once you hit the main road, you saw them. They were the only car at the light. You approached slowly, praying that it turned green before you were close enough for them to spot you in their rear-view. The light turned and the Impala rolled into the intersection and down the road. You followed, making sure to keep your distance. The boys, you assumed, were probably already suspicious and knew they had a tail on them but until they acted on it you marched on. They took a right and then another left, effectively leading you towards the outskirts of town. Soon enough, their turn signal flashed, as they pulled off onto the right hand shoulder. You maneuvered around them and shot a daring glance in your rearview. They hadn’t even paid you any mind. Instead, their gaze was focused on the old mill that sat abandoned, set a few miles back from the road. Your mind was going a million miles an hour, a million possibilities racing through your head. Before you could land on one, your foot found the brake and stomped on it hard. You turned in your seat and looked behind you. The mill loomed in the background, the Impala now too far away to see. Only a mere blur of where you knew it sat. 

You pulled off onto the side beside some trees, hoping it would do something to cover you. The thick dark of the night fell over you as you cut the ignition. The sky was hue of blue so deep, it swallowed the dim light of the stars, making it hard for your eyes to adjust to the stark black of the evening. You opened your car door, slowly shutting it behind you as you climbed out. You turned and looked towards the Impala. It was a solid distance away and would take a minute to walk to it, but it was better to be further than be caught. The idea of the two men actually being FBI agents crossed your mind briefly before you swatted it from your mind. There’s no way they’d be driving that and wearing those cheap suits if they were legitimate. You shook the mere thought out of your mind and walked through the grass, leaves crunching underneath your shoes as you went. You kept that in mind. The closer you got, the stealthier you would have to be, and the fallen leaves were doing nothing to aid you in your task. You creeped along, crouching as you quickened your pace towards the Impala. Before reaching it, you froze and looked off toward the mill. Faintly, you could see the two tall men approaching it. Knowing they were far enough out of earshot, you slithered towards the car. You peered inside, the interior a mix of tan and black leathers that looked to be in decent condition. Your eyes scanned the back, and something caught the faint moonshine and reflected back to your eyes. Laying on the floor in the back was a knife so large, it was worthy of being called a machete. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of it. God, what are these guys up to? 

You looked over the car and the men were nowhere to be found. Millions of thoughts ran through your head. Maybe they knew where Lizzie was, maybe they took Lizzie. Your heart pounded so hard it was difficult to hear anything but the pumping in your ears. Maneuvering around the vintage car, you headed for the mill. You didn’t know what these men had in mind or what they were planning, but a feeling in your gut told you it all would trace you back to Lizzie. 

You took small, quick steps, anxiety and adrenaline bubbling within you. The tall shadow of the mill slipped over you as you reached the old wooden exterior. Letting your eyes adjust, you snuck along the side of the building before slipping in through the archway entrance. Now inside, the wind was noticeable as it howled low, slipping between the cracked and shattered windows. 

You scanned the interior. The room was like a long hallway, with what appeared to be stall-like structures lining each side. You stood still and tried to listen for the two men. The silence was almost deafening, only the whistle of the wind and the field outside rustling crossed your senses. Just as you let out a breath, you heard a crash come from down the corridor, just out of sight. You pressed yourself flat against the wall and coward to the corner. Grunting followed along with more crashing erupted, your mind thinking of the worst possible things at once. Then you thought about it. Lizzie. What if Lizzie was down there? What if she was the one the men were coming for? These men were fakes; What was stopping them for being the people to blame for Lizzie’s disappearance. The thought alone of them hurting your best friend was enough to catapult you out of your frozen terror. 

Quickly, you pushed yourself off the wall and headed down the corridor, your fast steps loud and thundering against the barren building. You fought the urge to peer into the stalls beside you as you hurriedly made your way down the hallway. The hairs on the back of your neck stood straight, and for a moment it felt like you were being watched.  

Just as your long strides carried you around the corner, you saw what had caused all of the commotion. The two men, the taller one with the shaggy hair seemingly out of breath, stood overtop of a body covered in tattoos. The girl had long, flowing, brunette hair that now absorbed the thick crimson blood that seeped out of her dying body. Intricate black tattoos made their way up her arms and her neck, all the way up to her face. A part of you felt guilty for being relieved that the woman on the floor wasn’t Lizzie and another part of you ached to find her. You had let hope bubble inside of you that this would be the answer to all of this, and it again, died flat in your chest. Your running had caught their attention and the shorter man had his head turned, now facing your direction. You pinned yourself up against the wall, right out of their view. After a moment, he turned his head back around and spoke in a low voice to the taller man. You let a shaky breath slip through your lips. You had to get out of here, call the cops, something. As you took a step back, your foot landed on something hard. Before you could fully turn to look, a man grabbed your head with both of your hands and you let out a strangled scream that died on your lips. Right as your eyes grew heavy, you noticed the blue of his eyes glow in the dim lighting of the mill. For a second, it almost appeared as if his arm had filled with ink that had come to life, growing and reaching for you. Before you had anytime to react, your world went black. 

—

You woke up, panicked, your face dripping in sweat. You looked around your room, trying to catch your breath. The morning sun slipped in through the curtains and the shadow of the trees outside made a playful shadow along the floor. You wiped your face, dragging the sweat away and looked at the time. It was almost 9 in the morning. You hadn’t slept this long in ages. Just as you reached for your phone, you heard footsteps padding down the hallway of your apartment. Lizzie appeared in the doorway. She wore a band t-shirt, her light hair tied up while her face was twisted in concern at the sight of you. 

“Y/N/N, what’s wrong?” She asked, taking in your sweaty, fear-filled demeanor. You could only sit there, trying to swallow the tears that threatened to rise up your throat and slip from your eyes. She was in front of you, perfectly safe, healthy. You looked away from her and down at your hands. They shook lightly, and you formed them into fists to still them. You cleared your throat and forced a smile.

“J-Just a nightmare, just woke me up.” You said, nodding lightly. Her brow still slightly furrowed, she nodded, half-convinced before turning away. Once she was out of sight, you turned and set your feet on the floor. You scanned your room. The newspapers, reports passed their deadlines and empty coffee cups that usually littered the room were absent. The place was almost spotless. You walked to the small mirror that hung over your dresser and inspected your face. Your dark under eyes were bright and the light pounding that had made permanent residence in your temples had disappeared. You turned on your heel and walked down the hallway, following the sound of the radio playing to the kitchen. Lizzie stood in the corner, pouring a cup of coffee. She turned and placed it on the table for you as she poured herself a cup. She turned and faced you, the coffee cup pulled up to her lips. You leaned down and grabbed the cup, slowly taking a sip. It was the best coffee you’d ever tasted. You set it back down and eyed your best friend. Noticing, she shot you a strange look.

“Y/N, are you alright?” She sat down at the table, still analyzing your behavior, “How bad was that nightmare?” She asked, trying to seem as if she was trying to get to the root of the problem. Nothing made sense. You stood there and rubbed at your eyes before letting out a breath. When you opened them again, her eyes were still locked on yours. 

“How's the coffee, Liz?” You asked, your voice cold. She looked confused before shrugging.

“I mean, it’s fine. Can’t start my day without some caffeine, so anything works.” She let out a nervous laugh. You nodded and clicked your tongue.

“Yeah,” You replied, your mind spinning as every fiber of you fought to figure out what was going on, “Where’d you get that shirt? That’s a new one.” You asked again, nodding towards the band tee she donned. She cocked her eyebrow at you and bit her lip.

“Y/N, I’ve always had this,” She said, her voice forewarning, “I love Zeppelin, nothing beats em’.” She finished as she sat back in the chair. The air grew silent for a moment, but you were too preoccupied to even notice it. “Hey, why don’t you just go back to bed? I think you might just need to catch up on some sleep, it wouldn’t hurt.” She suggested as she sat cross armed in the chair, staring up at you. Nothing made sense. She hated your classic rock music. She hated classic rock almost as much as she hated coffee. Without answering, you turned your head to the side and peered out the window. The sun was shining on the lawn and parking lot outside of your apartment. It was easily one of the most beautiful days you’d seen. You walked closer towards the window and scanned the parking lot. In the far right corner, a black Chevrolet Impala sat. Your heart thumped loudly for a second at the sight of it. Fake feds. You turned on your heel and headed for the door. Lizzie called your name behind you as you marched on, not bothering to slip shoes on on your way out. After a few hurried strides, you hand wrapped around the door knob, pulling it open. 

Your feet settled in something cold and wet.

 It had felt as if you’d jumped headfirst into a pool on a chilly day. Goosebumps covered every inch of your exposed skin. You looked down. Snow squished and melted between your toes, as the white fluff continued to fall around you. You turned, but there was only a field of white before you. It stretched on as far as you could see in the heavy downfall of snow. You looked all around. There was nothing. Your heartbeat in your chest, only serving as a stark reminder of how fast the cold seeped in through your thin shirt. No, not this. You wrapped your arms around yourself and squeezed your eyes shut. Sirens wailed in the distance, nearing closer at an impossible speed. You knew where they were going. You knew how this story ended. You put your hands on your ears and pushed hard.

“No, no, no,” You moaned, the pressure from your hands making your erratic heartbeat louder in your ear, “No! Please, make it stop, please!” You screamed but only the echo of your voice answered you as you fell to your knees. The cold snow seeped quickly into your thin clothes as you crumpled onto the ground. 

And just like that the sirens stopped.

Hesitantly, you let your hands drop away from the sides of your head and you squinted through the slits of your half-opened eye lids. As if someone had heard your pleads of misery, the environment you were in had changed. Bright white light filled the room. You looked around. The walls were white, the tile was white mixed with outdated swirls of colors. You took a deep breath and tried to still your frantic soul. Placing your hands on the ground, you stood up and straightened yourself out. Every inch of exposed skin was littered in chills from the snowy weather you stood in moments ago. Except, now you wore jeans. When you looked down you noticed your combat boots, worn and familiar. Your loose black shirt slick against you. You reached down and pulled the damp cloth away from your skin as it clung to you. When you touched it, you noticed the substance fresh, it hadn’t had time to dry yet. When you pulled your hand away, thin red blood covered your fingertips. You looked around again, unable to decipher the situation you were now in and how you’d gotten there. A hospital bed sat to your left, a chair in the corner next to it, with an end table of fake flowers. In the corner was a room that jutted out, you figured it’d had to be the bathroom. Taking a few steps towards it, your boots squeaked obnoxiously on the tile as if you’d been out in the rain. Once reaching the bathroom, the mirror revealed the horror that was this memory. 

Pieces of your hair stuck to cheek, dried in place by the old blood no one had cared enough to wipe off. Your shirt, torn in places from where the glass shards had flung across the car and cut into the thin fabric. Your breath caught in your throat just as bile rose with it. Covering your mouth, you hurried to the sink and released the contents of your stomach. It wasn’t much, mostly dry-heaves that shook your core and made your head ache. You wiped your mouth with your shaking hands and turned to get out, to go anywhere, anywhere but here. When you turned you noticed your footsteps from the middle of the room left blood tracks. The thing was, they started in the middle of the room. How did you get there? Where was the blood from? The thought was enough to trigger another light dry heave, and you tried your hardest to suppress it from carrying itself out the way it likely intended. You knew where the blood was from. Before you could react it covered your hands. Everywhere you turned, blood. You pressed your crimson colored hands to your head and squeezed your eyes shut so tight, not a single slip of light peeked in. 

“God, make it stop, please,” You wailed, pain scorching through your mind, “STOP!” You screamed. Then all you saw was black.

----

You blinked heavily a few times.

The insides of your head pounded hard, your hand finding its way to rest on your temple. Through squinted eyes, you peered around the dimly lit room. Weaponry of all sorts hung on carefully placed nails, scattered over the walls of the room. A dark flannel hung, draped over the back of the chair at the desk across the room. To your left was a dresser, different types of whiskies lining the top of it. And the smell. The smell of Dean Winchester. 

You shot up, the thin blanket falling from your lap as your feet landed on the cold bunker floors. Your heart beat rang in your ears, your fight or flight anxiety skyrocketing. How had you gotten here? You looked down and saw you were in old, worn out clothing that didn’t belong to you. Or did it? Before you could pull the pieces together, the door opened slowly in front of you. Sam eyed you up before throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Y/N, it’s okay, it’s me.” His expression pleading with you to calm down. You stood still, staring at him as he watched you carefully. Your mind was racing a million miles a minute, trying to haphazardly mash the broken timeline and your patchy memories together. You furrowed your brows and stared up at him, your glare hard.

“What the hell happened?” You questioned angrily, your voice suspicious and forewarning. The cafe. Amy, your waitress friend. All of these things flooding back that didn’t add up. Seeing Sam made your heart flutter, like as if you missed him with every part of your being, but why would you miss him? You lived with the Winchesters, you wouldn’t miss them. You blinked hard, anger filling your blood. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m missing something, hm?” You questioned, stepping forward, your blood boiling. “Did you wipe my slate clean?” You cocked your head to the side, your skin on fire, “Because something isn’t clicking here,” You motioned to your head. Sam hesitated, his chest heaved. “Sam?” You asked, your anger growing at the silence your questions were being met with.

“Y/N, just listen, he had a good reason for doing it, alri-” He started, but you weren’t having it.

“HE? Sam, you mean to tell me Dean wiped my slate clean?” Your voice rose as the pieces came together, “Are you kidding me, Sam?” Your eyes were wide and your hands balled up into fists, shaking with rage. As your voice rose, heavy footsteps stormed down the hallway. Before Sam could warn him, Dean’s tall frame filled the doorway. 

All you saw was red. 

“I am gonna friggin’ kill you, Winchester!” You growled as you lunged forward at him, your body colliding with his as you took him to the ground. He grabbed your fists and disarmed you as you tried to fight him, but with his strength, it was no use. Sam’s large hands wrapped around your shoulders as he dragged you off of his older brother, crossing your hands across your chest and picking you up off the ground so your feet dangled. You thrashed in his grip, but he hardly broke a sweat to keep you subdued. The anger dissipated into frustration, and it soon became tears slipping down your cheeks as you let yourself melt into Sam’s arm’s.

“Who do you think you are? What the hell is wrong with you?” Tears blurred your vision, as Dean stood up in front of you. You slowly stopped fighting Sam’s grip and hung your head. You sobbed as your feet met the ground again. Sam’s hands gently found their way to your shoulders and you felt him lean down and plant a small kiss on the top of your head. Just as quick as it had happened, it was over and he turned to leave Dean and you. Dean’s hands reached for you and you pushed them away.

“Don’t fucking touch me, okay?” You stared up at him, your eyes spilling with hot tears. He stepped back, his head towards the ground. You knew your words stung, but you felt violated; The man wiped your memory clean, he messed with your mind and body in a way that made you feel small and unimportant. “What makes you think you can do that to someone? To me? Who died and put you in charge, Dean?” You shoved him and he staggered back. He refused to meet your stare, the only noise in the echoing hallway was your heavy, angry breathing.

“You.” He whispered, his eyes cast down.

“What did you say?” You asked dominantly, “Come on, you let me go months without my memory and what, are you suddenly ashamed?” You egged him on. He said nothing. “Say something!” You yelled, begging for something to come out of his mouth, something to make sense of it all.

“You did, Y/N,” He took a deep breath that shook in his lungs, “You died.” He finished, his voice hardly above a whisper. Silence fell between the both of you and you shook your head. All of the choice words you had compiled to unleash on him melted away. 

“Dean, I-” You started, but he cut you off.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Y/N? Honestly think back and tell me what you remember.” He looked up at you, his eyes brimmed with fresh tears that threatened to fall. You stared back at him and tried to think back.

“I-I don’t know,” You swallowed hard and racked your mind, “I-I remember the vampires and then getting cut up real bad,” You squeezed your eyes shut, “But you patched it up and it was okay, right?” You questioned, desperately grasping to fill in the holes of your memory. Dean’s stare never wavered. “Right, Dean?” You pleaded, but he said nothing. And it said it all.

“No, Y/N,” He ran a hand over his face and took another breath, “We got you in the car and,” He paused and cleared his throat, “God, Y/N, you looked like a friggin’ ghost, you were bleeding so bad, you wouldn’t keep your eyes open anymore” He said a little quieter, “There was so much blood everywhere, so much of your blood everywhere,” He repeated, his voice shaking slightly, “I-I didn’t know what to do,” He stuttered, looking off as if he was still sitting with you across his lap, bleeding half to death, “You told me to not let you die. Alright? You looked me in the eyes and told me to make sure you didn’t die.” Tears slipped down his freckled face and he had to bit his lip to stop it from quivering, “You didn’t see what I saw, you don’t get to pretend to know what it’s like to look into your eyes and see nothing,” He raised his voice as he finished his sentence, “Because I did. You were gone.” He shrugged his shoulders in defeat, “And I promised you that you wouldn’t die. So, yes, when Cas was healing you, I told him to take out a few of the details so that this life wouldn’t get the best of you again, that I wouldn’t be the reason you were gone again, okay?” He stood straighter and stared you in the eyes as he stepped closer. “And I would make that same choice every damn time.” He finished, his voice weak. 

You were speechless. You searched his face and all you found was a man full of hurt and guilt, it clouded the green from his eyes. You reached up your hand and rested it on his cheek. He immediately leaned into it on contact as your thumb brushed away the endless tears that seeped past his eyes. 

“Dean,” You started, regretful of the anger you let get the better of you initially, “I’m sorry, I-” You began, but his lips on yours interrupted your apology. The passion, the hurt, the remorse and relief he got across to you in one kiss left you without words. His one hand snaked around your waist while the other one grabbed the back of your head, holding you flush against him. When you pulled away, he kept his eyes closed, sadness radiating from him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” You whispered, your hands on either side of his face, “I shouldn’t have put that weight on you,” You shook your head and his hands cupped your cheeks. 

“Y/N, that’s my job. You, Sammy; that’s a part of the deal. You’re not dying on my watch. I’d rather you live a normal life, even if it means I don’t get to have you, as long as you’re alive.” He blinked hard and a few leftover tears slipped down his cheek and onto your hands that held his face. “But that look on your face when we saw you in that cafe,” His lips formed a tight line, “You had no idea who we were, who I was, you just looked terrified of us, like as if I was gonna hurt you,” He cleared his throat, almost shivering at the thought, “I would do anything to never see that look in your eye again.” He finished. You let your hands drop and pulled him in, hugging him tight. 

“You never will.” You reassured him, as you rubbed circles into his back. Sure, you had every right to be upset with him for taking your free will from you, but he had every reason to do it and all of them came from a good place, from a place that only wanted to keep you safe.You weren’t the only one that was struggling, the boys were going through it too and it was selfish of you to think you were the only one affected by the chain of events that had gone down. When you broke from your hug, his eyes were still red but considerably less teary and you took it as a good sign. Giving his hand one last squeeze, you turned around and walked down the echoing hallways to find the younger brother that you no doubtly needed to apologize to. 

When you walked through the library doors you saw him. He sat with his back hunched over, his head in his hands, staring at the grain of wood in the table he leaned on. A pain cracked through your chest.

“Sam,” You started and his head instantly whipped up in your direction, “C’mere.” You said, as you walked forward. His eyes searched yours, curious of what you were going to do, pleading with you to understand. Once you reached him, you could see that his eyes were glossy and filling with tears. You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as he sat in the chair. His head fell to the crook of your neck and you could feel his hesitant breaths as a few singular tears slipped onto the collar of your shirt.

“We thought we lost you,” He said, his voice stiff from trying to hold back and suck it up, “I thought you were gone,” His hand on your back tightened, “God, you were so pale when we got you to the hospital, I’d never seen Dean’s hands shake like that, like when he was handing you over to the doctors,” His head shook in disbelief as you pulled away and looked at him. He quickly turned and rubbed at his eyes, before casting them down towards the tile floor.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” You found yourself feeling guilty at the outburst you’d had, “I didn’t even stop to think about the other end of this, it wasn’t just me.” You grabbed his hand and squeezed it before letting it go. He nodded.

“I’m just really glad you’re back and you’re you again.” He sniffled lightly and forced a smile, always trying to be the brave one. You returned his grin and nodded.

“Yeah, me too.” You patted him on the back and watched as he calmed himself down, brushing off the slight emotion he let peak through. The boys had been through so much when you were gone, it was time you made up for it. 

“Dean!” You yelled, your voice bouncing across the cold tile room. You glanced around, looking around the room. Everything was the same as you’d remembered and it made you feel more at home. You put on your biggest grin when Dean walked in, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think this would be a great time for a movie night,” You nudged Sam’s shoulder, causing him to laugh. It echoed in the room and it filled your heart with a sense of home, reminding you that hearing Sam’s laugh was one of the things that brought you closer to remembering the boys. You looked at Dean who shrugged. “And I think I get to pick the movie tonight, I deserve it, alright?” You said, your voice dripping of sarcasm. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Please tell me it’s not another Adam Sandler movie.” He begged.

“Oh, you better bet your ass it’s another Adam Sandler movie, baby.” You laughed, throwing your head back. “Nothing like the Sandman, am I right?” You winked at Dean. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but smile watching you. 

“As long as you don’t try to beat the crap outta me again, I’m down,” Dean threw his hands up in surrender and headed for the couch. As you stood up to follow suit, Sam laughed behind you.

“Dean, you just got your ass kicked by Y/N, you’re never living this down,” He laughed, patting your shoulder with his calloused hand. You giggled at the thought.

“Yeah, I kinda did kick you on your ass, didn’t I?” You grinned to yourself.

You didn’t know what the future held, or how it would be to readjust to being home again with the boys, but you looked forward to every second of it. The three of you sat on the couch, Dean’s arm fell around your shoulders comfortably, while Sam kicked his feet up on the other side of you. You melted under the crook of Dean’s arm and looped your hands in between his and gave it a squeeze. You didn’t have much. But you had them. You silently promised yourself that you’d make sure to call Amy the first chance you got. But until then, in the presence of the people you loved, you kicked back and for the first time in six months, finally let yourself relax.

-----