#keiththecat

"You've got to be kidding me." You run your hands through your hair in frustration.

"Sorry, Y/N, looks like another day without a hunt," Sam continues scrolling on his laptop, hoping he can find something to prove himself wrong, even if just to make you happy.

"There's got to be something. Come on, Sam, I can't be stuck here in the bunker again."

It's been weeks without a hunt. Not a single one. Sam has kept busy with research, but you've been itching to get away. Chuck only knows what Dean's been doing, he's been avoiding you every second of every day. You've even been starting to wonder if you should move out of the bunker and go back to your solo hunting ways. Your stuff is always mostly packed, you could be out of here in less than 3 minutes. Sam being like the brother you never had is the only reason you haven't yet. Well, that and your crush on the older Winchester.

"Y/N," Sam sighs, closing his laptop and crossing his arms on top of the table to look at you seriously. "There's more to this than just boredom, isn't there?"

You scoff, "of course not. I'm just bored. And itching for kills. You know me." You lie through your teeth, hoping Sam will accept this answer and drop it.

"Y/N, you know you can talk to me."

You stare at each other for several painful seconds before you break. "Fine. I just feel like Dean hates me."

Sam places his hand on yours. "You know that's not true. Why would you think that?"

You roll your eyes. "Come on, Sam. He avoids me at all costs. He doesn't even come out for meals together anymore. Let alone not talking to me, he doesn't even talk to you if I'm around! He just motions for you to follow him to another room. You can't honestly say he's happy I'm here." You get up to start walking away when you both hear Dean's yell from down the hall.

"Son of a BITCH!"

With one look at Sam and panic in your eyes, you both take off running.

*

A few moments earlier....

Dean:

Another boring day. Alone. Ever since you moved in months ago, Dean just can't seem to bring himself to have any one night stands. He tries his best not to ignore why that is. He'll just keep avoiding you and quietly checking with Sam about what's going on, if there are any leads on hunts, how you're doing...

No. He doesn't want to spiral down this hole again. He can't follow through. Bad things happen when he and Sam get involved with anyone. He won't subject you to that. Maybe if he keeps avoiding you, you'll get sick of it and leave the bunker, minimizing your risk of being targeted because of them. He's upset enough that Sam refuses to do the same, instead being nice to you all the time. Hell, you and Sam are practically inseparable, you even have movie nights together.

Maybe he can make his feelings for you go away if he avoids you enough. He can stop thinking about how you light up a room when you laugh, instantly making his mood brighter. Or how your cooking always smells the most delicious, even the most simple foods weave a decadent smell throughout the halls. Or how you're always waiting at the bottom of the stairs after the brothers run for supplies, smile on your face and arms wide open to hug Sam.

Maybe if I stop ignoring her, I could fall into those arms, hold her close, smell that enticing perfume of hers up close...

Somehow you've managed to integrate yourself into every aspect of his life, despite his attempts to keep you out. He's constantly finding your post-it notes with cute doodles in the most random of spots, inside kitchen cabinets and books that have been untouched for months. He even found one under the sink one day, a stick figure drawing wearing a trench coat, an arrow pointing from the word baby to the figure. Sam had to explain that one to Castiel, who then laughed and asked you excitedly if he could keep it.

He shakes his head and runs his hand down his face, as if that will clear the thoughts.

I need to think of annoying things about her. Reasons to keep my distance. Come on, there's got to be something.

And then it hit him. Your hair. Your beautiful, y/h/c hair that he would love to run his fingers through. No, not beautiful, he reminds himself, annoying. It's everywhere, even in rooms you don't frequent, even in rooms he's sure you've never been in.

He'll just have to hang on to this annoyance until he can think of more. If he can manage to think of more. This is useless, he sighs, grabbing his things to take a shower. At least I know I can waste time relaxing with a hot shower and not run into her there. He double checks to make sure the coast is clear in the hallway before heading toward the shower room, hearing muffled voices further down the hall but assuming it's you, busy helping Sam with research.

He gets to the shower room and sets up his things. He turns on the hot water, and steam starts filling the room immediately. He undresses, stepping under the water and letting the heat relax his muscles, tense from his endless debate about his feelings. He grabs his soap bar and starts cleaning, but he feels a tug when he starts to clean his member. Confused, he looks down, finding a long hair knotted around his most sensitive part.

He yanks on the hair, finding it stuck. He yanks harder, feeling a small sting followed by relief with the tension breaks the hair. With the hair pinched between his fingers, he brings it up closer to look at it under the light. He assumed it would be one of Sam's. They mix up their clothes in the laundry sometimes, it would make sense for it to be Sam's hair. But no, luck has never been on Dean's side. The hair is very distinctly from your head.

How did her hair even manage to get there? Damn it, I can't even escape her here... By myself... In the shower... When I haven't been around her for weeks.

He feels the frustration building and his fists clenching. Frustration at not being able to avoid you, at not truly wanting to avoid you, at his member having some semblance of contact with you but nowhere near the contact he desires. It builds and builds until he explodes, "Son of a BITCH!"

*

Y/N:

Sam rushes ahead of you toward Dean's yell, pistol already in his hands and raised by the time you both reach the shower room, ready for whatever fight he may find. You have a silver blade in your hand, fists raised, eyes scanning for a threat.

"What? What is it, Dean?" Sam asks urgently, not seeing any outward threats to everyone's safety. Dean spins around at the intrusion, eyes widening. You swear you see panic in his eyes when they connect with yours, then Dean frantically grabs his towel, wrapping it around his waist to hide his lower half. You try your hardest to stay focused and not get distracted by his bare chest.

"What is it? Look at it!" Dean yells at Sam, shoving his right hand toward Sam's face, thumb and pointer finger pinched together.

Sam slowly lowers his gun, looking between Dean's hand and his eyes several times in disbelief. "You yelled about a hair??"

"Look at it!" Dean insists, "it's hers!" He gestures toward you with his hand, still holding the pinched hair.

You furrow your brow, "so? It's just a hair? I have a lot of it. I'm sure that's not the only one in here."

"It wasn't just in here. It was wrapped around my head!" Dean yells.

You and Sam look at each other, shrugging. "I fail to see the issue here," the younger Winchester states.

"You know," Dean continued, "my head." He emphasizes the last word with a gesture toward his lower half.

You and Sam look at each other again, eyebrows raised, then Sam throws his head back and bursts into laughter. You lock your eyes back on Dean, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Dean's face is red with anger and what you think might be a touch of embarrassment. "Sammy, it's not funny. It was knotted and I had to pull it! What if it did any damage?"

"Oh, well Chuck forbid my hair do damage to your most prized possession," you mumble under your breath. Sam hears you, making him laugh even harder, doubling over and wiping his eyes.

"What did you say?" Dean asks, dropping his hand and, finally, the hair.

"Nothing," you say, looking away.

"That's it. Sammy, grab her. We're shaving her head," Dean threatens, taking a half step toward you.

"Dean, come on," Sam says, still lightly laughing. "You have to admit, it's kind of funny."

"Is it, Sammy? It's bad enough I can't stop thinking about her all the-" Dean stops himself, slamming his mouth shut.

Your jaw drops. You swear time stops. Have you been wrong this whole time? Could it be possible he has feelings for you too?

Dean quickly leaves, while you stand there frozen in shock. Sam watches his brother go, then turns to you, "you okay?"

"He likes me too, doesn't he, Sam?"

Sam just looks at you silently for a moment, then puts a hand on your shoulder. "I swore I'd never say anything. He thinks he's helping to protect you. He's... not good at this kind of thing."

You're in shock. Or dreaming. There's no other logical explanation. You're thrilled because he likes you too, but also heartbroken that he thinks this is protecting you. You, a hunter for your entire life, who did it all by herself until running into the Winchesters, who took down vampire nests and demons and everything inbetween with minimal or no injuries, are seen as weak in his eyes?

Leaving Sam behind, you storm down the hall to Dean's bedroom door and pound on it several times. "Go away, Sam," you hear through the door.

"It's me. We need to talk."

After several long seconds, you resign yourself to accepting he's not going to open it. Just as you're getting ready to leave, it opens just enough to reveal Dean, stone faced and fully dressed, wet hair sticking up at odd angles.

"Can I come in?" You ask. He wordlessly opens the door a fraction more and steps to the side for you to enter.

You walk past him a few steps and turn toward him as he closes the door. "I know you're better with actions than with words, so I'm gonna talk and I just want you to listen, okay? I'm not weak. I don't need you to protect me. I can make my own choices. And I choose you. And I'm not going to pretend to know what could happen in the future. But I know that if you watch my back and I watch yours, we can handle anything this world, Heaven, or Hell could throw at us."

You slowly drift closer to him as you continue, "I won't pretend to know every little thing about you, but I do know you, Dean. I know how loyal you are. And how you will always put yourself in harm's way to protect those you care about. How you blame yourself for every loss. How you like to sit outside on quiet nights and look at the stars, enjoying the peace that has been so rare in your life."

You're in his space now, and you reach up to place your hand on his cheek. He leans into your hand, closing his eyes. "I don't know how to do this, Y/N."

"Me neither, Dean. But how about we take a leap of faith together and we can figure it out?"

He opens his mesmerizing green eyes, and you notice unshed tears building up in them. Then, faster than you can blink, his lips are on yours.

You always thought the cliche of seeing fireworks was just that, a cliche. But you'll be damned if you're not seeing entire light shows behind your eyelids right now. Every nerve ending in your body lights up as if on fire. Arms wrapped around each other, you and Dean are pressed so close together, not even air can pass between you. He licks your lower lip, asking permission, and you open without hesitation. Your tongues battle for dominance until you can't breathe, and you break apart, both gasping for air.

"So I guess that's it then, huh, sweetheart?" he rasps, smirking, leaning his forehead on your own.

You had run into the Winchester brothers several times over the years before you finally moved into the bunker with them. There wasn’t really a discussion that led to it either; you all clicked so well that you just went back with them after a hunt, and now you’ve been living with them for months. Sometimes the three of you hunt together, sometimes it’s just them or just you, and sometimes it’s you with one of the brothers. You got along equally with both brothers, and you often spent your downtime hanging with one or both of them.

Now, you are having a slow day with both brothers in the bunker library. Sam has his face buried in a book and Dean is scrolling on a laptop. You are sitting sideways in a chair, legs hanging over the arm of the chair and your back against the other arm. You’re staring at the ceiling in boredom. “Hey Sam?” you ask.

“Hm?” Sam responds, acknowledging you but still reading his book.

“What is the biggest, most vicious animal you think you could beat in a fight?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe like a wolf or something,” he answers, brushing off your question.

A few moments of silence pass, Sam absorbed in his book again. “You’re no fun,” you accuse. “Dean, what about you?”

“Depends,” Dean closes the laptop, clasping his hands and setting them on top of it, giving you his full attention. “Can I pick the fighting arena?”

“Uhhh, sure, why not.” You figure it can’t hurt, and you want to see how far Dean will take this.

“A great white.” He states confidently.

You stare at him in disbelief, eyebrows raised. “A shark?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer, “on land. A beached great white. I could throat punch it.”

Sam’s attention now fully on the conversation, he looks up from his book to give Dean the most are-you-kidding-me glare, and you burst into laughter. “The lack of water would kill it before you could! That doesn’t count!”

“Not if I throat punch it fast enough! I’ll kill it first!” Dean argues, seeming offended.

You are laughing so hard there are tears forming in your eyes.

“What?” Dean asks. “You didn’t give any rules. I could fight a shark!”

“If Dean gets to do that, I’m changing my answer,” Sam says. “I could fight a frozen mammoth.”

“Mammoths aren’t real, Sam!” Dean yells, making you laugh even harder, tears pouring from your eyes.

“Not now, but they were, Dean! You said it yourself, there aren’t any rules!” Sam yells back.

“Boys! Boys!” you interrupt, trying to calm down and catch your breath. “You’re both cool and strong, no arguing.”

“Yeah, I’m so strong I could fight a great white,” Dean smugly states, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Well what’s your answer?” Sam asks you.

“I wouldn’t,” you shrug, smiling, “I’d trip both of you and run away from whatever it is.”

Dean’s jaw drops and he places a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. “How rude.”

“Sam! Look out!” Dean yells as he sinks his silver blade into the heart of the werewolf he’s been wrestling.

Sam is standing over a werewolf he just killed. He turns around to see why Dean yelled, feeling claws tear the flesh on his left side as he turns. His right hand goes to the wound, his knife falls from his left hand, and he makes eye contact with the wolf as it roars. The roar quickly turns into a look of confusion and hurt before the wolf collapses in front of Sam. Behind the wolf, you are left standing in front of Sam, smirk on your face and blood-covered knife in hand, “Hi, I’m Y/N. Looked like you could use some help.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m Sam.” Sam says, still holding his side. Damn, she’s gorgeous, he thinks to himself.

“Not a probl-“ you’re cut off by a werewolf suddenly behind you, grabbing you by the neck and throwing you into a nearby tree. Everything goes black. 

The next thing you know, your eyes snap open in the back of a car. Your head is propped up by something warm and you feel like you can’t breathe. Your body is in so much pain, it feels like you’re on fire. You start to panic, willing your body to move to find a way out.

“Hey, no, you’re okay,” Sam’s face comes into view above you. You realize your head is propped up on his lap and he’s trying to hold your arms down so you don’t flail around. “I need you to look at me and take a second, Y/N.”

You try to calm down. You look into his hazel eyes and your mind tries to catch up. Well, you think, if this is how I go, at least I get to look into a touch of Heaven first. 

You try to remember how you got here. “Right,” you start, voice raspy, “werewolves. Winchesters.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrow, “You know who we are?”

You nod and then wince when it causes a jolt of pain like lightning through you. 

“Sorry, right, not important right now,” his voice continues, “you’re injured pretty badly. We’re on our way to the hospital to get-”

“No!” You cut him off. “Please, no hospitals.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam takes your hand in his, then makes eye contact with his brother who’s driving. “No hospital.” He looks back at you, “Can we at least take you to our bunker to-“

“Sammy,” Dean warns. “We don’t even know her, you want to take her to the bunker?”

“What other option do we have, Dean? Cas is busy and not answering. She’s injured because she saved me!”

“Uh, hello? I’m right here.” You interject awkwardly. “You can just drop me at my motel room, I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse alone before.”

“No, we’re taking you to our bunker and doing what we can to fix you up. It’s the least we can do.” Sam leaves no room for argument. Dean grumbles under his breath in the front seat but keeps driving.

You try to mentally take stock of your injuries. Hm, you think, definitely a few broken or at least bruised ribs. Probably a concussion. I feel wet and sticky so I’m sure I’m bleeding somewhere but must not be too bad since I’m still alive. For now, at least, I guess.

Sam continues holding your hand and mindlessly running his fingers through your hair until the car eventually stops and is shut off. Dean gets out of the car first, “I’ll get stuff set up in the infirmary.”

Sam eases himself out from under your head, then turns back toward you. “Can I, um-“ he reaches his arms toward you.

“Carry me? I can probably walk.” You start to sit up, but you’re hit with a tidal wave of nausea and fall back to the seat. You take as deep a breath as you can manage, pushing the nausea away as best you can, “Okay, maybe not. Would you mind?”

“No, no, not at all,” he insists. Suddenly you’re in his arms, he’s walking, and you’re wondering what kind of muscles he has hidden under all that plaid. He laughs under his breath a little, cheeks and ears turning red. You realize you must have wondered out loud. “Sorry,” you say, turning to hide your face against his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Probably the best compliment I’ve had in a while.”

He makes his way to what you assume is the infirmary. Dean is setting out supplies for bandages, stitches, and wound cleaning next to an old cot. Sam gently places you down on the cot. “Are you okay with me checking out your wounds and cleaning you up some?”

You respond in the affirmative. Dean is standing a few feet away, leaning against another cot, staring at you. “So how long have you been a hunter? What’s your deal?”

“Dean,” Sam says, and fixes him with a look. “Can’t this wait?”

“It’s fine, Sam,” you touch his arm. You lean forward, reach over, grab shears and hand them to Sam. “Start with my back, it hurts the worst.”

Sam looks at you for a moment, then gets to work cutting your shirt open from behind. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “How’s the damage back there, Sam?” You ask.

“Well, you’re definitely gonna hurt for a while. I’ll have to stitch a few wounds back here, and you’re already bruising.” He prods his way down your back on each side, “Feels like a few broken ribs, too.”

You realize you’ve had your eyes closed, relaxing to his voice even as he delivers the news. “I figured. Just do what you can please.”

Sam starts cleaning and stitching what he can. You explain that you’ve been a hunter since birth, your mother dying in childbirth and your now deceased father raising you in the hunting life until he died when you were barely a teen. Then you tell them how Bobby Singer has treated you like his own. 

“How come we’ve never ran into you before then? We’re at Bobby’s all the time.” Dean asks, still seeming skeptical.

“I haven’t been back there in years. Even when I was there, I stayed for a few hours max. I keep busy,” you explain, “I didn’t grow up in one place, so it always felt weird to stay stagnant. Felt dangerous.”

“Like things could catch up to you if you stopped moving,” Sam says quietly from behind you, his large but gentle hands continuing to sew a large gash down your back from the tree. You nod as best you can without making the pain worse.

“Alright,” Dean says, “you can stay as long as you want. At least stay until you’re healed. The place is warded, you’ll be safe here. You got this, Sammy?”

“Yeah, we’ll be good.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go clean the blood out of Baby and hit the hay.” Dean leaves, throwing a wave over his shoulder.

“Baby? I assume that’s his car?” You ask.

Sam laughs lightly, “yeah.”

Silence passes between you two, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Sam finishes with your back, and then you feel him gently place something over your back, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment. You’re hit with a wave of his smell, and you realize he placed his plaid shirt on you. He comes around in front of you, now in a short sleeve black V neck that lets you see exactly how ripped he is. Holy muscles, you think, so that’s how he carried me so easily.

“I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. You seem to be okay mentally so far, but let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

You laugh a little, looking away shyly to break your stare, “yeah, sounds good to me. Thanks, Sam.”

“No, thank you for saving me.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, do you need stitched up too? He scratched you before I got him, didn’t he?” You reach for his side, mentally smacking yourself for forgetting.

“No, no, I’m okay. Not deep enough to need stitches, I don’t think.” He brushes you off, glancing down at his side where the shirt is torn, long but thin scratches peeking out underneath. 

“If you say so. But seriously, thank you. You definitely saved me back there.” You say, slowly getting yourself up. He reaches out to place a hand under your elbow, helping to steady you once you’re on your feet. Your hand falls to his bicep, and you bring your other hand to rest on his chest. “Damn, you’re built like a tree. Is that a Winchester thing?”

Sam bursts into laughter, his adorable dimples bracketing the most gorgeous smile you think you’ve ever seen. His cheeks and ears are turning red again. “Aw, is Samuel blushing?” You tease.

This was the start of your crush. Except you couldn’t even call it a crush, you were instantly head over heels in love with the taller Winchester. It hit you like a hurricane. So sweet, attentive, selfless, and that’s not even mentioning his smoking hot body. Silky chestnut hair, deep hazel eyes full of emotion. But instead of giving in to the temptation and telling him how you feel, you left just two days later. You couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by him, or of being so close to him but so distant at the same time. So you asked Dean to drive you while Sam was out on a run, not wanting to have to say goodbye to him. Dean took you back to your motel and your belongings, leaving you with nothing more than a “call if you need anything” and his number. You’ve kept in contact with Dean, mostly sending memes and jokes to each other, and doing your best to not ask about his brother. Turns out Dean has a knack for dad jokes, sending you at least one a day, more if he thought you were having a bad day. You’d consider him your best friend, even though he’s really the only person you talk to anymore besides Bobby on occasion. Dean has come a long way from his skepticism when you burst into their lives, considering you like the sister he never had.

Now, four months later, you have run into the brothers again. You’re in a small town in Missouri hunting some vampires, when you spot the Winchesters walking into a diner.

“Hey, tall and taller, got room at your table for one more?” You call out.

The brothers turn around, confused. Dean’s eyes lock onto you first, and he opens his arms for a hug. “Hey, loser, what are you doing here?” He asks. 

You jog a few steps, falling into his arms for a few seconds. “Hunting some suckers. Guessing you’re here for the same?”

“Actually yeah, wanna save little Sammy’s ass again like last time?” Dean jokes, his eyes lit up in mirth.

Sam shakes his head, lips pressed together, rolling his eyes. “That was one time, it won’t happen again. And since when are you guys close? You disappeared months ago, Y/N. We haven’t heard from you.”

“Yeah, sorry, I, uh, got called away for something,” you lie, hoping Sam won’t notice and Dean won’t call you out. “Dean and I have kept in touch though.” You playfully hit Dean on the shoulder.

Sam tries not to feel hurt that you have talked to his brother all this time but not him. And you’ve clearly talked enough to get close, Dean doesn’t hug just anyone.

“Well, come on,” Dean says, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “I’m starved.”

You all make your way inside, sitting at a booth. The boys sit on opposite sides, and you debate who to sit next to for a moment too long, then you slide in next to Dean. Sam notices your hesitation, but buries his face in the menu.

You all order and eat your meal, sharing stories about all the hunts you’ve had in the last few months. 

“No wonder we’ve had it easier recently, Dean. You didn’t tell me Y/N was taking care of so much,” Sam says.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” Dean says, mouth full of pie. “Asshats got ganked, people got saved.”

“Yeah but we could have helped out more.”

“I was fine, Sam. I like keeping busy, remember?” You say, then turn to Dean, “Speaking of, do you know yet where we’re looking here?”

Sam speaks up before Dean can, “actually yeah. We’ve narrowed it down to two warehouses on the outskirts. We’re planning to go check them out after we get a room.”

“Perfect,” you state, looking at Sam. “You boys wanna ride together from the motel since we’re all going to the same place?”

“Sounds good,” Dean says.

You all get up and leave, piling into your cars and going down the street to a motel. The boys get a double room to share like always, you get a neighboring single. You go into your respective rooms to gear up for the hunt.

“What the hell, dude?” Sam says as soon as the door is closed behind Dean. 

“What?”

“Y/N is who you’ve been texting all the time? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asks, clearly hurt.

Dean looks at Sam for a moment before understanding crosses his face. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Here, you want her number?” He pulls out his phone to pull up her contact and passes it to Sam.

“No, that’s- well, yes, but-“ Sam stumbles over his words.

“Look, it’s not like that with us, Sammy. We’re friends. That’s it.”

“Oh.” Sam lets that sink in and runs his hands through his hair.

“Yeah. So relax, she’s all yours. At least, she hasn’t mentioned being with anyone. I’d doubt she had time for it with the constant hunts she’s had. She’s worse than either of us have ever been with needing to keep moving.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Sam says, saving her number in his phone and giving Dean’s back to him. 

“Well?” Dean asks.

“What?”

“Text her. Say it’s in case we get split up or something. Make up an excuse. Give her your number or I will.” Dean insists.

“Okay, okay, get off my back about it then, yeah?” Sam says. Dean throws his hands up in surrender, turning away to rummage through his duffel.

[Sam 5:55PM : Hey, it’s Sam. Dean gave me your number. Wanted you to have mine just in case]

A full minute passes, and Sam wonders if she will even respond. Then his phone dings with a notification.

[Y/N 5:56PM : Got it. Good thinking. You boys ready?]

[Sam 5:56PM : Yup, meet you at the Impala?]

[Y/N 5:57PM : Sure thing, Sammy Boy ;)]

Well, Sam thinks, I guess the winky face is a good sign? Maybe she does like me?

“You ready, Dean?” Sam asks, heading for the door.

“Let’s do this,” Dean says, grabbing Baby’s keys.

*

Half an hour later, you’re all sitting in the Impala outside the second warehouse. The first was empty except for rats and dust, no signs of bloodsuckers ever having been there. 

“Safe to assume this is it then, huh?” You ask, leaning forward between the boys and looking out the windshield. 

“Yeah. We all ready?” Sam asks.

You and Dean respond “yeah.” You all get out of the car, grabbing your machetes and forming a plan. There are three entrances to the building, you will all split up and take one. You’ll meet in the middle, and then go to the upper floors together. You nod at each of the brothers, and you all go your separate ways to enter.

The front door creaks open, and you slowly make your way inside. The day’s last light is filtering in through the windows. You have a flashlight in your back pocket but you’re trying to draw as little attention as possible. You make your way down the hallway, which opens into a large center room. As you come through the doorway, you hear grunts and sounds of fighting from the hallway to your right. That’s the door Sam came in, you think and your heart drops into your stomach when the noises stop but Sam doesn’t emerge. You start toward that hallway, and you’re met with five vamps carrying Sam’s unconscious body. They notice you, drop him, and advance on you before you can move any further.

“Dean!” You yell, starting to fight them off. You can’t keep track of where they all are, you just know that they are surrounding you and landing more hits than you are. Your back, arms, sides, and stomach are all taking hits and you struggle to get the upper hand. You manage to block a few hits and decapitate two of the vamps in quick succession, as you hear Dean’s footsteps thundering closer. That’s when you notice a large vampire standing over Sam. 

You fight even harder now, desperate to help the brothers and save Sam. You manage to shove one against a metal pole before cutting its head off in one swing. You kick one in the abdomen, surprising it and knocking it over. You drop to your knees, straddling the vampire’s chest, and swing your machete down on its neck. An arm from the other vamp you’re fighting snakes around your neck, choking you and pulling up into the air. With your body weightless and hanging in the air, you swing an elbow into its sternum and a heel into its knee. It lets go long enough for you to drop, turning as you go to swing out and cut its head off.

With these five dead, you can turn to help the Winchesters. As you run over, the vamp throws Dean a few feet, with Dean landing on his back and sliding across the floor. Jesus, you think, he looks even taller than Sam. You run and launch yourself at the vamp, knocking it back a few steps but not knocking it down. Glancing around the vamp, you can see Sam starting to come back around to consciousness. The vamp manages to grab you by your throat, lifting you into the air. You try slashing into its arm with your machete, but the grip it has on your throat doesn’t let up and you’re starting to see spots.

“Dean,” you manage to rasp out, your machete falling from your hand as you grow weaker,” get Sam and get out of here.”

Suddenly the vamp’s hand goes slack, its head rolling down and onto the floor. You fall to the floor, gasping and coughing for air, your hand on your neck. Sam is standing over the dead vamp, machete in hand.

“You okay, Y/N?” Dean comes up behind you.

You nod, still coughing.

“Sam?” Dean asks.

“I’ll be fine, it was just a good hit on the head.” He kneels in front of you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nod again, “Guess we’re even now, huh, Sammy Boy?” 

The boys help you up and out to the car. You all ride back to the motel in silence. Dean is first out of the car and heading toward the rooms, leaving you and Sam behind in the Impala.

“You’ve got some blood on the back of your head,” you say.

Sam’s hand goes to the back of his head, coming back red. “Oh. Huh.”

Another moment passes, then you get out of the car and head to your door. As you’re unlocking it, you realize Sam is standing behind you. You glance over your shoulder at him. “You okay?”

“Would you mind helping me clean it? The blood on my head, I mean. I’m sure you’ll be more gentle than Dean would.”

“Sure, Sam. Come on in.” You open the door and head in. He follows and closes and locks the door behind him, checking the salt lines.

“Have a seat wherever, I’ll grab some supplies,” you say, heading into the bathroom for some warm water and a washcloth.

When you re-enter the bedroom, Sam is sitting on the edge of your bed, looking out of place. You crawl onto the bed behind him on your knees and start cleaning the blood from his hair as gently as you can.

“So, um,” Sam starts, “why did you stay in touch with Dean?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know. I just texted him one day and we hit it off. He’s pretty funny.”

Sam’s hums in response. You furrow your brow, “should I not have?"

"No, it's fine, I mean-," Sam stutters, "I just- um, maybe we can keep in touch this time?"

You’re taken aback, and you’re glad you're still behind Sam because you’re opening and closing your mouth like a fish for a moment. “Uh, yeah, Sam. I’d like that.”

“Can I, uh, ask you a question?”

“Of course, Sam.”

“Did I do something to upset you last time? At the bunker?” When you don’t immediately answer, he continues, “Because I thought we were getting along and hitting it off and then I came back one morning and you were just gone.”

“No, Sam,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder and moving around so you’re in front of him. “You did nothing wrong. I got called away for something.”

“Okay,” he say, but he looks like he doesn’t believe you. Really, he looks like a kicked puppy and you can’t stand it. Fuck it, you think, I can’t have him thinking he did something wrong and looking at me like this. “Okay, I wasn’t called away. I, um,” you sigh. “Ilikeyouanditscaresme,” you rush out, avoiding eye contact.

A moment passes where nothing is said. You’re still looking away and you bring your thumb to your mouth to chew on the nail. He brings one hand up to pull your hand away from your face, and his other hand rests on your cheek. “Look at me, Y/N.”

You follow his command, meeting those hazel eyes, your heart feeling like it’s going to beat out of your chest. “I like you too,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 

You put your hand on top of his on your cheek. “Really?”

He nods, smiling and giving you a glimpse at those adorable dimples. He brings his other hand to your cheek, his large hands now framing your face, and he’s looking into your eyes for permission. You nod, and then his lips are on yours. You feel like your brain has short-circuited, and it takes a moment for your lips to move to match his. His tongue licks your lower lip, again asking for permission, and you gladly open up to let him inside. Wow, you think, this is earthshattering. 

You both pull away, keeping your foreheads together.

“You’ll have to teach me how to do this,” you say.

He opens his eyes, confused.

“This ‘feelings’ thing,” you explain, “I’ve never really done this before.”

You have just hit the city limits of Kensington, Kansas when your car decides to call it quits. You manage to pull your car off to the side of the road, the engine spitting and sputtering before stopping altogether. You lay your forehead on the steering wheel and groan, “whyyyyyy?”

You almost pull out your phone to call Bobby back and see if any other hunters are close enough to take the case, but your pride stops you. You’re still a relatively new hunter and feel like you need to prove yourself. You’ve done well for yourself so far, no major injuries and usually finished hunts within two days of arriving, but you don’t want to jinx your progress. Sighing, you get out of the car, grabbing your duffel bag of hunting supplies and your backpack of clothes from the back seat. Squaring your shoulders, you start walking into town. 

After about ten minutes of one foot in front of the other, you find a motel that looks promising: just run down enough for what you need. You walk into the office, finding a big burly bearded man, probably mid-50s, reading a newspaper. He glances up when you enter, his gruff voice mumbles out “how long?”

“Day by day. I’ll let you know early each day if I still need it the next night.”

He eyes you for a moment. “Cash?”

You pull out some cash and count out $100, placing it in front of him on the counter without a word. He takes it, nods at you and places a key on the counter. “Room 11. Farthest one to the left. You’re paid for three nights.”

You pick up the key and leave the office, heading left toward your temporary base of operations. You immediately break into your duffel bag, cleansing the room with a smudge stick, laying out your mats with sigil traps embroidered into them, and applying salt lines to the windows and door. You have the room properly protected within three minutes. You pull out your phone to start researching the deaths that brought you here but you’re greeted by a text message from an unknown number.

[Unknown 11:02AM: Hey, Bobby said you were in our area. We’ll be around if you need any help]

You stare at it for a moment before calling Bobby, who picks up on the second ring, “you make it okay?”

“Yeah, Bobby. My car broke down but I made it. Who did you give my number to?” 

“I’m guessing the boys reached out to ya finally?”

The boys?, you wonder. Considering what you know about Bobby, that could only mean one set of brothers. “You mean you gave my number to the Winchesters? And what do you mean ‘finally?’ Bobby, you know I work better alone. You know, far far away from big of heart but dumb of ass.” 

“Look, Y/N,” you can hear him breaking out his dad voice on you. “I just wanted them to know you were nearby. I gave them your info a while ago, I’m surprised it took them this long to reach out. I want you safe, they’re close by, and they’re good people. You’ll get along.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure they are, Bobby. I just prefer to stay out of the drama that comes with… all that. Their names are practically synonymous with trouble and apocalypse at this point.” You sit on the edge of your bed, picking at a stray thread on your jeans.

“Yeah, and they’ve saved all our asses, yours included, each time,” he reminds you. “Plus, Dean knows his way around cars and could probably get yours fixed up for ya.”

“Okay, Bobby, I get it. I’ll message them back.” You and Bobby say your goodbyes and hang up, leaving you staring once again at the text message.

[Y/N 11:06AM: Which bro do I have the pleasure of speaking with?]

[Unknown 11:06AM: Sam]

[Y/N 11:07AM: Alright, Tweedledee. Bring Tweedledum. I’ll need his car brain. Meet at the diner on Main?]

Without an immediate reply, you start looking into the deaths, looking for any connections between the victims. So far, there have been five mysterious deaths of prominent people in the community and each one has died differently: heart ripped out, throat slit, neck snapped, blood drained, and blunt force to the head. 

[Sam 11:10AM: See you at the diner at 12]

50 minutes. More than enough time for you to grab a quick shower, check your supplies, and walk there. Guess I’m dancing with death this time. You sigh, and get to work.

*

Walking into the diner at 11:50AM, you sit at a booth in the back, facing the door. Front door, back door through the kitchen, windows on three sides, your brain automatically on alert in case of any threats. You’re in your FBI monkey suit, intending to question families after a quick meeting with the Winchesters. Your iron knife is against your right ankle, silver knife is against your left, and pistol is loaded and in a shoulder holster under your jacket, resting under your left arm. You are locked and loaded, ready to get this case over with.

[Y/N 11:51AM: Corner booth by kitchen]

You are pretending to look at the menu for less than two minutes when you hear the rumbling of the infamous Impala. They park out front, both unfolding their legs to get out of the car. Damn, they’re tall and hot, the stories did not do them justice. Dean’s unruly light brown hair is spiking in all directions, green eyes glittering in the sunlight. He’s wearing boots, dark jeans, a black tee, red plaid shirt unbuttoned, and leather jacket. Pistol in his jeans at his waist, he’s right handed. Sam’s soft brown hair blows in the light wind, slight frown creasing his eyebrow above hazel eyes. He’s wearing boots, light wash jeans, blue plaid shirt buttoned, and a grey jacket. Also a pistol at his waist, he’s left handed.

Dean reaches the door first, opening and entering, with Sam close behind. Sam is looking at his phone, looks up at you and points his brother in your direction. 

“Y/N?” Dean asks, standing next to your table.

“That’s what my ID says.” You gesture at the seat across from you, indicating they should join you. Sam slides in first and Dean sits on the outside.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Sam says, offering a handshake which you take. “Bobby speaks very highly of you. I’m Sam, this is Dean.”

Damn he has a nice smile. “Yeah, I know who you are. Pretty sure I knew your names my first day on the job.”

A waitress makes her way over to your table. Probably in her 20s, thin and short with long brown hair, her high pitched voice cuts through the air “Welcome in, what can I get started for you all?” 

The boys order coffee, Dean gets a burger and Sam gets a chicken wrap. You order a coffee and a salad. The waitress writes it all down and walks away, saying she’ll be right back.

“So, Sammy mentioned car troubles?” Dean asks, looking outside. “Which car?”

“It’s not out there. It’s on the side of the road coming into town. Broke down on my way in.”

The boys both look at you in concern. “You’ve been walking around town?” Sam asks.

You shrug, “the exercise keeps me alive. A moving body is a living body. I don’t mind. But I will need it fixed for when I’m done here, if you don’t mind.”

The waitress brings your coffees to your table, you each mutter a thanks. 

“I can take a look at it when we’re done here.” Dean says, then he looks you up and down, eyeing your suit, “unless you have other plans?”

“No, that’d be great. I can go do my thing while you do yours.”

“Perfect,” Dean says, “Sammy can go with you.”

“Whoa-” “Wait-” You and Sam speak at the same time. Sam stops speaking but you continue, “I’m fine alone. I won’t need help.”

“Well, Princess, looks like you do need help since your car is MIA.” Dean says, a smug smile on his face.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes squinted, debating if the fight is worth it. “Fine.” You look at Sam, “do you have your suit?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s in the car,” Sam says, shocked that you gave in so easily. The brothers know how stubborn you can be from the stories Bobby has told them. “I can grab it and change after we eat.”

The waitress brings the ordered food to the table, placing it in front of each of you. She checks if you all need anything else, and leaves the bill on the table when you all say no.

Dean speaks with a mouth full of burger, “alright then, it’s a plan.” 

Sam tries to initiate small talk a few times as you all eat, but you keep your answers short, hoping he’ll take the hint. The last thing you need is to form any sort of relationship with the Winchesters. The word around hunters is that being around them guarantees a death sentence, and you’d like to stick around for at least a few years longer. Plus, the less you worry about others, the more you can worry about yourself.

You place cash on the table for the bill, covering all three meals plus tip. You stand and the brothers follow. “Dean, drop us at the Sunrise? Sam can grab you two a room, change and then we can head out on foot from there. A little exercise okay, big man?”

“Uh, yeah, I like exercise. That’ll be fine.” Sam responds.

You ride in the back seat, Dean drives and Sam is in the passenger seat. Metallica plays through the speakers and you hum along, looking out the back window. You can feel Dean periodically glancing at you in the rear view mirror and Sam watching you through the side view. You ignore them, focusing instead on making a plan. 

Dean drops you both at the motel, giving you his phone number while Sam goes into the motel office to book a room, duffel bag over his shoulder. You send Dean a blank text so he has your number, and you give him your car keys along with a description and location. Sam comes back out with a key when Dean pulls away to go find your car. 

“Got it,” Sam says, holding the key up and walking to room 9. “Leave in five?”

“Sure, Sam. See you in five.”

*

With some strong pushing on your part, you and Sam agreed to split up, him starting with the most recently deceased’s family and you with the first, and planning to meet somewhere in the middle. Your visit with the Miller family was abnormally short, the widow very skeptical of you and short with her answers. She certainly wasn’t forthcoming with any information, and you’re sure she knows more than she let on. Maybe she’ll respond better talking to a man. Sam does have kind eyes. You shake that thought away, walking up to the Furgeson house now, hoping that Mister Ferguson will be more willing to answer your questions.

[Y/N 1:38PM: At second house now. No luck with the first. Very distrustful of me.]

[Sam 1:39PM: I’m still with the Taylors. We can circle back to her together later. Be safe.]

You roll your eyes, a smile threatening to form. Damn him and his niceness. You hate to admit it, but you are starting to enjoy working with him. You can feel your heart opening up to the idea of being friendly with the brothers. You are walking up the steps of the sidewalk when a police cruiser pulls up to the curb behind you. Shit. Nowhere to run and I doubt I can lie my way out of this. You send off a quick text to Sam, hoping he’ll read between the lines and understand.

[Y/N 1:39PM: I love you too, sweetie. I was never a big fan of brass, but the silver bracelets look nice.]

“Excuse me, we got a call about an FBI officer in the area,” the cop calls out to you. You turn your phone off and turn around to face him. He’s short, stout, bald, and scowling at you like you are the root of all problems.

“Yes, can I help you?” you answer, still keeping some hope that you can get out of this.

“I spoke with the FBI office this morning, they said they weren’t going to send anyone.” he answers, looking you up and down.

“Well I’m just following orders from higher up.” You reach to pull out your badge, but stop short when you see his hand move to his pistol. “Easy,” you say, “just grabbing my badge.”

“Not interested,” he says, pulling out his pistol and aiming at you, “turn around, get on your knees, put your hands on your head.”

“Okay, okay,” you comply, doing as he asked. He moves forward, grabbing your hands and roughly cuffing you behind your back. He picks you up and leads you toward his car, reading you your rights.

*

Sam is sitting on the living room couch inside the Taylor household, Missus Taylor sitting in a chair across from him. He stares at the message you sent, trying to make sense of the message you sent. Brass… silver bracelets… damn it. “Thank you for your time, Missus Taylor. We’ll reach out if we have any further questions,” he rushes to hand her a business card and practically jogs out the door, dialing Dean.

“Yeah?” Dean answers on the second ring.

“I think something’s wrong. I think Y/N got arrested,” Sam says.

“Well shit.” Sam can hear the clang of tools being dropped through the phone.

Sam knew they shouldn’t have split up. From what he has heard, Y/N is one of the best hunters out there. But Sam is kicking himself, he knew that people around here could be extra suspicious of outsiders and he still let her go off on her own.

“What do you need from me, Sam?” Dean asks.

“I’m not sure. Give me a second.” Sam takes a deep breath. He’s sure he could figure out a way to get Y/N out of jail, but it could take a couple days before the courts decide on her bail amount, and that’s if they do. It’s also been a couple days since the last death, so another person could be targeted any second. “Okay,” he finally says, “I have an idea. But I need you to take over the case for a bit.” Sam fills Dean in on what he knows and who still needs questioned. Dean agrees to pick up where they left off, saying he’ll get right on it. The brothers end their call, and Sam starts his journey toward the police station, making another phone call.

Despite only getting a few hours of sleep and being awake before the sunrise, you feel lighter and more rested than you have in years. However, knowing that you’ll leave the Winchesters today leaves a surprisingly bitter taste in your mouth. It’ll be fine, you remind yourself. You’ve made it this long by yourself. You can keep in touch, if they want to. Maybe your paths will cross again.

You spend the morning searching news articles across the country, hoping that you can find something to give you a destination and a hunt. No time to be sad about this crush if I’m busy killing things. You hear the Impala leave the motel around 8:30AM, indicating Dean is going to fix your car. A while later, Bobby calls you.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Still with the boys?” He asks.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Gonna need ya to head this way with them when you’re done there,” he says. “Got somethin’ suspicious up this way, you’re the closest group.”

“Oh, we’re a group now, are we, Bobby?” You tease.

“Well am I wrong?” He asks. You grumble in response, hating his ability to see right through you. “‘S what I thought. I’ll send you the info, you can pass it along to them.”

“Alright, Bobby, I’ll let them know. We’ll head out from here as soon as my car is fixed.” You say your goodbyes and hang up, forming a group text message with the brothers.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Y/N 9:55AM: Bobby has a case, asked for the three of us. Said we’re the closest. Wakefield, Nebraska.]

[Dean 9:58AM: Got it. Should be done your car in the next 30]

You set about cleaning your weapons to pass the time, disassembling your pistol to thoroughly clean the inside. Once it is clean and back together, you clean up the salt lines as best you can and pick up your sigil trap mats, rolling them up so they’ll fit back in your bag. You run through a quick inventory in your mind, making sure you have everything packed away. Pistol, knives, sigils, salt, lamb’s blood, holy water, clothes, toiletries, journal, lighter fluid, matches, phone charger… You’re interrupted by your phone.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 10:25AM: Car’s done. On my way back to you guys. Be ready to leave]

Confident that you have all your things, you grab your bags, leave your key on the desk in the motel’s office, and head back toward room 9. Sam comes out of the room, bags in hand, and runs right into you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Y/N! Didn’t see you there.”

“All good, Lurch,” you smirk. “Need a hand?”

“‘Lurch’?” He asks, shaking his head with a laugh. “Actually, help would be great. Return our key for me?”

You agree, take the key and return it. When you come back out, Dean has returned and they are loading their bags into the Impala.

“Alright, boys. What’s the plan?” you call out as you get closer.

“We were just talking about that,” Dean answers. “We can drop you at your car and head to Nebraska from there?”

“Or we could all swing by the bunker, leave your car there, and go to Nebraska together?” Sam proposes. “You know, since we’re all going to the same place anyway.”

You think for a moment. More time with them, I guess. Here’s the cliff, time to choose: jump or hide tail and run. “Sure, sounds good.” Might as well embrace it. Maybe I can manage to at least get some friends out of this deal.

Sam’s shy but ecstatic grin in response could light up the darkest of nights, eyes shining. “Awesome.”

Dean glances between the two of you, a knowing smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, good idea, Sammy. Glad that big head is good for something.” He roughs up Sam’s hair, and Sam makes a face, smacking Dean’s hands away. You laugh at their antics, wondering just what kind of shenanigans you’ve agreed to. 

*

Just over half an hour later, you are following the Impala into a well-hidden tunnel. Damn, this is cool. You find yourself feeling jealous that not only do they have a place to call home, but it’s like something out of a movie. Dean slows the Impala to a stop, pointing his arm out the window to show you where you can park. You pull into the empty spot, looking at all the vehicles they have in appreciation and wondering which of them rides the motorcycles. Probably Dean.

You grab your bags, leave your car keys in the visor, and pat the hood of your car goodbye. Sam is waiting at the trunk of the Impala to take your bags. “You sure this is okay?”

“Yeah, Sam. A longer ride in the Impala? Of course it’s cool.”

Your bags secure in the trunk, you hop into the back seat and Sam back into the passenger seat. Dean pulls out of the garage, heading north.

*

A few hours later finds you and the Winchesters pulling into a diner’s parking lot in Wakefield, Dean explaining, “My brain shuts down when I’m hungry. We eat, then we plan.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Your brain doesn’t plan even on a full stomach, Dean.”

Dean gives him a dirty look, getting out of the car and heading into the diner. You and Sam follow him in. Dean sits on one side of a booth, Sam sits on the other, and you debate for a moment before waving them to the corner booth instead. The boys comply, coming to the corner booth. Dean sits with his back to the dining area, Sam sits on the opposite side in the corner and you slide in next to Sam. After scanning the room, you notice the boys watching you, Sam with both eyebrows raised in question and Dean with his brows furrowed at you.

You debate for a second, then decide that you should explain your thought process. “Corner. No surprises from behind.”

The boys take a moment to consider before nodding. Three exits: front door, side door, back door through kitchen. Windows on two sides.

“I think talking to the Mullen family is where we should start. Their teenage son died in a swimming pool a few days ago,” Sam states, glancing over the menu.

The waitress comes by, takes your orders. She’s small with short grey hair, probably in her 60s. You all get coffee, Dean gets a burger, you and Sam get salads. She scurries away, promising it’ll only be a moment.

“People die swimming all the time,” Dean reasons, “What makes it our business?”

“He was basically a professional, on track to be the youngest competitor in the next Olympics actually,” Sam answers before you can.

“I vote we get rooms, we can change clothes, and drive to their house. Talk to them, feel them out a little. The sun hasn’t even set yet,” you suggest and the brothers agree.

The waitress brings your drinks and food, your table comfortably silent while you all eat your first meal of the day. 

After your meal is finished and you’ve paid, you pile back into the Impala, find a motel, and grab two rooms. You go into your single, the boys go into their double. You cleanse the room, set up your salt lines and sigil trap mats. You change into your monkey suit, grab your fake FBI badge, load yourself up with your weapons, and step outside. Both Winchesters are leaning against the Impala, Dean’s arms crossed and Sam running his fingers through his hair.

“Ready, slowpokes?” You joke. The boys snort out laughs, getting into the car and you follow. 

As you’re pulling up next to the Mullen household, an ambulance speeds by with lights and siren on. The three of you look at each other. “You two talk to them, I’ll check that out?” Dean asks, gesturing over his shoulder in the direction of the ambulance. You and Sam agree, getting out of the car quickly and Dean speeds off.

“Alright then. You want to take the lead?” Sam asks you.

“You go ahead. You’ve got that likable face.”

He nods, smiling a little. You both walk up to the door, you behind Sam. He knocks on the door, and a short, stout woman in her 40s answers. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. Agents Nichols and Kelley with the FBI. We were hoping to ask you some questions about Cole,” Sam says, you both flashing your badges before returning them to your pockets.

She opens the door, letting you both in and leading the way. “Sure, sure. Anything to get some answers for my boy. Can I get you both anything?” she asks.

“No, we’re fine, thank you,” Sam answers. You notice the pictures hanging in the hallway on your way by. There are countless pictures hanging, all showing Cole at different ages, gold medals hanging around his neck and a bright smile on his face. Definitely not a lack of skill or knowledge that caused this.

You join them in the living room, you and Sam sitting on the couch and Missus Mullen sitting across from you in a chair. “I’m surprised you all are here, the local police seemed convinced it was an accident. I had to fight for them to do an autopsy,” her voice breaks, tears starting to fall. You grab the box of tissues off the coffee table and offer it to her, she takes one and blows her nose. 

“Sometimes these things get passed to other offices,” Sam explains. “If you don’t mind, what can you tell us about Cole?”

“Well,” she starts, “he was a normal, happy kid. Perfect grades in school. Never got into trouble. He loved swimming. It was his whole life.”

“And he was very proficient at it, wasn’t he?” Sam asks.

“He was. Always first place in competitions. We registered him for the next Olympic trials meet.” she explains, wiping her eyes.

“Was there anything weird the day he died? Or in the days leading up to it?” you ask.

“No, nothing.” she answers. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself too. But nothing was weird. He ate his lunch like he always does, and then he got in the pool and didn’t come back out.”

“He didn’t struggle? Yell for help?” Sam asks.

“Nothing like that, no. It looked like he grabbed his stomach, but then he just sank.”

You and Sam look at each other before you address her again, “Thank you for your time, Missus Mullen. We’ll look into everything and be in touch. So sorry again.” You hand her a business card as you and Sam get up to leave.

“Thank you, Agents,” she says, closing the door once you’re outside.

Both of your phones ding at the same time.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 7:11PM: You guys ready to be picked up? You won’t believe what I found at the hospital]

[Sam 7:11PM: Yeah, come get us]

“Well that was weirdly normal, yet also super weird at the same time,” you say.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Sam says, smiling a little at your wording.

*

You find yourselves back at the motel in no time, all in the Winchesters’ room. You’re sitting with your legs tucked under you on the couch, Sam is sitting in a chair at the table with his laptop open in front of him, and Dean is sitting on his bed with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the headboard. 

“What do you mean, ‘gum?’” You ask again.

“I’m telling you,” Dean explains, “it was gum. They rushed the kid into surgery and his stomach was packed totally full of chewed gum.”

“That makes no sense though,” Sam says, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

“I know it doesn’t but that’s what it was,” Dean shrugs, then snaps his fingers, “Oh! And there was another kid there whose eyes were stuck crossed. His mom was yelling that he was making faces and his eyes just got stuck like that. They’re having a weird day at that hospital.”

“Okay,” you say, “let’s just lay this all out. A kid with his stomach full of gum, a kid with his eyes stuck, a kid drowned after eating his lunch... These are all old wives’ tales, aren’t they?”

Sam lifts his head to look at you, “you’re right. But what is causing them to be true?”

“A witch?” You propose.

“Ughhh, I hate witches,” Dean groans, throwing his head back against the wall.

“Maybe,” Sam agrees. “What if they wanted a specific one to be true but they weren’t specific enough in their spell?”

“Then they suck,” Dean says, pouting like a child at the thought of dealing with a witch.

You laugh a little, “I mean, you’re not wrong, Dean.”

“I know I’m not. I’m always right. And witches always suck.”

“Getting back on track,” Sam interrupts, “how do we find them?”

“What if we look for someone who had good luck recently? Lottery or love?” You wonder out loud.

“Genius,” Sam says, starting to type on this laptop. “I could just kiss your brain.”

You blush and tuck your chin, trying to hide subtly. Dean grins at you, noticing your rosy cheeks. You take a deep breath, willing your face to return to normal color.

“So get this,” Sam says, “there was a marriage announcement in the paper yesterday. Says the man and woman only met two days before getting married, calling it ‘love at first sight.’”

“That fits. I’d call love at first sight an old wives’ tale.” You reason.

“Well, I don't know about that,” Dean argues. “It seems like it can happen for some people.”

You and Sam look at him in shock. You know enough about his love-them-and-leave-them habits from talking with other hunters. “Are you sick?” You ask, getting up to put a hand on Dean’s forehead and check for fever.

He smacks your hand away, “No, I’m not sick. Get off me. I’m just saying, for some people, not me, but it might happen for some.” He pointedly smirks at you.

Your teasing attitude immediately melts away and your face falls, realizing he is hinting at your feelings for his brother. You’re very glad that Sam is behind you and can’t see your reaction. You give Dean the smallest of head shakes, hoping he’ll take pity on you and keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, sure, Dean,” Sam says behind you, scoffing. “As if you’d suddenly start believing in something like that.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess,” Dean agrees, thankfully seeming to drop it. “So do we think the witch is him or her?”

“Well, I’ve got a way to find out,” Sam says, “but we’ll have to separate them.”

Sam, apparently incredibly skilled with spell work, explains that he can cast a spell to locate the witch who cast the original spell, but it will only give him a location. It’s decided that you and Dean will separate the couple to two different areas of town under the guise of them each winning a party, bachelor party for him and bachelorette for her. The biggest con to this plan is that as soon as the witch is revealed to Sam, the witch will be aware that they are being targeted. Sam will call whichever one of you needs to attack and you’ll need to act fast.

Sam gives you a few witch-killing bullets, and you load them into your pistol. You ‘borrow’ a car from the parking lot for the evening. Sam gathers some supplies from the Impala, and has everything set up for the spell within a few minutes. 

“Alright, we all ready?” Dean asks, loading his own witch-killing bullets and placing his pistol in the back of his jeans.

You and Sam respond affirmatively. The boys give each other a pat on the shoulder. With that, you and Dean leave, him in the Impala and you in your ‘borrowed’ sedan. You glance back up at the motel when you’re pulling away to see Sam in the window of the room, giving you a small wave.

*

You and Dean park at the house where Claire and Mick Allen live. You walk up to the door together, and Dean knocks on the door.

After several moments, Mick opens the door. He’s an average looking guy, brown hair, and in his 30s. “Can I help you?”

“Congratulations! You and your wife have won!” You exclaim.

“Won what? What is this, honey?” Claire comes to the door, standing beside her husband. She’s petite, has long blonde hair, and looks to be in her late 30s.

“Well, ma’am, we are part of a company called Eternal Love. We have a team who monitors marriages, and we choose couples monthly who get to go on all-expenses-paid bachelor and bachelorette parties. You lovely people are the winners this month!” You explain, trying to sound excited.

“Oh wow, sweetie,” Mick says to Claire, “This is awesome! We didn’t get the chance to go before the wedding.”

“Aw, how perfect!” Dean says. “Well, we’ll just need you both to pack overnight bags and we can be on our way. Don’t worry about the late hour, we will take care of driving and you can rest on the way.”

“Oh, I don’t know, honey,” Claire says.

“Let’s do it, sweetie. It’s all paid for.” Mick argues.

Claire still seems hesitant, but Mick turns to you and Dean, “We’ll do it. We’ll go pack and be right back.” Mick ushers his wife back into the house and closes the door.

You and Dean wait impatiently. The couple returns after a few minutes, each with a small duffel bag in their hands. You usher Claire to your car, Dean ushers Mick to his. You pull out your phones before getting inside.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 8:59PM: I have Mick. Heading east]

[Y/N 8:59PM: I have Claire. Heading west]

You each get in, pulling away and driving in opposite directions. The only noise in the car is the quiet sounds coming from the radio for several minutes. Then Claire speaks up, “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” you answer. “I promise it’ll be worth it. We should get there in about half an hour.”

“Oh. Okay,” she responds, disappointed that you wouldn’t give her more information.

“So how long have you two known each other?” You ask, trying to kill time.

“Not very long,” she admits. “Only a few days, really.”

“Wow, love at first sight, huh?”

“Yeah, it was,” she says.

You focus on appearing relaxed, but you keep your muscles tense, ready to grab your pistol if your phone rings. You’re driving for a few more minutes before Claire gasps and starts crying. “Oh my God, why did I marry him? I don’t even know him!”

You realize that the spell must have broken, meaning Dean got rid of Mick. You start trying to calm Claire down and explain what happened when your phone rings.

“It’s not her,” you answer.

“I think something happened to Dean, he won’t answer.” Sam says quickly.

You turn the car around to speed in the direction Dean drove. “Well he did something because the spell is broken. I’m going to look for him. Where did your spell lead?”

“Industrial Road, east of town.”

“Claire, I need you to lead me to Industrial Road, quickly.” 

She looks at you, still panicked.

“Claire, I promise I will explain everything but I need you to help me. Can you do that? Please?” You beg.

She nods, leading you through town and to Industrial Road. You put Sam on speakerphone and laid your phone on the dash, focusing on looking for any sign of the Impala or Dean.

“There’s a car there!” Claire says, pointing.

You pull off to the side, slamming the car into park and jump out, leaving Claire and your phone behind and telling her to stay in the car. The Impala is on the side of the road at an angle, both front doors thrown open. You pull out your pistol and flashlight, making your way into the trees. You find Mick first, laying face down, blood seeping into his shirt from a shot to the heart. You still check for a heartbeat, finding nothing. You’re continuing deeper into the trees when you hear a rustle behind you, spinning around with your pistol aimed at the noise.

“Woah, woah, Y/N, it’s me!”

“Dean?” Your eyes register him standing in front you, left eye swollen and blood running down the side of his face. On instinct, you rush forward and wrap your arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I got so scared when Sam called,” you say into his chest. Can’t believe I like these boys this much already.

He pats your back, “yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You good?”

“Oh my God!” you say, realizing you left Sam on the phone in the car. You pull away and run back to the car with Dean following behind. Claire is holding your phone, watching the trees, and she gets out of the car to hand the phone to you when she sees you coming.

“Sam, I found him, he’s okay,” you tell him. “A little beat up but okay.”

You hear a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. “Good, I’m glad. Take care of things there and come back, okay?”

“Yeah, we will, Sam. See you soon.”

You’ve been patted down, fingerprinted, photographed, and now you’re sitting handcuffed to the table in an interrogation room in front of Officers Davis and Johnson. Davis is the ray of sunshine that arrested you and processed you, getting a little too handsy when patting you down and taking your weapons and belongings. Johnson is a very tall and gaunt man in his 60s with the worst dark circles you’ve ever seen. He also looks like he hasn’t seen sunlight in probably the last five years. Desk jobs will do that to you, I guess. Davis is the one doing all the talking, leering at you.

“So here’s what we know,” Davis says, counting offenses on his fingers, “You’re not FBI. In fact, the name on your badge is completely fake. You had illegal knives on you and an illegal unregistered pistol. And you were caught around two of the families who have already had members killed recently. Sure does make us wonder who you are and what you were doing.”

Missus Miller must have been the one who called them. You stay silent, knowing that it’s your best bet. They won’t find an ID by searching your prints, but they will likely find them tied to other crime scenes, just due to the nature of your job as a hunter. They won’t find any record of the pistol, the serial numbers have been filed off for years. You send up a prayer to anything listening that they won’t find anything serious enough to keep you for more than a few days. 

“You would be smart to talk to us, explain some of this. Maybe if you gave us some answers, we could help,” Davis says.

You know he’s lying. The last thing you want to do is dig this hole any deeper. You smirk at him, then look at the ceiling and start counting the tiles to kill the time.

The officers sit, watching you for several more minutes. Davis continues trying to get you to talk, you continue ignoring him. This is going to be a very boring few days. I hope the boys can figure everything out and kill whatever it is before it gets anyone else. I hope they’re doing okay.

“I don’t think she’s talking, man. I’m taking a few,” Johnson gets up and walks out, leaving you alone with Davis.

After a moment, Davis gets out of his seat, moving around to lean on your side of the table. He places his hand on your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Just us now, sweetheart.” You glance at the camera in the corner of the room and notice the red recording light is no longer on. He’s leaning closer and you’re trying to decide if you can get away with headbutting him, adding assault to your charges, when there’s a knock at the door. Davis drops his hand as the door opens and Sam walks in. 

<>

“I certainly hope you haven’t been questioning my client without me, Officer,” Sam says, practically spitting out the last word. “I trust she has been informed of her rights and any charges against her?”

Davis moves away from you, “You’re her attorney?”

“I am, and I need a moment with my client. Thank you,” Sam leaves no room for discussion, taking a seat across from you and looking at Davis expectantly. 

Davis looks between the two of you for a moment, then scoffs and goes to leave. 

“And make sure all recording devices to this room are off,” Sam calls after him.

Davis grumbles under his breath, closing the door behind him, leaving you alone with Sam.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you being here, because I do,” you say, “but why aren’t you still out there hunting this thing? I can handle a day or two in jail-”

“Y/N,” Sam cuts you off, “I’m here. I’m getting you out of here. Dean is working on it. He can handle himself for a few hours. Besides, I saw how that creep was with you, I’m definitely not leaving you here. They’d probably have you here for longer than a couple days, impersonating a federal officer is a felony. Anyway, I’ve called in some help. What do they have of yours? Anything we can leave behind?”

You tell him about your weapons, holsters, and phone. He nods, looking up and seeming to think to himself for a moment. He pulls out a small kit from his pocket and picks the lock on your handcuffs, finally freeing your wrists. You reflexively rub at the red skin. “You seem strangely comfortable here,” you comment.

“Yeah, I was on my way to becoming a lawyer before... well, just before.” He stands, coming to your side of the table. “Ready?”

“Um, I guess?” you answer, “Want to fill me in on this plan of yours?”

You hear what sounds like wings fluttering, you register a hand on your shoulder, and the next instant, you’re standing inside your hotel room. Sam is still in front of you, “yeah. That’s my plan. Meet Castiel,” Sam gestures behind you.

You turn around, looking into comforting blue eyes. A man stands in front of you, messy dark brown hair, wearing a suit and tan trench coat. “Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “You’ll find your belongings on the bed. Don’t worry, I disabled their cameras. They were not able to see me retrieving your things or us leaving.”

“Oh, wow, um, thanks,” you stutter out. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you? What are you? How did you do that?”

Castiel takes it all in stride, “Not rude at all, Y/N. I would expect you to be curious. I am Castiel, an angel.”

“Oh. Okay.” That’ll take some getting used to. “Thank you, Castiel.”

“Of course, Y/N. Any friend of Sam and Dean is a friend of mine. Pray to me if you should need help again,” he says, then nods at Sam and disappears.

“I can send you his cell number, too,” Sam says, pulling out his phone.

“He’s an angel with a cell phone?” you ask, starting to pick up your things and put your weapons back in their places on your body.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “he’s basically one of us but with perks.”

Sam’s phone rings and he answers, “Hey Dean, you’re on speaker. Y/N is here.”

“You busted out already? That was fast,” Dean says.

“We had some help. I called Cas,” Sam tells him. “What’d you find out?”

“Well, Sam, remember the bank in Milwaukee?”

“A shifter?”

“You betcha. All dealt with. I’m on my way back to the motel now. You guys need a ride?”

Hearing it’s over, you let their voices trail off and sink down onto the edge of the bed. I stupidly got caught, Sam had to save me, and Dean finished the case. Maybe I’m not good enough for this job after all. You realize Sam is no longer on the phone and is looking at you in concern. “You okay, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you try to convince yourself.

You can tell he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t push the issue. He goes to watch out the window for his brother. A few minutes later, the Impala is pulling up outside and Dean is knocking on the door.

“Alright, Princess, I figured out what is wrong with your car. I can get it up and running in the morning, should be able to have you out of town by noon, “ he says, making himself comfortable on the chair across the room.

“Sounds good. Thanks, Dean. What do I owe you?”

“Hmmm,” he taps his chin, thinking, “I’ll consider us even if you buy me some pie at that diner.”

“That’s it?” You ask. He nods. You smirk, “Wow, you’re easier than they say. Deal. Let’s go.”

*

You end up at the diner, all having a slice of pie, Dean filling you in on the details of the shifter. Apparently Missus Miller was the shifter, or rather the shifter was pretending to be Missus Miller. Dean went back to question her, and she recoiled when he shook her hand. “Silver ring,” Dean explained, holding up his right hand and wiggling his fingers in the air. He was able to draw his silver knife and stab her in the heart before she could attack him. “Reflexes like a cat,” Dean bragged, mouth full of pie. You can’t help but smile at him.

You all finish your pie and pile back into the Impala to go back to your rooms for the night. Once again, you can feel both of them watching you during the drive. You do your best to ignore it, watching the streetlights pass by outside.

Outside your rooms, Dean promises to text you when he’s done with your car tomorrow. You thank him, say goodnight to the brothers, and head into your room for the night.

You strip down, deciding to take a bath to unwind. With the bath full of warm water, you sink in and hear your phone go off.

[Sam 9:52PM: You doing okay?]

[Y/N 9:53PM: Doing fine, sunshine. Why?]

[Sam 9:53PM: You’ve seemed off since Dean’s phone call earlier.]

Yeah, I’ve seemed off. I should be able to do this job by myself. I have been able to, until now. I shouldn’t have to rely on you and your brother and your angel friend to save my ass and finish my case.

[Sam 9:55PM: You know you’re one of the best hunters out there, right?]

You let his message go unanswered again. After a few more minutes, you decide to call it a night. You get out of the bathtub, dry yourself off, and put on your favorite pajamas. You’re crawling into bed when you hear a knock at the door. You get up and look through the peephole, seeing Sam standing there in black sweatpants and a long-sleeved grey henley. You sigh and open the door, “Yes, Sam?”

“You stopped answering, so I figured you could use a pick-me-up,” he holds up the bags in his hands, small smile on his face and dimples peeking out. Damn that smile and those dimples. You step out of the way, letting him inside. He comes in, emptying the bags onto the small table while you close and lock the door. “So, I brought ice cream: Phish Food and Americone Dream. I also got some Kit-Kats and M&Ms. We can talk or watch some TV. I’ve also been told I give good hugs.”

You feel like you’re in shock. He just met you today. Sure, he had apparently heard about you from Bobby, but you’ve only known each other for about ten hours. So far in those ten hours, he has taken your sarcasm in stride, gotten you out of jail, went shopping for snacks for you, and is now standing in your room offering hugs. Either he’s insane, or I’ve stumbled upon the eighth wonder of the world. You’ve spent your entire life building walls around your heart, firmly believing that feelings lead to nothing but hurt or death. Somehow in less than half of a day, this man in front of you has managed to obliterate them, leaving you feeling more vulnerable than you ever thought possible.

He turns around, looking at you, unsure what to make of your silence. “Or I can leave. I mean, if you want to be alone-”

He’s cut off by you rushing forward into his chest, wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your head against his chest. My God, he’s solid like a tree. Once his brain catches up, his arms wrap around you too and he rests his chin on your head. He’s absolutely right, this is the best hug ever. He squeezes you a little and then runs his fingers through your hair. You feel all your muscles relaxing. You stay like this for a while, his hands switching between playing with your hair and rubbing circles on your back.

“I’m strong,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You do,” he agrees. “And you’ll continue to. We’ve just joined in now.”

You pull back a little, tears forming in your eyes. You look at each other, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes. You shy away, pulling out of his arms and clearing your throat. “This all seems very… not your taste, Mister Chicken Wrap,” you joke, gesturing to the sweets and trying to deflect.

He shrugs, “Not really yours either, Miss Salad. But sometimes a little sugar rush can be a good thing.”

You give him a small smile, greatly appreciating that he is willing to change topic, opening the M&Ms and pouring yourself a few before offering the bag to him. He takes the bag, pouring out a couple into his hand and popping one into his mouth.

You sit on the bed, back against the headboard, and pat the space beside you, "So, tell me all about the enigma that is Mister Sam Winchester."

He sits beside you, and you spend the next few hours trading questions and learning all the little things about each other. You learn that his favorite color is blue, he is full of knowledge about true crime and serial killers, and he hates clowns. He listens to The Smiths, Bon Jovi, and Celine Dion. He prefers to eat healthily, and he runs at least once a day to stay in shape. “There are so many unknowns in this world and so many things that can take you out, I refuse to let my cholesterol be what does it,” he reasons. You open up to him as well, telling him your favorite holiday, color, music, and foods. By the time 2AM rolls around, he has resorted to telling you terrible dad jokes.

“You know,” he says, sounding serious, “I’ve realized I only know 25 letters of the alphabet. I don’t know y.”

You groan and laugh at the same time, “Your jokes are terrible, Sam!”

“Oh, I’m well aware. But hey, they make you laugh,” he says, laughing and nudging your shoulder with his. 

Your laugh dying down, you rest your head against his shoulder and sigh. “I guess we should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “you’re probably right.” He pats your head before getting up. You follow him to the door and when he turns around to say his goodbye, you wrap your arms around him again. “Thank you, Sam. You’re kind of alright, I guess.”

He laughs a little, “yeah, you too, I suppose.” You think you feel the ghost of his lips on the top of your head before he pulls away from the embrace. With a smile and small wave, he closes the door, leaving you alone but your heart feeling lighter than it ever has. You crawl under the covers, smiling to yourself and sending one more message before turning out the lights.

[Y/N 2:09AM: Goodnight, Sam.]

[Sam 2:09AM: Goodnight, Y/N.]

<> You have been arrested and are being questioned in an interrogation room by two officers, Davis (who arrested you) and Johnson. You stay silent throughout their questioning, despite their threats and their attempts to coerce you into talking. Johnson leaves, and Sam enters shortly after.

Once you hear Sam going for his morning run, you go to the library. Dean will be up and Sam will be back soon, time to act normal. You peruse the books, looking for anything that might lead you to The Night. Picking several random books about demons off the shelf, you sit down and start reading.

You’ve made it through two books before Sam returns from his run. He’s wearing a pair of gym shorts, a grey tee, and sneakers. He walks past the library, then doubles back to stand in the doorway. “Y/N?”

You hum at him but keep your face down toward the book in front of you.

“Any progress so far?” he asks.

You shake your head no, fighting to stifle a yawn. He tilts his head to look at you better, noticing the dark circles under your eyes. “Hey, Y/N.”

You hum at him again, still keeping your head down. He pulls out the chair next to you, turning it toward you and sitting. “Will you look at me please?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You look at him. “Are you okay?” he asks. You open your mouth to lie, but there is so much worry behind his kind eyes. You shut your mouth and shake your head no, tears threatening to form. You close your eyes and lean into him, your shoulder landing on his chest and your head tucks under his chin. He automatically wraps his arms around you, “you’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out and hunt them down, Y/N, I promise.” His hand rubs comfortingly up and down your arm, and you breathe in his soothing energy, willing the tears away.

He kisses the top of your head just as Dean enters the room. “Morning, lovebirds,” he says. He’s sipping a coffee, wearing a black tee with a grey robe over it and black slippers. 

Sam gives you a gentle squeeze before letting go and standing, grabbing one of the books from your stack and sliding it across the table in Dean’s direction. “Good, you’re here,” Sam says to him, “stay here with Y/N and read. I’ll be back after a shower.”

Dean takes a seat across from you, sliding the book over with him. “Alright, but we both know you’ll be faster at this than me.”

“Sam, I don’t need a babysitter,” you say meekly, not wanting to be alone but also not wanting to admit it.

“I know, Y/N,” Sam says, “but even with Cass improving the wardings, I’ll feel better with at least one of us around you as much as you’re okay with.” You can tell he sees through you, can see that you need company and need to feel safe, and he’s giving you an out. You nod and give Sam a small appreciative smile, going back to your book while Sam leaves the room. Except for the occasional turning of pages and sounds of Dean slurping his coffee, the two of you work in silence, scouring the books for any answers.

Sam showers and returns with wet hair, wearing his usual jeans, grey tee, and a red flannel. He enters the library carrying his laptop, giving the laptop to Dean and continuing in the book where his brother left off. The three of you spend the morning searching for any info you can find on The Night. 

Dean stands from his chair around noon and leaves the room, stating it is time for lunch and a break. You stand from your chair, stretching your arms above your head and yawning so hard your eyes start to water. You’re rubbing your eyes as Sam closes his book and speaks up, “alright, I have a suggestion. Let’s get something to eat, I’ll make a few phone calls, and then we can go take a nap.”

“Sam, I need answers, not a-” you’re cut off by another huge yawn forcing its way out of you.

Sam gives you a smile, standing and offering you his hand. “Sure you don’t, but I do and I’d like some company, Y/N.”

He’s giving me another out. Damn, he’s good at this. You reach out, taking his hand and nodding appreciatively. He interlocks your fingers and starts to lead the both of you to the kitchen, “mind making me something to eat? Whatever you’re feeling like eating is fine. I’ll go call Garth and Bobby, and touch base with Cass.” You nod, and he leaves you in the kitchen with a kiss on the top of your head. 

Dean is sitting down, eating the sandwich he made while you put together sandwiches for you and Sam. You sit down, another yawn escaping your lips, and start to eat.

“You know,” Dean says, still paying attention to his food, “I’ve lost a lot of sleep over the years, for one reason or another. It gets easier. Or at least, you’ll find ways to deal with it.”

You press your lips together, looking at him. “You’ve been through way worse than what I’ve faced.”

“It’s not a competition, Y/N.” he says. “Sam and I, we’re here for ya. That’s all I mean.” 

A few minutes pass in silence, the two of you enjoying your food. As Dean is leaving the room, he turns back with a small smile, “and I do have a sleeping bag, if you need a guard dog in your room or something.”

“Thanks, Dean,” you say with a smile. “Thought you didn’t do touchy-feely though?”

“Well I gotta keep you around for Sammy somehow, huh?” he smirks, leaving with a wink.

You’re alone long enough to finish your sandwich before Sam comes in, taking a seat next to you, “thanks, Y/N. This looks great.” 

“Any news?” you ask as he starts to eat.

He nods, speaking after he swallows, “Bobby is glad to hear you’re okay, and said to call him if, and I quote, ‘those boys give you an ounce of trouble.’ He also threatened something vague with his boot and our asses if we do.” You both share a laugh. “Garth said he’ll keep his ears open and call us if he hears anything. Cass said he may have found a lead to some answers about The Night, said he’ll call us or stop in later.”

“And who’s Garth?”

“Fellow hunter. He’s a good guy. Next time we’re heading toward Wisconsin, you’ll have to meet him.” Sam keeps eating his sandwich, and you sit in silence, wondering what kind of lead Castiel may have found. 

In such a short time, you’ve grown so attached to the Winchesters. You’re starting to see that under Dean’s weathered and hard exterior, he’s really a big softie. You have no doubt that he would actually post himself as your personal guard if you asked. While Dean has already become like a big brother to you, Sam has worked his way straight into your heart. With those dimples and that silky floppy hair, he has charmed you to your core. And while both boys’ presence comforts you, Sam’s seems to light a fire in you, warming you and giving you life. 

Sam finishes eating and puts all the dishes in the dishwasher. “Come on,” he grabs your hand, gently pulling you out of your chair and along with him, “I need a nap.” Gently enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, he pulls you to his room, checking with you that it’s okay before closing the door. The bare bones of his room are identical to yours, but his room is more lived-in and furnished: bed perpendicular to the door, a sink with a mirror above it next to the door, a dresser and desk with books and yellowed papers neatly stacked on them, and a TV on the wall across from the bed.

“Will you be comfy in what you’re wearing?” he asks you, taking off his flannel and boots, leaving him in jeans and a grey tee.

You look down at your outfit, removing your weapons and putting them on the desk. “Yeah, I can sit in this,” you say, sitting in the chair at the desk.

“Oh- um- I mean,” Sam stutters, moving the blankets to lay down on the side of the bed closest to the door, “I don’t want to assume or make you uncomfortable, but I thought we could lay together?”

You blush, and you swear you can see a hint of blush on Sam’s cheeks, too. “Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks, Sam,” you mutter, taking off your boots and getting into the bed beside him, both of you laying on your backs.

He reaches over and turns off the lamp. “I have an alarm set for a few hours from now,” he states, settling in.

You both lay there, listening to each other’s breathing. After a few awkward minutes pass, you sigh.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you say, cringing at how unconvincing you sound.

“Come here,” he offers, opening his arms. You turn onto your left side, settling yourself against him. Your right arm wraps across his waist and your head rests on his right shoulder. He makes sure you’re both under the blanket before his arms wrap around you, his left hand resting on your side and his right hand playing with your hair. You feel him kiss the top of your head. “Comfy?” he asks.

You hum, “you know, I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who takes naps.”

“I’m not,” he admits.

You sit up slightly to turn and look at him, your eyes adjusting to the darkness enough to see the outlines of his features. “Then why-”

“I know you didn’t sleep last night,” he cuts you off. “Your dark circles kinda give you away. And all the yawning. Figured the least I could do is try to give you some peace of mind and keep watch so you can rest.” 

You pause, letting that soak in. 

He continues quietly, “and- I mean- it gives me an excuse to hold you too.”

You blush, reaching your right hand up to hold his left cheek. You lean in, your lips meeting in a kiss. His right hand is still in your hair, cupping the back of your head. You pour all of your thanks and appreciation into the kiss, hoping he’ll understand. You pull away but give him another small peck before settling back against his side. 

He gives you a small squeeze. “Get some rest. I’ll be here. Always,” he says softly.

Relaxing into Sam’s embrace and warmth, you allow yourself to drift to sleep.

You sit for a few moments, feeling like your brain has shut off and time has stopped. I have to tell them. But what if we’re being watched here? What if our phones are being watched?

Calmly, as if nothing has happened, you get up from your seat and walk to the library. You find some paper and a pencil, then set out to find either of the Winchesters. Castiel, if you’re available and can be discrete, we might need some help at the bunker.

You’re walking down the hallway toward the bedrooms when Sam comes out of his room and notices you. “Hey, settling in okay?”

“Yeah, this place is great. Actually, I’m glad I found you, can I get your help with something?” Stay calm, act normal.

“Sure, what’s up?” He asks.

“I need to grab a few things first, but can you show me to the shower room again? This place is huge.” Surely if there are cameras here, there won’t be any in the bathroom.

“Sure, no problem,” He gives you a smile.

“Great, thanks. Give me a second.” You step into your room, leave your phone on your bed, and grab some clothes and a towel, tucking your paper and pencil inside. “Okay, I’m ready. Lead the way?”

Sam nods, leading you down the hall. When you get to the door of the shower room, he stops and gestures, “here you go.” 

You wrap a hand behind his neck, pulling him down so your lips meet. Catching him by surprise, it takes a moment before he kisses you back, but once he snaps out of it, he is kissing you with fervor and grabbing your hips to pull you even closer. As his tongue works its way into your mouth, your arms wrap around his neck and you use them to pull him with you into the shower room. Once the door closes behind him, you reluctantly pull back and place a finger on his lips. He opens his eyes to look at you in confusion, lips swollen and reddened from your attack. God, I want to do that more. I hope Dean is right, and I really hope kissing him like this doesn’t ruin my chances. You gesture with your finger for him to wait, and you grab your paper to write a message: “Please trust me. Don’t speak yet. Turn your phone off.”

He reads the message with furrowed brows, and you look at him with pleading eyes. He nods, doing as you asked. You write another message: “Cameras in here?” He shakes his head no. You turn on one of the showers, hoping it’ll swallow any noises that could be picked up from the hallway.

“Okay, I definitely want to talk more about that kiss later,” you keep your voice low. “But I needed to get you in here because I think someone might be watching us, or at least me. The bunker does have security cameras, right?”

“Oh- uh- yeah, yeah it does,” Sam stutters out, his brain trying to catch up, “Everywhere except the bathrooms and bedrooms.”

“Do they have audio?”

He shakes his head, “no, just video.”

“Okay, good,” you turn off the shower. “I got a call from an unknown number and I didn’t recognize the voice, it said ‘vedimus te. Venimus ad vos.’ But it wasn’t even like the voice came from the phone, it felt like it came from my head.”

“Shit,” Sam runs his hands through his hair. “Can you think of anything that would be after you?”

“No,” you answer, “nothing big, anyway. I don’t make a habit of going after the big stuff, that’s more your thing.”

“Well- yeah, that’s fair. If it is something big, it would have to be really big to get in here past the wardings-”

You cut him off, “-unless it managed to power down the wardings when it hacked the cameras. Also the voice said ‘we,’ I’m thinking it isn’t working solo.”

“Okay, so multiple somethings speaking Latin that can see inside the bunker and they are coming for you. We need to let Dean know.” He pulls out his phone, turning it back on.

“Sam, what if they’re watching your phones?”

“We have a code, don’t worry, Y/N.” He says, texting Dean. “I’m thinking that if we can get Cass here, he can blow out the cameras. That way, no one sees us turning them off and we have something to blame it on.”

“Okay, but what if that makes them come inside the bunker since they don’t have eyes on us anymore?”

“Well,” he says with determination shining in his eyes, “we’ll just have to be armed and as ready as we can be. Plus, we’ll have backup.”

“What if it’s not enough though, Sam? We don’t even know what they are. I don’t want you guys to get hurt because of me. I mean, they called me, not either of you. What if I go find them, give them what they want-”

“No,” he stops you, placing his hands on either side of your face, “absolutely not, Y/N. We can handle whatever this is, but we’ll handle it together.”

You stare into his eyes, tears forming in yours at how sweet and selfless Sam is. One tear manages to escape, rolling down your cheek until he wipes it away with his thumb, and then his lips are back on yours. The kiss is sweet but strong, your feelings for each other pouring into the passionate embrace. He pulls away slightly, placing his forehead against yours. “We can talk later about that kiss, too,” he says, grinning.

You smile and nod, pulling away and wiping your face for any other tears. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Sam’s phone dings, signaling that he got a text. “Cass is here. You ready?” he asks.

You reach out, taking his hand. “Let’s do this.” He squeezes your hand, leading the both of you out into the hallway and toward the War Room. Dean and Castiel are standing there. Cass gives you a small nod when you enter, and Dean looks at your hand in Sam’s, a small grin forming on his lips. Sam nods at Cass, whose eyes then shine with a bright white light, and you see sparks flying from several spots on the walls.

“All cameras in the bunker have been destroyed,” Cass affirmed, his eyes returning to their normal blue. His head tilts to the side and his brows furrow, “the wardings are down. Do you all have weapons?” 

In response, the brothers each draw their pistols. “Shit,” you respond, “my stuff is in my bag in my room.” You drop Sam’s hand and jog down the hall, heading for your room to grab your weapons and cell phone. You grab your usual knives and pistol, but your phone rings with another unknown number as soon as your hand touches it. Coincidence or can they somehow still see me? But Sam said there weren’t cameras in the bedrooms.

You lift the phone, intending to answer it, but you hear a breath behind you. Shit. As you turn to face your attacker, you feel a sting in the side of your neck. Your hand instinctively goes to the spot, finding a syringe. Your vision immediately blurs, your muscles seem to turn to liquid, and you collapse. You register a blurred figure bending over you before you lose consciousness.

*

Feeling halfway between awake and asleep, your limbs dangle lifelessly and feel as if they are made of lead. You’re being carried over someone’s shoulder. Staying as limp as you can manage in the hopes of not alerting your attacker, you struggle to pry your eyes open slightly. Seeing that it is too dark to make out any surroundings, you let them drift closed again. Your thoughts feel like they’re moving through molasses, and awareness slips through your grasp again.