#larkiwrites

“(Y/N)!” Rachel called from your friends’ usual spot on the soft velvety couch. You grinned and began to shake off as much of the cold wet that had gathered in your hair and on your shoulders. Even without her calling for you, you could easily hear the laughter of your group of friends, practically your family, from the entrance.

Sliding your phone out of your pocket to turn the ringtone volume down, you made your way forward and into the café. Suddenly you collided with a solid form, causing you to drop your phone and lose your balance. Strong hands gripped your upper arms to prevent you from falling as you glanced up to meet the stunning emerald-green eyes of a man you’d never seen before. His light-brown hair was in a messy spike you weren’t sure was from the snowy weather, or if that was just his style. His strong jawline was accentuated by his five o’clock shadow and contrasted sharply with the soft set of his lips. God, his lips.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you uttered, overwhelmed by his beauty.

“Are you ok?” He spoke at the same time, leaning over and gazing at you through his dark lashes.

You shyly tugged at your bottom lip, glancing down and away before realizing it. You gave yourself a mental shake and met his gaze once more, heat instantly rising to your cheeks.

“Yeah, uh, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” you sounded slightly more confident than you would have expected. That was good.

The man stooped to pick up your phone and you instantly mourned the loss of his hands on your arms. What the hell, (Y/N)? Get it together.

“I think this is yours….?”

“(Y/N), my name is (Y/N),” you gave a small smile while taking the phone from his hands. Your cold fingers brushed against the warmth of his skin and the feeling of electricity shot through you.

“Dean,” his pink lips lifted into a half-smile in response.

“Thanks, Dean,” you held the phone up, referencing what you were thanking him for. That, and you know, existing. God, those eyes… You gave yourself another mental shake.

“(Y/N)!” your friend Phoebe’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the present. You hadn’t noticed but for a moment there, there was only you and Dean in the bustling café.

“Uh, sorry, my friends,” you gestured toward the sitting area your friends occupied.

“Right, well, it was nice to meet you, (Y/N),” his deep voice had you hanging onto every word.

You could only smile as the two of you parted ways. Your face was flushed and you were grinning like a schoolgirl from the interaction as you continued toward your friends. Maybe you could blame the icy wind for your pink cheeks.

“Wow,” Chandler spoke up as you took a seat next to Rachel, “Could you be any more in love?”

Rachel laughed while Monica grinned behind her cup of coffee.

“In love? With who?” Ross asked, having missed the entire interaction between you and mystery-Dean.

Phoebe nonchalantly gestured toward the gorgeous and his companion, “That guy, obviously,” she rolled her eyes.

“What guy?” Joey was curious now, too.

“The one at the bar,” Monica chimed in, sitting her coffee down on the table in front of her.

“Did you get his number?” Rachel ­­­­­­­­­­­­­animatedly asked before adding, “Ugh, he’s so pretty I could cry.”

“Guys, stop,” you finally spoke up, biting your bottom lip once more. You had done your best to avoid looking toward Dean while your friends teased you, but you found your gaze drifting his way despite your best efforts. Your (Y/E/C) eyes met the jeweled tone of his green irises from across the room and you realized he had been staring as much as you had wanted to stare.

“Thank you,” Sam said, sighing contently as he finished his meal.

“No problem, oh! And the dessert, I forgot we had gotten any….” You trailed off as you made your way to the fridge. Sam hummed in agreement, his eyes watching his brother intently as you brought over a small cherry pie.

“It’s not homemade but better than nothin’,” you shrugged as you opened the plastic container and started to scoop out a slice for each of the guys.

Dean’s eyes had widened ever so slightly when he saw the pie and he wondered if you knew… no, you couldn’t know of his affinity for pie… could you? Sam snickered and gave you this thank before digging into the dessert. Ah, maybe Sam had picked it out, he had taken you to the store after all.

“You pick this, Sammy?” Dean asked through a mouthful of pie, making you chuckle. Sam shook his head, his mouth too full to answer.

“I did, why? Is it ok?” You asked Dean before quickly adding on, “If you write a list, I can get whatever you want next time we go, I’m sorry if it’s not any good.”

Dean swallowed hard and quickly shook his head, stating it was perfect and thanking you for it. It was weird, hearing him thank you for something. He had been acting weirdly ever since you had gotten to the new motel room, and you couldn’t pinpoint the cause. All you knew is it was driving you crazy. One month he wants nothing to do with you, the next he’s thanking you and asking you to cook dinner more often.

“So, any new leads?” you looked between the two brothers. You had to get your mind off of Dean.

The two men glanced at each other as if having a silent conversation before shaking their heads and replying with a simple ‘no’ …in unison. You cocked an eyebrow at them. They were lying. You were getting better at reading them and could easily tell.

“What new leads have you found?” you rephrased the question, folding your arms across your chest and leaning back in your chair.

Dean rolled his eyes, still shaking his head. Sam sighed before stating they had found a few connections they were ‘looking into’ and left it at that.

“I hate when you guys do that, you know. Talk to each other silently as if I’m not sitting right here, watching you do it, and then lying to me,” you threw your arms up before standing and starting to clear the table.

Dean and Sam froze in place behind your back as you threw away the now-empty paper plates and used utensils. Sam stared his brother down and nodded his head toward you as if to say, ‘talk to her,’ but Dean only shook his head. It was late but he could probably get away with finding a bar so he sat on the edge of the couch-bed and laced up his boots. Sam gave his older brother an exasperated look before turning back to you.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). We don’t mean to.”

“To what? Talk to each other or lie?” you turned around and rested against the counter, folding your arms over your abdomen while you met eyes with the younger Winchester.

“Fine, we meant to lie, but it’s not to be assholes, ok? It’s just better if you don’t know too much about the cases we work.”

That earned him a heart-felt roll of your eyes, “Whatever, Sammy, it’s fine. I’m going to hit the shower.”

“She calls you Sammy, now?” Dean whispered as soon as you had shut the door to the bathroom behind you.

Sam shrugged, “I guess?”

“You guess? Since whe….you know what? Nevermind. I’m gonna go find a bar and get shit-faced. You and (Y/N) have fun, Sammy.”

Sam flinched at the anger in his brother’s words but before he could say anything the older brother had gathered his keys and left, slamming the cheap motel door behind him. A few seconds passed and you popped your head out of the bathroom door, a towel wrapped about you.

“What happened?” the sound of the door had startled you.

“Ugh, just, Dean being…well, Dean,” Sam sighed as he glanced over his shoulder at you. He quickly did a double-take at your appearance, causing you to blush.

“I, uh, sorry,” you mumbled before quickly ducking back into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. You berated yourself before getting back into the stream of hot water. You needed to stop being so damn relaxed around these guys. Sure, you had been with them for about six weeks already, but that meant you had only known them for six weeks. You sighed, shaking your head.

--

A few hours passed, you had finished your shower quickly and Sam had taken one after you. It gave you some time to think, to be alone, and to ponder over everything. Your mind replayed the last six weeks of your life, going over every detail you could. You tried to fit some of the jagged pieces of memory that had begun sporadically popping up into place, like a puzzle that was missing most of its pieces and didn’t have a picture to guide you, but only found yourself becoming agitated. Sometimes you thought you could remember faces of people you knew, but they were always blurred, out of focus. You sighed to yourself as Sam flopped onto his bed, freshly showered and dressed, a cold beer in hand.

“What is it?” his voice was smooth, velvety soft and comforting.

“I’m just tired of the confusion,” your reply was quiet, simple and direct. No point in beating around the bush with Sam, he could read through it by now, just like you could tell when he and Dean lied to you.

“I know. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

You shrugged off the apology, “Don’t, don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. Hell, you’ve one so much for me, Sammy. I often wonder, will I ever be able to repay you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” it was his turn to shrug. He seemed so sincere.

“Really, Sam. I hate that you and Dean can work, bring in money, pay for everything and now you have to support me, too. I want to help. Can I help you research whatever you’re privately investigating?”

Sam bit his lip, “Um, no, no it’s better that you don’t know too much about it…”

“Are you a drug dealer, Sammy?” you asked, grinning at him. You had laughed to yourself about the thought and how it had crossed your mind before.

Sam choked on his beer, sputtering the brew as his eyes widened.

“Am I- what? Is that what you think?” he didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff.

You looked at him, still smiling, and motioned your hand back and forth in the air as if to say eh, maybe. Your grin broke into laughter at the look on his face, somehow twisted between amusement and bewilderment. You were interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing, sudden and loud. He quickly crossed the room to get it from the counter where he had left it earlier, leaving the beer in its place as he answered.

“Dean?” he paused, listening to whatever his brother was saying on the other end of the line. A couple of minutes trickled by as your curiosity ate at you, Sam humming in agreement a couple of times before confirming he was on his way.

“Heading out?” you asked, perplexed. Dean had the impala, their only car, where was Sam going to go on foot?

He pinched the bridge of his nose, pocketing his cell, “Yeah, Dean apparently needs me to drive him back. You want to come? I was going to walk over to the office and see about a cab or something.”

You bit back the grin forming on your face, ecstatic at the prospect of getting out of the cramped room.

---

It had taken some time but you and Sam had eventually found a way to the dive bar Dean had made his new residence. The cute girl behind the desk at the motel, the one that Sam had flirted with when he booked the room, had not looked happy to see you standing near the tall man. You had bitten your cheek to keep from laughing at her while you let Sam do all the talking. He had shyly flirted his way to getting the two of you a ride from her, since she had laughed in his face when he asked if the town had cabs and claimed the bar was too far to walk to. He had even gone as far as implying you were his sibling, stating “our brother…” when he explained that Dean needed a D.D. The girl had relaxed at that, smiled at him coyly and offered to shut the office for a minute while she took you across town.

You exited her small white sedan first, giving her a quick thanks as you shut the door and turned toward the bar. Sam took a moment to thank her properly and, apparently get her number. After a few minutes he joined you and she took off, heading back to the motel. While she was annoying and somewhat pitiful at flirting, you couldn’t deny you were glad the two of didn’t have to trudge across the sparse and widely-spaced town. The chick wasn’t lying when she said the bar wasn’t close.

“Well, shall we?” Sam asked, opening the door and ushering you in.

The clamor of bottles clinking and people laughing could be heard even over the loud music pumping from the old jukebox in the far corner. Cigarette smoke bit at your lungs as you slowly made your way through a crowd of leather-clad bikers and took a seat at the bar. So far neither of you had spotted Dean, but it was hard to see with the dim lighting and the hazy air.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender, a stout man with a wiry beard and a patch over one eye startled you. You had been searching the room for a familiar face and didn’t see him approach.

“Uh, water?” Sam answered. He didn’t want to drink, just wanted to get Dean and head back to the motel. He really had found a few leads and wanted a clear mind in the morning.

If the man cared that Sam had only ordered water, he didn’t show it. In fact, he looked utterly disinterested as he turned to you. You held up a hand and shook your head, indicating you didn’t want anything, and turned back to the room.

Sam thanked the man and took a sip of his water as he, too, searched for his brother. A man began to shout in the far corner, near the jukebox and some pool tables. Great, you thought, a fight breaking out will just make it harder to spot Dean…

“Shit,” Sam interrupted your thoughts as he swiftly returned the glass in his hand to the bar, “c’mon, (Y/N).”

Sam took your hand and led you through the crowd toward the other end of the bar. The shouting became louder as you grew closer but you could also begin to hear someone replying to the angry man in between his bouts. The voice sounded familiar but with your height and the crowd of people that had gathered near the ruckus, you couldn’t see a thing. You were grateful for Sam’s tall stature and his ability to see the commotion.

“Eat shit,” Dean’s words weren’t exactly slurred, but he definitely wasn’t sober. You bit your lip, realizing the man was yelling at Dean, of all people. Shit, you echoed Sam’s earlier sentiment.

“Ok, ok,” Sam intervened, having made his way to the front of the crowd. He stood between the man and his brother while you waited on the sidelines, watching nervously. Had you ever been in a bar fight? You had no clue.

“Look, I’m sorry for my brother,” Sam started but the older man scoffed, cutting him off.

“This asshole’s your brother?”

“Watch who you’re calling asshole, dickbag,” Dean retorted.

“Stop,” Sam practically shouted but it was too late, the older man had already moved toward the two of them. Within seconds he shoved Sam back and took a swing at Dean. You found yourself shocked when Dean, intoxicated as he obviously was, easily dodged the hit.

Everything happened fast, after that. A friend of the bar patron had grabbed Dean’s arms from behind and held fast as the man had slugged him in the gut with his fist. Sam regained his footing and lunged at the man holding Dean back, who in turn released Dean. Dean had doubled over slightly when he had been hit but he was quick to strike back at the man, his own fist catching the man just above his eye. Before you could process your own actions, you were rushing into the fray and yelling at everyone to stop. Your voice was drowned out in between the music still pumping from the jukebox, the grunts, the groans and the yelling from the men.

“(Y/N)!” Dean’s voice shouted as you found yourself between him and the man he had offended. Holding your hands out you pleaded with the man to stop, and he tried, he really did try, but he was already mid-swing when you appeared.

The man’s fist connected with your cheek, hard. Probably a lot softer than it would have been for Dean, but fuck did it hurt. You stumbled backward into Dean, who caught you instinctually. The man backed up, apologizing. Whatever Dean had done to piss him off was apparently forgotten once he hit you. You could see the shame in his eyes as he looked over your quickly-swelling face. Within minutes you were outside in the cool night air, not knowing how you got there.

“What the fuck were you thinking, (Y/N)?!” Dean shouted once the three of you reached the impala, causing you to flinch and pull away from him.

You realized then that Dean had guided you out of the bar with an arm protectively held around your shoulders, Sam trailing closely behind the two of you. He turned you to face him, a hand on each of your arms, when you reached his car. He practically screamed at you in frustration, causing you to withdraw from his grasp and bite your bottom lip. Why was he so angry? Hadn’t you helped him? You felt your eyes begin to water and fought to keep the tears back as you backed away from the older Winchester. You bumped into Sam’s chest, not realizing he had been standing so closely. His hands mimicked Dean’s as he grasped your upper-arms and held tight before turning you around to face him.

“Are you ok?” his sincerity as his gaze flitted over your face broke your resolve. A few tears escaped and trickled down your cheeks before you quickly wiped them away. Ignoring both of the brothers you swiftly slid into the back seat of the Impala, more than ready to go back to the motel.

Sam brought in everyone’s bags as Dean found a blanket and covered (Y/N) with it. He sat in the recliner next to the couch and sighed, relieved to be out of danger and relieved to have (Y/N) back with them. Whatever she thought of them they could hash out when she woke. For now, at least, they were safe. Sam took a quick shower and claimed the bed in the loft of the cabin, falling asleep quickly. There was one bedroom just off of the kitchen but Dean didn’t want to scare (Y/N) with her waking up in a bed next to him or Sam, or to wake up alone, so the couch would suffice.    

Time passed slowly as Dean sat in the recliner, listening to the patter of rain on the roof of the cabin. He had found a fireplace in the corner and lit it up, bringing some warmth to the room. His eyes were drooping and his head began to nod until he shook himself awake. He was utterly exhausted but couldn’t let himself sleep knowing (Y/N) could wake up at any moment. The last thing he wanted was for her to try to run again, this time into a cold autumn storm and nothing around for miles. Instead he focused on the crackling flames in front of him and tried not to let his mind wander.

----

*(Y/N)’s POV

You woke to the comforting sounds of rain and fire, feeling dry and warm for the first time in what felt like ages. You allowed your eyes to flutter open despite the fear that this was a dream and that you were stuck back in that black hole. Shifting slightly, you realized you were on a cushioned surface and had several layers on you. The smell of leather and campfire surrounded you and brought flashbacks of your childhood to the forefront. The leather of a horse’s saddle, the heat of the fire when camping with your parents. The thoughts, combined with the memory of your own hands taking their lives, overwhelmed you. You gasped as you shot up to a sitting position and then cringed at the pain that blossomed from the gash in your abdomen where the tree branch had torn at you.

“(Y/N)?” Dean was by your side in an instant, concern filling his face.

“Dean?” the memories of him carrying you away from the man with black eyes surfaced and you were filled with a thousand emotions. You were beyond grateful for him and Sam getting you out of there, and hurt and confused at why they had hurt you to begin with. You were briefly scared of him, thinking back to the vague memory of being tied to a chair, but then you thought over everything the two had done for you since then and you shook it off. If they had wanted you dead, you would be dead by now.

“Yeah, (Y/N), I’m here,” his voice was soft, not something you had heard often, “What do you need? Water?”

You nodded, “Um, yeah, please,” the mention of water brought the realization that your throat was essentially sandpaper at this point. You tried to swallow but had no saliva. Dean was back with a bottle of water in the blink of an eye. You sat up fully, wrapping Dean’s oversized leather coat tightly about you. You needed a shower, some clothes, food, Tylenol, and probably more sleep- but you would settle for water.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat in the recliner near you.

“Better,” you whispered; you voice raw. You sipped on the water, not wanting to over-do it and shock your system.

“You had us pretty scared,” he fidgeted with his hands, not sure what to do or say now that you were awake.

“Me too,” you paused as you took another sip of the cool liquid, “How did you find me, Dean?”

“Well, uh, (Y/N), Sam and I are hunters, for starters…” he cleared his throat and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So, you can track.” It wasn’t really a question, more of an acknowledgement.

“So, uh, are you hungry? Or do you want to shower? We really should get your side cleaned up; I just didn’t want to wake you. It was hard enough getting the damn handcuffs off of you,” he trailed off.

“Uhm, a little bit of everything. I’ll shower, first, I think you’re right, I need to get everything cleaned out and bandaged. I can eat after that.”

He nodded and stood, offering you his hand. You hesitated but accepted it and his help getting up and to the bathroom. He started the water for you as you took in your reflection. You looked like hell ran over. Dark circles lingered under your sunken eyes and your skin was pale, your hair was filthy and knotted like no other. You were tempted to shave your head before stepping into the shower but doubted the boys packed clippers. You didn’t notice Dean watching you as you took in the image within the mirror, so overwhelmed by your state.

“Here,” he helped you out of the warm embrace his coat offered and took it off your hands. “I’ll be just out here if you need anything, just yell,” his eyes glanced over you as you nodded in acknowledgement and he ducked out of the room, leaving you to yourself.

You stepped into the hot stream of water, gritting your teeth as it stung your open wounds. You let it cascade over you and coat your body, loosening your muscles as it went.

“(Y/N)?” Dean’s voice startled you out of your trance, “I thought you might need this,” his hand reached past the shower curtain, grasping a bottle of shampoo and conditioner two-in-one.

“Thank you,” you answered, taking the bottle from him. There was a bar of soap on the ledge of the tub that you used to wash your skin. It would dry it out but you honestly didn’t care at this point. The feeling of being clean would be worth it a thousand times over.

Twenty minutes later you exited the tub and wrapped a soft towel about your body. It dawned on you that you had no clothing and you began to cry. All of the pent-up stress on you physically and emotionally came to a forefront and tears broke free, streaming down your face.

“(Y/N)?” Dean’s voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. You took a deep breath, tried to wipe your cheeks of the moisture that had accumulated, and opened it to him.

“I, um,” you took another breath to steady yourself before continuing, “I have nothing to wear. It’s stupid, I know,” you trailed off, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he pulled you into him, holding your fiercely, “It’s not stupid. You do have clothes, though,” he pulled away, gripping your upper-arms in his warm, calloused hands. You met his gaze and he smiled, “Hold on, I’ll grab your bag.”

“You brought it?” you asked, shocked that they had your pillowcase of clothes.

Dean was back within seconds, holding your things in his outstretched hand. His eyes met yours as you took it from him, your hand brushing against his. There was an emotion held in his gaze that you couldn’t quite pin-point, but between that and the recent physical contact you were a mess. God, (Y/N), get it together.

“Thank you,” your voice was small. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his forest-green eyes and seconds felt like hours as he stood there, his gaze locked with yours.

“Mhmm,” he hummed in answer before he cleared his throat and looked away, “I should, uh, you should,” he gestured to the bathroom behind you.

“Right,” you ducked your head and stepped backward into the room; your pillowcase clasped tightly in one hand.  

You lost the entire outfit you had worn when you were captured in the woods back in Ohio. You didn’t have much to your name before that and were left with few options now. Knowing that Dean or Sam would need easy access to your abdomen, your gash being in a spot you couldn’t quite reach yourself, you settled on a sports bra, an oversized t-shirt, and leggings.  You had washed your hair the best you could with how knotted it had become and you didn’t dare try to brush it out now. You tied it back out of your face instead, telling yourself you would deal with it after you had eaten and taken medicine for your headache. You checked the side of your head that had previously held sutures, trying to confirm it was healed over and had not become infected in the last few days, but you couldn’t quite tell with the small mirror and the low amount of light in the room. Sighing, you gave up and made your way into the sitting area.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, bringing you to a stop as you closed your eyes and breathed the scent in deeply. Between it and the smell of the roaring fire you had spotted in the corner of the room you were enveloped in comfort.

“Feel better?” Dean sipped at his mug before standing to get you a mug as well. He found a protein bar in his duffel bag and brought it over to you with the fresh cup of liquid ambrosia.

You hummed your affirmation and sipped the hot nectar, letting it coat your tongue and soothe your throat. You made quick work of the food and drink Dean had provided before asking for some acetaminophen, which he happily handed over.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your side?” he asked softly once you were finished. You nodded and stood from your position on the couch, lifting your shirt as you did.

Dean grabbed his first aid kit out of his duffel and came close to your side, hesitantly brushing his fingers over the undamaged skin near the wound. He was close enough for you to feel his warm breath against your flesh.

“It actually doesn’t look too bad, now that it’s all cleaned up,” he mumbled as he pulled out some antibiotic ointment and began to apply it to the cut. You closed your eyes as he worked, trying to force yourself to stop reacting to his touch the way that you did. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Can, I, uh, take a look at the rest of you?” he asked once he had finished taping the gauze in place on your side.

“What?” Your eyes widened slightly.

Dean chuckled and ducked his head before clarifying, “Wherever your hurt, (Y/N).”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you turned away from him and lifted your shirt up, revealing the tiny scratches and rugburn that speckled your back. Dean hissed as he took in your wounds, his hand instinctually reaching up and running across your back. Goosebumps rippled over your skin at the feel, causing you to bite your bottom lip.

Dean went to work on patching up the deeper cuts on your back, making you take your shirt off entirely so that he could see your neck and move your bra straps. Thank heavens there as a fire lit and warming the room or you would have died, between the feel of his rough skin on yours and the chill you felt without a shirt.  

“Anywhere else?” He asked as you pulled your shirt back over your head. You faced him and held out your hands, showing him your wrists. The two of you sat on the couch as he worked on dressing the raw skin that met your hands.

The sound of rain began to let up as Dean wrapped gauze around each of your arms. “We’ll have to stop somewhere for more supplies tomorrow,” he mentioned absentmindedly.

“Where are we?” You asked, the question crossing your mind for the first time since you had awoken.      

“Middle of nowhere, halfway to a friend’s place in South Dakota,” he answered before he pulled one of your legs up to inspect your foot. You had somehow managed to forget about your feet.

“We’re going to visit a friend of yours?” Dean began to bandage your foot where the rocks and twigs had cut your skin.

He nodded, “His name is Bobby. He’s kind of like a dad to Sam and I.”

“What happened to your real dad,” you found yourself asking before you could think it through. Dean brough his eyes to yours and swallowed a lump in his throat before he brought your other foot up and began to work on it.

“He died,” his voice was low and you knew not to press further. You chose not to give him the same old I’m sorry for your loss crap, either. You knew Dean wouldn’t appreciate something like that. Instead, you changed the subject.

“Why did you come and find me?”

Dean paused his actions as if trying to formulate a response, “Why wouldn’t we?”

His gaze met yours once more, that same expression you couldn’t name swimming in his eyes.

“(Y/N), you’re awake,” Sam nearly shouted as he rushed down the spiral staircase that led from the loft down to the sitting room.

You and Dean both jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Sam rushed to you and pulled you into his arms, gripping you tightly as you sat on the couch and he knelt next to it. Dean packed up what was left of the first aid kit and cleaned up the garbage while Sam took his place on the couch next to you.

“I’m going to shower,” he informed you both as he headed to the bathroom. It occurred to you just then that Sam already had, and must have been sleeping this entire time, while Dean waited. He put off taking care of himself to take care of you. You were filled with confusion at the revelation.

“(Y/N), how are you feeling?” Sam’s large hand cupped your cheek as he pulled your attention to him.

“’m good, Sammy,” you smiled, “Much better than I was.”

“Thank God,” he answered, sitting back and taking in your appearance.

“I know I probably still look like shit,” you laughed as you looked down at yourself.

“No, you look alive, (Y/N),” His voice was low and his hazel eyes threatened to spill over with emotion. You hugged him fiercely, hissing slightly as he returned the embrace and grazed the cut on your side.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he lifted your shirt briefly to see the gauze, “looks like Dean patched you up?”

You nodded, “And he even sacrificed some of his food for me,” you giggled, prompting Sam to chuckle in response.

“You still hungry?”

“A bit,” you nodded. Sam fished a protein bar out of his bag and brought it over to you.

“Sorry, it’s all we’ve got at the moment. We’ll make a supply stop tomorrow when we’re on the road. You should eat and then try to get some more rest.”

You nodded and heeded his words, letting sleep overcome you as soon as you were done with the second protein bar. Sam stoked the fire and then took a seat in the recliner next to you. He would watch over you and let his brother get some rest, they would need to hit the road soon enough.

----

Sam sat in the passenger side of the car, also watching the landscape go by in a blur. It was a rare moment when Sam wasn’t engulfed in his laptop or a book but Dean figured they could all use a break for a minute, even from research. Classic rock resonated from the speakers, just barely loud enough for the three of them to register it. Other than that, the sound of the vehicle on the highway was all that could be heard. Oddly enough, the ride seemed less tense than some of the drives they had taken previously. Maybe it was because Dean had also decided that he would stop trying to distance himself from (Y/N). She was apparently in it for the long haul, so what was the point? More importantly, he knew it was his actions that had pushed her out the motel door and into the demon’s grip. It was his fault she had been strung up and essentially tortured. There was a lot of work to do to try make up for his stupidity and the pain it had caused. His grip tightened on the wheel as he subconsciously clenched his jaw, thinking back on it.

---- *(Y/N)’s POV

The drive to Bobby’s was long. Despite being back with Sam and Dean, and even with Dean acting like a caring human for once, you’d never felt so alone. You tried not to think about all of the things you had learned, or remembered, over the past week. You chose, instead, to stare blankly out the rear window of the Impala. In spite of your efforts, the memories continued to surface in your mind.

You were an only child, and your parents were the only family you had ever had. Sure, you had friends and you had dated before, but your parents were your only blood. Now they were gone, and you were really, truly alone. To top it off, you knew you could never go home, either. You could never go to their graves and weep for them or try to apologize. You were surprised you hadn’t been arrested by now. Did the police not know you were the culprit? They must have found fingerprints all over your parents’ home left by you and the black-eyed man, whoever he was. Maybe they were searching for you now. Were you putting Sam and Dean at risk? Would they be charged for harboring a fugitive? You had no idea. A tear slipped down your face as your emotions became too much. You quickly wiped it away and ducked your head, suddenly very interested in your hands.

“(Y/N)?” It was Dean’s that spoke. It was odd hearing his tone laced with concern.

“Hmm?” you couldn’t bring yourself to verbalize a reply, the tears threatening to spill over.

“You ok?” he asked softly.

You nodded, refusing to look up, and tried to take a steady breath. You felt exhausted.

“What’s goin on in that head?” Sam’s attention was on you, now.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up, your gaze meeting the younger Winchester’s. Concern was etched into his features as his hazel eyes searched yours.

“I, um,” you glanced away, unable to finish the thought while looking at him. You closed your eyes before continuing, “I think might have done something, something before meeting you.”

You hadn’t meant to talk about it now, but the words slipped out before you could catch them. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and fought the abrupt urge to open the car door and jump out. The prospect of being ran over suddenly became more appealing than continuing the conversation. Opening your eyes once more, you focused again on your hands, picking anxiously at the cuticle of your thumb nail.

“Something like what, (Y/N)?” Sam pressed.

“I’m not sure, I think I might have hurt some people…” you trailed off, remembering the nightmares you had had since leaving the hospital with the Winchesters. If you killed your parents, did that mean the nightmares were real? Had you hurt anyone else?

“Why,” Dean cleared his throat, “Why do you, uh, say that?”

Daring to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror, you whispered, “I think I remember it.”

It was silent for what felt like a lifetime. You missed the shared look between the brothers in the front seat as you went back to staring at your hands.

“What do you remember?” the younger man turned toward you.

“I, um, well, I’m not….sure,” you finished lamely, they would think you were crazy if you told them the subway story, you were sure of it.

“Do you remember meeting us, before the hospital?” Dean’s eyes found yours in the mirror once more as his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

You nodded slowly, forcing yourself to maintain the eye contact. You couldn’t find the words to answer him. This wasn’t the direction you wanted to take the conversation and that asphalt under the tires was becoming more tempting by the second.

“All of it?” he barely whispered, his gaze flitting between the rearview mirror and the road at an alarming rate.

You shook your head, looking back at your hands before replying, “I remember a warehouse, or something- um, some kind of empty building… and fighting with the two of you. It’s--” you swallowed, emotion bubbling up within you, “um, kind of hazy, but I remember being tied to a chair.” Tears began to slowly spill from your eyes.

“Is that why you ran?”

You nodded, closing your eyes tightly.

“(Y/N),” Sam’s voice was raw with emotion. Just the way he said your name almost sounded like he was pleading with you.

Dean pulled the Impala off of the highway and onto a dirt road that stretched out toward a farm in the distance. You wrapped your arms about your waist, trying to cling to something- anything- and to hold yourself together. You were so confused, all of the distorted memories and nightmares swirled in your mind, pooling and muddling together. Your resolve began to crumble as tears streamed freely down your face. You held your breath in an attempt to keep from sobbing.

You faintly registered the sound of car doors opening and shutting as you held yourself. Suddenly, the warmth of strong arms wrapped around you and pulled you sideways into a broad chest. The scent of leather with faded hints of fire overwhelmed you. You buried your face in your hands as you continued to cry, trying desperately to keep yourself from breaking down entirely.

“Let it out,” Dean soothed as he rubbed circles on your back, letting you cry into his shirt. You briefly wondered why it was Dean, why not Sam? The thought left as soon as it came as Dean rocked you slowly, holding you together for you as you let go.

--- *Dean’s POV

Sam and Dean had exited the car together, just as soon as the car was parked. The younger Winchester leaned against the hood of the Impala, running his hands through his long hair, while his older brother climbed into the back seat with (Y/N). God, she was hurt. Confusion was evident in her tone as she relayed what few images she had pieced together, and Dean felt like shit. He should have listened to Sam. He should have told her everything, the moment they brought her back to that first motel with them.

The memories of those first few days with (Y/N) came rushing back as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. Sam had left the motel, went to get supplies or something, leaving Dean and (Y/N) alone. Out of genuine concern he had helped her tend to the wound on her head, regret filling him to his core as he did. He knew she only had stitches because of them. The hunt had gone all wrong, and they had ended up fighting her into submission and into that stupid chair. They exorcised the demon and saved the girl, or so he had thought. He had no idea how broken she was and how much work there was left before she could be considered ‘saved.’

“Let it out,” his voice was rough with emotion as he rubbed circles on her back, urging her to relax, to breathe. He knew he and Sam had a lot to explain but that could wait. Right now, she needed to get this out of her system and he didn’t intend to let her do it on her own.

Sam began pacing outside of the car. He knew Dean had (Y/N), he knew his brother cared for her and knew she was in good hands, but none of that knowledge seemed to quell the anxiety within him. He checked the watch on his wrist every few minutes, not wanting to delay getting to Bobby’s. He had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, urging him not to linger in one place for too long. After fifteen minutes he slid back into the passenger seat of the car, looking behind him at his brother and (Y/N). Dean’s shirt was soaked in tears and his eyes welled with emotion while he held her tightly to him. She looked small and vulnerable against his brother. He met his Dean’s gaze and the elder Winchester nodded; he knew they needed to head out. After a moment of hesitation, he instructed Sam to drive, he would sit in the back with (Y/N) for a bit. The keys still hung in the ignition, making it easy for Sam to slide over into the driver seat and start the car back up.

The uneasy feeling that he had was growing ever stronger, pushing him to move faster than he would have normally. He turned the car around and got back onto the highway, accelerating until he was well over the speed limit. If Dean or (Y/N) noticed the speed they didn’t say anything. Dean continued to hold onto their upset friend until she relaxed in his arms and eventually fell asleep, the emotions having taken a toll on her. Sam couldn’t explain the urgency behind his movements or why he suddenly felt so anxious, he only knew they needed to get to Bobby’s, and fast.

----

You darted into the motel room once Sam shifted into park, dutifully ignoring the brothers as you went. You needed to find some Tylenol, or advil… ibuprofen? Something. It probably wouldn’t hurt to look for an ice pack, either. Sam and Dean didn’t come in for a while. You were able to get some pain killers in your system and while you couldn’t find an icepack, you were able to use a cold can of coke you found in the fridge to ebb away at the ache. You found yourself wondering why on Earth you had jumped in between the fighting idiots. Why Dean? Why didn’t you step in to protect Sam? Probably because you were physically closer to Dean at the time, honestly, and you were clearly not thinking logically.

Dean came into the room with Sam shortly behind him, shutting the door and locking up for the night. Both stopped in their tracks when they saw you sitting on your bed with your back up against the headboard, holding a can of coke to your face.

“(Y/N),” Dean started, a lot more sober than he was a half an hour ago. You waved him off, not wanting to delve into the drama.

“Seriously, are you ok?” Sam piped in and you shrugged a shoulder in response. Dean was digging through his duffel bag now, looking for something.

“Ah, here they are,” he mumbled and then tossed a gel icepack to Sam and pulled out a small first aid kit. Sam caught the pack with ease and quickly put it in the freezer while Dean came around his bed and closer to you, “Can I, uh…?” He gestured vaguely to your bed, asking to sit.

You shrugged again, your curiosity getting the better of you. Dean sat gingerly on the side of the bed and gently took the can from your grasp. He sat it on the side table next to you and cracked open the first aid kit. He sighed, looking from the supplies up to your face. His calloused fingers hooked under your chin and softly turned your face into the light from the lamp. Your eyes watched him closely as he bit his bottom lip, taking in your bruised cheekbone. You hadn’t noticed earlier, when you were searching for medicine, but apparently your skin had cracked ever so slightly, leaving a small trail of blood down your face. Dean took out an alcohol wipe and patted it to the wound, cleaning your face of any dried blood he could find. You hissed slightly at the sting before biting your own lip to shut yourself up. He muttered a quick apology as he dabbed a cotton swab in antibacterial ointment and lightly applied it to the cut.

“You want a band aid? We’ve got scooby-doo,” he chuckled, his eyes meeting yours. You shook your head.

“Thanks, Dean,” you gave him a small smile. He hadn’t been this kind to you since the first week, when he offered to check on your sutures.

“Yeah, uh, don’t mention it,” he cleared his throat as he cleaned up the trash and packed away the first aid supplies. He took the coke with him and put it back in the fridge before pulling out a new one and bringing it over. It would take some time for the ice pack to freeze and the coke you had been using had grown warm.

“Here,” he handed you the cold can of soda and you smiled again, looking down briefly just to avert your eyes from his green stare. You weren’t used to him making eye contact with you and at this point you weren’t sure how to react.

He sat on Sam’s bed across from you and cleared his throat again, playing with his hands nervously. You realized then that Sam had gone to get a shower at some point while Dean was patching you up. Well, you thought to yourself, that’s awkward. Dean gives me attention for two seconds and Sam is suddenly invisible. It was your turn to clear your throat. You focused on the coke as a distraction and brought it back up to soothe your cheek.

“Look, (Y/N), I…. Why did you do it?” He had meant to apologize but he couldn’t help himself. He had to know what the hell had possessed her to jump in between him and some pissed-off drunk in the middle of a bar.

You had wondered the same thing earlier and still weren’t sure you had an answer, for either of you. You resorted to shrugging and gesticulating widely with your free hand.

“Well,” Dean’s voice became hard again, more along the lines of what you had become accustomed to, “Don’t do it again, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at the man, “I think what you were trying to say here, Dean, is ‘I’m sorry’ or maybe even ‘thank you’.”

“No, because if I thanked you for acting like a brainless git then you would be tempted to do it again.”

“A brainless—Where do you get off, Winchester? You’re the idiot that got drunk off his ass tonight. It wasn’t Sam or I that decided it would be fun to pick a fight with some biker twice our size. We just came to pick you up, ok?”

“Well, Sammy should’ve left you here,” he tensed his jaw, meeting your glare.

“That’s what you’re going with? That is your defense? Sammy should have left poor defenseless, brainless, (Y/N) at the motel?”

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what I mea—”

“Shut it, Dean. I’m going to sleep, you can go fuck yourself,” you cut him off, tired of his bullshit. You placed the coke onto the side table, restraining yourself from throwing it at his head, and turned your back to him.

Dean made a frustrated sound somewhere between a yell and a grunt as he got up and stormed back out of the motel. You briefly wondered if he was heading back to the bar, or if perhaps he was going to sleep outside tonight? You gave yourself a mental shake. I didn’t concern you what he did or where he went, after all.

Sam sighed, having been out of the shower long enough to see the tail end of your conversation. You jumped, startled at the noise. You hadn’t noticed the sound of the water shutting off or the bathroom door opening as you had fought with Dean. The younger brother didn’t say anything, choosing to follow Dean out of the room instead. You rolled your eyes before sliding out of your jeans, unhooking your bra under your shirt, and tossing them both to the floor beside your bed. Fuck them, you tried to tell yourself as you climbed under the sheets. You tried to force yourself to hold on to the anger, but it was hard with the image of a very-concerned Dean biting his lip while trying to take care of you repeatedly popping up in your mind’s eye. You sighed, turning over, and tried to will yourself to sleep.

---

You woke up to a black eye the following day but you couldn’t say you were surprised. You found it when you went to wash your face and brush your teeth. You hadn’t asked the guys to buy you anything frivolous, like makeup for example, so you had no concealer to hide it with. You sighed, at least I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.

“Good morning, (Y/N)…” Sam’s sentence died when he saw your face.

“It’s fine, Sammy,” you answered as you started to pull some eggs out of the mini fridge, “You hungry?”

“Oh, no, I had a smoothie earlier.”

“Before your run?”

Sam grinned, “Yeah, before my run. Why don’t you go with me one of these mornings?”

It was your turn to cringe, “Yeah….about that….”

Dean waltzed into the motel room, the door hitting the wall behind it with a thud.

“I brought coffee,” he announced, carrying a cardboard cupholder with three steaming cups nestled securely in it.

You tucked the eggs back into the fridge at the site of coffee. You didn’t get much sleep last night, tossing and turning quite a bit. You had hazy memories of troublesome dreams but you couldn’t bring the images into focus. Giving yourself yet another mental shake, you gratefully accepted the Styrofoam cup Sam had taken from Dean and offered to you. You took a sip and sighed, your eyes fluttering closed as the ambrosia hit your tongue and lit up your taste buds.

“Did I get it right?” Dean chuckled at your reaction.

Your eyes snapped open to find him staring at you with a hint of a grin still on his face. You narrowed your eyes slightly and bit your tongue, not wanting to yell at him first thing in the morning, especially when he had brought you coffee. This was probably his way of apologizing for last night, you thought to yourself, but you would rather he just say he’s sorry. You nodded your head and hummed that he had indeed gotten your order right; two creams two sugars. How he knew how you liked your coffee was beyond you. You didn’t linger on it, instead offering your help to Sam with research or whatever he needed.

“How long are you going to let me live with you before you let me help you with your ‘investigation’?” you curled two of the fingers on your free hand in the air when you said investigation. You knew they weren’t private investigators; they may as well fess up at this point.

Sam chuckled and shook his head, “You can live with us as long as you want, (Y/N), but we’re not pulling you into our work anytime soon.”

“Or ever,” Dean added.

“Why’s that?” you asked between sips of coffee, following the two men to the small table that held Sam’s laptop.

“It’s not safe,” Dean’s voice came across sternly, as if he was trying to put an end to the conversation. He only piqued your curiosity further.

“Not safe? What, are you secret assassins?” You laughed the same way you had when you asked Sam if he was a drug dealer. You missed the look the brothers shared when you sipped your coffee.

“Yes, (Y/N), we’re assassins,” Sam answered in a flat tone as he booted up the computer.

“Oooh, so you privately investigate people before you kill ‘em?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“Yes, (Y/N), and we’re also ninjas,” Dean added, biting back a grin.

You tried not to glare at him. After last night you may or may not be harboring a grudge.

“Cool. Private-investigating ninja-assassins. Sign me up, boys, I want in,” you grinned, wincing when it stung your cheek.

Dean’s smile faltered as you winced, “You ok?”

You bit your tongue once again, willing yourself to be nice for Sam’s sake if nothing else. Rather than answering him you simply nodded and took another sip of your coffee. If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all….right?

After getting a hot dog from a street vendor you walked aimlessly, taking in the sights and trying to pretend you were a tourist like everybody else. You had gone with the standard superhero disguise (baseball cap pulled low, over-sized sunglasses, indistinct and generic clothing) and so far, you hadn’t been noticed. You were fortunate enough to snag an empty bench and sat to eat your lunch. It was loaded and messy but it was delicious and worth every penny you had paid.

You heard several screeching brakes and honking cars just behind you as you neared the end of the hot dog. Your hands halted half-way to your mouth as you turned to see what the cause of the commotion was this time. With pedestrians weaving their way about it was hard to get a good view but within moments it became very clear what had caused the taxi drivers their anger. A scruffy and far-too-skinny dog appeared, its tail between its legs and its ears flat against its head.

“The poor thing’s terrified,” you mumbled, talking to yourself. You glanced down at the remainder of the hot dog in your hand and began to whistle to the pup.

A teenager swung their leg toward the dog as if to kick it away when it approached them. You felt your own anger begin to boil then and quickly found yourself standing, yelling at the kid to knock it off. You had caught the dog’s attention with your actions so you did your best to flip from anger to approachable-kindness as quickly as you could. You crouched a bit and whistled again, extending your hand with the little bit of meat and bun that was left.

“Come here, boy,” your sing-song voice carried to the dog, urging it to trust you. You made kissing noises, patted your knee, extended the food as far as you could with your other hand- everything you could think of.

The dog’s head cocked to the side and it cautiously approached you. The teen swung another leg again, calling out obscenities and telling the dog to get out of the area. Luckily for you the dog skittered toward you at this, rather than running away. You took your sunglasses off, tucking them into the neckline of your shirt, and glared at the teen. Their eyes met yours and recognition crossed their face, fear quickly following it. Your reputation with the Avengers apparently preceded you. You smiled to yourself as the kid grabbed their friend and high-tailed it out of the area, leaving you with the pup.

Other pedestrians continued to weave about, meandering and site-seeing. Several times you were nearly knocked over but you continued to wait patiently and coax the dog to you. You had no idea what you were going to do if it came to you, you didn’t have a random collar and leash hanging out in your bag, but you couldn’t bring yourself to just leave it.

After what felt like a lifetime the dog finally came close enough to smell the food in your outstretched hand. A grin broke across your face as it hesitantly licked the bun and you urged it in a soft voice to take the food. Finally, the dog took the food from your hand, seemingly gulping it down without chewing, and then began to greedily lick your fingers. While the dog was distracted you subtly moved toward it until you were able to wrap your arms about the scrawny animal.

It wasn’t an overly large dog to begin with and the fact that it was skin and bone left it even easier to pick up and hold. You felt bad for the poor thing but were grateful that it wasn’t too large for you to carry. Once you had it securely in your grasp, and after finding no collar or identification tag on the pup, you began to walk. If your memory served you right, there was a veterinarian not too terribly far from where you were. It would be a trek with the dog but if an Avenger couldn’t manage a few New-York blocks then were they really an Avenger?

---

Several hours later you and your new buddy entered the elevator of the Avengers Tower. You pressed the appropriate button for the shared level and began the rise up. Once the vet had checked the dog thoroughly and confirmed that it had no microchip, you decided to keep it. After giving the pup its vaccinations and some heart-worm medicine, they gave you a collar and leash. You had explained how you had found the animal and confirmed that you intended to take them home with you. Once done, the two of you headed to the nearest groomer.

You and a now-clean and overly happy pup exited the elevator and made your way into the living room. You weren’t sure if anyone was home, everyone had their own way of enjoying their day of freedom, but you figured you would at least try to introduce everyone. You were hoping someone would be able to help you come up with a name for your new friend, too.

“Hello? Anyone here?” you called into the seemingly empty room. Oh well, you would just head up a level to the mini-apartment Stark had offered you when you had moved in. You still didn’t have any real supplies for your new companion so you figured you would get to work ordering them online.

After getting your new friend comfortable in your place you left to make a quick trip for dog food. You could wait a few days for the dog bed, toys, and treats to be shipped to the tower but you desperately wanted to feed the dog tonight. It was obviously hungry and rather than giving it the junk food often found in the shared kitchen for the team, you figured some healthy food made for pups would be a better plan

You made the trip fast and headed back to the tower as quickly as you could. Grabbing an empty Tupperware container from the still-empty kitchen, you headed up to your apartment with a bag of dog food in-hand. The scruffy pup was beyond delighted to see you when you came in, and even more excited when you poured its food into the Tupperware container.

“There you go, buddy,” you cooed as you pat its head and it began to dig in, “Now we just gotta find a name that fits you.”

---

When the sun began to set you knew the team would be congregated in the large room that connected to the kitchen. It was split between a living space with comfortable seating and an over-sized television, and a dining area with a sturdy and large table designed to fit all of you and some guests. You wanted to surprise everyone with the team’s new pet so you hooked the pup to the leash and headed for the elevator.

For the second time that day you and your new companion exited the elevator into the common area. The dog had warmed up to you considerably through-out the day but upon entering the shared room and hearing the common-place noise and commotion of your team, they reverted back to their old shell. You noticed when its ears flattened and its tail tucked under its legs so you stopped just outside of the elevator and knelt next to your new friend. You comforted it with affection and spoke to it in calm and soothing tone until it seemed to relax a bit and became willing to walk with you.

“Hey, (Y/N), where’ve you been all—” Sam cut off before he got to the word ‘day’, “Is that a dog?”

His words caught the attention of the rest of the team, all of whom made their way over to you. You crouched next to the pup again and continued to encourage it in front of its new family.

“Where the hell did you get a dog?” Sam asked while Natasha and Steve exclaimed in excitement and came over to envelope the pup in love. Within moments the dog shed its scared demeanor and began to shower the two very-dangerous assassins in equal amounts of affection.

“Well, he kinda found me. He didn’t have any tags or a microchip so I got him groomed and brought him home,” you smiled, standing back up as Steve and Natasha took over the dog’s attention. You shared the story of how the dog had come to you in Times Square and explained you were happy to shoulder the responsibility and keep it with you in your room.

“You….brought a dog….here?”

You laughed, “Why yes, Sam, I did. Meet your newest family member.”

“What’s its name?” Wanda asked as even the Winter Soldier cracked a smile and began to demand the dogs love.

“Oh, I don’t know yet. I was hoping you guys could help me come up with something fitting.”

“Oooh, how about Chance?” Steve piped up, “Because your meeting was by chance and totally based on luck?”

“Luck! Name it Lucky, because its lucky you were there to save it from that mean kid,” Wanda suggested.

“I like those but aren’t they a little common for a dog?” Sam added.

“Besides, I’m the lucky one, I think,” you commented, scratching behind the pup’s ear.

“How about Schastlivyy?” Bucky’s voice was quite but his suggestion evoked a warm grin from Natasha.

“It’s Russian,” she explained, “It means ‘Lucky’.”

The group, your family, all seemed to agree. Schastlivyy, or Livyy for short, was home.

END

“You lost?” an aged voice caught your attention, bringing your eyes from your feet up to the gentleman speaking. He was short and stout with grey hair and wrinkled skin, clearly in his retirement years. His eyes sized you up as he stood on the opposite side of a small picket fence, holding a hose in his hand.

“Something like that,” you smiled, approaching the fence. Maybe he could use some help around his yard?

“Well you’re not from around here, I can tell you that much. What’re you looking for?”

You grinned at his tone, “I’m actually staying in town with some friends, at the motel down the road,” you gestured back the direction you had come from. “I was hoping I might be able to find a little bit of work in town. You know of anyone needing an extra hand?”

The man chuckled, “Most youngin’s like you apply with fancy resumes these day…. You a criminal? Is that why you ain’t?”

“No,” you shook your head quickly, “No, I just won’t be in town long enough for anything permanent,” you shrugged, praying you sounded nonchalant.

He hummed, still sizing you up. After a moment he spoke again, offering you a job. You tried to hide your excitement as you passed through the gate of the white fence and into his yard, where he showed you the tools in his shed and pointed out the work that needed to be done. He said if you did well, he would pay you fifty dollars in cash at the end of the day. At that he shut off his hose and went inside, happy to be able to sit back an relax for the rest of the afternoon.

You worked hard, weeding all of the flowerbeds and the small vegetable garden he had, before moving to trimming back the tree and pruning the hedges. You mowed the grass, swept the porch and the drive way, and watered the rest of the flowers the older man had been working on when you had arrived. After a few hours he provided freshly-squeezed lemonade while you took a brief reprieve from the hot sun in the shade of his porch. He shared some stories with you of his life and the two of you laughed at the shenanigans he had gotten into in his youth. Before long you were back to work, organizing his shed and throwing away all of the lawn and yard clippings.

The ache in your muscles and the sweat trickling down both your spine and your forehead felt amazing, you needed this physical exertion. You had been stagnant for far too long. Before you realized it, the day had passed, the labor was complete, and the older man was coming out to pay you for your effort. With your back to the road you thanked him, explaining how much it had meant to you to be able to do a little bit of work and to share his company. He leaned in for a hug, stating you reminded him of his daughter who had long-since moved away, and thanked you in return. The honking of a car startled you as the two of you parted, causing you to jump. Spinning in place you turned to find a familiar car with two very-familiar faces…. neither of which looked pleased.

“You know these boys, (Y/N)?” The man sounded protective of you and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, sir, I do. These are the friends I mentioned earlier, Sam and Dean. They must have decided they didn’t want me walking back to the motel on my own, especially with the sun setting,” you glanced at the sky and then back to the man. You gave him a brief fare-well and headed or the car.

You slid into the backseat of the Impala and buckled up rather quickly. Sam smiled and waved at the man you had spent your afternoon with while Dean pulled away from the curb, flipping around to head back up the road toward the motel. You expected, having seen their hard expressions, that one or both of them would be berating you. Instead, you rode in silence. What had taken you at least thirty minutes to walk this morning only took five or ten minutes to drive, bringing the three of you back to the hotel much faster than you anticipated.

“Thanks for the ride, boys,” you said as you passed through the doorway into the motel room. Dean’s face was pinched into an angry expression and he ignored you, choosing instead to storm past you and into the bathroom. Sam hummed in response before quickly shutting and locking the door behind him.

“What?” your tired yes met Sam’s gaze as you questioned him.

“Nothing. I’m glad you’re safe,” his words were clipped and while you could tell he meant it, you couldn’t fathom the reason for Dean’s anger or Sam’s shortness.

“Why is Dean angry, then? And why do you seem upset, too?”

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat as he headed to the mini fridge, digging out a couple of beers. You could hear the shower water kicking on and knew Dean was trying to drown you out. Not you and Sam, but you personally. It was one of his go-to’s when he was angry with you. Leave the motel entirely or seek refuge in the bathroom, as far from you as he could get.

“It’s just not exactly safe out there right now, and I’m glad we found you.”

“Not safe?” you folded your arms over your chest, cocking your eyebrow questioningly.

“Yeah, we’re, uh, the thing we’re working on, the reason we go to different towns- is because people in those towns are getting hurt or going missing. We go to investigate and all the clues here point toward, well, it’s better if you don’t go out and about on your own, especially at night,” Sam was cryptic, trying desperately to find the right words.

You took a few steps cautiously toward the tall man. He looked genuinely worried, if not scared. You couldn’t help yourself as you approached him, bringing your hand to his cheek. “Sammy, I don’t know what you guys are into, but if you look like this, then I think you should back out.”

Sam gave you a sad smile, his face turning into the warmth of your hand as he closed his eyes. You found yourself wondering when he had last been hugged and before you could think it through you stood on your tiptoes to embrace him, wrapping your arms about his neck and shoulders. He was still holding the two bottles of beer he had retrieved from the fridge but he tried to give you a brief hug back before stepping away from you, that sad smile still gracing his features.

He simply shook his head and held one of the beers out to you. You graciously accepted it and smiled, trying to convey through one facial expression that you were here for him and that he could rely on you. “I don’t want to push it, but I wish you would open up to me, Sammy. Maybe I could help you guys somehow if you would just explain—”

“No,” a harsh voice spoke from behind you, startling you. You bit your lip, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes at Dean’s dramatic response. Had he even showered? You swore he was only gone for two seconds.

“Dean’s right, (Y/N), you’re safer not knowing”

“Only if you keep your ass here, though,” Dean added. You folded your arms again, jutting your chin out challengingly. Your eyes flitted about his features, taking in the crystal-clear droplets of water still clinging to his short, spiky hair, and the sharp focus of his forest-green eyes.

“What were you doin, anyway, (Y/N)?” Sam asked between sips of beer, bringing your attention back to him. He leaned against the kitchen counter as he studied your face, watching for any signs of hesitation in your reply.

“Trying to earn some cash,” You replied, pulling the fifty-dollar bill out of your back pocket and handing it over to the brunet man.

“Earn… why? What for?” Sam eyed the money in your grasp, refusing to take it from you.

“Take it, Sammy. I hate that you guys pay for everything and I sit here and stare out the window. I needed to get out, I needed to do something. I figured I could try to earn some cash while I was at it. I want to start paying you back, for everything.”

“Don’t bother,” Dean’s voice was gruff as he grasped a cold bottle from within the fridge and cracked it open.

“I wasn’t asking permission, Dean,” your eyes narrowed at the older brother.

“Ok, ok,” Sam took the money from your grasp, hoping to diffuse the building tension, “Thank you, (Y/N), but I’d rather you stay here and be safe.”

“Sammy, did you see the guy that paid me? I did some yard work for him, he’s an older guy that couldn’t get it all done on his own. I helped him out and earned some cash to help you out, in the meantime. What’s wrong with that? How could I possibly have gotten hurt??”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose while Sam pocketed the fifty-dollar bill, full intending to somehow return it to you when you weren’t looking. Dean answered before Sam could, “People in this town go missing, (Y/N). They disappear. Do you get that?”

“Well I didn’t know that, did I, Dean? You can’t exactly be mad with me about something you didn’t tell me about.”

“Well, now you know, so stay in the fucking motel room.”

“Are you serious?” You asked, the inflection in your voice rising as you became flustered.

“Do I look like I’m joking, sweetheart?” He took a swig from his beer, always the tough guy.

“Please,” Sam spoke up, addressing you. You knew what he was referring to, he wanted you to promise you would stay here. You thought about it, slowly shaking your head as you came to the conclusion that you couldn’t give your word not to leave the motel room.

“What about you? Why aren’t you in danger?”

“We are! But we know how to handle ourselves, (Y/N). Do you?” Dean roared as he slammed down the glass bottle of beer. You flinched at the sound of the bottle meeting the counter and at the look on Dean’s face.

“Handle yourself against what, Dean? The mafia? Drug lords?”

Sam had that sad smile again while Dean scoffed at you, “The less you—”

“I know, I know, the less I know the better. It just begs the question, why didn’t you just leave me behind, then? Why bring me?” You ignored Sam, staring Dean in the eyes instead.

“Why did we—did you want us to leave you there?” He sounded flustered now.

“No, not really, but I don’t want to follow you around the country if you can’t talk to me, either. I don’t want to be either ignored or yelled at all of the time, Dean!”

“Well start listening to us, then, and maybe we’ll be able to start trusting you,” Dean all but yelled, causing you to flinch and take a step backward.

Fuzzy images flashed through your mind, images of Dean yelling at you before, circling you while you were… tied down? Searing pain shot through your head, causing you to cry out and fall to your knees, your beer dropped and forgotten. The bottle rolled away from you as its contents flowed freely across the kitchen linoleum.

“(Y/N)?” Sam was by your side in an instant, but instead of seeing Sam in the motel you saw him rushing to you and cutting you free in a dimly-lit room. You could almost feel the tug of the rope against your raw wrists as his blade worked at the bindings. You flinched when Sam’s hand found your shoulder in the here-and-now, and you instantly tried to scoot backward, away from him. You didn’t get far, though, as the pain in your head grew worse. Blinding light shot behind your eyes before darkness consumed you once more.