No sun in the valley
summary :: Dean, Sam and you are staying at Bobbyâs, you donât know how long John or someone else will come for you three. So in the meantime, all you can do is watch the empty fields before you and enjoy the short lived peace you all have.
warnings/tags :: young!Dean, young!Sam, young!reader, idk how to tag lowk, comfort, bad father John, reader is not a sibling, maybe if you squint angst?
wc :: 658
victoâs note :: hello! this might be my first official like writing piece so I hope you enjoy it :) If you want to give me feedback itâs absolutely fine, just keep it polite pls!
The bright morning light hit the sun-bleached curtains in the guest room at Bobbyâs. Your messy hair still stuck to your face as you woke up in slow pieces. You opened your eyes and examined the cluttered room, making out the small makeshift bed Sam had slept in. Not far from it sat a couch covered in unfolded, messy blankets. You assumed Dean had come to sleep there late last night because you had no memory of it.
As you walked down to the kitchen, the air was dry but comforting somehow. Sometimes, you thought about how much this place would creep other kids out, but to you, Bobbyâs house was the safest place you had ever known. Sigils on every wall, protective charms in every corner of the home, rosaries strung up in every possible place. Everything a kid shouldnât have to worry about.
You forced yourself out of your thoughts before you spiraled any further. Your steps were light, the floorboards creaking softly under your bare feet. You spotted little Sammy sitting on the old, torn-up couch watching some random goofy cartoon. He whipped his head around to see who was behind him, and as soon as he saw you, a big toothy smile appeared on his face. You laughed quietly. Sam had just lost a tooth recently and loved showing it off.
After eating a leftover slice of cold pizza and taking two beers from the fridge, you made your way to the front porch. Of course, if Bobby had been home, he wouldâve ripped those bottles out of your hands and given you a glass of orange juice while grumbling some nonsense about who raised you. Honestly, you didnât blame him. You wouldâve wished for anything better than this if you had a choice.
The front door whined as you pushed it open with your foot. A warm, dry breeze hit your face as you inhaled through your nose and exhaled with a long sigh. A wind chime sang softly as you looked out over the empty scrapyard and spotted Baby, with no one around except Dean, hidden beneath her hood.
As the door slammed shut, he lifted his head, intrigued by the sudden noise. He examined you quickly and gave you a small nod before returning to his work.
You walked over to him and lifted the second bottle toward his face.
âSince when did you start drinking this early?â he asked, one brow raised.
âItâs five oâclock somewhere,â you shrugged.
He flashed you a quick smile before opening his beer, then grabbing yours and opening it too.
You took the bottle back from him and turned toward the porch. Sitting down in a white wooden rocking chair, you tucked one leg beneath yourself for comfort.
The sky was filled with thick clouds that blocked the sun, but thankfully Sioux Falls had some pretty nice weather during the summer. Your thumb slowly passed over the damp beer label, peeling at the edge. Your eyes drifted toward the horizonânothing but scrap metal for miles.
In the distance, the coughing of Babyâs engine could be heard, accompanied by sharp curses leaving Deanâs mouth.
You chuckled to yourself at how quickly his fuse burned. Maybe he had heard you because he lifted his head to look at you with an annoyed expression.
âIf youâre just gonna laugh at me, at least make yourself useful.â
He made his way toward you and sat down on the bench beside you, taking a swig of his beer.
âHow long until we have to go?â you asked quietly.
âI donât know. Bobby didnât say,â Dean replied, side-eyeing you.
You nodded slowly. The breeze was getting colder, and you tucked both feet beneath yourself. As for Dean, he didnât seem to mind. As long as it meant he didnât have to follow orders from his dad, he was at peace.
The two of you stayed there until Bobby got back, sharing short stories and taking occasional swigs from your beers. The wind rustled through the scrapyard, and somewhere inside the house, a cartoon continued to play for Sam.
For once, there were no monsters to chase, no hunts to survive, and no orders to follow.
This was way better than hunting.
