A/N: At least I got this done (after three months) after like five months
Summary: With a demon occupying your body, the Winchesters struggle to adjust but they still bring you back to the bunker. And they try to do everything to get you back to normal.
Three days passed and neither of the Winchesters slept.
Sam because he was using every waking second he had to find a way to exorcize the demon that occupied your body, and Dean because Sam wouldn’t let him sleep.
The aroma of coffee and bourbon was the only constant. That, and the soft hum of your altered voice carrying through the vents from the dungeon.
Dean laughed under his breath as he sat at one of the large tables in the bunker’s library. He’d been sucked into the internet and for some reason, he couldn’t stop watching video after video.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asked as he walked in. Despite not showering for the last three days, he still looked mildly presentable. Dean chuckled again and lifted his phone up, smiling.
“Watch this video, this guy’s got a trombone and his kid’s banging an oven door-”
“Seriously?” Sam looked at his brother. Dean taking breaks had become an issue to Sam, it was time wasted not looking for a way to save you, and this demon had its claws in you deep.
“I’ve been working my ass off to try and get Y/N back and you’ve been sitting there watching stupid videos?” He scoffed and Dean pursed his lips in awkward silence.
“Sammy, maybe you just need to take a few hours off and relax. You’ve been up for like forty hours almost.” Dean stood up and pat Sam on the shoulder, but the younger brother shook his head, not showing outward signs of exhaustion yet.
“I gotta save, Y/N. It’s the only thing I can think about.” Sam sighed and set his laptop down on the table. His calloused fingers trembled with the breaths he took.
“We just have to find a way to make sure this doesn’t do more harm than good. If I can just figure out a way to distract it..” He sighed again and Dean nodded.
“Well, then we have to-”
“What?” Sam asked. His brother held up a finger and turned his ear toward the wall.
“You hear that?” Dean turned toward one of the vents that resided near the ceiling in the library. The voice was slowly getting louder.
“Is that...singing? I’m not just hearing things, right?”
“Yeah, that’s Y/N.” Sam bit the inside of his lip.
“The itsy bitsy demon crawled up the water spout; Down came the black smoke and choked the human out.” A giggle came out of your throat.
The chains that bound your ankles rattled softly as your legs moved back and forth under the chair like you were on a swing. Your joints ached like they were being sawed through with a rusty knife, but that was the whole point.
“Where am I?” You asked. But no sound came out of your mouth. Your neck ached from hanging forward but, again, you didn’t do anything to stop that. You could feel your wrists bound to the chair, the ropes digging into your skin, but you didn’t make any sort of effort to move them.
“Shut up.” Another voice, other than your own, spoke, echoing off the curves of your skull and reverberating in your ears. Suddenly you remembered what had happened. Your body wasn’t your own anymore. Your head was drawn up at the sound of large metal doors unlocking and opening in front of you.
“Sammy, been wondering where you got to.” Your lips curled up into a smirk as you watched both brothers enter the cold dark room. A mouldy sandwich lay on a plate in front of your feet, from when Sam had tried to get you to eat; to no avail. Dean opposed that idea, but Sam’s resilience led him to believe that the Y/N he knew was still in there and needed to eat. It wasn’t clear how long it had been since your last meal, considering that the demon didn’t need any of that to survive.
“Let me talk to Y/N.” All the light in Sam’s eyes was gone, and his fists clenched at his sides as he looked you over. He was definitely looking at something in particular, but you didn’t know what. It was pointless to try and scream for help, it wouldn’t let your voice through.
“Hmm, I don’t know. I like the view from where I’m sitting.” The demon mewled, leaning forward and pulling your lip between your teeth.
“I could sit here all day. Hi Dean.” Another giggle came from your throat and the boys awkwardly avoided eye contact.
“Just give us a minute.” Dean practically growled, glaring at the demon inside of you. You could feel it roll your eyes.
“Fine, fine.”
Suddenly it felt like your chest was ten times lighter. For a split second there was relief - and the devil on your shoulder, the one that had beaten the angel on the other to the ground a long time before, was gone. Or at least dormant for now.
Once you were able to move your head on your own, you looked slowly down at your arms. Your muscles throbbed and your head felt like it was on fire but you were alive. How that was possible escaped you. Bruises started to form and you could feel the same sensation happening around your ribs. It made a small noise of discomfort escape from your lips and you looked up at the boys with heavy tears in your eyes.
The wounds that riddled your skin could have been months old. The areas under your eyes slowly darkened and your cheeks lost their colour, it was as if all indications of humanity that you displayed up until this point were just part of the demon’s facade. And since you had never been involved with whatever these boys did, you had no way to understand what the hell was actually going on. All you knew was that something had taken over your body and had forced you to start believing in something that had nothing to do with your normal view of life - something that wasn’t natural.
The pain in Sam’s eyes worsened as your limbs turned black and blue, the only thing that had kept you looking semi-normal was the demon’s ability to heal itself and appear invincible.
“S-Sammy..” You practically gasped feeling your chest seize up and start throbbing. The intercostal muscles between your ribs ached with trauma and hindered your lungs from taking full breaths. The stabbing pain you felt as you shifted in the chair indicated to you a possible broken rib; the result of something you couldn’t remember.
Sam’s eyes changed and he rushed to your side, remembering to keep his hands at a distance as not to hurt you anymore. His protective instincts would pose a problem when you whimpered his name yet again.
“Y/N, hey, we’re gonna get that thing out, alright, don’t worry, we got you-”
“Sam, it hurts.” You began to cry, you felt as though your guts had been twisted over and over and tied in knots.
“I know, Y/N, I know, you just gotta hang in-”
“Times up!” The demon’s eyes flashed black again and your teeth snapped at Sam’s cheek as he suddenly pulled away. A dark chortle sounded from your throat and Sam didn’t know how such a terrible sound could come from your vocal cords.
“Don’t like biting, anymore huh? Oh, Sammy from what Y/N remembers, you never had a problem with it.” The demon giggled again and Sam’s lip turned into a snarl.
“Why the hell are you here. Why go after Y/N.” Dean stepped in front of his clearly overwhelmed brother. The demon’s head tilted teasingly. The way your teeth were bared and the way your eyes stared them down with a dead, menacing look reminded Dean of “The Exorcist”.
“Oh, boys, to get to you of course. Unfortunately, you’ve both been too stupid to look for the signs in that fucking town for the last six months.” The demon grinned again, attempting to get a reaction out of Sam.
“Avoiding your past will only make it worse, Samuel. Just ask that pretty little blonde, Jessica.” A giggle left your chapped lips. The tension in the room rose as Sam’s fists clenched and he stepped towards your fragile form, intending to interrogate further. But his brother’s hand gripped his forearm before he could take his second step.
“Too soon?” Your previously beautiful eyes turned from demonic obsidian to their natural colour and the demon twisted your face into an expression that conveyed innocence. It made his stomach churn.
Two more days past before the demon was finally weakening.
Beads of blood emerged from cuts all over your body and they continued to stain your tattered clothing.
The bags under Sam’s eyes got darker as the hours went on, he hadn’t slept, and he hadn’t stopped trying to loosen the demon’s hold on you.
It was painful and lengthy, like a lot of things that you had gone through in your life. Every once in a while your limbs would move involuntarily, or your throat would emit a high pitched laugh, and every time this happened you felt your body begin to deteriorate further.
Suddenly, something felt different and you saw Sam’s tired face for the first time free from control. The book he held dropped from his hands and he rushed to your side, Dean exiting whatever dark, cold room you were in to get something to clean you up with or something that would ensure you wouldn’t die from your injuries.
Your weak arms lay limp and your neck didn’t seem to have the strength to hold your head up anymore.
“S..Sam..” Blood had dried under your nose and over the cuts that hatched your arms and they left a grubby, sweaty, sticky feeling all over your skin. Your hands, clammy with sweat, stretched out slightly as your fingernails scratched at the arms of the chair you were still shackled to. The cuffs dug into your ankles and wrists and you looked up, with blurred vision, at the two men who saved your life.
Arms, legs, fingers, toes; you could feel everything. Unfortunately, everything hurt, but at least you knew that you were alive.
@itsbabysinger-idjit (now deactivated) asked: How about a little something where Sam visits the reader after a spat with Dean? They aren’t dating, but they’re close, have feelings for each other?
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: language, implied smut, fluff, angst
A/N: I took a little creative license and made it a long distance thing. There will be a second part of this - Also thank you for 3.4k
You stared, shocked, at the man on your front doorstep as freezing air billowed into your home. He was barely wearing a jacket but he managed to give you a smile. His lips were slightly blue and his teeth chattered gently.
“Sam?”
“Hi.”
A cold gust went past you and goosebumps instantly rose on your arms. You shivered.
“Get your ass in here before you freeze to death.” You grabbed his cold hands and tugged him through the front door; the shiny Impala was nowhere to be seen. You sighed deeply, shutting the door behind him. The tip of his nose was red and he slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets. You glared at him a little as he took off his shoes, but his fingers were numb so it would take him a while.
The snow clung to his shoes and the flakes started to melt off of his eyelashes, it was clear he had been out there for a while.
“So, when you lost your soul did you lose your brain too?” You giggled softly.
“Nice to see you too.” He chuckled lightly, sniffling and shrugging off his coat. His hazel eyes met yours only to see that you were rushing through the living room trying to find a blanket.
“Where’s Dean?” You asked as he stood up. You threw a blanket over his shoulders and pulled him to your kitchen, where he could warm up.
“Bar somewhere.” He responded. It was clear he had walked here after an argument. You hadn’t even known they were in town.
“What was it about?” You asked as your fingers turned the dial on the wall, turning up the heat.
Sam just shrugged. His eyes looked red at the rims and like they were glossed over, he looked hurt.
“I see.” You started a kettle on the stove and got out two mugs from the cabinet. You set them on the counter as you watched Sam Winchester settle on your couch.
It was silly to see such a big guy curl up in a fuzzy blanket. His eyes wandered around the room and he started looking at the books that you kept on your side table. His long fingers flipped through a few pages before he looked up, hearing the whistling of the kettle. You realized you were staring.
Sam only came to town occasionally, which meant that every time you saw him it was limited. You’d gotten used to it, and you didn’t blame him for being busy. But you appreciated every second you could get with him.
“So, uh- what are you guys doing here?” You poured the hot water into the mugs and it soaked into the tea bags slowly, filling the room with the smell of peppermint.
“Just passing through,” Sam said, watching as you carried the two drinks towards him. You couldn’t help the slight punch to the gut that gave you, but you understood. He took one of the mugs gratefully and just held onto it, warming his hands. His chestnut hair fell around his face as he inhaled the scented steam. He looked like hell, to be honest.
“Thanks.” He glanced at you and sipped carefully from the hot cup. You smiled softly and sat down beside him as the house began to warm.
In between roaming hands and heavy breathing, you pulled a heavy duvet from the hall closet over Sam’s long legs and yourself on the couch. He hummed, setting down his mug. It must have been close to midnight and the streetlights outside cast an orange tinge across the snow-covered street. Snow wasn’t uncommon at this time of the year, especially where you were from.
Sams large palms came to rest on your hips as he pulled you closer, nearly on his lap, as you warmed up. You smiled softly.
“You know, it’s been a while since you’ve stopped by.” You breathed out, leaning towards him, your lips inches apart. Sam chuckled in the back of his throat and finally leaned in all the way, giving you a taste of what you’d been missing the last few months. He hummed softly as his thumb brushed the side of your cheek.
“I know, but I’m here now.” His tongue ran gently over your lower lip and you smiled.
“Before we get too carried away, can we go somewhere more comfortable. Maybe with fewer windows?” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning your forehead against his. He nodded and stood up, taking you with him with your legs wrapped around his waist. He grinned, his teeth running timidly down your neck as he walked.
Dim light flooded the room as the hours of the morning crept on. Sam’s arm lay under your neck, and one rested across your torso. Your head tucked into the crook of his neck as your bodies cooled off.
The sheets of your bed were tangled around your legs and Sam’s fingers absentmindedly traced the grooves of your hips.
“It was about you.” He mumbled after a long period of warm, comfortable silence. You tilted your head up and looked at him as your hand rested on his bare chest. He took a deep breath.
“Dean said that I shouldn’t keep coming back here. He said it’s not safe.” His arms seemed to pull you closer by themselves and he kissed your forehead. His body heat enveloped you and kept you warm, and it seemed like it would for a long time; although you felt your stomach clench at his words and you held onto him a little tighter.
“But you came anyway.” You smiled softly and he nodded. All other thoughts abandoned you and you gently kissed his cheek.
“Yeah, Y/N, I came anyway…” Sam’s hands held you securely to his side as your mind began to drift like the snow. His lips quivered like he had to say something else, but he held his tongue and just laid with you under the covers as exhaustion settled in.
The first time you saw Sam Winchester, you were waiting tables at the diner on the main strip of town. He was wearing a crisp business suit with a long black coat and speaking with a colleague of his. These men could have been on Wall Street making a thousand per week for all you knew. They walked into the diner, an odd place for someone dressed like they were, and just your luck, they sat in your section.
A man in the corner booth looked up from his newspaper briefly as they entered, his eyes fixed on their faces for a moment, then he returned to reading. He only lifted his slightly bloodshot eyes again when you refilled his coffee.
From far away, the two strangers were attractive. But close up you could see that they were much more so.
“What can I get the two of-”
“Bacon cheeseburger, Coke, he’ll have a salad and a water.” The man with the shorter hair answered with a heavy breath before you could even finish your sentence. The taller one, even though they were both easily over six feet, gave you an awkward smile, as if to apologize for his partner’s manners.
It was clear to you that they were dealing with some frustrations. For good reason too, they looked like cops.
There had been a string of murders in town lately, and they all followed the same pattern. Major organs, specifically hearts, were ripped from the victim’s body. It was straight out of a sci-fi murder mystery.
You nodded and jotted down their orders on your notepad. The men resumed talking as you walked away.
The man in the corner’s eyes were fixed on you.
A few days after, the two men returned to the diner and chose to sit at the bar. They’d been in three times in the last four days and you appreciated the change of scenery. They were quite easy on the eyes.
You smiled softly at the second of the two, with longer hair, as you wiped down the counter.
The previous night, the two strangers showed up at your apartment building, rambling about your impending doom. Kindly enough, you let them in, for it wasn’t often you got to experience excitement in your boring life.
They hunted monsters was what they told you. And at first, you thought they were joking. But you soon learned that the things that go bump in the night were a lot more than just stories.
Long story short, the man in the corner was gone for good. And you were glad he was, you might be dead by now if he wasn’t.
“Back again?” You asked as the boys’ long legs eased them down into the stools. Sam’s cheek sported a few scratches on his face and his brother Dean had a large bruise forming on his chest. It was a good thing his clothes covered that.
“He couldn’t just roll on out of town without saying goodbye, could you, Sammy?” The man beside Sam chuckled, sipping a coffee you’d already set out for him. You looked back to the second man.
“Is that so, Sammy?” You smiled again and you could see a small blush creep up on his cheeks. They were dressed in far less formal outfits today. Green canvas jackets, and biker-like boots, and jeans. Rather casual for two FBI agents, even if they were off the job.
“It’s Sam.” He corrected, throwing a glare at his colleague.
“And I guess so.” He smiled back, trying to be friendly.
“Well, that makes two of us.” Testing the waters, you flirted with him. Sam smiled broadly and his teeth grazed his bottom lip.
They’d saved your life, it seemed appropriate to try and repay the favour.
When you woke up, the sunlight was almost blinding, so much so that you had to shut your eyes again. The clean sheets were still wrapped around you, confining you to the bed in a peaceful embrace. They were soft.
A fresh sheet of snow covered the ground overnight and it gave the outside world a clean, pure look. Your hair matted in the back and tangled, you turned over on your pillow to curl into Sam, who was always warm and would hopefully provide you with some of it.
You reached blindly for his hand, or his forearm, but you missed, your arm going to rest limply on the bed. It seemed he was pulling away playfully in the thrawls of being half-asleep.
“Sam…” You giggled softly, your eyes opening again a little. He wasn’t there.
His side of the bed was cold.
“Sam?” You sat up, pulling the sheets with you. The halls were as silent as they always were in the morning like no one else had even entered this house in the past twelve hours.
Sometimes when he came to visit, Sam would get up early to run. But it was far too cold, even for him. Maybe he was making coffee, but you didn’t smell it.
You swung your legs over the edge of your bed and set them down on the floor to get on some sort of shirt. Socks, too while you were at it.
The light flooded the room as you opened your bedroom door and went down the hall. There weren’t any sounds that would indicate someone else was here. Sam’s shoes were gone, as was his jacket that had been shed on the floor at some point in the night.
The wine glasses were clean on the counter near the sink along with the mugs that held the peppermint tea. The blanket that had covered him lay, folded, on the arm of the sofa. It was like he had never been there.
Another submission for @riversong-sam‘s birthday challenge!
My prompt was Last Goodbye
Warnings: character death, depressed Cass
Word Count: 1.7k
A/N:
Sorry I suck at keeping active
I’m using the spelling ‘CASS’. I’m warning you because people get triggered for some reason and then they get mad at me
Also, if your URL is crossed off in my tags, it means Tumblr is not allowing me to tag you under that URL anymore. Message me if you still want to be on tags but you want to change your URL
His hand lay under your head, supporting it so it wouldn’t touch the sullied ground. The unclean ground where your body lay nearly motionless. He cradled your torso in his lap and kept you close, warm, as comfortable as he could make you.
His beige trenchcoat lay in half in the mud that was close to freezing over for the night in attempt to conserve some of your body heat
“Guess we won’t be going on that second date huh?” You smiled weakly up at him, finding his other hand with your own, resting on your abdomen. He shook his head.
“No, I’m afraid not.” He breathed out shakily and tried to smile back.
As per usual, a hunt had gone wrong, but this time it ended with your blood slowly leaking into the dirt. It was hard for Cass to grip what was happening; you’d known him so long, and just recently you were beginning to have feelings for the angel, as weird as that was.
“Put your coat back on Cass.” You mumbled, trying to focus on his eyes, his lips, anything that could keep you in this world a little longer.
“I do not get cold, Y/N. I’ll be fine.” His thumb brushed against your cheek gently.
The colour of your face was slowly draining, like your blood, and your lips were turning cold along with your fingers. Cass’ hand ran through your hair gently and you breathed out, calm.
“Please just let me heal you.” He begged. Angels didn’t really cry, but if they did, you’d guess that Castiel was about as close as they could get. His hands were leaving yours warmer and his voice broke when he managed to speak. The blue in his eyes seemed vibrant when he was most upset. You shook your head slowly.
“You’ve saved me...too many times, Castiel.”
“Then don’t leave me just yet, Y/N, please.” He pressed his cool lips to your forehead and you smiled softly. Both Sam and Dean returned, stopping in their tracks as they saw Castiel kneeling. They’d gone after the demon that had provided you with a nice lethal stab wound. Lucky enough for you, you were on the hellspawn’s list just because you affiliated with the Winchesters.
They decided not to get any closer. Castiel’s shoulders were shuddering above you and your breath was getting shallow.
“I think it’s time for me to go.” All you could get out was a whisper.
“I don’t want to watch the love between us die...” Cass muttered, a small teardrop fell from his eye and he breathed softly, the light fog swirling and then disappearing. You were silent. It was forbidden for humans and angels to be together, but Castiel’s current track record showed that he wasn’t exactly keen on following the rules lately.
“Y/N, please don’t leave me... Wake up.” Cass shook your shoulders gently and his heart pounded softly. He was struck with the fear that he would never again see your smile.
Behind the tragic scene, Dean bit his lip and glanced at his brother knowingly, whose head was down in mourning. Losing people was in their job description, but they never thought they would lose you too.
Castiel knelt on the ground with your body early into the cold morning, just stroking your stiff, soft skin. Sam and Dean couldn’t bear it any longer, especially since they couldn’t feel their toes.
“Cass, buddy. Y/N’s gone... we gotta go.” He didn’t want to pry him away from you; he knew as well as his brother that in the time you’d known each other, Cass felt a certain way about you that was unheard of in angel disposition.
Rigid, Castiel stood up, holding your limp body bridal style in his arms. His eyes were cold and fixed upon the ground.
“Cass, you know anything else about- Hey, Cass,” Dean repeated as he looked up from the lore book that lay on the kitchen table.
Castiel was standing near one of the bookshelves with an old shoebox in front of him, a shoebox he kept of your things.
“Cass?” Sam piped up, which earned them a look from the angel.
“You okay?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded slowly and glanced back into the box briefly before putting it back on the shelf. Whatever was in his hands, he folded and tucked into one of his coat pockets.
“Yes, I am okay. What is it you need help with?” He was quick to change the subject.
As Dean explained their newest case file, Castiel’s mind wandered.
It had already been a few months since your death and he still regretted the fact that he hadn’t tried to save you.
His eyes had lost their lustre and his voice had lost its sincerity. He no longer could feel the warmth of your touch or the feeling that sparked inside him whenever he would see your face.
He kept thinking about that godforsaken promise he’d made to you. The promise that you’d proposed all those months back that entailed the angel not to save you if it came down to it. Your rationale was that if you were supposed to die, you were supposed to die. You weren’t going to mess with Fate. It didn’t work out so well last time.
Cass disappeared from the room before the boys realized how tight he was clenching his fists.
Dean let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“He’s gotta get over this damn wall.” He grumbled. His best friend had been disconnected ever since the accident, and they needed him to be at his best just in case they needed him.
“C’mon Dean, you can’t blame him, and we can’t just keep asking him to solve our problems,” Sam said softly, uncrossing his arms and walking around the table to his brother.
“I’m not asking him to solve our problems, I’m just asking him to get his head out of his ass and take one for the team. He’s gotta get over it at some point.”
“He lost Y/N, you can’t expect him to be...all there.” Brushing a few strands of hair out of his face, Sam sighed.
“We lost Y/N, too, Sam. You don’t see me crying about it.” Dean glared up at his brother but Sam knew better. Both of the boys were upset that you were dead, but they both processed it differently. Already, Dean had gone overkill on three big baddies. Sam knew he was taking it hard, but still not as hard as Cas was taking it.
Defeated, Sam spoke again.
“Even angels need time to grieve, Dean. Give him a break.”
“Hello, Y/N.” Cass’ gravely voice mumbled, his lips curling slightly at the ends. For some reason, he always hoped you would answer him.
The grey headstone looked back at him with the same blank face as always but he still smiled and sat down on the ground in front of it, fighting back his sadness. The old tree that twisted up behind the grave provided shade for the ground that was patched with unique rays sunlight that managed to stream through the leaves overhead. The sun would be setting soon.
Cass’ trench coat flapped gently in the quiet wind and he breathed shallowly.
He made sure to bury your body in the most beautiful place he could find, so secluded and peaceful that only he could visit you there and no one could find you by accident. Having a hunter’s funeral for you, like the boys wanted, was out of the question. He could not let his last memory of you to be filled with fire. He only hoped where you were, you could be as at peace as the river was.
“The stars should be beautiful tonight.” He looked up through the break in the trees at the sky and left himself in silence, imagining you responding to his statement with a fact about constellations or the recent meteor shower. He looked back down at your grave and sighed.
“I thought of you again today, Y/N.” His fingers pressed to the ground where he clearly remembered laying your body, wrapped in sheets. The river bubbled by the gravesite and he watched the water find it’s way around the rocks. If only it was that easy for him to get around this rock.
“I never got to say goodbye to you, Y/N.” Cass’ voice broke. The clouds overhead floated by, ill-concerned about whatever was going on down on earth. If any of his brothers or sisters saw him this way, they would be convinced that Earth had corrupted him, somehow made him more human, which they thought of as a bad thing.
“You gave me more life than you’ll ever know.” A few tears slid down his cheeks and he pulled the folded item from his pocket. He couldn’t ever tell you how he felt.
With trembling hands, he unfolded the photograph and stared at your smile. He’d taken a liking to Polaroid cameras just a few months before your death. And even though he wasn’t particularly good with technology, or photogenic for that matter, he found a way to get a picture of the two of you together. It always made him smile.
He quickly wiped his eyes and started digging a small hole in the dirt in front of the grave, where a few wildflowers had begun to grow.
“I want you to have this. So you can remember us.” He folded the photograph again, into a small square and he set it into the ground, burying it gently. His tears, by now, had started to flow again, and he imagined them being fuel for more flowers.
Slowly, he stood up again and glanced at his surroundings before turning back to your headstone, where he would make sure it would never snow or be damaged. He intended to visit you often to tell you everything that was happening without you, as much as it broke his heart.
“Goodbye, Y/N.”
With one more look, Castiel pressed a kiss to his fingers and set them on the top of your headstone.
This is for @riversong-sam’s birthday challenge! Happy (belated) birthday!
~Lyrics are in italics~
Based on the song: Heaven by Bryan Adams
Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks + descriptions of Mary’s death, implied abusive!John, language, mentions of smut but nothing graphic
Word Count: 4.3k
A/N: This is my first ever John fic!! and I got heavy feels while writing the first part, I expect more to come. Feedback would be amazing!!
John sat up, again, in a cold sweat; his chest heaved as his lungs sucked in the cool air of the room he was in. It was how he woke up most of the time.
His clammy hand ran over his forehead, down his cheeks and back up again, through his hair, to soothe the aching in his temples. For once, the oxygen he breathed in didn’t have a tang of old beer or dust, or mold; it was clean air, and he lay on clean sheets.
He looked around the dark room slowly as his eyes adjusted to the low light, and he remembered where he was. To his left, there was a shape under the covers, breathing steadily; and he decided not to wake you, he’d already caused you enough inconvenience.
Carefully, he peeled the sheets from over his legs and he set his feet on the cold hardwood floor. Usually a drink would satisfy his body’s need to sleep; maybe paired with a few sleeping pills, and he would finally get a full five or six hours.
He wished he didn’t have to, and the drinking seemed to make his dreams worse, more vivid, but it was the only way he could get those few hours of peace. As he left the room, his hand pulled the door shut, quietly.
The small kitchen down the hall had white cabinets that he avoided looking at during the day, but at night they were tinted grey from the darkness.
His calloused, shaky fingers wrapped around the refrigerator handle and he pulled it open with little effort. The beer he’d bought on the way into town seemed to be gone; he’d drank it all within a few nights. With a heavy sigh, he straightened up and closed the fridge door, glancing around the room for something else.
He settled on a bottle of whiskey that was hidden in the back of one of the cupboards. By now he knew all of your hiding spots, much to your dismay. His neck craned until he found the neck of the glass object and he pulled it out, setting it gingerly on the table, the amber liquid making a sloshing sound as it stopped moving. John poured himself a glass, over a few ice cubes of course, and noticed his leather-bound journal laying across the kitchen table, where he’d left it earlier in the day. He paid no mind to the book, and continued on his way into the living room. He switched on the TV, not for any particular reason, but maybe it would occupy his mind for the time being.
He sat down in one of the arm chairs that faced the television set, which was casting a low blue light over the room, and he let his head tilt back against the cushion of the headrest, exhaling slowly.
He brought the cool glass to his lip and took a long drink of the alcohol, hoping the taste would stay there. Quicker than he’d hoped, he downed the whiskey and his eyes shut as he savoured the burning feeling. His muscles seemed to instantly relax.
John started back down the short hallway to get back to the bedroom. By then it must have been just after one in the morning. And here was no way to tell how long he would stay awake when he couldn’t sleep; hours felt like minutes.
At the end of the hall, his eyes were beginning to succumb to sleep and he pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his thumb and forefinger over his eyes so he could at least make it back to bed without bumping into anything. Once his vision cleared up, his feet carried him all the way to the door and he paused.
To his recollection, he had shut the door to the bedroom when he’d left, but it now was sightly ajar; and a glowing orange light was emanating from within.
“No..” He muttered before he was advancing on the door. He grabbed the handle and threw it open, only to be met with flames, hot and unrelenting, engulfing the ceiling and walls.
He shielded his face with his forearm and subconsciously looked for a crib as the fire crackled loudly, seemingly laughing at his efforts.
“Sammy, Sam..” He muttered, sweat building on the back of his neck and on his forehead. His legs seemed to stiffen, only allowing for slight movements when he wanted to go as fast as he could. His hands searched the blazing room blindly for his six-month-old son. The shirt he’d worn to bed clung to his body as sweat poured from his skin as the white-orange flames licked at the walls, intending to have the whole room, John included, for themselves.
“T-take your brother outside..” John called, voice breaking and unsure who he was talking to. Vaguely he thought of his four year old son. His cheeks were flushed from the heat as his fists clenched around the thick air in the room. John could practically taste the smoke on his tongue as he tried to breathe in the little oxygen that was left, the oxygen that hadn’t already consumed by the blaze.
“John,” Someone called, softly. Freezing in place, his face suddenly pale and terrified, John Winchester looked up at the ceiling and felt his heart lurch, then stop altogether as shock overcame him.
“No!..” He gasped, knees beginning to buckle beneath him. The heat of the flames laboring his breathing.
Blood seeped from her stomach, staining the pure white nightgown a deep red, and her golden hair reflecting the light of the fire before it singed and turned to blackened dust. Her green eyes were wide with pain, regret, dread; an expression that haunted his subconscious each time his own eyes shut. A strangled cry left her rose-coloured lips as the flames enveloped her limbs, crawled up her torso, and tongued at her unblemished skin, leaving harsh red welts that only spread. He remembered the smell clearly.
John sat up suddenly, drenched in sweat once again. His breathing slowed to normal as he looked around the room. The living room, he’d never made it back to bed. The glass that had held his whiskey was shattered on the floor, clearly dropped from when he’d dozed off. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and running both hands over his face.
“Fuck...” He mumbled to himself, swiping tears away with the back of his hand.
The dreams that plagued him only enhanced his need for revenge, an answer; just something that would ease his tormented mind.
By now, the sun was barely up, casting a gentle orange light through the window, sparkling over the frost-covered ground. It felt like he was serving a sentence, and the only way to get out of that prison was to find whoever, or whatever, took her away from him.
It had been five years since Mary died.
Oh - thinkin' about all our younger years
There was only you and me
We were young and wild and free
John delicately held a tiny photograph of his wife, her hair yellow as the grass that grew in the fall, as he sipped the black coffee from a mug.
It was often that he remembered Mary and their former life together; and he still wore his wedding ring. Sometimes on his left hand, sometimes around his neck on a chain. It would have only been their tenth anniversary earlier this year.
He liked to think of Mary as she was when they were first married; perfect in every way, young, and hopeful. He tried to only remember her this way, but when he was asleep, and drunk, he had no control over his most recent and petrifying memory. Sometimes he thought of his boys, and if they had grown up normally, staying in one place long enough for them to go to school. He thought of how much better it would be if they had a mother around; if he had been fast enough to get her out. Whenever he wasn’t thinking about the way she died, his mind eased and shifted to solace.
Lately, and luckily enough for him, one of the only things that kept him sane was you.
The first time the two of you met, he was covered in blood and scratches from a hunt he’d been on, and he needed help. Unfortunately, you were the only one who would be willing to be up for the task. John Winchester was notorious; but he’d needed a few stitches and a warm place to sleep.
Now nothin' can take you away from me
We've been down that road before
“John?” You asked softly, approaching the chair where he sat in your living room, you had no way of knowing how long he’d been there. You saw him tuck something away in his jean pocket and he stood up.
“Morning.” He smiled softly, unconvincingly.
“How long have you been up?” You asked, crossing your arms across your chest, attempting to preserve your body heat on this cool October morning. He came closer to you and pressed a warm kiss to your lips. He was firm about it, you could tell he was stressed.
“Not long.” He finally said, leaving you slightly breathless with the feeling of his stubble on your skin. You knew he was lying. On average he got about four hours of sleep. It was a wonder how he managed to function. He gazed down into your Y/E/C eyes and sighed from deep in his chest.
“I gotta head out again.” He told you. You expected that, you nodded slowly.
When John stayed with you, it was brief. And usually only consisted of three things: lots of drinks, sex, and home-cooked meals. Then after a few days he was on the road again, and you knew for a fact that what you had with him was only temporary, reoccurring one night stands.
You were no stranger to things that went bump in the night, God knows you’d come across a few in your day, so you helped him with research whenever he needed it, of course, in the company of his favourite whiskey.
There were many nights he showed up at your doorstep, battered and bruised, and he just needed a place to put his frustration; you did your best to help him.
You spent hours under the sheets, bodies covered in sweat, muscles tense, hands pulling and grabbing as you gave your body to him, allowed him to do whatever he needed to.
Maybe it wasn’t exactly a healthy relationship, but John appreciated every second you had to spare.
In the first couple of years that Mary was gone, he wouldn’t dare dream of sleeping with anyone else, but now that he was hunting full time, it took a toll. And he needed a way to reduce his stress.
But that's over now
You keep me comin' back for more
His bag was already packed and near the front door. And as much as you hated to see him leave, he had to go save the world; you would be here when he got back.
“Well, stay in touch.” You gave him a soft smile. He never did, but you liked to think he at least thought about you while he was away.
“I’ll try.” He gave you one last nod and he made his way towards the door. You followed, to see him off. As he passed the kitchen, he avoided the white cabinets, pretending to scratch the side of his face.
The sleek black car, a ‘67 Chevrolet Impala, sat near the curb as he loaded his bag in the trunk and got into the driver’s seat. As he pulled away, you gave a small wave. He smiled that classic smile of his and he drove down the street.
You hoped he would stop by Bobby Singer’s place to see his kids. On the off chance someone in the area of a case couldn’t, and Bobby didn’t have any cases of his own, John would leave them with him. But if Bobby was busy, John would call you.
Dean was turning ten in January, 1989, and Sam was turning six in May. They were growing fast, and the last time you babysat, you’d noticed bruises on Dean’s forearms and wrist.
You’d asked him what happened, and he’d looked down told you that ‘Dad drinks too much sometimes.’ You remembered how your stomach dropped and how you’d knelt in front of him, hoping it wasn’t true. You cared for that boy like he was your own son sometimes.
“Dad says I need to build work on my aim.” Dean had said in a small voice. Obviously John already had him shooting, training. Even though Dean wasn’t keen on your attention, or your attention on his father particularly, he still knew when something wasn’t right.
That set you on edge a little, and you gave Bobby a call. He was as worried about it as you were, knowing full-well what John intended for the boys.
John did have a tendency to overreact, even about little things, especially when he was drinking, but you didn’t think he would go so far as to hurt his oldest son. It could be a symptom, you thought, with his history in the Marines and what he’d been through, it wouldn’t surprise you in the least.
You tried not to think about it too much, but if it happened again and you were there to notice it, you’d have to say something.
Dean had to be grown up from the minute his father started hunting full-time; Sam needed someone if his father wouldn’t be there.
Oh - once in your life you find someone
Who will turn your world around
Days turned into weeks and you heard nothing from John Winchester, which wasn’t abnormal by any means. So, you went about your daily life as normal, going to work and checking in on other hunters, or providing them with a place to stay if they needed it.
John seemed to show up at your door the minute you were sure he wasn’t coming back.
There was a knock on your door a little after midnight. Your usual reaction was to pick up your shotgun and look through the peephole. When you were met with three sets of eyes, familiar eyes, you tossed your gun back to the closet and flung the door open, something must have been wrong.
His boots tracked small clumps of dirt onto the floor and you supported the older man’s weaker side for him. There was a wide tear in his old flannel shirt, under where his ribs were and blood bubbled out of the wound slowly, his fingers clamping over the sliced skin. Little Sam and Dean were at his flank, looking sleepy, like they had just woken up. As per usual, John had on a brave face for them; and for you.
Bring you up when you're feelin' down
“Boys, why don’t you go to the kitchen, I think there’s a few muffins left.” You swallowed hard and shuttled them in. There was another bruise on Dean’s arm. Sighing, you turned on the TV set to keep them distracted and went back to your front door, where John was leaning. He gave you a weak smile.
“Always show up in pieces don’t you, John,” You stated, moving under his arm and supporting him all the way down to the end of the hall where the bathroom was, he didn’t bother avoiding the white cabinets this time.
“Where would the excitement be if I didn’t?” He chuckled, his breath coming out slightly laboured. You sat him down on the edge of the bathtub and quickly pulled your first aid kit from under the sink.
“What was it this time?” You dared to ask. John chuckled softly, leaning back on his arm a little. He always managed to joke around with you.
“Rusty saw.” You pulled his flannel off and cut through the shirt he was wearing underneath with a pair of medical scissors so you could access the slice. You pressed an anti-septic wipe to it and his jaw clenched up, his eyes shutting. You sopped up some of the blood with a paper towel.
This must have hurt like a bitch but at least now it wouldn’t get infected.
“Alright, alright, it was a Shtriga. Almost got Sammy...”
“What?” You pressed your fingers to the wound firmly and looked up at him in surprise. His muscles tensed under your harsh touch.
“The boys were with you?” You scolded. John groaned softly again.
“They were back at the motel. Dean was watching him, but it got back to them before I did...Dean,” He tsked, taking a breath.
“I could blame him. He didn’t pull the trigger when he needed to; but it was my fault. I missed the kill. Shoulda taught him better.”
“John Winchester, I swear to fucking God. You know one of you could have died right?” You cleaned the wound quickly, causing him to groan, arching away from your hands.
“Jesus- Y/N! Gentle.” He practically growled, white-knuckling the side of the porcelain tub. His muscles contracted and then relaxed as you began threading your needle with fishing line.
Yeah - nothin' could change what you mean to me
Oh there's lots that I could say
“You know I could tell you off, tell you to find someone else to run to when your guts are dragging behind you.” You spat. John scoffed.
“Go ahead.” He threatened.
“No.”
“Why’s that?” He asked as you turned to grab a cotton swab. You doused it with alcohol and ran it over the needle to sterilize it.
“Because you mean too damn much to this world.” You knelt in front of him, the sharp metal object between your steady fingertips.
To you. He meant too damn much to you, you wanted to say. You’d managed to hold your tongue this long, you weren’t quitting now.
Even if John Winchester managed to cause the end of the world, or if he broke your heart, it wouldn’t change how you felt about him; not in the slightest. And you didn’t know why.
It was toxic but you couldn’t deny what you felt.
“They’ve been staying with the motel manager, going to school like they’re supposed to.” He bit his lip and hissed softly as the needle passed through his skin.
“Those boys are the only family you got, John. ‘Should be more careful.” You taped gauze over the closed cut and stood up, putting the first aid kit back under the sink. When you straightened, you walked out of the bathroom without another word. He got up, still holding his side, and he followed you.
“Y/N, just talk to me for a second.” He caught up to you surprisingly quickly and his hand wrapped around your arm, stopping you in the middle of the hall. He had a strong grip and a very authoritative voice.
“About what, John?” You fired back in a hushed tone, seeing the boys, both sitting on the grey shag carpet in front of the TV. You looked back up into John’s eyes.
“About the fact that you’d hunt whatever killed your wife, god rest her soul, to the ends of the earth rather than be a decent father? Maybe about your boys How their childhoods are going?” You glared up into his dark eyes, everything that you’d ever thought wrong of him pouring out.
In a way, you understood. He was just trying to protect them, and the only way he could do that was prepare them. But that didn’t make it right. He seemed to be in shock from the weight of your words.
“I know...” John said, he blinked and kept his eyes shut for a few moments, processing.
“But I need to do this.” He told you, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek gently.
“I need to find what killed her...if I don’t it’ll eat me alive, it already has been.” He exhaled heavily, you sighed.
Sometimes when he was really wasted, he was just as worried about you being pinned to the ceiling in his nightmares. He didn’t want to see you in that situation, however it might arise. Although he would never admit that.
“I get it, John, I understand, but you’re endangering your family because of this shit.” You countered, your voice pleading.
“That shit is what tore my family apart, Y/N. It will not stand by and watch it happen again to someone else.” He told you, making it sound convincing enough, although he made his children sound expendable.
“It was just a little mistake, just this once.” He went back to talking about the incident with the Shtriga, sighing softly. You nodded, taking a small step back, knowing that your point probably wasn’t getting all the way through his thick skull. You knew he loved those boys, but his judgement was clouded whenever he was hunting. It was like a switch went off in his brain and he was stuck in that moment before it was over.
“You should eat something...” You decided it would be better to discuss all this later, when everyone had calmed down a little. A small, apologetic smile made its way to your lips before you returned to the kitchen.
But just hold me now
Cause our love will light the way...
Baby, you're all that I want
When you're lyin' here in my arms
Your back was pressed against John’s chest as you lay in bed, his arms wrapped around your hips. His torso had a thin layer of moisture coating it and he pressed his lips to the top of your head. A shower did him good.
You’d put the boys to bed in the guest room a while ago with full bellies and warm blankets, maybe for once they’d get a decent night’s sleep.
“I think I might stay here a while...if that’s okay.” He said softly, after minutes of silence. You over and looked at him.
“I want the boys to go to school for longer than week. This place is still warded from pretty much everything right?” John kept his eyes on the pillow, he was laying on his side; he rarely slept on his back so he avoided looking at the ceiling.
Yes, your home was warded from everything evil, perfectly safe. You nodded, reaching over to cup his cheek and making him look at you.
“You stay here as long as you want, you got that?” You asked him and he nodded his eyes beginning to droop. The pain-killers were kicking in, not that a big strong hunter like himself needed those, as he told you.
“Got it.” He ran his fingers through your damp Y/H/C hair. He had to say, he was falling for you, even though he hated to admit it.
I'm findin' it hard to believe
We're in heaven
He felt better when he was with you; like he didn’t have to worry about anything anymore. After a few minutes of silence, John spoke again, pulling you a little closer, maybe the drugs hadn’t taken yet, after all. His fingers were calloused after only a few years of hunting, but they were still soft, gentle when they touched your skin.
“Y/N, I never thanked you.” He mumbled into your hair as you started to drift. He inhaled softly, you smelled like your coconut shampoo. Your hands wove around his waist a little tighter, getting comfy, and you tucked your head under his stubbled chin. It was hard for him to admit that he felt like he was floating on air for the first time since Mary.
“I never thought I’d meet another person that I-...that I feel so strongly for.” A blush crept up onto his cheeks. He hadn’t realized that your breathing was shallow, your eyes were shut and you were asleep, but he kept talking. Or maybe he had realized it, and he just wasn’t comfortable pouring his heart out while you were awake.
“Jim Murphy- um, Pastor Jim, he said that I could leave the boys with him if I needed, but I think this is better. Better for them.” He stroked your hair behind your ear softly, twirling a few strands as he did so and cherishing the feeling of your body against his.
And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart
“I want them to have someone like you around. Be there when they get home from school and kiss their bruises...” He smiled softly.
“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon...”
He lay awake for a while, after pressing a kiss to your temple, his hands running up and down your smooth skin. He was just thinking, and for once not about Mary.
He thought of all the things that would be different had Mary not died. Had she not been killed.
He’d set aside a college fund for both his boys when they were born. If he was lucky, or if they were lucky enough to get out, they could go to school and be normal kids. They could get married, have children of their own, have the normal life after that he never got to have. The way he saw it, unless he could find a way to balance keeping his kids safe, and hunting down the evil son of a bitch that took away their mother, there wouldn’t be a future for any of them.
That night when he fell asleep, John finally dreamed of something that wouldn’t keep him up at night. He saw you. It was Christmas morning, and the boys’ eager faces came running into the living room. There was a wedding ring on your left hand as well and he smiled as you tucked yourself into his side.
If he was going to be happy, even just a little bit, then this might be his last shot.
Please don't repost without asking me first. And please don't remove the watermark. I'll say that this weekend was one of the best of my life. It had been a nerve racking two days before I actually got to meet him. And in that time, Richard, Ruth, Misha, Gil, and Rob were all super sweet. I had been planning out what to say to him ever since I found out I was going to be here, which was in March, but I also knew I had to keep it quick so I wouldn't hold up anyone else. Sunday came and as usual the nerves were getting the better of me and the day seemed to go slow. Especially since I was worrying about what the humidity was doing to my used-to-dry-climates, "prairie girl" hair. We all had to sit in the theatre and wait for our ticket increments (1-100 for example) to be called or shown on the screen. But eventually my number was called and off I went to see him. I was standing in line with a bunch of other people, I could hear the music playing in the room, and I was going over my line in my head and once I got about ten feet from him, my hands went completely numb and I got that pins and needles feeling; which had never happened to me before in my life. Someone told me it was just my anxiety. (I didn't realize it could turn off blood flow) I posted a drawing a while back that I brought because I wanted him to see it. So when it was my turn, I handed it to one of the handlers and walked up to him. Just so you guys know, he is damn cute up close. He stared at it with wider eyes for a moment as she carried it passed him, showing him and handing it to someone else so I could get it after, and then looked at me and said. "That's fucking badass, you drew that?" And I nodded. He smiled. He was so friendly. "That's amazing." He said. Then i decided I should start talking before I was rushed. I said: "I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done, I really appreciate it and it means a lot to me. So thank you." The campaigns probably saved my life, and knowing that Jared was so open to talking about the struggles of other and his struggles personally, I felt like I was so safe there in front of him. I felt my chest clench up like I was going to cry so I put my hands over my mouth and breathed out a little. And he put his hand on my face and replied. "I'm really proud of you for doing this and being here. So thank you." He smiled and I relaxed and he took my hands so I could breathe comfortably. These guys are so genuinely grateful for their fans. It is really amazing. I thanked him again and then he asked if I wanted to hug for the picture. I nodded. So I wrapped my arms around him and he bent down a little (because I'm 5'4") and he hugged me so tightly. Best hug I've ever received. He rested his chin on the top of my head and I felt so safe, and I wanted to stay there for longer. (And he smelled awesome.) Chris, the real MVP of the cons, the photographer, took the photo and I pulled away slowly and thanked Jared again, he smiled back before I walked away. My heart was beating so fast and I had to grab my bag from the table at the front of the room, where I almost cried the first time. I took a few deep breaths and walked out of the room. And as soon as I saw my friend I just sobbed because I was so overwhelmed and happy. I didn't even care that people were looking. Trust me when I say that it was worth every penny I spent to be there this weekend.
A/N: I’m not doing so well with keeping active. My bad.
Word Count: 1,077
“You boys got any laundry that needs doing?” You walked past the library carrying a full basket of your dirty clothing. Sam was about to speak but Dean beat him to it.
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to touch it.” He chuckled and raised his brown glass bottle to his lips, he tipped it up and drank even though it was only noon.
“Gross.” You crinkled your nose and kept walking down the hall, shifting the basket in your arms onto your hip. The staircase was ahead of you.
The washing machines were in the basement in the room near the archives. They were all in relativity good condition. It was one of your favourite places just because it always smelled like your detergent and dryer sheets, and frankly, the boys almost never came down there. And let’s be honest you enjoyed some time to yourself every once in a while.
You flipped on the light switch with your foot, something you’d gotten used to doing when your hands were full, and you set your full basket on top of one of the machines.
“Hey,” Sam announced himself as he walked in, carrying another basket filled with clothes. Sam was the sweet one, Dean was just like an older brother that enjoyed picking on you.
“This is Dean’s stuff.” The younger Winchester gave you a friendly smile and Castiel walked in a few moments later carrying another basket.
“That one is mine.” Sam nodded to the second basket and Cass stopped in the doorway to look around.
“Thanks Sam.” You nodded and they both set the baskets on the floor. Sam left, but Cass didn’t move.
“I’m good here, Cass you can go back upstairs.” You smiled softly at him as you started to separate the darks and lights like you always did.
“I have only done laundry once before. ” He said, he walked closer to you and watched your hands work. You giggled.
Castiel was a good friend, and you harbored a small crush on him as much as you hated to admit it.
“You saying you want to help?” You looked over at him and put a hand on your hip. Cass tilted his head a little and then looked at you, nodding.
“Alright then.” You smiled and pulled him over.
“First we have to separate the colours from the whites. Think you can do that?” You smiled. He nodded.
“Yes, I think I can manage that Y/N.” He smiled softly and got to work.
It took half an hour of giggling and helping him decide which garment went where before you and Castiel were finished sorting. You guessed the whole concept of laundry was still foreign to him.
Almost every washer was occupied, now you just had to wait for the loads to finish so they could go through the dyer. You pulled yourself up on one of the washers and checked your phone for anything interesting.
There was still one small bag left on the floor closer to the first washing machine, the delicates, but you’d leave those until you were alone.
“When was the last time you washed that coat?” You put your phone down and glanced at the beige coat that the angel always wore. He looked down at it, analyzing.
“I- I’m not sure.” He responded, looking back up to you. You giggled and hopped down from your place on the washer and you helped him shrug off the coat.
“Well, we can fix that.” You carried it across the room to another washer that had the medium colours, and you paused the cycle to toss it in, leaving your backed turned to Cass.
“My clothes don’t get the opportunity to be washed often.” Cas said. You smiled and closed the top of the washer, restarting it.
“That’s okay,” You turned around.
“They have a chance to be now- oh my god.” Castiel was standing there in only his boxers. You couldn’t help that your eyes devoured him.
His shoulders were all muscle and his biceps flexed as he got the last of his shirt off. You had no idea that he had a tattoo. It looked like some sort of warding.
Your face got hot and you blinked once you realized you were staring, your mouth awkwardly hung open.
“Um- Cass?” You muttered. He squinted, confusedly, at you.
Silence. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other.
“Yes, Y/N?” He said monotonously. You blushed and looked down a little, avoiding eye-contact at all costs.
“Why’d you- why’d you take your clothes off?” You cleared your throat and scratched the back of your neck.
“I thought they also needed washing.” It seemed to have made perfect sense to him. He bent down and piled his clothes on top of the washer beside him.
You weren’t expecting him to have the body type he did. His muscles were toned, they rippled underneath his skin and his bright blue eyes caught yours, probably wondering why you were looking at him.
Why did he have to be so beautiful?
He pursed his lips and bent down again as he noticed something. Out of nowhere, he pulled up the mesh bag and also placed it on top of the washer. Your heart sped up and you started walking towards him. He pulled on the drawstring of the bag, opening it, and you were quick to interrupt him.
“Oh- no, Cass, no need to wash that stuff yet.” You rushed over and yanked a red thong from his hand before he looked further. The colour nearly matched your face.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Cass asked in his gravelly voice.
“No- no, Cass, but you can go upstairs now, I got this.” You stuffed the fallen items bag in the small mesh bag.
“Are you sure, I can still help-”
“I’m sure Cass. Just go, please.” Your face could probably fry an egg at this point and you still kept your eyes from meeting his. You tried to convince yourself that a mark on the floor was extremely interesting.
Cass nodded.
“Alright, Y/N. I will see you later.” He smiled softly and walked out of the laundry room in his boxers.
Damn, he had a cute butt.
When you were alone, you took a few deep breaths to compose yourself before you started to sort through the rest of the laundry, and you heard Dean’s loud laughter from upstairs.
