Grayscale
Summary: The reader has a super-duper crush on Dean, but he doesn’t know/doesn’t return her feelings. Sam becomes privvy to the reader’s feelings while Dean finds someone else in a bar.
Warnings: None
**If you're interested, the next part will probably be based on this!!
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"Nice job back there, Y/N. Sorry about your jacket."
Dean barely looked at you as he passed, slinging his dirty shovel over his shoulder and patting your arm in the same motion. You sighed, opting to ignore the grapefruit-sized tear in your favourite black leather jacket. Instead, you watched as Dean made his way through the tombstones that seemed to glow white-hot in the moonlight, heading towards the impala at the edge of the cemetery.
It was a minute before Dean was completely out of sight, having ducked behind a particularly large headstone. You let out a deep breath in the hot summer air and glanced up at the night sky reflexively. Night time was your favourite. The stars were so far away, and yet still so bright and hopeful; the night sky reminded you how small you were, but also how lucky you were to be able to see them, if only for a while.
But you couldn't see them tonight. The wispy grey clouds covered much of the sky like a blanket. All you were left with was the moon.
You didn't hear Sam until he was right beside you.
"You okay?"
You almost jumped a mile out of your skin, and stumbled away from him instinctively. He held up his palms in surrender as you righted yourself against the nearest grave stone, but you didn't miss his lips as they pinched together, trying not to laugh.
"Fine," you breathed. "We're all still alive, so that's a plus. You all finished up back there?"
Sam nodded, and you could tell by the fresh dirt caking his shovel that he was. For a large guy covered in cemetery muck, though, he looked happy.
"Shall we?" he pointed to the Impala in the distance with his shovel, but held out a grimy arm for you jokingly, like you were at a gala instead of some small-town cemetery just outside of Lebanon.
You rolled your eyes but took his arm anyway. You figured you were just as dirty, if not more so. Smiling to yourself at the thought, you missed Sam beam as he looked down at you.
Once you reached the car, you immediately looked for Dean, who was tapping an impatient hand against the steering wheel. Sam went around to the trunk to load up his weapons, and you slid into the back seat.
"In a hurry?" you meant it to be playful, but Dean turned around to stare at you.
"Hell, yeah," he said, green eyes flashing with excitement. "There's a bar on the way back to the bunker. The sooner we get there, the better."
He shot you a half smile before turning back around to face front. He put the key in the ignition and started the car.
You leaned back in your seat and tried to look anywhere but Dean as your stomach sank. You tried not to let his excitement deflate you -- you'd just salted and burned the bones of a restless spirit on a murder rampage. You'd just survived another hunt. And sure, you were glad for that, of course you were. But you also knew what going to the bar meant for Dean.
Dean rolled down his window. "What the hell's taking so long back there, Sammy?"
The trunk slammed shut, and a second later, Sam was beside Dean in the front seat.
Without a word between them, Dean revved the engine, and the impala peeled out of the narrow cemetery strip and onto the highway.
It was a short drive to the nearest bar, for which you were grateful. The place was a dive; the type of bar you had come to expect Dean to pick. And you were barely out of the car before Dean jerked a closed-fisted thumb towards the entrance with a grin on his face.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm itching for a drink," he clapped Sam on the shoulder, who rolled his eyes.
"We shouldn't stay too long, Dean," Sam replied. "There's another case--"
"Lighten up, Sammy," Dean cut him off. "Besides, I'm sure Y/N wants to cut loose every now and then, too. Right?"
Both brothers turned to face you as the three of you stood in front of the bar doors. You swallowed.
"Right," you tried to sound like you, too, wanted to be there, so as not to let Dean down. But even you could tell it sounded half-hearted. "Sure."
"Great," Dean smiled and held the door open for your party of three. He didn't notice your hesitation as you strode into the bar.
The second you'd cleared the threshold, Dean made a B-line towards the bartender. "I'll grab us some drinks," he said. And then he was gone.
You and Sam watched him push his way through the crowd before you turned to look at him.
He shrugged, as though apologizing for his brother. "Wanna get a table? I'm just going to go, uh, wash up a bit."
You didn't understand why his words were coated with embarrassment, but you conceded nonetheless.
Without looking back, you pushed your way to the smallest table in the most deserted corner of the place -- away from the makeshift dance floor and the sea of bodies spilling from the bar -- and sat down in the most uncomfortable wooden chair you could find. You tried to spot Dean through the crowd but failed, knowing he probably wouldn't be dancing anyway.
You'd done this before. You knew you had to wait it out, sip a few drinks, and try not to think too much about Dean.
Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.
It was only when you'd started daydreaming about the possibility of running back out to the Impala and giving it a jump start (and admittedly ditching Dean in the process) that Sam returned.
He held up two drinks and smiled at you before sliding you the alcohol. You took a long, greedy sip and thanked him.
"What did we do to deserve this?" you asked, gesturing to the low-lighted, sticky-floored atmosphere.
Sam chuckled. "C'mon, Y/N," he tried. "It's not that bad."
"What, so you enjoy watching your brother on his many escapades?" you took another swig of your drink, and hoped Sam wouldn't pick up on the hurt in your voice. "I didn't know you were such a voyeur."
He flashed you another white-toothed smile before shrugging. "I don't really enjoy that, per se," he admitted. "But hey, at least I've got good company."
Sam held up his beer for a cheers, and you couldn't help but smile as you clinked your glass against his.
"So tell me, Y/N,--"
Sam was cut off as Dean made himself present at the table, a loose arm around an matchlessly beautiful woman you'd never seen before.
You swallowed hard and dropped your hands into your lap, but no one seemed to notice.
"This is Virtue," Dean beamed, swaying slightly where he stood.
You saw Sam's arm twitch on the table at Virtue's introduction, and when you looked up at him curiously, he looked strained. You realized much too late it was because he was trying, and almost failing, to reign in his laughter.
Until he met your eye. You and Sam burst into laughter right in front of Dean and his new friend, but you couldn't help it -- all the hurt that had come from your secret crush on Dean came spilling out as you chuckled along with Sam.
By the time your laughing had become a little too hysterical, Dean and Virtue had long since stormed off. You giggled into your drink as Sam wiped a stray tear from his eye.
"We are cold," Sam remarked, but his eyes were bright. "He's going to make us pay for it too, you know."
You downed the rest of your drink. "What's a little more pain and suffering?"
Though meant in jest, your words were harsh. Sam noticed.
He frowned at you for a fraction of a second, before his eyebrows raised in sudden realization. The light drained from his eyes.
"Y/N..." he started, but didn't seem to know where to go. "You... And Dean?"
I hope you liked it <3