Tags: scared!reader, tired!reader, awkward!Sam, baseball bat
Word Count: 1,528
A/N: Thanks to @spn-imagines-nation for the prompt!
(Gif not mine)
It had been a hellish day at work. After your eight-hour shift had turned into a twelve-hour shift, you were about two seconds away from quitting your job and becoming a stripper instead. Hell, that had been your backup plan for as long as you could remember, but lately, you were more serious than you ever had been. You couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. As soon as you got a raise at your full-time job, you were gone. Quite frankly, that day couldn't come soon enough. Even as part-time, retail was ridiculous. The number one rule was "the customer is always right," and they knew it, too. The especially difficult ones would come in with an un-returnable product and then throw a fit when you couldn't give them anything back for it. In your opinion, someone should put a law in place that forced everyone to work a retail job for at least a year. Maybe then you wouldn't be treated like shit so much.
You were exhausted when you got home - too exhausted even to eat, which was seriously saying something. As soon as you got back home, you had gone upstairs, taken off all clothes aside from your panties and bra, and collapsed into bed. Thankfully, it was a Friday night, and you had the next two days off. Your weekend plans consisted of sleeping from Saturday to Sunday if needed, and pretty much nothing else. That is until a noise from downstairs had your eyes popping open. Instantly, you were wide awake, despite your tiredness when you lay down. For years, your dad had nagged you about installing an alarm system in your house, but you never had seriously considered it, unfortunately. It would definitely come in handy right now.
As you reached over to grab your phone from your nightstand, your heart sunk in your chest. Seriously? Where the hell was it? Obviously, not where it usually was, but still, you couldn't believe your luck. You had to bite your tongue to keep from swearing as you remembered the location of your cellphone. Last night, you had plopped it down on a console table next to the front door with your keys. Peachy. If anything else happened, you were going to start thinking the misfortune of all those busty girls in the hoaky horror movies were for real. Here you were, alone in your house, in your underwear, and your phone was downstairs along with the intruder. Really, this was just perfect.
Swinging your legs over the side of your bed, you were careful not to let the floorboards creak beneath you. You were pretty much already toast, but even more so if you made any noise sneaking up on said intruder. It was moments like these that always made you question your life decisions. For example, not owning a gun, or even a FOID card, for that matter. No, instead, you were stuck with an old aluminum baseball bat from when you were in middle school. Not the worst weapon, in retrospect, but definitely not your first choice either.
As you padded down the (thankfully) carpeted stairs, you tried to keep your heart from beating too loudly, without much luck. At this rate, if your knees knocking together didn't give you away, your loud-ass heartbeat sure as hell would. You glanced around the corner of the wall at the bottom of the staircase, straining your eyes as you peered into the dark living room. The silhouette of a hulking figure moved around the back of your couch, facing away from you. You could tell by the build of the figure that he was a man, but what was he looking for? Too bad for him, it was going to be lights out before he found it. You reared up your bat above your shoulder, letting out a battle cry as you rushed him. Hearing you come up behind him, the man whirled around, ducking your makeshift weapon in the nick of time. You made a note to yourself: no battle cry in the future.
"Scumbucket!" you screeched, swinging the bat around wildly.
"Y/N, hey, it's me!" As the tall man dodged your strikes, something clicked in the back of your brain. You knew that voice.
“Sam?" As you finally realized who was in your home, you flicked on the light.
"Hi," he said with an awkward wave. Narrowing your eyes, you allowed the bat to fall to the floor with a loud clang.
"'Hi?'" You smacked him hard in the arm several times.
"Ow!" he exclaimed, backing away.
"You scared the shit out of me!" you hollered at him.
"Yeah, I can see that," he replied. He gestured to you, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he made an effort not to look. "Y-you... you're, ah..." You glanced down at yourself, half-surprised to see that you were still in your underwear. You had sort of forgotten about that part. Squeezing your eyes shut, you made a face as you shook your head.
"I just can't catch a break, can I?" you muttered. Sam reached for the pile of clean laundry you had been meaning to put away, snagging a shirt and pair of shorts.
"Here," he said, still not making eye contact. You smirked at him as you took the clothes, pulling them on.
"Oh, come on, Sam," you teased. "It's not anything you haven't seen before." The man went beet red.
"W-well, that's-" he stammered. "I-I mean, I-" You snorted.
"Relax. I'm kidding." Sam seemed relieved, letting his shoulders relax. "Listen," you started again. "Not that I'm not happy to see you - I am, seriously, I'm super glad you're not a burglar - but what are you doing here at..." Glancing at a clock on the wall, you sighed. "Four in the morning?" For the first time since he arrived, you got a good look at him, squinting in confusion at his apparel. "And why are you in your FBI gear?" Suddenly, it all clicked, and you held up a finger at him. "Oh, no. No. You did not come here and break into my house at the ass-crack of dawn, by the way, for a case!”
"Look, I'm sorry I scared you," Sam apologized, "but you were a huge help last time, and I could use a hand." You shook your head again as you began to pace. The last time you helped the Winchesters, things got ugly. Like, had to lay low for two months and move away ugly. Because of them, you had to totally uproot your life and start over, and that was something you were not doing again. But the last time you helped the Winchesters, you also saved lives. You helped people, you killed a bad guy, and the world had become a little better because of it. You couldn't just sit idly by knowing that more people might die if you didn't help out.
"And this case is in town?" Sam nodded.
"Yeah. It's the owner of that general goods store down the road." He laid a hand on your shoulder as he looked you in the eye, forcing you to come to a halt. Damn him. He knew you were a goner for those puppy-dog eyes. "I've gotta be honest with you here. It won't be easy, and I hate that I would be putting you in danger," he confessed. "But I can't do this by myself." You gnashed your teeth together.
"And your brother can't help you?"
"No," Sam replied. "He's in Oregon dealing with a poltergeist." You would be lying if you said you weren't at least a tiny bit intrigued.
"What is it?" you questioned. "Vengeful spirit? Ghoul?"
"Vampire," he answered, earning a surprised look.
"Vampire?” you echoed. "Huh. That's a new one." You had to admit, ever since the boys had left town, life had been painfully boring. "Damn it," you grumbled. With a final huff, you pushed his hand from your shoulder and headed toward the kitchen. "All right." You reached for the coffee pot. If you were going to do this at this hour, caffeine was a must.
"Does that mean..?" Sam asked, hopefully from the living room. You had to hide your eagerness as you turned back around to face him.
"Yeah, I'll help you." Instantly, he let out a breath of relief. "Get in here and give me the rundown before I change my mind and go back to bed." Seeming to call your bluff, he tilted his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Well, if it's really too much trouble, I can just go," he offered. As he turned to leave, you grabbed onto his wrist to keep him in place.
"All right, you got me," you revealed. "I'm weirdly excited. Things have been too... normal since you and your brother left." Sam chuckled. "Now sit your ass down while I make some coffee." Once the coffee began to percolate, you sat down across from the youngest Winchester at the kitchen table, allowing your enthusiasm to show in your eyes. "So. Tell me about our monster."
Thank you for reading! <3
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Carlos Ebelhäuser (Blackmail / Scumbucket) and Ingo Drescher (Cuba Missouri) are THE DAMNED DON’T CRY. Their debut EP was digitally released on the 1st of October 2021 by UNTER SCHAFEN RECORDS.
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