Chapter Text
You turned up the volume on your radio as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a towel.
“Looks like we’re in for high winds, gusting up to 50 miles an hour at times, with thunderstorms and torrential rain for the next three days,” one of the hosts of the morning show you always listened to said. “Can’t wait to drive home today, it’s going to be a great commute. Really looking forward to it. Now in sports...”
You sighed and turned your attention to drying yourself off. Fall was always when these big thunderstorms hit. At least you had just finished a job, tracking down a wendigo in South Carolina. It had given you an excuse to see your uncle, at least, and hopefully you wouldn’t pick up anything else until the weather had decided against turning any venture outside into a wet t-shirt contest.
You combed your hair into submission and threw your comb into its drawer. You hit the power button on your radio, hung your towel up semi-neatly, and migrated to your room, sliding into the comfy sweats you had laid out on your bed. You peeked through the closed blinds obscuring your window: the rain had already started, and the wind was picking up. Your cat brushed up against your legs.
“Hey Jiji,” you said, reaching down to stroke his midnight fur. “No going outside for a couple days, okay? Don’t need more paw prints tracked through the hallway.”
Jiji meowed and trotted out of the room.
“And tell Lola, too!” you called after him, referring to your husky. “No muddy paws!” You chuckled at the way your pets sometimes seemed to understand you. You knew your pets were intelligent, though. Best hunting partners you could have asked for.
Your ringtone shook you out of your reflections, startling you somewhat. You unplugged your phone and stared at the name on the screen in disbelief. It was one you thought you’d never see again. You almost forgot to answer.
“Well, well, Dean Winchester,” you said when you finally answered the phone. “You must be in some pretty deep shit if you’re finally calling me.”
“Less shit, more mud,” Dean’s voice answered from the other end. It was much gruffer than you remember it being, but it was definitely still him behind it. “So tell me, you still live in that little house off that road to nowhere?”
“I do live fifteen minutes from town, you know,” you said. “And yes. Why?”
“Great. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
Click.
Dean. Always short and sweet with the calls. He must have gotten caught in the storm on his way somewhere else. But... did he say “we?” You started rifling through your closet. News got around—you knew John was dead. So who was he with? What was he up to? Still, you thought as you pulled on your favorite pair of jeans, you hadn’t seen Dean in almost twelve years, and you were going to make a much better impression than last time.
You pulled a figure-flattering sweater from its hanger and hung your hoodie in its place. It wasn’t your usual style, maybe—blood was so hard to get out of this thing—but it did look good on you. You slid your feet into some well-worn boots and laced them up quickly, trying to figure out if you had time to put on moisturizer or something before Dean and whoever he had invited along with him arrived.
A knock on your door answered for you.
You heard Lola’s paws on the floor as she dashed to the door, making a noise somewhere between a bark and a howl. You jogged over to the door and gave the top of her white head a pat.
“Ssh, it’s okay,” you whispered. You unlocked the three locks on your door and pulled it open, revealing Dean leaning casually against the door frame, clad in jeans, a red button-down layered over a black t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. His face looked tougher than the last time you’d seen it, too: like he’d been to hell and back. Knowing him, probably more than just the one time you knew about. His shimmering, gold-flecked forest green eyes were deeper somehow, like they wanted to draw you in when he looked up at you, but his always-charming smile seized the moment.
“Hey, Y/N,” he said, walking through the door. “Thanks for letting us ride out the storm here.”
“Wait, what?” you said. “When did I agree to that?” You glanced down at his muddied boots as they clomped over your floor. “Dean Winchester, wipe your feet!”
He rolled his eyes, took a couple steps back, and wiped his shoes on your doormat, maintaining eye contact with you as he did.
“There. Happy?”
“Slightly less frustrated,” you replied, your words decidedly staccato.
Two men followed him in, both of them considerate enough not to track mud through your home. The first was taller than Dean by a few inches, his chestnut hair curling slightly around his strong jawline. The other was about the same height as Dean, with dark, messy hair and a long, soaking wet trench coat draped over his shoulders.
“Care to introduce me?” You called to Dean, who had headed directly for your refrigerator, as you closed the door behind the man in the trench.
The first one set down the bags he was carrying. “My name is Sam,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m—”
“Dean’s brother,” you finished for him, accepting his handshake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I wondered if I’d ever actually get to find out for myself if any of it was true. You’re...” you paused, considering your next word. “Taller than I expected.”
He chuckled, looking down at the floor and shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Anyway, this is Cas—er, Castiel. He’s... um...”
“I’m an angel,” Castiel interrupted, his voice gravelly and deep.
“And not a subtle one at that,” Sam added with a nod.
“O-kay…” you replied slowly, trying to process what you’d just been told. “Great. That won’t paint a big target on my house or anything. Not at all.”
“Oh, I think us just being here is going to make your house a target, Y/N,” Dean said, strolling out of your kitchen with a bottle of beer in hand.
“Fantastic, I’m so glad you invited yourselves to stay, then,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Speaking of which, is there anywhere we can unload some of this?” Sam asked, gesturing to the bags he and Castiel had brought in.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding toward the hallway. “There’s a guest room down the hall on the left, across from the study. But it’s only got one double bed, so…”
“I call it,” Sam said, grabbing two of the bags and slinging them over his shoulders. Dean threw him a look. “Hey, I carried the stuff, I get the bed.” Sam winked at you and began toting the bags down to his temporary quarters.
“So, what about the rest of us?” Dean said, taking a sip of his beer. “Kicking your pets out of their beds?”
“Dean, I don’t think they would like that very much,” Castiel interjected.
You held back a laugh. “No, no, nothing so drastic. There’s the sofa here in the living room, and there’s actually a pretty comfortable overstuffed chair in the study, too, if one of you wants to take that. Or I guess one of you could bunk with me. I’m sure Jiji wouldn’t mind.”
“I should probably be the one to stay out here,” Castiel said. “That way I can warn you if anyone decides to… drop by.”
“I guess that leaves the study for you, Dean,” you started. “It’s really not a bad place to—”
“Nah, Sammy’ll need that for his books and crap,” Dean said with a wave of his free hand. “Besides, I’d never miss a chance to annoy you.”
“No, clearly you wouldn’t,” you sighed, punching him lightly on the arm. “Alright, Winchester, you’re with me. Castiel, make yourself at home.”
You led Dean to your room, a pass-through room on the other side of the wall. One door led out to the kitchen, the other to a small section of the hallway that connected your room, the study, the upstairs bathroom, and the guest room.
“Easy kitchen access?” Dean said, eyeing the door. “I could get used to that.”
“That door creaks like nobody’s business,” you warned him.
“So?”
“So if you wake me up, I will kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Dean Winchester, you have seen no monster, no demon, no entity, as fearsome as I am when my sleep is disturbed,” you promised him, throwing his duffel bag onto your bed. You left through the hallway door and ventured into the guest bedroom, where Sam was hanging his coat in one side of the spacious closet.
“Y/N, this is amazing,” he said. “Thank you for letting us stay.”
“I’m just glad you’re out of the storm,” you said, opening the other door of the closet and fishing out a couple of pillows. “They can get pretty nasty. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Sam nodded. “And I’m sorry about Dean, he’s been a little—”
“He’s always been ‘a little,’” you reassured him. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”
“See if you still feel that way after you see how he eats.”
“He’s gotten worse?”
Sam nodded. “Tons.”
“Oh boy,” you sighed, leaving Sam’s room with a smile on your face. You returned to your room and threw the pillows at Dean, who was snooping through your dresser.
“Hey!” he said.
“Hey yourself! Can’t I get any privacy around here?”
“If it helps, you have full clearance to go through my underthings any time you want.” He gave you a wink and a flirty smile.
“Be careful what you wish for, Dean,” you said, a mischievous smirk flickering across your lips. “You just might get it.”
“No, don’t ruin the game!”
You laughed, picking up the pillows and arranging your bed to accommodate two people. “There, that should do it. I just hope two pillows are enough to support that big head of yours.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, walking over to you. “Really, Y/N, you look great. It’s been how long?”
“About twelve years, I think?”
He looked you up and down, then locked eyes with you. “Good job growing up. You were barely legal last time we met.”
You swallowed the blush creeping up your neck and smiled at him. “And you were still reporting back to daddy after every hunt. Good job growing up, yourself.”
Dean exhaled a little heavier than usual in a kind of half laugh. “Yeah, thanks for that.”
“Anytime. Oh, and you might want to put your shoes in the front closet. Lola knows better than to mess with mine, but yours...” you shrugged. “Who knows?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Have you always been such a neat freak?”
“Hey, if you want your shoes to get chewed up, that’s your decision.”
Dean sighed heavily, grabbed his shoes, and walked out to the living room. You smiled to yourself. Some things don’t change. You followed Dean, watching as he tossed his shoes haphazardly into the closet by the door.
“Do you want me to straighten them out, your highness?” he asked, spotting you watching him from the doorway.
“No, no, it won’t bother me, I’m sure,” you said as he closed the closet door.
“Good. I’m gonna go take a nap. Something about the rain, you know?” Dean clapped you on the shoulder and slipped past you.
“Nighty-night, princess,” you called after him. You wandered over to the couch, where Castiel was softly petting Jiji. “Hi, Castiel.”
“Hello.”
“Do you need anything?” you started, unsure of how to talk to an angel. You had never met one that was on your side before. “Can I get you pillows, blankets…” you shrugged. “Anything?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied over Jiji’s purrs.
“He seems to like you,” you commented. “He doesn’t really take to people much.” You watched them for a moment. “How long have you known Dean and Sam, Castiel?”
Castiel thought for a moment. “Probably about seven years now. Why do you ask?”
“I just…” you hesitated. “How is Dean?”
“Dean is… better than he has been for a while,” Castiel said. “He was recently freed of an affliction that made him somewhat short-tempered.”
“More than usual?”
“Yes.”
“It’s hard to imagine that,” you laughed. “Well, I’m glad he’s feeling more normal again. Was it a curse or something?”
“You could say that,” Castiel nodded.
“I’m really glad it’s over then! Those can get pretty nasty.” You got up and looked at Castiel, his bright blue eyes staring up at you uneasily. “It… it is over, isn’t it?”
“I’ll let Dean tell you more.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“I didn’t really mean to.”
You smiled. “So you’re a funny angel. Okay.” You turned to leave. “I try to be a good host, so you know, if there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word.”
“What word?”
You chuckled. “It means ask.”
“Well actually, there is one thing.”
You stopped. “What’s that, Castiel?”
“I can’t really appreciate it the same way since I got my grace back, but… would you mind if I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I really miss those, and all we ever have around is chunky peanut butter. Dean insists it’s superior to smooth, but it makes it harder to imagine the individual particles are—”
“Well, Dean doesn’t understand a lot of things,” you interrupted. “There’s some smooth peanut butter in the corner cupboard there, and there’s a couple different kinds of jelly in the fridge. Have fun!”
A broad smile spread over Castiel’s face. “Thank you, Y/N.”
“No problem. Feel free to make yourself a sandwich whenever you want.”