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The motel was old and dilapidated. In retrospect, it should’ve been condemned years ago, but it was the only place just off I-95 with vacancy, and the trio could see why. Ripped wallpaper, stained sheets, and (Y/N) was sure that there was black mold in the corner of the room. They couldn’t afford to be picky, though. They were all too exhausted to drive safely, and the Impala could only hold two people when they slept.
That’s a lie. The three of them could have slept in the car, but Dean wouldn’t stop bitching about wanting to sleep in a bed, even if it was potentially covered with bed bugs. Sometimes that man could be the biggest diva on the planet, which was why (Y/N) opted to date the youngest Winchester. Sure, Sam had his moments of nagging, too, but nothing nearly as dramatic as Dean.
Still, out of all the dingy motels they had stayed at over the years, the Copper Inn took the cake.
By the time the group settled in as best as they could, they were starved, and the nearest fast food joint was no less than twenty minutes away. (Y/N) would’ve offered to go to get the hell out of the disease-infested room, but Dean was quick to grab the keys and leave. Perhaps he had realized his mistake once he saw the state of the room, but motels didn’t do refunds when you paid cash.
That left Sam and (Y/N) on the itchy couch in front of the television that hadn’t been updated since the late nineties. The scene was blurry, so they could barely make out the actors' features. Sam’s arm was wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders, their bodies pulled close to one another. In any normal circumstance, it would be a comforting experience. However, with the mixture of the couch cushions against his legs and the stuffiness of the air that surrounded them, since it seemed as if the windows hadn’t been open since the building was created, overstimulated seemed like too weak a word to describe how (Y/N) felt.
“Do you think this place has hot water?” He asked quietly, as he knew how thin the walls had been from the moans and groans that came from a room several doors down proved earlier that night.
Sam hesitated for a moment. “Probably not.” He answered, his voice just as quiet as (Y/N)’s.
(Y/N) pursed his lips, deep in thought. “I’m gonna try anyway.”
He hoisted himself up off the couch, which proved to be more difficult than others he had been on, as the base of the couch was close to collapsing. He shuffled over to the bathroom door and turned on the light. It flickered for a moment, illuminating the room. It was small and cramped, and a small hint of mold hit his nose. The light was dim, seemingly seconds from dying. Against his better judgment, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. When he turned on the hot water handle, he could hear the pipes as they shook behind the drywall. Brown, murky water spouted out of the shower head and into the stained tub below. (Y/N)’s nose scrunched, but he would try to trust the process and let it run for a bit. Perhaps it needed to get rid of the rust in the pipes before the fresh water came through.
The white cabinets, which encountered the renter’s special more often than they should have, above the toilet had spare towels and toilet paper inside. He grabbed a towel and placed it on the towel rack right outside the shower. He then walked over to the toilet and hooked his fingers onto the waistband of his boxers. Before he could sit down, he saw that the toilet paper roll was empty. A sigh fell past his lips as he straightened himself out and opened the cabinet back up. He grabbed one of the spare toilet paper rolls and crouched down next to the toilet roll holder. He took the rod off and put it through the cardboard roll. Right as he placed the rod back into the holder, in the blink of an eye, a spider crawled out of the middle of the roll and onto his hand.
Before he had time to think, a gasp got stuck in his throat, (Y/N) quickly stood up, and swatted the spider onto the floor. It fell gracelessly onto the floor and collected itself before it crawled towards the base of the toilet. (Y/N) grabbed the towel and tossed it onto the spider and stomped on it with his bare foot.
He hated spiders.
He could feel his heart racing a million miles an hour, as if it was ready to free itself from behind his ribcage. Hesitantly, he lifted the towel and saw the crushed remains of the eight-legged freak sprawled out on the tile. He dropped the towel once more and placed a hand over his chest, as if silently willing his heart to calm down.
Shower, right, he wanted to shower.
When he pulled back the curtain, he saw that the water was still a faint shade of brown. One touch and he could tell that it wasn’t going to heat up any time soon. He pressed his lips into a thin line, let out a huff, and turned it off. He would have to wait until their next motel stop to get himself clean. It wouldn’t do him any good to try and scrub the feeling of filth away when that’s all the water was, too.
Just as he turned to head back into the main room, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. His gaze returned to the toilet paper holder. Barely outside of the cardboard, he noticed that the rod looked…wet? Why would it look wet? He furrowed his brows and curiously took a step closer. He took the rod, carefully, off the holder and removed the toilet paper roll. He examined the rod. It was wet and slimy, covered with speckles of white. His curiosity strengthened as he turned the toilet paper roll onto its side so he could look inside the cardboard. In an instant, his eyes widened.
On the inside was a messily created spiderweb, decorated with meticulously placed egg sacs. Egg sacs that scattered onto the ground and (Y/N)’s feet as gravity took over.
The reaction was almost immediate.
(Y/N) let out a noise that he had never made before as he threw the toilet paper roll against the wall and lifted his foot to wipe off the eggs. His heart picked up speed once again, and his vision blurred for a moment.
Get off, get off!
He stood on his tiptoes to escape. When he opened the door, he did so with too much strength, causing the hollow door to bounce off the wall as he stepped back onto the carpet.
Thump thump thump thump.
Sam jolted from the couch at (Y/N)’s entrance, his brows raised and eyes widened with worry. (Y/N) stood there, hands held up in front of him, shaking like a leaf. His chest moved up and down at a rapid pace in tandem with his breathing. His state was enough to cause Sam’s worry to deepen as he moved over to him.
“Hey, hey, hey, you okay?” Sam asked as he reached out to carefully touch (Y/N)’s arm, only for the arm to be pulled away.
(Y/N) clenched his eyes shut tight as he rubbed his arms and his legs, purposefully dragging his feet against the carpet to get the feeling of the eggs off of them.
They’re still there, they’re still there! Get them off! Get ‘em off!
(Y/N) moved as far away from the bathroom door as he could, with Sam taking small steps behind him.
“(Y/N), what happened?” Sam’s voice was calm and soothing.
All (Y/N) could do was cast his eyes back toward the bathroom before his heart began to pick up pace again, and he looked away. He continued to rub his arms as Sam looked over at the open door. He took a couple of long steps closer to get a look inside the bathroom. While Sam went to investigate, (Y/N) was too busy attempting to scrape off the invisible eggs that he was convinced were still on him.
They’re there, they’re there. Get them off. Get off of me! Get ‘em off, get ‘em off, get ‘em off.
The words repeated in his head as his vision blurred. Sure, there had been times when spiders had freaked him out before, but he had never had a panic attack to that extent. But it wasn’t just the spider or the eggs. It was everything. The couch, the carpet, the beds, the spider, the eggs, and water. Everything was so nasty.
And it felt like everything was on him.
When large hands pressed against (Y/N)’s sides, his body tensed. With how he was worked up, it didn’t take much strength from Sam to move him towards the door of the motel. He forced it open and had (Y/N) step outside, the cool, wet concrete under his bare feet. The air outside felt different; strong and cool, as if small tacs were prickling (Y/N)’s lungs to allow more room for fresh air.
“Okay, (Y/N), we’re outside,” Sam began, his voice soft and calm. He placed his hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders, and he didn’t pull away this time. “The spider is dead; it can’t get you.”
(Y/N)’s fingers twitched, and his hands involuntarily flexed. His mind was still coated with an anxious fog, but the location change began to help. He didn’t feel as claustrophobic or trapped. Soon, he began to blink quickly. Slowly, but surely, it had begun to ground him back to reality.
“Eggs,” he said, his voice soft and quick.
Sam nodded. “Yes, baby, I saw the eggs. It was really gross.”
“My foot. My foot.”
“Did they get on your foot?”
(Y/N) nodded.
Sam averted his gaze down to the ground, eying the tops of (Y/N)’s feet. He squatted in front of him and used the palm of his hand to brush them both off. There had been no sign of egg sac remnants that he could see, which he was grateful for. When he finished, he stood up to his full height, his hands returning to (Y/N)’s shoulders. He noticed that the muscles under his touch weren’t as tense as they had been.
“Your feet are clean,” Sam confirmed with him. “There are no more eggs on them.”
“No more?” (Y/N)’s concerns came out quickly.
Sam shook his head. “No. No more.”
(Y/N) could simply nod in response.
Sam, satisfied with the acknowledgement that (Y/N) knew his feet were clean, transitioned to the next problem at hand, his panic attack.
While he could confidently say that (Y/N) didn’t get nearly as many panic attacks as he used to, it’s become such an uncommon phenomenon that, when he got that, they were bad. So, Sam and (Y/N), together, worked out a couple of methods that could help ground him. With (Y/N)’s limited capability to communicate, Sam would simply have to go through each of the methods to see which one would work best.
“Alright,” Sam began. “Do you need some weight on you? Want me to hold you for a bit?”
(Y/N) was quick to shake his head.
“Okay, that’s okay. How about the deep breathing we do?”
(Y/N) nodded.
“Yeah? Wanna do that?”
Nod.
“Okay, here,” Sam placed his palms into (Y/N)’s. “We’re gonna go slow, okay? Go ahead and take a deep breath in.” As Sam inhaled, he lifted (Y/N)’s hands above his head gingerly. “And out.” As he exhaled, he lowered his hands.
After a couple of moments, (Y/N) joined him, copying his movements flawlessly. Over time, his hands shook less, and he could feel his heart begin to calm. The fog that had plagued his brain dissipated. While he breathed, he repeated the same phrase over and over again.
The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs. I. Am. Safe.
Twenty minutes had passed by the time (Y/N) took his last deep breath. When he finished, he lowered his hands to his sides and looked up at Sam.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft and tired.
Sam returned the smile. “Of course,” he said as he reached up and cupped (Y/N)’s cheek.
(Y/N) leaned into the touch and sighed. “I can’t sleep in there tonight.”
“Don’t worry, neither can I. I figure as soon as Dean comes back, I’ll suggest we head somewhere else.”
(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh. “But we won’t be able to get the money back.” He said.
“Oh, yes, we will.” Sam raised his brows.
“How? It’s no cash refunds.”
“Just,” Sam gently grasped his hand and moved him away from the motel door so he could sit down on the curb nearby. “Wait right here. I’ll go in, get all of our bags, and then come back out, alright?”
“Alright,”
With a small smile, Sam turned and went back into the motel room while (Y/N) waited outside. Granted, he hated the idea that their duffel bags were in there for a period of time unattended, the likelihood of a spider getting inside of them was slim to none. Still, he planned on washing his clothes at the nearest laundromat when he was able to. Perhaps twice.
Sam returned with all three duffel bags, tossing them onto the ground next to (Y/N). “Now, I’ve got a little trip I wanna make to the office.” He said with a tight smile.
“Oh, God, Sam, don’t beat the poor guy up.”
“Me? Come on…I might,” he mumbled as he held out his hand and exposed the giant lump of toilet paper in his hand. “I got the spider and the eggs in here. The spider was a brown recluse.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” (Y/N) deadpanned.
“Yeah, so it’s a good thing that you killed it. Anyway, I’m gonna go get our money back. You okay with staying out here and waiting for Dean?”
“Sounds good,” he said as he gave a thumbs up with a tight grin.
(Y/N) watched as Sam turned sharply and walked towards the main office on the other side of the parking lot. When he was out of sight, he let out another sigh. He was tired, he was hungry, and he was ready to just say fuck it and go back to the bunker at that point. Forget the hunt, forget everything. He was ready to go back and take the hottest shower known to man. That way, he could clean any remnants he might have had on him of the horrible arachnids he had to encounter.
Five minutes after Sam disappeared into the main office, the Impala drove carefully into the parking spot that sat next to (Y/N). He squinted and turned his head, as not to be blinded by the headlights. When they turned off, he looked and watched as Dean got out of the car, a white, greased-up paper bag filled with food in his hands.
“The Hell are you doing out here?” He asked as he stepped closer.
(Y/N) shrugged. “Saw a spider.”
“A spider?”
“Yeah, plus all of the egg sacs that fell on the floor.”
Dean’s face turned to an expression of disgust. “Gross.”
“Not only that, but it was a brown recluse.”
“Aren’t those the ones that can-”
“Kill you? Yeah.”
“Yikes…”
“Yeah, so, Sam took the spider and its eggs to show the office manager so that we can get our money back. We already have the duffel bags; we just need to find somewhere else to sleep. Hell, I’ll take a ditch on the side of the highway over this.”
Dean grimaced as he walked over and sat down next to him. “I don’t blame ya,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think this was the cleanest place when we first went in there, but I draw the line at killer spiders.”
“Me too,” (Y/N) pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Do you wanna sit in the Impala and eat while we wait for Sam?”
“Thank God, because I was gonna start downing everyone’s food.” Dean pressed a hand to his knee as he stood up.
(Y/N) followed suit and grabbed all of the duffel bags. “Pop the trunk,” he said as he began to make his way to the back of the car. His eyes were cast down to the ground, careful of any debris that might pierce the bottom of his foot.
Dean stepped ahead of him and used the key to unlock the trunk. They tossed the bags into the car and slammed the trunk shut before they both got into their respective seats within the car - Dean in the driver’s seat and (Y/N) in the back passenger’s. As soon as they closed their doors, Dean turned on the overhead light and dug into the greasy white takeout bag. He grabbed a burger and handed it back to (Y/N). It took mere seconds for him to rip open the wrapping and inhale his food. The taste was just as good as the smell. (Y/N) closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the seat.
“This was definitely worth the wait.” He said with a mouthful of food.
Dean glanced at the backseat before he unwrapped his own burger and took a bite. His reaction mirrored (Y/N)’s, eyes closed and head leaned back against the window.
“Hell yeah, it was,” Dean mumbled.
They ate in starved silence, the car filled with the satisfying aroma of freshly made burgers. It was in that moment when (Y/N) felt completely relaxed, as if he was able to forget about the incident in the motel bathroom. With food, in the Impala, he truly felt safe.
Then the passenger’s side door opened, and Sam plopped into his seat in front. Sam looked at Dean, then at (Y/N). Dean, then (Y/N) again. He furrowed his brows and smiled an amused grin.
“Are they that good?” He asked.
“Oh, Hell yeah,” Dean said, the words mostly muffled by the food as he dug into the bag and brought out Sam’s food.
He dropped it into Sam’s lap, and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Well, here, let me trade ya,” he replied.
In return, Sam slapped a wad of cash into Dean’s hand. For a moment, Dean forgot about the food. His eyes widened and his brows furrowed as he set his burger down between himself and his brother. (Y/N) chewed his bite as he scooted forward so that he could look over the back of the front seat. His brows raised as he watched Dean count the stack of twenties.
“Holy shit,” he said.
Dean’s mouth moved quickly, but he said nothing as he thumbed through the bills. When he was done, he looked over at Sam with a shocked expression.
“This is a thousand dollars, Sam,” Dean said, his voice laced with heavy surprise. “What did you do? Hold him at gunpoint? I only gave him three hundred for the week.”
Sam snorted and smirked. “You’d be surprised at the lengths someone will go to not to have the health inspector called on them.”
If Dean’s jaw hadn’t been connected to the rest of his skull, it would’ve been on the floor. He licked his lips and folded the money up quickly, shoving it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
“Well, I’m wide awake now,” he mumbled as he took a massive bite out of his burger and dug out his car keys. He turned off the overhead light. “What do you say we start driving and just get the Hell out of here?”
(Y/N) nodded as he ate the last of his food, crumpled up the paper into a ball, and tossed it onto the floor. “Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Me, too,” Sam agreed.
With that, Dean shoved the rest of his food sloppily into his mouth, mayonnaise and ketchup coating the corners of his lips. He didn’t bother to wipe it off as he tossed the wrapper into the back, turned the car on, put it in reverse, and ripped out of the parking lot. The tires squealed against the damp road.
As they drove, a fresh dose of adrenaline coursing through their veins, (Y/N) leaned up and kissed Sam on his cheek. Sam furrowed his brows as he looked at him, his cheeks noticeably bulging from the food.
“What was that for?” He asked, words muffled.
(Y/N) smiled in return. “Thank you for grounding me.”
Sam smiled, his cheeks puffed out even more before he swallowed. “Anything for you,” he leaned over and kissed his lips softly.
(Y/N) grimaced as the remnants of Sam’s burger stayed on his lips. He wiped his mouth. “Ew,” he chuckled. “Wipe your mouth next time.”
Sam chuckled, his teeth stained yellow from the mustard and lettuce stuck between his front teeth. (Y/N) scrunched his nose and pushed Sam’s shoulder as he leaned back into his seat.
“You’re just as gross as your brother,” (Y/N) said.
Sam shot him an offended look. “No, I’m not,” he retaliated.
“Yes, you are,”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Not by a long shot.”
“You are!”
…
“Guys, I’m sitting right here.”