If there was one thing you hated more than being woken up, it was being woken up in the middle of the night by a fire alarm. The shrieking wail was so high-pitched that you had jerked clean out of bed and landed with a thud on the hard motel floor, tangled up in the scratchy bed sheets.
“Get the hell out! Fire alarm!” Harsh banging against your door accompanied the shout and you scowled in frustration. Yanking yourself free of the fabric cocoon, you stumble to your feet and out of the room.
Because you had woken up literally twenty seconds ago, it didn’t occur to you that it might be cold out, or that there would be other people, and so you carry on in your panties and an over-sized t-shirt, the socks that you couldn’t be bothered to take off after an easy job bunched at your ankles.
You yank the door open and step out, slamming the door shut just as the cold registers. Your eyes widen and you whip round to grab an extra layer, but you’re suddenly being pulled away by a scraggly guy in his fifties who keeps yelling at everyone to ‘get the hell out’. You vaguely recognize him as the motel owner and he’s shouting at you. “Are you crazy, lady? Get back, there might be a fire!” Wow, so considerate.
Rolling your eyes, you pull away and march over to the crowd of people gathered in the parking lot, slowing when you realize that they are mostly older men who seem way too interested in you. One of them licks his lips and steps forward, and your nose scrunches up in disgust.
Turning, you head over to your car and reach into your pockets, only to remember that you don’t have pockets. Growling and muttering to yourself, you bend slightly and look through your window at the seat longingly. Someone whistles lowly behind you, and you straighten up, spinning around to glare.
It’s a man - obviously - and he’s blatantly checking you out, nodding his head appreciatively with a smirk tugging at his lips. “What are you whistling at?” You practically growl, walking up to his open window and leaning down to his eye level.
He stops his nodding to lean back slightly, and you catch sight of his bare, toned chest and a tattoo that you easily recognize on his chest, but carries on smirking. “I was just enjoying the view.” His voice oozes confidence, and he carries on smirking at you.
Quick as light, your arm, which had previously been wrapped around your torso, lashes out and slams his head into the steering wheel. “Don’t mess with me, hunter. I’ve just been woken up by an alarm that sounds like a dying spirit, I am not in the mood.”
You only managed to get the move in because he wasn’t expecting it, but now that the shock had worn off, he was just as fast, and had grabbed your arm with one hand. In the other, he had a gun aimed straight at you. “What are you?”
“Hunter. The name’s Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” You lean forward in a mock-bow, the action causing your shirt to slip to reveal an identical tattoo, although you had the feeling that he was trying to see more than just your tattoo. “And you are?”
“Winchester. Dean Winchester.” Your face lights up with a grin and you straighten up slightly.
“No way! Where’s Sammy boy?!” Your excitement is evident, and Dean frowns in confusion.
“You know Sammy?” He asks, just as another voice says,
“Y/N?! Is that you?! What’re you doing here?!”
“Hey, Sammy! I heard there was a job in town so I came and checked it out!”
“Wait - you stole our job?” Dean exclaims, disbelief clear in his voice. “How do you and Sam know each other? Sammy, did you-?”
“No!” You and Sam shout at the same time. A light blush dusts Sam’s cheeks, and a smirk pulls at your lips. “Sammy isn’t my type.” You state, staring down at Dean. His eyebrows raise, as do the corners of his mouth into a hopeful smile. “Can you let go now?”
Dean’s smile drops as he lets you go, and he clears his throat awkwardly. You step back and walk around to Sam, who you briefly hug before opening the door and sliding in next to Dean until your bare thighs touch. You take note of the fact that he’s only in boxers and smirk to yourself. “Nice car, Dean.”
His breath stutters, as does his words. “T-thanks, she’s a-”
“Oh, I know all about you and Baby,” You cut him off, shuffling closer to him. “Sam told me all about you too.”
“You did?” He mutters, turning his head fully to face Sam, who had climbed in next to you; he shrugs guiltily back at Dean, leaning back in his seat. “Why? When?”
“Me and Sammy have been on a couple of hunts together. I’m usually bait.”
“I’m not surprised.” Dean mutters, and Sam’s nose wrinkles up is mild disgust - Dean is too busy checking you out to notice.
“I’m surprised that Sam hasn’t told you all about me and Molly.”
“Molly? Who’s Molly?” Dean sound’s vaguely worried. “She’s not your girlfr-”
“You see that black ‘67 Pontiac GTO over there? That’s Molly.”
Dean’s eyes are wide as his gaze flickers between you and your car, before he finally settles on staring at you. “Marry me. Please.”
He sounds so desperately serious that you can’t help but laugh a little. “Mm, yeah. I’ll think about it.” You mutter, “In the meantime, I’m gonna catch some z’s.” Shifting around, you lean back on Dean at an angle where he has to lift his arm and wrap it around you for you to both be comfortable. He does, and a smile graces your face as you look at Sam. “I told you that your brother would like me.”
“Oh, God yeah. ‘Like’ is definitely one way to put it.” Dean groans, and Sam snorts, shifting uncomfortably. You giggle in response, and Dean smirks down at you, before glancing at Sam to wiggle his eyebrows.
“You two are so alike, you’re perfect for each other.” Sam mutters, looking away and out at the motel awkwardly. He thinks about the unavoidable relationship that’s already blossoming between the two of you and whispers quietly to himself, “I’m so screwed.”