Summary: You make breakfast for the boys and after an unfortunate incident, you find out something big about what might have happened during those ten missing years. Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Castiel Word Count: 2564 Warnings: Angst, mental breakdown, language, sweaty!Sam (always needs a warning) A/N: More things are being revealed but it also leaves more questions. I hope you guys are liking this series. :) Beta’d by the amazing @saxxxology and if you want to be tagged in this series, please send me an ask!
You barely slept the entire night, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed. You could deal with the supernatural being real, and in time, with your dad’s death… but knowing your uncle’s body was walking around with an angel inside it? Impossible.
A soft knock on your door drew your attention away from your racing thoughts.
“Hey, it’s Sam.”
“Come in,” you rasped, throat sore and dry from sleep. You reached over and grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand as the door slowly inched open.
He didn’t come into the room, but stood in the doorway, blocking most of the light from the hallway from spilling into the room. “It’s a little after seven, I’m heading out for my morning run. I didn’t know if you were a morning workout person, but I thought I would offer.”
“I appreciate it, Sam, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything.” You offered a shy smile and chugged the rest of your water. “Maybe sometime later this week?”
Sam nodded and smiled in response and scratched his head, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. You found your eyes slowly tracing over his body as he shut the door, admiring the toned thighs and muscular torso of the younger Winchester before he disappeared from your sight. You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to be getting any more sleep, and threw the covers off your body.
The first time Neil meets Andrew, there isn’t any intention behind it. Or rather, there’s no intent to go out and meet new people. Neil doesn’t intend to catch someone’s eye and share a joke from across a room. And he definitely doesn’t intend to be rescued from his own drunk self by the same stranger.
Matt seems kind of alarmed to see Neil with a stranger - probably because Neil openly resisted getting to know Matt, the least threatening person in the world, probably, and now he’s in a decidedly angry-looking stranger’s lap on a curb. “Neil, I left you alone for five minutes, how did you make everything go wrong in that time?”
Neil doesn’t groan. He doesn’t. “Bad luck follows me?”
The blonde guy doesn’t laugh. Neil’s not sure he said anything. Neil really doesn’t know why he’s the one to follow Neil out of the bar when the world started spinning.
Matt laughs, a little. “Not entirely unlucky. You’ve made a friend?” Neil’s sure he’s sizing the other guy up, making sure he has no untoward intentions with Neil, but he doesn’t see it. All he sees is cement and surprisingly nice shoes (not his own).
“Andrew,” the guy offers, not unkindly. In fact, there’s not much of anything in his tone.
“Right,” Matt says, sounding somehow unsure. “Well, thanks for helping Neil. He’s kind of a danger magnet. I should, uh, get him back home.” Matt’s voice is hesitant, and even through the fog in Neil’s mind, he knows why.
“It’s Dan’s night,” he protests weakly. “Go back in. I’m fine.”
“Neil,” Matt says, and his voice is as hard as it always gets when Neil lies. “You freak out when I pat your shoulder and you’re in this guy’s lap. Can you even stand up? Don’t- don’t try it, man.”
Neil tries it. The world shakes, and he ends up back in Andrew’s lap, with only the addition of a hand on his back that might be for stability or maybe just for ease. Andrew seems nonplussed by all of these events. Any other time, Neil would be full of questions for Andrew. Any less drunk, and he’d ask them. Maybe it’s good you met this way, some self-preservation instinct suggests, but Neil isn’t sure this state is good for anything.
“Dan won’t mind,” Matt says, and Neil knows he’s right. “It’s part of parenthood, eh?”
So Matt starts to pull Neil up, and wraps an arm securely around his waist despite the height difference.
Neil was never really taught manners, but something sticks out anyway. He looks at Andrew with all the focus he can muster, trying to commit his face to memory, and says, “Thank you,” carefully. Andrew doesn’t respond, or maybe Neil just doesn’t notice, and then he’s gone.
In the chat we talked about how Russian!Jack would deal with the humidity and heat of summer in America.
Not well, is the answer.
(Featuring Jack’s pupper too!)
“My God,” Jack moaned, pressing the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead, “how do you live like this?”
“Well, first off, we don’t bitch and moan about it.” Rhys replied tersely from his perch on the couch, where he was busy twisting a vanilla and strawberry popsicle deftly between his bright pink lips. He was dressed lightly, in a pair of navy shorts and a breezy white dress shirt. His legs were bent under him as he lazily sucked on his popsicle, and the sight would have been arousing to Jack if not for the sweltering heat that was consuming him.
What a day for the air conditioner in Rhys’ fancy apartment to break.
“Why is….is the air like soup?” Jack groaned from his position on the floor. He looked positively unkempt, so far from his usual prime and polished appearance as Rhys’ bodyguard. His hair was wet with sweat, dark strands plastered against his forehead as sweat dripped down his tan skin, running uncomfortably all the way down his neck and to his exposed chest. He’d shed the thick charcoal suit he had been wearing and completely unbuttoned his stiff dress shirt, revealing his soaked undershirt and the necklace of interlocking gold rings hung low around his neck. Still he was suffering in the shimmering hot air that seemed to swarm all around him, and only his shred of dignity preventing him from stripping completely down to his boxers.
“That’s just how New York is in the summer. The real question is why don’t you own any clothes other than suits and jackets?” Rhys snarked from his position on the couch, hair moving lightly in the breeze from the small fan he had blowing directly on him. Sadly even the fan was little comfort to Jack, who merely slid further, back sticking to the hardwood floors, sweaty skin fogging up the glossy finish.
“I didn’t….I didn’t think it would get this hot,” Jack complained, scrunching up his face when his dog came clattering back into the living room, licking her muzzle clean of water from her dish. The black borzoi nuzzled her owner’s cheek affectionately, lapping at his sweaty face.
“Angel….нет, Фу!” Jack growled, grimacing as he eased her away. Usually he welcomed affection from his pet but the last thing he wanted right now was warm, humid tongue rubbing up against his skin. Angel whined, before turning and hopping up on the couch with Rhys and snuggling up to the omega’s flank.
“You’re so mean.” Rhys pouts, wrapping his arms around Angel and snuggling her close, letting her lick his face and bump her snout against his jawline.
“She is warm. I need to be less warm.” Jack moaned, rubbing his temples. Rhys frowned, petting Angel’s flank as he tilted his chin to the side.
“Mmmm, well, if you don’t mind swimming in your boxers, we could go out to the pool.” Rhys’ smiled perked up at the edges at the idea of his handsome bodyguard standing shirtless besides his magnificent pool. The omega himself, of course, relaxing in a comfortable chaise lounge, his thighs squeezed just right by his blue spandex briefs. A margarita in his hand, sunglasses inched down to get an eyeful of his alpha’s sculpted ass? Yum.
“As long as it is cool I will do anything.” Jack groused as he slowly sat up, his skin making a big show of peeling away from the sweaty hardwood. Rhys sucked off the last of his popsicle, eager as he hopped to his feet and ran off to change into a new swimsuit he’d bought a few days ago, already mentally noting to buy Jack an equally sexy pair to match.
New York summers weren’t exactly known for their mercy. Jack would have a lot of time to show his new suit off.
For another time! I am going to say JayTim and 19 (going undercover?) please and thank you :3
This isn’t exactly ‘undercover’, but close enough. And it actually got kind of long :D
Tim considers himself to be a good person, generally. He is polite and law-abiding and helps little, old ladies cross the street. Well, not really, but only because the little, old ladies in Gotham don’t need help crossing the street and will tell you so while smacking you with their fifteen pound carpet bags. But he would, and so he’s a good person.
All of the machines are taken, is the problem they’re faced with. The Laundromat is packed and Tim and Stephanie are standing just inside the front doors, holding a bag of dirty clothes between them. It’s huge and heavy and his arms are tired from hauling it eight blocks.
“Okay,” Steph says, and it’s in her resolute voice, the one that means she’s going to do something and if you get in her way you’ll get a brick to the face. “We have to steal one.“
Tim is a good person. If ever he does something less than the standard of a boy scout, it’s necessary.
And this is necessary.
Or so Stephanie says. When he looks around at all of the innocent people washing their clothes and not deserving of being screwed over as far as he knows and then looks back at Steph, she sets her jaw and peers into his soul imploringly.
“I know it’s shitty, but it needs to be done, babe. I have to be at work in less than two hours and my uniform is trashed. If I’m late again I will be fired.”
Tim readjusts his grip on the mesh bag. He wants to point out that proper planning and good life choices would have prevented her from being in this situation is the first place, but it’s a moot point now and really not worth having her be angry at him. And besides, it would be awfully hypocritical.
“Fine,” is what he ends up saying. “How do you want to do this?”
“Good man. Okay, see that guy over there?” With both hands supporting their bag of clothes, she motions with her chin. Tim looks to where she is looking, at two men in the corner.
“The utterly lost, newly-divorced middle aged father doing laundry for the first time ever or the unfairly attractive, tatted-up bad boy that I would let do unmentionable things to me?”
“Great. Yes, I see him.”
Stephanie leans in close and speaks quickly. “Here’s the plan: he's just started taking out his load to put in the dryer, and he has another one ready to be put in, but you can’t that happen, okay? You’re going to go distract him while I sneak our clothes in the washer.”
“How the hell am I supposed to distract him?”
Steph bounces on the balls of her feet. “I don’t know, go tell him all about the unmentionable things you want him to do to you.”
Tim knows he needs to hurry on over there and start The Plan but he can’t help taking another moment to make Stephanie anxious. “Well I can’t tell him, sweetie, they’re unmentionable.”
“Then climb on top of the folding table and show him, sweetie,” she hisses as she shoves Tim away.
He drops the bag and stumbles over to his target. The whole situation makes him feel like he’s in a crappy spy movie. Mission Impossible VI: Laundry Day.
Tim sidles up behind Bad Boy just as he’s putting the last of his things into the dryer and starting it. He turns around to grab his next load of clothes and Tim jumps in front in him. He’s too far into the guy’s personal space and so he takes a step back, but not before the guy notices with a raised eyebrow.
“Hi,” Tim says.
“…Hey,” answers Bad Boy. His back is to the now empty machine. Tim intends to keep it that way. He can see Stephanie slinking around to come up behind them, dragging the bag after her.
“Can I smell your fabric softener?”
Bad Boy stares. “My… fabric softener.”
“Yeah,” Tim answers breezily, like this is a totally normal conversation that normal people have with strangers. He gets eyed up and down, like maybe the guy thinks Tim is going to pull a knife and steal his dirty underwear like a creep, but eventually he shrugs and picks up a bottle and hands it over.
Tim uncaps it and inhales. It smells amazing, but all fabric softener smells amazing, that’s its job.
“That’s good stuff,” Tim hums. He keeps his nose in the open top like he can’t get enough. "Where’d you get it?“
"It’s- it’s Downy. You can get it literally anywhere.”
“Ah, well, good to know. Thanks.” He finally puts the cap back on and sets it down next to Bad Boy’s detergent.
The guy nods, still looking at Tim a bit warily, and moves to grab his dirty clothes.
Tim panics and blurts out, “Can I feel?”
“What?” He’s incredulous but at least it’s directed toward Tim and not Stephanie, who has finally made it to the machine, has edged her way behind Bad Boy and is opening her bag. She shoots Tim a thumbs up over the guy’s shoulder.
“Your clothes, I mean. Can I feel your clothes? Because it smells great and all, but more important than smell is efficiency. So I need to know if it makes clothes soft.” Before he can answer, Tim reaches over and snatches up something from his basket of clean, folded clothes. He presses it to his face, as if he didn’t get a good enough sample smell from the bottle itself. It is soft. And still warm.
“Wha- you’re. That’s.” None of the starters see a middle or an end.
Tim pulls the fabric away and realises what exactly he’s holding. Boxers.
He has just grabbed a stranger’s underwear and shoved his face into it.
The moment is a personal high. Even Stephanie has taken a quick break from stuffing clothes into the washing machine to twist around and (silently) laugh at him.
“Well it is soft. You have good taste in, uh. Laundry equipment.”
Bad Boy just stares at him and while Tim doesn’t mind it too much, he needs to fill the silence, cover up the small noises of Stephanie closing the door to the machine.
Stephanie is reaching into her pockets. All of them. Over and over again.
“Jason. Nice. That’s um, a nice name.”
She looks up with manic eyes.
“Are you trying to flirt with me?”
And that’s a pretty good excuse for whatever the hell Tim is doing. It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse. Jason has given him an out, and he takes it gratefully. “Yes! Yeah, I am.”
Stephanie waves her arms and it’s hard to not glance past Jason and acknowledge her, but he understands. She has no coins.
“You’re not very good at it.”
“I’m aware.” He is, he really does know. He can’t even defend that this isn’t him flirting, because it’s pretty much as good as it would be if he was.
But back to the immediate problem: the lack of money.
Tim leans against the folding table where Jason has set up his stuff. His hand “slips” and knocks off the pile of dirty clothes. Jason drops down to pick them up. Tim takes his wallet from his back pocket and tosses it over Jason’s head. Stephanie catches it and takes out some bills. She throws the wallet back to Tim and dashes off to the far back corner of the Laundromat to the bills-to-coins machine.
Tim thinks he would make a great spy. Eat your heart out, Ethan Hunt.
Jason has gathered his clothes and stands, depositing them on the table once more.
“Oh, sorry about that.”
As Jason straightens his pile Stephanie tiptoes back looking a little too much like Bugs Bunny to not be intentional. She crams the quarters into the slots and pushes the slide in slowly, carefully, silently. It clicks faintly and turns on. Stephanie sprints away.
Jason turns around and sees the washing machine running. “Damn! Someone stole my machine! Did you see them? Do you know who it was?” he asks Tim.
“No! Nope, sorry, I was just watching you.”
Jason sighs, sets his stuff back on the table. "Well I guess I’m gonna have to wait.“
"That sure sucks,” Tim says, trying to sound super sympathetic. And he is, a little. “Well, I have to go… launder.”
“Right.” Jason looks around and then back at Tim. “Where is your stuff?”
And that is a great question, totally fair, because Tim, if he were normal, would have clothes and detergent and such. But he isn’t, and he doesn’t, because his clothes are in Jason’s machine.
“Um. Well. I-”
“Hey, Timmy, here’s your stuff.” Stephanie appears like a slightly sweaty angel and pushes the half empty mesh bag at him.
“Ah, yes, thank you. Here is my stuff. That I need to go launder.”
Stephanie whispers, “Stop saying ‘launder’.”
“I wish I would,” Tim whispers back.
Stephanie addresses Jason. “You should give this jackass your number. I know he probably got super weird and freaked you out, but he’s great when he’s not so nervous.”
Tim wants to be offended but can’t help a smile and has to bite back a cooing noise.
Jason laughs. “Well if you insist.”
With a wave Jason motions for Tim to hand over this phone and he inputs his own number.
“I’ll see you around, Tim”
“Yup, yeah. That’s great, I’ll see you-”
“Okay,” Stephanie thankfully interrupts, grabs Tim’s arm and pulls him away.