Luckily for you, you didn’t have much time to bask in your regret of a poor decision; only minutes after Dean fell asleep you were bombarded with prayers. Sam’s voice was angry, scared, more hopeful than anything, and when his voice first echoed around in your mind you jumped and whipped your head to the side, thankful that the start didn’t wake Dean.
(Gragnis, I can’t find Dean)
You sighed and rolled over, somehow mustering the energy to stand and begin putting your clothes back on. After what seemed like hours of difficultly silent movement and fearful motion, you managed to sneak out of the main bedroom and into the kitchen; once you buttoned your pants and tried to fix your hair, you flew to the bunker.
Sam was pacing the bunker, one hand in his hair while he did so, and when he heard you land in the library he turned toward you, eyes widening, before approaching you and taking your upper arms in his hands.
“Do you know where he is?” Sam was speaking fast, bending at his knees in order to bring his eyes down to yours. “Can you track him, did he tell you where he went?”
Surprise took over your features before you were able to do anything further, and while you opened your mouth to answer the frantic man, Sam continued speaking, never stopping long enough to let you respond. Finally you shook your arms and freed yourself from Sam’s grip before putting a hand on his chest and pushing him backward, only with enough force for him to a) silence and b) give you enough room to actually breathe.
“He’s fine, Sam.”
“Well where is he?” Sam’s eyes explored yours, the worry clear.
“Did you hear him sneak out?”
“Where is he, Y/N?” Sam took a step closer to you, his eyebrows scrunched with a frumpy mixture of frustration and worry. “Just tell me where he is.”
You felt your hand go up to your forehead, allowing your thumbnail to scratch the little area above your eyebrows while you squinted, a self-defense mechanism that you knew did nothing, but you hoped would protect you from the younger Winchester’s wrath, regardless. “He drove to New York.”
Sam’s eyebrows raised and he nodded, then fixed his eyes back on you after the confusion returned. “New York?”
You nodded.
“Why is he in New York?” When you were silent a moment too long Sam’s eyes widened and his hands went up to his hair. He pointed at you. “Did you call him there?”
You shook your head and raised your hand defensively before running one through your hair, now messy and slightly greasy from the amount of time it had been since your last shower. “No, I was there with Claire and she had just fallen asleep when he showed up.”
Sam turned and shook his head, one of his hands on his hip when he turned back to face you, now a few paces from you. “He willingly came there?” You nodded and Sam’s eyes narrowed, obviously gathering that he was missing something huge. Regardless, he relaxed after a few moments of tension and turned, taking a seat at one of the library tables. He gestured for you to sit, too, but you simply pulled out a chair and crouched in it, your feet on the seat while your knees bent, keeping your bum at about the same level as the table. “How was he?”
“Well he didn’t kill any bellhops if that’s what you mean.”
“I mean how did he look?” Sam leaned forward, his hands folded on the table in front of him. “Was he tired? I don’t know if he’s been eating, I don’t know whether he’s slept, I don’t even know how he could have snuck out and stolen the Impala right under my nose, he obviously must have done it—“
YOU ARE READING
Hell's Greatest Weapon
FanfictionAfter centuries of incessant war, Reader finally managed to settle down into a normal human life; she attended medical school, bought a house, made friends that didn't make a habit of killing everything that moved. She was out of the life, out of H...
