Gemini (Supernatural Rewrite Sam x Reader x Dean)

Hollywood Babylon

A/N: thanks for your patience ❤️ it's time for what we've all been waiting for.

-

You push your sunglasses down the bridge of your
nose to block out what little sun there is, arms crossed tight over your chest as irritation rolls through you. You didn't sign up for a sightseeing detour through Hollywood's Greatest Hits, yet here you are, trapped on some slow-moving hellcart with a perky guide rattling off trivia about every curb and soundstage.

Dean is eating it up. He leans forward on the bench beside you, hanging on every useless fact, grinning like he just stumbled into Disneyland.

"Hey," he says, nudging your knee. "You know they filmed Creepshow here?"

You flick your gaze toward him, your expression flat beneath the tint of your glasses. "Congratulations." It's still weird between you. Dean is trying, really, but you're just not ready to meet him halfway.

Sam turns to glance over his shoulder, clearly not as amused. Dean shoots him a thumbs-up, beaming like a kid on a field trip. Neither of you return it.

"Come on," Sam mutters under his breath, already sliding off the side of the cart.

Relief floods your chest. You swing around the metal pole and jump down after him, hitting the pavement without drawing attention.

"Let's finish the tour!" Dean calls out, but it barely registers above a whisper when a few nearby tourists glance over in confusion. He groans as he catches up with you and Sam, hopping down to rejoin you with a dramatic sigh.

The three of you start walking the studio grounds, weaving through makeshift alleys of production gear, lighting rigs, and costumed crew. Somewhere amid all the bustle is the stage you're actually here for. You feel Sam's hand at the small of your back, guiding you, and it makes you feel safe amongst all the strangers.

"Sammy," Dean says, pointing across the lot. "Check it out. It's Matt Damon."

You squint in the direction he's looking. A man is sweeping the sidewalk in a blue jumpsuit, pushing dust into a pan. He bears a vague resemblance, if you squint, maybe, but that's about it.

"Yeah," you deadpan. "Pretty sure Matt Damon doesn't sweep sidewalks."

Dean's face crinkles in stubborn denial. "It is. I swear. What's up your ass, cranky?"

You watch the guy walk away. "Matt Damon just put down his broom." You ignore his question. As if it isn't obvious.

"Probably researching a role," Dean mutters defensively.

You snort. "Sure. For Good Will Dusting."

Sam huffs a laugh beside you. "Stage nine's this way."

You fall into step with him as he leads the way, and his hand brushes yours, just a small thing, easy to overlook. But it lingers for a second longer than it should, and when you glance over, Sam is already looking at you. You bump his hip gently with yours. He smiles.

Dean, of course, is already distracted again. "Come on, man. Let's check out that one." He points toward a bustling soundstage crawling with background actors, crew, and extras in full makeup. One guy stands casually chatting with a tech while fake blood pours from a gash in his throat. You glance away, reminding yourself it's all pretend.

"No. We're here to work," you say, grabbing Dean by the sleeve and tugging him toward the correct building. He mutters something under his breath, and you glare at him. "You wanted to come to L.A."

"Yeah, for a vacation!" he shoots back. "Swimming pools, movie stars! Not this."

Sam gestures at the gray sky and damp concrete. "Does this look like swimming-pool weather to you? It's practically Canadian."