Gemini (Supernatural Rewrite Sam x Reader x Dean)

Sin City

Hunters and their guns. You think it as you cross Bobby's living room, careful not to trip over the piles of gun parts, lore, and empty beer bottles scattered across the floor. You've been crashing here with the brothers for over a week now, long enough for the air to taste like dust and coffee and metal. Long enough for you to all be sick of each other while simultaneously desperately wanting some privacy.

Dean's been glued to Bobby's side, sleeves rolled up, jaw set, trying to help rebuild the Colt from scratch. Sam's taken over the dining table with his laptop and a growing army of notes, eyes locked on the screen for hours at a time. And you...well, you've been pacing. Restless.

Your shoulder's still healing from the last hunt, which means you're on strict orders to "take it easy." That translates to reading lore, sorting Bobby's books, and watching Dean and Sam run themselves into the ground while you sit on the sidelines. But this morning, you found something worth chasing. A half-dead town in Ohio. Omen signs everywhere. The kind of thing that feels like motion again.

You follow the smell of coffee and gun oil into the next room, papers clutched in your hand. "Hey," you call out, leaning against the counter. "I might've found some omens in Ohio."

Sam looks up from his laptop, already smiling at the sound of your voice. You grin when he reaches for you and let out a soft giggle as he kisses your cheek before he takes the papers from you, scanning them quickly. "Dry lightning, pressure drops, freak storms..." He nods. "You might be onto something."

"Sounds thrilling," Dean mutters from across the room, not looking up from the workbench.

You trail after Sam as he heads toward his brother. "Oh, did I forget to mention the guy who blew his head off in a church? Or the one who went postal in a hobby shop before the cops took him down?" You cross your arms. "Could be demonic."

"Or just a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker," Dean says without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. "You're hilarious."

Sam glances between you both, clearly used to this by now. "Still our best lead since Lincoln."

Dean sighs. "Where in Ohio?"

"Elizabethville," you say. "Half-dead factory town in the rust belt."

Dean scrunches his face. "There's gotta be a demon or two in South Beach."

"Sorry, Hef," you say with a small grin. "Maybe next time."

Bobby doesn't look up from the bench, his hands steady as he fits the Colt's stripped-down pieces together like puzzle parts. "How's it going, Bobby?" you ask.

"Slow."

Dean leans in beside him, eyes fixed on the weapon. "Little sad seeing the Colt like that."

"The only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick," Bobby says, cocking the hammer back until it clicks.

Sam, being Sam, can't help himself. "So what makes it tick?"

Bobby gives him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

Dean straightens, rubbing his palms on a rag. "If we head out for Ohio, think you'll have that thing ready by this afternoon?"

Bobby glances up, unimpressed, and raises the gun barrel toward Dean. "Won't kill demons by then," he says, "but I can promise it'll kill you."

You bite back a smile. "Alright, boys. Let's go before one of you gets shot."

Dean grabs his jacket, still smirking, and follows you toward the door. You're almost out when Bobby calls after you, voice firm enough to make all three of you stop.