Hotel California (Dean Winchester X Reader)

Licking Your Wounds

One Week. Or seven days. 168 hours. That's how long it's been since you fled the hotel, leaving behind Sam, Dean, and your heart. Every tick on the clock a reminder of what could have been, what should have been. 

At first, you had been angry. With Dean for forcing you away, then at yourself for giving in, and running away. Once the tears had dried up, you knew that Dean was just trying to keep you safe. But that didn't make your heart hurt any less

Each night you lay awake, green eyes haunting your sleep, or visions of Andrew, and the near death experience he had provided. Each morning you woke, staring at the stranger that looked back at you in the mirror. One with dull unkempt hair, and black circles under her eyes from lack of a good night's sleep.

You kept telling yourself it was pathetic, getting so caught up in Dean. But it wasn't just him you were missing. It was the thrill of the adventure, the pride in finding out facts, and knowing you could help those in need. It had made you feel complete, and now that it had been so rudely taken from you, you were at a loss.

Your friends had called, curious and concerned. You had pushed them away, giving them excuses of a cold caught during travelling, and they had taken it surprisingly well. Leaving you alone, not a single one had come by to see if they could help. Your mom was travelling, always travelling. She sent you a text, saying she was in Portugal, and she hoped your excursion worked out, and you were back, and ready to settle down, find a husband. 

Even your old business had called, asking you to come back. Keeping your avenues open, you had asked for time to consider, which they had granted. But that was days ago, and you knew it was only a matter of time before you had to make a choice.

Yet, here you were, sitting on your couch, in the same clothes you had worn to bed. Your hair was thrown up in a bun, a bottle of whiskey sitting empty on the coffee table in front of you. Your phone was in your hand, and you kept staring down at the numbers, needing to push the call button, but knowing all you would get would be more heartbreak. 

Groaning at how pathetic you had come, you tossed your phone across the room, watching as it landed on the chair opposite you. It was frustrating. You wanted to know if he was hurting as bad as you were, or if he was already smooth talking another girl. You had thought Sam might at least text you, just to see if you were okay. But their lines had stayed silent, adding to your mixture of frustration, anger, and despair. It was not a good mix, especially served with a side of alcohol.

A knock on your door shook you out of your tired thoughts. You listened to it, your head cocked to the side, contemplating if you should answer it or not. You weren't sure you really wanted to. If you did you would have to come face to face with people again, and you weren't ready.

The knock sounded again, this time louder and more assured, and for a second your spirit rose, wondering, hoping, that maybe Dean had found out where you lived, and he had shown up, begging for your forgiveness.

The thought crashing through your mind, you raced over to the door, pulling it open, your chest heaving as you looked at the man standing on the other side of the door. But it wasn't the lean, tall body with bow legs and strong shoulders that you had been expecting. This man was short, around 5'7", with a receding hair line and a beer belly in beginning stages. He had a slimy smile on his face as he took in your short pajama shorts and cami top that you had slept in.

"Well if I had known you would have been this excited to see me, I would have come by a long time ago." Bill, your former boss said. You could only stare at him, your sleep deprived brain fuzzy, having a hard time accepting the fact that your pushy boss was standing on your threshold. "Aren't you going to let me in?" He asked you, pushing you polished shoe in past the door jam.