Broken Apart (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Lizzie

The next evening found you standing outside of an old, mint green house. It was three stories high, with a small porch on the front, and a wooden sign proclaiming to be the famous Lizzie Borden house. 

"Who would turn a murder house into a bed and breakfast?" Dean asked while removing your bags from the trunk. "Isn't that a little gross?"

"A lot of people want to stay where history happened." Sam argued as you followed him up the concrete steps into the foyer. Warm cherry wood steps were off to the right, leading up to the second floor. To your left was what was now the office, but what had probably been the parlor at one time. It was full of artifacts, and a small gift shop, with shirts stating the fact you survived the night at the famous Lizzie Borden Murder House.

A balding man with a thin, reedy body stood behind the counter, his thick wool sweater pulled tight around his bony frame. Big, black framed glasses were perched on his beak like nose, and he had a thick paperback book in his hands. Sam strode over to him, a friendly smile on his face. "Good evening, we'd like a couple of rooms please."

The guy looked up through the top his glances, first taking in Sam, then Dean, before finally landing on you. His gaze stayed on you, his thin lips turning up at the end in an unnerving smile. You felt a shudder go through you, as he looked you up and down, from your toes to your hair, settling on your chest for seconds longer than necessary. Dean noticed and stepped closer to you, placing a possessive hand on your lower back. It didn't seem to deter the guy any, he just licked his lip before turning back to Sam.

"Sure, how many? I have three available." He said, his gaze slipping back to you.

Sam shook his head as he pulled out his wallet. "No, two rooms are fine. Preferably close together."

The man frowned, but took the money and handed Sam room keys. "Oh, and we were just wondering about the deaths that have happened here recently."

The man finished writing in his book to look up at Sam. "Bad luck, that's all it is. Nothing to worry about. We may have ghosts, but they haven't caused trouble before."

Dean left his hand on your back as you made your up the narrow stairs, to your rooms. They were side by side, at the end of the hall, rooms two and three. "Wow, that guy gave me the creeps."

"I know what you mean." You agreed, as you opened the door to your room. You didn't think you would be going anywhere without Dean, or at least a knife. You stopped dead in your tracks at the sight in front of you. The room was smaller than you had imagined, and every square inch was covered in lace, or something floral. The bedspread had roses, the nightstands were covered with lace doilies, the dresser was too, with vases full of fake pink roses. An antique grooming set was laid out on the dresser, along with small picture frames. A door on the far end led to a small bathroom, painted a rose pink, with flowered towels hanging from the gilded towel rack.

"I think I might throw up." Dean grumbled as Sam picked up a vintage perfume bottle. Holding it out in front of him, he squeezed the bulb, and a cloud of vile smelling perfume wafted your way.

"Ew, Sam!" You complained. "Now I'm going to smell like a grandma!"

"Yeah, and I'm not into that type of thing." Dean teased, and you shook your head at him.

"I'm going to take a shower, get rid of this smell. Then we can start checking for signs of the ghost that did the killing." You said, shutting the door behind you.

Fifteen minutes later, you were smelling once again of (your favorite smell), dressed in a fresh pair leggings along with one of Dean's flannels. It was getting late at night, and you figured you would be comfortable while working. Sam must have gone to his room, and Dean was lounging against the headboard, trying to find a comfortable position.