TINTED ▷ Sam Winchester [1]

6 | SERIAL KILLER FETISH

I am completely restless the first night at the Bunker. The place is too big, too quiet, and my bed is not comfortable enough. No bed I have ever been in has been comfortable enough for me to get more than a few decent hours of sleep, so I was not surprised. The walls of my new room are empty, waiting to be filled with posters and sheets filled to the margins with research. But it's too soon to be calling this place home. By the end of the month, I'm sure the Winchesters will have had enough of me and kick me out of this place. And then I'll be alone again.

I tiptoe down the hallway, only a fraction of light illuminated the place on the far wall. I hold my breath as if I will wake the sleeping man in the room across the hall by breathing too hard. He must have a hard time sleeping as it is, given that he is a hunter and all.

The Bunker is a maze. I come to dead ends everywhere, doors I don't want to snoop behind just yet. I contemplate going to the garage and napping in the back of the Impala, but I assume that Dean would not like that, and I don't want to piss him off so much. After all, I just got here, and their first impression of me is critical if I want to stay with them.

The kitchen is easy to find, so is the coffee. I almost feel guilty for drinking the coffee without their permission, but I can buy them more at another time if it really bothers them that much.

There are floor-to-ceiling shelves overfilling with files, so I pull a random and heavy pile out and begin to read through them.

***

"Bailey."

I'm dreaming. A dream in which Dean Winchester won't shut up. It ends with me stabbing him repeatedly.

"Bailey!" I jolt awake, my head lifting suddenly from the tabletop. A sheet of paper sticks to the side of my face. "Hey, it's almost noon. You gonna sleep all day?"

I roll my eyes and huff in annoyance. I suppose stabbing him can wait. Lifting a hand to my face, I remove the paper and put it back on the table, blinking the sleep from my eyes. Dean pulls a chair out at the same table and sits down, cup of coffee in hand.

The area in front of me is littered with Men of Letters' files. I don't even remember falling asleep last night, let alone how far along I got with reading through the files. I must have read a dozen or so of them.

"I wasn't sleeping that long," I mumble as I gather the papers together and put them back in the right folders.

"Why are you in here anyways? Didn't Sam give you a room?" He asks, the look on his face showing that he clearly did not agree with his brother with the whole 'letting-me-stay-here' thing.

"The bed's like a rock," I say, running a hand through my hair in attempt to tame it from the sleep, but it doesn't do any good. I push the chair out and stand up, stretching a little before walking to the other side of the room to put the files back on the shelf.