Sam Winchester (and occasionally others) x Reader

Addicted (S+D)

It's hard loving a hunter, let alone a Winchester. The constant ins and outs, driving around the country, rarely getting the chance to say two words while they're gone, and missing their company.

Both of the boys had their own little quirks, things that set them apart, that made them memorable. Sam with his signature thirty books sprawled out across the table along with a few empty coffee cups next to him. Dean is always fiddling with some weapon unless otherwise occupied by food. You could tell just by walking into a room exactly what was going on. When there was tension, it was usually thick enough you could feel it from two rooms away. There was nothing you didn't know about them by now.

Sam would always shower in the morning while Dean preferred to shower at night. Sam's shampoo smelled sweet while Dean's was a bit more masculine. Dean preferred ever clear or tequila while Sam preferred scotch or whiskey. Sam usually smelt like old books and pine with a hint of cinnamon while Dean usually smells of old leather and an almost iron/metallic scent with a hint of cherry. Though honestly, it's hard to decide which smells better, you had stolen both of their shirts at one point or another.

Probably the biggest thing you miss is the sounds. The conversations those boys have when they think you aren't around are priceless. And the sizzle of food in a pan that Dean is cooking makes your mouth water just thinking about it. The clicking of keys on Sam's laptop spikes your curiosity as you wonder what crazy case has caught his interest this time.

Right now, however, was the worst part about living with the Winchesters. Their absence. No keys clicking and pages shuffling, no pans sizzling in the kitchen, no goofy off the wall random conversations. You couldn't smell them anymore except what little was left on the clothes you borrowed from them. All of the books were put away and there was no weapon sprayed across the tables, all of the coffee cups were tossed away, and there were no bottles left on the table half full of their favorite drinks. Honestly, at this point, you would prefer the intense tension to this growing emptiness that was the bunker.

Sure, occasionally they would call, but usually, they needed you to check something from one of the books. You were glad to help but just wanted your staying in the bunker to mean something more than some nerd with the books. So you weren't able to hunt, it didn't mean you liked this arrangement any better.

So here you sat in the main war room of the library praying they come home safe and soon. You know their jobs are important; saving people, hunting things, the usual hero stuff. But damn if you weren't bothered by the unsettling silence. It's not until you are left alone that you realize how important being around people is.

It felt like you were going through withdrawal. You kept their scented clothes near your bed, constantly fiddled with the silver knife Dean had given you, and read the book Sam had let you borrow even though you've already read it four times. Whenever you felt lonely you would pull these objects close, it got to the point where you couldn't sleep without one of their shirts nearby. They had become a drug to you, tall handsome muscular drugs, but drugs none the less. You craved their company, you became neurotic about them not texting or calling you.

Once they came home, however, was like finally getting a hit after going cold turkey. They would walk in usually covered in mud and/or blood. Usually, someone would need stitches and you would do them because you were the best. The one who smelt the worst (usually Dean) would shower first while whoever was left (usually Sam) would tell you all about the case. Most of the time halfway through the story the other brother would come in and argue about some mundane detail that didn't even matter. Usually, who stabbed what or who killed who.

Then Dean would make dinner, and sometimes you would help. Sam would usually sit and start looking for another case, which is the other place you would go. Then Dean would bring in food and beer, you all would sit around one of the tables, and you would talk.

This was the life you wanted with them. The sappy apple pie dinners, the cheesy jokes, them teasing you for being the youngest, their random bets over little things like football games and who got drunk first, and the fact they were yours and yours alone at least for a while.

You knew it was never going to stay like this, but at least you could see bits and pieces. Perhaps your dream was unrealistic, perhaps there was no way it could happen in this reality or another, but for a short while, you got to see it first hand.

You finally got to see your boys safe, happy, and in person. They were there with you, and that's all you could ever want.