Sam Winchester (and occasionally others) x Reader

Paint Stains (Sam...?)

Red, blue, green, brown, white. You noticed the colors splattered across your jeans as you pulled them from the laundry. With a groan you set them into the basket to put away and began to walk back to your room. Sam smiles as you walk past and you get a small wave from Dean. You can feel Sam's eyes scan over your basket as you walk by, but he doesn't say anything.

The boys respect your privacy, which is nice. They never come into your room without asking, Dean usually tells you to go to the library instead of going in. You're sure at one point he said something about "women stuff" or whatever, who knows what that man is thinking.

You were an art major before the boys found you. You loved everything related to art; music, painting, ceramics, literature. Though you had taken more of a liking to the painting. You had some ceramics supplies, but it was hard to do without a proper kiln or glazes.

You enter your room to the familiar smell of art. Acrilics, oil paints and pastels, clay, glue, it was a long time coming but you finally made your room smell like home. It really sucks to be creative and not have a medium to express it. On hunts you had a doodle journal, but at home was where you could really let it rip. Canvasses lined the walls, some covered with paint, some only half done, and the last remaining few still open to new ideas.

Your artistic lifestyle did come with some cons, however. Like your pants for example, acrillic paint leaves very colorful stains that are very hard to get out. Also the fact that you try to hide it from the boys. It's not like it would be a bad thing if they new, but who knows what kind of crap you would get if they knew that you liked to paint.

After putting away your clothes, you quickly throw your flannel aside and and pull your hair into a ponytail. The canvas sits in front of you, a sky with pink sunset clouds sits before you, begging for land to shine down on. You are about to put brush to canvas when a knock stops you.

With a groan you get up and open the door, hiding the painting behind the cracked door. "What's up Sam?" You try to force a smile, but your voice comes out a bit more agitated than intended.

"Hey. Found a case. We're headed out in ten. Should I make it fifteen?" He asks, eyeing you werily.

"Ten is fine." You sigh and close the door, letting your hair down as you grab your bag.

********
A few days later you are walking into the hospital room of a witness. His arm is wrapped in a cast and his face is tore up pretty bad.

"Excuse me, Mr. Franco? Do you have a moment?" Dean asked as you three enter the small hospital room.

"I'm kinda tied to the bed here, so I'd say I have plenty." He jokes, making you smile.

"I'm agent Flag, These are my associates agents Jones and Moone." Dean gestured to Sam and you respectively. "We wanted to ask you a few questions about the attack."

(If you can tell me where that reference is from without Google I will love you forever.)

"Are you a sketch artist?" He asked to you after he noticed the notebook under your arm.

You smiled, trying to hide the 'ah crap' in your head "Yes sir." You nod, opening the notebook and grapping a pencil from your pocket. "What can you tell me about him?"

"He was short, probably only 5'4 max. He had a really square face and short black hair, but the bangs were long and came down over his eyebrows. He had kind of asain looking eyes, you know what I mean?" He asked to you,making sure you were keeping up.

You nodded, keeping your book turned so that the boys couldn't see. "Where his eyes any weird colors? Like black for example?"

"No, I think they might have been like blue or hazel." He stops and watches you nod before continuing. "He had a long skinny nose and there was a scar over the right nostril. He had a big mouth, like really wide and his lips were big too. I know this sounds really funky but-"