"You really think this will work?" Sam asked.
"Oh yeah," you nodded. "I went to my–" the next word was mumbled incomprehensibly– "year high school reunion and I didn't remember half the people who talked to me. We'll fit right in."
"I'm sorry," Dean said, a hint of humor on his tongue, "how many years was it?"
"Don't start with me, old man." You leaned across the Impala's bench, looking between the Winchesters. "So do we know our backstories?"
"I'm a rich city councilman, I was in the leaders of tomorrow club, and I'm engaged to you," Sam recited.
"I just love success," you said, pressing a joking kiss to his cheek.
You and Sam didn't have feelings for each other, but that was part of why you always chose to pretend to be with him instead of his brother, and why you were willing to jokingly flirt with him when you wouldn't with the other. You did have feelings for Dean – the product of late-night talks in each other's rooms when neither of you could sleep, which was all too often, and gentle touches while patching each other up after fights, and sitting together in silence when one of you was breaking down, and fiercely protecting each other, and years of sweethearts and beautifuls and that's my girl's – and the idea of holding his hand or saying cute things to each other made you nervous, like a little girl who desperately wanted to keep her feelings secret. Which you did, really. Unrequited feelings, you could handle. Awkwardness, you could not.
So Sam it was.
"I'm a brain-dead model," Dean said, voice flat.
"Y/N?" Sam asked.
"Drama club high school sweetheart turned soon-to-be trophy wife." You clapped each man on the shoulder, staring out the windshield at the rain, which was coming down in sheets. And you just happened to have been late and forced to park on the farthest side of the parking lot. Tightening your expensive-looking black trench coat around you to shield your expensive-looking red dress, you hopped out of the car and walked as fast as your expensive-looking stiletto clad feet would carry you to the hotel doors.
You breathed a sigh of relief when the Hilton's warm air hit you, a sound which was echoed by both of your teammates as they entered behind you.
The woman standing at the East High 15th Reunion check-in desk pouted with sympathy when she saw you. "You're wet."
"Yes," you said, "it's raining."
"Well here, let me take your coats while you find your name tags."
You did as you were told, picking out the names that you'd entered when you hacked into the invite list. First, you slapped Dean's sticker against his chest. Hello, my name is... Rocky Van Zant. Then you did the same for Sam. Hello, my name is... Brad Van Zant. Lastly, you smoothed your own tag over your breast. Hello, my name is... Janet Nicks.
Satisfied, you turned back to the woman as she appeared at the table again and checked you off the list and allowed you to enter the ballroom.
It was huge, and filled with more people than you had expected, leading you to worry that you'd never find the ghoulpires you were looking for. Even if you did, it would be a long, exhausting night, especially for you. Crowds weren't your thing. Vampires and demons, you were fine with, but crowds made you panic.
Sam's hand landed on your lower back, pulling you out of your thoughts. "It's just a party, Janet," he mumbled. "It can't hurt you."
You nodded, taking a deep breath to give you confidence before you led your friends into the storm. You tried to calm yourself as you navigated through the sea of people, but you inevitably ended up sitting at the bar and forcing air through your lungs.
