The Man with No Eyes | Dean Winchester x reader

Part 2

A full moon and starry sky kept the darkness at bay through your large bedroom window. The day's hard work left you sweaty and tired, the salty smell on your skin mixed with the fallen dust of the old house combined into a very unappealing scent. Feeling like you'd break out into a rash if you didn't get all of this dirt and grime off of you, you stripped into your underwear and bra, looking over yourself in the mirror. White powder and a few pink fibers of insulation clung to your shoulders and back. You made a face. Redoing houses was not your forte, but now you had help. No more being covered in unidentifiable filth every night when you got into the shower.

As you removed your undergarments, you began thinking about these contractors that finally answered your pleading calls. Overall, you were incredibly happy that they showed up, for God knew that you couldn't take on this entire house on your own, but something gnawed at you.
The water was hot when you climbed into the steam-filled shower, immediately making you sigh as you felt the grossness run off of your body and down the drain. As you squeezed shampoo into your hand and began to distribute it through your dusty tresses, your thoughts wandered. These guys surely didn't look like contractors, but of course, all contractors don't always look the same.

What was it about them that made you suspicious? After all, they showed up in flannels, jeans, work boots, and leather–not exactly an out-of-the-ordinary wardrobe for people who did manual labor. Was it the fact that they both seemed entirely too gorgeous to be contracting for a living? Yes, that bugged you, those two staying hidden away working on houses was a crime if there ever was one, they needed to be on magazine covers or something. You quickly reprimanded yourself. So what if their life's ambition was to do construction, what business of that was yours? You steered your thoughts away from the avenue of their handsome features, especially Dean's. That man just does something to you.

With your cheeks blazing hot for reasons besides hopping out of a warm shower, you tried to clear your head as you shook out the towel and squeezed the water out of your hair. You needed to sleep well tonight, and thinking about Sam and Dean was definitely going to keep you wide awake.
When you were finally dry, you walked into your bedroom with your hair wrapped in the soft towel and retrieved an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt that had been your father's and a pair of underwear to sleep in. Nothing was better than sleeping in overlarge t-shirts. You brushed out your hair, put it in a braid so that it would hopefully look wavy in the morning, and then settled between your cool and impossibly comfortable sheets.

With the ceiling fan turning circles, blowing cool air on your face while your bed kept you very warm, sleep wasn't far away. Just as you were drifting into your own world, studying the patterns of moonlight on your vaulted ceiling, something made you jump out of the land between wakefulness and dreams.

There were bangs downstairs.

They weren't loud, or often enough to make you think there was an intruder, but every few minutes what you could only assume was the old house made a sound that caused a shiver down your spine. This wasn't the first night you'd heard these noises, or you might have gone downstairs with your .49 just in case, but it was still hard to sleep when the house settled like this. You tried to make a mental note to talk to Sam and Dean about these noises, maybe it was a problem that could be resolved.

The air conditioning cut on and your door popped open an inch, startling you. You laughed at yourself. You loved this old house, there was no reason to be afraid. While you very much believed in the paranormal, you'd done your research before buying the home. No one, to your knowledge, had passed away in the house, and previous owners all seemed wholesome enough. You had nothing to worry about. But that didn't completely pacify you, because sleep took at least another forty minutes to arrive.