I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

The Roadhouse

Before the Impala had even rolled to a complete halt, everyone had their seat belts off and were almost out the doors. It was routine now for Dean to finish with the car while everyone else pulled their baggage from the back of the car. I had hardly stepped out of the car before Sam was tossing my backpack towards me.

The engine fell silent as Sam handed a duffle bag of what I assumed to be weapons towards me. Everything would need to be cleaned once again, an act that I found therapeutic now. I still didn't agree with the weapons humans raised, but I had to admit that cleaning them was rather satisfying, especially for relieving adrenaline.

Sam lead the way into the bar, Dean and Andrew dragging behind. I followed close behind Sam, my pack slung over my shoulder and the weapons bag in hand. The bar was as dim as ever, with its faded light bulbs and dark furnishings. It wasn't nearly as dark as Ash's office, that much I was thankful for.

A wave of relief swept over me as Ellen stepped out from a back room, a towel tossed over her shoulder and a welcoming smile on her face. "That was fast," she called out and stooped down behind the bar to grab something. A pair of keys flew across the room and landed neatly in Sam's hand. "There's two rooms for you all, get some sleep. You look like you need it," she called.

She didn't have to tell any of us twice. The four of us traipsed slowly up the rickety stairs and found our room numbers, side by side as they almost always were. I dropped the bag of weapons in the first room at the foot of one of the rickety old beds before disappearing into my own room. Once again, no one said a word and the door shut softly behind me. In my own room, Andrew lay face down on the blankets, silent and stiff. I didn't bother trying to stir him and instead shut off the light and crawled under my own covers.

---

I woke some hours later with the sun high in the sky. It was early afternoon, and light filtered through the thin curtains and onto the dusty floorboards of our room. Andrew still laid motionless, curled on his side. I couldn't quite tell if he was asleep or not, and I didn't want to bother him with checking.

I slipped out from under the covers, my bare feet touching the cold boards. I wasn't quite sure when I had taken my boots off - it was all a haze, everything after entering the bar. With a slow stretch and a quiet yawn, I stood from the bed and padded to the door.

The hallway was dark, no lights on. A few lights filtered from underneath door frames, showing their residents were in fact home for the evening. I crossed the hall towards the stairs, taking them cautiously as each step bent under my weight.

The bar itself was empty of laughter and the scent of beer. I assumed they were only just getting started, as there weren't many visitors as of now. Business would pick up later - it always did in these kinds of places.

I sat at one of the high chairs in front of the bar and waited. It was warm in the old, run-down building, despite fall being on the rise. I half expected there to be a draft in the room, especially when the door creaked each time the wind gusted against it. Instead, I was pleasantly warm and comfortable in that room - it was homey, like most hunter things were.

It seemed almost everything hunters owned was old. Old, torn apart, run-down or broken. It wasn't unlike them actually, when I thought about it. Even Sam and Dean, who were young and plenty lively, were already worn down with the stresses of the job. Maybe that's why everything hunters owned was made to feel homey, like the Roadhouse or the junkyard - or maybe it was just because that was all they had. They had to make the best of it.

I jumped at the sound of footsteps thundering down the decrepit staircase and spun in my seat to meet the hurried figures. From the shadows emerged Sam and Dean, both weighed down by heavy luggage. The pair paused, wide-eyed and just as surprised to see me as I was to see them.