I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

Simon Says

I was beginning to think that we were never going to find this kid. Everywhere we went, there was always some excuse, some reason why we would never find him, why we would never get any information out of him. I was quickly growing tired of it.

I picked impatiently at the hem of my leather jacket. Even if I frayed the edges, it was a better habit than picking at my nails - my fingertips still stung from where I had torn the skin and nail, a bad habit I had picked up from my time with the Winchesters. They both had ample bad habits, and bad nail care was one they shared.

"You won't get anything out of Andy, guys," the blonde woman behind the coffee counter chided, sliding a cup of coffee towards Dean. Often, his eyes would light up with excitement upon receiving the drink - it was the only beverage he appreciated, aside from beer of course. Instead of his usual excitement, his mouth was set in a firm line, eyebrows furrowed at the woman's - Tracy's words. "I'm sorry, but they never do."

"They?" Sam questioned, looking just as grim. This wasn't the first place we had visited, and each one seemed to have a similar story - no one ever knew where Andy was. "Who's they?"

"You're debt collectors, right? Once in a while, they come by," she replied, obviously worried she had mistaken us. "I don't know what Andy says to them, but they never come back."

"Actually we're- we're lawyers, representing his Great Aunt Leta," Dean replied, hand shaking ever so slightly with nerves. As good at lying as he was, he was never a great actor. He didn't know jack-shit about lawyers or estates. "She passed, God rest her soul, and left Andy a sizable estate."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, voice smooth as syrup. He was comfortable with the lie, far more comfortable than he would have been as a 'debt collector'. "So are you a friend of his?"

"I used to be, yeah. I don't see much of Andy anymore." I frowned at this and dropped my hands to my lap. It seemed Andy had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth a little over a year ago. He was still around obviously, but he was like a ghost.

I cast a glance at Andrew from the corner of my eye, his forest green eyes fixated on the plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. It was about late for breakfast, nearly afternoon, but that didn't stop him. I could tell that with every bite he took he was critiquing the chef.

I wondered how he would hold up on this case. Would he fall in love with hunting, just like I did? He didn't seem like the type, but few did. I just hoped everything would go smoothly.

"Andy? Andy kicks ass, man," I jumped as a man spoke, likely not much younger than me. He held a tone of admiration for the hermit. Dean scoffed beside me and spun in his chair to face the boy.

"Is that right?" he questioned, not quite believing the boy. The boy in question laughed and slung a towel over his shoulder, one he had just been using to clean tables.

"Yeah. Andy can get you into anything. He even got me backstage at Aerosmith once, it was beautiful, bro," he spoke with a wide grin. Dean looked impressed for a split second until he caught my eye. His expression dropped back to one of seriousness.

"How about bussing a table or two, Weber?" Tracy told him, more of a command than a question. Weber saluted sloppily and muttered a quick reply before dashing off back to his half-finished job.

Tracy sighed and ran her hands through her blonde locks, plucking at the knots that caught her fingers. She looked exhausted like she was working far too many hours just to make ends meet. I didn't envy her -- I didn't envy that lifestyle if you could even call it a life. "Look, if you want to find him, try Orchard Street. Just look for a van with a barbarian queen painted on the side."