Your work is freaking amazing. Can you write one where the reader gets caught up in a hunt situation and won't leave till she figures out what's going on and then she really warms up to Sam and it gets really fluffyyy? :)
Anonymous
Hey. Thank you so much! I hope this is what you were after! And sorry about the wait.
I’m actually really proud of this, so I hope you like it!
~~~~~
Sobs wracked your body, your mother’s lifeless form cradled in your arms. She was just sleeping, it’d be fine. If you shook her hard enough, called her name loud enough, she’d wake up. Except she didn’t.
Standing up slowly, you gazed around your living room, ravaged by destruction. The furniture was turned over, the coffee table practically in splinters. The couch - the one you had sat on whilst watching Saturday morning cartoons, where you read on lazy Sundays, the place where your mother had looked after you when you were sick - was completely shredded, the seat cushions thrown around the room and the stuffing coming out.
Stepping forwards, you heard a crunching under your feet and looked down to find the shattered remains of your family photos. On top of the pile lay a photo of you and your mother, taken on your graduation day. Her face was marred by the crack running through the glass, which was ironic considering the fact that you’d just seen her real face shattered, slammed against the wall by an unknown force.
You shuddered, backing away from the room. It was too much, it was all too much. You needed to get out of here, to get away from it all. It couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t. Things like this didn’t happen in real life, and not to your family. These sorts of things were meant to be read about in the papers, watched on the news. Not experienced. But at the same time, you knew that this was nothing like what you’d ever heard of. People weren’t supposed to be thrown about by invisible people. There weren’t even supposed to be invisible people.
You turned around, fleeing back down the hallway towards the front door. However, you were pulled up short, crashing head first into something solid. You backed away in fear, sure that whatever had harmed your mother had come for you. But as you looked up, you realised you could see the thing you had hit, and as it turned out, it wasn’t something, but someone.
Two men stood before you, both wearing formal looking suits. The one you had run into, the taller of the two, had chin length dark hair, and stood beside another man, who was tall but not like the first one, with hair slightly lighter in colour. “Who the hell are you?” you asked, trying to mask your fear.
They both reached into the inside pockets of their suit jackets, pulling out an FBI badge. “Agent Stark and Agent Banner. FBI.” You blinked a little in confusion at their names, but gestured for them to continue. “We were passing through the neighbourhood and heard screams. We thought we’d look into it.”
“It was my mother,” you told them. “She…oh my god, she’s dead.” The reality of it hit you, the force of the realisation winding you. You felt yourself begin to hyperventilate and the taller man touched your arm, guiding you into the kitchen.
“It’s gonna be alright, I promise. You just need to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Can you do that for me?” You nodded, trying to do as he said. Sitting down heavily in a chair, you felt your breathing slowly returning to normal. “Now can you please describe what happened?” the FBI agent asked gently, noticing your calmer state.
“I was just coming home from the shops, and I heard a crash coming from the house, followed by a scream,” you began. “I ran into the house and the living room…it was just trashed. And right in the middle of it all was my mum, and she was just flung across the room and straight into the wall. And she…” you had to swallow before continuing. “She was dead when I got to her.”
“What threw her?”
You flipped up your palms, conveying your cluelessness. “That’s the thing. There was nothing there.”
“Alright, um…?”
“Y/N,” you supplied.
“Alright, Y/N,” the shorter man continued. “Do you think you could tell us if your mum bought anything in the past few days? Probably something old, maybe an antique.”
“What sort of question is that?” you demanded.
“Please, just tell us. Every detail can help, even if it seems insignificant.”
“Well,” you replied, wracking your brain. “I know she was really into going to second hand stores, picking up things she thought were interesting or unusual. She liked the idea that something she owned had a story, a past, as though it was a real person. And I’m pretty sure she went looking in an antique store the other day when she went out, but I have no idea if she got anything.”
The two agents exchanged a glance. “Could you just excuse us for a moment?” the tall one asked. You nodded in consent. As the two of them walked away, you heard them muttering things that sounded like ‘spirits’ and 'EMF’.
“Excuse me,” you interrupted, barging in between the two of them. “When are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
“What are you talking about?” the shorter man asked.
“Well for starters, my mother was thrown across the room by something invisible. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit weird?”
“It was a lot to take in. You were probably just-”
“Don’t you dare tell me I was imagining it!” you cut him off. “I know what I saw. And I think you do as well. I mean, since when do FBI guys talk about ghosts and ask about people buying antiques during a murder investigation? When are FBI guys ever just driving through the neighbourhood?” You raised an eyebrow at them and stood with your hands on your hips, daring them to contradict you. “And don’t think I didn’t notice your names. Agent Stark and Agent Banner? I’ve seen the Avengers, you know. And I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s an offence to impersonate a federal agent.”
“Look, Y/N,” the taller man began.
“If you’re about to tell me I’m making all this up, then you can just shut your mouth,” you warned.
“No, you’re right. We aren’t FBI guys. My name’s Sam Winchester and this is Dean, my brother,” he explained.
You narrowed your eyes at them suspiciously. “What are you doing in my house?”
“You may want to sit down,” Dean suggested.
“I’ve just seen my mum get - get killed,” you answered. “I can handle whatever you’ve got to say.”
“Alright,” Sam began. “Well, what attacked your mother was a spirit. The reason we were asking about any old objects she might have recently purchased was because we’ve been in town investigating a string of similar murders, and we believe she may have come into possession of the item that the spirit is attached to.”
“That’s-that’s ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Ghosts aren’t even real!”
“How else would you explain it?” Dean asked. You opened your mouth, but shut it again when you realised you had no other explanation. “Exactly.”
“So I suppose you guys are like Ghostbusters then?” you joked.
“No. We’re better,” Dean smirked. He turned on his heel, heading outside to where they’d presumably parked their car. You looked back at Sam.
“So…” you began.
“So,” he answered with a smile.
“Thank you,” you murmured.
“For what?”
You blushed. “You were very sweet to me before. When I was freaking out, I mean.”
“That was nothing,” he replied bashfully.
“Well if that was nothing, I’d like to see something.” You froze. “I mean, you know, I just -”
“It’s alright,” Sam assured you. “I understand what you’re getting at.” You both stood around for a moment, taking turns to glance at each other before darting your eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring. “I should probably go,” Sam said, interrupting the silence. “Dean’ll be wondering where I am.”
“Wait!” you called after him, stopping him from leaving the room. He turned back to face you, waiting expectantly for you to continue. “I-I want to come with you.”
“Y/N…I don’t think that’s the best idea.” You folded your arms across your chest defiantly.
“And why not? It’s probably a lot better for me than staying here.”
“It’ll be dangerous,” he told you. You snorted.
“Yeah, because my home is so safe at the moment,” you answered sarcastically. He smiled ruefully.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Suddenly, you grew embarrassed, worried that you had overstepped a boundary. “Look, if you don’t want me to come, I understand. I just thought that you seem nice and that we could, I don’t know, get to know one another. Maybe you could help me deal with all this…” you trailed off, wiping away a few stray tears.
“Hey, look at me,” he said firmly. You reluctantly tilted your head upwards, shifting your gaze to meet his. “I’d love for us to get to know each other.”
~~~~~
Thanks for reading! Please don’t repost without giving credit.