Archive of Our Own ^beta

The place was trashed.
Sure, you knew it wasn't going to be in great condition after nineteen years of, well, nothing. It had been rented out by your parents for almost eighteen of those nineteen years, until the so-called 'tenants' moved out just over a month ago. Now, the tiny little bungalow house that your grandfather had left to you was empty, and in need of some major TLC.
But, you were up for the challenge. The two-bedroom, one-bathroom house was only a few miles from the bunker you had called home for the last year. You loved the guys, but living in that place just wasn't your thing. So, when the opportunity to live on your own came around, you snatched it.
You just needed to spruce the place up a bit.
You stared into the crowded two-car garage and sighed. That was where you had decided to start. Where the hell were you going to begin? The whole thing was practically overflowing with old furniture, three refrigerators, countless boxes filled with plates and collectibles, and a rabbit cage-condo-where your pet rabbit lived when you were in pre-school.
"I knew he was a hoarder, but this is bad," you muttered to Jack, who stood beside you. His normally smiley face was distorted by a mix of shock and fear. "Thanks again for helping me, you guys." You turned back to Dean, Sam, and Cas, who were still getting out of the car.
Dean was the first of the three to lay eyes on the mountains of trash. "Oh, wow. I smell a garage sale," Dean chuckled. He tugged on his torn Led Zeppelin t-shirt and grinned.
You sighed. "Yeah, if there is anything worth saving in there."
"We'll find out," Sam answered as he slipped a pair of gardening gloves over his hands. "I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks."
"I just hope you all have your Tetanus shot." Your eyes landed back on the heaps of junk. "And mind your head. There is a bunch of random stuff in the rafters too."
Jack was the first to step towards the towers of boxes, eyeing a few plastic containers without lids. You could see miscellaneous dishes and mugs piled inside. Maybe a few of the things in there were salvageable, or sellable. Not that you wanted to get rid of everything. You would never admit it, but deep down, you were very sentimental. A part of you hoped that you would find a few things in there that could be added to your new dwelling.
Cas eyed one of the old refrigerators. "Does this need to go inside?" he asked, tilting his head at the practically ancient appliance. You shook your head.
"No, there's a reasonably new one in the kitchen. That one goes to the dump," you instructed, pointing to the small U-Haul truck you had rented for runs to the dump. "Here, let me help-"
"It's not that heavy," Cas muttered as he leaned the fridge onto a rolling cart with ease. Freaking angel.
"Y/N! Come look! This mug has your name on it!" Jack exclaimed. He was sitting on a small towel surrounded by chipped plates. He reached up and handed you the small, light yellow mug. It had your name on one side, and a photo of you as a toddler on the other.
"This was the mug I drank out of every time I came to visit. My grandpa would make hot cocoa and always gave me this mug. I think he had it made for me." You studied the artifact. It was perfectly intact, which surprised you. But, you were glad. This was exactly the kind of thing you were looking for.
"Sounds like that goes in the save pile, then!" Sam made his way over to you and gently took the mug from you, before placing it in the far corner. "This will be the designated save pile."
The five of you continued in your own corners, fishing through several old golf sets, about five wooden ladders, and enough nicknacks to fill ten Hallmark stores.
Once Jack confirmed that every single plate in the boxes was unusable, he moved over to the corner were Cas was weeding though several large cabinets. You smiled as you watched them work. The fact that every one of them didn't hesitate to help when you told them about the property made you feel like you were on top of the world. You couldn't ask for better friends, better brothers, really.
"Hey, Y/N. What's this?" you heard Jack's sweet voice ask again. "This looks like some kind of old… something!" You made you way over to them and peered over the blonde's shoulder.
"Oh my gosh," you whispered, resting a hand on your best friend's shoulder. "That's a record player. It's a newer one." You studied it. "It's in great shape-Hold on. This looks exactly like the one my older brother had in his room when we were growing up. I think it's his."
"When was the last time you talked to him?" Cas asked. You stomach sank.
"Fifteen years ago, when he left for college. I know my parents threw some of his stuff in here after that." You bit your lip, struggling to keep your churning stomach at bay. You weren't close to your family. Your parents were living in the Virgin Islands now, and finally handed you the property when they couldn't be bothered with it anymore. Rightfully so. It had been left to you after all.
As for your brother, he was in Michigan. He never left after he graduated from school, or so your parents said. Good for him, you thought.
You snapped out of your brain fog when Cas opened a ratty cardboard box. "Y/N, Dean has some of these."
"Some of what?" Dean asked, peeking out from behind a tower of boxes. He marched over, almost tripping on the cracked concrete floor along the way.
"Records," you whispered. "Oh wow, look at these!" You pulled out a few of the records and sifted through them. "Kiss, Journey, Kenny Rogers. These are definitely my brother's." Dean beamed as he peered down at them.
"Well, it's his loss. These are freaking awesome!" He picked up a Def Leppard album and studied it.
You smiled at your friend, who was much more like an older brother to you than your actual brother ever had been. "You can borrow any of them anytime, Deano." He grinned up at you.
"Awesome."
"Hey, Y/N!" Sam shouted from the other side of the garage. "There's a ton of framed paintings in here. They're in pretty good condition." You tip-toed over the crumbling concrete towards him. "Some of them are kinda random, though." You grabbed his arm as you nearly tripped over a broken lamp.
"Oh wow, those are random." A lot of the paintings looked a little faded, like the kind of paintings you would see in a doctor's office. Many of them were landscapes of San Francisco, where your grandfather had grown up. But, there was one that you remembered vividly. It was a sailboat floating on the San Francisco Bay, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. You remember seeing that painting as a kid. It was originally in the living room, above the fireplace.
And that's exactly where it was going to hang from now on.
"Keep that one. The rest we can donate. Or, better yet, you guys can take them back to the bunker. That place could use a little color," you teased. Sam rolled his eyes, laughing.
The day went on with a few more finds. Cas unearthed a piano that was once in the living room. You never played but were willing to learn now. It was barely scratched, and only had a few missing keys.
Sam snagged some old books from a few of the boxes, saying that it would be a travesty to get rid of such classics. You happily gifted them to him.
Once the truck was loaded, you stared back into the nearly empty garage. It was almost sunset, and you could feel your stomach rumbling. But, overall, today had been far more productive than you had anticipated.
You turned to the wall beside you. It was the side of the house where the two bedrooms were situated. The once grayish-blue paint was peeling pretty badly. The inside needed to be repainted too, but the outside seemed a lot worse.
"I can't believe the tenants didn't say anything to your parents about the state of the house," Cas muttered at your side. He was covered in dust, just like you, sporting one of Dean's worn t-shirts. The look suited him, honestly. But, it was so odd seeing him out of his usual trench coat.
"I guess there were squatters in here for a while. My parents didn't realize they weren't getting rent checks until a several month after the real tenants left." You rolled your eyes. "They never said they were leaving."
Cas reached up and traced a finger over the peeling paint. "We'll help you repaint."
You smiled. "Once I have enough money to buy the paint. Good outdoor paint is kind of pricy, even for such a small house."
You jumped as a hand landed on your shoulder. You turned to a smiling Dean. "Or, Mister, uh, Keith Green will buy it for you," he chuckled, waving a credit card in your face. You rolled your eyes.
"Credit card fraud? Still?" You rolled your eyes again. Dean just shrugged.
"Hunting doesn't exactly pay the bills, Y/N." You nodded, laughing.
"That's why I have a part-time job, Dean," you teased.
"Well, some of us can't punch a clock when the world is ending." You shoved him, then spun towards the truck. Jack was already belted into the passenger seat, waiting to bring the discarded rubbish to the dump.
"The painting will have to wait for a few days. Jack and I have to drop this off. Then, we'll head back to the bunker." You grinned at Dean. "What's for dinner?"
Dean sighed. "I'm guessing burgers?" he asked. You nodded excitedly. He knew all too well that you were practically obsessed with his homemade burgers.
"See you in an hour!" you saluted. And, with that, you headed for the truck. "Thanks, guys!" Dean waved your way and jogged over to the Impala.
As you waited for Dean to pull out of the long driveway, you glanced back over at the little house. It wasn't much, but it was yours. Sure, the floors needed a good scrubbing, and the walls desperately needed paint. There was a lot to do. So much. It was pretty overwhelming.
But, with these men by your side, you knew it would get done. You could just see Jack learning to paint the walls with a roller and Cas struggling with a power washer. Sam would undoubtedly help you find some suitable furniture and Dean would happily repair any appliances that needed fixing. All in all, you had a great team.
"Ready to go?" Jack asked, shaking you from your thoughts. His sweet smile was contagious. "I'm getting hungry."
"Ready," you whispered. Then, with a smile still painted on your lips, you slammed the truck into drive and pulled out of the driveway.