Chapter Text
“Once upon a time, I saved the world…”
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
gunshots rang out and the heavy metal door flew open.
You, Sam and Dean burst through onto the roof of the apartment building.
“Do you think they followed us?” you asked, out of breath.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like they’d be able to make it up the narrow staircase.” Sam replied equally out of breath.
“What the hell are harpies doing living in an apartment block anyway?!” Dean asked, leaning on his knees to catch his breath.
“Deforestation?” you offered.
Just then you heard the slow flapping of massive wings. You, Sam and Dean directed your attention to the edge of the roof. The monstrous woman-bird form of the harpy rose above the roof line and swooped toward you.
All three of you ran for the other edge of the roof, Sam and Dean making it to the edge and over first. Your feet hit the edge and you reeled around, whipping two guns out from your side holsters, previously concealed by your brown leather bomber jacket.
Falling backwards toward the ground you shot at the harpy-
Once-hitting her wing and sending her back a little.
Twice - hitting her center mass, her chest exploding with blood.
And three times- hitting her square in the head and sending her body crashing down towards your falling one. Even though you had killed the thing, precluding some miracle - you were clearly a goner.
But your miracle came. In the form of Dean Winchester.
Dean and Sam had managed to grab onto the rails of the fire escape, when they went over the edge, effectively stopping their falls. Then Dean had quickly turned and somehow, inhumanly somehow, grabbed onto your leg stopping your descent and whipping you out of the falling harpy’s path. You, of course, felt a sickening crunch as your leg stayed in one place, but your body continued its downward trajectory.
Dean groaned trying to maintain a grip on your leg.
“Dean Winchester, don’t you fucking drop me, now.” you griped.
“Shut up. Shut up.” he groaned, his face growing red from exertion.
Sam pulled himself over the fire escape rail and scrambled to grab your arms, pulling you to safety.
Your face contorted in pain as you tried to stand up.
“Leg broken?” Sam asked.
“What? No.” you tried to take a step, but fell to the grated fire escape with a clatter.
“Ok. We’re carrying you.” Sam ordered.
“I’m a grown ass woman. You don’t have to carry me.” you assered.
“Get on Gigantor’s back, badass.” Dean said with a smirk.
You let out a huff, but let Sam piggyback you down to the alley below, despite your displeasure with the whole infantilizing situation.
Sam helped you to your room at the bunker, your leg now encased in a massive cast.
“Ok, anything you need. Just yell, or text.” Sam said leaving the room.
Dean lagged behind.
“I can’t believe you guys made me go to the fucking hospital.” you complained to Dean who took a seat on the edge of your bed.
“Hey, Black Widow, your leg’s broken in 3 places. That’s not something we can just fix with sticks and dental floss.”
“12 hours in the fucking ER, Dean.”
“They had tv.”
“Stuck on the 700 Club.” you pointed out “Whatever. Did you guys at least clear out the other harpies, while I was out?”
“Yep, there was just one other and it was a little one. Don’t worry, you definitely won MVP for this hunt. Taking down the Big Boss.” Dean took a seat on the edge of your bed. “By the way, where’d you learn to do that badass running-off-a-roof-flipping-around-and-firing-two-guns-in-the-air-move?”
“I’m just that good.” you said with a smirk. “Where’d you learn to grab falling people out of mid-air?”
“I’m just that good.” he said with a wink. “Shoulder feels a little dislocated, now though.”
“WE WERE JUST AT THE HOSPITAL.” you argued.
“Nah, I’ll just let Sam pop it back in.”
“You’re ridiculous.” you rolled your eyes at the elder Winchester.
“I’m adorable.” he said with that patented Dean Winchester smirk.
It was hard to argue with him on that one.
“Thanks for saving my life.” you said.
“My pleasure.” he said, leaning in, the emerald orbs of green sex that were his eyes boring a heated hole into yours.
His lips met yours gently, at first, but then growing in hunger. You threaded your hands into his hair.
And holy bajingoes, you almost exploded into a million suns and your vagina exploded with doves like a John Woo film of sexiness.
Just then you heard the flapping of wings and before you could even turn your head to take in his form you heard Castiel yell “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS???”
Cas threw you into a wall with a simple wave of his hand. You felt at least 4 more bones break on impact. That was definitely going to hurt tomorrow. No, wait. It hurt now. Yep. Lots of pain.
“Dean, what the dick is going on?” Castiel yelled with all the power of heaven behind his words.
“I love Y/N, now.” Dean protested.
“You love Y/N, now?”
“Yeah?” Dean cast his eyes down to the ground like a stricken puppy.
“But you love me.”
“I love both of you.”
“Oh. So are we doing like a polyamorous three way relationship thing?” Cas said matter-of-factly.
“Do you love her, too?” Dean asked.
Cas shrugged “Eh. I could get on that train.”
“So, it’s decided. We are going to buy a house in Vermont and have a cool polyamorous, multi-species relationship which the world will never understand.” Dean announced.
“My bones hurt!” You yelled from across the room.
“Hey, guys. I’m still here, too.” Sam said from the doorway. “And I would also like to say that I’m in love with Y/N.”
“4 way relationship!” they yelled in unison, leaping into the air.
“Score.” you whispered quietly from the corner of the room.
The light from the old-ass laptop lit Jax Rosenberg’s face in a blue glow. The only sounds in the tiny house were the occasional smattering of keys as the words came to her, coupled with the fan on her computer whirring its little heart out to try and expel any of the heat pent up inside. Her chin doubled as it was propped up at an almost right angle to the rest of her body. The laptop burned into her stomach. Not the best idea for a sweltering June night.
She paused in her work and slid down the creaky sleeper sofa, stretching while still balancing the computer on her hip. Her Ben & Jerry’s t-shirt (a relic of the ‘90s) rode up, tightening like a noose around her neck.
Her eyes quickly scanned the last 25 or so lines of what she had written. Right up to about where she started spouting platitudes about “emerald orbs”. She glanced at the clock in the corner of her screen - 3:00am. Yep, that sounded about right. 3am was usually when the crazy started. She highlighted the last chunk of text and hit delete, deciding that it didn’t even warrant the dignity of a day after edit.
She shut her laptop with a sense of finality, slipped it under the bed, and rolled over. Her tshirt pooled around her not insubstantial torso, she tugged at it for a few seconds, trying to twist it into a more comfortable position, conducive to sleep, but it proved mostly fruitless. And tiring. It was time for what little unconsciousness the incredibly late hour would afford her.
“It was the heat of the moment” the Asia song blared from her phone in what seemed like the very next instant.
It was Tuesday.
Obviously, it was Tuesday.
Tuesday’s had always been Jax’s worst day of the week. First of all there was the whole thing of Tuesday being a nothing day. Monday had the distinction of being the first day of the work week. Wednesday was hump day. Thursday meant it was almost over. Friday was a slacking off day, because it was the last day of the work week. Saturday and Sunday were the weekend. Tuesday? Tuesday was nothing. The one possible thing it used to have going for it were new episodes of “Supernatural”, but that had switched to Wednesdays last March and also, it was currently hellatus. So, Tuesdays were nearly insurmountable piles of garbage, and this one would prove no different.
Her eyes opened and were greeted by a wall of fur. Duchess, the overweight grand bernese, had taken to hogging the zero empty space next to Jax.
She rolled over, finding that she was much closer to the edge of the bed than she had started out the night before. Duchess sure did like her space. Jax fished the phone out of the metal works of the pull-out sofa by its power cord and sliding her finger across the phone, silenced the tune for another week. The time glared up at her from the cracked screen- 5:00 AM.
2 hours of sleep.
Fantastic.
Jax had been sleeping on a pull out couch for the last 2 months, ever since her rent controlled apartment was stripped from her by the death of her Old World Italian landlord. She had sold most of her stuff and was now squatting in her aunt’s living room on the worn out sleeper sofa. The convertible couch sported a bend halfway to the foot so if she were lying on her back her legs would form a 160 degree angle.
“Okay, Duchess. Time to get up.” Jax said, attempting to push the behemoth of a dog from her place on the bed. Duchess groaned.
“Come on. Move.” Jax pleaded.
Duchess growled a warning at Jax, but the dog finally listened and lazily padded off the squeaky mattress to go block a doorway somewhere.
Jax folded the mattress back into the couch, so to the non-astute visitor it would be as if she were never there. Her aunt told her she didn’t need to do this. That it was unnecessary. Except Jax had left it out once and that garnered her nothing but snide remarks and disapproving glances. She didn’t have to do it, but, oh yes, she did.
There was actually an extra bedroom at her aunt’s house, but her aunt felt uncomfortable with Jax using it. She didn’t want Jax getting comfortable. She didn’t have to worry about that. Jax had never been anything close to comfortable at her aunt’s house.
Jax threw on her work clothes for the day and attempted to flat iron her hair into some semblance of order. The smoothness would last all of thirty seconds once she stepped out the door and the humidity set in, but hey, she had to at least try.
She gathered her phone into her purse and headed for the door. She was confronted with a piece of recycled copy paper with the word “RENT!” in her aunt’s big bold magic marker scrawl.
Fuck. Jax thought. Shitcockingfuck.
Even though she was just crashing on a couch, Jax’s aunt had made her agree to pay rent during her stay. Which, Jax would admit, she had every right to. Still, it was difficult for Jax to get back up on her feet when her bank account was a sieve leaking into the joint coffers of student debt and her aunt’s pockets. Jax was good for it. If by good for it, she meant completely depending on the quarterly bonus she should have been getting at work that week to save her.
She settled in for her commute-45 minutes in the car with the sun and moon battling for supremacy in the early morning sky. She started to nod off in the car about three quarters of the way to the nearest subway station. She flipped on the radio in an attempt to wake herself up and hit the scan button.
If we’re talkin’ body you got a perfect one...bbssptszzcht...me in the eye and tell me are you satisfied...bbssptszzcht...high of 97...bbssptszzcht...9-7-6-1-2-3-4, it’s the lotto line...bbssptszzcht...off with your head d-dance dance dance til your dead...bbssptszzcht...john mcgillicutty from winchester...bbssptszzcht...where were they going without ever knowing the way...bbssptszzcht...crazy on you cra-azy on you
She stopped the scan on the old Heart song and sang along poorly, better than if it had been “Barracuda”, but still nowhere near listenable.
Then there was another 45 minutes on the subway, wedged between two giant sweaty men taking up massive v’s of leg space, forcing her to shrink in on herself like a dying star.
She badged herself through security. An elevator immediately dinged open and she entered. After a few seconds the doors closed and she found herself all alone in the hideously designed box. A light flickered along the ceiling. And she imagined the shot that would occur at that moment if she were on The Show - the light in the foreground, she in the back, foreshortened and diminished by the high angle of the camera. Seeming to shrink in its presence. Then, of course, all hell would break lose. The elevator would plummet or there would be a creepy ghost child or something. As this was the real world, all that actually happened was that the doors tried to close on her once she got to her floor, because it was a shitty elevator.
On to her desk in a long row of desks just like it. A row of desks among rows and rows of identical rows. She was the first one there that day, as she was on many days, with coworkers slowly filling in the empty work stations around her.
She logged onto her computer, just like every day before, plugged in her headphones and started plugging away at work. Your standard, run of the mill data entry for a flash sale site. Finding site bugs. Fixing brand pages. A whole bunch of crap that would never really matter or impact anyone until a soccer mom from Duluth meant to order one Elvis shaped vase and ended up with twenty instead. That was the problem du jour presented at Jax’s morning meeting.
“Guess she couldn’t dig Elvis” Jax quipped with a smirk.
“I think it’s more a problem that there were twenty Elvises” replied Jax’s coworker, Annie, the joke and reference obviously going right over her head. Not like Jax really expected anyone to get it.
Another day of working her ass off at a job she didn’t care about. At least she got to wear headphones.
Around 4:30, she noticed her neighbors talking animatedly and put her music on pause to listen in.
“Hey, did you get your bonus yet?” Person A said to Person B.
“Hold on, lemme check.” said Person B.
Quarterly bonus. Jax thought to herself. Dreams of being able to pay her aunt and maybe have a little extra to afford some Chipotle, danced through her head. Jax booked it to her bank website. Her account activity loaded and sure enough, there was an extra deposit from her company. - For $50.
That was less than a .5% bonus. Nevermind, her taco flavored heaven, she wouldn’t even have enough to pay her aunt this month’s rent. What would happen? Would she kick her out? Where would she go? What would she do? She was trying. She really was. But no matter how hard she worked, she just kept falling behind.
To add insult to panicked injury, she heard her neighbor, Person B, say “$1000 are you kidding me? Who the fuck do you have to blow around here to get to a full 10% .”
Person A “I know, right. I’ve been stuck at 8 for a year, now. Whatever. Did you see that video I sent you?”
“The cat one?”
“No, hippo”
Their voices droned into the distance.
8%? A thousand dollars? These people were complaining about a thousand dollars, when Jax’s bonus wouldn’t even cover her train ticket for that month.
“Jax, we enjoy your spirit, but you just started with us six months ago.” said BossConnie.
“But my numbers are good and I’ve taken on more responsibility, you, yourself said that I picked this stuff up faster than anyone you’ve ever seen and I get nothing, but positive feedback.” Jax argued.
“It’s out of my hands.” said BossConnie, simply.
“But you’re the one who decides the bonuses for this department.” Jax countered.
“Why don’t you use this as motivation for next time? Yeah? Okay, good talk.” BossConnie left before Jax could say anything else.
Jax returned to her desk, a new email blinking in her inbox- A message from BossConnie:
Hey Jax,
Would you mind taking care of these before you go home tonight? They were supposed to be done last week, but it looks like they slipped through.
Okay, Thank you!
-Connie
Jax took a look at the attached work. It would take at least another three hours. She was tired and angry and done, but she had no choice. On the plus side though, if she got home after her aunt fell asleep she could go one more day without her knowing she didn’t have her money.
Some Time Later
Everyone had gone for the day. Jax was still there, under the one remaining row of lights. Her headphones and herself plugged in, as always.
She flipped over to her Netflix tab just in time to see Sam Wesson plead his case to Dean Smith: “All I know is, I got this feeling in my gut. And I know - I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it, too. We’re supposed to be something else.”
It was late. Much later than she would’ve wanted to get home. But the ailing nature of her city’s decrepit subway system had come to add the cherry to her shit ice cream day in the form of a downed train, meaning her nightly return to the sleeper sofa was delayed an hour even longer than normal.
A sliver of light from the street lamp shot across the floor as Jax opened the door to her house. “Jesus Christ.” she said stumbling in the dark, toward the sofa. She tripped and fell over something warm and furry, her knee hitting the ground hard and her voice sounding “FUCK”. Duchess didn’t even stir. Thank god, neither did her aunt.
Jax changed, set up her bed for the night, pulling pillows from the hall closet and settled into bed. She pulled her laptop out of its hiding place and jumped back into the adventures of Sam and Dean and Reader. Her arms t-rexed over the keyboard, her fingers flying over the missing “D” key as the words came.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asked you as you moped into the MOL library looking completely stricken.
“Nothing, just a bad day. Just everything that could possibly go wrong. Just not good.”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad. Nobody died, right?” Dean asked.
“12 people died.”
“Oh.” Dean’s face went into “aw fuck” mode.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I was okay for awhile. This was good, but now I just don’t know. I was helping people. But now, I can’t even. I tried I really did. Those people, they still...” you broke down into sobs then. Sam rushed over to you and pulled you into a hug.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not! It’s not okay.”
Dean rubbed your back. “You can’t save everyone, ______. Sometimes you do everything you can and you can’t save them. Sometimes shitty things just happen.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“We know.” Sam said.
“Hey, it’s pretty late. Why don’t we get you to bed?”
“Okay” you nodded, not in any state to resist being babied.
Dean took you around your shoulders and guided you to your room. He sat you down on your bed and pulled off your shoes and flannel.
“I know I don’t deserve it, but can you guys stay with me? Please?” you asked.
Dean looked you straight in the eye. “1. Stop it with that not deserving it crap. Self loathing is my thing. 2. Yes, of course. Sam, get the lights.”
Dean flipped off his shoes as Sam hit the lights. You laid down and Dean snuggled up against your back, holding you tightly in his arms. Sam settled next to you and you snuggled into his chest one of your arms pulling him in tight, so you were now in a wonderfully warm Winchester sandwich.
“It’ll be okay, tomorrow” Sam said kissing your foreh-
BA-BOOM!
The loudest thunder shook the house and sent Jax jumping about three feet in the air as a giant bolt of lightning briefly turn the dark room to brightest daylight, before smothering it in pitch, once more.
Duchess started barking relentlessly at the front door for some reason.
“Duchess, shut up!” Jax whisper yelled at the dog.
Duchess kept barking.
This was ridiculous. Duchess wasn’t even usually afraid of thunder. Jax ripped herself from the bed and trudged over to the hairy beast.
“It’s just thunder. There’s nothing here.”
The dog started barking at Jax.
“Stop it.” Jax scolded pointing at the dog.
Duchess snapped at Jax’s hand, almost actually making contact.
“Jesus. Fuck you, too.” Jax went back to bed as Duchess stood sentry at the door, staring at...something and periodically growling.
Freaky.
But Jax tried to put it out of her mind, clicking over to her tumblr. She passed out taking in her nightly quota of all things Winchester.
As always, it was still dark out when Jax woke and stumbled out of bed. Her half-conscious state rendered her that perfect mixture of clumsy and invincible, so it hardly even phased her when, with only one eye open she walked right into a wall with a thump. A simple “Ow” was all that emerged from her mouth, when during her more wakeful hours, such a thing would have warranted a litany of swears and condemnation. She bounced off the wall and, righting herself, found her way to the bathroom and the toilet she so desperately needed at the moment.
What she didn’t notice was that when she hit the wall and bounced off with a simple “Ow”, something in her bed rustled and rolled over as if it had been briefly awakened.
Jax made quick business of her early morning tinkle, flushed the toilet and washed her hands, all with one eye open, the sheer idea of being awake yet, just too painful.
She stumbled back to her bed in the dark and got back under the covers, where she had previously been snuggled up all nice and cozy.
Thirty seconds passed and she was once again already well on her way to sweet unconsciousness, when a large figure in her bed rolled over.
Just Duchess. she thought.
Then that large figure slung an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Jax settled into the warmth of the person behind her, it not even registering with her that something was amiss with the situation. That dogs don’t normally do that.
It wasn’t until the large figure murmured “Mmmm...Jess.” that Jax’s eyes boinked open in alarm.
She leapt from the bed with a scream, slapping and kicking at the figure as he tried to defend himself.
“Stop it. Stop it.” the decidedly male voice whined.
Jax grabbed a lamp and backed herself towards where the door to the kitchen should have been. When she hit the wall, she groped fruitlessly for a doorknob that wasn’t there.
A light clicked on, flooding the room into stark relief.
This was not her aunt’s living room.
This was a seedy motel room.
“Who the hell are you?” yelled a man in a tshirt and boxer briefs, that Jax quickly realized was leveling a gun straight at her.
The large shirtless man who had been in her bed edged toward her, with his hands up. “Hey. Hey. Calm down. It’s ok.”
“Stay away!” Jax swiped at the tall man who had appeared in bed next to her.
“Whoa!” yelled the shirtless floppy haired man.
“Put the freaking lamp down.” commanded the man with the gun.
For the first time in all the confusion, Jax really looked at who she was dealing with. Her moment of realization came in definitive stages:
-
Oh god I got kidnapped.
-
By two supermodels?
-
Who kind of look like...exactly like
-
...Oh my god.
Jax lowered her lamp a little.
“Jensen? Jared?”
“That’s your name?” said the taller of the two.
“No, that’s your…” Jax’s face paled as she looked around the motel room. All the evidence was there. Table by the window with an old Dell laptop. Crime scene photos. A beat up leather journal opened up to a page that looked like it had been designed by Charles Manson. Ultra specific mermaid themed room. All the evidence was there, down to the necklace hanging around the boxer briefed man’s neck. These men were not J2. And if they weren’t J2, then they must have been...
…what in the holy french mistake..?
“Winchesters.” Jax whispered, fainting.