#to quote the fic: 'spare me the big eyes: you look like a kicked bitch. Can you fetch? Beg? Roll over?'

[andthebubbles]

skfjgnkfjgfg goddd i love s1 anthony, more and more each day

[immortal-imagines]

The Lucky Boomerang - Part 15 (The End)

Summary: It was widely known that Captain Boomerang didn’t work well with others; a true statement, until one particular accomplice caught his attention. His decision to spare her caused the pair to become deadly. They were nearly as famous as the Clown couple themselves. Renowned for her easy escapes and incredible stealth, Lady Luck was an appropriate partner for the Aussie bank robber. Their luck changes when a certain metahuman brings them both to Belle Reve Penitentiary and they are forced into joining Task Force X. (Side note: In this imagine, Boomerang is at Belle Reve)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

(Captain Boomerang x Reader)

Warnings: Lots of fluff and feels!

Word Count: 1,419

A/N: The final part! A year ago, I started this fic and now here we are on the last chapter! I know this is a little overdramatic, but hey that’s me. I’ve had so much fun writing this and I hope you guys have enjoyed reading this! Please send me in requests if you have any ideas for other series I could do. I’ve got a few ideas lined up that I hope you’ll like! For now, it’s time to say good bye to The Lucky Boomerang and a fic that has been one hell of a journey! I hope you enjoy this!

Prison was different now. It felt strange. There was something in the air that didn’t sit right with any of them. They had tasted freedom and, to an extent, they’d had it. But, they wanted more.

(Y/N) missed Harley, seeing as they were now on opposite sides of the facility and never saw each other. They only saw Deadshot when he was being escorted back to his cell from his visits with his daughter. The guards wouldn’t let him stop, but he always yelled a greeting as he went past.

(Y/N) counted her blessings that she could sleep in the same bed as Digger every night. They shared a cell, a bed and a life. It wasn’t the house with the white picket fence, but it was enough, for now.

They sat on the bed, cuddled up next to each other. (Y/N) was reading a book, while Digger played with her hair. They were back in the usual prison uniforms, but with a little more character this time. Dig chose to wear a tank top, instead of the beige prison shirt, and (Y/N) had fashioned hers into a crop top. She’d used Digger’s shirt and ripped it into a sort of bandana, to hold her hair out of her eyes while she read.

“I know it’s not what we imagined, but I’m happy,” (Y/N) looked up from her book. She leaned up and kissed Digger gently on the lips. He stopped plaiting her hair and pulled her closer to him.

“We’re together, Lady. That’s what counts.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever get our own house, or a normal job, or even a baby…”

“Hey!” Digger interrupted, “We can have a baby if you want. It’ll be the damn best-looking baby anyone has ever seen.” He winked.

“We can’t bring a baby into this life. We can’t raise it in prison,” (Y/N) sighed and closed the book in her lap. “Plus, I doubt Waller would let us keep it.”

“Screw Waller. No one is taking our kid away from us,” Digger clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. Lady put her hands on his cheeks. “I won’t let them,” he said. He kissed the palms of her hands.

(Y/N)’s eyebrows pulled together. “What is it?” Digger asked, confused.

“Can you hear that?”

They sat for a second, listening. In the distance, there was a faint rumbling, like thunder. Then, an almighty crash shook the room.

“For fucks sake, can’t we have five minutes of peace?” Digger huffed, lifting Lady off his lap. The pair stood facing the door, ready for an attack. They heard footsteps running down the hall and braced themselves. That was when a familiar face appeared in the cell window.

“Hiya, guys! We’ve come to rescue you!” Harley beamed. Both Digger and (Y/N) relaxed and rushed forwards. That was when another face appeared in the window, white as a sheet and with shocking green hair. It was the Joker.

“You’re alive?” (Y/N) asked.

“Looks like it,” Joker growled and Harley squealed. They heard jangling and suddenly the door swung open. Harley jumped on (Y/N).

“It’s so great to see you! We have so much to catch up on!” the blonde spoke so quickly it was a struggle for (Y/N) to understand.

“Nice to meet you, mate,” Digger addressed Joker, nodding warily.

“Let’s go,” Joker muttered, pulling Harley off of (Y/N).

“Well, he seems like fun,” (Y/N) muttered to Digger. He chuckled.

They moved with caution out of the cell, constantly checking for guards. Harley and Joker were up ahead.

“They’re all dead if that’s you’re worried about,” Joker said over his shoulder.

“What about the prisoners, like Deadshot and Croc?” Lady asked.

“They’re waiting for us outside,” Harley turned, giggling.

“And Flag and Waller?” Digger’s question was tainted with a hint of worry.

“Soldier is on his honeymoon and the bitch is in some ‘secret’ facility in France,” Joker responded, using air quotes on the word ‘secret’.

“How do you know all this?” (Y/N) asked, just as cautious of the clown as Digger was.

“Puddin’ has eyes all over the place,” Harley said, proudly. They stopped by a door and Joker made swift work of kicking it down.

“I could’ve done that,” Dig muttered, puffing his chest out a little.

“I know you could,” (Y/N) chuckled, patting his arm.

It was pitch black outside. Being in prison all day meant they lost track of the time. They slept when they felt tired and they ate when the food came through the door. There was no real routine. Deadshot and Croc stood just outside the door. Deadshot looked a little jumpy, but relaxed when he saw who it was. Digger went over to him and patted his back. “Good to see you, mate.” He looked at Croc and nodded a greeting, worried about getting his hand bitten off if he got too close.

Joker wasted no time waiting. “Everyone here is dead. It won’t be long before back-up arrives so we need to leave now.”

Harley was gazing up at him, hanging onto every word he said.

(Y/N)’s stomach did a flip when she realised what was happening. They were going to escape. They were getting out of this hell-hole. There was an actual chance that they could live the life they’d dreamed about.

The small group moved silently out of the facility. It seemed too easy. Once they were out, Croc parted from the group, grunting something about a sewer before disappearing into the night.

“As soon as we get to the city, I’m jumping ship too. I gotta get my daughter before anyone else does,” Deadshot informed them. It made sense. If the cops got word that there had been an escape, they’d search Zoe’s home. It would be the first place they’d think he would be. But if he got there quick enough, he could grab her and run.

That left (Y/N) thinking. Where would she and Boomer go?

As if reading her mind, Digger said, “I have a few of my old hiding spots in mind. I think we should lay low there for a few days before trying to find a more permanent situation.” Lady nodded, relieved that at least he seemed to have a plan.

Joker had an escape vehicle, just a plain white van, parked around the back. One of his accomplices, who introduced himself as Frost, was driving. As soon as the group were in, he sped off, headed straight for the city. The Joker had some mastermind plan for how to remain inconspicuous, but he didn’t let any of the others in on it. (Y/N) didn’t even think Harley knew what he had planned.

It didn’t take long before they were parked up in a back alley in the slightly rougher area of the city.

“This is where we leave you,” the Joker said. “Me and Harls got to get moving.” He didn’t say where they would be. (Y/N) guessed that was part of his effort to remain low-profile. She didn’t think it would last very long. He and Harley were the king and queen of Gotham. It wouldn’t be long before they re-claimed their thrones and were out causing chaos again. (Y/N) just hoped they wouldn’t get caught this time. She worried for Harley’s safety and just wanted to see her friend happy.

Harley leaned over and pulled Lady into a big hug. “Promise we’ll see each other again?”

“Of course!” Lady squeezed her tightly. Joker tapped his foot, impatiently. (Y/N) shot him a look. She wasn’t afraid of him, not any more at least.

“Let’s get moving, Lady,” Digger took (Y/N)’s hand and helped her out of the van. “Catch ya later, craziness,” he nodded to Harley. She gave him a wide, toothy grin.

No sooner had they stepped out of the van, Joker slammed the doors and they disappeared in a cloud of dust and dirt. Lady watched them go, tears threatening to erupt. She coughed a little, composing herself, before looking up at Digger. He brought his thumb up to her cheek and wiped away a tear that had managed to escape. “We’ll see her again, I’m sure,” he comforted. “It’s time to start our own life now.” (Y/N) managed a small smile. Her stomach flipped at the thought that her dream of a life away from crime was actually a possibility. They could have a house and a family.

She reached up on her toes and pressed her lips to George’s.

“Where do we start?”

Tag List:  @a-girl-who-loves-disney @thranduilxlegolasx@squireboredom @tokentransboy @taz-t-mary @bookchic20@sporadichologramblizzard-ed17414 @importanttyrantruler

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

Just Another Case: Part 1

Summary: Dean gets a voicemail that Sam is in trouble. When he rushes to try and help, he finds some trouble of his own with a Reader who might be too much for him to handle. Pairing: AU—Mechanic!Dean x FBI Agent!Reader Word Count: 4,050 Warnings: Some tense angsty moments but this part is SFW. Author’s Note: Buckle up, bitches. :D This is part one of my second SPN series, and my first ever AU fanfic—which I’m turning into a 15 part series with fluff, angst, and smut. Go big or go home, right? Included in this fic is a prompt for Lau’s AU Funny Quote Challenge to celebrate @dancingalone21​’s reaching 2k followers: “Then we all go out for ice cream and strippers” with Dean x Reader. This also celebrates my one year mark of writing fanfic on this blog (thanks for those who have encouraged me over the last 12 months)! *Tagging Note: Since this series is so different from most of what I write, I made a separate tag list from my forevers; if you would like to join this tag list send me an ASK and mention the JAC series instead of my Forevers list. Okay, that’s it. Enjoy and please leave feedback!

The Just Another Case Masterpost

Part 1: Dean POV

Dean?

It’s Sam. I’m, uh…I’m in trouble.

Dean stopped his routine of undressing and kicking off his work boots, his hand gripping the cell phone tighter as he listened to the voicemail.

I’m okay right now, but I’m worried about Jess. That case that made the news, the one we talked about last week? Well…things aren’t as simple as I thought.

Dean froze as Sam’s voice stopped. He held his breath, hoping that wasn’t the end of the message.

Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Someone’s dirty. And they’re framing me. And it has something to do with this case with Crowley. I don’t know all the details yet, but from what I’ve seen he might be out soon, and he’s made enough threats against me that…well, I’m going to do some digging. I’m not letting this go.

I can’t let this go.

But I can’t let Jess be hurt because of me.

Dean turned, grabbing his keys and wallet from the table, already headed out the door before the message finished, his eyes on the lovingly restored 1967 Impala he’d inherited when his Dad had died in a collision with an 18-wheeler.

I need you to make sure she’s safe. And to get in contact with a friend, someone I trust. She’ll help. Y/N went to school with Jess and I a few years back. She’s a fed now. Her number is XXX-XXXX.

I’m dumping my phone, Dean. Be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Don’t come looking for me—you might lead someone else my way. Just… look after Jess.

Love you, man.

Oh hell, no. Dean hadn’t been too close with Sam growing up—the kid had been nerdy and awkward, and the age difference was enough that they didn’t hang out all the time. But they’d both put in more effort to be closer in the past few years, after Sam had graduated from Stanford Law and Mom had died from cancer.

They were the only Winchesters left after all.

But as close as they were, they didn’t go in for mushy chick flick moments like that—it just wasn’t their style.

Dean hit the redial button but immediately got the tone that preceded the “We’re sorry. The phone number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service” message and hung up. He tried Jess’s cell, but it just rang and rang. It never even went to voicemail.

Dean threw the phone to the passenger side and peeled out of his driveway, leaving some tire marks behind. The distance between his place and the little bungalow Sam and Jess had moved into was a little over two hours of highway.

He’d make it there in one.

Dean was struggling to find “cool” and “calm” as he turned onto Sam’s road. It had been a little over an hour, and he’d listened to that damn voicemail twice since the first time. He still had no clue what was going on, and he was honestly afraid of what he would find, because the time stamp on the damn recording was four hours ago.

A lot could happen in four hours.

And he couldn’t get Jess or Sam on the damn phone.

He had yet to call the fed that Sam had told him to—he’d worry about that after he’d made sure his future sister-in-law was safe.

Please let her be safe. If anything happened to Jess… Sam would never recover.

He hard-braked his car on the curb, the driveway full with Jess’s yellow Jeep and a car Dean didn’t recognize. Sam’s Mustang was nowhere to be seen.

Dean felt like ice was in his veins. With slightly numb fingers, he opened the glovebox and pulled out his Colt M1911. He’d bought the thing and gotten a license to carry concealed after his car restoration garage had been broken into for the third time. He’d trained on it—his dad had been in the Marines, and Dean had been around guns his whole life—but he never thought he’d have to use it in this situation.

He approached the house with the gun held down by his side, the spare key Sam had given him in his hand. His heart was pounding so loud in his ears, he honestly couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. A light was on in the main room though, and when he paused beside the unfamiliar car, a dark blue Charger, the hood was slightly warm.

Whomever the stranger was, he or she hadn’t been here long.

Dean let out a deep breath, taking the last few steps up the steps and onto the porch at a slight jog. He used his free hand to unlock the door, his palm already sweating on the ivory handle of the gun.

He tucked the key back into his pocket, wiped his hand quickly before releasing the safety and gripping the pistol the way his father had taught him. The adrenaline was pumping, and he wanted to yell for Sam and Jess, but he tried to move softly through the carpeted hallway. If someone unwanted was here, one of the people who had been threatening his brother, Dean would do what it took to keep what was left of his family safe.

Whatever it took.

He headed for the living and kitchen area—they had an open set up in the center of the house, and that’s where the light was coming from. He heard a low voice coming from the room. Jess. She sounded worried.

Dean’s hand was shaking slightly, and he steadied it. There was no time for nerves. He was at the entrance, his eyes adjusting to the bright light. Jess was there.

She was alive. Standing at the kitchen table with her back to him. She was alone, her hand held up to ear, probably on the phone. Dean was too concerned with where the driver of the other vehicle was to listen to what she was saying. His eyes scanned the corners, worried someone was hiding there.

Then he felt a cold barrel against the back of his skull.

“Drop it, or I’ll drop you.”

Jess spun around at the sound of the woman’s voice behind him, the woman who was holding a gun to his head.

Her eyes widened as she took in the scene and Dean weighed his options. Dean slowly raised his hands, the gun aimed upwards.

The woman, and possible hit-man, prodded the hard metal into the base of his neck. “I said drop it, Ace. That means on the floor, not in the air.”

Dean shot Jess a look, trying to see if she was hurt; he didn’t want to get shot, especially not right in front of her, but giving up his gun seemed like the dumbest move at the moment.

Jess seemed shocked out of her silence at Dean’s look and took a step forward, “Dean? Dean! Y/N, no! Don’t shoot him. That’s Dean, Sam’s brother.”

Y/N? The fed Sam had asked him to call?

Dean lowered his gun slowly, willing to trust Jess’s identification and Sam’s message for the moment, even if that gun was still jabbing at the skin on his neck and the hairs were still standing at attention on his arms and nape. He safetied the weapon then dropped it the last three feet from the bottom of his arm to the ground.

He felt the gun at the back of his head move, and he breathed out a sigh of relief, throwing Jess a smile.

The relief vanished as he was twisted and spun from behind, pushed up against the wall while small hands patted his shoulders, his sides, feeling through the leather jacket he wore.

“Hey, sweetheart, watch the hands.” Dean pushed away from the wall and went to turn and face the cop behind him, but he felt a forearm against his spine, pushing him forward again while the other hand patted his waistband, searching for another weapon.

“Y/N, stop.” Jess was there now, right next to Dean and the as-yet unseen Y/N. The hand on Dean’s hip and the arm across his back were removed and Dean swiveled to see Sam’s spitfire of a fiancé holding the arm and shoulder of a woman with icy eyes.

Dean’s first impression of her, other than noticing her short stature in comparison to him (which, let’s face it, was true of most women) and the holster strapped to her hip with the black gun he presumed had just been aimed at him, was that this woman wasn’t one who would take crap from anyone.

“Y/N, this is Sam’s brother, Dean. We’ve talked to you about him before—hell the two of you are supposed to be best man and maiden of honor in a few months.”

Dean raised an eyebrow in question. He should have paid more attention to the wedding planning emails Jess had sent him.

Jess blushed, “this wasn’t exactly how I wanted you to meet.”

Dean smiled at Jess’s blushing face—he knew she hated that involuntary reaction. Mostly he was just relieved that his favorite soon-to-be sister-in-law was safe. She was still in her professional dress outfit—something the art museum she curated insisted on, though Dean knew she preferred baking in bare feet, a t-shirt, and jeans over briefcases, dress pants, and heels.

He tried to turn the smile towards the cop next to her, but the expression on her face was still not very friendly, and Dean held off extending a hand to shake. With the look she was giving him, she might chop the thing off. She crossed her arms over her navy FBI bulletproof vest, her matching pants going all the way down long legs and ending with a pair of combat boots.

“This is Dean Winchester, huh?” Dean straightened, giving her a slow flirty smile he figured would tick the Ice Queen off and nodded. “What were you doing breaking in here armed? Or, an even more important question, do you know where your brother is?”

Dean dropped the smile and looked to the floor to see his gun, stooped to grab it and tuck it in his waistband. “I didn’t break in, sweetheart. I have a key. And no, I don’t know where Sam is, but I know he’s in trouble—hence the gun.”

Jess paled a bit, and Dean eyed her warily. She wasn’t the type to faint, but he didn’t like her complexion right now.

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’. My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N. Either of those, or Agent, will be fine since apparently I’m working right now—what do you know about Sam’s trouble?”

Dean ignored the cop, closing the distance between himself and Jess and taking her arm, leading her into the living room and pushing her gently onto the couch.

“Sit down before you fall over, Jess. I’m sure Sam’s fine.” Dean kept his voice comforting, and was alarmed when he saw tears starting to form in Jess’s eyes. Jess didn’t cry like this. Pissed off and yelling, he’d understand. What if she knew something? What if—

“I’m sorry, I’m just—ugh, I’m a mess. Damn hormones.” Jess looked around and Y/N was there, already handing her a tissue. She nodded her thanks and Dean felt his opinion of the woman improve slightly when he saw the unmistakable concern for her friend in her eyes. “It’s just that, this isn’t like Sam. We were supposed to meet in town to look at two possible wedding venues. But he didn’t show up—I thought he’d been caught up at work, but then he didn’t answer my text. When I tried again an hour later, I got ‘message undeliverable’ and I started getting worried…when I called, it said his phone had been disconnected.”

She sniffed and blew her nose, some of her color coming back as Dean moved back, letting Y/N sit closer to her. He was useless when it came to crying women.

“So I called his work, and they said he hadn’t been into work today—but I made them check, and his car was there in the lot, and—“ Her voice was steadily rising in pitch and Dean was getting more and more alarmed. Was she having a panic attack? What the hell was up with Jess? This wasn’t like her at all!

“That’s when you called me, sweetie. Which was the right thing to do. I don’t know what’s up with Sam, but you need to calm down. This stress isn’t good for you right now.” Y/N’s voice was completely different now—no hard edge, just soothing comfort and warmth. Dean shot a look between the two women, completely lost.

Dean shifted, his confusion and discomfort obvious enough that Jess managed a half smile as she sniffed at her tears.

“I’m sorry, Dean, you don’t know yet. I’m pregnant.”

Dean felt like his eyes were going to bug out of his head. “You are?! That’s—that’s fantastic, Jess! Congratulations!” He wanted to pull her into a big hug, but she was still crying, and Sam wasn’t here—wait— “does Sam know?”

“Yes, of course. We were just keeping it quiet till the rehearsal dinner. Sam…he thought it would be a nice surprise for everyone to find out then….” Jess looked down at the tissues in her clenched hand, or maybe at her waistline which was still the same as far as Dean could tell, then straightened her shoulders and gave a loud sniff before clearing her throat.

“I’m fine. But, Dean, how did you know something was wrong with Sam? You said you didn’t know where he was?”

Dean nodded, relieved to be on firm footing again. “Yeah, he called and left a message while I was at work—and when I couldn’t get him or you on the phone, I rushed over here.”

Dean took out his phone, scrolling through until he found the voicemail and setting the speaker and volume so that Jess and Y/N could hear.

Dean?… It’s Sam. I’m, uh…I’m in trouble.

Dean’s eyes were glued on the two women. Y/N had her eyes narrowed, leaning forward towards the phone in his fist, every inch of her tense and screaming “cop”. He had a fleeting thought that he liked the comforting friend better than the ice lady, but Jess’s in-drawn breath distracted him.

I’m okay right now, but I’m worried about Jess. That case that made the news, the one we talked about last week? Well…things aren’t as simple as I thought.

Dean only vaguely remembered the case. Something about a major drug operation and Sam had gone after the head guy, some dude named Crowley who was supposed to be this generation’s Al Capone or something. Honestly, Dean had been proud of his brother’s first big conviction, but hadn’t paid that much attention to the details.

Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Someone’s dirty. And they’re framing me. And it has something to do with this case with Crowley. I don’t know all the details yet, but from what I’ve seen he might be out soon, and he’s made enough threats against me that…well, I’m going to do some digging. I’m not letting this go…. I can’t let this go.

God, he’d practically memorized the damn thing at this point. It made his gut clench to think of Sam out on his own, trying to dig out a dirty cop or lawyer—Dean didn’t know much about that kind of thing, but he knew his brother was smart and stubborn as hell. And that people who committed major crimes were willing to commit more to not get caught.

But I can’t let Jess be hurt because of me. I need you to make sure she’s safe. And to get in contact with a friend, someone I trust. She’ll help. Y/N went to school with Jess and I a few years back. She’s a fed now. Her number is XXX-XXXX.

Dean watched both women react as Sam said their names. Jess’s jaw jutted out, and if Sam had been present, Dean would have had to make the tough call of stepping between his brother and her to protect him, or to back out of the room slowly.

Y/N was harder to read. Her lips tightened before she drew the lower one inside her mouth to chew on, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. Dean watched that abused piece of flesh slide back out of her mouth and almost didn’t hear the end of the message.

I’m dumping my phone, Dean. Be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Don’t come looking for me—you might lead someone else my way. Just… look after Jess.  Love you, man.

He quickly pressed the end button before the automated voice gave him the option to delete or listen again. The silence was heavy in the room as he looked warily at Jessica, worried she’d start crying again.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Or not.

Y/N was shaking her head slowly, “I might help you with that, Jess. I warned him…” Her voice drifted off.

Great. Now Dean was in a room with two homicidal women.

Y/N slapped her hands on her thighs suddenly, startling Jess. “Well, since Sam has decided to throw this shit into a fan to see what would happen, we need to get moving. Jess, Dean, I’m going to make a few calls, get some wheels rolling legally. I need you to pack anything you might need for a week or so—you two are going into protective custody.”

“The hell I am!” Jess was definitely back to her take-charge self now. Dean had always joked that, with her fire, she should dye her hair red to give the world a warning label. She jumped off the couch and towered over her friend while Dean took a step back. “I’m going with you to find Sam. There’s no way I’m going to go sit in some safe house while he’s sticking his idiot neck out.”

Then Y/N was up, arms crossed over those white FBI letters, “oh, yes, you are. You’ve got more than just you to think of now, remember?” She pointedly stared at Jess’s stomach.

Jess narrowed her eyes and copied Y/N’s stance. “That’s dirty pool, you know.”

Y/N just gave a smug smile. “You’ve already told me I’m going to be godmother, so I’m allowed. Now, go get packed.”

“Fine. But you have to bring him back so I can kill him before the wedding.” Jess poked her finger into her friend’s shoulder for emphasis during that last statement while Y/N tried not to smile.

Y/N nodded, apparently seeing some sense in that insane comment that was beyond Dean’s grasp.

Jess glared for a moment longer, then spun on her heel and stomped out of the room, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her like an angsty teen. Dean let out a breath of relief, glad that she had seen reason. Protective custody for Jess was exactly what needed to happen so Dean could fulfill Sam’s request and still sleep at night.

Because he couldn’t let his brother down by letting Jess get hurt, but there was no way he was going to sit around and let his little brother get himself killed either.

“Yeah, I need you to look into this quietly. Let me know what you find out.”

Y/N was talking in a low voice, pacing in the kitchen, while Dean leaned against the door frame, eyeing and appreciating her shape walking back and forth as he waited for her to get off the phone. He realized he was about to lock horns with her—and, strangely, despite his worry for his brother, he was kinda looking forward to it.

“Yes, I realize that….A safe house, what else? We can’t leave the two of them out in the cold, not if someone’s on the take and Crowley makes good on his threats….Sam? I have no clue.”

Y/N seemed to notice him for the first time, stopping her pacing and looking him in the eye. A few strands of her (Y/H/C) hair had escaped from that tight bun on the back of her head and were brushing the side of her neck. Dean fought the urge to pull the hair tie out and see what it looked like down around her face, but he resisted—she’d probably shoot him or kick his ass or something.

“Just get it done. I’ll wait here till Agent Tran gets here to move Sam’s family, but then I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on….Thanks.”

She disconnected and kept her eyes locked on Dean’s.

“I realize you can’t really pack a bag right now, but is there a reason you’re standing here staring at me?”

Dean thought of at least three pick-up lines that would be easy to throw out with that set up, but refrained from saying them. At this rate, he deserved an award for self-control.

“I thought you should know that I’m going with you.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled a little, apparently amused. Dean smiled back, but his was cocky.

“No, actually, you’re not. The professionals will take care of this now, thanks.”

Dean didn’t let the smile falter and her’s slowly melted off of her face. “I’m serious, Mr. Winchester—“

“It’s Dean. And I’m serious too, sweetheart.” He deliberately put emphasis on the nickname and watched her eyes narrow. “I don’t have a bun in the oven to protect, so you don’t have that to hold over my head. I’m going to help you find my brother.”

She crossed her arms in front of her, a stance that Dean recognized as a challenge instead of defensive for this woman. “You have no experience in law enforcement, you know nothing about this case, and you know nothing about these people. How exactly are you going to be any help at all?”

“I know my brother. I can help you find him.”

“I won’t be looking for Sam.” That shook Dean. The smile dropped from his face and he took a step towards the cop in front of him. This was the woman his brother trusted for help, and she wasn’t even going to look for him?

“What?”

“You heard me. If Sam’s right about a leak and someone tampering with this case, then me finding him would fix nothing; he would still be in danger. I’m not going to be looking for Sam. I’m going to be looking for a way to help him. And the best way you can help with that is to not get yourself killed by sticking your nose in where you have no business being. I’m good at my job. And Sam is my friend. I’ll bring him home.”

Dean let that sink in for a second, reigning in his anger. “He may be your friend, but Sammy is my baby brother; he’s family—and I’m not going to sit around while he’s in trouble.”

Dean locked eyes with the cop in front of him who seemed to be listening to him for the first time, weighing his seriousness. He made sure there was no trace of a smile on his face as he concluded his argument—a trick he’d learned from watching his lawyer little brother.

“You say you’re good at your job? My job is to take care of him. And I’m fucking excellent at that.”

Y/N waited a measured beat, her face softening to resemble the caring woman who had comforted Jess on the couch earlier. “I understand that you’re worried, but I’m sure Sam will be fine. He was right to reach out to me; I’ll have this sorted out before long, get Sam home and—“

“Then we all go out for ice cream and strippers. Don’t patronize me, Agent. You know how stubborn Sam is? Who do you think he learned that from?” Dean leaned down, his face barely inches away from Y/N’s, her supportive look turning hard in the face of his defiance.

“This is very simple. Either I will work with you to help my brother, or I will go out and try to find and help him by myself. Your choice.”

JAC Part 2

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