Killing Floor

Killing Floor - chapter 2

Author's notes: Leave a comment when you finish the chapter; I'm dying to know what you think!

Killing Floor Chapter 2

"Dammit, Y/N! Can you at least tell me what kind of clothes I need to bring?"

You were thoroughly entertained at the attempts Dean was making to guess what you had planned. So far the questions had been: So you're sure this isn't a date? Is Sam coming? Is Cas coming? So it's not a date or a hunt? Are you sure I shouldn't bring a few weapons, just in case? What do you mean, I can't bring my Bob Seger shirt? Is this some sort of trap? Do Sam and Cas know what this is about? Wait, I need to pack for multiple days? How much money should I bring? Where the hell are you taking me, Y/N? How am I supposed to pack if you won't tell me anything? And he hadn't gotten a single inch with you. This is what he knew: Pack enough clothes for four or five days, dress warmly, bring some cash and a camera. No, Dean, a real camera, not just your phone.

"Bring layers. It'll be cold," you replied. "No need for anything dressy. Dress comfortably."

"Great, you're taking me to the freakin' artic to murder me," he ran his hands over his face stressfully. "Any other day I'd be thankful you can kick my ass."

You burst out laughing. You swore seeing him like this was better than waiting to see his reaction when you'd finally get there. "Just finish packing. I'll be back soon." Dean had spent the past forty minutes haphazardly tossing articles of clothing into his bag and trying to figure out the surprise, so you didn't have much time to prepare yourself.

"Is there going to be a shower? With tiny shampoo bottles?" he asked as you started leaving. You knew the question was two-fold. He genuinely wanted to know what the living conditions would be, but he was also trying to get more information out of you.

"I'll take care of the bathroom stuff." You smiled and tilted your head curtly.

"So I don't need to bring my loofah?"

"You use a loofah?"

"Shut up."

--- TWENTY MINUTES LATER ---

You had changed into fleece leggings and a long sweater, plus a coat and boots. In your bag you packed four more outfits, extra shoes, toiletries, and cash. Cas said he could adjust the age of the money when he sends you back. Now if only there was something he could do about your out of place fashion. Oh well, if the 60s were as wild and free as the rumors say, maybe everyone would be too stoned to notice.

You passed Sam on your way to Dean's room and piped up, "Hey Sam, I feel bad that we aren't going to be there for the salt and burn."

"Oh, it's not even a three person job," he dismissed as he sent a text. "Cas and I have it covered. You guys have fun."

The way he said the last sentence sounded different than the rest. It was slightly unsettling. "Sam?" He looked up from his phone. "Why are you suddenly so supportive of spontaneous time travel?"

"I'm not, it's just," he struggled to argue, "this seems like something you and Dean will really enjoy. Together." He looked back down so he wouldn't have to look at your reaction to the last word.

"Dean doesn't think of me that way."

He huffed out of his nose and smiled. "Ok, but when are you going to tell him?" He ventured to look at you again. "This trip would be the perfect chance."

"That's never going to happen," you replied softly. For every time Dean internalized his feelings, you had two. For every step you took to be more open with your emotions, you took two steps back. You had gotten so good at it, you had shoved all tickly feelings for him into a dark corner and all but forgotten about them... at least, until Sam brought them up. You hadn't even entertained the thought of this being anything besides a trip between friends. "Believe it or not, I have zero ulterior motives here."