Summary: Sam and Dean show up at your door, claiming to be contractors that arrive late to look at the space you're wanting to remodel in your newly-bought house—the basement. The old house was unexpectedly cheap, and you had some money left over to pay for renovations. Not to mention, you despised going down to that basement alone. But are these strangers who they say they are? And why does the one in the leather jacket keep staring at you? Will they ultimately do something more than you bargained for?

Dean x Reader, Winchester awesomeness.

Y/N: Your name

Author's Note: My first Supernatural fic! Please review if you can! I just started on this and would love any feedback or ideas! Warning: My updates most likely won't be regular. My schedule is really hectic so bear with me and let's see where this thing goes!

"The Man with No Eyes"

Chapter 1

You sigh at the floorboards beneath you, knowing that you still have a lot of work to do. The movement makes your hair fall out of your carefully-constructed messy bun. You curse inwardly. No matter how many times you try, you just can't get your hair to look like the girls' on Pinterest.

With another great sigh, you bend your knees and with great effort, try to lift your gargantuan industrial clock that you just found for a steal at a local garage sale. You've always envisioned it being the centerpiece of the room, mounted on the fireplace brick. You hastily put the clock back down before you hurt yourself, or worse—drop the clock and break it. You'd had it for less than 24 hours and what some would call a decorative monstrosity was already your favorite thing in the house.

You'd been searching for an old fixer-upper and after months and months of searching, there this beautiful old thing sat on your computer screen. The bank had just made it available for sale, and astoundingly it was under budget. Like, really under budget. You figured it was because the house must have needed a lot of TLC inside. You weren't exactly wrong, but it wasn't as bad as you'd expected. You brushed it off. This was your dream house, why look too far into it?

You decide to save the clock-mounting for when you had another brave, yet unfounded moment of strength. This was something that those contractors you called over a week ago could be doing—should be doing. With the money you saved on buying the place, you had some left over to hire people to do the hard stuff like mixing drywall and all that mess. These guys came highly recommended on Craigslist, but they hadn't shown up when they said they would and had yet to return any of your irritated, yet eerily calm calls. You hated confrontation. Of course, now that you think about it, they were off of Craigslist… you kind of set the trap up for yourself on that one.

You plop down on your new couch and look around the room, assessing what was left to do. The curtains needed to be hung since the paint was finally dry. You needed to hook up the TV with all of your devices, the majority of your pictures needed to be hung and you still think you want to switch the furniture around a bit - now that you've gotten used to it, you don't like that chair there. In addition to all of that, you hadn't even started unpacking the dining room yet. Oh, and you can't forget to hang that damn clock.

You're startled out of your mental to-do list by a sudden knock at the door. You blanch. You weren't expecting company! You're in some sweatpants that make your butt look big and a probably too-tight ACDC shirt, now that you think about it. You probably needed to get another one, but it'd become your favorite and no one was supposed to be coming over today anyway! Hastily, you check your disheveled reflection in your new mirror by the door and decide that it's not getting any better than that. You peep through the peep hole and spy two indistinct male forms. You feel nervous answering the door by yourself, but you do anyway after another insistent knock from one of them. You take a deep breath and barely squeak it open, just enough to poke your face through. The chain lock above your head is still secure.

You're greeted by the sight of two surprisingly-attractive guys that calmly smile at you. You suddenly wish that you were wearing something more flattering—or that maybe you'd showered. Yeah, showers are good thing to have around hot guys.

"Hi."

"Hey."

They take turns with their informal greetings and flash attractive half-smiles at you. Ugh, their voices were to die for too. Great. You would be looking like a disheveled college student who just rolled out of bed when potential soul mates knock on your door. This would happen to you. Trying hard not to sound like a flustered idiot, you finally find words.

"Uh, hey," you greet back, unsure. You look back and forth between them. God, they got hotter by the second. "Do I know you guys?" You're pretty damn sure you wouldn't have forgotten these two.

"Uh, no ma'am, you don't," the taller one answers, and you inwardly feel relief. "I'm Sam, and this is Dean." He motions to the guy beside him, who's eyes are making your palms sweat.

"Hi, I'm Y/N," you respond automatically with a smile. The inner safety freak inside of you reprimands your actions. Why did you just tell two complete strangers standing at your doorway who you were? You push the fear down when you note how… not-aggressive they seem.

There's a short silence, then Sam speaks up again. "It's nice to meet you, Y/N." His eyes flash to Dean and back to you. "We're here for, uh…"

"To, uh…" Dean tries to help him out. You narrow your eyes. You bet you know who these guys are.

"Are you the contractors that I called forever ago?" you ask, the irritation evident in your voice. The two exchange quick glances and suddenly start nodding.

"Yes, ma'am, yes we are," Dean states, and for whatever reason you have trouble maintaining eye contact with him. You put your hand over your eyes as a visor, pretending it's the sunlight glare that's giving you the trouble.

"Just one second," you laugh quickly and shut the door. You unslide the chain lock and open the door all the way, stepping out to the edge of the door frame.
You try to ignore the hot blood you feel rushing to your face. Now you're strictly business. In your sweats. You cross your arms over your chest.

"Well, it would've been nice to have a call first, I've gotta say," you glare lightly at them. "What took so long?"

Sam looks at Dean, expecting him to answer, but he's silent. For a second you think Dean is staring at your boobs and you get really offended, but then he looks up to you with a heart-thumping grin.

"ACDC, huh?" He points at the insignia on your chest. You look down at your shirt, surprised and embarrassed by the direction your thoughts had taken.

"Oh, uh, yeah," you smile lightly, taken off guard, amused. "I love 80s Rock. Grew up with it."

His facial expression morphs to some pleased, somewhat impressed look, and the satisfaction you feel makes the blood rush to your face even faster. You avoid his gaze and look back to Sam.

You clear your throat, a little awkwardly. "So, what are you guys doing here? I guess you assume that you still have my business after not returning my calls. Are you really that busy?"

Sam swallows uncomfortably. He looks to Dean for assistance again but Dean is silent, hands in pockets, just looking at you with the faintest, almost undetectable smirk on his face. You quickly look away from Dean again and focus on Sam. Sam doesn't make you as nervous.

"We, uh, apologize for that," Sam concedes, still trying not-so-subtly to catch Dean's eye. He sighs, realizing he was on his own. "We had a bit of, uh, a meltdown with our servers back at the office and a lot of our information was just gone, on customers, everything."

You looked down to his pocket then back up again pointedly. "I guess this server crash magically spread to your phones, too?" Your gall surprises you, you're normally not confrontational. But the frustration of trying to do a reno alone for over a week now seeps into your tone.

Sam is ready this time. "We were so distracted with it, Y/N, we apologize. We had to, uh, be at the office while it got fixed and, I mean, you know how those things go. But we're here now. Right, Dean?"

Dean doesn't even look at him, he's still watching you. He grunts in agreement. Sam looks a little irritated.

"Well, were you guys planning on doing work today, or…?"

Dean finally speaks. "Well, first we've got to scout it out, see what you want done. Just… take a look around." He peers over your shoulder into the house. You look over your shoulder too, then back at him, a little confused. You sigh, uncrossing your arms and resting your hands on your hips instead.

"Fine," you concede. "Free consultation, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean smirks. "We'll check out whatever you want."

You crease your brows at him and suddenly your cheeks feel very red as his words unfurl in your head. You quickly turn and step back, opening the door wide for them. They both step in, their demeanor becoming somehow more serious, or would you call it cautious?

They exchange a look you don't understand and Sam suddenly asks you, "Ma'am, what space were you interested in remodeling?"

Their demeanors take you a little off guard. "Uh, the basement," you answer, your brows pulling together. "Do you want me to show you?"

"Lead the way," Dean grins at you, and you turn away quickly to show them. You can almost feel his eyes. It isn't an unpleasant feeling but it makes you inexplicably nervous.

You three walk through the living room that was almost complete, through the nonexistent dining room, then to the kitchen where your dad's old tool belt rested on the counter. You'd managed to remove most of the counter top and a few of the old yellow back-splash tiles but nothing more.

"Have you been doing most of the demo yourself?" Dean asks from behind you. You don't turn around.

"Unfortunately. I didn't hear from you guys so I just got started."

They're uncomfortably silent. You turn a corner into a small hallway, and there's the door with the large knob. You noticed the big lock on it when you moved in. It struck you as strange, considering none of the other doors in the house had it. You supposed maybe the original family kept some valuables down there? You tried not to let your imagination run away with you, considering that you had to sleep in this house.

You turn the knob and slowly pull the door open. The stale stench of mildew prickles at your nose. You reach into the dark and flick on the solemn bulb hanging over the old wooden stairs. The bottom of the staircase was dark. Whoever put the light switch for the rest of the space at the bottom was an idiot. You'd only gone down with the realtor. For some reason the thought of venturing into the dark bottom on your own made you uneasy and you generally avoided this part of the house. You turn to the contractors.

"There ya go," you smile innocently. You stuff your hands in your sweatpants pockets to dry them. The basement made your insides go cold.

"Thanks," Sam nods, going around you and down the stairs one by one. Dean follows, brushing past you. You catch a whiff of the leather and a bit of… what was that, cologne?… as he went past. The scent makes your stomach turn in knots. You try to ignore it.

They reached the bottom of the squeaking staircase and Dean suddenly pulls a flashlight from his jacket pocket. They search until they find the light switch. You stay upstairs and watch them. Although the lights were on, the basement was still dark. Very dark. You didn't like it. Maybe you'd ask them to add a few windows.

They walk around your unfinished basement, almost as if they're searching for something instead of just observing. Dean coughs as dust rises from the old bookshelf he had been fingering through. You cross your arms again, but this time because you're cold.

"Can I help you guys find something?" you ask. Maybe they were looking for old water lines or something. Not that you could help. You never came down here. But hopefully when they get this place fixed up you'll want to.

"Uh, Y/N, let me ask you a question," Sam called from the opposite side of the basement. His back was to you. Dean turned to look at him. "Do you ever really come down here?"

You laugh uneasily. "No, I don't, not really. It's a little… uncomfortable. I'm hoping after you guys do some work it'll be more…" You search for words "…cheery."

Sam suddenly turns, gives Dean another look that you really don't understand, and then they both turn to you with smiles plastered on their faces. It was disarming.

"Well, Y/N, I think we've seen all that we've needed to see down here," Dean tells you. "I'm, uh, gonna need to see the rest of the house." He quickly answers your questioning look. "I need to look at some, um, electrical connections, stuff like that. For wiring."

"Sure," you answer, and for whatever reason the thought of Dean wandering around your unfinished house makes you uncomfortable. Your work so far is less than impressive.

"I'm gonna look around, Sammy. You stay down here and, uh, make sure I didn't miss anything."

Sam nods at Dean and flashes you a nervous smile. Dean walks up the staircase towards you, and suddenly your heart is pounding again. Damn. This is no way to feel around someone you're going to possibly employ. You are the definition of professional, after all. You pride yourself on it. He's standing in front of you, and you suddenly notice that cologne-like smell isn't cologne at all. It's too subtle. It's just him. It makes your spine tingle and your stomach do somersaults.

"I'm just gonna take a look around," he tells you again, and his rough voice is low. His eyes are on you and you can't bring yourself to look away this time. You're suddenly aware that your breathing is sporadic and you're begging sweet God above that he doesn't notice. You open your mouth to answer but it's caught it your throat. You hastily shut it and settle for a swift nod, again hiding your sweaty hands in your pockets. His lips lift in that half-smirk again and you swallow hard. He's even more perfect up close. Perfectly chiseled jaw, the faintest hint of a stubble, full lips, bright green eyes that could see right into you. You find yourself wondering why he's a contractor and not off modeling somewhere. Damn. Your face feels really hot again, this time it spreads down your neck and behind your ears. Suddenly your sweats seem too hot and you want to change.

Dean looks pointedly past you and then to you again, his eyebrows raised, and with painful embarrassment, you realize that you're in his way. Shit.

"S-Sorry," you stutter, finally able to look away from his face. You step aside.

He looks at the floor, smiling to himself, then back up to you. He maintains eye contact as he squeezes past you into the kitchen. His scent graces your nose once again and you suddenly feel light-headed. Dean watches you for a moment more with those smoldering green eyes, then smirks and turns to look around the rest of your home. You watch his figure disappear up your stairs.

Holy shit. You're suddenly thanking Craigslist with every fiber of your being. The air feels so much easier to breathe now that Dean has left the room. Your heart continues to pound but your furious blush begins to subside. You replay his face over and over again in your head. You remember the stare he was giving you at the front door.

You'd never really had a lot of guy experience, just a little here and there. Serial dating wasn't your thing, unlike some of your friends, so you didn't have many prior experiences to pair this up with. You did know one thing, however: a simple look from Dean alone made you feel like your heart was about to pop out of your chest and run away. Desire pools deep inside of you as you imagine him closer. Maybe ripping apart your basement, shirtless. You could bring him down water, an excuse to watch him work, even if for just a moment. You swallow loudly, leaning back against the kitchen wall for support.

You grin to yourself. You must have done something really great in a past life to have these two in your house right now. What could go wrong?