Something by Mello2014
Summary:

"Dont you ever want something more? Maybe with someone who understands...nothing domestic but...something--" [Drabble Collection]

 

**Can be found on my AO3 account soulmuzik


Categories: Primetime Television Characters: Abigail Mills, Jenny Mills
Classification: Cannon, Crossover, Drabbles , Supernatural
Genre: Action-Adventure , Comedy , Drama, Family, Friendship, Romance
Story Status: Completed
Pairings: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 4 Completed: Yes Word count: 4989 Read: 8068 Published: July 13 2017 Updated: July 13 2017
Story Notes:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Originally posted on AO3.

Sleepy Hollow/SPN crossover.

It gets better as you go on. It has already been completed, but because I love yall and know that you'll appreciate this more than other folks might, Ima see how yall like these bad boys. Let me know what you think! And check out my other stuff if youre a fan:)

1. Abbie & Dean, Saturday by Mello2014

2. Jenny & Sam, Reversed by Mello2014

3. Abbie & Dean, Laundromat by Mello2014

4. Jenny & Sam, Phones by Mello2014

Abbie & Dean, Saturday by Mello2014

Dean's head bobbed as that familiar piano riff began, his voice bellowing over the expanse of the too-small apartment, "just take those old records off the shelf! I'll sit and listen to them by myself!" He skated around the hardwood in his socks, the tube socks Abbie absolutely hated but were perfect for hardwood, in a crew neck and basketball shorts. He'd tossed the laundry in the machine downstairs. He'd gotten the dish washer started. The stereo was turned up to a healthy 90. Abbie had been knocked out this morning. It was Saturday and he was going to clean house in peace, his way, with no interruptions and it made him want to do a little happy dance. So he put on some tunes and did just that.

That's how Abbie found him.

It's not like she wanted to.  She'd been very content, in bed, dead to the world: her week, like every one before it, had been hard. Saturdays were pretty much the only days she could spend in bed, in peace. Not since Dean, though.

Most of her former house guests had been the quiet types. Luke was a health freak and went on hour long runs Saturday mornings, giving her ample time to get up when she pleased. Ichabod didn't know what a stereo was, and read his way through daylight on a lazy Saturday, meaning she'd set the tone. Jenny was erratic; maybe she was home, maybe she wasn't? Much like their childhood, except when she was home, someone else was possibly with her. After they met the Winchesters, that was almost always Sam. Then they got serious and she started spending a whole lot of time at his place because Abbie couldn't handle the noise.

Then Dean started coming over. Sometimes to escape the loud, happy sex, and sometimes to help her with a case. And then he started coming over to watch Back-To-The-Future marathons. They'd order Chinese and laugh. Then he was coming over for coffee, because he was out at his place. They'd drink coffee and bitch about how much Jenny and Sam put away. Then he was coming over just to see her, which had been as honest as either of them would get. A will-they-wont-they started that hasn't met its painful end yet. There were not-so-accidental kisses and ‘sorry's' they never actually meant. There were nights, where she was cold and couldn't shake her purgatory memories or missed Crane, and they wouldn't talk about it, but it was like he knew, and he'd be there, and they'd lay there, side by side and it was as chaste as it could get. He'd press one of those light kisses to her forehead and she'd close her eyes, intertwine their fingers, and sleep.

They'd become domestic on accident. They didn't call it, because it was honestly more fun to see what would happen next, and they were both on the same page when they said that they'd deal with it later. Right now, it was easy, like a Saturday morning.

Well, some people's Saturday mornings.

She had heard that damn riff from the bedroom and knew he was up and at ‘em, cleaning the apartment and revving to get on her last nerve. She only woke up with seven on a given day, and Saturdays, they were in short supply. She groaned, obnoxious, even though he didn't hear it over his crooning. She looked for her pants and a pair of socks, ensuring that her bonnet had stayed firmly in place before walking out of the bedroom, down the hall and leaning against the arch of the scene of the crime.

She glared. He smiled. She sighed, "what time is it?"

He had Windex cleaner in one hand and a rag in the other, blinds pulled open as he scrubbed away at the windows, "12:47. Rise and shine, hot pockets!" He was still shimmying away, the song blaring over the speaker. He tapped his foot, sometimes off beat, and as she began to examine him, a smile spread over her face, until she was just about laughing, "I like sleeping in on Saturdays, I was never big on Saturday cartoons."

Confused, like a puppy, which made her giggle some more, he turned to her, "the TV isn't on?"

She nodded, laughing a little harder, "I know."

Realizing, his jaw set and he arched an unimpressed eyebrow, making the muscles in her stomach contract a little more, "I am literally cleaning your house, and you insult me?"

Rolling her eyes, she walked over and snatched the rag, "you volunteered."

He squinted down at her, reminding them that he was bigger no matter what she said, and snatched the rag back, "it's happening. So sit down and watch the show or go back to bed."

She squinted, quelching the smile trying to push its way off of her face, "With your screeching? How?" She walked back through the hallway to the bathroom, as he, offended, yelled after her, "I have a beautiful voice, Abbie Mills. Don't insult me."

"Who am I to tell a kid the tooth fairy aint real?", she says from the bathroom, washing her face, and getting the toothpaste. She hears him laugh, one of those amused without meaning to be laughs, and she smiles. These moments are so...so nice. And they happen so often. Sometimes she thinks that this is the way it was supposed to be. Shit has been so dark between Dean and Abbie's lives that, when they're together, they keep it light. They both need it. She didn't know how much until she met him.

She keeps the bonnet on, walking back into the living room and plopping down on the couch, in front of where he's cleaning the table.

He lifted his eyes up to her, long eye lashes fanning out every time he blinked. Every time he looked at her like that something they couldn't talk about after, happened. The first time he looked at her like that, they'd just finished watching Looper and bitching about how creepy the facial modification on Joseph Gordon-Levitt had been and how weird new action movies had gotten. They'd laughed, reminisced about Stallone, Samuel L. Jackson, and Schwarzenegger, and eaten the greasiest pizza they could find. It was all buddy cop until she turned her head to the left and he was looking at her. Like that. Like he was ready to give her everything.

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, and is really trying to anchor herself to something so she doesn't obey instinct, not at all to give him any ideas. But he's licking his lips and putting the Windex down and shit she said she wouldn't complicate this any more than it had to be so she parted her lips, breathed and then looked at the stereo, "do we have to listen to old fart radio?"

Instinctually, the divot between his brows creased and his devotion to 80s music killed the magic a little bit, "these are classics, baby. Are you serious?"

"Classics? You know where classics belong?", She stands, searching through his iTunes, realizing it's a lost cause, except...

Hey, yeah! I wanna Shoop baby!

She turns and twists, moving her hips to the beat, eyes closed, enjoying herself the way she might of on another Saturday without Dean. When she opens her eyes, she can't help but smile at the exasperation on his face. Partly because it's familiar, and partly because she knows he knows this is a distraction. She dances to him, and he crosses his arms, brow arched, "I'm cleaning."

"Your packed and your stacked, especially in the back", he fights a smile and she spins around him. He mutters a non-serious ‘no you don't' after how does it hang . She smiles at how cranky he's trying his best to be when he continues to clean the rest of the tables. She dances in the middle of the floor because she can; the world isn't ending, Salt-N-Pepper is flowing and she's up anyways.

"You're just gonna stand there and dance and...", his pause is loaded, so she looks at him and wishes she hadn't because those damn eyes are still firmly set. "And change my music?" When he walks up to her, the heats coming off in waves, and she's almost ready to receive it when he pivots and turns to the music. A slow electric strum builds into a drum kick, and then, Dean gets it started, "she was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen!" He's sweeping now, and she's got hands on her hips in defiance because this must be for the misdirect earlier. He's dancing around the broom. She takes the moment to go back to the iTunes, and surf.

She feels that heat again, and his hands slide down the length of her arms, hands dwarfing hers. She turns the music down, and she turns in his arms. There go those eyes, "we were in the middle of something before you started dancing in the middle of the carpet."

"Cleaning?", she asks, innocent as possible, closing some of the gap between them. He presses in as much as she does and then there's no space. He shakes his head, leaning down. She closes the gap.

 

Maybe this is a little better than sleeping in on Saturday. 

End Notes:

Each Drabble is based off of one word/concept, and is born from that. Let me know what you think!

Jenny & Sam, Reversed by Mello2014
Author's Notes:

Jenny & Sam role reversal:

SH: season 3

SPN: season 3

Jenny had no good memories of church.

As a girl, church was all laced socks and white dresses and sore scalps from hair braided too tight. She hated it. Back then, it was one of the many things she and her big sister had in common. Now, it remains a memory. And she like it that way.

As a woman, church was a little more complicated. It couldn't be untrue; she'd seen demons and angels with her own eyes. But faith, and all that? The stuff her mom used to wrestle with, and try to wrestle into them? Faith in God? Why? What had they done for her but complicate everything? If Jenny and God were mutual friends on Facebook, "It's complicated" would be stamped between their names. You wouldn't catch her dead in a church.

Well, unless she was hunting down a demon who'd taken up shop there and kidnapped her partner. And that's close enough, isn't it?

The church is dark, old, abandoned. There's graffiti everywhere. There aren't any seats in the pew rows. All the wood is rotting and the ceiling has collapsed in more than a few areas. The stain glass is most broken, but there are a couple of halos and praying hands and it's all so uncomfortably familiar. She sees him, tied to a chair on the alter like...the kid in the bible, who was going to get sacrificed by his father...what was his name...

"You're thinking of Isaac: different unfortunate set of circumstances", the demon's voice echoed from a chamber off the stage, as she strode in. The girl it was wearing, some hipster with a buzz cut, is wearing all this leather and black and when had demons gotten so angsty? Jenny rolled her shoulders, and pulled both guns from their places at her hip; the last time they did this dance the demon had some friends. That's how Sam was snatched.

"Oh, you can read minds? What am I thinking right now?"

Jenny unclicks the safeties, and the demon splits the girl's face in a smile that looks eerily unnatural. "You really wanna do all that to little old me? Why hurt the messenger, Mills?" She circles Sam, grabbing a hand full of hair and pulling. The step forward is instinctual, but the demon throws a hand up to stop her, "ah, ah. He's just...a talking piece. I really just wanted to talk to you."

Jenny doesn't have time for the games, and has a clear shot, so she raises the gun at eye level, but Sam's suddenly in the way with a knife pressed into his skin. It's drawing blood, and the demon licks it off, "The only reason he's still alive is because the boss likes his girls willing", Jenny glowers at it as it continues, "so the sedative is a precaution. Funny, we're usually going after these Winchesters. But you're the prize today. Ancitif misses you, Mills."

Jenny swallows past a lump in her throat, "so why take him? If you wanted me, anyway?"

"You care. And so does he. And since Abbie isn't here-"

"Don't talk about my sister", Jenny's grip on the guns tightens and Sam's still blocking most of her target space. Her heart thuds against her ribcage like an animal that doesn't belong there. She's caught, between what's been hurting and the possible truth to the demon's words; because she does care, doesn't she? Otherwise she'd get out. But she can't, not without him. She doesn't want to deal with the fact that she can't lose him, too

It grins in that unearthly way again, "I've got a proposition for you. You come with me", it nods, smiling, "you come home, and we don't leave the world Winchester-less. Or you can try to figure out a way to explain all the blood on the alter to the police."

Jenny clenches her jaw, "why now? Hell's winning again. Why do you need me?"

That damn smirk is back and Jenny wishes she could blow it away, "haven't you heard? There's a war coming. And Ancitif only wants the best for the fight. And you're the It Girl. Feels good to be special, don't it? Abbie wasn't the only one called to something. Why do you think we're here? Not just for the theatrics, Mills. You got an unholy calling on you, and you've known that forever, haven't you? Why do you think so many giants are falling? Your sister? Hell, his brother? Space is being made. It's time to get what's owed to you, baby girl. So come home."

For the first time during all this, she catches Sam's eye. They've told each other a lot, not everything, but enough. And his eyes look strong, despite the sedative and the ropes and the too-small chair and the blood coming from the cut on his neck and the crown of his head. His eyes are strong and clear and telling her to resist. To fight.

For a long time, she didn't know how to. She learned how, the hard way in the roughest conditions but Ancitif was a reflection of how easily her resistance can be broken. Fighting, as of late, hadn't gotten her anywhere. Her sister was gone. And they'd been tireless in their fight. It haunted her, and now, in the pit of this forsaken church, something else loomed that may haunt her.

But his eyes were sure. It was as if she could hear his voice, fight, Jenny. It's what we do. It's what we have to do.

Jenny's brow rose slow, "let him go, and I will."

She watched the panic rise in his eyes as she put the guns down, approaching the alter. The closer she gets, the wider that smile gets on the demon. It comes from around Sam and outstretches its hand. Sam's body, still weak from the drugs, pulls against his confines but it's useless. She can feel his eyes boring into her. The space between she in the demon closes fast.

And then she's snatching its hand towards her and stabbing Sam's knife through its abdomen. "Tell Ancitif to kiss my ass."

With a thud, the body hits the floor. It's no longer a threat and Jenny works fast to get Sam out of that chair and the hell out of that church.

 

Jenny may never have any good memories in a church, but she'll count this victory as a not so bad one. 

End Notes:

Thanks! Let me know what you think.

Abbie & Dean, Laundromat by Mello2014
Author's Notes:

SPN, s8

SH, s2

Everybody has taken a trip to purgatory. 

"No, Sammy, I'm not dead; would I be talking to you if I was dead? Jesus", Dean balanced his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, pushing his dirty clothes into the too small washing machine. He's hated washing machines all his life; why were they always so short and so small and costed so much more than drying? Sam was talking at him still, about disappearing and all that. He rolled his eyes, popping the quarters into the machine, "Last time I skipped laundry day, I endured the bitchface for a week. Not into it. Now hang up and eat your damn sandwich. I'll see you later", he took the phone and hit the end button, simultaneously watching his jeans fall out of the machine because he stopped holding them in. He kneeled down, picking them all up, when he noticed that they there were significantly smaller pair compared to the others. Small and blue with really shallow pockets and strangely familiar stains; was that slime?

Confused, he picked his head up, canvasing. He'd picked this place specifically because it was a hole in the wall that he'd passed often and hadn't seen anyone in. Whose jeans were these?

That's when he saw her; standing at a whopping 5'1, dark crinkled hair the only thing he could see above the short row of washing machines. Maybe he was used to giants and exaggerating, but she was freakishly tiny. These had to belong to her. "Miss?" No response. She was turning her pants inside out; how thoughtful. "Miss? Hey, lady?" Still no response. He circled the machines, impatient (as was his disposition), and stood a few feet away, head angled and waiting for her to see him; he's been snuck up on and almost killed people. He'd hate to be that asshole.

She turns around and, Dean's got to say, it was worth the wait. Beautiful aint the beginning of the words he could use to describe her, and it'd be cheap anyway. But there are only a few people that shock you with their faces, in a good way, and she is definitely one of them. Full lips, prettiest skin he's ever seen, and eyes like shiny, brown stars. Her mouth is moving and his brain is not computing; is he staring? Dear god.

"Sir? Hey, you need something?", she plucks her headphones out, head turning in a way he recognizes; she's getting impatient and he's still not talking, "uh, yeah, hi...sorry-here, I think these belong to you", he sticks his arm out, pants in hand, and curses the clumsiness because who is he, Sam?

The wry smile she gives him matches the rest of her in beauty, and she takes the pants, examining. He takes the time to look at her face some more before she smiles up at him and he tries hard to not look caught, "thank you-I have no idea how they got over there, sorry about that."

He smiles, nods, and gulps because his fight or flight reflexes are kicking in and he's usually not this bad at flirting. But it's been a while. He's rusty. Rusted. Broken, maybe? Maybe hanging around Cass and Sam has broken him, "no problem." She smiles up at him, like she can see it and he's sure he can go toe to toe with Sam for how stupid he looks. "Well, enjoy your wash", he says and regrets, turning heel on her amused "thank you". Enjoy your wash?

He went back to his machine, filling it and swearing to himself.

Seriously, what was that?

He tried to ignore it and go back to washing his clothes but both machines were full, so all he could do was wait. The laundromat was right outside of Columbus. He'd been working a case while Sam helped Kevin with some translations. He and Sam had just finished a case in Illinois, but Kevin had called and needed some help. Sam went along and Dean decided to take on another case; no breaks, so no time to think about the drama with Benny, or everything else he was trying to avoid. He was tired. So he was going to do his laundry three states away.

Even though he was bumbling his way around this girl, he had to admit it felt nice to do something normal again. The laundromat is tiny, the linoleum is all but rotted, but he can tell that there are some hardworking people in here, doing their best. Just like him. There are four machines; two near him, and two at the back of his machines. There is a wall of dryers to his right, the door, coin machine, and concession stand to his left, and the prettiest girl he'd seen since purgatory at his ten o'clock. And he was bumbling. He wondered if it was normal, to lose touch like that. Maybe it was.

She looks up, catching his eye, and they widen because did he just get caught for real? Her lips spread into another wry smile, and she holds up a rolled up pair of white tube socks, "pretty sure these aren't mine." He smirks, catching them when she tosses, and unrolls; they are his, "You sure?", he tosses them in the basket beside him, "these definitely look your style."

She grins, "Last time I checked, I'm not a size 20 in shoe size. So, nope.".

He smirks, "touché. Where do you shop, the kids section?"

She nods, smiling at him and he feels like he's won a prize, "nice."

"Hey you started it", they grin, good naturedly. She leans against the opposing wall, and her eyes float up to him. They hold gazes for a while, faces breaking into smirks. "What's your name?"

"Dean."

"Abbie"

"Well, Abbie", he leans over his machine, outstretching his hand, "I'll take back the little-guy jab if you take back the giant thing."

She smirks, shaking his hand, "you're right; I have seen bigger."

"You talk to all your friends like that?" It rolls off the way water does from a ducks back, the comfortability; he just met this girl and she's the first person to get him to laugh in a long time. You don't laugh where he's been. This is nice, and he hopes it doesn't end.

That wry, flirtatious smile is back and he wants it to stay, "Oh, we're friends?"

Those smirks turn into grins.

"Can we be?" The words are strangely vulnerable. They've been talking for all of five minutes and he's ready to trade numbers and braid her hair? He needs to get a grip. But her earnest eyes keep his mind on track. Her honesty keeps him present.

"Only if you promise not to steal anymore of my jeans", her grin is just as easy as his when he says, "scout's honor; they'd make my ass look big anyway." She holds her stomach at that one. He folds his arms and lets them lean on the top of the machine, "seriously. I wouldn't be able to fend em off."

She brings her fingers up to the edges of her machines, "I don't know, you are a giant. You telling me you can't run?"

He snorts, "Not in your jeans".

She's laughing still and he joins her, "I'd have to agree. Though, I would love to see that."

His brows arch, humor thick in his voice, "that's kinda kinky, Abbie."

She pauses, and then laughs again. Why was this so easy? When was the last time that he had this kind of conversation with a person, a random person? Since he left purgatory, a fear had begun to creep up in him that he'd not only carried Benny, but that kill-or-be-killed world mentality out with him. It picked away at him, made him fear for his humanity. But Abbie was here, random and new and reminding him that he was still very human (and needed some practice).

Their machines began to ding; they both returned to them, tossing wet clothes into carriers and carting them over to the two dryers on the wall. Her's were up top. His was low. This was hilarious. "Wanna switch?"

Her brow arched in challenge, "I think I can manage just fine. Unless you're looking out for those knees; I'll be happy to help."

He wore the shock, dramatically (that he'd learned from Sam), "you calling me old? Giant, old, big foot, what else you got?" They worked in unison, sorting through their respective carriers.

"Hey, not all of it was bad; I've called you cute at least once." She is stretching, standing on her toes and it is adorable.

"You think I'm cute?"

 

She was about to respond, but they both stop short, his hand going to the back of his pants and her hand going to her left hip because, "why do you have a gun?"

Jenny & Sam, Phones by Mello2014
Author's Notes:

AU, sex is suggested. 

They rolled away from each other, completely spent. Chests heaved and lungs worked over time to breath around the humid air they'd created. They were sure that later, when duty called and the world was caught up in something supernatural that required clothes, they'd regret three hours. They smiled anyway. Sam was glad Jenny had the cabin, because Dean would have never left him alone about this. Jenny's glad that Abbie Mills is good at taking hints. For two months they'd been seeing each other, and for a little over three weeks they'd been having crazy, awesome, mind-blowing sex. So, when nature called, they usually turned off their phones because nothing kills a mood more than a whiny older sibling.

They must have forgotten this time.

As if it were planned, both of their phones began buzzing and ringing. Sam sighed, Jenny groaned. Neither moved. When Jenny began to stir, Sam rolled over to her, locking his arm around her clad waist, "let it go to voicemail", he placed a breathy kiss to her hip. She grinned down at him, turning into his embrace, phone forgotten.

And then they were ringing again.

The general rule between them was that two calls equated urgency. So, Sam couldn't ignore it, because though Dean was thrilled about the couple, it's unlikely that he'd excuse Sam ignoring his impending death because his girlfriend's naked.

Sam wasn't very sentimental with music, but Dean's ringtone was distinguished. Jenny, however, tagged New Editions "Candy Girl" to Abbie's number. She'd told him before that it was an inside joke between the sisters. He was still waiting on the rest of the story. Very naked and not really caring, the two searched for their cell phones. He found his behind the dresser, she found hers in her jeans under the bed.

"Dean?"

"Hey Abbie."

They were up and moving now, anticipating that their siblings needed them. They each collected their clothes, Sam putting his boxers on. Jenny remained naked, and he smiled in appreciation.

Sam heard crunching in the background, trying to assess the situation, "is everything okay?"

Dean's voice came back muffled, "are you okay? I literally haven't heard from you in like two days", Sam identified the crunching following his brothers lazy tone; potato chips.

No distress. No impending death. No emergency. "Seriously, Dean?" Sam flopped down on the bed, jolting Jenny, who sat opposite him. His face was completely stale, and so was hers.

"Jenny", Abbie said in that mother hen tone she took on whenever she believed Jenny wouldn't listen otherwise, "you've been M.I.A for two days. Are you seriously still with Sam?"

Jenny pursed her lips, pushing her clothes back off the bed, picking a pillow up off of the floor, and placing it under her head as she laid back in her previous position, "is that seriously why you called twice?"

"I was worried", came an in sync response from their respective siblings. Sam lied beside her, shaking his head and pulling the sheets over the both of them.

"I told you, unless you absolutely needed me, I was off duty", Jenny sighed.

Sam kissed her shoulder, his phone hardly pressed to his ear as Dean droned, "...did you even think to, I don't know, let me know that you weren't getting killed somewhere? We do not have the best track record with this stuff Sam; you're giving me trust issues."

Abbie was exasperated. "Well you could have called me, or texted, something!" Jenny was done, and Sam was distracting her. She swatted him away when his kisses continued from her shoulder, down. She tried to hide the smile in her voice. "I'll communicate better next time".

Abbie paused, "Sam's there isn't he?"

Jenny grabbed his hair when he reached her hip. He bit her. "Ow!" she laughed. She could see Abbie's face now, and started laughing. "Ew, Jenny. Okay, I just wanted to check in-"

"Tell Abbie I said hi", Sam grinned against her hip, kissing her again, now making a trail across her abdomen. Jenny was still smiling, her hand entangled in Sam's hair when Abbie's line went dead. She laughed, because Sam was tickling her and Abbie sent a text;

"Just text me next time." She dropped the phone, because her hands had far better things to do.

"Sam?" Dean's voice threw him all the way off, "I'm still here".

Sam paused, holding in his audible sigh. Jenny was not as quiet with her displeasure, perfect eyebrows commanding Sam's attention and continuance.

"And I'm very proud of you. Tell Jenny I said hello". Sam shook his head at his brother, "uh huh, can I call you back? I'm sort a in the middle of something."

"So much pride, Sam." Click.

Sam threw the phone across the room, and Jenny grinned at him again, "You forgot to turn it off again", she said, squeezed his shoulders as he came to a looming position above her, hair fanning around his face.

He brought a hand up to smooth her hair away from her eyes, "I put it on silent."

 

She smiled, turning them over, "good enough for me."

End Notes:

Thanks!

This story archived at http://https://www.valentchamber.com/viewstory.php?sid=3627