summary: sam's working, you're comfortable. so what if dean takes a little nap on you ?
pairing: dean x reader (gn) ft. sam | genre: fluff !! | word count: 2.2k
warnings: cute sleepy dean and a ton of cat comparisons, some lore-accurate sam research-isms :]
notes: okay so i wrote this one MONTHS ago but i never posted it because i hated it lowkey </3 but i got a second opinion and i wanted to post a lil somethin for you while i'm writing exams, so here you go :]
taglist
It’s cold enough in the Impala that you can almost see your breath. Your fingers have been freezing for the last twenty minutes, even with your gloves on. You’ve tucked your feet up under you in the backseat of the car, but it’s not doing enough to fix the chill that’s living in your shoes. You don’t even have to touch your face to know that your cheeks and nose are freezing, probably already going a little numb from the cold.
Dean, on the other hand, looks perfectly fine. His cheeks are flushed a light pink, but other than that, he looks like the cold can’t touch him in the slightest. It’s infuriating, actually, but it’s to be expected. Dean ‘I run hot’ Winchester was not lying. His leather jacket is wrapped around your shoulders, leaving him in just a flannel and t-shirt, and he’s even got the sleeves on the flannel rolled half-way up his forearms.
He catches you glaring at him in the rearview mirror, sending you an exaggerated wink that has you rolling your eyes.
“What?” he drawls, twisting around in his seat to look at you.
“Can’t believe you’re not cold,” you mutter under your breath.
He smirks. “I already told you, sweetheart, I run-.”
“You run hot, yeah. I know,” you finish for him.
Dean’s hand comes over the seat, squeezing your thigh gently.
“Hey, we’ll be fine. Sam’ll be comin’ back soon.”
You raise an eyebrow. “And you know this how, exactly?”
He winces, knowing you caught his bluff.
“Wish we could’ve gone in all three of us, ‘s all,” you add, turning your attention back to your book.
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too. Can’t let lore boy have all the fun, can we?”
That wrangles a tiny smile out of you, and Dean grins like he’s just won the lottery. You avert your eyes back to reading the cramped lines of text and scrawled notes in the margins of John’s hunting journal. Sam’s a lucky bastard, you think as you read. The library seems to be the only warm place open in the whole town today, meaning every single person was in it. They’d only had capacity for one more, so the three of you mutually agreed that Sam would be the most efficient.
You’re regretting it now, the icy air biting at your exposed skin. You tuck Dean’s jacket tighter around you and shiver, goosebumps crawling up your arm. You start rubbing your hand up and down on your arm, and if you concentrate hard enough, you can almost convince yourself it’s working. Apparently, the rustle of fabric is frustrating Dean, because he opens his car door and steps out.
“Where are you going?” you shout after him, the door slamming shut before he turns and opens yours.
“Here,” he says cheekily.
“Close the door, Dean. ‘S freezing.”
He shuts the door with a little too much force, shaking his hand to get the tingles out of it. Dean slides down the bench until he’s mostly pressed against your side, head snaking over your shoulder to peek at your journal.
“Whatcha readin’ ‘bout?” he says in a sing-song voice.
You shoot him a glare, and he grins. “Your dad’s journal.”
“Yeah, I know that. I asked what you’re readin' about.”
You make a non-committal motion with your hand. “Dunno. Anything I can find that makes any damn sense?”
Dean hums, sliding closer. “Whatcha lookin’ at right now?”
You sigh, flipping a page back and pointing to a crudely drawn picture of a wraith. “That. Think it might be one of these.”
He frowns, taking the journal from you and examining it. You squawk indigently, but his eyes have focused on the page you were reading. His tongue pokes between his teeth just a little, and you can’t help but think it’s cute. Kind of like the tongues on cats when they finish drinking water or when you scratch them in that perfect spot behind the ears.
“So, what’s the verdict? Wraith?” you ask.
“What?”
“Wraith. Yes or no?”
“Yeah, probably.”
You raise an eyebrow again, thoroughly unimpressed. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t really care?”
Dean shrugs, kissing your forehead before sliding away from you and laying down on the seat, sprawling himself across the bench.
“Sammy’s searchin’. We don’t gotta do anythin’," he says, exaggerated as he stretches.
You tuck up into the corner, back jammed between the seat and the door. It’s not perfectly comfortable, and the metal is cold on your back, but you know Dean isn’t set on leaving you here. Not when he’s got that childish twinkle in his eyes that says he’s either about to do something extremely stupid, or extremely endearing.
“Dean,” you warn. “We’re working.”
“I know.” He rolls dramatically onto his back, staring at the roof of the car and stretching his arms up to touch it. “I don’t really care.”
You shrug your shoulders helplessly. “Why not?”
He twists his head around, craning his neck uncomfortably to stare at you. “’Cause I don’t want to.”
You swat at his head, and he ducks away from your attacks.
“Be nice to me," he whines.
“I am nice to you. You’re distracting me,” you complain.
He seems to realize that he has been and sits up properly on the opposite end of the bench as you. He hands the journal back to you, watching you get comfy in the space he’s vacated. Dean’s basically radiating warmth, and given that he’s so close to you, you’re already starting to warm up yourself. The beginnings of a smile work their way across Dean’s face, and you note the way it softens as it grows. Maybe his goal was just to warm you up after all.
You stretch your legs out on the bench, poking Dean with your shoe covered feet and pushing him even further into the corner. It’s a mostly unconscious maneuver, but now that you’re aware you’re doing it, it’s a little bit fun.
“Aw, c’mon, why’re you doin’ that?” Dean whines, swatting your feet away for the hundredth time.
“You were bugging me. I’m bugging you.”
He scowls, launching himself forward onto you not unlike the cat you’ve compared him to before. The air gets punched out of your lungs, and you laugh weakly as he shimmies himself around.
“What’s this about?” you tease, kissing the tip of his nose.
“You’re bein’ annoying,” he grumbles.
You run a hand through his hair, and he melts into you like butter in a hot pan. Completely boneless, like gravity decided to pull him against you and lay him out like a shag carpet.
“Am I?” you say softly, lowering your voice for his sake.
You’re calling his bluff before he even has a chance to push it too far. He gets like this when he’s tired; a little bit more annoying, a little bit whinier, a hell of a lot clingier. If he doesn’t have anyone to tell him off (Sam), he’ll drape himself over you wherever you are. Coincidentally, a lot like the cats he’s unfortunately allergic to.
“Mhm.”
He’s already drifting a little, his warmth soaking into you. You shuffle down the seat so you’re lying flat on your back. Dean has to fold a little bit to fit, those stupid long legs of his half-hanging off the seat, but he’s comfortable enough. You take off his leather jacket, balling it up and putting it under your head like a pillow.
“When’s Sam coming back?” you murmur.
Dean shrugs, grumbling something about how he could be years, I dunno. You chuckle, hoping Sam comes back in time to see his brother completely soft and pliable under your touch. Dean’s pride would never recover, but it would be funny.
You prop the journal up on Dean’s back, adjusting constantly to make sure his deepening breathing doesn’t disrupt your research. The minutes bleed together as you read, and you barely notice the snow starting to come down on the town outside the frosted car windows. With Dean laying on you, you barely even notice the chill.
Eventually, as the afternoon starts to bleed away into evening, the words on the pages you’re reading aren’t sticking in your brain anymore. They’re blurring together in new ways, merging so badly you could make your own language out of them. You close the journal, marking your page, and set it on the ground.
Hands freed, you rest them in Dean’s hair. You start moving them in slow circles, brushing through the dusty brown strands of his hair and gently massaging his scalp. He hums, the sound like rough gravel, melting infinitely deeper into your embrace. It’s almost pathetic if it weren’t so damn adorable; his big bad hunter façade completely leaves his body when you lay your hands on him.
In another life, you’re cozied up on your couch, in your very safe house, very unaware of the supernatural things outside your door. You’ve got Dean with you, but instead of lying chest down across your body, he’s curled up beside you. Maybe you’ve convinced him a cat is required, despite his frequent complaints, and maybe that cat is curled up in your lap right now. Your hand rubbing it on the head between the ears, its little paws tucked around you, purring softly.
That sounds too real. Something’s not right about this picture. You freeze, half-awake, distinguishing your daydreams from reality. No cat, no house. Dean’s here, and so is the purring.
When it finally clicks, your mouth opens slightly, an amused ‘o’ on your lips. The sound is coming from Dean. He’s sort of snoring; not a proper one, but not something you can confidently say is just an inhale. It’s kind of soft, actually, the way he’s letting himself dissolve into the warmth of the car. It melts something in your soul to know that he trusts you enough to let his guard down, even when he’s working a hunt. At this point, he’s too far gone to even care who comes in and sees him.
Which is great, because Sam’s back. He slides into the passenger seat, freezing for a second and looking around when he doesn’t see you or Dean. Craning his neck and twisting his upper body, his gaze lands on you in the backseat, Dean spread out across you.
“Aren’t you two cozy,” he deadpans.
“I’m being suffocated,” you tease.
“I’m sure. He doesn’t have a good concept of personal space.”
“I heard that,” Dean grumbles.
Sam stifles a laugh in the sleeve of his jacket. “You wanna head back to the motel then?”
Dean mutters something about how he’s getting up soon, but when he doesn’t move a muscle, you answer for him.
“Yeah, Sam. Might as well. ‘S warmer in there anyways.”
Sam hums in agreement. “Thought so.”
He slides into the driver’s seat before turning to you once again. “You find anything?”
You nod, pointing to the general location of John’s journal on the floor of the car. “I have some ideas. You?”
He nods excitedly. “So, get this. Turns out we are dealing with a wraith.”
You smile to yourself, having already made that conclusion, and gesture for him to continue.
“Apparently, one of the hospital patients said she remembers seeing a specific doctor come in to see her earlier in the week. Then, three days later, she says the same exact doctor came to see her again, acting like it was the first time. After that? Chance brush of a hand when she drops something, creepy face in the mirror, then everything goes all Girl, Interrupted.”
“Nice work, Sam,” you say, at the exact same time Dean says, “You talk too much.”
Sam and you exchange a look, bursting into laughter that makes Dean groan. You apologize with a light kiss to Dean’s lips, and he settled down again as Sam pulls the car out of the lot and back toward the motel. Dean’s knocked out by the time you get there, the steady hum of the road under the Impala’s tires making a perfect white noise for him. He’s not happy about being woken when you pull into the parking lot, making a show of groaning and complaining as he stretches.
“What, did we ruin your catnap?” you tease as you pull him out of the car.
“I was not havin' a catnap,” he complains.
“You absolutely were,” you reply.
“Was not.”
“Were too.”
“Was not.”
“Dude, you totally were. You were snoring when I came back in,” Sam chimes in after unlocking the door.
“I don’t snore, Sammy. Don’t spread lies about me.”
“Yes, you do. You talk in your sleep sometimes, too,” you finish defiantly.
You and Dean follow Sam into the motel room, arguing the whole way to bed about whether or not he snores, and whether the things he talks about in his sleep are “sexy and awesome”. You and Dean collapse on one bed, Sam takes the other, and when everyone’s settled again, it doesn’t take long to fall asleep. The motel room isn’t cold, and you have the deep breathing of both brothers to listen to and help lull you to sleep.
you ever think about lokius and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them and miss them or is it just me
2087
baratheonpilled
blakekathryn
izzy806
germansingergirl
