|"i only sleep with my guns when you're gone"
||[Jun. 30th, 2008|09:55 pm]
Title: i only sleep with my guns when you're gone|
Rating: PG (Language)
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
Summary: A curse brings back someone Dean hasn't seen in years.
Notes: Written for estei's birthday.
Dean had developed an almost Pavlovian response to Sam uttering such an otherwise benign phrase. His heart doubled in speed, his hand went to the gun at his spine and he spun to face wherever he’d last spotted Sam through the undergrowth.
Sam was standing stock-still, hands held out away from his sides and fingers splayed. “Something squeaked,” Sam added, non-to helpfully.
“Something squeaked?” Dean prodded, hand leaving his gun and moving up to his head instead. There’d been no sign of the “werewolf” they were supposed to be tracking and Dean was just about to call it a night when Sam, as if the notion of a trouble-free hunt were beyond him, had seemed to find some excitement.
“What I thought was a rock under my foot. It squeaked,” Sam elaborated, looking up and over his shoulder at Dean with his eyebrows raised. “That’s bad, right?”
“Geez, Sam,” Dean huffed as he carefully made his way over. “Don’t you ever watch where you’re going?”
“I was,” Sam insisted, sounding peeved.
“You don’t get to be pissed off right now,” Dean snapped, trying to hide his worry under layers of annoyance. They’d seen the remnants of what looked like sprite activity in the woods and while Sam with his giant stompers could have merely stepped on a field mouse, knowing how their luck ran, it was unlikely. “What are the chances?” Dean asked, frowning.
“That I’ve accidentally killed a sprite and gotten cursed as a result?” Sam prompted, throwing up his hands. “Pretty fucking likely at this juncture.”
Sam was right, Dean thought with an inward sigh. They’d had a run of misfortune lately that had just been adding insult to injury right and left and now this. “Might just be a Brownie?” Dean hazarded, knowing that it was too much to hope for. All that you got when you stepped on a Brownie was squished Brownie. He watched as Sam gingerly lifted his boot to look at the underneath and then grimace.
The problem with sprite curses was that they were so goddamn unspecific. If you knew you were going to grow a tail or start singing show tunes then you could somewhat prepare. There was only one thing you knew when you killed a sprite.
You were in for one uncomfortable hell of a time.
The curse didn’t rear its ugly head for five days.
Just enough time for them to think that maybe they were out of the woods.
Dean shook Sam awake and when the blankets were tossed back, he saw something he hadn’t seen in years.
Fifteen years old.
“What?” Sam complained, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Is Dad back?”
“No,” Dean managed to get out through a throat suddenly gone dry.
“Then why are you waking me?” Sam huffed, real complaint now in his tone as he shuffled over until he was lying on his belly, head mostly stuffed under his pillow.
“Sammy?” Dean swallowed hard and sunk onto the corner of Sam’s bed, his legs suddenly so much jelly. Sam gave out a resigned sounding groan and flipped the pillow from his head in Dean’s general direction. One of his bony shins knocked into Dean’s back and then pressed harder like he was trying to shove Dean right off the bed.
“It’s only just morning,” Sam complained, finally turning over and pushing a tangle of hair out of his face. He swung his legs free, managing to clip Dean again before thumping his feet dramatically on the floor. Dean was still frozen, even as Sam stood, really hammering home that he was pre-sixteen and the final fatal growth spurt that would see him edge past Dean in height. He hitched at his boxers with one hand while scratching at his thin chest with the other as he made his way over to the small kitchenette in the room.
“Sam,” Dean tried again, although he wasn’t sure if he should explain this. Sam looked like he had regressed in every way and it might be easier to just feign ignorance, play at being younger himself and like they were waiting on Dad coming back just like the old days. This Sam would be none the wiser and back to his usual self in a couple of days.
Maybe, a niggling little voice in the back of his head insisted.
“Oh you bastard,” Sam grunted, turning back. “Did you devour everything? I was saving that last bowl of Lucky Charms.”
“I’ll get some more,” Dean said automatically and it was almost scary how easily everything came back. How small and dependant this Sam was, thin little stick of a boy who still, although more and more infrequently by this stage, looked to Dean for everything.
“How?” Sam asked, rubbing a hand over a yawn. “I thought we were out of money.”
“We’re not… no, we’re fine,” Dean said, still troubled. Still debating whether to level with this younger version of his Sam. He was a smart kid but he was stubborn as a mule and dramatic to boot. He’d leveled out at college, probably the influence of a steady girl and years away from his family finally giving him the kick in the pants he needed. Dean tried to remember exactly what Sam at this age had been like but all he could really remember was anger and the gnawing in his belly he got every time Sam talked about some day.
Someday I’ll get out of here
Someday I won’t have to do this anymore
Someday you won’t be able to tell me what to do
Around about the age of fifteen, Sam had become a stranger. He’d stopped being the sweet boy Dean remembered and became this stomping yelling force of nature. He would be mute for days on end then scream the house down at the drop of a hat. Everything was a struggle, everything a fight. Sam didn’t see the times Dean had dug his heels in with their father to eke out an extra couple of weeks for Sam to stay in the same school, the same place. He just saw Dean dutifully packing when he couldn’t delay anymore.
There was silent recrimination aimed his way whenever they pulled up stakes, and between Sam being fifteen and sixteen it had been the worst.
“Earth to Dean!” Dean snapped out of his internal reverie to see that Sam was glaring at him from across the room, arms crossed over his skinny chest. “I asked if you were holding out?”
“What? No,” Dean snapped, standing and turning away so Sam couldn’t see his burning cheeks, the way his eyes had welled. Of all the things that could’ve happened, this wasn’t exactly a bad curse but he still felt like he’d been kicked in the teeth. This no man’s land of Sam’s youth had been the hardest on both of them and if anyone had wanted to stick it to them and break it off, this was how.
“Yeah right. You just want to spend big on Christie Noelle so she’ll let you stick your hand up her skirt,” Sam snarled and Dean spun, aiming an imperious finger at him.
“Don’t be a little snot,” Dean snarled right back and then blinked.
Then he laughed.
Sam was still glaring, but he finally gave it up when Dean dissolved into helpless giggles and sunk to the floor, clutching his ribs. Sam stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door and that only made Dean laugh harder.
Dean stopped when an edge of hysteria was riding his laughter and started gathering their things, meaning to take Sam to Bobby’s.
There were curses you rode out and there were curses you fixed.
This was a fixer.
“He doesn’t know?”
Dean had had a bad few moments when they’d been pulling up to Bobby’s with the thought that maybe he’d been yanked backward rather than Sam being yanked forward but it eased as soon as Bobby had spotted them or more specifically Sam and had looked about as gob smacked as Dean had first felt.
They both watched Sam now, wrestling with Bobby’s two new pups, Dean pretty sure that Bobby felt about as gut-punched as he had. His question was multi-edged. Sam didn’t know he was in the future, or had regressed or whatever, but he also didn’t know about the visions or what had transpired and their father…
“Hell of a thing,” Bobby said, understatement of the century. He removed his hat for a rare moment and squinted into the sun. “I can make some calls.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Dean said with a small nod. There had been a lot about Sam in his teenage years that had been painful, but watching him now, Dean felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite describe. This was Sam before he knew true grief, the visions or anything like that. His mother had just been an abstract notion but to Sam, the most important people in his life were still alive and accounted for. Their father was merely off on a hunting trip, Pastor Jim safely in his church and Caleb rattling around his shack in the mountains.
Even though their lives hadn’t been ideal, Sam had been wiped clean of the worst of it.
Dean looked across at Bobby who was frowning hard at him. “What?”
“It might seem easier this way but it ain’t right,” Bobby said, scarily astute as always and Dean shook his head.
“I know that,” he said. “It’s a nice thought, that maybe we could rewind and Sam could be spared but he’s the man he is today because… despite… you know.”
“Hell boy, it’s okay to miss him.”
“He’s right there,” Dean dismissed, waving a hand in Sam’s direction.
“Don’t be dense on purpose,” Bobby grumbled. “I used to hate it when your Daddy did that.”
Sam had been as full of whys at fifteen as he had been at five.
Why can’t I go out with my friends?
Why are we leaving again?
Why can’t we be normal?
“Why isn’t Dad back yet?”
Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his head and swallowed the burning in his throat. “He’s got a job. Just shut up and eat your burger.”
Asking Sam to drop something had never worked, not even when he was little. “He’s late though and there’s something you’re not telling me,” Sam said through a mouthful so as much hamburger ended up on the table as in Sam’s belly.
“There’s a lot I don’t tell you,” Dean dismissed, rolling up his paper and thwapping Sam on the forehead with it. Sam snatched the paper and laid it flat next to his plate. All too late Dean realized that the date would be on the paper and if this was some time-travel Sam then he would really have a reason to freak out. He didn’t however, just laid the paper flat and flipped to the funnies.
“Don’t I know it,” Sam grumbled, but mercifully didn’t pursue it any further. Dean had gotten up and had his bowl in the sink and his hands under a stream of running water when Sam finally piped up again. “Hey Dean?”
“You’d tell me, if there was anything really wrong. Right?”
“Yeah Sammy, ‘course,” Dean managed without it sounding as strangled as he’d feared. He heard Sam grunt, the kind of noise he made when he was frustrated by something but willing to set it aside so he could prod at it later.
When he turned around, Sam was gone.
Dean found Sam outside, stretched out on the hood of a Thunderbird that had seen better days. He had his back against the cracked windshield and his hands tucked under his head. The night sky above was full of stars. Dean liked Bobby’s place, it was as close to being out in the country you could get without actually being in the country. Bobby’s place sprawled a couple of normal sized lots and there was nothing on either side.
Dean kept fighting the surprise every time he looked at Sam. He had a very definite way he expected Sam to be now, big monster of a man with wide shoulders and imposing height. Sam at this age was still thin, only just starting to put on the lean muscle that would lay the foundation for his broadness in later years. He only stood as tall as Dean’s jaw and he still hadn’t quite grown into his goofy nose or ears. It didn’t help that fifteen was the age John had put his foot down and made Sam get the shortest haircut in his life, the ends of his hair barely brushing the tops of his ears.
Dean had laughed for days after that particular haircut.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Dean,” Sam said before Dean even knew he’d been spotted.
“I know that,” Dean allowed, pulling himself up next to his little brother. He felt tired and torn about the whole thing. In many ways, Sam regressing this way was actually a mercy of sorts. This Sam hadn’t watched his girlfriend die, found his father dead on sickly green hospital linoleum. Dean was never going to quite forgive himself for Sam being alone with that particularly nasty discovery. “But while you’re still shorter than me I get to the boss, okay?”
“That’s not fair,” Sam grumped. “You’ll always be taller than me.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” Dean said with a small chuckle and Sam just glared at him for a moment before turning his eyes back up to the sky. “You trust me, right?”
“Of course,” Sam said automatically and it loosened something in Dean’s chest to hear the sureness in Sam’s voice, no hint of hesitation.
“Sometimes you just gotta trust that I’m doing stuff for your own good.”
“God, that’s what adults say when they can’t think of a better explanation,” Sam said, dragging his legs up so he could rest his chin on his knees.
“I know everything seems crappy now but…” But Dean wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. He couldn’t exactly say but things get better because it wasn’t exactly right. Enjoy it now because this is the best you get also didn’t quite fit although these days it seemed like it was true.
“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, saving Dean from having to complete the thought because he really wasn’t sure how.
“I forgot what a sparkling flower Sam was at this age,” Bobby said, lowering himself into his old armchair that leaned drunkenly to the right and had tape holding the stuffing of the arm inside. He kicked his feet up on a makeshift footstool and held his hand out for the beer Dean had just uncapped. “Hey, according to Sam you’re not legal yet.”
“Funny,” Dean grunted, relinquishing the beer with a roll of his eyes. “You find anything?”
“Got my feelers out but sprite curses are hard. Never the same thing, y’know?”
“Believe me, I know,” Dean said, sitting back in his own chair.
“Anyone that knows much about sprites aren’t really our type of people. Or gone insane, one or the other.”
“There is someone, survivalist type. Rayne Peters. Crazy motherfucker but he knows about fairie folk.”
“You got an address?”
“Not so much an address as a general location. Lives in a mobile home so the aliens can’t pinpoint his brain waves or some such nonsense.”
“Bobby,” Dean groaned and Bobby chuckled, tipping his beer up and taking a long swallow.
“Hell, you think you would sound particularly sane to most folks? He might wear a tinfoil hat but he knows his stuff.”
“Can Sam stay here?” Dean asked but Bobby was already shaking his head.
“I’d help you out but I got a bit of a time sensitive case up Wichita way that I’m already late for. Just keep Sam in the car and tell him you’re doing some legwork for your Daddy.”
Dean stood, pacing the room a little. “Sam’s sharp. He knows something’s up already. I don’t want to cart him halfway across the country on a wafer thin lie.”
“You’ll make do,” Bobby said, standing so he could pat Dean on the shoulder. “Swing by here on your way back. Been a real kick seeing Sammy so little. Forgot he was normal sized once upon a time.”
“I’m hoping he won’t be so little for that long.”
And the kicker is, Bobby was right.
Dean drove with Sam sprawled in the passenger seat beside him, nose firmly in a book and scowl firmly on his face and Dean…
He missed his brother.
He just hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed Sam as a person. He loved him, that was for sure, always had and always would but it was a strange realization that Sam had also been his friend. Dean didn’t really have friends. He had fellow hunters that he could rely on in a pinch and guys he had hung out with at school and the couple of odd jobs he picked up. There were the fleeting girls, too numerous and transient to merit any real thought.
There was his dad who defied categorization.
Then there was Sam. His brother was his whole world, in more ways than one, in all ways important. Sam made him laugh and think and sometimes want to pull his fucking hair out in frustration and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
“You okay dude? You look constipated.” Dean cut a sideways glance at Sam who was watching him with something like bored amusement on his face and Dean sighed heavily.
Bobby had been right about something else. At this age, Sam had been a real fucking sparkling flower.
Sam bitched about having to stay in the car, but Dean knew if the first thing he’d done was demand Sam accompany him he would have gotten the same reaction. Sam defiantly kicked his feet up on the dash and glared out of the front windshield at the trailers in the lot. It looked like Rayne wasn’t doing any mobile-ing anytime soon. His mobile home was up on bricks.
“Why can’t just one crazy person live in a nice place?” Sam grumped as his parting shot as Dean levered himself out of the car and tried to prepare to talk to a man who wore tin foil as an accessory. Dean ignored his brother and made for the mobile home, pausing when he felt a prickle of something over his skin when he stepped over what he had just assumed was a crappy-ass attempt at a border fence. It was a circle of stones surrounding the mobile home and Dean wondered just exactly how he’d been so fricken dumb when this guy was all into fairie lore but it was too late. His head was filling with white noise and his legs were going out from beneath him.
Dimly Dean heard Sam calling his name, voice high with panic and he wanted to scream at Sam to get the hell away, just take the car and go but everything was numb and he felt his nose crunch when he went down face first right before he blacked out.
Dean heard voices as he swam back towards consciousness. He could make out Sam, even through the fog in his brain and he registered that Sam didn’t sound either in pain or scared. The voices got closer and then someone was prying one of his eyes open and he had to blink against the light.
“Sorry ‘bout that boy. Circle’s supposed to keep out the nasties but I never got the knack of makin’ ‘em specific enough not to whammy normal people neither.”
“Sam?” Dean managed to get out, trying to look past the large, toad-featured face that had blocked his vision and the he felt fingers on his wrist and was able to see Sam’s shaggy head, still narrow face and boyish features. Sam was looking a little spooked but okay otherwise and there was nothing but relief in his eyes.
“Yeah, ‘course,” Sam dismissed with an airy wave of his hand but his other still hadn’t let loose its grip on Dean’s wrist and he brought Dean’s hand up to his chest, hugging it to himself like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “You feeling alright?”
“Just a bit groggy,” Dean admitted, trying to sit up but pain spiked through his temple and he laid back down with a groan.
“Just count yerself lucky,” the man interjected, poking a bony finger into Dean’s shoulder and making him curl away with a grunt. “Coyote breached the border just last Tuesday and there were nothing left of him but his toenails after.”
“Lovely,” Dean grunted, trying that whole sitting up thing again and succeeding this time. It helped that Sam finally took the hint and yanked him up by the arm he was gripping, only relinquishing his hold when Dean was firmly upright. “Nice version of a white picket you got there.”
“Can’t never be too careful,” the man said, making his way back down the length of the mobile home that rocked with his ponderous steps. He filled two glasses that had dodgy cartoon characters on them with water and held them out. Dean shook his head and slapped Sam’s hand down when he went to accept one. “Ain’t nothing in the water,” the man said blandly and Dean shrugged a little.
“Can’t ever be too careful,” Dean said slowly and the man snorted inelegantly and took a long swallow from one of the glasses. He was wearing a faded flannel shirt, the buttons straining against his girth and jeans. There was no tinfoil hat in evidence but it didn’t mean there wasn’t one. There was something silver covering the windows so Dean figured the man just felt safe enough inside his own home. He had a sparse beard and dark hair streaked with white and weirdly enough, strands of violet.
“So, what you brings you two out to my neck?” the man asked, and now he was backed up a bit, his eyes had settled firmly on Sam, expression unreadable. Dean didn’t like it. Sam was oblivious, looking around the dingy space surrounding them and then back at Dean but not really at the man, Rayne, Dean had to assume.
Dean tried to make it as subtle as possible when he moved himself so he was bodily between Rayne and his brother. Sam could handle himself in a scrap at fifteen but Rayne had the look of a man who knew what to do with his weight. Dean knew the type well. He desperately didn’t want to ask this man for any favors because if the fairie ring were any indication, then he was taking hints from the winged folk and those people had a habit of wanting to trade whenever they were called upon.
The price they asked was always too high but you never cottoned on until it was done.
“Need a curse broken,” Dean said and then blinked. He’d meant to work up to asking what he wanted, maybe talk around the man until he could figure out what Rayne would want in exchange for information but it had popped out as soon as Rayne had finished asking. Dean scowled and looked around more carefully, finally spotting the otherwise unassuming green gem hanging from a cord over the back door of the mobile home.
Rayne chuckled when he saw where Dean was looking. “Hell, can’t blame a guy for wanting people to speak plain in his presence, can you?” Rayne said and his tone could be mistaken for good-natured but there was definitely something off about him. Dean was about ready to grab Sam and haul ass out of there, to hell with the curse.
“I guess you can’t,” Dean agreed slowly and now that he was aware of it, he could be careful about what he said. Truth spells and talismans were all about compulsion. If you could concentrate on being careful you couldn’t exactly lie but you could certainly omit and kind of speak around what you didn’t want to say.
“Got something to do with ‘im?” Rayne asked, stabbing a black nailed finger in Sam’s direction and Dean nodded, jaw clenched.
“What?” Sam piped up, looking confused.
“You know he stepped right into the circle without flinching, little bugger,” Rayne said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Guess already being cursed could explain it.”
“You just walked in?” Dean demanded, turning on Sam. His brother’s eyes went wide and he held his hands up, palms out.
“You looked like you just fainted or something. I don’t know. I didn’t think.”
“You never do!” Dean barked and then bit his bottom lip. He didn’t know where that had come from, except he did. They’d had this argument many times, from both sides. One of them was in danger, the other blindly barreled right along after, consequences be damned.
“Boys, it may look like it but I ain’t got all day to watch you two bicker. How about you tell me what it is you want exactly and we’ll see if we can’t come to some accommodation.” The man’s gaze flicked to Sam again and while it wasn’t exactly predatory, Dean had had enough of those looks cut his way and Sam’s to know the difference, there was still something he didn’t like about it.
Dean took a steadying breath because he could already feel the words ready to blurt themselves out without any order or restraint. Rayne watched him with an amused twinkle in his eye, waiting on Dean trying to fight magic older than time. Dean took another breath and then a final one before he said, “My brother was twenty-four only a couple of days ago and I need to fix him because this is freaking me out.”
Sam poked at the cat carrier set between them and something very small, agitated and glittery cursed them long and colorfully. “Leave it alone,” Dean snapped because every time the tiny voice within promised them death by fiery pokers up the ying-yang he really, really wanted to laugh.
It probably wasn’t a good idea.
“We give this guy a pixie and he gives you the magic pill or whatever?” Sam prompted, looking a little worried but mostly scared. He knew he was cursed but Dean, feeling like a major heel, still hadn’t really explained it all properly. Every time he said I’ll explain it all later he wanted to kick himself.
“Bobby pointed us this way so he can’t really be evil or anything… just not particularly good. We won’t take or do anything he gives us until Bobby checks it out anyway.”
“Okay,” Sam said, sounding small and tired. Dean remembered this Sam too although it was harder to recall in amongst the memories of him shouting and being moodily silent. Sometimes Sam just gave up the fight. It was usually after a long bout of knockdown, drag-out with their father and usually never in front of him. Sam reserved this very special brand of quiet and broken for Dean and it just killed him to see it.
“You’ll be okay, Sam,” Dean promised. “Nothing’s going to happen to you while I’m around.”
“You say that like it’s true,” Sam said to the window and the world outside and Dean watched his profile and thought how this Sam wasn’t very much different from his Sam at all.
Dean had been staring at Sam’s broad back for about an hour when Sam finally rolled over. “What?”
Sam was once again the giant, older version of himself after ingesting a blue liquid with what Dean could have sworn were gummi bears floating in it. Bobby had checked it out and declared it safe enough and Dean had started thinking that maybe it was a placebo and the curse had just worn itself out.
“Nothin’,” Dean said, making to roll over himself but Sam frowned at him and eased up unto one elbow. It was hard not to confess to Sam everything he’d been thinking during their strange last week or so being in the room they’d shared when they were kids, single beds pushed up against opposite walls and a rug with a faded race track on it between them. “Just… do you remember anything?”
“Not really, no,” Sam said. He was still frowning though and Dean figured he might as well get whatever talk they were destined to have over with before Sam prodded at it for too long and got himself worked up into a girly frenzy.
“Just… did you like me, when you were a kid?” Dean asked.
Sam’s frown deepened and then his look grew contemplative. Dean started to wonder if he even wanted to hear the answer to that particular question because Sam had to think about it and that was never a good sign.
“I think like’s the wrong word,” Sam said finally. The fingers of the hand not propping his head up started twining through the faded edging of his blanket, plucking and tweezing the strands apart. “I mean, you were my hero and my tormentor all rolled into one.”
“Just forget it,” Dean grumbled, thinking that Sam wasn’t taking him serious when for once, he actually wanted to talk.
“Dude, I’m not really sure what you’re asking me. You’re my brother and I loved you like… unlike anything else really but you were also…”
“What?” Dean prompted.
“I don’t know. You were kinda my mom too.”
“No, seriously. You looked after me and looked out for me and I didn’t… I never really had a mom but when kids at school stood up and talked about their moms it just sounded like-“
“This conversation is really over,” Dean interrupted, rolling over and burying his head under his pillow. A few seconds later another pillow thumped on top and then something sharp hit him in the back and Dean rolled back over, glaring at Sam in disgruntlement.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say. I was angry a lot of the time when I was a kid and I felt like… I didn’t really feel like I could control it. Sometimes I would hear what was coming out of my mouth and it’d be kinda like I was watching someone else. I’d take it out on you and it wasn’t fair because I know you always stuck up for me.”
“Yeah, well, I needed to do something to stop your whining.”
“I guess I just didn’t really get you. I didn’t understand how you couldn’t want something more than this life, the road and Dad and me. It wasn’t enough for me back then and I couldn’t see it from anyone else’s point of view, especially yours.”
“I wanted things. The things I wanted just kinda aligned with what we already had.”
“See, I didn’t understand that. I thought you were so close-minded. Just obeying and it drove me crazy.”
“You get me now?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow and Sam huffed a laugh.
“Not in the slightest, but that’s what I like about you these days rather than what bugs me.”
“Of course. I’m an enigma.”
“A very gassy enigma,” Sam chuckled and Dean tossed his pillow back, thoughtfully aiming and hitting Sam’s face.
“Dude, I tell you time and again what Mexican does to me but you and your Fajita cravings…”
The door banged open and both Sam and Dean startled, seeing Bobby hovering with nothing on but a pair of stripy pajama bottoms and an overcoat. “You guys want me to get you some cookies and your Barbie sleeping bags?”
“Sorry,” both brothers intoned, suddenly mindful that sound carried in Bobby’s old house.
“Just don’t go playing truth or dare during your slumber party. I don’t wanna wake up with my bra in the freezer,” Bobby grumbled, disappearing back into the darkened hallway.
“So,” Dean said after a few minutes had passed and the creaking had ceased that meant Bobby had gone back to bed. “You think that hand in the warm water thing works?”
“I know it works,” Sam said. “You did it to me when I was eleven.”
Dean tossed back the sheets, rubbing his hands together. “Awesome,” he said and couldn’t help but grin harder when Sam tossed back his own blankets with no hesitation.