Disclaimer: SURPRISE! I don't own Supernatural.
"Ah, will you look at this," Dean exclaimed as he threw open the motel room door. "Home crap home."
He was wearing an expression of genuine pride when he glanced over his shoulder. Sam cracked a weary smile. After driving 600 miles in one day, any run-down motel room would do. They were on their way to see Bobby about the latest stream of demonic possessions, but with two salt-and-burns completed enroute, neither one of them belonged behind the wheel just now.
Dean led the way into the room, dropping his bags onto the first bed and stripping off his leather jacket.
"Leave the door open for ten minutes and we probably won't even notice the smell," he suggested.
Sam yawned, stumbling over to the second bed. "Whatever you say."
Truth was, he could care less about the condition of the room. All he needed was a nice, soft-
He grunted when he plopped down onto the mattress.
What the hell?
"Dean. There's a sinkhole in the middle of my bed."
"Sounds like a personal problem."
"Come on, man," Sam pleaded, worming him way to the edge. "You know I have back problems… your bed looks okay."
Dean was sitting on the edge of a perfectly firm-looking mattress, checking the messages on his phone. At Sam's words, he sharply glanced up. Then his eyes narrowed. He looked down at his own bed and back into Sam's puppy dog eyes, putting two and two together.
It took him a while. Maybe-
"No way," he carefully enunciated each word. "I'm not gonna trade." Pause. "Stop looking at me like that." Pause. "It's not happening, dude, so you can turn off the kicked-puppy look." Pause. Glance at the bathroom. "Okay, fine, you can sleep over here, but only while I grab a shower. Then your ass is moving. And you stay on top of the covers. This is not a permanent arrangement, got it?"
Sam grinned. He practically leapt from his own bed to Dean's. The headboard thumped against the wall and the springs strained under his weight, but he didn't care. Spreading out on a bed that was flat as it should be was-
He snatched a pillow and shoved it under head.
Awesome.
Dean jumped to his feet. He closed and locked the motel room door before making his way into the bathroom. "Don't drool either."
Hmmm. That would be a way for Sam to mark the bed as his own.
"Sammy."
He groaned, already half-asleep. "Fine."
By the time the shower turned on, Sam was drifting off to sleep.
Dean emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. A cloud of steam followed in his wake, and if Sam hadn't been asleep, he might have said something truly profound in a deep, thundering voice.
As it was, he padded over to his duffel bag and riffled through it for some clean boxers, jeans, and a shirt. He wasn't quite ready to call it a day, especially with no food or beer in the room. A quick supply run was in order.
Holding his clothes, Dean glanced between Sam and the wet, humid bathroom. Then he did what everyone did when they didn't want to get dressed in a sauna. He whipped off his towel – no shame – and got dressed as fast as humanly possible. He almost lost his balance with one leg through his boxers (of course), but other than that, he was smooth as smooth could be. Almost like he'd done it before. In the early hours of the morning. In the dark.
Once he was dressed, Dean dried his hair and ran a hand of gel through it. He had standards, after all.
From there, it was only a matter of socks, boots, and-
Oh.
Sam had turned onto his stomach in his sleep and was laying on Dean's jacket. His side was, anyway. The jacket was really only half-pinned. If Dean eased it out from under him real slow…
He got a firm grip on the leather and experimentally pulled, nice and easy. The jacket did move a little, but as it did, Sam's fist slowly curled around collar.
Oh, come on.
Dean stopped pulling and backed off a little, hoping Sam would subconsciously relinquish his grip on the jacket once he realized it wasn't moving.
But Dean was a Winchester. And Winchesters never caught a break.
Not only did Sam's fist remain curled around the jacket, but as if to play on his guilt, his little brother snuggled even deeper into the leather, effectively pinning it further beneath him.
Damn it. Dean ran a hand over his face and began pacing beside the bed, his eyes glued to the problem.
It was cold outside.
But the longer he stared, the more he felt the beginnings of a smile. It was actually kinda… dare he think it… adorable. He hadn't seen Sam so attached to something since the days of his baby blanket. Separating that from him had been equally challenging.
Dean sighed. He knew when to admit defeat.
Only a sadist would snatch the jacket from him now. The store was right down the street anyway.
Dean shuffled backwards to the door, his eyes never leaving Sam. He snatched up the motel keys and unlocked the door without a thought. As he stepped out into the cool night air, something did keep him warm. It may not have been his jacket.
But it was something.
Shorter than my usual fics, but I've half a mind to transform this concept into a series of one-shots all its own. What do you think?