A Whistle and A Whisper
You sit with Dean on a park bench in yet another small town. You both are waiting for Sam to finish up "interrogating" the witness who just happened to be the pretty little waitress from the diner across the street. That lucky dog, you think. You're sure he's in there right now, flirting away and probably going to get lucky tonight. Ugh. It seems like you and Dean have been sitting on this hard wood for days. Dean's left arm is draped across the back of the bench behind you, his hand just *barely* brushing your left shoulder. He has been doing that a lot lately, almost holding your hand, almost hugging you goodbye, almost putting his arm around you and pulling you close. You start to swing your leg, and wish he would just cowboy up and make a move already! Does he like you or not, you think, as you look around at the beautiful trees lining the sidewalk. You gradually become aware of the music surrounding you. Birds fly through the air, diving and swooping back up again, playing in the wind without a care. Loudly, they call to one another, the notes of their little love songs are so unique and delicate you can't even breathe. You are caught by utter surprise when you hear the improvised songs in a deep, baritone pitch right next to your ear. Dean is whistling perfectly, his bright green eyes lighting up with amusement as he watches the birds play. For a rare moment his face seems care free. He turns to you, whistling saucily to you, smiling when he sees the surprise that is etched on your face.
"You lucky buck" you say enviously, immediately regretting the words as soon as they come out of your mouth.
"What do you mean?" He asks, confused.
You look down and away, embarrassed out of your mind, and blurt out,
"I mean I wish I could whistle!"
You chance a quick glance at Dean's face and burst out laughing at the look of complete horror on his face. You are still bent over, clutching your sides, when he finally speaks.
"Are you freaking kidding me? You can't whistle? You have to learn, RIGHT NOW!" He says loudly, causing a little old couple walking in the park to shoot you both a disapproving look. Dean clears his throat and begins again, much softer.
"You can't go though life not being able to whistle, Y/N, it's just not right. Now come on and try."
You smile at him and agree then twist your face in concentration as you lick your already red lips and purse them together, blowing some air through them. The result is a half hearted, off key, sour note. You look at Dean expectantly and your eyes cloud with confusion at the look in his eyes. His eyebrows are scrunched together, mouth closed tightly and his eyes are fixed intensely on your face. He whispers softly, his face never changing.
"Why don't you try it again, one more time...please."
You answer with a shrug, confused by the please, and repeat your previous actions of licking your lips and pressing them together. You barely see Dean's head move before his lips come crashing onto yours. He begins to kiss you deeply, his left arm pulling you to his side and under his arm and his right hand pulling your legs across his lap. Finally! you think. You close your eyes and begin to kiss him back, hands sneaking around his neck, thanking your lucky stars you never did learn how to whistle.
Years later the memory of that moment is still clear as day in your memory. You finally had to get whistle lessons from Sam because you and Dean always seemed to get distracted when you tried. You walk around the motel room, picking up Dean's dirty laundry, and begin to whistle an old AC/DC song, smiling because you know as soon as Dean hears the notes he'll get the hint and come running like he always does.