AN: So...something weird happened on tumblr last night. I started shipping Whedipke and Spean. I want to thank .com and .com for inspiring me to get this far with Spean!


He begged that Sam stayed in he hotel. He said Bobby was getting old and he needed someone take care of him. Someone who had the patience to. Sam was the only one.

Dean was never one for patience. He never let cigarette butt touch his lips, ever. He knew that in his line of work, he would need to be stuck in a car with a few people he'd prefer not to be with. Surprisingly, although he couldn't stand the smell of stale liquor, smoke and old leather, Spike wasn't one of them. Maybe it was because he tipped him off about a place in Africa where Sam could get a soul, free of charge or maybe it was because in the last few months they were fighting ghosts and demons a like, shoulder to shoulder.

The demons of the hellmouth were a lot different from the demons from hell, but they taught each other, two battle hardened men who picked up on survival tips quickly. And the human face, black eyed demons of Dean's world were new to the vampire. That was new to Dean too. Races of vampires. Spike's kind, the kind he knew and the Uber kind. The kind Spike sacrificed himself for to get rid of in a town. Somehow, totalling up the deaths between them, they had a lot in common.

Like a love for rock. They debated for hours about the classic rock verses the British Punk rock that Spike enjoyed, over which changed the world, had more influence. Then the conversation changed over to who changed the world more. Spike died once. Had been through at least 3 near apocalypses. Stopped them all.

Dean had stopped a fair few in his time, too, until he was reminded he released two of them. He kept that silent. You don't win arguments by taking the losing side.

Naturally, during a pit stop at an inn for the night and a bar to relax, the argument slid again - who could get the most numbers, who get the most chicks, who could drink the most. They knocked them back fairly - at the same rate, bit it was one piece of information that Dean sorely lacked to remember that cost him the bet. A vampire came under the effects of alcohol much slower, if at all. So as Dean fell slowly into complete intoxication, Spike let him fall against him, and at one point of the night, found him himself picking up the short hunter and carrying him off towards the shared motel room, muttering something about 'bloody humans' and 'not knowing their limits' as he lay him flat on his stomach on the bed.

He didn't want to risk him coking in his sleep.

Spike's vigil of over Dean carried on throughout the night, sitting on his bed and listening to the slow, heavy breathing of the sleeping man. It had a calming effect. Like listening to the tide come in and out. It was listening to life.