Words: 3661 words

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: The reader and Dean have to wait out a blizzard at a motel. Question is: will things heat up or not?

AN: So I just came up with this idea while spending a day shoveling out of my driveway. Hope you like this and keep an eye out for the next part of 'Tip Jars'

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural

Walkie-Talkies

And there goes another one. She thought as the Impala drove past yet another motel that night.

She as Dean had been on the road for a good five hours now. Without stop.

Although it wasn't like you could just make a pitstop during the middle of a blizzard and expect to get back on the road. No, if you were going to stop somewhere, you'd be waiting it out. So - in true Winchester fashion - Dean had just decided - without any of her valuable input - that they were going to try to beat the winter storm and weren't going to stop until they made it back to the Bunker where Sam was.

The problem was that she couldn't even see a couple feet in front of the Impala's headlights. And the weather reports crackling from the radio were saying that it was only going to get worse as the night went on.

She really didn't want to end up in a ditch and die of hypothermia.

She could just see the cause of death on the autopsy report - and that was if they could find her body under all the snow: Hypothermia and the stubbornness of her crush, Victim #00238.

Because she completely believed that Dean Winchester's stupidity and absolute male-oriented bull-headedness would cause him to die right next to her.

"It's only supposed to get worse, Dean." She finally said out loud after a car sped up in front of them and swerved into the other lane.

"We're not stopping until we get back to the Bunker." The Winchester resolved without even looking over at her in the passenger seat.

Knowing that the chances of him actually changing his mind were slim, she let it drop for awhile.

But it just kept getting worse and worse as they drove on. She could barely see the lane dividing lines any longer and the windshield wipers weren't doing a very good job of keeping the plane of glass clear of the dangerous snow. The heat was cranked up all the way and yet she still felt chilled to her bones. And she was starting to get a migraine from the too loud and overplayed mullet rock that Dean's been playing nonstop since they began the drive home.

She was going to go crazy - whether it be from the music or the ever growing anxiety caused by the prospect of dying in something so trivial as a snowstorm, she didn't know.

She did know that she had to get out of this car. And fast.

"Dean, we need to stop somewhere for the night." She blurted out. "And soon." She added as she felt the anxiety rise up inside her again.

"We'll be fine, apple-pie." Dean reassured her, confidence radiating from his side of the car. "I know what I'm do- Oh shit!."

She gripped the dashboard with a panicked ferocity as Dean tried to regain control of the swerving Impala after it had skidded across the patch of ice.

The black car came to a stop on the side of the highway road. The only things that could be heard from the inside of the car were the heavy breathing of the two hunters and the gentle purring of the engine.

She was too afraid to move from her position against the dashboard, but she did turn her head towards a wide eyed Winchester.

"How far away is the nearest motel?" He asked, still not looking at her.

"A couple exits ahead." he offered breathlessly as her lungs struggled to work properly again.

"We'll wait out the storm there, then." Dean decided before putting the Impala into drive and slowly pulling back onto the highway towards their refuge.

Dean pried the motel's lobby door open, fighting with the caustic wind. She quickly followed the Winchester inside before the door slammed shut behind her.

The sound woke up an old man and he looked around the room, seemingly disoriented from behind the wooden counter.

"What the hell do you want?" The man asked, looking the two strangers over disdainfully.

She stepped out from behind Dean and walked up to the counter. "We'd like a room until the storms over." He just looked at her. "Please." She added, hoping it would soften the older man's stiff demeanor.

"Radio says the storm's gonna blow through the night, girlie."

"That's fine, sir." She had chosen to ignore the man's comment. "We just need a room."

"Uh-huh." The man said. He turned to Dean. "What kind of room do you want?"

Dean appeared beside her. "Two beds." She felt his hand on the small of her back, softly rubbing circles through the fabric of her flannel and into her skin.

The man disappeared under the counter and looked through something. He chuckled - it actually sounded more like a cackle. "Looks like we're out of room with two beds. You'll just have to deal with one." He looked up at the two. "That'll be fine for you two lovers, right?"

Oh great.

"Why? Because it's a fucking blizzard out there, Sammy." Dean said into the phone as she exited the bathroom, definitely warmer from her shower. "And there's no way we'd be able to leave until late in the morning." She sat down on the bed the two would have to share - the love seat would never be big enough for either of them - and waited patiently for Dean to finish pacing the room.

"Look, I know that this is supposed to be something big," Dean continued, sitting down on the too-tiny love seat. "But you're just going to have to wait. Alright, Sammy?" She watched as he ran his hand through his short hair. "Just wait until we get back and-" The older Winchester's expression quickly changed from exasperation to panic.

"-Sam? You there? Sammy?" He pulled the phone away from his ear and scrutinized the screen. He then looked up at her. "The line went dead."

"Lovely." She commented, wrapping her hair up and into a bun to get it out of her face. She got off the bed and walked over to the little television set. She turned it on and was met with static. Nothing but pure static and snow. She turned to Dean who was only able to shrug his shoulders helplessly. She made her way to her bag, where she pulled out both her own phone and laptop. She unlocked each and-

Nothing. No service.

"Yeah, I'm not getting anything either." She called over her shoulder before returning to the bed.

"Awesome." Dean replied as he tossed his phone onto his closed duffel bag. He joined her at the edge of the bed that they were to share. "At least the lights are still working, right?"

And then the motel room suddenly got very dark.

"Would you let me get them?" She asked as she fumbled around her bag in the pitch black darkness.

Aha! She thought triumphantly as she pulled out what she was looking for. She turned around and bumped into Dean, who was right behind her.

"Is that a pistol, or are you just happy to see me?" She could just hear the smirk in his voice.

She fished out her lighter from a small pocket in her duffel bag. "Actually," She began as she lit the wick. "It's a candle." Dean's face was visible in the dimly lit area between the two.

She was right. That damn playful smirk of his was painted on his face. And worse, that and the situation they were in made her turn away and look for other candles in her bag because candles weren't only good for summoning and trapping demons - who knew? - and not because she needed to get away from the Winchester before she did something she knew she'd regret.

She lit every one she found and set each candle strategically around the room, lighting up the place. She tried to push away the thought that the motel room actually looked kind of romantic. Like if someone - ahem, Dean - had tried to surprise her with dinner or something like that during a hunt.

But that would never happen. She and Dean were just friends - nothing more. And she really didn't want to ruin their close friendship because of some stupid crush where she couldn't even think of a particular reason or rhyme as to why she felt this was towards him. Besides, she couldn't even see what he would like about her if he fell down one hell of a rabbit hole and somehow felt the same way that she did.

"You good, apple-pie?" His rough voice and a strong hand on her shoulder broke her out of her self deprecating thoughts.

She looked away from the candles by the bed. "I'm good." She smiled up at him and he smiled back.

But then her eyes traveled down to his mouth. She didn't even realize that she did it until his lips - unwittingly inviting in the lighting - parted slowly. She was surprised that she even noticed the progression since her thoughts consisted of how his lips would feel against hers - probably divine - for the most part.

Did it look like his lips were getting closer to hers?

She glanced up at the rest of his face. And she was right: his face was slowly drawing nearer to her and his own eyes were trained on her lips.

Jesus Christ. This man was going to kill her. "Dean," She managed to breathe out before -

The door banged open, forcing the other two to look anywhere else but each other - she even took a step back from the Winchester. The man from the lobby hastily wobbled in.

"The damn storm took the power out!" He yelled, as if the two hunters couldn't hear him.

No shit. She thought the same time Dean replied, "It would seem so, sir."

"But we've still got working water, thank the Lord." The man pulled out something from behind him. "I've got some old walkie-talkies so that if something happens, you can get a hold of me." He tossed the device to Dean, who caught it with ease.

Depends. She thought again. Will you be awake?

"Thanks." She said, paying more attention to the man rather than the hunter next to her. God, she'd focus on anything but him at the moment.

"Yeah, thanks." Dean echoed, placing the talkie on the bedside table.

The man grunted something and left the motel room with a "See you two in the morning."

The two just stood there, unable to process what had just happened. What was she to do? Pretend like it didn't happen and just go on as if he didn't almost kiss her? And she didn't almost let him? Or should she have a deep and emotional conversation with the elder brother about what this all meant for them?

Why couldn't she just talk to Sam? He knew. He was actually the first one to figure it out - he even caught the gist of her crush before she did. He would know what to do when dealing with his brother. He always did.

"Uh," Dean started. It sounded like he was just trying to fill the empty air with something. And it wasn't working out too well, if you were to ask her. "I'm going to - uh - go take a shower." He turned away from her, grabbed some clothes, and made his way to the bathroom

"You do that." She commented, mentally facepalming herself for handling what had just happened like a socially inept highschooler. As she changed into something, she came to the conclusion that it was going to be one hell of an awkward night sharing a bed with Dean Winchester.

By the time the shower had turned off, she was already on top of the bed, reading a lore book by the only candle light - on the bedside table. She looked up from a passage about Scottish merrow in time to catch the Winchester staring at her. They made eye contact and he quickly looked away.

That was odd.

Dean Winchester never shied away from women - ever. So why did he do just that?

She watched him from the corner of her eye with curiosity as he made his way to the bed. His lean body slid under the comforter and sheet.

"You getting in or what?" She marked her place and set the book on the bedside table - next to the prehistoric walkie-talkie and a couple candles. She then hopped off to slip herself under the comforter and mismatched sheet - really, orange and green, who furnished this room? - not unable to notice how Dean's eyes followed her every movement.

She was right. This night was going to be sooo awkward.

She fluffed her pillow, trying to make her side more comfortable, but those things were more like bricks that something that could be slept on. Maybe she should just sleep on the mattress and build a wall out of the said pillow-brick hybrids so that she couldn't do something she may regret during the night, like sleep on top of him - because there was a very good chance of that happening as she was notoriously known as a cuddler by all her ex-boyfriends over the years.

But Dean had other ideas. "The walkie talkie on?" His back was turned towards her.

"Yep." She knew that he knew that she had the sense to check to make sure the outdated device was turned on. She let it slide though on account that this night was slowly turning out to be the worst sleepover she had ever attended in her life - seriously, even worse than when her parents had forced her twelve year old self to go to one so that she could 'further develop her social skills' - and she really didn't want to add a petty fight between the two hunters to the list of things that were currently stressing her out.

So far the list has consisted of: 1. Staying in 'The Middle of Nowhere', Wyoming at the hands of a blizzard, 2. Almost dying in said storm, and 3. Dean Winchester almost kissing her and now won't even look at her for more that five seconds at a time.

Very stressful.

And besides, it was stupid that they couldn't talk about this like the pair of adults they were supposed to be. Completely immature.

Yet she didn't want to be the one to initiate this heartfelt topic. She would so much rather it be Dean. Or even Sam. God, anyone but her should be the one to get the ball rolling.

"Apple pie?" She heard Dean's voice from the other side to the small bed.

"Yeah?" Could Castiel or God or any other deity listening in be answering her pathetic prayers? That would be amazing.

"Could you blow out the candles? I want to get some decent shut eye so we can leave early and head back to the bunker early."

"Sure." So it wasn't exactly what she had been hoping for, but at least he had said more than one word to her at a time. That was progress.

She blew out the remaining candles and settled back into her spot. She fell asleep to the wind blowing outside their room and the sound of Dean's deep breathing, thoughts of wall and interrupting old men gone.

How could her pillow have gotten harder throughout the night?

Yet how could it have gotten more comfortable as she slept on?

Seriously, though. It was hard, but still soft enough to sleep on without complaint.

And it was warm. Like a furnace. It was all around her, actually. And she didn't remember her pillow of the comforter smelling this nice, either,

She wondered if she could go deeper.

So naturally - in her sleepy state - she burrowed further into the warmth. But along with the contentment came a synced noise and vibration she knew she didn't make. It didn't sound like the walkie-talkie would - if she would ever need it - and that meant only one possibility was left.

The hunter opened her eyes and came face to face with a thinly clothed chest. She glanced up and - because everyone just hated her - she realized that she wasn't wrapped up in the comforter and pillow.

Oh no, she was wrapped up in the last person she wanted to be in this situation with: Dean Winchester.

To say that she had panicked was to say that Einstein was only of above average intelligence. She felt her body stiffen momentarily in his embrace as she wondered what to do when he woke up.

But really, what was she going to do? He'd probably shut her completely out, never talking to her again. And she knew she wouldn't be able to handle that. She'd probably have to leave and avoid the brothers at all cost, working odd jobs and living out of an old RV.

Okay, so it probably wouldn't come to that.

But it was the fact that she didn't know what would actually happen that scared her.

Besides, she couldn't really move too much without waking him up. And that was one of the last things she wanted.

Oh God, he had moaned again. And it almost sounded like her name. It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard.

His arms tightened around he and his hands splayed across her back under the flannel shirt - which she hadn't realized had happened, but she wasn't opposed to is at all.

It was heaven.

But then there was that damn walkie-talkie.

"You two up yet?" She heard the old man's voice scratching through the speaker. Why now?

She turned around - worries about Dean waking up pushed aside - and reached for the device. "We are now." She whispered.

"Good. I'm coming over, so I hope you two lovebirds are done with your hanky panky." Did she hear him right? "I'll be there in a few. Over." And his side clicked off.

She slammed the device from hell down on the table, hoping that it would break. That probably wasn't the case, though.

She turned back to find Dean staring at her. He looked so adorable in his sleepy state. She couldn't handle it. She couldn't even handle him.

"Morning, apple pie." He murmured as he blinked down at her.

"Morning." She replied back, smiling up at him.

His arms tightened around her again and he started to inch his face closer to hers. Would they be able to get it right this time? "He'll be here soon." She warned, not in the mood to be interrupted again. Their noses were brushing against each other.

She could feel his breath ghost across her lips as he responded. "Does it look like I give a damn about that?"

And then she kissed him. She couldn't help herself. She had to do it before something else got in the way. And the best part: Dean Winchester actually kissed her back. Fully. Without abandon.

She was wrong before. When she didn't know what it was like to kiss Dean Winchester. This was so much better than just lying in his arms. This was heaven.

He pulled her even closed and she used this opportunity to climb on top of him, straddling his waist. Her hands went to his hair, making it even more disheveled than it was before. She never wanted to leave this terribly furnished bed or this place in 'The Middle of Nowhere', Wyoming. And she definitely did not want to leave Dean. Like ever.

The two didn't even realize the door unlocking.

"I told you two no hanky panky!" She squealed and jumped off of Dean. She watched in mortification as the man walked up to them, shaking his head as he grabbed the walkie-talkie off the table and left the door.

She glanced back at Dean. He had that smirk of his back on as he pulled her back and connected their lips again. And then she forgot about anything else.

Oh great.

AN: And ten pages later, we have a story. Why was she on top of him? Because I firmly believe that Dean Winchester is a bottom and happy about it. Speaking about tops and bottom..., happy Valentine's Day to those who choose to celebrate it. I got this idea while shoveling myself out of my driveway so that I could get to school a couple weeks ago and I just had to write something from it.

I'm working on the next part of Tip Jars as you read this and a few other projects, but I'm unsure when it will all be up and such. So stay tuned!

Comments, questions, concerns? Check out my Iris Message (via sidebar of my blog, the link can be found on my author's page) or review and/or send me a PM (both via here on fanfiction).

Remember to Smile :)

~Becca