It was half past four in the morning, and he was drinking again. Of course, why should anyone really be surprised at it? That man's blood was half alcohol. But, for some reason, it surprised her.
At the end of the bed is where he sat. The motel's min-fridge sat running quite loudly in front of him, wedged between a paper-thin wall and a single countertop, a lousy picture of an unrecognizable pinup girl hanging crooked above it, probably covering a large crack in the wall. The lights were out, except for the street lights and buzzing motel sign outside, shining dull light through the dirty window and curtains.
On the bed adjacent to his, lay his snoring, sleeping, younger brother. His head was mushed into his pillow, mouth open, drool creating a small pond on his pillow. His long legs hanged off the end of the bed, the blanket not long enough to cover his feet. Each of his arms were out, one hanging off one side of the bed, and the other laying on the table in between, almost knocking over the large, goddy lamp.
He took another swig of beer, the amber liquid loudly splashing on the inside surface of the glass bottle. He was about to take another drink when he felt a soft nudge on his lower back. He silently cursed himself for waking her, but now that he did, he couldn't simply expect her to roll back over and forget about him. But he could try.
"Go back to sleep." He demanded easily, not really expecting it to work. Of course, it didn't. She was too stubborn.
"No," She said, as expected. He knew her movements before she did them, and within a second, she'd gotten to her knees and pulled the blanket around her shoulder to keep warm in the unheated motel room in the middle of January. She crawled up beside of him and rested, her head falling sleepily on his tense shoulders.
"Bethany," He sighed her name, "Go back to sleep."
"No, Dean," she said in a stern voice. "What's got you up? You're never up this early."
"Couldn't sleep." He spoke quietly and nonchalantly, taking another swig of beer. "I'll be back to bed in a second, after I finish this."
Without word, Bethany crawled behind him and wrapped her small hands around his broad, tense shoulders. She worked the muscle under her palms the best she could, trying to imitate the women off the tv shows she vaguely remembered watching.
She worked her thumbs on the back of his neck, rubbing softly against his baby hairs that brushed against her fingers. "Relax." She whispered in his ear. "You're too tense."
Dean stayed quietly and finished his beer, laying the bottle on the floor.
She somehow managed to work some of the stress from his muscles, though she could tell not much. He didn't say much about it except crawling back into bed with her, sighing softly and kissing her temple.
"You're gonna spill to me sometime, alright?" Beth murmured as she began to doze back off into the last hour and a half's sleep she could manage. She wasn't conscious enough by the time he manifested an answer.