Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. Spoilers about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.
Disclaimer: The Winchesters and their pretty little world is not mine to torture, tumble or toy with. But I do so anyway. Without getting paid, and with full respect to Mr Kripke and all the other lovely people behind Supernatural.

Thank You for all the nice words! Pretty phrases keep writers going:)

COGITATIONS
113: Route 666
by Sade Lyrate

(Note: I was feeling sorry for the boys for all the crap they go through in the canon and in the fanfics I've lately read, and I wanted some fluff, so...)

The night eased over Cape Girardeau.
Sam glanced at his cellphone, quiet on the table next to the laptop. He stretched, eyes touching the other bed in the room.
It was getting late, and Dean hadn't gotten back.

Any other job, any other day...

Sam rubbed a hand over his face, smiling.

Any other day, and I'd be scouring the lands by now.

But now...

He couldn't help but smile. And hope his hunch was right, and Dean wouldn't stagger back in drunk or hungover, quite probably bruised to boot. Sluggish, he laid out on a bed, mind wandering, sight turned inwards, sleep stalking in the shadows.

He liked Cassie. Sure, he didn't know much about her, but...the way she glimpsed Dean, the way Dean glanced at her...
There was something so familiar in those one-sided looks it almost hurt. Something about the sparkles he could practically see between the two that made him, for once, remember Jessica without immeaditely being smothered by the smoke and the flames. Remember the good times, the good things.

The way light made her hair shine, her eyes glitter.
The way she pressed against him in her sleep.
The way she grounded him into reality.
The way her touch warmed him even if her fingers were near frozen.

The way she used to wake him up on weekends, kissing, drowsy fingers flitting over his skin, tracing unintelligible swirls and curls and patterns. Alive, well, beautiful.

She'd keep at it until he wakes up, opens his eyes or grabs her, returning the kisses with everything he has.
Those were the times he now missed the most, the instances of calm he was afraid he'd never experience again. Times when it was just the two of them, when the world seemed perfect and happy and safe...and it was so easy to forget the Winchester-world of darkness.

They'd linger in the bed, sleepslow and dreamwarm, thoughts torpid, touching, feeling, kisses idle, caresses long and languid, inching towards full wakefulness sweetly slow.
Half the time they'd doze off instead, entangled, together, only to wake up well into the afternoon.

She feels soft against him, skin smooth, scarless, flesh warm and alive and just so...right...
Under his fingers, so familiar with weapons' hard surfaces, her flesh is supple, sweat salted, her sighs sweet.
Over him, sun glancing her hair, turning it into a halo, her hands on his chest strong, smile straying from saint's to shark's.
Around him, legs trapping his waist, arms on his back, drawing him deeper and deeper into an embrace he never wants to leave.

Her lips, skimming over his skin, nipping, nibbling over sensitive spots, her breath turning into chuckling and laughter as he gasps or twitches. Her hands, eager in their exploration, as enflamed as his own, curling and crawling, teasing and tangling.

Shared breaths, bodies entwined, sensations shifting until it's hard to tell where one ends and another begins. Sleep left far behind in favour of reality filled with gentle touches and heated emotions, sentience admitting only to the pleasure of now.

He woke up, gasping, familiar ache grasping his heart, another sort, painful now, struggling lower. He tried to ignore both, loss as sharp as it had been over half a year ago, curling up on his side, feeling the all too common burn behind his eyelids, strangling him.

Oh, God...
I miss you, Jess.

He shifted, fingers grasping the covers, and could almost feel the featherlight kiss, the shadowsoft whisper.

I know.