A/N: So, as it turns out my junior year was a bit insane and loaded with maximum credits and zero free time. I've kind of failed on updating this story, but it's not abandoned. I've been writing when I can, I just haven't had time to piece it all together in a way that makes much sense. Anyway, I'm still alive, so yay!

Disclaimer: I only own my OCs.

Chapter Thirty-Five
Stress, Exhaustion, and Snark

Thunder Creek, WY
June 1, 2001

It was that time of year again, which meant that everyone in Thunder Creek was stressed out to the maximum. Another Trial was about to start, and Dean privately entertained the thought that everyone he knew had lost their fucking minds.

These days it was rare to see Noah out on the training mats, instead, he was bent over a huge stack of files and frantically scribbling down a training plan for the incoming hunting recruits. Chris spent sleepless night after sleepless night pouring over the entirety of the Newbern family hunting journals inventing scenarios to test them with while Brad stomped around in a state of perpetual grumpiness and John just looked like he wanted to nuke the planet. Connie stalked around muttering to herself under her breath and Paige always had her nose in her hunting journal. He'd lost count of how many times he'd had to grab her elbow and gently steer her away from the object she was about to collide with.

About four days into the planning process Brad came to Dean and asked him to help train the recruits, which he agreed to do immediately. He, Chris, and Noah would handle the hand-to-hand and knife fighting, while others handled the shooting and other stuff.

There were only thirty-four in this group and Dean observed them curiously. Some were children of hunters already in the Brotherhood, but quite a few of them had that haunted look that meant they had recently been thrust into the supernatural world like his dad had been over twenty years ago. He asked around a bit, trying to find out what their stories were.

"One of them lost his family to a wendigo in Michigan," Connie informed him brusquely over breakfast the next day, a small piece of egg hanging off her chin as she shoveled down her food like she didn't expect to eat again anytime in the near future. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn't have time to eat for the rest of today. "Another lost her family to a violent poltergeist. There's a married pair who lost both their kids to changelings and would have lost the mom too if Cole and I hadn't intervened. We were too late to save the kids, though. Miracle of miracles the dad was on vacation in Germany so the changelings couldn't kill him."

"That's rough," Dean sighed, one again hating how violent this life could be. It forced people to be warriors, because how else were people supposed to cope with the fact that monsters and nightmares were real?

"That's hunting, I guess," Connie shrugged, and then she was out the door like her hair was on fire.

Dean didn't realize until about an hour later that it was one of the first conversations they'd ever had that didn't involve her threatening bodily harm. He was still sitting at the kitchen table two hours later when Paige came in looking harassed and exhausted.

"I hate planning for Trials," she said in lieu of greeting, dropping into the chair next to him and slumping against his shoulder.

She smelled like sawdust and leather and gun oil. Not altogether unpleasant, Dean noted.

"Hello to you, too," he joked, kissing the top of her head before turning his attention back to the copy of Brad's journal. He had a notebook open with notes jotted down, and Paige peered down at it before groaning dramatically.

"Oh god, not you too," she whined, shaking her head mournfully.

"Your dad asked me if I had any ideas for the final test," he defended himself with a wry smile.

"It's a trap," she whispered, eyes alight with mischief.

Dean just snorted and bumped his shoulder against hers, going back to scanning the list for possible monsters to use in the scenarios.

Paige sighed and grumbled, "This entire town has lost its goddamn mind."

"It'll be better by tomorrow when the class starts and everyone can stop stressing out so much." Dean pondered that for a moment before adding, "I hope."

"Then our stress will switch from the planning of the trial to the smooth execution of our plans," she pointed out dryly. "My sleep schedule is completely haywire it's making me grumpy."

"Quit being all logical," he teased with an easy grin. "I'm in denial over here. Just let me enjoy my blissful moment of ignorance."

"Except you just admitted that you're in denial so you don't have blissful ignorance," she pointed out.

"Shh," he insisted, poking her on the forehead.

"Oh, alright," Paige sighed, dropping her head to his shoulder again. She leaned against him so they were pressed together from hip to shoulder, his arm winding absently around her waist as he chewed his lip and jotted down a few of the more obscure monsters Brad had come across in his years of hunting to the list of things he knew his dad had faced.

He decided to take a break about ten minutes later. Paige was snuggled against his shoulder, her breath warm on the side of his neck. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he flipped the journal closed and gave up for the time being. A soft laugh escaped him when he realized that Paige had fallen asleep.

It took some clever maneuvering, but he managed to get them both from the kitchen table to the couch and settled down for a nap with Paige tucked into his side.

/

"Dean," she complained hours later when he pinned her hips easily to the bed, nuzzling her stomach affectionately. She laughed slightly and squirmed, bucking upwards in an effort to knock him off. "That tickles."

Just to be an ass, he rubbed his stubble on the sensitive part of her hip and she screeched in surprise, a high-pitched slightly hysterical laugh falling from her lips as she squirmed in his grasp. He grinned and did it again just because he could and she very nearly bucked him straight off the bed. Laughing lowly, he kissed her hip in apology.

"You ass," she gasped in complaint, twitching when he rubbed his chin against the sensitive spot and drew another pained laugh. She was pushing at his shoulders even though she knew it wouldn't do much; he had her pinned too effectively. "Stop it, that—that tickles, damn it, Dean—"

"You are so goddamn ticklish; it will never cease to amuse me," he told her smugly.

"Ass," she rasped as he drew another laugh from her by aiming for her ribs like a heat seeking missile. At least she got a good knee in, her abdominal muscles aching by the time she was done with her full-body laughter. "Get off me, you—ah—you jackass, stop it."

Grinning lazily, he met her fiery gaze. Her lashes were clumped together from the tears her laughing fits had drawn and she looked like she was going to murder him. Without looking away, he bent his head towards her belly button and she tensed beneath him, fingernails digging into his shoulders as she braced for the tickle attack she thought was coming. At the last second he blew an obnoxiously wet and loud raspberry on her warm skin, laughing before he'd even finished his breath.

He was still laughing when she kneed him off the bed.

When he could breathe again he sat up, poking his head over the top of the comforter, lips pulled back in a wide grin. Paige was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed with her arms crossed and was clearly trying to decide if she wanted to murder him or pounce on him in retaliation. "Are you mad at me?" he wondered, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress and pulling out the most charming grin he was capable of.

His hair was sticking up all over the place and he was still flushed slightly from his laugh attack. There was a teasing, fond, slightly wicked glint in his eye as he studied her and she felt a flush rising in her cheeks. With that easy grin and the lack of bags under his eyes he looked relaxed and happy, so much so that he could only be described as playful.

Paige's lips twitched into a smile against her will and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the sting of stubble burn he'd left on her stomach and hips. She reached down and grabbed his ears, muttering, "Get up here, jerkwad," as she dragged him upwards and crashed their lips together. He followed her down because it was as easy as breathing, fully on board with this new development as he kissed the breath right out of her.

Rough, calloused fingertips brushed over her hips and she twitched slightly.

"Don't you dare," she warned as they breathed the same air.

Dean's smile was gentle. He pressed a tender kiss to the tip of her nose and murmured, "No more tickling, promise. I had something else in mind."

"Not your best line," she informed him slightly breathlessly as he rolled them effortlessly so that she was sprawled on his chest and he was smirking up at her.

Instead of answering, he cradled her head and dragged her down for another kiss. Her hands braced on his shoulders, getting lost in the sensation as his palms slid up her spine.

"We are wearing way too many clothes," he told her cheekily, tugging her shirt over her head and sitting up so he could tug off his, as well. It only took a moment and then he pulled her to him again, rolling on top of her, resting on his elbows to smile down at her.

"Get down here," she told him, grabbing him by his ears again.

"What is it with you and my ears tonight?" he wondered curiously. Before she had a chance to answer, he cradled the side of her face in his palm and kissed her.

Thunder Creek, WY
June 2, 2001

"You two are disgusting, for the love of Odin," Connie complained the next morning, covering her eyes as soon as she walked into the kitchen. "Oh my shit, put some pants on, Winchester."

"I'm wearing boxers," Dean defended himself dryly. "Also, it's like eighty degrees outside and it's not even eleven yet." He went back to lazily mouthing along the top of Paige's shoulder. The blonde was leaning back against him, hair in a bun on the top of her head and her feet bare, wearing athletic shorts (thank God) as well as what appeared to be his shirt given it was at least two sizes too big for her. She was busy mixing something in a bowl and had a large, obvious, and downright painful looking hickey on the left side of her neck.

It violently disturbed Connie that the man was bare-chested (not that he didn't have nice muscles or anything but there were some things she didn't need to see like the imprint of teeth marks on his collar bone what) and dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers with Batman symbols on them.

"I'm aware of the time and the fact that you have lily white thighs can you please stop macking on my best friend and put some goddamn pants on."

"I'm comfortable, thanks though."

Paige was grinning but had yet to say anything.

"Back me up, Newbern," Connie whined pathetically. "His thighs are so white they are blinding me."

Dean scowled. "Hey! I'm not that pale!"

"Blinding. Like Casper the ghost."

"Rude."

"Now, now, children," Paige scolded in her mock-teacher voice. "Let's all get along and play nice or nobody gets breakfast. Dean, are you actually going to learn how to make pancakes without setting them on fire or are you just going to chew on my shoulder all morning?"

Connie made a betrayed noise and pouted. "You're letting him cook?"

"He wanted to try pancakes," the blonde admitted, shamelessly tilting her head to the side so he could nuzzle her neck.

"We're all going to die. He's going to burn the apartment down. Do we have fire insurance? We should probably have fire insurance. Between me and him we're bound to go up in flames sometime."

Paige glared, not appreciating the unintentional reference to what had happened to Dean's mom. Connie seemed to realize her mistake because she snapped her mouth shut and looked contrite.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Constance," Dean scowled grumpily, accepting the bowl she passed him and ignoring the fire comment. "How do you know when they're done again?"

"The bubbles around the edges," Paige patiently coached. "I'll do one first." She flicked the side of his head. "Pay attention, my dad will kill you if you set this place on fire." She lessened the sting of the flick by pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

"You two are going all sickeningly domestic on me make it stop. My eyes. My eyes," Connie moaned, dropping into the nearest barstool and folding her arms on the counter. She was quick to drop her head and hide her eyes. "Please don't have sex on the counters. I eat on these counters. And I'd prefer if you didn't repeat last night with me in the vicinity. I never took you for a screamer, Paige. I am scarred for life, I will have you know."

Dean promptly choked on his own spit and Paige blushed scarlet and threw a spatula at Connie who just ducked and cackled like a madwoman.

/

Chris jumped slightly when a heavy book slammed down on his desk. He blinked owlishly up at Constance. She was blurry for about three seconds until his eyes adjusted to the distance of looking up at something after looking down at a journal for the past four hours straight.

"Help," she said desperately.

"Huh?" he eloquently mumbled, knuckling at his eyes with his free hand. The Trials had started that morning and he'd just finished up his plans for the final test. It had been another sleepless night in what felt like a month of sleepless nights.

"Your sister and Winchester are disgusting."

His brain struggled to make sense of that. Squinting up at her, he set his pen down and repeated, "Huh?"

"Oh my god, Newbern, activate your brain," Connie snapped exasperatedly, smacking the side of his head and making him jump. "You look like a sleep deprived owl."

"I'm not an owl but I am sleep deprived," he admitted, punctuating the sentence with a yawn so wide he cracked his jaw. "Ow," he added pathetically, rubbing his cheek and wincing. "What did Paige do?"

"Paige and Dean," she corrected, dropping to the chair on the other side of his desk and propping her bare feet on the edge, crossing them at the ankle. "The both of them, together. For the past week. In what I would imagine is every position possible."

"Position?" he repeated dumbly, trying to focus and draw his mind from the allure of a waiting bed and comfy pillow upstairs.

"You're either way more tired than I thought or you are really dense," Constance told him matter-of-factly. "Sex, Chris. Sex positions. All of them. Everywhere. At all hours of the night."

Chris blinked, struggling to connect the dots in his mind. When it dawned on him, he blanched visibly and squawked, "I don't want to know."

"But — "

"LALALALA," he said loudly to drown out her sentence, holding up his hand and shaking his head vigorously. "Constance, he's like my brother and she's my baby sister. I don't fucking want to know. I already want so expunge the horrific image you put in my brain, thanks for that. What they do on their own time is up to them."

"But they're so loud," Connie whined, dropping her head dramatically to the back of the chair. "Winchester is nice and all, sarcastic like me and a sassy motherfucker when the mood strikes him, but there are some things you just don't need to hear."

"They're young and in love, what did you expect? Teleport to China and stroll down the Great Wall or something, what do you want me to do about it?" Chris said grumpily, closing his hunting journal and reaching behind him to return it to the shelf.

Connie sighed. "I just wanted to complain to you about it, that's all," she admitted. "I'm also here to talk to Old Fart, though."

"If grandpa hears you calling him Old Fart he'll set you on fire himself," Chris reminded her mildly. "What do you need to talk to him about?"

"Well, you know how I disappeared for a while after mine and Paige's last hunt?"

"I did have to listen to her losing her mind with worry and cussing you out, yes," he said, folding his arms on the desk and dropping his chin to them. "Why?"

"Well . . . I told her I was in Australia, and then France on a little mini vacation after I rescued Princess Cole from that mineshaft."

Chris sighed deeply, forcing himself to keep his eyes open as he guessed, "You weren't in France or Australia, were you?"

"Not unless Montana counts as France now," she admitted with a slight wince. "I didn't want to lie, but I've noticed that Dean has been doing a lot of side research into the Yellow Eyed Demon and John Winchester was in Missoula last week hunting him down."

"Was Yellow Eyes there?" he demanded, tensing immediately.

"No," she said with a wave of her hand, "he was gone, but John was closer this time than any of the others. Yellow Eyes was nervous, I could tell."

"You talked to him?"

"Not by choice. He visited me in a dream like he sometimes does when I'm outside the safety of TC."

"And?"

"And, he said that Winchester was a menace. The usual stuff. He made sure I was doing what he was asking, but this time, his request was different."

Chris frowned, blinking rapidly a few times in an effort to get his eyes to function normally. "What did he say?"

Connie shifted uncomfortably. "He said he has a new task for me, that I was 'going to help him build his army'. And then he handed me a vial of blood and told me that if the young Winchester ever breeds, I'm supposed to put three drops of blood in the baby's mouth on its six month birthday. Something about a debt that has yet to be repaid and that he can't wait for the hellhounds to collect on," she said lowly, studying him. She swallowed and admitted, "He mentioned you, Chris. Specifically. By name . . . and by date."

Just like that, he tensed, hands clenching into fists. "Demons lie," he said in a tone of forced calm.

"November 12, 1994," she countered with. If anything, Chris only tensed more. "There was a car crash six years ago, Chris, involving you, your birth mother, and your sisters. A car crash that was a stone's throw from a crossroads. You said that Paige was only thrown from the car, but the blood on her clothes told a different story. Everyone else was so relieved that you all were okay that they didn't notice. But I did."

"Connie — "

Connie cut him off with a quiet, "I won't say anything. I love her, too, you know."

Chris relaxed fractionally but his expression was still tight with stress. For a long moment they just stared at each other, until Connie abruptly stood up and bent down to throw her arms around him in a tight hug. Startled, he didn't react for a long moment until he stood from his chair so he could hug her properly.

"You're my brother," she said into his neck. Noises that sounded suspiciously like sniffles filled his ears.

"Uh," he said less than eloquently, smoothing a hand up and down her spine while he tried not to panic. There was nothing he hated more than women's tears because he never knew what to do. Also his sisters weren't really criers. And it was freaking him out more than a little bit that she was crying on him because he'd only seen her cry, like, three times his entire life.

When Connie pulled back, she looked determined. "I'm not going to let it happen," she swore fervently.

"Connie," he said placatingly, rubbing a hand affectionately across the top of her head and mussing her hair. Scowling, she slapped his hand away and he sighed, tucking it instead into his back pocket. "I made a deal. You can't break it."

Fury snapped in sky blue eyes as the blonde challenged, "Watch me."

A small of him, tiny and long-forgotten in the wake of knowing he was going to die in four years, felt the first spark of hope since that cold and icy night in November.

Thunder Creek – Paige & Connie's Apartment
June 4, 2001

"Oh god not this again," Paige yelped, ducking away from Dean and making a run for the bedroom door.

Dean tackled her to the mattress before she'd gone two steps, gently, of course. He landed on top of her and knocked the wind out of them both, taking a deep breath and looking down at her, fully prepared to declare his love — only, the words got stuck in his throat.

There was a light in his eyes she'd never seen before. Quite frankly he looked kind of, well, insane. Determined, too. Not the greatest combination for her peace of mind.

"What's going on?" she wondered, staring up at him. He had his elbows braced on either side of her head he and seemed to be at a loss for words. Uncomfortable under his silent, intense scrutiny, she squirmed slightly, reached up to run her fingers along his jawline. "Dean?" she prompted quietly, catching onto the somber mood.

Shifting his weight just a bit, he cupped her cheek in his palm, smoothed his thumb along her cheekbone, studied the blue of her irises and her long eyelashes. "You're beautiful," he told her seriously, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, her expression was open and unguarded, surprise evident in the tilt of her eyebrows.

Recovering quickly, she smiled. "You're not half-bad yourself, mister," she told him, reaching up to run her fingers over the bridge of his nose and his adorable freckles.

"I'm serious," he murmured, still thumbing her cheek, the skin soft beneath his touch.

Her eyes softened, lips curling upwards into a loving smile. "So am I," she said, feeling kind of sappy, but it was true. "What's gotten into you? Usually you're mister 'no chick flick moments'. Not that I'm complaining," she was quick to add. "I'm just a little confused."

Dean smiled then, really smiled, his eyes lighting up as his eyes crinkled. "I love you," he said simply.

Paige blinked, surprised at the revelation, until she was smiling back with equal joy, reaching up to cup his face in her hands, his stubble rough beneath her fingers.

"I just wanted you to know," he said quietly, parroting their conversation from months ago as he leaned down and kissed her long and slow. He pulled back to kiss the end of her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. "Do you believe me yet?" he wondered curiously, and the both knew he wasn't talking about the love part.

"I'm starting to," she admitted, folding her arms around his neck to pull him down until their chests pressed together and she could feel his warmth through her T-shirt and they were breathing the same air. Her fingers trailed through the hair at the nape of his neck, making him shiver slightly.

"Good," he proclaimed, and after that, there was no need for conversation.

/

Much later, she was dozing lightly with her cheek pressed over his heart, his arm around her to hold her close as his hand trailed absently up and down her spine.

"Have you ever thought about marriage?" he said into the quiet of their bedroom, staring up at the ceiling fan as it rotated slowly, clicking softly with every rotation.

Paige stirred, snuggled more into his warmth, hand tucked under his ribs. "A few times," she admitted, tilting her head up to look at him. In response, he tilted his head down to meet her gaze, until their noses were nearly touching. "Have you?"

He couldn't resist kissing her, quick and tender. When he pulled back she was smiling.

"A few times," he admitted with a cheeky grin. Sobering after a moment, he added, "Do you want to get married?"

"Yes," she said sleepily, eyes half-open, lulled to sleep by his warmth and how comfortable she was currently. "Do you?"

Dean thought about it for a moment before he responded, "Yes."

She made a noncommittal noise and pressed a kiss over his heart. "I'm sure there's a meaningful quote somewhere about pillow talk and how important it is, but I'm too tired to remember," she yawned.

It was quiet again and she was almost asleep when he said, "Would you ever want to marry me?"

Paige took a moment to process that sentence before she lifted her head to look at him, having noted the faint hints of vulnerability and insecurity in his voice. He was like a wild animal trapped in a cage, looking up at her almost defiantly, and she wondered if he'd actually meant to say that aloud or if he was just too tired to censor. Smiling, she cupped his jaw, leaned down to kiss him and felt him relax bit by bit.

"In a heartbeat," she whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear her. "I love you, doofus."

His arm tightened around her, fingers digging into her hip as he exhaled, that particular worry put to rest as he whispered, "I love you, too."

He wasn't even offended when she passed out a few moments later. Smiling, he trailed his fingers up her spine and watched the moon rise higher in the sky until he eventually fell asleep himself.

Thunder Creek, WY
June 6, 2001

"What the fuck has you in such a good mood," Connie snarled over her bowl of cereal. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked like she was a nanosecond away from committing homicide. This whole Trials business was getting to everyone. It was almost the end of the first week and everyone was drawn and exhausted from the sleepless nights and seemingly endless lecturing and training.

"Nothing," Dean said quickly, rescuing his banana before she could stab it with the knife she was brandishing in her left hand like it was a sword. He'd been thinking back to their conversation the other night and reevaluating his entire life because he was considering asking someone to marry him when most of his life he'd always thought he'd be an eternal bachelor.

"Your face says otherwise."

Dean scowled back at her. "Stop scrutinizing my face."

"Stop using such big words at the ass end of morning."

"I don't think you understand what ass end means," he informed her mildly, scooting backwards to avoid the swipe of her knife.

"Asshole," she growled, returning her attention to her incredibly late dinner. Incredibly early breakfast. Whatever.

"Shithead," he retorted without missing a beat, shoveling his own cereal into his mouth.

"Children," Paige groaned from the other side of the table, where she had faceplanted almost fifteen minutes before after downing her bowl of cheerios like it was her last meal on earth. They'd just assumed she was asleep.

"He started it," Connie informed her primly, shoving the last two bites into her mouth and downing the milk. "Fuck, I'm tired. Goodnight. No loud sex, we have to be up at six."

"Fuck," Paige sighed, checking her watch. The hands informed her it was just past three in the morning.

"C'mon," Dean sighed, dumping their bowls unceremoniously in the sink.

"But the dishes — "

"Can wait," he insisted, herding her towards the hallway with his body. "We need to sleep."

Paige didn't have the energy to argue. In the past four days they had all gotten three, maybe four hours of sleep a day and that was generous. Yesterday they'd only gotten sporadic, random naps that were just enough to take the edge off but still left them exhausted. Her grandpa was pushing them hard, harder than he did usually.

She was aware enough to kick off her clothes and root around in the drawer for an oversized T-shirt and shorts that she tugged on with a huge yawn before faceplanting in her pillow. Dean did the same behind her and she hardly had time to register the blankets settling around them before she was out.

/

The shrill alarm woke them three hours later.

Dean groaned loudly, swatting it with his hand without lifting his head. "I hate everything," he mumbled.

Beside him, Paige managed to drag herself upright, taking a moment for the abrupt change of position and sudden vertigo to fade. She stumbled to the shower and turned on the water as cold as she could stand it, hoping it would help to wake her up.

It didn't.

They didn't have time to shower separately so Dean slipped in with her a few moments later, yelping at the temperature and cussing up a blue streak while he shampooed his hair with military quickness. It was a quick, efficient shower that left their teeth chattering from the cold temperature as they rushed through getting dressed and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Connie was shivering from an equally icy shower and shoved travel mugs of coffee at both of them. Without a word the three of them were out the door and thundering down the stairs of the apartment complex Paige and Connie had lived in for the better part of a year now.

"I fucking hate the Trials," Connie grumbled as Paige fired up the suburban and drove them towards the ranch house, where the trainers and planners were all gathering for a quick meeting to make sure everything was on track. The recruits were already off at training so they had to do it now before they came back.

Thankfully, her grandma and grandpa were waiting with food and more coffee that the three of them accepted gratefully.

"Do you live with her now, boy?" John growled as he pressed a plate of three fresh glazed donuts into his hands. He was wearing a simple black apron that was dotted with flour and he was scowling heavily, his silvery hair combed neatly despite the early hour.

Not for the first time, he wondered if John Newbern was a robot. All the same he accepted the donut because the man may be a hardass but he sure new how to cook.

"When I'm home," he grumbled.

"We'll talk later," the signore growled before shoving him gently out of the way for the next hungry, exhausted Brotherhood member.

"Joy," he muttered under his breath as he made his way to the living room, the source of their unofficial meetings like these, and found a spot on the couch. There were chairs arranged around the room as well but he wanted to sit by Paige. He ended up between her and Connie. It was a little comforting that they were just as bleary-eyed and exhausted as everyone else in the room. Across from them, Chris had his head leaned against the back of the couch and was snoring softly, plate of donuts balanced on his knees and coffee cup curled in his big hand.

Paige was blinking slowly and chewing methodically, wishing she could go back to sleep. She didn't even know what day it was. "What day is it?" she said to the room at large.

"Who the fuck knows," several voices chorused.

"Thursday?" another voice guessed from somewhere behind them. She was too tired to turn and see who had spoken and none of them sounded normal because they were so tired so it was hard to tell. Could have been Jared, maybe Elliot.

"Wednesday," John corrected as he appeared with the dreaded color-coded Trial binder in hand. "Everyone up, this won't take long and then we can all get some goddamn sleep." He kicked Chris' foot to get him up and the man jerked, head flying up with an audible crack.

"Thanks," Chris groaned, but he was awake.

They ran through performances of the candidates, the scores on tests, their aptitude, their potential, their training schedules and regimes. It was a long and tiresome half an hour until the signore released them and told them he didn't need any of them until Friday. He then told them to get the fuck out, which was practically an engraved invitation to have a long affair with their pillows for some much needed sleep.

"Thank god," Dean sighed, feeling like crying in relief. "We get to sleep," he added, drawing out the last word on a groan. They shuffled to the suburban with binders tucked under their arms, yawning every other minute. It was a slow drive back to town just to be safe. As soon as they parked the three of them stumbled from the car and up the stairs into the apartment.

"Wake me up for anything short of nuclear war and I kill you," Connie told them before slamming her bedroom door.

Rolling his eyes, Dean followed Paige to her bedroom and stripped to his boxers and a T-shirt, gratefully slipping back under the covers as she drew the light-block curtains and left the room in inky darkness. "We gonna sleep until we wake up?" he yawned as she slid in beside him and tucked herself against his side.

"That was the plan," she told him, exhaustion making her voice rough. "Week one is over, it should get less stressful as they back off the physical aspect of training."

His only response was to yawn and nuzzle the top of her head, already half-asleep. "Your grandpa wants to talk to me about how much time I spend over here," he told her.

"You might as well move in at this point," she informed him, stretching and wiggling slightly to get more comfortable before she settled and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

"Was that an invitation?" he mumbled sleepily, wishing he wasn't about a second before passing out because he was pretty sure she'd just asked him to move in with her.

"Damn straight."

"What about Connie?"

"She'll deal," Paige mumbled, scrunching her nose and slinging an arm around his chest. "Talk later, I'm tired."

Dean made an agreeing noise and absently kissed the top of her head before he fell into a deep and dreamless much-needed sleep.

E/N: Mostly fluff. Still organizing stuff, hope to post this more regularly.