Waking slowly, Skye pried her eyes open and blinked at the sunlight flooding in through the thin curtains, debating for just a second whether it was worth it to get up or if she could maybe roll over and go back to sleep for a little while longer. Wait...where the hell was she?

Pushing off the itchy blue blanket that she didn't remember grabbing, Skye pushed herself up, giving the room a once-over as memory flooded back before panic could set in. Jericho. Sam. Dean. Oh yeah…

Falling back onto the bed, her weight on her elbows, Skye looked over at where Dean sat. Or rather, slept. Propped up in an armchair pulled close to the other side of the bed, his booted feet up on the table and an unfamiliar leather jacket draped over him, he couldn't possibly be comfortable. Then again, this was the man who'd insisted that sleeping in the car was perfectly fine and truckstop bathrooms were a good place for a whore bath. Neither of which was true, thank you very much.

Sam was nowhere to be found, so she could only assume he'd either gone out or, most likely, had gone to catch a few zzz's elsewhere. They'd rented a room with two queen-sized beds, after all, and more fool Dean for not taking advantage. And why do you think that is? Not a question she was awake enough— or wanted to— answer. Maybe after a shower. And like ten years. And a lobotomy.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, it took her a second to realize she wasn't wearing her boots, and she knew damn well she hadn't taken those off. And that explained the blanket, too. The vaguest sleep-soaked memory tickled at the back of her mind, Dean taking off her boots and tucking her in. Wait, had he actually tucked her in? ...pretty sure, yeah. Dammit. If he actually started being sweet, she was doomed and she knew it, denial or no denial. Might as well just shoot herself now.

But not until after a shower. Glancing at the clock, she frowned when she couldn't find it, though he could have sworn it was on the nightstand when she'd sat down last night. Whatever. Winchester had a watch.

Wincing at the crunchy carpet under her stocking feet, Skye stood, shuffling quietly around the bed to where he slept hunched in the armchair. Snagging the collar of the leather jacket, she lifted it away from where it lay over Dean's crossed arms, pulling it down just enough to try and get a glimpse of the clunky black plastic he called a watch. Thing was hideous and probably came out of a cereal box. ...and she couldn't see the watchface from this angle.

Taking a breath, she briefly debated just hopping in the shower anyway, but now it was more the principle of the thing. She just wanted to know the time, dammit, it shouldn't take an internal debate.

Rolling her eyes at her own dumbassery, Skye steeled herself, reaching over and grabbing Dean's wrist, turning it to see the ticking hands marking the hour.


"...and good mornin' to you, too, Sunshine." Pinned with her back firmly against Dean's chest, Skye leaned her head back, peering up at him with wide eyes. Her pulse fluttering under his hand, the warmth of her body soaked through his t-shirt, bringing him fully awake as effectively as a bucket of ice water. Why had he ever thought she'd run cold? "Remind me to be more careful about wakin' you up next time."

"The hell…" Easing his fingers off her throat, Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes and frowned down at her, noting the smile that was trying to make its way across her lips. She didn't seem nearly as scared as anyone in their right mind probably would have been, though that wasn't really saying much. Girl was nuts. In all the best ways. "What were you doing?"

"Just tryin' to check the time." Swallowing a laugh, Skye smirked up at him. Why was she laughing? Shouldn't she be freaking out right now? She didn't even like handshakes let alone full-body contact. "...so were you havin' a real great dream or you just happy to see me?" Well, that explained the amusement and also why the tips of her ears were turning red. Which was not helping.

"...Christ." Feeling his own skin flush, Dean released her, giving her a light shove in any direction that was away from him. Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes for a second, trying not to exacerbate his current problems by thinking about how she'd felt pressed up against him. Or about the dream he'd been so abruptly woken from.

Standing near the foot of the bed, hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans, Skye gave him a too-thorough onceover that made him thankful he wasn't wearing tighter jeans. Or sweats, God forbid. "If that's 'cause of Christ, then you have more issues than I originally thought."

"Pretty sure it's called biology."

Cocking her head, that lip twitch grew into a full-on smile when she met his eyes, speaking as matter-of-factly as if they were discussing the weather. "No, pretty sure it's called an erection."

Oh, for the love of... If he hadn't been blushing before, he certainly was now, and again, not helping. "Have you ever had a thought you didn't say out loud?"

"Sure, all the time. You should hear the one's I'm not sayin' right now." Shrugging a shoulder, she blew a few stray strands of hair out of her face, flashing him a smile. She looked perfectly innocent and yet, for just a second, he thought he saw a very not-innocent smirk, and then just like that, it was all sweetness and light again and he'd swear she was the most naive thing on the planet. How did she do that?

Sinking down into the chair he'd slept in, Dean leaned back, arms crossed as he studied the confusing little snip of a thing standing a few feet away. "I'm startin' to think you're a little messed in the head, Tink."

"...just startin' to? Where have you been this whole time, Winchester?"


Hot water washing over overheated skin, Skye closed her eyes, trying hard not to replay the most recent events of the morning in her head. Unsuccessfully. Several times. By rights, she should have been absolutely terrified when she'd blinked and suddenly had a hand at her throat. And she most likely would have been if it had been absolutely anyone else. So why hadn't she had a full-blown panic attack? You know why.

Because it was Dean, that's why, and she knew straight down to the depths of her soul that he'd never hurt her. Not in a million years. He just wasn't that kind of guy. And? And maybe because she knew he liked her. And maybe because she liked him. And maybe this whole situation was incredibly fucked up and they needed to find John before they got in any deeper. Because, and listen up Brain, Dean Winchester is a horrible, terrible, messed-up, no-good idea. Got that? Good. Bet he'd be a lot of fun, though. Seriously? She couldn't even hug someone without hyperventilating and her brain was trying to convince her he'd be fun? The fuck? Dean wasn't the only one that needed all the therapy. Besides, she wasn't looking for 'fun'. She wasn't looking for anything.

...still, no harm in just thinking about it, right?


After a brief hunt to find the television remote, Dean returned to the armchair he'd slept in. Clicking on the TV, he mindlessly flipped through channels, trying to focus on anything besides the sound of the shower and the naked girl in it. Rather unsuccessfully, but hey, it was worth a shot. Anything to avoid needing another cold shower, the one last night had been plenty, thanks.

God, did she have to take so long? Taking a peek at the watch on his wrist, Dean had to check that it was still working when he saw she'd only been in there for about seven minutes. Great. With a sigh, he slouched down in his seat, concentrating on Billy Mays exclaiming the virtues of OxiClean.

"...I said I wanna touch the earth, I wanna break it in my hands. I wanna grow something wild and unruly…"

And there went Billy Mays. Was she singing in the shower? She was singing in the shower. He'd heard her hum to the radio and sing under her breath, but no not actually singing. Even now she wasn't terribly loud, but thin walls and bathroom tile meant it didn't take much for the neighbor two doors down to hear how your day was going. And she wasn't half-bad, either. She wouldn't win any awards or anything, but she wasn't hard to listen to. ...country, though? Really?

"...I wanna sleep on the hard ground in the comfort of your arms on a pillow of bluebonnets and a blanket made of stars…."

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd had a woman singing in his shower. Almost a decade, at least. Not that his brief encounters with women didn't occasionally involve showers, but there really wasn't any singing going on. Thumb straying toward the mute button before he quite realized it, he found himself leaning his head back, eyes drifting closed as he listened to the unexpectedly domestic noises from the other side of the wall.

"...I wanna walk and not run, I wanna skip and not fall. I wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tall. I wanna be the only one for miles except for maybe you and your simple smile…"

Brushing off the nagging voice in the back of his head saying it was this kind of thing that was going to get him in over his head, Dean let himself relax for the first time in days, thoughts drifting unrepentantly in directions he knew damn well they shouldn't.

"...cowboy take me away, fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue. Set me free oh, I pray, closer to Heaven above and closer to you…"

A knock at the door interrupted Dean's daydreams just as they were getting to the really good bits, wiping away vague visions and half-formed desires to bring him crashing rudely back to reality. Well, it'd been nice while it lasted, but probably for the best, it really wasn't helping his issues any. Dragging himself out of the armchair, Dean made his way across the room to let Sammy in. "Mornin'."

"Morning." Hands in the pockets of his tan jacket, Sam smiled cheerfully at Dean from under a thatch of shaggy hair, slipping past him and into the dim interior of the motel room as the sound of the water running in the other room cut off. "Sleep good?"

"I slept, that's good enough." Slept. Dreamed. Vividly. Then woke up to the subject of that dream pressed up against him and now she was wet and naked about fifteen feet away and there was jack all he could do about it. Maybe he should take up jogging. "I'm starving. You wanna go grab a bite?" Because if he didn't get out of that room soon, he was going to go stark raving mad. Or explode. One or the other. Both options were guaranteed to get messy. "There's a diner down the street and I think Tink's about done in the bathroom-"

The dull roar of a hair-dryer Dean hadn't known existed hummed to life, cutting him off. He couldn't complain too much though, because the entertainment resumed right about then. Of course he couldn't really enjoy it because Sam was right fucking there. ...and interesting song choice.

"...well you're a real tough cookie with a long history of breaking little hearts like the one in 's okay, let's see how you do it, put up your dukes, let's get down to it…"

"-or not."

Chuckling at whatever ideas were spinning around in his gigantic head, Sam walked around Dean and made his way through the maze, sprawling into Dean's armchair and taking it over as if he owned the place. "Sure, I could eat."

"... you come on with it, come on, you don't fight fair. That's okay, see if I care. Knock me down, it's all in vain, I get right back on my feet again…"

So could I. Shoving that thought right back where it sprouted from, Dean walked over to the bed and dropped down onto the sagging mattress. Elbows on his knees, he ran a hand through his hair, unable to tune Skye out despite his best efforts. "...that probably doesn't mean anything, right?"

"What? Skye?" Slinging a leg over the arm of the chair, Sam smiled at Dean, no doubt enjoying the chance to talk about Dean's alleged feelings. Or some shit. He was getting way too much amusement out of this whole situation. Dick. "It might. I mean, could be she's just getting comfortable enough to sing around you. Could also mean she's either very self-aware and has you pegged." Stretching and lacing his hands behind his head, Sam shook his head, his smile turning into a smirk and an eyeroll. "Or it could mean you bought her a bunch of compilation CDs and her options are limited."

"...well you're a real tough cookie with a long history of breaking little hearts like the one in me. Before I put another notch in my lipstick case,you better make sure you put me in my place…"

Standing, Dean nodded absently as he walked over to the bathroom door and knocked, trying to get Skye's attention above the noise of the hairdryer and her own singing. "...makes sense." A half-smile tugging up one corner of his lips, Dean nodded toward Skyler's bag, still sitting on the table next to Sam. "Except she didn't take her CD player into the bathroom."

"...hit me with your best shot…"


"You sure you don't wanna go, Sam?" Sitting at the foot of the bed, Skye ran a brush through her hair, twisting the thick, dark mass up into her customary braid with the ease of long practice. This was the first time Dean had seen it down and there was a lot more of it than he'd thought there would be, falling just past her waist when she stood. I bet it's just as soft as it looks, too.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Chuckling, Sam reached over and smacked Dean's arm, tearing his attention away Skye before he could make an ass of himself. Brothers, sometimes they had their uses. "I think I'm just going to hang out, maybe call Jess. Think you could bring me back a BLT and a salad? Maybe some fruit if they've got any."

"Man after my own heart." Patting her braid into place over her shoulder, she leaned over to snag her boots and flashed Sam a smile. "Drink?"

"Just water would be great, thanks."

"You're very welcome." Standing, she stretched, grabbing her jacket and shrugging it on before snagging her bag off the table. Slinging a strap over her shoulder, she looked over at Dean. "You about ready, Winchester?"

"I've been waitin' on you, remember?" Straightening from where he leaned against the table, Dean snagged the leather jacket he'd found the night before and headed for the door. Unlocking the deadbolt, he twisted the knob, motioning for Skye to precede him out the door. "Come on, Pixie Stick."

"...that's a new one."