Gemini (Supernatural Rewrite Sam x Reader x Dean)

Mystery Spot

A/N: Let's hope this makes sense.  

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Muffled sounds coming from somewhere nearby pull you out of sleep before you're ready to let go of it.

For a few seconds, you stay buried beneath the blankets, caught in that miserable space between dreaming and waking where everything feels too bright, too loud, and unfairly personal. A frustrated groan slips out of you when the noise gets louder from across the room, vibrating through the cheap motel walls. To make matters worse, birds are chirping outside the window, deciding for the whole world that this is a perfectly acceptable hour to be alive.

You curse all of creation into Sam's chest.

He shifts beneath you with a sleepy sound, one arm tightening around your waist out of instinct. He's warm, unfairly comfortable, and still half-asleep enough that he doesn't immediately understand why you've gone tense against him.

You were having a good dream for once. You can't remember much of it now, only the faint impression of something warm and safe, the kind of dream that leaves behind an ache when it's taken from you too soon. And of course Dean Winchester, paired with stupid optimistic birds, had to ruin it.

You crack one eye open and squint past Sam's shoulder toward the clock on the nightstand.

7:32 A.M.

A full hour before the three of you agreed to get up.

You let your eye fall shut again and pull the sheets higher over your shoulder, trying to block out the noise and whatever daylight is creeping around the edges of the curtains. For a moment, you think maybe you can force yourself back to sleep out of pure spite. Maybe if you keep your face tucked against Sam and breathe slowly enough, your body will decide the world isn't worth dealing with yet.

Then the volume gets even louder.

"The heat of the moment
Heat of the moment shone in your eyes..."

Sam makes a pained noise without opening his eyes. "Dean."

"No," you mumble into his shirt. "Murder."

"That's illegal."

"So is that volume."

Sam's chest moves beneath your cheek with the weakest laugh, which only makes you more irritated because he is clearly not taking your suffering seriously enough. You shift just enough to free one arm from beneath the blankets, forming a fist before slamming it against the wall behind the bed. The lamp rattles on the nightstand. Sam's hand slides up your back like he's trying to soothe a feral animal back into captivity.

You wait a few seconds, hoping Dean gets the picture.

Nothing changes.

If anything, the song sounds louder now.

You throw the covers off with a sharp huff, accidentally dragging half of them off Sam in the process. He grumbles and reaches blindly for them, but you're already sitting up, hair a mess, pajamas rumpled, face probably full of malice.