This is dedicated to @brokenwingspn051416.
Dean made his way toward his room from the kitchen with a beer in hand, his hair tussled and pajama pants hung low on his hips when he heard soft music coming from your room. He recognized the tune immediately, Enchanted was one of your favorite movies. You had roped him into watching it numerous times. He gently pushed open your door to reveal you curled up with a cup of hot tea on your nightstand, your enraptured features lit in the dim glow of your laptop in the late hours of the night. Watching movies had always soothed you from the nightmares that consistently plagued you. A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched James Marsden clumsily sing in the rolling hills of Central Park, only to be run over by bicyclists. Dean grinned at your stance, how you were so enthralled in the movie you'd seen literally dozens of times. He knocked softly, causing you to shift your attention from the screen to the green-eyed hunter leaning against your doorframe.
"Hey." You smiled up at him softly, not entirely surprised that he was awake. The two of you were pretty much on the same sleep pattern: lay down, toss and turn restlessly, have about an hour of awful sleep, wake up, wonder around, then return to bed for about 4 hours.
"Hey sweetheart. What are you doing?" He questioned.
"Same thing I try to do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world!" You replied enthusiastically, throwing your fists in the air. He slightly rolled his eyes before the corners of his mouth turned up in an amused smirk. You giggled before reaching for your tea, "Nah... can't sleep, as per usual. What about you?" You asked, taking a sip.
"Same." He paused, glancing down at the beer in his hand.
You eyed him for a moment before scooting on your bottom, removing the covers and making room for him in your bed. He chuckled under his breath before sauntering towards the memory foam mattress.
The two of you had a complicated relationship. On the surface, you were friends. Best friends, in fact. Underneath, though... underneath you were trying desperately to ignore the thunder in your heart on a regular basis. Whenever he waltzed into a room, you practically lost the ability to breathe. For the most part, you were able to keep your cool. Cuddling with him in your bed wasn't necessarily a rare occurrence, so when Dean lowered himself onto your mattress and leaned his back against the headboard, it felt completely natural to curl into his side and take the beer from his hand.
He crossed his ankles and draped an arm around your shoulders. "What's the chipmunk's name, again?" He asked, taking a swig of his beer.
"Pip. I'm surprised you have to ask." You giggled. "Any more info on the hunt for tomorrow?"
"Yeah... witch bitch seems to be holed up in a small cabin in Louisiana. 2 more missing of 'mysterious circumstances'. We're gonna head down in the morning, so you better get your rest." He said, placing a small kiss to your forehead, effectively igniting sparks throughout your entire body.
Little did you know that Dean's heart swelled relentlessly in his chest as he looked down at your form nestled underneath his arm. Soon enough, the two of you had fallen fast asleep, legs intertwined with your head tucked under his chin.
The next morning, you awoke with a heavy arm around your waist and a tickling, warm air on your neck. You smiled sleepily and shifted a bit, preparing to fully wake up. Dean, however, had other plans. He pulled you back towards him and nuzzled into your hair, throwing a leg over yours so it was virtually impossible to move.
"Dean... come on." You giggled. "We've got to get up."
"Mmmmm... nope." He groaned grumpily.
"Yes. Come on, we've got to get on the road."
"Five more minutes." He whined.
You pried yourself from his grasp and swung your legs over the side of the bed. "Uh uh... come on Winchester." You said as you ripped the covers off of his body.
"Man... you suck." He ran a hand through his bed head and rolled himself to the edge, grumbling.
"Oh shut it. You love me." You winked before heading to the bathroom.
As Dean prepared the morning coffee, his mind wandered. He loved waking up next to you, even if you were just friends.
Friends.
He shook his head and went to shower and pack. It was an all day drive and they needed to start soon.
In twenty minutes, Sam strolled into the garage with his duffle slung over his shoulder. You were already stretched out in the back seat, feet propped on the green cooler, a Twizzler hanging from the corner of your mouth, and headphones shoved in your ears, toe tapping to some classic rock song, probably. Dean had the trunk open, stocking it with all the necessities. When he lowered the sawed off shotgun back into place, Sam threw his duffle onto the felt and climbed into the front seat with his gross green smoothie.
"Seriously, Y/n? Twizzlers for breakfast?"
"Hey! I had a muffin."
"Let me guess, it was chocolate chip." He said sarcastically.
"Still counts as breakfast, Moose."
Dean slid onto the leather seat and placed the key in the ignition, adjusting the mirror slightly so that he could view your short clad bare legs sprawled out on the back seat.
Throughout the drive, the three of you exchanged jokes, belted classic rock songs (well, you and Dean did), and gazed at the passing scenery. You even tried to braid Sam's hair, much to his dismay.
"I'm telling you man, just give me 5 minutes with some clippers." Dean mocked, causing you to throw your head back in laughter.
You arrived in New Orleans around ten, checking into a motel on the outskirts of town. The three of you decided to hit a bar for a few hours before going to bed, possibly get some more information on the strange happenings in the area. You spoke with the bartender, a few of the waitresses, and the drunk dude in the back booth. You concluded that the center of it all was a small shop on Bourbon Street called "Marie Laveau's House Of Voodoo" that you would check out the next day.
Taking one more shot before you went to the door, the three of you failed to notice a set of eyes following your every move from the far end of the bar, grinning as they spoke under their breath, "the Winchesters... how delightful."
