Hell's Greatest Weapon

Chapter 20: Brinner (Breakfast for Dinner)

You were still sitting on your chair across the room from the bed, your legs crossed, your hands folded on your lap when you finally lifted your mental energy and left Dean to sleep on his own; it was only an hour and a half after that before he finally woke, the clock showing around 6 in the evening when he rolled over to face you.  Dean smiled and rubbed his eyes at the sight of you, propping himself up on his elbow.

“You been up for a long time?” He asked, his voice still showing signs of sleepiness.  He yawned and stretched, plopping himself back down onto his back before turning his head to look at you.  “I take it by the looks of you I was stealing the sheets again.”

A smirk came over your face when Dean said this and you dropped your eyes down, looking at your toes as the memories washed over you.  It had always prompted a fight between the two of you in years past, and you still felt a flood of frustrated, prideful anger flash through you when you remembered waking up every morning for months, freezing because Dean had managed to make a cocoon of himself with the sheets.  It got so bad after a while that you demanded using different sheets and different comforters, something Dean didn’t understand the purpose of.  But of course he wouldn’t—he was always toasty in his own little world. 

With all of the sheets.

“No,” you shook your head and looked back up at him, the smile on your face suddenly turning sadder.  “No, I just couldn’t sleep.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed before closing entirely, his hands coming up to his head and he shook is softly from side to side.  “Y/N, what are you doing?”  When you didn’t answer, Dean’s hands fell back down to his sides and he rotated his head to look at you; finally he turned to his side and propped himself back up on his elbow, holding silence a moment before continuing.  “Can you just relax for thirty seconds and come lie down?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Your voice was soft though every muscle in your body was tense as you spoke.  While you didn’t think your muscles could possibly have flexed any more than they already were, you found that, as Dean’s eyes filled with disbelief, you began cramping all over.  Still refusing to unflex, refusing to let your guard down, you did nothing to keep your muscles from tensing.

“Do we really need to have this conversation right now?”  There was a pleading element to Dean’s voice that normally would have won you over in a heartbeat, but the shadows around his eyes, the shadow erupting from his features with every passing second kept you on guard.  “Just…” he plopped his head back down onto the pillow, his bottom arm reaching up and laying just beneath his cheek while the other moved outward, hanging off the bed.  “Just come over here.  We can talk in bed.”

“That,” you lifted a lazy hand and pointed at Dean.  “That is an even worse idea.”

“Why, though?”  He brought a hand up and rubbed his eyes, using his index and thumb to clear them of any sleep crusties.  “What makes it so god awful to talk while lying down?”

When Dean looked back at you, you only blinked, your body motionless for the most part as you sighed.  “You know it’s more than just lying down, Dean.”

“Then what’s so bad about it?” Dean fully sat up, now, the sheets all gathering around his waist while he slumped over, still slightly tired from having just gotten out of the sleeping mode.  “It’s not like anyone is in danger, here, I mean you can’t die,” he gestured to you, “I basically can’t die, either, it’s not like it wasn’t consensual because I wanted it,” he pointed to his chest and paused a moment before looking over at you and tossing a lazy hand your way, “Based on what all happened, I’m getting the vibe that you wanted it.”  Dean rushed a hand through his hair and left it there, his fingers tangled in his mass of bed-head before turning to face you.  “What?”