Without A Trace >> Dean Winchester

25 | Silver Lining

25 | Silver Lining

SHE RUBBED HER PALMS TOGETHER in a quick motion, seeking warmth from the friction. Although the bunker had a well-functioning heater to shelter her from the chilly weather outside, she felt freezing. Her fingers were still cold and numb.

She woke up this morning tired. She found it quite odd, though. Sure, she was always greeted by exhaustion after waking up when a case was just newly solved— but today, she had just woke up and was already worn-out.

Like damn, is it that tiring to sleep?

She found herself struggling to unwrap her own body from the layers of blankets around her. She shivered when her bare feet made contact with the cool steel floor. Weird, she thought. I'm not a person to sleep with this many blankets. How did these get here?

She ran a hand through her hair and winced when she felt a slight tug. As always, her hair was all tangled and messy after waking up. She sighed and sat on the vanity table, looking into her reflection that's stared right back at her with weary eyes.

She heard faint knocking, and the door creaked open. Dean's head peeked in, his eyes wondering around and glinted when they finally landed on Clarissa. "G'morning, Peanut!"

"Hey, Dean. Sleep well?"

"So-so. But looks like you didn't. You look like some horses ran over you."

Clarissa scoffed, standing up, "what 'bout you? Do you practice being that ugly?"

"I'm so naturally handsome that I don't need practice, sweetheart." He replied. Dean neared her and handed her a mug, "here. A cup of joe."

Clarissa gratefully accepted the mug and held it close, warming her hands. "I hope you made it how I like."

He chuckled, drinking from his own mug, "why don't you see for yourself?"

She sat down on her bed, the soft mattress pressing down on her weight. She eyed the smiling Winchester as she brought her lips to the mug and took a big gulp. She loved hot coffee. Every tastebud said, "creamy overload. I repeat, creamy overload. This is not a drill."

She let out a satisfied sigh as the warm liquid went down her throat, immediately warming her. "Creamy. It's perfect."

"Just how you like it." He adds cheekily.

She observed the twinkle in his eye and the proud look he had—like he won an award. Her stomach did somersaults when the thought of him being so considerate to make coffee for her first thing in the morning crossed her mind. And the fact that he memorised how she liked her coffee was enough to make her melt into a puddle.

Meanwhile, Dean mentally celebrated joyously as he watched Clarissa down the rest of the coffee. He was delighted to make her smile. This made him want to make her even more happy. To please her. To see her smile. Dean looked down to his shoes, battling with his own emotions. Why did he feel like this?

Clarissa's velvety soft voice interrupted Dean's train of thoughts, "How thoughtful of you to brew this cup of coffee for me, Dean."

"I'm glad you like it. You were shivering last night on your sleep, by the way. I thought I had to wrap a thousand blankets on you!"