One crappy motel room. One crappy bed. And one very smug Dean Winchester.

You stand at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “There’s seriously only one?”

Dean tosses his duffel down and flops onto it, grinning. “It’s not the first time. What, afraid you’ll catch feelings?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m afraid you snore.”

He pats the space beside him. “Guess you’ll have to find out the hard way.”

Reluctantly, you slide in — back-to-back, careful not to touch. Silence. Then Dean shifts.

“Your elbow is in my spine.”

You shove him. “You’re on my side.”

He turns over, voice low now. “Wouldn’t be so bad if you just admitted you like this.”

You scoff. “Like what?”

“The whole… forced proximity thing.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “I know I’m irresistible when I’m half asleep.”

You smirk into the dark. “Keep dreaming.”

A beat.

Then softly, like he’s not sure if he means it as a joke or not: “I might.”