"Sammy, where the hell did you put my boots?"

Dean grunts, strolling back into the motel room from the bathroom, dripping from his lukewarm shower.

"I dunno. My Persona took them. She said they were dirty."

Sam responds tiredly, already slumped in his separate bed. Dean sighs, raking a hand through his damp hair.

"Damn girl. I told her to stop bein' a freakin' housewife."

He cracks the door open, peeking out into the night and seeing you sitting right outside the door, lacing brand new laces through his boots. Dean's face softens, his green eyes looking tenderly down at you.

"Hey, baby. Whatcha doin'?"

You look up, holding up the boot you'd already finished to him.

"M'cleanin' your boots. They looked like garbage."

Dean snorts, a grin tugging at his lips as he hears your voice twang. You were tired. He knew it cause that little southern accent started to slip in.

"I know they looked like garbage, sweet girl. But they're my garbage to clean up."

He crouches down, shirtless and barely covered by striped boxers.

"You come inside and let me hold ya for awhile. I miss my girl."

You frown, finishing the laces in his other boot before he snatches it up so you can't clean any more.

"You miss me? It's been half an hour-"

"Way too damn long. Especially when you're all cute an' sleepy. C'mon, baby. I'll talk ya to sleep the way you like."