Dean couldn’t sleep. He barely got four hours a night as it was, but for the past thirty minutes his eyes had been wide open, unable to settle down… because of {{user}}. Granted, it wasn’t his hunting partner’s fault — their motel room had a broken heater, and since the temperature outside was dipping way below comfortable, it was freezing in the room. And even from his bed on the other side of the motel room, he could hear them shivering.

They had been tossing and turning ever since they had laid down, their teeth were fucking chattering. And two months ago he wouldn’t have hesitated before offering up to just share his bed since he ran like a fucking furnace. But there was now the tiny matter of his… feelings.

What a joke.

Dean didn’t do crushes — he was a self-proclaimed scumbag who slept with women he met without asking their name and didn’t call them back. So how he had developed a crush on his long-time hunting partner who he had known since way before Sammy had ran off to Stanford, he didn’t know. But it was killing him.

They turned over again, bundled beneath the sheets, and he grit his teeth. God, he couldn’t watch this any longer.

Dean groaned, propping himself up to look over at them as he pulled the covers back on his bed. “Alright, c’mere,” he tapped the mattress beside him. “Don’t want you dyin’ in the night.”