Healed {Dean Winchester 7}

Chapter 12

Shut Up, Dr. Phil

I woke the the bed shifting beside me. Dean shot up, eyes wide and breathing heavy. 

I rubbed his back, deciding not to press about whatever nightmare plagued him this time. He would talk if he wanted to. "Come here," I said softly.

Dean lies back down, rolling toward me. 

_____

I stood, tired of watching Dean slowly drink himself to death this early in the morning. I walked around the table where we sat by the window and straddled his lap. "Hi."

"Hey." Dean patted my hip gently, eyes on the screen of the laptop before him.

I rolled my eyes. "Look at me."

Dean did. "What?"

I gave him a look. "Don't 'what' me. Give me a kiss."

"Yay, kisses!" Rory clapped her hands, drawing her eyes from the tv across the room at the mention of affection as Eli groaned beside her.

Dean pecked my lips, then reached for the bottle of liquor beside him.

"Wow, Dean, I'm feeling super loved by that." I slapped his shoulder. "Put the drink down and try again."

"Try again? The hell are you on?" Dean asked.

"I'm high on love, Dean, so try again," I remarked dryly. Out of the corner of my eyes, I spotted Sam run past the window. 

Dean kissed me again, placing the glass back on the table. 

"Detach," Sam said as he walked in, breathing heavy as he pulled his earbuds out.

"Somebody better be chasing you," Dean told him, pecking my lips once more.

"It's good for you," Sam stated.

"No. No, it's not good for you."

"Yes, Dean, it is good for you," I said. "You don't complain when I go for a run."

"Yeah, because you come back and hot and sweaty, then we have shower sex, I win in the long run." Dean shrugged. "Pun not intended." He looked back at Sam. "Look at you. You're a mess and you stink. While you were being Lance Armstrong--"

"That would be biking," Sam told him as he grabbed a drink from the mini fridge.

"I was working," Dean continued.

"Seemed like you were making out with Saige, but sure."

"You ever hear of a town called Prosperity, Indiana?"

"Has anybody?"

"Two of their fine citizens died over the past two weeks," Dean stated. "Uh, this one chick, she, uh, roasted underneath one of those beehive hair dryers at the hair salon. And this other guy boiled in a hot tub."

"So don't get your hair done or have a relaxing time in a hot tub," I said. "Got it."

"You don't see a lot of that," Sam admitted.

"No, you don't," Dean agreed. 

"It's worth checking out," Sam said. "You know, one more thing. What's going on with you?"

Dean scoffed. "We have had this conversation, Sam."

"No, we haven't. See, to do that, you'd have to, uh, sort of speak."

Dean leaned back in his chair. 'Okay, let's see if you can get this straight. See, ahem, you're new Sam, right? Lance Armstrong."

"Biking," Sam corrected.