[1] Rock Salt and Silver | d.winchester

12

"I think it's about time we leave. I've had enough of this place."

Stevie stood at their small compact kitchen in their motel room, two mugs in front of her. It was a limited little area that was pretty useless, barely passing the hotel's hygiene requirements. She looked around and thought, if it had any.

She frowned, prodding the kettle until it clicked beneath her fingertip. "With all its poltergeists, vampires and surprise visits from psycho ex-boyfriends." She mumbles it beneath her breath, tapping the small counter in an uneven rhythm as she waits for the water to boil. The kettle was far too close to their stove, her eyes constantly darting between the plastic coated wires and the dirty rings on the oven. It has two, a microwave too, but plugged and hidden inside a cupboard, next to the one with three plates and two cups in. There's a space to her right that she was supposed to put the kettle back after she used it, to save space. She flicked her eyes lower to the rest of the stove, but there was no oven. There was a fridge in front of her knees and a small freezer compartment in it big enough for approximately two cubes of ice.

She wasn't dressed in much, but it was about eleven o'clock in the morning and she still felt herself being lured back towards sleep, so she wasn't thinking about it. She poured the boiled water over the sachet of coffee emptied at the bottom of the two cups, praying the milk they had wasn't off; she didn't entirely trust Dean with these things and was certain he hadn't bought it yesterday, like he claimed.

Dean was still asleep, basically. He was tangled in an assortment of bedsheets and his clothing. They'd shared the bed last night, using the cold as an excuse to harmlessly lay with each other until they could close their eyes and drift into some kind of rest. When they'd both blurted out about that maybe, possibly, if-you're-cold-too, they should share a bed, they had laughed at each other. Scoffing at one and others childish complaints. But prior, Dean had spent the hour they both lay there, staring at the the ceiling, figuring out how to word the suggestion. He kept turning his head to see her in the single bed across from him huffing and unsure if she was asleep or not. He wanted to hold her, like he had done earlier that day, wrapping his arms right around her and burying his face in her hair. It was a weird thought for him, he wasn't like this usually. If Dean happened to like a women, he'd have a one night stand, maybe even get her number if he felt like it. But with Stevie? It was odd, it was different. He'd started to realise very quickly that it wasn't just the 'best-friend' status for him anymore, like he'd thought it was. She never used to make him rethink everything he did around her, he never made him feel so unbalanced - so nervous. I mean, Dean Winchester, nervous? C'mon.

Stevie on the other hand, had indeed felt cold in the night, but not because of a lacking temperature. She wanted to know he was there with her, she was cold because she wanted to feel safe. To know he was safe, too. So when they threw the suggestion out into the darkness, grunting it in a mess of stumbled words and muffed noises, Stevie climbed over to Dean in the dark, discarding her own bedsheets and blankets to slide beneath his own.

Dean tried not to look her in the eyes when this happened and just offered her a faint smile as she got herself comfortable. She chose possibly the worst position for him: she slid against him rather effortlessly, her head nestling just under his chin and her hand resting on his chest as she buried her head deep in to the cheap cotton sheets. This had kept Dean up for hours; thinking why he was so on edge, why he wanted nothing more than to pull her closer. But how could he? It was just Stevie. They shouldn't care about this sort of thing, it should have been easy. Thoughtless. They'd shared a bed since they were 9, in the exact same situation. Nights spent in cheap hotels, the night when Henry Cale and John Winchester left on hunts together. They'd always give Sammy the other bed.

"Dude, I will throw this coffee over you, wake up." Dean smirks into his pillow, turning away from her. Stevie remains stood at the end of his bed, tapping her foot against the carpet with two mugs of coffee steaming in her hands. She was wearing a tank top, the material hanging loose over her body, allowing her to wear something that barely touched the cuts now bandaged on her back. It finished just above the shorts she had on, leaving some of her stomach and the waistband of her shorts exposed to the morning chill. They were a navy blue colour and faded from countless washes, hanging low on her hips. "Even a groan of some sort would be satisfactory."

Dean chuckles at that and eventually roles over, sitting up and squinting at the light being let in from their thin curtains. He had found, at all the hotels he had stayed at, in so many different states, not one of them seemed to invest in a good set of curtains that actually kept the light out. "There we go!" Stevie chimes with a laugh, passing him the coffee out of her left hand and perching on the end of the bed as he takes it; crossing her legs with a satisfied grin with the cup held with both hands in front of her face.

"Where then?" She opens her eyes from the miniature moment of satisfaction she was experiencing from taking in the smell of a morning cup of coffee and hums a response, not aware of what he was saying. "Where to next?"

"Oh!" She laughs lightly, rocking forwards and backwards while she thought of an answer, nibbling her lip and looking towards the window. While she was thinking, Dean took the moment as an advantage, breathing in her appearance with the smell of black coffee filling his nose. He didn't care about the tank top and shorts she was wearing - though he wasn't complaining about it - but the sight of her, eyes crusted with sleep and mascara smudged around her eyes where she hadn't washed it off yet; like glitter falling from her lower lashes to her eyelids, her hair a complete mess too, it was nothing short of beautiful. Her hair had been slung in a lazy bun the night before, unruly brown strands now escaping the loose bobble holding her hair and gathering over her shoulders, with the odd piece covering her face. He supposed that he had always known she was beautiful, but never really let himself realise it.

"That way."

Stevie pointed behind herself to the far wall and what would probably end up being the interstate with a few minutes drive in that direction. He raised his eyebrows, gulping his first mouthful of coffee.

"That way?" He repeated, pulling the cup from his lips.

"Yeah, in that direction, just to get away. Then we can find a gas station, get some stuff, get changed- find a case"  She nodded satisfied with her plan, drinking some more of her coffee, leaning over to put the empty cup on Dean's bedside table.

"Well okay, you're the boss."

"I am?" Automatically, he regretted it. He shook his head dramatically, nearly choking down the last of his coffee.

"No!"

"But I am, you just said so. You said I am!"

"No. No, you're not."

"But you already said it! Sorry, we don't do take-backs here." He tried to scowl at her, but could only smile in his defeat. Watching her laugh, beaming up at him, he could only embrace her good mood. It was rare to see something so real, happy and mundane on her face, and he couldn't get enough of it.