Dean woke suddenly, eyes flickering open. Above him, the usual unfamiliar ceiling was barely visible in the darkness, lit only by the occasional pair of headlights as they glided across the cracked, white expanse.
Blearily, the hunter rubbed at his face, turning slightly to glimpse the little alarm clock situated on the nightstand nearby. The glowing green numbers greeted him with uncalled-for cheer and he groaned quietly, wondering just what had woken him up at such an ungodly hour.
His back twinged unforgivingly as he shifted on the crappy mattress, reminding him of the beating he’d taken not four hours prior. Regrettably, Ibuprofen can only do so much when a seriously pissed-off spirit is into chucking people at and sometimes through walls, and despite the four pills he’d downed with the last of his beer, the older Winchester’s body was basically one big throbbing bruise.
Maybe he should’ve taken Aleve instead. Or just had another couple beers.
Muttering a few quiet curses (directed mostly at vengeful spirits and their penchant for throwing things about with wild abandon), Dean went to roll to one side for a more comfortable position.
Only to be stopped by a strange, wriggling warm spot on his forehead.
What the hell…?
Reaching up carefully, he felt at the small lump in confusion. When his fingers brushed finely woven cloth, he smirked.
“Sam? What’re you doin’?” he asked, prodding at the small person draped just above his eyes. Sam shifted minutely, scowling faintly as the eyebrow he’d made his pillow shifted upward in amusement.
“Sleepin’…” the tiny Winchester mumbled, drowsily pushing at the fingertip nudging his side.
Dean just chuckled, giving the little body another poke. “On my face?”
“S’warm…” Sam slurred, kicking a leg out grumpily. The tiny boot hung down, just brushing through Dean’s eyelashes and making him wince. Gently, he caught the leg between two fingers and resituated it next to the other one.
Alright, so maybe letting Sam have access to an entire capful of beer hadn’t been the best idea.
“Okay, shortstop, I think we need to cut off your tap a little sooner next time,” Dean murmured, delicately hooking a couple fingers around his brother. “Let’s get you back in bed, ‘kay?”
Instantly, the tiny body began squirming, little hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth skin. “Nooooo,” Sam whined, half-out of it and twisting fitfully as he attempted to retain his chosen sleeping spot. But the light grip was inexorable as Sam was slowly lifted away to dangle helplessly from large digits.
“There we go,” Dean said softly, wrapping a third finger around the tiny waist for security as the younger Winchester kicked and pawed the air drunkenly, like he was trying to swim out of his older brother’s hold. “Trust me, bro, your shirt’s a lot comfier than my–”
A sudden lunge from the little body in his grasp produced a sharp spike of pain and Dean flinched, halting his hand where it hovered over his head. His other hand rose up, feeling gently for the discomfort’s origin and found two tiny hands wrapped tightly around a couple tufts of hair.
“Ah, c’mon, Sam. Don’t do this,” the hunter sighed, pulling very carefully on the small body in his hand. However, his younger brother had absolutely no intention of leaving his warm, safe bed and clung stubbornly to Dean’s head like a sleepy barnacle.
“Well, you gotta.”
A couple rounds of tug-o’-war and several newly-freed hairs later, Dean relented. Once the gentle fingers had set him back down, Sam curled up contentedly into the warmth, letting out a happy sigh.
Dean just huffed in fond exasperation, then rolled his eyes when he felt a tiny hand clumsily stroking between them. “Good Dean,” Sam mumbled before passing out again with a little snore.
Holding back a snicker, Dean carefully snagged his phone off the nightstand and snapped a few pictures of his practically purring brother, smirking all the while.
If he had to suffer through his little brother spending the night on his forehead, then he was damn sure gonna get something out of it.