SPN fic: Morning Routine
Title: Morning Routine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Far-off future Dean/Bela + Sam domestic fluff. 1,200 words.
A/N: Takes place in a post-canon future in which Bela was rescued from Hell and she and Dean are a couple. The boys still hunt, and she still makes Ocean look like an amateur, but when they have downtime they regroup at her house.
He woke on his back, warmed only by the comforter, but after dragging himself to the bathroom and back, wincing when chilled tile temporarily took the place of carpet, he pressed against her, wrapping his arm around her under the blanket.
She made a muffled sound that could have been either approval or a sleep snuffle. His legs tangled with hers. Absently, he rubbed his toes against her arch.
“Mmph. Your feet are cold.”
“Sorry.” He moved them, one corner of his mouth twitching at the pout that appeared in his mind’s eye. She made no acknowledgment; he could have imagined her protest.
Silky strands of hair tickled his face. The smell of her shampoo filled his nose.
They both needed their own space too much to spoon often, but Dean wasn’t trying to fall back asleep. He’d seen the clock; he knew their window was closing.
When her alarm beeped a few minutes later, Bela didn’t hurry to silence it like she normally did on the mornings it rang before sunrise. Without looking, she stretched a languid arm and tapped the phone’s screen until the noise stopped. Behind her, around her, Dean didn’t stir.
Another minute passed before she pulled gently away. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to know his eyes were open and following her as she padded to the bureau and pulled out her clothes. She didn’t turn around to put on her sports bra like he was probably hoping, but she did bend over far more than necessary to pull up her leggings and shimmied, just a bit.
When she did turn around, he was on his back again, gaze appreciative and not even a little asleep, despite the early hour. She felt a smile tug her lips, and it made her ask, even though she knew the answer, “Sure you don’t want to come?”
His nose scrunched up reliably. “Run around in the middle of the night in the freezing cold? No thanks. I can think of funner things to do.” His eyes trailed purposefully downward.
“More fun,” she corrected automatically, just to annoy him. His leer disappeared as he rolled his eyes.
“6:30 is hardly the middle of the night,” she added, ignoring his innuendo.
“If the hour isn’t double digits yet, it’s the middle of the night. The sun isn’t even up yet. I spend enough time in the dark.”
“It’ll be up soon. We watch it rise. It’s pretty.”
He squinted at her, and Bela knew he was trying to figure out if she was being facetious and he could be sarcastic.
“It’s cold,” he finally said instead, a bit petulantly.
“That’s why some clever people invented these things called long sleeves.”
His jaw worked for a few seconds as he scowled, but in the end all she got was a huff. He rolled onto his side and pulled up the covers.
She walked around to his line of sight; or what would have been his line of sight if his eyes hadn’t been squeezed shut. Smiling slightly, she glanced at the clock to make sure she wasn’t keeping Sam waiting and then sat on the bed. She was sure to regret it in the end if Dean did come, when he inevitably fell behind and started whinging, but every now and then she liked to challenge herself and see what she could make him do. That weekend at the Waldorf had gone without a hitch, in the end (and she knew he’d liked Wicked, even if he'd never admit it).
“I bought you that Under Armour. It has long sleeves.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me-” The scrunched nose was back. “What?”
“Under Armour. Sports clothes.”
He made a pfft sound.
She rested her hand lightly on his blanket-covered thigh. “You know what they say: those who sweat together shower together.”
His eyes didn’t open, but she could practically see his ears perk up, like a dog hearing a whistle. He was all nonchalance, though, as he teased, “Are you saying I should be worried about you and Sam?”
“No.” She squeezed his thigh. “Your brother’s very honorable. He keeps turning me down.”
His eyes shot open in a baleful glare. She restrained a smirk.
“Hmmph. I know other ways we can get sweaty. No Under Armour needed.” It was a grumpy child needing the last word rather than a lewd suggestion, though. He buried his face in the pillow with sulky finality.
Bela stood. “All right. If you don’t want to exercise, that’s your prerogative.” As she walked slowly toward the bathroom to brush her teeth, she heaved a sigh and trailed a mournful afterthought behind her. “Oh, I can see it already. Twenty years from now, I’ll be asking myself, why didn’t I choose the brother who took care of his body?”
She halted in the doorway and looked back. A moment passed.
Something that sounded a lot like “bitch” drifted from the bedding.
Bela grinned.
* * *
When Dean finally joined them in the foyer, dressed like a pro, albeit an unwilling one, Sam’s eyes bugged, like he hadn’t believed Bela.
“You’re seriously coming? I’ve been asking for years if you wanted to run with me, and all you did was make fun of me!”
Dean snorted. “Well, I don’t want to have shower sex with you.”
Sam’s mouth opened. He blinked; it closed.
Bela looked Dean up and down, eyes also wider than usual. Expensive workout clothes outlined things very nicely.
Dean quirked an eyebrow when he noticed her stare and glanced down at his chest as though his outfit might have changed. When he looked back up, expression still confused, she ran her tongue across her upper lip.
His spine straightened. Chest puffed out, he shuffled into the mudroom, toward his boots.
Bela bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Dean. Sneakers.” She nudged a pair of never-worn size 11 Nikes toward him.
Dean deflated and made a face.
Sam rolled his eyes. “This is going to be a disaster.”
“Good thing you’re used to those,” said Bela. “This one will probably be minor in comparison.”
As Dean finished knotting the laces and straightened, Sam opened the door. “He’s not going to be able to keep up with us.”
“Uh, yes I will.”
“We’re doing six miles. He’ll wipe out after, like, two.”
“I’m standing right here, dumbass.”
“You’ll wipe out after two miles.”
“No, I won’t. I run.”
“Running from monsters doesn’t count. We do endurance running.”
“Good thing I have endurance coming out of my ass then.”
“It’s something you build up. Not something you have automatically.” Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut across him. “If you can’t keep up, I’m not slowing down.” He strode out the door and broke into a half jog, as though to make his point. Dean chased after him.
“And you wonder why I never went running with you!”
As the brothers moved farther down the walkway, still bickering, Bela paused to lock the front door, cocking her head to listen.
“...any other useful tips, Lance? Teach me more!”
“Biking, you moron, that’s biking!”
Smiling, she slipped the key into her jacket pocket, zipped it, and turned to catch up with her boys.
Fin