outrun my gun
Title: Wake-Up Call
Author: veterization
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: N/A
Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: ~2,000
Summary: Sam doesn't want to get up, and it's Dean task to wake him up while John waits. He uses some unconventional methods.
In Dean Winchester's perspective, there is nothing more annoying than a stubborn little brother who refuses to move his lazy ass out of the warmth and coziness of his bed sheets.
Normally Dean would have been amused and played along with Sam's groggy groans and pleas and laughed at his brother's exhaustion, but he knows that their father is waiting outside in a rumbling car, tapping his foot impatiently against the pedals and cursing at Dean's incompetence to wake up Sam.
And when John Winchester is not pleased, he is one angry daddy.
Dean purses his lips gravely down at Sam, whose eyes are closed with enough force to smash ripe apples. He pokes Sam repeatedly in the shoulder, who groans, writhes sleepily, tangles himself up in the mess of the sheets, and burrows his face into the soft pillow.
"Don't make me get the guns, Sam Winchester!" Dean hollers, checking the watch on his wrist, peeved.
"Ngh," Sam moans, covering his face with his hands, "'M tired."
"It's your own damn fault for being a classic teenager and staying up too late!" Dean accuses.
"You can't punish me for being normal." Sam slurs.
"I can if you're not supposed to be," Dean commands, "and I also can because I'm the older brother. Get your ass out of bed or I'll get it out myself!"
His tone switches from 'mildly peeved' to 'gruff and growling'. It's Dean's well-practiced FBI voice. He heaves a deep, irritated sigh in Sam's direction and attempts to pull the blankets off of Sam, who clings onto them with fingernails that dig into the fabric like claws.
"C'mon! Do you want us to leave without you?"
Sam pries open one eye, "Yes."
Dean is not amused. He's not amused for many different reasons, one of them being that he knows that Sam's not kidding. He's positive that if Dean hadn't hauled Sam into the Impala after a few of their extended stays at motels and schools, Sam would be on the street with a backpack, waiting for time to pass so he could dash off to college. But Dean was sure that at one point down the road, Sam would eventually develop love and determination for hunting and avenging their mother.
"Not funny."
For a moment, Dean thinks Sam has switched his argument method to pure silence and refusal, but then he hears Sam's breathing become even and rhythmic and he realizes that his younger brother has fallen asleep once again.
"Fine," Dean snaps, and dragging a lifeless and limp arm off of the mattress, he winds it over his neck and attempts to worm his other hand underneath Sam's knees so he can heave him to the car.
With a groan, Dean gets Sam in his arms, bridal style, but he only lasts a few seconds before his back strains with Sam's weight and he puts him back down.
"Man," Dean tells Sam's sleeping form, "you are damn heavy when you sleep."
For his second attempt, the older hunter prepares himself with a heavy sigh and this time tries to stand Sam up on his feet. Sam's arm still wound motionlessly around his neck, Sam slumps against Dean like a fallen mannequin and his head lolls into his neck. Dean can feel his breathing on his jugular and shivers at the feeling. He slaps Sam lightly on his waist as he struggles to keep Sam upright and steady, but the younger boy refuses to wake from his peaceful slumber.
Grumbling and swearing incoherently under his breath, Dean flicks his fingers on Sam's hipbone. He pinches the skin at his stomach. He tickles the sides of his knees. He stomps on his feet. But except for a few dissatisfied grumbles and furrows of the eyebrows, Sam is still asleep, leaning and curled against Dean as though he's a stripper pole.
"I'm not a walking and talking bed, Sam." Dean announces, dropping the boy back onto his bed. From outside, he hears a few demanding honks of the car.
"Uh-oh."
Dean hastily kneels down next to Sam, sitting at his bedside as he examines his body for any sort of attention that would wake him up. He rapidly tries to ruffle Sam's hair against the grain, mussing up his already disturbed bed hair into an even more disheveled and uncultivated mess.
Sam mutters sleepily into the air, tiredly swiping at the air for the source of the displeasure.
"GET UP!" Dean barks with the volume of a boom box pumped up to the maximum. Sam stirs.
"Go 'way, Deannn…" Sam whimpers.
Dean shakes his head determinedly and snatches up the waterbottle at Sam's bedside, dribbling a parade of cold drops onto Sam's forehead. Sam whines and covers his forehead.
"Just five more minutes…"
"Wrong answer," Dean replies, and moves to sit on Sam's stomach. He knows he's heavy enough to wake Sam up and he knows how much his little brother wouldn't want him sitting on his hips, which would definitely be enough encouragement for him to get up and push him off. Dean hops up and down on his waist and hums obnoxiously to a nonexistent tune.
Sam refuses to show signs of defeat. Dean exasperatedly groans.
Once again, the Impala honks cantankerously.
"Just a minute, dad!" Dean calls out.
"Go without me, Dean, I want to sleep…"
"Sleep in the car!" Dean proposes, his arms flailing.
"'S not comfy…"
"Shut up, you pretty little princess, and get up, get up, GET UP!" The older hunter is spraying spit by this point. Why was it always his job to wake up something that slept like a bear deep in hibernation? He mentally curses his father for always assigning him the task and looks down at his brother in distaste.
"Fine," Dean mutters.
He hates losing. He really hates losing. As a competitive person, Dean always has to win, whether it's playing checkers or rock paper scissors or even just who can wash the car faster. This is not any different. It is just another battle with the Winchesters, no matter how ridiculous.
"Fine," Sam murmurs back.
"I am not going to let you win, Sammy," Dean growls firmly, and without waiting for consent or even waiting for his mind to filter out the bad in his plan and point out the lack of rationality in his scheme, Dean fists Sam's shirt in his fingers and pulls his up so their lips are smashed together.
"Mmmf!"
Out of surprise, Dean feels Sam's teeth scrape against his lip and his hands gripping at Dean's shoulders for balance, but needless to say, Dean knows he's awake. His position of sitting on Sam's lap promptly starts becoming uncomfortable and Dean instantly improvises by swinging his other leg over so he's straddling the younger man. Never breaking their kiss, he winds his fingers into Sam's untidy locks and to ensure his alertness, Dean slides his tongue over Sam's lips in a wordless request of permission to deepen the kiss.
It's not until Dean realizes that over two minutes must have passed that he notices that neither of them are really focused on the fact that this was just a mere wake up call anymore. Both of them are awake and sharp, but neither of them are pulling away. It's almost like an addictive and magnetic pull that keeps their lips fused together. Dean is vaguely reminded of all of those days when he's hungry but has absolutely no idea what it is he wants. Like his unseen craving has been fulfilled, Dean moans greedily into Sam's mouth.
They pull away at one point, and Dean is dreading it. It's one thing to impulsively kiss someone for the first time and then deal with the aftermath, but it's another to kiss your brother and deal with the repercussions. Dean is preparing himself for World War III.
"Uh…" he asks, his voice uncontrollably husky, "you awake?"
Sam's eyes are as wide as ceiling fans but he remains speechless. Finally, he croaks out a word.
"…no."
Their eyes meet and a second later Sam pounces on Dean, taking their eye-lock as a sign of approval. Dean doesn't care anymore if John honks the Impala until the tires deflate. He doesn't care if their father storms in here and drags both of them out by the collar of their necks. He'd much rather stay in bed with Sam.
"Don't - don't you want to get out of bed like you wanted to before?" Sam teases, nipping on Dean's earlobe. Dean growls, his throat raspy.
"I'd rather stay in bed," he confesses, and pushes his brother down on the mattress. Their bodies collide on the sheets as they once again lock lips. Dean acts on pure instinct and is brazen enough to grind his hips suggestively.
"Nn, Dean!" Sam's grip on Dean's sides tightens considerably, "this - this is nowhere near legal!"
"Since when is anything we do legal?" Dean dismisses, "Now shut up."
Sam shuts up.
When John Winchester storms inside fifteen minutes later, expecting to find Sam sound asleep and Dean eating leftover chicken out of the fridge, he's more than stunned to find both boys up and running.
If not a bit flushed.
Author: veterization
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: N/A
Genre and/or Pairing: Sam/Dean
Word Count: ~2,000
Summary: Sam doesn't want to get up, and it's Dean task to wake him up while John waits. He uses some unconventional methods.
In Dean Winchester's perspective, there is nothing more annoying than a stubborn little brother who refuses to move his lazy ass out of the warmth and coziness of his bed sheets.
Normally Dean would have been amused and played along with Sam's groggy groans and pleas and laughed at his brother's exhaustion, but he knows that their father is waiting outside in a rumbling car, tapping his foot impatiently against the pedals and cursing at Dean's incompetence to wake up Sam.
And when John Winchester is not pleased, he is one angry daddy.
Dean purses his lips gravely down at Sam, whose eyes are closed with enough force to smash ripe apples. He pokes Sam repeatedly in the shoulder, who groans, writhes sleepily, tangles himself up in the mess of the sheets, and burrows his face into the soft pillow.
"Don't make me get the guns, Sam Winchester!" Dean hollers, checking the watch on his wrist, peeved.
"Ngh," Sam moans, covering his face with his hands, "'M tired."
"It's your own damn fault for being a classic teenager and staying up too late!" Dean accuses.
"You can't punish me for being normal." Sam slurs.
"I can if you're not supposed to be," Dean commands, "and I also can because I'm the older brother. Get your ass out of bed or I'll get it out myself!"
His tone switches from 'mildly peeved' to 'gruff and growling'. It's Dean's well-practiced FBI voice. He heaves a deep, irritated sigh in Sam's direction and attempts to pull the blankets off of Sam, who clings onto them with fingernails that dig into the fabric like claws.
"C'mon! Do you want us to leave without you?"
Sam pries open one eye, "Yes."
Dean is not amused. He's not amused for many different reasons, one of them being that he knows that Sam's not kidding. He's positive that if Dean hadn't hauled Sam into the Impala after a few of their extended stays at motels and schools, Sam would be on the street with a backpack, waiting for time to pass so he could dash off to college. But Dean was sure that at one point down the road, Sam would eventually develop love and determination for hunting and avenging their mother.
"Not funny."
For a moment, Dean thinks Sam has switched his argument method to pure silence and refusal, but then he hears Sam's breathing become even and rhythmic and he realizes that his younger brother has fallen asleep once again.
"Fine," Dean snaps, and dragging a lifeless and limp arm off of the mattress, he winds it over his neck and attempts to worm his other hand underneath Sam's knees so he can heave him to the car.
With a groan, Dean gets Sam in his arms, bridal style, but he only lasts a few seconds before his back strains with Sam's weight and he puts him back down.
"Man," Dean tells Sam's sleeping form, "you are damn heavy when you sleep."
For his second attempt, the older hunter prepares himself with a heavy sigh and this time tries to stand Sam up on his feet. Sam's arm still wound motionlessly around his neck, Sam slumps against Dean like a fallen mannequin and his head lolls into his neck. Dean can feel his breathing on his jugular and shivers at the feeling. He slaps Sam lightly on his waist as he struggles to keep Sam upright and steady, but the younger boy refuses to wake from his peaceful slumber.
Grumbling and swearing incoherently under his breath, Dean flicks his fingers on Sam's hipbone. He pinches the skin at his stomach. He tickles the sides of his knees. He stomps on his feet. But except for a few dissatisfied grumbles and furrows of the eyebrows, Sam is still asleep, leaning and curled against Dean as though he's a stripper pole.
"I'm not a walking and talking bed, Sam." Dean announces, dropping the boy back onto his bed. From outside, he hears a few demanding honks of the car.
"Uh-oh."
Dean hastily kneels down next to Sam, sitting at his bedside as he examines his body for any sort of attention that would wake him up. He rapidly tries to ruffle Sam's hair against the grain, mussing up his already disturbed bed hair into an even more disheveled and uncultivated mess.
Sam mutters sleepily into the air, tiredly swiping at the air for the source of the displeasure.
"GET UP!" Dean barks with the volume of a boom box pumped up to the maximum. Sam stirs.
"Go 'way, Deannn…" Sam whimpers.
Dean shakes his head determinedly and snatches up the waterbottle at Sam's bedside, dribbling a parade of cold drops onto Sam's forehead. Sam whines and covers his forehead.
"Just five more minutes…"
"Wrong answer," Dean replies, and moves to sit on Sam's stomach. He knows he's heavy enough to wake Sam up and he knows how much his little brother wouldn't want him sitting on his hips, which would definitely be enough encouragement for him to get up and push him off. Dean hops up and down on his waist and hums obnoxiously to a nonexistent tune.
Sam refuses to show signs of defeat. Dean exasperatedly groans.
Once again, the Impala honks cantankerously.
"Just a minute, dad!" Dean calls out.
"Go without me, Dean, I want to sleep…"
"Sleep in the car!" Dean proposes, his arms flailing.
"'S not comfy…"
"Shut up, you pretty little princess, and get up, get up, GET UP!" The older hunter is spraying spit by this point. Why was it always his job to wake up something that slept like a bear deep in hibernation? He mentally curses his father for always assigning him the task and looks down at his brother in distaste.
"Fine," Dean mutters.
He hates losing. He really hates losing. As a competitive person, Dean always has to win, whether it's playing checkers or rock paper scissors or even just who can wash the car faster. This is not any different. It is just another battle with the Winchesters, no matter how ridiculous.
"Fine," Sam murmurs back.
"I am not going to let you win, Sammy," Dean growls firmly, and without waiting for consent or even waiting for his mind to filter out the bad in his plan and point out the lack of rationality in his scheme, Dean fists Sam's shirt in his fingers and pulls his up so their lips are smashed together.
"Mmmf!"
Out of surprise, Dean feels Sam's teeth scrape against his lip and his hands gripping at Dean's shoulders for balance, but needless to say, Dean knows he's awake. His position of sitting on Sam's lap promptly starts becoming uncomfortable and Dean instantly improvises by swinging his other leg over so he's straddling the younger man. Never breaking their kiss, he winds his fingers into Sam's untidy locks and to ensure his alertness, Dean slides his tongue over Sam's lips in a wordless request of permission to deepen the kiss.
It's not until Dean realizes that over two minutes must have passed that he notices that neither of them are really focused on the fact that this was just a mere wake up call anymore. Both of them are awake and sharp, but neither of them are pulling away. It's almost like an addictive and magnetic pull that keeps their lips fused together. Dean is vaguely reminded of all of those days when he's hungry but has absolutely no idea what it is he wants. Like his unseen craving has been fulfilled, Dean moans greedily into Sam's mouth.
They pull away at one point, and Dean is dreading it. It's one thing to impulsively kiss someone for the first time and then deal with the aftermath, but it's another to kiss your brother and deal with the repercussions. Dean is preparing himself for World War III.
"Uh…" he asks, his voice uncontrollably husky, "you awake?"
Sam's eyes are as wide as ceiling fans but he remains speechless. Finally, he croaks out a word.
"…no."
Their eyes meet and a second later Sam pounces on Dean, taking their eye-lock as a sign of approval. Dean doesn't care anymore if John honks the Impala until the tires deflate. He doesn't care if their father storms in here and drags both of them out by the collar of their necks. He'd much rather stay in bed with Sam.
"Don't - don't you want to get out of bed like you wanted to before?" Sam teases, nipping on Dean's earlobe. Dean growls, his throat raspy.
"I'd rather stay in bed," he confesses, and pushes his brother down on the mattress. Their bodies collide on the sheets as they once again lock lips. Dean acts on pure instinct and is brazen enough to grind his hips suggestively.
"Nn, Dean!" Sam's grip on Dean's sides tightens considerably, "this - this is nowhere near legal!"
"Since when is anything we do legal?" Dean dismisses, "Now shut up."
Sam shuts up.
When John Winchester storms inside fifteen minutes later, expecting to find Sam sound asleep and Dean eating leftover chicken out of the fridge, he's more than stunned to find both boys up and running.
If not a bit flushed.