Title: A Dog Named Dean
Author: tarotgal
Genre: curtainfic, h/c
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word count: 770

Warnings: Slight spoiler re: season seven sleepy!Sammy.
Summary: They don’t sleep together any more, but they do cuddle.
Notes: For Curtain!fic & art Week at hoodie-time, based on a prompt by maypoles (but just because I wrote this, it doesn’t mean someone can’t do amazing art for that prompt, because I want to see that! Or, hey, another dozen stories wouldn’t hurt either)
Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I don’t own them. And I make no money from this.



A Dog Named Dean


They didn’t sleep together any more. Of course, they did still have sex whenever and wherever they felt like it. Maybe in the living room in the middle of trying to hang curtains, when reaching up to slide a pocket over a pole gave Dean thoughts and Sam couldn’t resist that bit of bare stomach exposed when Dean’s arms were lifted high. Or maybe in the garage, with Dean’s face streaked with grease and Sam with a damp cloth, when cleaning didn’t stop with Dean’s face and Sam was nothing if not thorough. Or maybe in the kitchen, with Thanksgiving dinner for two growing cold on the table, as Dean and Sam expressed to each other just what they were thankful for and the cat lapped at the butter with one paw in the mashed potatoes and another in the cranberries.


The point is, they didn’t sleep in bed together at night any more. Not since Dean’s leg started cramping up and it hurt too much if Sam accidentally rolled over onto him in the middle of the night. Not since post-cage Sam, desperate for sleep, woke up every time a restless Dean had to get up for water or to pee because he’d had too much water. Not since Dean started to snore, though every time he woke himself up mid-snort he insisted Sam was the one who snored.


They didn’t sleep in bed together, but they always woke up together. For Dean, who loved living in the suburbs, working at the garage in town, settling down with Sammy, the very best part of his day was crawling into Sam’s bed and snuggling before the sun came up.


“I always wanted a dog.”


“Hmm?” Now that Sam was officially awake, it was time for Dean to drape his arm across Sam’s middle and cuddle up closer. He nuzzled his face into Sam’s shoulder and neck, snuffling.


Sam’s arm bent at the elbow, wrist. His fingers curled and stroked their way through Dean’s short hair, petting. “Remember how much I always wanted a dog?”


“Too bad it’s a cat who found us.” It’d been pouring down rain when the drowned little kitten had pawed repeatedly at their window. Sam had let Dean name her. Dean had named her Candy. Sam insisted that was a stripper’s name. And they henceforth called her ‘Cat.’


“Yep.” Sam pulled the covers up a little higher, thick blankets weighing heavy on both of them. “But now I’ve got you.”


“Me?” Surprise and a little sleepiness lingered in his voice. And he sniffled and nuzzled again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”


“Your nose is warm and wet, and you’re all cuddly. You get like a dog when you start coming down with a cold.”


Dean snuggled even closer, closing his eyes, sniffling again. “I’m always cuddly.”


Sam laughed. Normally, that was the furthest thing from the truth. But some mornings, Dean could spend hours in bed like this, his body pressed close to Sam’s, rubbing his cheek against Sam’s bare skin, grazing his lips against Sam’s neck and chin. However, this time was different. “You’re extra cuddly when you’re not feeling too good.” Sam remembered the time Dean had the flu and insisted Sam hold him all night long as they sat on the floor on a motel bedspread. He remembered when they were kids and Dean, with a bout of strep throat, had joined Sam on his side of the backseat all the way from Virginia to Wisconsin. He remembered—




Sam chuckled as the light sneeze sprayed his neck. “I knew it. You’re sick, Dean.”


“Technically, I’m not.”


Sam touched a finger to the tip of Dean’s nose, noticing the pink tint that was already there. “Fine. You’re getting sick.”


“But I’m not sick yet. Right now I’m just a little sniffly. And a little chilly. And…”


“And a little cuddly?”


Dean’s cheeks flushed slightly beneath his freckles as he nuzzled against Sam’s neck. But if he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging.


Sam stroked his head. “Make that a lot cuddly.” He wrapped his long arm around Dean and held him tight enough for Dean to make a little squeak. The sound was part happy and part contented and part Sam squeezing the air out of him for a brief second.


“Tighter,” Dean insisted, scrubbing his nose against Sam when it tickled.


Dean Winchester only made requests when it counted. Selling his soul to bring Sam back. Getting the last slice of apple pie at a diner. And wanting to be held when he felt sick. So Sam held him tighter.