An archive of sorts...

Addie snuggles in closer to Sam with soft murmurs, both a mess of awkward limbs strewn over each other. Naturally, Dean’s eyes soften at their refusal, looking over at the tangled mass thinking maybe they could just skip school today. They could all eat junk food and watch old monster movies Addie always called corny. It had been a little while since Dad hadn’t taken Dean with him on a hunt, now trusting 16 year old Sam to watch over Addie, pretty much the only thing he trusted Sam with. It was an undeniable language between the three of them. A red thread that held through whatever other bullshit those two were inevitably arguing over.

There had developed this feeling like there was Sam&Addie, then Dean, a natural consequence of the former being only a year apart. Sighing he plops down on the mattress across from them remembering slightly simpler days, lazy kisses, wandering hands and all 3 of them tangled. Those were always stolen moments though, it was much easier to hold back in stolen moments. He pushes against the tug of sensation in his lower body as he tries to focus on movie marathons, soft laughter and deciding who got the last of the “fruity loops” instead.

Dean longingly considers joining them, sliding into the bed beside Sam who was only slightly more likely to move over than Addie was, all wrapped in each other like they used to. Just as he thinks this, a ray of sunlight shines through the window on their stubborn, still fake sleeping forms and he notices the faint reddening of a bruise on Sam’s neck. Looking closer he sees the way that Addie’s lips look swollen and kiss bitten, bare legs that give way to her center covered only by his ratty black Metallica T shirt.

He notices their hands, the actual placements this time, one in Sam’s hair, another gripping addie’s waist. She is shorter but sturdier than Sam, so his lithe body conforms to hers, even with his face in the pillow. Dean is reminded why he went out last night, why he slept in the impala, and as his jeans grow tighter he’s wickedly reminded why them staying home isn’t such a great idea.

He moves swiftly, no thought (he cannot think right now) and fully rips the scratchy motel cover off them, igniting Sam’s groans again. Addie makes these small whimpers, a sleepy (sure..) almost mocking smile on her face, and Sam responds, his head moving from the pillow to her chest curling into her soft curves, both their eyes still closed.

The wanting in him unfurls so violently in that moment. A low incoherent rumble rises from his throat, his pants straining now and of course the guilty parties choose that moment to open their eyes. Sam and Addie both stare up at Dean sweetly, their tangled limbs now appearing purposely obscene. Playing dumb and puppy dog eyes was a lethal combo and they knew it.

“Do we have to go today, De?” Sam rubs his eyes and stretches out like a cat while Addie leans up over his shoulder jutting out her bottom lip. All Dean can think is he needs to get the hell out of this room before the air can get any thicker. His brain is short circuiting.

“15 Minutes!” He tries to sound firm like giving an order but it comes out strangled. He doesn’t look back as he snatches his keys off the linoleum dresser, the metal jingling loudly in the quiet. “If you’re not in the car, I’m leaving you both to walk!”

As he’s heading out the door, a melodic, bouncing noise follows him. The mixed sounds of their whispered giggles not sounding the least bit sorry. He slams the motel door shut practically lunging into the front seat of the impala. The cool air helps but not by much. His knuckles go white wrapped around the steering wheel as he stares at the peeling paint of the motel exterior. He can’t shake the image of them, how the cotton of his band tee hugged the swell of Addie’s thighs, how they looked like a jagged puzzle perfectly fit together, and how their shared heavy lidded gaze seemed to invite him in…

He needed to do something, anything. Glancing over the center console he notices an old slim jim and grabs it, shoving it in his mouth. He swallows forcefully and doesn’t think.

Exactly fourteen minutes later, the door to Room 204 swings open.

Sam and Addie emerge, looking the picture of innocence in a way that makes Dean’s stomach do a slow roll. They are walking closer than necessary, their fingers intertwined, swinging their joined hands between them. They slide into the back seat together, the leather groaning as they adjust.

"Nice of you to join the land of the living," Dean grumbles, catching their eyes in the rearview mirror. He shifts the car into gear, the engine roaring to life. "Try to keep the PDA to a minimum, some of us are trying to keep our breakfast down."

Addie looks over to Sam conspiratorially before leaning forward, her face inches from the back of Dean’s head. Instead of an apology, she lets out a low, vibrating, incoherent rumble, a pitch-perfect imitation of the frustrated growl Dean had let out just minutes before.

Sam lets out a loud, genuine bark of laughter, throwing his head back against the seat as they pull out of the lot. Dean’s ears turn a bright shade of red, and though he tries to keep his jaw set in a hard line, he can’t stop the way his hands strain against the wheel.