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Spooning (A Fire Alarm)

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Dean storms out of his room, a saucepan in his hand - that isn’t his intended weapon, but he’s been clutching it so tight since he woke up with a jolt, that he’d forgotten he was still holding it. But a saucer in the face, classic Tom&Jerry style, has still gotta hurt, right? And that’s all Dean wants to do right now. Hurt the sonuvabitch he apparently shares a building with, who pulled the fucking fire alarm at 3 in the morning, on 7-am-lectures Thursday - when Dean had finally, finally gone to sleep.

Still mostly bleary, and using more than half of his concentration to avoid stepping on the various kinds of crap you find in a college dorm’s hallway, he yells as he paces towards the source of the ringing, that is currently mashing his brains up for breakfast. “You should be really glad I’m so tired, ‘cause otherwiseyou would be,“ Dean has to pause to collect his thoughts, because dammit, he was still half-asleep. "Uh, in pain! Yeah!” The fire alarm didn’t get any less harsh on his ears, so he yelled louder. “Lots of Pain. EXCRUCIATING pain.” He sighs, running out of his trail of thought, and wondering how he’s managed to forget the art of threatening in his sleep-riddled state. “Bitchfuckerasshole -” He mutters, but it’s more like he’s practising, than he’s actually meaning it.

At this point, he’s reached the landing of their floor, but that’s not where the alarm’s ringing at apparently - their fire alarm sits there, untriggered, like a fire alarm should stay. It must be the floor above them, then.

Dean has to take the stairs - he considers climbing two at a time, but then his instincts don’t let him, and instead he resumes his shouting. “Just you fucking wait,” He growls, to no one in general. “I’m gonna find your name and your address and sit outside your house every night for the rest of my life - because the fucking moment you fall asleep, I’m gonna set off the fire alarm beside your bed, you assbutt!” He doesn’t even register that he’s quoting Cas; in his own head, he’s being scary and his threatens must have driven the bastard away, because by the time Dean has reached the second floor, he can’t see anyone in the hallways.

“They got scared,” He decides, and keeps on marching towards the common area, where the fire alarm is - because that still just fucking keeps on ringing. That is fodder, and Dean just goes on yelling. Some part of his brain which has gotten woken up - partly due to the ringing, and partly due to his own yelling - is asking him to stop spouting these ridiculous threatens at this point, but Dean isn’t done. College, the company he keeps, and sleep deprivation is really bringing out a whole new side of him. “Oh, I will highlight your whole textbook - and every bitching one of them, too; in BRIGHT PINK HIGHLIGHTER, YOU FUCKING FUCKER - hnghh - ”

Dean has to stop abruptly, as he trips over something (that he probably would’ve noticed, if he hadn’t been yelling at the top of his range) and stumbles almost completely - landing on all fours, to prevent smashing his face.

“Fuck.” He says, eloquently - finally completely awake - and looks at what had caused his fall.

Oh, well. It’s Gabriel.

He’d been sleeping against the wall - seriously, who does that, sleeping in the hallway, just like that - hugely slumping, with his legs stretched in the front like how you make snow angels - and with a neon yellow bag slung over his shoulders, for reasons which Dean certainly didn’t care about.

And now he’s stirring awake himself, and rubbing at his eyes and yawning something terrible - but Dean’s eye is caught by the bright red peeking from behind Gabriel, and he is instantly shoving Gabriel to the side, as he fixes the fire alarm harshly, and then falls back on the ground.

“Fucking destroyer of sleep,” He mumbles at the fire alarm, glaring at it pointedly, and that’s when he notices that when he’s pushed Gabriel to the side, the blond apparently used it as an opportunity to lie down sideways and has proceeded to curl himself like a cat, back to sleep.

Dean rolls his eyes at him, needlessly.

He hardly feels any sympathy at all for the guy - after all, he was clearly the one who’d set off that stupid alarm, by using it as a backrest as he slept in the fucking hallway.

But then he can’t exactly leave him out here either, the floor is filthy and cold and he could wake up having contracted some major-ass disease, and though he’d been responsible for waking him up at the ass-crack of dawn after Dean had slept after 48 hours; he was still stupid Gabriel from a lot of Dean’s classes, club memories (and dreams.) He sucks in general, but Dean doesn’t want him to die.

So he does the next best thing, and shakes him harsh enough to wake up a fossil. But Gabriel just stirs again, and swats at Dean in his sleep, and Dean gets a hand in his face for all his noble effort.

He blinks.

And then does it again. This time, yelling directly in his ears, as he shakes him by his arm. “HELLO! Gabriel! I’m Dean, and if you fucking swat at my face again, I’m going to steal only your left sock for the rest of your life.” He pauses, the moment the words leave his mouth. Did he just say that? What even - what had sleepiness done to the part of his brain which was responsible for threatening, because god-frigging-dammit, Dean Winchester had forgotten how to swear.

But surprisingly enough, this time, Gabriel gets up. And it’s not even the gentle softly opening eyes - the fucker shoots straight up, and is standing next to Dean in a jiffy, looking overly frightened for the sake of his footwear.

“You’re weird.” Dean tells him, with a frown. “And we need to stop spending time together, because you’re making me weird.”

Gabriel seems to still be recovering from shock, of Dean’s threat - but when he does speak again, it’s in a slur. “Nah! We need to spend more time together, because you’re finally speaking the language!” He drawls the vowels at the end, hands gesturing animatedly as he speaks, and Dean raises his brows.

He’s clearly drunk.

“Gabriel?” Dean says, cautiously. “Can you follow my finger?”

“To the end of the universe, and back.” Gabriel returns, perfectly solemn, and a part of Dean fucking melts at that, but he’s completely certain that he’s drunk now. Somehow it doesn’t show in his eyes - his somehow golden eyes, like that should even be actually true - but he’s clearly drunk. “Next.” He says, with a funny lopsided grin, and it looks like he’s grinning so hard that he almost falls over - Dean has no idea how that works, but he holds him up, only to realize how wobbly he is on his feet.

Dean sighs, because Gabriel is now staring at him for more questions or something. But also obliges, with a smirk. “Uh, do you regularly indulge in drunk-sleeping-in-the-hallway or did you get roofied, Gabe?”

“I did it myself.” Gabriel says, inexplicably, and Dean rolls his eyes another time.

Well, fuck it. There’s only one way he can go with this. Obviously he’s not piling the idiot back on the floor, so he’s got to drop him off at his room.

Good thing, Dean knows that Gabriel is roommates with that silver-blonde accented jackass, who knows how to get really awesome booze, and hits on pretty much everything that moves. His name was something like 'Zar’, or whatever - Dean never really paid attention. But he does know what room he’s in, because of last month’s party, so they’re in luck - because Dean suspects, that Gabriel was only sleeping against the wall because he didn’t know how to get to his room.

C'mon, there.” Dean frowns, as Gabriel turns, and Dean’s hit by the sweet scent of alcohol. “You’re going to bed.”

“Okay.” Gabriel agrees, easily, and doesn’t say a word for another minute, as Dean picks up his ridiculously loud, neon backpack himself, and curses himself internally for having such low tolerance for disturbing sounds in the night - or it could’ve been someone else doing this stuff, and getting this useless heap to bed, while Dean could’ve waited for someone to take care of the alarm or the building to burn down - as he slept.

Then, as Dean comes back to Gabriel, and gives him a nudge to get him walking, he sees Gabriel lean to the side dangerously - on the verge of falling.

“The hell,” Dean groans. “He won’t even be able to walk.”

Gabriel seems to have heard this, over his humming of We Will Rock You, which started god-knows-when. His head cocks up, and he stares at Dean with his intoxicated, wide eyes. “I really won’t.”

Dean waits for him to finish.

“You should pick me up.”

Dean balks - because no way he’s doing that, right? - but the moment Gabriel suggests it, he can feel his ears grow warmer, and some part of his brain trying to convince the rest, that that would’ve been a really great idea.

“You’re big and strong,” Gabriel coaxes, and the sweetness dripping from his voice is most-parts sarcasm - but that doesn’t stop Dean from proceeding to blush. “And the only reason I didn’t grow past 5'7 is because I was preparing for times like this.”

Dean wants to say something cheeky, along the lines of 'should’ve kept a lookout for the weight too’, but he’s too busy in his own head, and just says, “Shuddup.”

“Awh, Dean-o,” Gabriel drawls. “You know you want to.”

And that’s the final straw, because of course he doesn’t want to - why would he even want to do something like that, ever, for someone like Gabriel - and instead, he pushes his arm around Gabriel for support and to hold him in place, and begins to walk.

“I’ll drag you then, you jackass,” He mutters, squinting at the numbers on the doors while he tries to find the room.

“This is fun.” Gabriel chuckles, as if he’d still gotten what he wanted - as he puts in no efforts whatsoever to help, and lets Dean carry both their weight ahead. “We should do this more often.”

“Well, fuck that, and fuck you.” Dean tells him kindly, and fucking finally gets to the room. He knocks sharply, but the door doesn’t open in any hurry, but when it does, it reveals a grouchy Balthazar - Dean remembers his stupid name, the second he sees the guy; it’s a skill - and he’s dressed in a pink silk nightshirt and boxers with boxers drawn on them.

What a pair of fucking weirdos, Dean rants to himself, as he glares at Balthazar for all his roommate’s faults. Made to room with each other. “Here! I’m donebeing a gentleman!” He made a move to hand the clinging man at his side over - but there were no moves made to receive him.

“I thought he was going to be sleeping at Kali’s,” Balthazar mumbles, making space for Dean to enter. Dean does, swallowing at the name, and momentarily forgetting that he was planning on abandoning Gabriel the moment he’s crossed the threshold to his room or whatever. “Well. They must’ve broken up again. Pfft.” Balthazar finishes mumbling to himself, and turns to Dean. “Just, uh, put him on his bed, will ya?”

“Do I look like a fucking carrier pigeon?” Dean glares, but goes ahead to do it anyways - because Gabriel has gone all silent, and Dean suspects it’s because he’s fallen asleep. “Goodnight, you massive idiot.” He murmurs, because why shouldn’t he, pushing the weight off of himself and on the bed. Gabriel has indeed gone back to sleep, right whilst Dean had been dragging him to his room - and so Dean stops glaring as of then, as puts his feet up on the bed too.

With a final look at the small, sleeping figure, and resisting the urge to smile - he walks back to Balthazar.

“Thanks for bringing him back, I guess.” Balthazar mutters, and he’s already getting back in bed, not even caring of the fact that there’s another person right there. “Just 'cause you’re such a nice guy, putting him to sleep with his feet onthe bed and all that, I’m not even gonna ask you why you’re bringing him back this late.” He ends, winking.

“He fell asleep in the hallway.” Dean rolls his eyes, not minding the suggestion in Balthazar’s sentence, and completely ignoring the innuendo. “I found him sleeping with the fire alarm, for fuck’s sake.”

“Big spoon, little spoon?” Balthazar asks, without missing a beat - and Dean snorts, nods an acknowledgement and walks out of the room which clearly houses the weirdest people of his year; and proceeds to go back to bed, and sleeps really peacefully for another three hours - which in the kind of life college kids live, is saying something.