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Sam stepped out of the shower, skin red from standing under the nearly scalding spray for too long.  He peeked around the corner of the wall that partitioned the small bathroom off from the rest of the motel room and grinned crookedly at the pile of cuddled bodies on the bed.

 “Hey,” he cleared his throat, “Guys, you need to get up.”  There was a confused murmur and Gabriel detached himself from his brother’s back to roll over and stare at Sam.

“Sammy, its,” he paused, “five in the morning and the sun isn’t even out yet.”

Sam raked his fingers through his still wet hair and started pulling clothes on, “Well, we have a lot of work to do before we can track down whatever killed those people.  No time like the present, right?”

Gabriel snorted and rolled back over, only to twist and face Sam a moment later, “Aren’t you gonna brush that mop of yours?”

“What?  No,” he laughed, “I haven’t brushed my hair in years.  I just run my fingers through it,” he demonstrated, “and I’m good to go.”

The  archangel gave him a queer look.  “If I tried that, I would end up with tangles everywhere.  C’mere Sammy.”  He sat up and patted the edge of the bed.

Sam raised his eyebrows but did as he was told, “Now what?”

“Now you hold still, because I’m going to brush your hair.”  Gabriel snapped a brush into existence.

“Brush his hair?  What are you a twelve year old girl?” Dean’s morning voice dragged over their ears.

“Go back to sleep Dean-o.”  Gabriel laughed softly.

Dean grunted and snuggled back into Cas’s arms.

Sam was not prepared for how… well… how nice it felt to have his hair brushed.  He made a needy little sound in the back of his throat and leaned into the touches.

“Careful, Sam.” Gabriel breathed against his neck, still brushing.  “Don’t want to wake the boys, do you?”

Sam turned and pulled Gabriel into a searing kiss, “Somehow, I don’t think they’ll mind.”