my brother and i called him potato face

A Different Kind of Workout

Imagine Dean getting jealous of you working out with Sam.

Author’s Note: Dean x reader with some Sam too! Reader and Dean are in a very teasing best friend relationship with some romantic tension. She teases Dean for not working out and he shows her that he’s just as “worked out” as Sam. It’s mostly fluffy fun with a little bit of sexy cuteness. Could be a much sexier sequel or epilogue but I have too many sequels to write at the moment haha. Warnings: intro talks about everyone being a little haggard from bad hunts, nothing else. 

My bare feet padded across the cold floor of the bunker, each step a sharp shock to my tired soles. It was strangely calm and quiet that morning. I breathed in deeply and stretched my arms upwards in an attempt to shake the sleep from my mind. There was no deep voiced conversation echoing through the halls to signal the presence of either Winchester, which I was slightly grateful for. The lack of noise meant the lack of a case, and we could all use a little down time. The last few rides in the Impala weren’t rowdy or music filled like usual; we might as well have been riding in a hearse. Sam’s exhausted eyes would be staring at the same map for what felt like hours, never shifting and barely blinking. I wondered if he was even truly awake half the time. And Dean, instead of busying himself with the radio, gripped the steering wheel with all the apprehension of a new driver. Both hands were white knuckled and tense after every hunt, just more evidence that the compounded stress was stretching us all to a new breaking point. The mark of Cain weighed heavy on all of our shoulders, not just on Dean’s forearm. Maybe today would be a chance for us all to decompress. 

I came to a stop in the kitchen and stood on my tip-toes to retrieve a glass from the lofty cabinet. I would blame the inconvenient height of everything on Sam and Dean being so tall, but apparently the men of letters were of the same stature when they designed the furnishings. Must run in the family. I was too busy contemplating the historic genetics of my hunting partners to notice approaching footsteps. 

“And where do you think you’re going dressed like that young lady?” At first I tensed, my hand still extended under the faucet. I wasn’t sure if it was the tired hoarseness of the voice behind me or the draft I felt on my exposed legs and arms that made me shiver. My jogging shorts and tank top were hardly enough material to make me presentable for the outside world, but I wasn’t about to let him tease me so easily. I shrugged and brought the glass to my lips to hide my smirk. 

“Oh you know, thought I’d head down to the roadhouse and talk smack with some hunting buddies.” I was still facing the sink, but I could almost feel Dean’s frown as my flippant statement met his ears. It was hard to suppress the enjoyment I got out of him steaming. He was always protective, in an older brother sort of way. I heard him clearing his throat and the rustle of fabric as he crossed his arms over his t-shirt covered chest. 

“Well, don’t be calling me for help when one of those brutes tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You might as well have a sign on your chest that says…” I listened very loosely as he made several more references to the “neanderthals” that were male hunters. A few times he shamelessly complimented me, but it was well hidden under the guise of his parental lecture. After he seemed to have exhausted his rant I spun on my heel and mimicked his defensive stance. I lowered my brow like his, and pulled my lips together in the scowl he wore (although I was sure it looked so much better on his full lips). Once his hearty chuckle filled the air I dropped my charade and squared up to him. My chest was just a foot from his and our mouths still curved in mutual amusement. His natural reaction was to inch closer in a masculine show of just how much larger he was. His spine straightened and he puffed out his chest a little, the worn cotton of his shirt straining across the muscles there. It was unfortunate that he wasn’t a bit intimidated by me, but it did allow for some entertaining confrontation. 

“Dean Winchester, stop treating me like I’m your teenage little sister. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.” I knocked back the remainder of my water in an exaggerated movement similar to how he downed his shots. 

“Especially from brutes…” I pushed the glass into his hand and leaned up on my toes, into his face boldly. He knew that some sharp comment was coming, but that didn’t stop him from flashing smile that was toothy with gritted aggravation. 

“Like you.” He scrunched his sun kissed nose and I barely side stepped the large fingers that rose to grab at my side. His growl followed me as I sauntered in the other direction. I spared no switch in my walk, my hips swaying with taunting confidence. 

“Careful Y/N, or I might be the one to swing you over my shoulder, just to teach you a lesson.” I stuck the headphones hanging from my pocket into my ears deftly and raised a lone finger to Dean, who’s laugh could still be heard over the loud music that began fill my world. 

*

I was still shaking my head at Dean when I entered the spare room that had been converted into the bunker’s makeshift gym. A large mirror, treadmill, weights, and a few larger prices of equipment that I didn’t dare use were all we really needed. In there, it was just me and my goals. Sweating was my retreat from all the terrible nightmares that kept me awake at night. Before hunting I had always been involved in sports, and I missed that part of my life. This little room was a tribute to that. Dean did the same with the garage and Sam with the library, some parts of each a near perfect replica of Bobby’s house. It was sadly humorous how we all built little unspoken shrines to our past. They were just desperate attempts to immortalize our happier memories alive in a life that sometimes allowed none. 

The bass-filled song I was listening to made me oblvious to Sam’s cheerful greeting, till our eyes met in the reflection of the wall mirror. He was doing pull ups like they were child’s play, a thin sheen of moisture on his skin the only proof that he was exerting any effort at all. I smiled warmly but didn’t bother to remove the earbuds I wore. We had worked out “together” plenty of times, and there was really no occasion for conversation. It would just be a mess of strained breathing and pauses anyway.

 I would be lying if I said I didn’t spend most of my run watching Sam in the mirror. The sheer size of the reflective surface allowed me to study him without being noticed, and I couldn’t keep myself from staring at the rippling in his biceps as he lifted the solid weight of his body. The powerful strain of his movements was mesmerizing. He shut his eyes tight and sucked in a deep, raspy breath. My own exerted panting seemed to match his as I watched him purse his lips and grunt through another set of lifts. I felt like I could run for miles as long as his gorgeous body was open to my gaze. 

Exercise was an outlet for Sam. More than once I had seen him head to the gym or out on a run after arguments with Dean or I got heated. Doing push-ups till his arms gave out was a peaceful way for him to exert all the anger he felt, and the time he spent in that room showed on his toned chest and back. He was built, or rather carved, of marble-like muscle. Suddenly a set eyes looked back into mine and I nearly lost my footing on the treadmill. Embarrassed, I caught myself and pretended to be preoccupied with whatever song was playing on my phone, but Sam was already smiling wide. I was cursing myself for staring when he dropped from the bar and walked to the bench nearby to grab his water bottle. He tipped back his drink casually while running hand through his messy hair. When he was turning to leave I sighed in relief, but there was no mistaking his smirking advice on the way out the door. 

“Watch your step there, Y/N. You seem a bit distracted.” The hot blush rising to my cheeks made my sweat seem suddenly much cooler. 

*

A half an hour later I was stretching out on the floor and very thankful for the airy shorts that let my aching legs breathe. My labored breathing allowed me to do little more than stare up at to ceiling. In my peripheral I saw movement that must have been Sam. 

“Back for more already?” There was no response to my question, so I assumed he was wearing headphones. “You must be a glutton for punishment.” I gathered what little energy I had to roll on to my side, but the tall figure looming over me wasn’t Sam. I narrowed my eyes at the oil stained jeans meandering around the room. 

“Glutton for punishment? That’s not really my kink, but I’m always up for trying new things.” Dean’s face crinkled in a wink as he circled around me to scoop up the glass of water by my side. “So this is what you do in here, huh? Lie on the floor with each other?” I groaned my annoyance, but I was too sore to bother slapping his hand away. He emptied the glass in one breathless chug and I watched a drop of water trace down his chin as he swallowed hungrily. His own skin, although filthy with dirt and motor oil, was just as sweaty as mine or Sam’s. He was probably working in the stuffy heat of the garage for the better part of the morning. 

“Pampering Baby?” He nodded and drug the back of his hand over his wet lips. The motion created a streak of clean skin that stood out against the rest of his cheek. His breathless smile looked exhausted, but pleased. 

“That’s my kind of workout out.” I scoffed and shoved my hand upwards expectantly. He met it without hesitation and pulled me from my sitting position, the strength in his fingers tight around mine. 

That’s not really a workout.” I mumbled as I sprang to my feet. I steadied myself once standing, but his grip didn’t stop pulling me. “Dean!” I giggled in surprise as he quickly drew me closer by my hand. We barely avoided colliding noses and I thudded into his chest. 

“Did you really just say that?” His voice was that same teasing seriousness that we shared earlier. I blindly grabbed at his arm to push away. In the process of extricating myself from his playful grasp my fingers gripped his large bicep. As if to affirm his words, his muscles tensed roughly under my touch. 

“You think I’m any less ‘worked out’ than you or Sam?” He leaned nearer to my face in challenge, his chin tilting to better examine me. I could feel his shallow breathing on my still damp skin. It’s unlikely the shiver that snaked its way over my skin went unnoticed by his prying eyes. 

Some part of me begged to push him further, just to see where the risky path would lead. After all, Dean and I had a different relationship than Sam and I. I could tease Dean with confidence that came from unadulterated comradery. I licked my lips to prepare them for the coming insult, and he watched in knowing anticipation. 

“What, do you break a sweat eating all those pies?” I spoke slow enough for him to taste every pointed syllable. At first his eyes widened and his brow heightened. There was a mixture of shock and admiration in the open mouthed stare he gave. Then he tightened the aggressive hold on my fingers that resembled two arm wrestlers caught in matched strength. Despite my banter about his eating habits, I knew Dean was built of experience and hard work. His sort of muscle was practical and well used, even if stranger to a gym. Being faced with flaring nostrils and misty eyes made my heart race. He was unnervingly unpredictable in the almost predatory way he sized me up.  

“Oh that’s it! I warned you earlier…” Without any warning Dean dropped my hand and grabbed my waist with two large palms. He was biting his lip playfully when his fingers dug into my hips and lifted me up off the ground. My automatic reaction was a childlike squeal laced with terrified laughter, but there was no fighting his advances. Without a second thought he hoisted me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I beat against his back frantically. 

“Dean!!” I could feel the rumbling chuckle shaking his chest as he began to carry me out of the room. My hair swayed back and forth around my head as he hooked strong arms over the back of my knees to keep me hopelessly suspended.  “What are you doing?!”

It was times like these that I wasn’t really sure what Dean and I were anymore. His fake show of savagery only added to my confusion. Sometimes he was like my annoying brother, and other times he seemed to be just daring me to step over that blurred line of friendship into something more. Sometimes he made my sides hurt with laughter, and others he made my heart race with passionate curiosity. 

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m teaching you a lesson…

and getting my workout at the same time." 

*

Later that night Sam passed me in the hallway and cocked his head in confusion. He paused to stare and ease his mouth open hesitantly. Still giddy from my playful encounter with Dean, I placed my hands on my hips. My entire mood was altered. "Yeah, yeah. More teasing about the treadmill thing. I’m a clutz, I know.” It occurred to me after I spoke that I sounded like I was still talking to Dean. Sam choked on a surprised laugh and shook his head slowly, eyes still locked on my midsection. 

“That’s not what I was going to mention…” I furrowed my brow and followed his gaze downwards. The subsequent embarrassment was far worse than my incident in the gym. Two giant hand prints were splayed across the hem of my white tank top, the wrinkles of each finger made clear by the dark stain of motor oil and grease.

“Oh! Uh… Dean and I worked out together!” I scrambled to cover my waist but the affected surface area was larger than my smaller hands. Sam chewed at his knuckle in a failed attempt to remain straight-faced.

“Dean, working out? Really?” The disbelief in his voice was excruciating, and he didn’t seem terribly interested in relieving my discomfort. Sam saw my messy hair and red cheeks with entirely different meaning. “So you two were, you know… doing Dean’s kind of working out?”

“Yes! Wait you mean- No! Of course not!” I folded my arms and huffed indignantly at his implication. “We aren’t like that.” The younger Winchester nodded but it was clear he wasn’t a bit convinced by my explanation. 

Sure… Look, I don’t judge. Whatever you two are, he’s left his mark. And even I know better than to mess with that.” Sam gave me a tongue in cheek grin and continued in the other direction without another word. I stayed standing in that spot for some time, considering his cryptic statement. It would be weeks before I would truly understand what it all meant. 

Dean wasn’t worried about other hunters seeing me in my workout clothes, he was worried about other Winchesters. 

And a few well-placed hand prints solved that problem.