Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Sniffle!

It wasn't my fault that the crappy roadside restaurant- the only place with food for miles- was out of both cheese and hamburger meat. It wasn't my fault that the only motel within dozens of miles only had one room left, and that room only had one bed. It wasn't my fault that the couch had some extremely disturbing stain on it, or that both of us absolutely refused to sleep on the floor. And it certainly wasn't my fault that there were no pillows in the room and we couldn't call the maid for more because of our no-maid rule.

That did not stop my ever-resourceful brother from finding a way to blame it all on me, however, and going straight to bed.

He hadn't had a cheeseburger for over a week now, so his frustration was understandable to those who knew him. Most people get that constipated look when they haven't had sex in a while. That was never a problem for him, though- he could get it whenever he wanted it. No. Dean got that constipated look when he hadn't had a cheeseburger in four days.

We were approaching seven days, now, and quite frankly I was starting to fear for my life.

He fell asleep much more easily than I did, not that it was 'easily' by anyone else's standards. They should probably do some kind of study on us to see how two human beings can go so long without sleep and still be able to function at the level we function at. Of course, they would probably send Dean to alcohol rehab if they found out how he does get to sleep, when he manages to.

I'm much smarter about it. I just take sleeping pills.

Anyway, he was conked out next to me, sprawled out all over the place in only boxers, drooling, when he started to... um... have a dream.

It would have been funny if I hadn't been right next to him in the bed. It would have been top-notch blackmail. As it stood, I did not want to be this close to him. Oh, we had walked in on each other more than once over the course of our lives, and we just spun around and walked back out the door. It wasn't the most terrible thing in the world, compared to the other things we had caught each other doing. This just sucked because I was not even a foot away from him, and he was moaning and making faces that really could only mean one thing.

And that, I did not want to be a part of.

I tried to scoot away, but he just rolled over and ended up closer to me. I squirmed to the corner, but he just rolled over again, and now he was even closer and facing me.

When your brother is having a sex dream, you really don't want to be in this position with him. The situation is just a whole lot more awkward than it needs to be.

I tried to push him off, hoping he would wake up, but the man was dead to the world. The chick in his head must have been damn attractive, because normally shoving him over (and I wasn't being gentle) would send him shooting straight up and reaching for his gun.

Or, you know, it might have been the liquor store on the floor next to his half of the bed.

He didn't wake up, but my pushing him had another negative consequence- it gave his mouth way too much access to my shoulder.

It took me a moment to realize that he was chewing on it.

I shoved him, harder, and shouted at him. "Dude! What the hell! Cut it out!"

"Nnnn... nom...?" He blinked up at me, still gnawing on my shoulder.

"Dean! Get the hell offa me!"

His eyes went wide as he finally actually woke up and realized what he was doing. "Sammy?" he said around my shoulder. He jerked his head back. "What the hell just happened?"

"I dunno, Dean," I replied sarcastically. "You were just having a sex dream, and then you started trying to eat me alive."

"I wasn't having a sex dream!"

"Sure looked like one."

"I think I would remember a sex dream, Sam."

"What were you dreaming about, then? You were moaning, rolling around..."

Dean wouldn't meet my eye. If he was the kind of guy who blushed, he would have at this point.

"Nothing! I wasn't dreaming!"

"Dean."

"I'm telling you, Sam, I wasn't dreaming."

"Dean, what were you dreaming about? I have the right to know- you were chewing on my shoulder."

He scratched the side of his nose, but he couldn't argue with my logic. Finally, he mumbled, "Um... cheeseburgers."

I stared at him for a long, long time, until I finally said, "Dean... what do you do with your cheeseburgers...?"

He mumbled something vaguely as an answer and 'casually' left to go take his morning shower.