I swore I wouldn't get into Supernatural...

And then I got into it.

The Back of the Impala

"One king," Sam mutters when he steps into the motel room and tosses his bag on the floor. There's something in the other's tone that Dean tries to make himself aware of, despite feeling mostly sluggish. It's been one hell of a day, and all he really wants to do is get some rest. "I'm checking this one for bedbugs."

Dean can't help but smirk lazily at that; of all the things to be worried about- they could both be strung up from the ceiling in the middle of the night, and Sam still worries about bedbugs. Vicious things, yes. The most vicious they've faced? Not even close.

"What? You think this is funny?" Sam eyes Dean's smirk, and now, the older is well aware of something dark in the other's face. Sam isn't happy, not even close. In fact, Sam is very displeased. Now that he's established as much, Dean sighs and sinks into an armchair, setting out to find out the latest stick up Sam's backside.

"Not at all, Sammy." he drawls, pulling a brief, fake smile before reclining slightly.

"Then?" Sam demands, leafing through his backpack. "I mean, I'm in for another crap night, thanks for asking-"

"Whoa, whoa-" Dean lifts his hand, confused. "...Are you really attacking the quality of a motel room, Sam? It's- It's supposed to be crappy."

There's a moment of flailing from his brother, which, with those overly long limbs and almost graceful clumsiness, makes him look like a drunk squid. "Why can't we go stay in a nice hotel? Huh, Dean? Why is it always so- seedy, and-" With this, Sam, who Dean assumes has most likely broken at this point, kicks at a particularly patchy corner of the wall and watches vindictively as it crumbles from the impact.

"Sam, we don't need a fancy hotel room," Dean counters. "We just need something comfortable for, like twelve hours. Maybe less."

"Comfortable? You think- You think this is comfortable?" Sam rips away the covers to reveal a rock-hard and lumpy mattress that Dean swears makes a thunk sound when the younger slams his fist against it. "This is, like, the lowest point! We save people, Dean, don't we? Doesn't that at least entitle us to a comfortable bed?"

It was the first time- or one of the first times -that Dean had heard Sam complain about rewards like this. Hell, he was the one complaining the last time, and Sam had been patient, all things considered.

Dean shrugs, eyeing Sam carefully as though looking to see if something got to his head. Sam's face sours in response at the look. "I don't know, man, it seems like a waste of money when we don't even stick around."

"Maybe we should stick around!" Sam albeit yells, dumping his bag onto the floor as if too disgusted to even allow his dear possession to touch the repulsive bed. "I mean, bed and breakfast, you know, those crappy coffee and waffle-making machines they have in the hotel lobbies or whatever- That's not too much to ask, is it?"

Dean makes a mistake, then; he chortles, and Sam's eyes cut to him in silent, glowering surprise. "Sounds almost normal, Sammy."

"Normal," Sam repeats, and when he moves into the tinny light, Dean can see the defined, dark rings beneath his brother's eyes. Sam, of course, has not been sleeping well. It exhausts the both of them, but the plaguing nightmares have become a sort of carry-on. You get Sam, you get nightmares. End of story. "Oh, yes, very normal. It's abnormal to want breakfast, because that's too normal." Once more, Sam points at the bed that has become the center-point of his mini tirade. "Even your Impala would be a better bed than this piece of junk."

Dean's eyes narrow as they usually do when the rep of Baby is at stake. "Don't take a hit at the car, Sam."

"No, you know what? I will take a hit at the car. You know why? Because I spend eight hours a day in it with you, and your food, and your singing-" Sam nods, now sure of himself. "I think I have every right to take a hit at that car-"

"Well, if you don't like it," Dean snaps- because hell, he's tired too -with a fatigued scowl, "You can rent out a car and use that. Or hey, maybe you can get like, an RV to pair with your hotel, so this can be like some kind of happy family outing!"

He's gone too far. As soon as the outburst dies on his lips, he sees the minute crumple of Sam's face, the twitch of his fingers, and his expression turns somber. "Sam-"

"Nah, you're right. You're right," Sam says very carefully, shoving something into his pocket. Dean keeps his eyes locked on his brother's downcast face. "In fact, I'm going to go do just that. Rent out a car for tomorrow." And he walks, right past Dean and out the door, leaving only a mouthful of air in his wake. Dean stands there for only a moment before muttering out a thin stream of curses and collapsing into the bed.

It comes as no surprise that the bed is unbelievably uncomfortable.

When he wakes up, it's pitch black outside. He automatically reaches a hand to his side- it's a king bed, and the worst that can happen is that he can accidentally brush Sam somewhere that will earn him a kick in response.

But when his hand comes up empty, he realizes that there's something worse.

With a grunt, Dean straightens in the bed, squinting and only confirming the emptiness for himself. The Sam-shaped space mocks him very minutely, and with slight nausea, he remembers the words he said to his brother. Yeah, their lives aren't picture perfect, and they didn't sit around in jacuzzis and gossip about the latest happenings with the hotel staff. They didn't play guitars in RVs and sing away their troubles. But they were family, and it is his duty to keep an eye on Sam.

Which brings him to his current predicament.

Rolling out of bed, Dean stumbles for the table where he kept Baby's keys, and another bout of profanity escapes his lips. Sam had taken them earlier when he'd stormed out to supposedly rent a car. But man, that was like, six hours ago. Dean throws open the motel room's door, all ready to storm out in his underwear and haul Sam's girly ass back.

He freezes once again; the car is parked squarely where he left it. Amidst the shock, cold panic filters through, laced with what if Sam never made it to the car? What if he was grabbed on the way? What if he was just a few feet away, and I never even-

And then he notices shoes propped up against Baby's window.

What-

He approaches the Impala, unfortunately aware of how cold his nearly-bare legs are in the chilly air, and peers inside. His first thought is that Sam is very much dead in the front two seats, and this makes his heart nearly stop. Of all things to do, what horrifyingly monstrous creature would kill his brother and dump his body in his car? Dean is all about ready to rip open the car door and check Sam's pulse when he notices that Sam's massive chest is rising and falling rhythmically.

"..." Dean leans against the car, arm propped up on the window, and sighs in relief. His dork of a brother is just asleep inside his car. Hypocrite. But man, he must really have been uncomfortable in that room to be comfortable in here.

But hell if he lets Sam rest in peace. He begins to rap on the window, hard and loud, until Sam stirs and gives him what appears to be a sleepily betrayed look.

"Unlock the door, Sleeping Beauty." Dean says to him, pointing at the lock and trying not to grin a bit at the disbelieving look Sam is giving him. The taller man shuffles in his pockets, clicking down on the button before rolling over so that his face is smooshed into the seat. His head is tucked beneath the steering wheel, and he's so damn tall that he looks like a modified Tetris piece all crunched up over the span of two seats.

Dean heaves another sigh, sliding into the back before leaning forward to make absolutely sure that Sam's pulse is normal, that he's definitely just asleep. When he gets a swat in response, he smirks and stretches himself languidly across the back seats once more. "'S matter, Sammy?" he taunts casually, his leg hanging over seat, "You got too tired to go all the way and just passed out here? You know this strips you of your right to taunt the Impala, right?"

Sam just groans in response, and, unbeknownst to him, Dean's smirk widens.

"A'ight, well-" Yawning, the older Winchester makes himself comfortable. "You owe me the money for tonight, bitch."

He's not sure, but he thinks he hears 'jerk' in response amidst the grumbling of one Sam Winchester.

Turns out the kid has a pretty good taste in sleeping spots.

My first Supernatural shot. I guess we'll see how this turns out, yeah?