InsaneJournal

Curled up awkwardly beneath a multitude of blankets, Sam shivered. Sleep seemed determined to avoid him and the air in the dingy motel room was bitterly cold. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and glanced around him for the trillionth time that night. By morning, he thought, he would know exactly how many faded daisies covered the peeling wallpaper or how many cracked, mustard coloured tiles covered the wall opposite his bed. In fact, by dawn, he would probably be able to tell you the number of times the broken old heater choked and spluttered in the space of an hour – no easy feat for any mortal man.

As the outdated piece of machinery threatened to die once more, Sam rubbed at his frozen nose. It seemed just about ready to succumb to frostbite and fall off altogether. Frustrated, he rolled over to glare at Dean, snoring contentedly in his bed by the door. How is it, he wondered unhappily, that Dean could probably fall asleep in the middle of a blizzard whilst being attacked by low-flying pink elephants? The heater coughed back into life for a few seconds, supplying a blast of warm air that made his nose tingle as though preparing to defrost before a dreaded wheezing sound filled the room and freezing air surrounded the beds once more. He tugged the blankets over his head in an attempt to save his nose.

Sam huffed angrily, his breath making the air in his little makeshift cave unbearably stuffy. Dean’s happy snores antagonised him even here, the dying sounds of the heater accompanying them in a rasping, phlegmy symphony. Miserably, Sam pulled the blankets back down.

“Dean,” Sam hissed, drinking in freezing fresh air. “Hey, Dean?”

He was met by a moment’s silence and then, suddenly, a huge nasaly snore. Sam rolled his eyes. Lying in bed wondering why he couldn’t get to sleep wasn’t doing him any favours. He contemplated getting up to raid the fridge, but the thought of the freezing tiles on his bare feet kept him in place. How long had he been lying there? Dawn couldn’t be too far off. Sam prayed it wasn’t, his thoughts punctuated by another splutter from the useless heater.

“Dean!” Sam burst out, his gaze resting on his brother’s bed.

A snort. Then, sleepily,

“Huh?”

“Is that my quilt?”

Dean squinted down at his pile of bedcovers.

“Technically, I think it belongs to the motel.”

Sam glared hard at his brother.

“It was on my bed when we got here.”

Dean took on a mothering tone.

“Aww, you too cold over there, Sammy?” Sam’s glare only intensified. Dean continued, unfazed. “Well, I’m sure I could spare one blanket. It’s nice and toasty in here. You’ll have to come and get it though.”

It didn’t take too much imagination for Sam to feel the ice cold air stabbing at his skin, piercing through his loose singlet and shorts like icicles. Silently, he wished a thousand curses on Dean’s smug figure. Damn him. Sam braced himself, drank in air for a moment, and flew across the gap that divided the two beds.

He landed gracelessly on the edge of the bed. Dean made a pained noise as the springs creaked beneath them. Sam began lifting up the layers of blankets.

“What are you doing? Don’t take all of them!”

“I’m not taking any.”

There was a moments slience. Oh, how Sam ejoyed the confused look that covered Dean’s face.

“Huh?”

“If I have to share my blankets, you can share your bed. Move over.”

Sam shoved his legs into the blissfully warm space between the mattress and blankets, forcing the protesting Dean over with sharp nudges of his elbow.

“Dude, this is weird.”

“So don’t take my blankets next time.” Sam snuggled down deeper, his head flopping onto the near flat pillow. For a moment, Dean looked as though he was going to protest, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Grudgingly, he lay his head back down. The scent of complimentary shampoo filled his nostrils as Sam’s hair tickled his face.

“G’night, Dean,” Sam said, his voice dripping with happiness at his victory as his eyes closed. Smiling, he ignored his brother’s disgruntled grunt as the fingers of sleep grasped finally at his mind.