To say Dean was impressed with the hotel Mick had brought them to was a bit of an understatement. The Man of Letters was even apologizing for only being able to get into a three-star hotel! Three stars was a hell of a lot better than no stars but Dean didn't tell the Brit that. Dean had never even set foot in a hotel of this caliber. It was just too rich for his blood- and his bank account- though that wasn't to say he wouldn't take advantage of the pricey luxury.
The hotel's lobby even looked expensive. The floor was covered in a dark blue carpet that looked as though it was steam-cleaned every weakened. The walls were painted the colour of café au lait with cream chair rail molding at thirty-two inches from the floor. Crown molding the same colour as the chair rail molding merged with the hotel's stark white ceiling. The reception desk was a monstrous piece of what was likely real stained oak. As well as valet parking, the hotel also had bellhops to take the luggage for weary travellers and show them to their rooms.
The hunter's ogling was interrupted when Mick handed him the key card to his room.
"Fancy," Dean muttered under his breath, turning the plastic card printed with the hotel's name over to see a magnetic strip on the opposite side.
"We should probably all get some rest before heading to the hospital tomorrow," the Brit suggested before glancing down at his watch, "Besides, I believe visiting hours are over for the day."
Dean had to force himself to hide a smile, "Sure, whatever you say, Jeeves."
Catching his brother giving him an irritated look from the corner of his eye, Dean ignored it and started towards the bank of elevators.
The three men stepped inside one of the lifts as it opened its burnished gold coloured doors to admit them. The elevator's doors closed silently and the lift moved upwards with only the faintest hum of machinery.
Once they had reached their desired floor, the trio stepped out of the elevator and headed down a corridor decorated the same way as the lobby. As they headed in the direction of their rooms, the hunters passed a recess in the wall where an ice machine chugged and rattled away loudly.
"Here's your room," Mick stopped, speaking to Dean.
The hunter glanced at the number on the door before checking it against the number on his key card.
"Thanks," the hunter commented and swiped the card through the lock on the door. A beep sounded and a green light on the device flashed, indicating that the door had been unlocked.
"Your room is just down here, Sam," Dean glanced to the left to see Mick and his brother stop at a room three doors down from his but quickly became distracted as he stepped into the hotel bedroom.
Although the room kept the dark blue carpet, its walls were a neutral warm cream colour. A framed painting of a ship at sea hung over the one queen-sized bed in the room. The bed itself was covered in a pastel blue duvet, snow-white pillows propped up in an inviting position, a small chocolate wrapped in gold foil sitting on top.
A television stand with drawers for clothing sat across from the bed, a desk with the hotel's stationary took up the space beside it, close to the window on one side. A small round table that was perfectly level with the floor and didn't wobble sat on the other side of the window, beside the bed. A sliding door beside the bathroom revealed a closet with a small ironing board inside. The bathroom itself looked as though no one had ever used it. With its beige tile floor, brown speckled marble countertop and sink devoid of rust stains. There were small complimentary bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a small bar of soap sitting beside the sink and a bucket for ice sat on the counter. The mirror wasn't cracked or coated with dark spots from age. Two large white towels and four smaller face clothes were stacked on the shelf above the toilet. Peering into the shower, Dean saw it was clean enough to eat out of. The plastic curtain looked brand new, without lime stains. A nicer, fabric curtain covered the plastic one, the design a pleasant one of bright green bamboo stalks against a beige background.
"I could get used to this," Dean said to himself and smiled.
Digging an ice-cold Pepsi from the brimming ice bucket, Dean cracked the can open and slurped at the sweet liquid inside, his back propped against the pillows on the bed, resting against the headboard.
He'd been a little peeved that there hadn't been any Skin-A-Max available on the television but then, after channel surfing for a few minutes, had found an episode of Dr. Sexy playing and settled on that. As well as a vending machine full of sodas, there had also been one for candy bars and the hunter had taken full advantage of it, now surrounded by empty wrappers and chocolate crumbs he was quiet content.
Belly full of candy and soda, Dean checked the time on the clock radio sitting on the nightstand beside the bed and saw it was past midnight. Aware that they had an important case to deal with in the morning, the hunter decided that he should get some rest.
Turning off the television, brushing the empty candy wrappers onto the floor and turning off the lamp on the nightstand, Dean snuggled beneath the heavy duvet and closed his eyes.
A half hour later, the hunter was sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. Although he had had his eyes closed, he hadn't slept at all for those thirty minutes. Something was wrong. He couldn't seem to relax enough to rest.
Was it all the junk food? Maybe.
But sitting in the darkness of the hotel room by himself, with nothing for company except the red glow of the numbers on the clock radio, Dean had a better idea of what was preventing him from sleeping.
Sam wasn't with him.
Even though he and his brother had separate rooms at the Bunker- and Dean never lost sleep over that- he had rarely had a motel room to himself. When Sam had gone to Stanford, Dean and John had shared a room so he had grown accustom to hearing the quiet breathing of one family member or another as they slept, was able to look to the side and know he'd see the shape of his brother or father in the bed next to his.
Dean liked having the queen-sized bed to himself, there was no doubt, but he would have liked it even more if his brother were with him.
Sighing, the hunter got out of bed, grabbed his key card and stuffed it into his pocket before picking up the pillows and duvet.
Exiting his room, Dean made his way the short distance down the hallway, blanket trailing on the floor after him, before he paused in front of the door to his sibling's room and knocked.
Within seconds, almost as though he was expected, the door opened to admit Dean.
Sam stood holding the door looking bleary-eyed and rumpled.
"I didn't wake you up?" Dean asked as he stepped inside a room that was identical to his own.
Sam shook his head, "No, I couldn't sleep. I was just lying in bed."
Dean nodded and Sam let the door close behind him, moving to the bed and turning on the lamp to illuminate the room slightly.
Without another word, the elder sibling dropped the pillows and duvet beside the bed and began to arrange them into a comfortable position.
"You'll be okay on the floor?" Sam asked tiredly, already climbing back into his queen-sized bed.
"Yeah," Dean muttered; he just wanted to get some sleep, "I'll be fine."
As soon as Dean was happy with the sleeping arrangements he reached out to turn off the light, spotting Sam's chocolate sitting beside the clock radio.
"You gonna eat that?" he asked.
Sam shook his head, "You can have it."
Dean smiled and unwrapped the confection and popped it into his mouth before turning off the light and settling in, the duvet folded in half so that it formed a makeshift sleeping bag.
"Goodnight, Sammy," Dean murmured to his brother.
"Night, Dean," Sam replied, yawning loudly before growing silent.
The elder Winchester listened as his brother's breathing became slow and steady, quiet with sleep, before he closed his own eyes and fell into a peaceful slumber.
Sam woke gradually the next morning, his mind fuzzy and peered with blood-shot eyes at the numbers on the clock radio. Six AM shone crimson back at him and he groaned. He had had trouble getting to sleep the night before, until Dean had come to his room. Like his brother, Sam was unused to having his own room when they were away from home and without that feeling of safety and security Dean's presence offered, the younger sibling had been restless and unhappy whenever he'd tried to rest.
Maybe next time he'd tell Mick to just book two rooms, Sam thought; he and Dean didn't need separate rooms.
"Hey, Dean," Sam muttered, peering over the edge of the bed and found that his brother was gone as was his blanket and pillows.
Sighing, Sam flopped back against the mattress and closed his eyes.
Yeah, he and Dean didn't need to be separated.
Story title comes from a song by the band Cinderella.
This was just an idea I had after watching last night's episode.
Please take a moment to leave a review if you enjoyed this little one-shot.