Chapter 4

Sam's night goes from bad to worse ...


Sam jackknifed violently, and found himself sitting bolt upright on the side of the bed clutching his leg and biting down on his lip to prevent yelling out in pain.

Holy crap, this couldn't be happening, could it?

All he wanted was a good night's sleep; it wasn't like he wanted to raise the Titanic or split the atom or anything ambitious, surely it wasn't too much to ask?

Instead, over the last few hours, he'd been sprayed with lurgy-infested spit, thumped, elbowed in the teeth, chilled, garrotted by his brother's arm, flattened under the rest of his brother's body (least said about that the better), and now sliced up the leg.

He was cold; his weary eyes hurt like hell; he was deeply traumatised by being far more intimately acquainted with Dean's revolting sweaty body than he ever wanted to be; he was so exhausted he could have slept for a month and now he was damn well bleeding. His leg would probably go gangrenous and fall off and it was all Dean's fault!

He heard the bed creak as Dean shifted again behind him.

Yeah, all his fault; that crappy bandy-legged, pathological fidget-ass, the sawn-off little sonofabitch curled up there in the bedclothes dribbling into his pillow, sleepin' the contented sleep of an angel, whistling through his congested nose and sounding all sweet and harmless.

Harmless? My ass! He's a friggin' weapon of mass destruction.


Blinking back tears as the pain in his leg dulled to a throb, Sam closed his sore eyes and tried to lay back; but Dean was sprawled all over the bed again and Sam felt himself teetering uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. He opened his eyes and almost choked on his own tongue when he found he was nose to nose with Dean who had somehow fidgeted his way towards Sam's side of the bed, and was resting peacefully with his head nestled into Sam's pillow.

Clearly unaware of his shocked brother mere inches away, Dean wrinkled his nose with a sniff, Sam saw his eyelids flutter briefly, and realised what was about to happen.

He just managed to turn his head before a mighty sneeze plastered the side of his head and left a permanent ringing in his ear.

'Shnuck', a wet, congested sniff followed in it's wake before Sam felt Dean's arm slide up beneath the pillow; he buried his face into it, unconsciously kneading and plumping, huffing peacefully into it's mushed softness. Then without warning, he turned over and tugged it out from under Sam's head.

Sam's head hit the mattress with a soft bounce.

Any lesser man would have cried.

Sam stared at the ceiling through blurring eyes that felt like they had been used to mop a floor and wondered idly how long he would get for murdering his brother.


The next couple of hours passed relatively uneventfully; Sam dozed on and off, shifting uncomfortably, using his screwed up jacket as a makeshift pillow; Beside him, Dean snored softly, face buried deeply into two pillows.

Another flying forearm woke Sam abruptly as Dean turned over again, curling into a ball, his snores dissolving into soft sighs.

Dean's movement had left Sam's pillow unattended behind him and Sam saw his opportunity. Slowly, carefully sitting up, he reached over his sleeping brother, thanking heaven and earth and whatever genetic quirk had gifted him with such long arms, and grasped the pillow; slowly, cautiously lifting it over the sleeping form beside him.

He triumphantly clutched the pillow to his chest, as he tossed his jacket into the bedside table, and placed it carefully on the bed. Sinking into it's softness with a sigh of blissful relief.

That is until he shifted slightly, planting his face right into a cold damp patch.

Gritting his teeth, he bit back the urge to swear; OK, so he was lying here with his face in a puddle of his brother's drool; no need to lose his temper. He dropped the back of his hand over his eyes, wondering if it was possible to die of sleep deprivation. Right now that actually seemed like an attractive option.

He irritably turned the pillow over, sweeping a palm across it to test for anything damp or unpleasant. Satisfied that this side of the pillow was free of stray bodily fluids, he drilled his head down into it, screwing his eyes closed and practically begging for sleep to come and take him.

He lay drifting on the edge of sleep for possibly ten minutes, relishing the comfort afforded by having his pillow back, listening to the rhythmic snorts of his brother's congested breathing, soothed by the reassuring feeling of Dean's warm back pressed against his.

Suddenly, he heard a breathy moan drift up from Dean's side of the bed.

"mmmm….Sonya ….oooh yeah…"

Sam opened one bleary eye, and turned to Dean with a sigh; not content with sneezing, coughing, snoring, fidgeting and groaning, you're gonna start talking now?

"ooooh yeah, baby … jus' there …"

Sam swallowed weakly; "oh crap!" He decided this was probably just the perfect to time to get up for a pee.

He rolled out of the bed, standing with a groan on weary, wobbly legs.

"… mmm, oh yeah Marie, baby … s'good …"

Sam's eyes widened in horror; Sonya? Marie? Oh, God, not the 'twins' dream … he scampered to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.


The bolt slid back on the bathroom door and Sam peered timidly round it. He'd left it a good fifteen minutes, sitting on the edge of the bath, trying not to look at the hollow, wrecked face reflected in the mirror, counting the tiles on the wall, freezing his conjones off, and hopefully giving Dean ample opportunity to move on from his twins dream to something less - um - disturbing.

There was a stillness and quiet about the bed, and Sam adjudged the situation to be safe, so he quietly closed the bathroom door behind him and crept back to the bed.

He settled back under the bedclothes. Closing his desperately sore eyes, he silently prayed for unconsciousness; he couldn't think any more, he would take whatever fate (or Dean) threw at him; he just needed to sleep.

'Whump …'

Dean shifted, and his flying arm made it's mark again; Sam was past caring, and just lay still, waiting for the throbbing in his nose to subside.

Even when Dean shifted again to leave Sam lying with his face buried into his brother's sweaty armpit, Sam decided to just run with it. OK, so he'd slept in better environments, but right now, if it meant getting some sleep, Dean's armpit, sweaty or otherwise, could be heaven for all he cared.


Shortly after dawn, Sam blinked blearily through the hazy morning sunlight, he felt marginally less demented for the couple of hours decent sleep he had managed to salvage out of the end of the night, but crushing fatigue still weighed heavily on him.

His mouth felt like the inside of a welder's glove, he had taken more hits than he might have done on a weeks worth of hunts, his bloodstained shin was stinging like a bitch, he had armpit hairs stuck between his teeth and his back and neck were aching to hell.

What a night; maybe - just maybe - he could just force another hour's shuteye before Dean woke up.

Then he heard the sound of someone blowing their nose behind him.

Ah, maybe not.


He turned over to see Dean sitting up in bed, snotty tissue still pressed to his face, glaring at him.

"Something you wanna tell me, Cinderella?"

Sam stared at his brother's blurred outline through stinging eyes and grinned.

"yeah, in a couple of hours," he mumbled, pulling up the bedclothes and spreading himself out as far as he could, pushing Dean off the bed with his foot in the process.

"The couch is really comfy …" he added as deep sleep overwhelmed him.