Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse ...
Any engineer will tell you that everything has it's breaking point; whether it be rope or wire or concrete or high-tensile steel; everything has it's limit.
The same holds true for desperately exhausted, cold, bruised and battered, and insanely frustrated big brothers.
The quilt disappeared as smoothly as a receding tide, leaving his poor crumpled body exposed to the dusty chill of this god-awful prehistoric room, and his weakening veneer of self control crumbled spectacularly. A red mist descended.
Scrambling to his knees, he grabbed his pillow and laid into his blissfully snoring brother.
"You friggin'…" *WHUMP* "freakyass…" *THWACK* "sonofa …" *THUMP* "bitchfaced douchey long streak of …" *BLAM* "keepin' me awake…" *WHOMP* "snorin' your frickin'…" *WHACK* "head off all…" *WHAM* "friggin…" *THUD* "night …"
Jolted instantly awake; Sam cowered, curling into a ball and cradling his head in his arms under the manic assault. He yelled at Dean to calm down.
Straddling him, Dean lurched as the ancient, ramshackle bed listed and groaned under the violent punishment; he was too far gone to hear Sam's muffled pleas, a demented glaze glistened in his eyes, a pink flush of fury reddened his cheeks and a dribble of spit, swinging merrily to and fro, hung off his bottom lip.
Sam knew he had to act before he became an entry in the Health and Safety section of the Statistical Abstract of the United States under the heading of death by bedlinen.
"Dude" he yelled frantically, "calm down … it's me, Sam …"
*WHAM* "friggin' squddy douchebag …" *THUMP* "wanna sleep but…" *BLAM* *friggin' snorin' … fartin' … gropin' …" *THUD* "kickin' me off the friggin' bed" *THWACK* "touchin' me up, freakin' pervert …"
Dean's pillow had long since given in to the inevitable and burst, spraying it's meagre stuffing of duckdown all over the room. This didn't, however, seem to have deterred Dean who; sporting an impressive sprinkling of duckdown in his hair and stuck to his nose and lips, making him sneeze and lisp as he raged at Sam; was still furiously flapping the limp, empty pillowcase in Sam 's direction trying admirably to inflict the maximum amount of damage with it.
Sam reflected through the blizzard of flying duckdown, that it was really quite pathetic to watch.
Eventually, Sam reached up and grasped Dean's wrists. Holding them tightly at a safe distance with his long arms, he wrestled his squirming brother down onto the bed. He loomed over Dean's panting, red-faced figure."Dude, what is wrong with you?" He gasped, staring into Dean's face; wide green eyes burning with indignant fury, lips stretched into an enraged scowl; the whole effect ruined somewhat by a stray feather stuck to the end of his nose.
"I wanna sleep," spat Dean, "jus' wanna friggin' sleep!"
"Well, damnedwell sleep then. There's no need to beat me up," snorted Sam, still tightly gripping the flailing arms.
"Yes there is. You've kept me awake all freakin' night!" Dean huffed, a little calmer. " If I'm not gonna sleep, I may as well do something constructive an' keep you awake too." He groaned heavily, rubbing his eyes; "snorin' and kickin' and movin' about, feelin' me up, and pushin' me out of bed, kickin' me where it friggin' hurts; I'm freakin' exhausted man; if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm gonna go freakin' loco!"
Sam stared at him, incredulous; "whad'ya mean GOING TO GO …?"
Dean struggled, slipping his wrist free of Sam's hands. "Get off me," he grunted, landing a petulant slap on Sam's forearm.
Sam sighed and rolled over to his side of the bed.
"Just keep over your own side of the friggin' bed, keep your great pervy tentacles to yourself, keep friggin' quiet, an' we're gonna get along fine." Dean snorted, rolling over and groaning as his tender undercarriage twinged under his weight.
Sam rolled his eyes, he couldn't believe he could actually remember a time many years ago when he used to sleep with Dean for comfort and security.
Brushing stray duckdown from his pillow he flopped down on his back; pulling the quilt over himself, closing his eyes and waiting for sleep to claim him again.
It was barely a minute when he heard a small voice behind him.
"What?" he snapped irritably.
"Ain't got a pillow …"
Sam clenched his eyes tightly closed. "Tough" he snorted, "you shouldn't have tried to beat me up with yours."
He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, he tried to relax.
"That's nice," came a muffled grunt from the other side of the bed; "seein' as you've kept me awake all freakin' night, the least you could do is give me yours."
There was a sigh.
"Back really hurts … think I might've slipped a disc when you kicked me on the floor …" The voice contained an expertly calculated little groan.
Sam gave a long, pained sigh, and reluctantly threw his pillow to Dean, laying back stiffly on his flat, pillow-less side of the sagging mattress.
"S'ok I suppose". Dean grunted ingaciously and aimed a bloody minded backheel at Sam's shin.
"Ow … son of a bitch," Sam yelped, "what the hell was that for?"
"Felt like it;" came the grunted response from the snuggled lump burrowed deep into the quilt.
"Right, I'll have my damn pillow back then;" Sam snatched the pillow and tugged it sharply out from under Dean's head.
Wriggling free of the quilt, Dean's hands made a flailing grab for the disappearing pillow, and dragged it back to his side of the bed; but Sam's superior strength won out as he yanked it back, clutching it to his chest.
"Hah" he barked triumphantly.
Scowling, Dean lashed out and, punched him square on the nose, grabbing the pillow as Sam's hands shot to his nose.
Dean yelled angrily as Sam, nursing his nose, snatched it back one-handed and snorted angrily; "grow up Dean, what are you, a friggin' first-grader?"
Dean grabbed his end of the pillow, tugging viciously like a terrier tugging a rope; "nope," he growled, "an' you still wouldn't be able to beat me even if I was, Tinkerbell!"
The tug-of-war continued until there was a loud rip, and a spray of duckdown as the unfortunate pillow tore in half, sending both brothers tumbling off the bed.
"Great, now neither of us have got pillows, moron;" Sam groaned through the rain of duck down.
His response was two hearty sneezes as Dean fought to free his nose from the clinging feathers.
"You're such an infant," Sam continued.
"At least I'm not a friggin' overgrown sasquatch with perverted squid tendancies," Dean huffed back petulantly; from behind a mass of down which clung comically to the stubble on his face.
Clambering stiffly back onto the bed with a pained grunt, Dean flopped down, sharply pulling at the quilt, wrapping it tightly around himself.
Sam climbed up on his side of the bed and angrily pulled it back to his side of the bed, unravelling Dean like a roll of carpet.
Sprawled on his belly, Dean pulled himself up to his knees, lurching sideways as the mattress sunk in the middle and aimed a slap at his brother, "gimme back …"
"Didn't you ever learn to share?" snapped Sam, shoving Dean hard in the chest, gasping as he realised he'd shoved just a touch too hard, when Dean toppled off the bed again landing with a cringemaking thud that shook the room.
Sam knelt on the increasingly unstable bed, gathering up the quilt and steeling himself for the onslaught that he knew was to come, as Dean peered over the side of the bed, coated in duckdown, green eyes glimmering with unborn revenge.
Sam held up his hands in an attempt at peacemaking, "hey, I'm sorry man … I didn't mean to shove so hard."
His words were cut off as Dean leapt back onto the bed, a coiled ball of fist swinging indignation.
Sam fought back, throwing Dean down onto his back in a classic wrestling move. Inamongst the melee of flying limbs and duckdown, no-one heard the agonised groans and creaks of the ancient and fragile bed until finally there came a sudden splintering crack as the legs of the bed gave way under the violent fracas and it crashed to the equally ancient and unstable floor.
Both brothers froze, swaying briefly as the wreckage of the bed lurched; the tortured floorboards grinding and cracking before, with a ripping, splintering crash, the fractured bed and it's two shocked occupants plummeted through the floor, dragging the bedside table with it and landed with a deafening smash in a swirling cloud of dust, termites and duckdown in the foyer below them.
Kneeling, paralysed with shock, on the scattered wreckage of the bed, Dean still gripped a fistful of Sam's T shirt, Sam's arm hovered, frozen in mid-punch.
Two pairs of wide eyes glazed in bewilderment stared at the stunned little old lady behind the reception desk, and blinked in unison; Sam shook a small festival of plasterdust and woodlice out of his hair. Dean spat out a feather and plastered on his best shitfaced 'we-are-screwed-to-hell' grin.
Clambering shakily off the bed, they backed sheepishly away towards the door, thanking their ancient landlady for such a lovely, comfortable night's stay and sprinted wildly out to the Impala, Dean grabbed her keys from the wreckage of the bedside cabinet on the way out.
Her tyres squealed as Dean floored the accelerator and she found herself out on the open road again.
"Let's get the hell out of here and find somewhere to stay in Pike's Pass," gasped Dean, gripping the wheel with white knuckled ferocity. Sam looked across at him; "have you considered how we're gonna pay for this theoretical accommodation? Our wallets are back in what's left of the room, along with our jackets and our duffels."
Dean glanced back at him, "we'll work somethin' out, we've paid for more with less," he smirked.
The Impala roared along the deserted highway. Inside her, Sam slumped as he suddenly realised he was still only dressed in his T shirt and boxers. "More to the point," he added, "we've left our duffels behind, and that means our clothes. How're we gonna explain why we're walkin' into a hotel an' checkin' in in just our underwear?"
Dean glanced down at himself, respendent in black boxers and nothing else, and groaned; "oh man, they're never gonna believe we're brothers now …"