Now and then a puff of cooler air would caress his face, while his body basked in the heat of the sun's rays.
Sam couldn't recall the last time, if ever, he'd been lying like this on a beach, the warm sand a soft mattress beneath him; a pair of shorts found in the depths of the Impala's trunk, his only clothing.
:
Lazily, he cracked open his eyes to check on Dean.
There he was, silhouetted against the ocean as if to challenge the swelling waves.
True to his 'no shorts' policy, Dean's only concession to the surroundings were the rolled-up bottoms of his jeans and a bared chest - currently glistening with the sunscreen Sam had insisted he swathe his skin in.
:
"Moron!" Dean had grumbled as Sam stoically applied the cream to his back. "Why bother when we'll probably be clawed to death tomorrow!"
"Well, this is today, and I'm giving the orders for once!"
"You implying I'm bossy?"
"Aren't you?"
"I'm the elder. I know best."
"Want me to list all the idiotic things you've done against my advice?" Sam declared, a pinch of superiority in his tone.
:
But Dean knew when to quit. "Na, Sammy. No point in ruining a beautiful sunny day."
"Knew you'd see it that way, Dean," Sam grinned. "Now off you go and play in the sand!"