Not sharing a room... for once

It was obvious Dean was still pissed from the way he slammed the Motel-room door into his brother's face when they arrived back after their unsuccessful search through police files.

Sam raised his hand to knock on the door but decided that no, he was entitled to the right of having his own room. He was 22 years old after all and had lived on his own for quite some time. Now that he was back in the game didn't mean he and Dean had to keep sharing a room like they did when they were little.

"It's cheaper for one...", Dean had tried to argue while they were waiting at the Motel's counter to check in.

Sam had snorted in annoyance: "Yeah, Dean, it's not like we really have a limited income."

"Told you before credit card fraud isn't done that easily!"

"I should know since you don't seem to do any work since I'm back..."

It had gotten pretty ugly after that, the simple issue of not sharing a room for once developing into a full-blown argument which included some shouting, a lot of ignoring each other and, finally, Dean slamming the door to his single-bed room into his brother's face.

Sam knew he'd won, but somehow it didn't really feel that way. He stepped into his own room – vis-a-vis Dean's – and closed the door with a sigh.


Dean threw his duffel bag onto the bed and flopped down after it with a dissatisfied grunt. As soon as he'd slammed the door behind him he'd known he wasn't really angry at Sam, he was angry with himself.

His brother did have a point.

It was as easy to fall back into the way things had been before Sam left, as it was for Dean to push away the thought that Sam had had his own life before. That he'd have gotten used to the idea of having left his old life behind. That maybe he needed some space, especially after losing Jess.

Still, not sharing a room felt like disobeying Dad's number one rule: Watch out for Sammy.

Knowing full well he'd never go to sleep worrying for Sam's safety – especially after their recent encounter with the Shtriga – Dean pulled out his revolver and checked whether it was loaded.


Sam lay on his bed with eyes wide open, staring into the dark. He felt tired and worn out and could shake neither the thought of his argument with Dean nor keep his mind from straying to the grizzly events which had brought them here.

Turning to his other side, he pushed the blanket away feeling uncomfortably warm. After only a few minutes and without getting the least bit drowsier, he pulled the blanket back over himself.

There was a soft noise from outside that had him sitting up in bed abruptly, searching for his gun under the pillow. Pulling it out with slightly shaking fingers, he stood up as quietly as he could and tiptoed over to the door.

Leaning his head against it, he listened intently, waiting for the sound to repeat itself... which it did after a minute or so. Sam grabbed his gun tighter and, mentally counting up to three, he ripped open the door.

In the dim light of the hall were a few moments of utter confusion until Sam made out a familiar voice: "Get that gun out of my face!"

"Dean? What are you doing..."

Noticing the crumpled pillow and blanket on the floor, Sam shut up, uncertain how to react. Dean merely shrugged, though it was obvious he was both irritated and embarrassed since it wasn't hard to figure out he'd slept in the drafty hallway until now.

"I'm just here to make sure you're on your watch", Dean said after a moment and, picking up his sheet and pillow he made for his own room, "and obviously you do, so let's call it a night."

Sam gave in.

"Look, man, I guess... Let's just say this not sharing a room was a one time thing, agreed?"

"Agreed", Dean said and winked. It was obvious from the way he closed the door to his room that at least for now their argument was over and done with.