A/N: Written as a Christmas present for galathea_snb who wanted a schmoopy drabble. Merry Christmas, hon! My thanks to Wave Obscura for the beta work.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.
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Dean throws himself on his bed and groans.
"Jesus, 'm never eating one more bite," he moans dramatically, words barely intelligible because he has buried his head into his pillow.
Sam chuckles, sitting on his own bed and wearily unlacing his boots.
"Yeah, right," he snorts.
"I'm serious!" Dean turns his head so he's not drooling on his pillow anymore and can talk properly. "Feel like I have… a concrete block inside."
Sam slowly lies down on his bed and ponders the metaphor. He didn't eat as much as his brother, but it does feel like there are stones weighting his stomach.
"No one forced you to eat that much," he points out. "I don't remember a gun pointed at your head."
"Two words, Sam. Free food. The woman was offering us free food."
And really, he doesn't need to elaborate. "Free food" are the two magical words, the ones that always made Dean eat as much as he could swallow – and more – like he didn't know when he'd get his last meal and needed to stock up. Which, okay, was sometimes the case.
Sam is tired, his eyes are closing and his limbs feel like lead, but he glances at his brother and sees that he's still wearing his shoes. For some reason, the sight of dirty snow sticking to Dean's boots is really bothering Sam.
"Dean, take off your shoes."
"Do I have to move?"
"You can't sleep in your boots."
"Not moving, Sammy."
Sam sighs and gets out of bed, goes to Dean's bed and sits on the edge. Dean grunts when he feels him tugging at his boots.
"What you doing?"
"What d'you think?"
Sam throws the right boot behind him, then the left, and they hit the floor with a loud thump.
"Hmm, thanks Mom," Dean slurs, sleepy but mocking.
Sam hits his shoulder, not too gently, but he wonders if it's the way mothers feel when caring for their irritating progeny, the way Dean felt when Sam was little. He can feel Dean falling asleep, his breathing slowing down, and he's assailed by a surge of protectiveness, like his adult demon-hunting brother is something fragile and precious. Weird, he thinks, feeling uncomfortable.
He's so tired, and he suddenly feels overwhelmed by the thought of standing up and walking the two or three steps separating Dean's bed from his, so he just lies down where he sits. His back to Dean's, he closes his eyes and falls asleep.