Thanks to my very own Amicus Optimus DamonsGirl92 for her beta on this one! :) Hope you all enjoy!
Sam woke up to the sounds of a typical morning. Car doors slamming in the motel parking lot instead of birds singing. The blare of the air brakes of a tractor trailer rig instead of a peaceful alarm. Such was life on the road. He blinked against the sliver of early morning sunshine as it peeked in through the crack in the curtains. Curtains that he'd told Dean to pull closed last night. Curtains that he most definitely had not pulled closed last night.
The clock showed that it was just after five. Time to get up. Go for a run and be back with coffee and donuts before Dean woke up at six; raring to hit the road again. Typical morning. Except he didn't feel like getting up or going for a run. They'd actually settled in rather early, for them anyway, the previous evening. Finishing up a hunt, they'd both made it out without a scratch, celebrated with some beers and burgers at the local bar then settled in for bed around midnight.
They had nowhere to go next. No pressing cases waiting on their agenda. Sam pulled the blanket over his head to block out the pale sunlight and fell back to sleep within seconds.
Dean woke up immediately.
No gentle transition to wakefulness, no leisurely trip to awareness, just instant and full consciousness. Something was wrong. He could sense it in his bones. Instantly on alert, Dean sat up, loaded Taurus in his hand as he assessed the situation. There were no armed assailants in the room, no spooks or goblins or monsters.
Just one soundly sleeping brother.
The sun was shining through that crack in the blinds that he'd forgotten to deal with last night despite Sam's nagging. Dean frowned. It seemed very sunny. Too sunny to be morning. He glanced at the clock and his jaw dropped.
It was almost one in the afternoon. He'd slept past noon. They'd slept past noon. Dean shook his head. Sam had slept past noon.
And that thought alone had Dean quietly pushing aside the covers. He sat up on the edge of his bed and studied his brother. Sam was sound asleep. He had the covers pulled up almost completely over his head, probably because of the crack in the blinds, but he had shifted and was laying on his side facing away from the offending sunshine.
What little Dean could see of his face didn't look feverish and they hadn't had that much to drink last night. Not sick. Not drunk. Dean couldn't think of any other reason for the unprecedented event he was witnessing.
Sam hadn't slept past noon willingly in years.
Frowning, Dean wondered if he should check for injuries. Maybe Sam hadn't told him about something. But he was breathing. And he didn't look pale. Didn't look in pain. He just looked...asleep.
Even so, Dean couldn't help the bit of niggling worry. Because Sam just didn't sleep late. He just didn't do it. He would never willingly stay in bed past noon. It made Dean want to spray him with holy water and get out a silver knife because surely it wasn't really his brother in that bed sleeping so peacefully.
He set the gun aside and rubbed his eyes. Man, he'd slept well. It had been so refreshing to finish up a hunt without any injuries and then just go out for a burger and have a few beers with his brother like all the other guys at the bar. Like they were normal people enjoying their Friday night like everyone else. He stood up and headed for the bathroom. By the time he got out of the shower, Dean felt certain that Sam would be ready to find some lunch then hit the road.
Because Sam just didn't sleep past noon.
He just didn't.
Sam heard the shower running and realized he must have overslept a bit longer than he'd planned to. Yawning, he decided he was still comfortable and, as long as Dean was in the shower anyway, he might as well stay where he was for the moment. He fell back to sleep almost instantly.
Dean started thinking about sleeping curses. Surely there must be some kind of supernatural monster out there whose venom turned normally annoyingly early risers into people who slept all day. Sitting down on the edge of his bed again, Dean pulled on his shoes and stared at his brother. It made no sense. No logical sense at all.
Sam was still asleep.
Dean was hungry.
The pillow thumped smack onto Sam's head and Dean grinned with pride at his well-placed hit. His grin faded slightly when nothing happened. Head injury. He must have a head injury. I didn't see him get hit, but that must be it! What's that one that doesn't show up for hours? Epidural hematoma? Subdural? It's something-dural. Oh my gosh, Sammy! Dean's heart was in his throat as he crossed the small space between the two beds and yanked the pillow off his brother's face. What if Sam had died while he was in the shower?
"Sam!" Dean shouted in his left ear, louder than was perhaps strictly necessary.
Where the pillow hadn't had any effect, his voice had his brother rising from the tangled blankets and sheets like some kind of monster rising from the deep. Dean fell backwards onto his butt on the floor when Sam knocked into him, his arms swinging, blade in his hand as he blearily searched the room for the threat.
"Dean? What is it?" Sam shouted, also louder than was perhaps strictly necessary. His confused gaze landed on Dean and he was out of the bed instantly, leaning down, concerned hands hovering over Dean's chest. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Dean still hadn't recovered his ability to speak and watched helplessly as Sam was off like a rocket. He did a rapid check of the bathroom, then yanked open the front door and was gone. Shaking his head and trying to come to grips with the fact that maybe he'd been very much overreacting and his brother had just been...sleeping in, Dean pushed himself to his feet just as Sam rushed back inside, slamming and locking the door.
"Dean? What's going on?" Sam asked, turning around and frowning. "What happened?"
His mouth opened and closed and no sound came out. Dean frowned, nodded, looked away, looked back at Sam. What was he supposed to say? You slept so long that I thought for sure something was wrong with you?
"I'm hungry, bitch." Dean said, spinning on his heel and heading for the table. He grabbed his jacket and wallet.
"You are such a freakin' jerk, Dean." Sam said, looking completely unamused. "When you shouted...I thought something was killing you."
Sam's irritation helped ease Dean's embarrassment. He grinned and said, "My stomach's killing me, dude. It's like one-thirty."
"In the afternoon?" Sam's eyes widened as he set the blade on the table and glanced at the clock.
"Yes, moron. That's why the sun's out." Dean yanked the blinds wide open, enjoying the way Sam cringed away from the brightness. He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt a little on the giddy side. Sam was fine. He'd just slept in. No injury, no dark spells or evil hexes.
Sam punched him in the shoulder as he walked past. Dean swatted back but Sam dodged and then Dean's eyes were widening. Because Sam had just curled up back under his covers. He is sick! Something's wrong!
"Sam? What the heck is wrong with you?" Dean asked, crossing the room and staring down at his brother in undisguised alarm.
"What?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Nothing's wrong with me."
"You just...you slept till afternoon and now you're in bed again."
"Yeah? Your point?"
"Are you sick?"
"No."
"Injured?"
"No."
"Cursed?"
"Well…"
"Hexed."
"Not that I know of."
"Eat anything funny?"
"That sandwich you bought yesterday."
"Vision?" Please say no!
"No."
"Headache."
"Yes."
"Yeah?" Dean crouched down, eyes narrowed. Something was wrong!
"Yeah. You." Sam said, and smacked Dean in the face with a pillow before pushing himself up against the headboard and rubbing his eyes.
Dean straightened up, shoving the pillow back at Sam.
"What is wrong with you?" Sam asked.
Great. Now he looks worried about me! Dean rolled his eyes, "Nothing's wrong with me."
"Well, that's debatable." Sam grinned, then shook his head, "Seriously, man, what is your problem?"
"You slept...like all day." Dean said and, even to himself, it sounded stupid. Lame. Ridiculous. Who worried about stuff like that?
Sam's face relaxed into an expression that was both annoying and comforting to Dean. He smiled and said, "Dean, it's Saturday. We've got nowhere to be. Nothing to do. We have the room till tomorrow since we finished the job early. So."
"So?" Dean prompted, sitting down on his own bed.
"So, I just felt like sleeping in." Sam shrugged, then yawned. He shook his head, "It felt good."
Dean grinned, "It did, didn't it?"
"Yeah. Been...forever." Sam said, resting his head against the wall. "We never have time to…"
"Relax." Dean finished for him. Sam nodded and Dean could easily read exactly what his brother was thinking. Because he felt the same way. He said, "So how about...you know. We take the day off. The whole rest of the day. It's Saturday, man. What do you wanna do?"
Sam smiled and Dean knew he'd read his brother correctly. Sam said, "Let's go bowling."
Dean laughed.
"What?" Sam's smile faded and he looked at Dean uncertainly. "Thought you loved bowling."
"Oh I do. That's a great idea, Sammy." Dean said, stifling his amusement. If Sam hadn't figured it out yet, who was he to tell him? He rose and patted Sam on the shoulder, "Twenty minutes to get ready. Any longer and my stomach will eat itself."
"I'm moving, I'm moving." Sam said, climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
Dean waited. And waited some more. And then he heard it. The moment Sam remembered. Dean couldn't blame him exactly, he barely noticed it anymore himself. He couldn't blame Sam for forgetting. And he just grinned even more when he heard Sam's not-so-muffled cursing from the bathroom. The muttering and grumbling continued until he stepped out, dressed and obviously irritated.
"Ready?" Dean asked brightly, jangling the car keys.
Sam glared at him and said, "Let's do mini-golf."
"Nope."
"Fishing."
"Nope."
"Pool?"
"Nope."
"There's a strip club…"
Wow, he's desperate now, Dean thought to himself. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and said, "Nope. Bowling it is. Little brother want's to go bowling on a Saturday? Awesome big brother is gonna take him bowling."
"You are such a jerk."
"It was your idea." Dean shrugged, getting into the car and watching with a smirk as Sam awkwardly pulled the door closed. "I can't help it if you're gonna go down today in flames of shame."
"I can still beat you."
"Left handed?" Dean busted out laughing again as Sam glared at his cast.
"Not gonna bowl left handed." Sam rolled his eyes.
Dean shook his head, "Well you aren't bowling with your right hand either dude. So unless you're going to push it with your nose, you're gonna have to adapt."
"I can bowl with my right hand."
"Nuh uh." Dean said firmly, pulling onto the main road and heading for the bowling alley. "You just got a new cast on, idiot. I'm not paying for a new cast because you break another bone in your hand because you can't bowl left handed. Bad enough a stupid zombie girl took you down in the first place."
Sam slouched down in the seat and it was like he was a sulking ten year old again. Dean flipped on the radio and said, "Review the point standings, Sammy."
"I lost them."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Did you delete them?"
"No."
"Lose your phone?"
This time the no was more of a whine. Because he didn't want to admit he still had the running tally of their lifetime bowling scores on his phone. Because if he did, he was going to have to enter their scores from today and Dean was already anticipating a big win over his little brother. Dean said, "I'll buy you candy if you tell me."
"I'm not a kid, Dean." Sam declared, although he still sounded whiny. He opened his phone, though and read off the scores, his mood brightening somewhat. "I'm ahead by nineteen points."
"Aww...I'm sure you can get nineteen points today with your left hand." Dean mocked.
"I bet I can still beat you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Sam said, putting the phone away.
"Ok. I bet you two weeks of laundry duty." Dean grinned, pulling up to the bowling alley.
"Deal."
Dean strode into the alley smiling smugly at his brother and solicitously opening the door for him.
His smile two hours later wasn't so smug because somehow he'd managed to lose by one single solitary irritating point even with Sam bowling with his left hand.
Much later that night…
Dean dropped heavily onto his bed, hanging on to the edge to keep from spinning away into space. Good thing that after bowling and the double feature they'd gone to see after, they'd parked the Impala at the motel and then walked to the bar. Because neither of them were safe to drive. The walk, stumble, from the bar proved they were barely safe to walk let alone drive.
"Shoulddo ths more'ften."
Dean blinked a few times, bringing Sam back into focus as he flopped down onto his own bed. He grinned and said, "Yesh we shuuud."
"'z fun." Sam slurred then laughed, staring at the ceiling.
Dean laughed too and tried to untangle his own words. Enunciating very patiently, he said, "You. 're. Gunna. Hate. Me. Inna 'orning."
Sam laughed again, then smacked his face with his cast as he tried to rub his eyes. He grunted in surprise, rolled onto his side and held out his arm toward Dean. Dean blinked at the white blur as Sam asked in utter confusion, "Deeeeen. Whazzz this?"
Dean knew what it was. Even remembered how it had gotten there. Sort of. But he couldn't make the words sound right even in his head, let alone if he tried to force them out of his mouth. He shrugged.
"Oh." Sam shrugged too, letting his arm drop to the bed. He stared with unfocused eyes in Dean's direction and, after a few minutes, said with surprising clarity, "Amicus optimus."
"Huh?" Dean asked, interpreting the Latin. Best Friend. Even as he was trying to figure out why Sam was speaking Latin at two in the morning, he could feel himself tilting toward the pillows. Since gravity had more of an idea of what was going on than he did, he let gravity have its way. Head on the pillow, he narrowed his eyes, trying to bring Sam into focus. He asked, "Whzzz'at?"
"You."
"Me?" Dean grinned, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He continued struggling to get his legs up onto the bed. After several attempts, gravity decided to make it easier on him and Dean found himself on the floor. It was oddly comfortable and actually made him feel better. There wasn't any further for him to fall as far as he could tell. He rolled over onto his back and stared up in the darkness at Sam who was half hanging off his own bed.
"Amicus alter ipse." Sam said after a moment. Drunk out of his head, he still managed to speak Latin perfectly.
It took Dean longer to interpret that one through his alcohol-fogged consciousness. A friend is another self. Dean blinked and shook his head against the carpet as he mumbled, "Yuuuu 'r speakin La...La...Laaaatin."
"Am." Sam said, eyes heavy.
"Stop'pit." Dean smacked his lips. "Tooo drunk."
"Mmhm."
Dean felt a pillow hit the floor next to him and he uncoordinatedly fought to get it under his head. Once he was settled, he looked back up at Sam who was sound asleep. He felt the fog of the alcohol drawing him toward sleep, but he still smiled as he reflected on the day. Sleeping in. Bowling. Movies and getting completely hammered with his little brother. There hadn't been many days like this recently. And it had been just what they'd needed. So much was happening so quickly, so much was out of their control, so many enemies and so many worries. Dean sighed, staring at Sam. He was grateful beyond words that the day hadn't been marred by a vision or any other disaster.
Some days he wasn't sure how they kept it together, how they kept moving, kept each other sane. And the more he thought about it, the more he understood. Dean knew exactly how it was they were still alive. Still surviving, still fighting. He smiled in the dark, knowing they were both going to be in need of aspirin and strong coffee in the morning. But the headaches would be worth it.
He cleared his throat and whispered, "Amicus magis necessarius, quam ignis et aqua."
Because it didn't really matter what came at them. As long as they were together.
"Thot you're too'runk for'latin." Sam whispered, eyes still closed, a smile on his face.
"Go t'sleep."
It was quiet for a few minutes and Dean had just about drifted off into a contented, alcohol infused sleep when he heard Sam's voice again. Scrubbing at his eyes, Dean ground out, "What?"
"Did'ja close'th blinds?"
Groaning, Dean started to move, then realized Sam had already fallen asleep. Collapsing back against the pillow, he wasn't far behind.
The next morning, they were awakened by the cleaning lady exactly twenty-five minutes after they should have checked out. Dean threw her a credit card and told her they were staying another night. Given the way it felt like his head was being sawn in half, he knew he wasn't going to be up to driving. And when he saw Sam crawling for the toilet, Dean flopped back down on the floor in the middle of the room and fought back his own nausea.
Thirty minutes later, Dean finally heard his brother stop throwing up and called out, "Y'ok, Sammy?"
"Mmhmm." Sam replied, although it sounded more like a moan of pain than a confirmation that he was indeed ok.
Dean didn't move because if he did, he was going to throw up on the floor. He was honestly impressed that Sam had made it to the toilet. After a few more minutes, he heard movement and saw Sam sprawled out on the floor not far away. It looked like his head hurt as bad as Dean's did when he blinked over at Dean and asked, "Worth it?"
Dean grinned, "Worth it."
The End
Amicus Optimus: Best Friend
Amicus Alter Ipse: A friend is another self
Amicus Magis Necessarius, Quam Ignis Et Aqua: Friendship is more essential than fire and water