AGGRAVATION
The omens for the brothers' restful night aren't good ...
Chapter 2
xxxxx
The Winchesters stood in the doorway and stared at the room's one bed which appeared to be as ancient and ramshackle as the rest of the building.
It was Dean that eventually blinked first. "Oh shit!" he croaked.
Sam sighed and, pushing past Dean, stepped forward into the room, he opened his mouth to speak …
"If the words 'any port in a storm' leave your mouth, I will hurt you", Dean snarled, glaring at his brother.
"All I was about to say is we're gonna have to make the best of it," muttered Sam, doing his best to placate the scowling figure beside him. "Neither of us is in any fit state to drive any further. At least we've got a roof over our heads, so we're just gonna have to suck it up and deal with it".
"Why the friggin' hell didn't the Wicked Witch of the West friggin' tell us the room only had one friggin' bed?"
Sam sighed heavily; "Dean you saw her; she was about a hundred and thirty nine; she probably forgot."
"Well, you can forget sharin' a bed. We ain't sharin' a bed."
"Why not?" Sam shrugged.
"Well look at us … we're too freakin' big!" Dean gestured irritabily up and down himself then his glance travelled across to Sam, "well you are, anyway; you decided to be the genetic freak of the family, and keep growing.."
Dean hesitated, a faraway look in his eyes. "Last time we shared a bed, I was still bigger'n you."
Shaking his head, Sam didn't quite believe they were having this conversation.
"Dean, I'm not up to psychoanalysing your inferiority complex right now … I'm taller than you; just deal with it."
"You're not just taller than me," muttered Dean, "you're a freakin' danger to aviation."
Sam groaned, "Dean; firstly, it's not my fault that I grew tall, and secondly, if we want to talk about genetic freaks, have you looked in the mirror lately?"
Dean turned sharply, "Huh?"
"Dude, your legs … did you get rickets or something when you were a kid?"
Dean glared darkly, but Sam warmed to his theme; "I swear, if someone straightened your legs out you'd be taller than me."
Dean shoved past Sam muttering under his breath; Sam wasn't sure but he was sure the word 'bitch' was involved.
xxxxx
Dean flopped heavily on the side of the bed and stiffly bent down to tug his boots off, wincing as his sore back pinched at the motion. Unable to reach, his fingers groped irritably at the laces, his back flatly refusing to co-operate.
"Need a hand?" Sam offered.
Dean grunted non-committally, and reluctantly allowed Sam to pull off his boots and socks while he turned his attention to his T shirt, managing to tug it clumsily over his head with a bit of unseen and unfelt assistance from his brother.
Sam stepped back and stood in the middle of the room yawning and arching into a massively satisfying stretch as Dean fumbled with the belt and fly of his jeans. Sam left him to it, knowing that an offer of help at this point was a brotherly step just a bit too far.
Kicking off the frayed denim, Dean laid back sliding under the threadbare quilt, and tried to arrange himself into a comfortable position; "Dude, it gives me altitude sickness jus' watching you."
Sam ignored him as he clambered into the bed beside his brother; "shove over, stumpy - quit hogging the quilt."
Sam relaxed into the thin, limp mattress, and promptly sunk.
Dean rolled down into the resulting furrow, and found himself sprawled face down on top of his brother.
There followed a frantic melee of flailing limbs, groaning bedsprings, creaking floorboards and spluttered oaths as the two bodies fought to untangle themselves and scramble back towards opposite sides of the bed.
"Don't ever do that again;" gasped Dean.
"I can't help it" snapped Sam, "damned mattress has hardly got any stuffing."
"Yeah, well, if you didn't weigh the same as a friggin' mule …"
Sam frowned, staring at Dean; "dude, we really need to address your size issues some time."
Dean grunted something obscene as he wormed his way into the quilt, trying to find a comfortable position for his sore back; "I ain't got no size issues - you're the sasquatch; I'm normal."
"You, normal? That's a laugh ..."Sam's words faded away as he rolled over, turning his back on the sprawled lump burrowed down in the quilt.
"Bite me ..."
Xxxxx
Less than an hour passed since Sam had fallen almost immediately into a deep sleep but Dean found himself laying awake, eyes heavy with exhaustion, trying to ignore his brother's wall-shaking snores and clinging to the edge of the mattress to avoid Sam's wandering limbs.
He had forgotten how much of a sprawler Sam was. He had been bad enough as a child, but now his limbs were so much longer they went a lot further. So far Dean had already had an elbow in the ribs, a knee in the back (which had earned Sam a punch) and he had just spent the last five minutes excavating a thumb from his ear. Sam for his part had been on the receiving end of a tirade of pretty imaginative abuse, a kick in the shin which had only succeeded in giving Dean a stubbed toe and a whack around the face with Dean's pillow, and he hadn't so much as fluttered an eyelash.
Dean cringed, gripping his pillow and pulled it tightly over his head as he tried to block out the racket of Sam's snoring. He gave a choking squeal of frustration as Sam shifted and broke wind at an impressive volume. He would later deny vehemently that it sounded exactly like a whimper.
xxxxx
It wasn't long afterwards when he felt a long arm snaking across his bare back.
"Sam," the muffled growl came from under the pillow; "I'm warnin' you, one more ... GAH!"
His voice was abruptly cut off as the arm unconsciously curled round his middle and yanked him sharply into a tight hug.
Wriggling and squirming violently, he cursed and blasphemed as he tried to push the arm away, but he just seemed to succeed in making it squeeze tighter as it gathered him further into a crushing bear hug. The damp heat of Sam's chest was pressed hard against his back, his hair curling under Sam's hot damp breath as his face burrowed deeply into the back if Dean's neck. Dean made a mental note to remember to shave next time he intended to get up close and personal with someone. He was convinced he's be needing skin grafts before the night was over
He continued to worm and writhe against the massive arm which held him fast; "Sam" he croaked, "leggo ... squeezin' too tight ..."
He began to gasp, legs weakly kicking and arms punching anything he could reach belonging to Sam as he tried to escape the vice-like grip.
His eyes bulged wildly as the arm squeezed tighter still, and he began to gape goldfish-like for air. Beneath his weakening struggles the bed creaked and groaned, springs squeaking and protesting as he fought to break free of his brother's iron grip.
He could feel himself changing colour; he must have been a lovely shade of puce by now; but this was getting serious; if Sam squeezed any tighter, he was pretty sure he was going to burst.
Eventually, he decided desperate times called for desperate measures; he pinched a clump of Sam's forearm hair between his thumb and fingertip. And tugged.
Hard.
Sam's arm jerked sharply catching Dean a backhander in the breadbasket, and withdrew.
Dean scrambled back to the other side of the bed, almost tipping out onto the floor as the mattress sunk beneath him and flopped onto his side, panting for breath; tenderly nursing his poor crushed ribs.
xxxxx
Dean eventually settled back and smooshed his face into his pillow, relishing the pull of sleep at long last; his eyelids drooped as his breaths began to slow and deepen. Nestling into the sagging mattress, he curled into a ball of drowsing peacefulness.
Is was right about that time that Sam shifted again and planted a freezing cold foot right up the back of his thigh.
Xxxxx
tbc