A/N: We're approaching Sabriel station.
Sam awoke from a rare and pleasant dream, something that wasn't fire or Jess or Dean being ripped apart by invisible hounds for once. He'd dreamt an ordinary dream, he thought to himself smiling, eyes still closed because he didn't quite want to let go of it. Not only that, but it seemed to have done him good; he felt more well-rested than he had done in… probably years. It was the start to a good morning. Sam breathed in deeply.
The start of a good morning until he opened his eyes. Being a hunter meant being constantly on high alert for anything out of the ordinary, so when Sam opened his eyes to find himself in a completely different room to the one he'd fallen asleep in, it was really no surprise that he jumped immediately out of bed, his bare feet landing on rich, fluffy white carpet, making him jump backwards again in surprise, because where was the gritty, greenish floor of the Sun N' Sands motel?
Sam's head darted left to right, his hair swinging in curtains around his bewildered, fearful expression as he took in the giant four poster bed he'd leapt out of, its crimson duvet ruffled and in disarray. There were roses in a vase on a mahogany table, and sweet, mildly spicy potpourri in tiny china bowls on varied surfaces. A cursory glance into a mosaic-tiled en-suite bathroom allowed Sam to deduce that he was, in fact, alone in this luxurious room that he definitely, definitely couldn't afford and he was just about to break down and run out of the room to kick the ass of whatever monster was surely behind this, when he noticed his backpack leaning casually against a plush velvet armchair in the corner, his shoes lined up neatly beside it on the floor.
Sam stared for several long moments and wished he had a gun. He went over to the bag cautiously and after a moment of careful checking, he found that everything was accounted for, including his phone, into which he immediately punched Dean's number, too riled up to go through his contacts to search for it.
The phone rang the customary six times and went to voicemail. Dammit Dean, thought Sam angrily, what the fuck is going on?
That's when Sam noticed the door for the first time. The main door of the room he had noticed almost immediately of course; being who he was, he searched for all escape routes before anything else, but this door was to the right of his ridiculously fancy bed, almost made to go unnoticed and painted the same cream colour as the wall it was set in. Sam stepped towards it with trepidation, and placed his hand upon the wood panelling. It occurred to Sam that if in fact he was still in a motel/hotel of some sort, this would be the sort of door that separated two rooms. He'd never really understood why you'd want that, but hey, he was a liberal guy. Maybe some folks were into that sort of thing. Hell, he'd seen enough glory holes in the motels he'd stayed in, and it was pretty much the same sort of idea. Or maybe he'd got totally the wrong idea.
Sam's fingers fluttered down towards the gold handle of the door, hovering uncertainly. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to go through this door as opposed to the main door, he just had this feeling. And hey, he was psychic. It wasn't like he was going on nothing here.
Drawing in a breath and trying not to think about the fact he was still in just a shirt and boxers, Sam wrenched open the door, finding it opened suspiciously easily, confirming his ideas that this was the correct way to explore. He stepped into the room, finding at first glance that it seemed to nearly exactly mirror his own, and gasped.
"Oh my God!" Sam cried, shielding his eyes with his fingers and turning away from the enormous heart-shaped bed that took up nearly the entire room, in the centre of which lay his semi-naked brother wrapped around a very dishevelled-looking and very unconscious Castiel. Dean jumped at the sound of Sam's cry of horror, the noise clearly jolting him out of sleep. His hunter instincts were the same as Sam's, and he too tried to leap from the unfamiliar bed only to find his arms entangled with the sleeping Angel. He looked down at Castiel, eyes wide with horror, and it became immediately obvious that he had not been aware of their sleeping position until that moment. This did nothing to comfort Sam, who refused to look towards Dean, desperately trying to wipe the memory of Dean's hands splayed out across Castiel's bare back from his mind.
"What the fuck?!" Dean yelled as soon as his cries of shock became coherent and Castiel was immediately startled awake at the noise. The Angel sat up quickly, his black hair sticking up like ruffled feathers on the top of his head, his brow wrinkled in confusion as he looked down at first Dean's naked chest and then his own.
"Dean… what…" Castiel said in unusually discombobulated tone of voice.
"Why the hell are you in bed with me, man?!" Dean yelled, and Sam clamped his hands over his ears. "Not cool, okay? Not cool – I know you're a bit unsure on the personal space stuff but dude-"
"Dean, I didn't-" Castiel began, appearing even more confused.
"Where the fuck are we? Why are you practically naked? Were you cuddling me?!" Dean cried near hysterically as he pulled the scarlet covers over his chest defensively, questions seemingly pouring out of his mouth at random and aimed at nobody in particular.
"Oh, God. I thought this was going to be a good morning." Sam groaned, sitting against the wall now, his eyes squeezed shut. "Will you guys please put some clothes on?!"
"Actually Dean, I'm almost certain it was you cuddling me. I distinctly remember your left arm being-"
"Dude, shut up!" Dean interrupted him, cutting Cas off before he could finish that sentence, much to Sam's relief. Dean took a steadying breath, purposefully not meeting the inquisitive blue gaze from the sleep-ruffled man beside him. A flush crept up Dean's neck and bloomed in his cheeks; it seemed to fascinate Castiel. "Um. Cas, you-you get up first. Our clothes are over on that chair, see?" Dean said, his tone gentler now, almost pleading.
Castiel looked over to where Dean was gesturing and nodded, getting up immediately to re-clothe himself. Sam watched Dean's eyes linger on Castiel's slight frame as he gracefully slid out of the warm red covers, confused.
It must be a weird profound-bond thing I don't get, Sam thought to himself.
Sam shuddered again and Dean tore his gaze away from Castiel long enough to look at him warily.
"I can't believe I walked in on you guys spooning." Sam said, pulling a disgusted face he was sure he'd left behind him at age twelve. Apparently not, he thought as Dean hurled a deep purple satin cushion at his face.