Sleep was the indicator of health and wellness.
And it was also so much more than that.
Sleep was needed for survival, yes, and they got what they could when they could. They both grew accustomed to working more with less, and the various (and often less than satisfactory) conditions. It was what they knew. And they would drop like bags of wet cement whenever and wherever it allowed.
For Sam, he didn't realize how little he worked with until Stanford. Dorm mattresses were no better than the motel mattresses and couches he surfed, but it was something a bit more. All his young adult life, he wanted privacy, and he didn't know what to do with the freedom. When his first roommate left for a weekend, Sam struggled with sleep. He couldn't figure it out. It wasn't stress, he always felt that. It couldn't have been the bed because that didn't change. But his roommate returned and suddenly, he could sleep again.
Jessica had her theories and voiced them to Sam on more than one occasion and the theory had some weight to it. There was always someone nearby his whole life. Jess could understand. She and her sister shared a room their whole young lives too.
For Dean, it was during his year with Lisa, and it was different. He chalked it up to his trauma from Hell and grief, and so did Lisa. He was always getting restless sleep, but it was better than nothing.
When Sam came back and they both got back in the business sleep proved to be elusive. Several years, too many problems and end-of-the-world scenarios put it all on the back burner. Grief, stress, and trauma. That was it, but they would get their four to five hours.
Then Purgatory. Then the year with Amelia.
Sleep in Purgatory was always with one eye open.
Sleep with Amelia, who was already dealing with her own baggage, was mostly resolved with some medications and a fan.
Then they found the bunker.
They had their own rooms. They had safety. Things should have gotten better, right?
First it was the memory foam. And Dean did sleep. For the first few nights, it was blissful.
Sam slept well knowing that they were in the safest place in the world. They more than deserved it and they needed it.
And then they went back on the road. And then they returned to the bunker again.
It was too damn quiet. Sam found an old metal fan in storage and brought that to his room. Sleep improved. Dean didn't knock on it. He agreed that it made sense given that no motel room was totally soundproof. The HVAC always kicked on and off. They had it on full blast when hunts took them to the southern states in the summer months. Given those circumstances, Dean found one for his room too. They reminisced during one drive about the loudest places they ever stayed in, how their father's snoring could shake the windows, and they managed to adapt.
A few months later they caught a case and it triggered Dean's PTSD. He didn't sleep. He couldn't. He was beyond irritable. Sam didn't judge. How could he? If it wasn't Purgatory, it was their paths in Hell. It was being tortured. It was…everything. Even when they returned to the bunker, insomnia had a death grip. Even if he could sleep, Dean was never rested. He would drop but would be awake in two hours unable to come back down.
Booze made it worse.
After the fourth day back in the bunker, Sam had had enough. He picked up some melatonin, tripled the recommended dosage, crushed it into a fine powder, and mixed it in with Dean's dinner. Dean went down and he stayed down for a solid eight hours. He figured out what Sam did and he was pissed. He was also grateful too.
Then The Trials started. Sam deteriorated and all Dean could do was just stand at the ready to catch his brother. He also had his hands full with Kevin. And that was stressful.
He walked by Kevin's place on more than one occasion and was always concerned by the sad situation The Prophet lived in. Kevin had passed out at the desk and Dean took a few minutes to put his space back together, to clear out the trash, and to make sure that kid was put into a proper bed. Imagine his surprise when he realized one of the blankets had some weight in them. Dean turned off all his alarms, and stood watch, much like Purgatory. The following late morning, after bringing the prophet a healthy breakfast, he had an honest conversation about Kevin's wellbeing. It was a sad one, but Kevin expressed his gratitude. He admitted to getting a bit desperate some nights and turning to drink. Dean told him to not end up like him, and to stay away from the bottle as much as possible. Kevin in turn told Dean to deal with his own issues too.
He said he would get to it as soon as they closed the gates to hell and Kevin was going to hold him to it.
In the meantime, he bought himself a weighted blanket. Even after all the ways they protected their phones, they still got ads and spam, but he figured why the hell not. The blankets in the bunker were old anyway.
And for a while, they were doing okay. Sam had his tricks to catch his rest. Dean, well, got sidetracked. The Mark didn't help. Being a demon really made things worse. Being cured and the rest that came afterward wasn't without the disruption.
They went back to adapting as much as they could. This time, Sam decided to keep his door closed at night.
They were back to surviving.
And after all that, and all that followed, they found their rest. They had routine, they had their ways to unwind and power off. Nightmares lessened their frequency. Their rooms adapted to their own needs. There was the issue with the ambient temperature in the bunker that caused a stare down that made Cas back away slowly. There were no winners there.
They would still hunt. They would still complain about motel rooms and how sleeping in the impala would have been a better alternative, neck pain be damned.
Time passed, and the old and bad habits went away. They didn't think much of it until Sam said he couldn't physically pull an all-nighter, at least not like how they used to. Dean had a terrible time with a bout of insomnia at least once a month, usually following a night terror, and he didn't bounce back from it like he used to. Miracle was great in that way even if that wasn't the intention.
As much as they teased and hazed each other, methods of rest were off the table. It was the only baseline they had to know what was up with each other.
Rest was priority.
Good rest was a requirement.
And it was well deserved.