Cotton Sheets, Country Music and Clam Chowder

Summary: This will be a Bobby/Sam slash fic (BAM), eventually, hence the title. I'm hoping that's enough to draw you in, but if it isn't, I promise danger, angst and kissing. Yay! Rated PG, 'cause Bobby and me say some bad words. But not Sam, because Sam's a good boy.

Chapter Summary: This is a Bobby chapter. It involves an alarm clock. Takes place around "Blind Alley". It's kinda boring, except Bobby ends up in Sam's bed.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Someone else owns these characters. I'm too lazy to figure out whom exactly. Marvel and probably WB, since they seem to own everything. All I know is that I don't but do I wish I owned Sam 'cause he's a damn hottie. Oh and Bobby's good too I guess. But Sam…Yummy!

Author Notes: My writing is based primarily on Evolutions. I may or may not stay true to comic canon.

Chapter Two: Sunday Morning

Sunday was the best day of the week as far as Bobby was concerned. The one day the students at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had completely to themselves. They were allowed to do anything they wanted. And if Bobby wanted to sleep in until 11 in the morning, no one would be waking him up for 5 a.m. training sessions. And he probably would have slept later, if it hadn't been for Sam's alarm clock.

Bobby didn't even know why Sam needed an alarm clock. Sam was one of those annoying people who naturally woke up early, as if the human body was programmed to get up at dawn. But when you had a roommate, it was just one of the many things you had to put up with. Like the twangy country music and complaints about the room being too cold.

When the mansion had been destroyed, everything had to be replaced: Clothing, furniture, toothbrushes and alarm clocks. Even Xavier didn't have inexhaustible funds so some ingenuity was in order. Sam had found his alarm clock at a Saturday morning garage sale for 75 cents and it seemed to work fine, …for the first two weeks.

Then, as Bobby like to say, it went evil. Sometimes the alarm wouldn't go off. Sometimes it went off two hours early. Sometimes the clock would simply die in the middle of the afternoon, so that the next night you'd have to reprogram the time and alarm all over again. And at 11:03 a.m., while Bobby was deep in sleep, the alarm Sam hadn't even set the night before went off.

Bobby was wide awake within seconds, as adrenaline flooded his blood, and practically flew out of bed. Disorientation followed, before he came to realize that he was safe in bed and not under attack. And that the sirens were just Sam's alarm clock. Suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline rush gone as quick as it had come, he flopped back down.

Now it Bobby's opinion, a proper alarm clock is supposed to shut off on its own after a few minutes. Because really, if you haven't woken up and managed to pull your sorry ass out of bed, you should stay in bed. You're probably dead anyways. However, this alarm continued to wail, a horrible, piercing blare that seemed to change pitches and could not be ignored, no matter how hard he tried. Bobby would not be getting back to sleep as long at the alarm clock was going.

Sam, of course, wasn't anywhere around. He'd left much earlier, to go to church. Sam was… well, he was Christian. Beyond that, Bobby didn't know much, except that he didn't go to the same church Kurt did. Bobby didn't go to church. When he was little, his dad had taken him and had given him a quarter to put in the collection plate. He'd gone to Sunday school. But then there had been a move and no more church for reasons a six year old can not comprehend.

The alarm continued to blare, from it's perch on an overturned cardboard box (bedside tables had yet to arrive) next to Sam's mattress on the floor, (the bed frames were in the same order as the bedside tables.), all the way across the room. And he couldn't call out for assistance. Mostly because everyone who was home would be down stairs, out of hearing range. And Jean and the professor wouldn't appreciate at psychic call for help. The last time he had tried that, Jean had dumped a soda on his head.

He was pretty much on his own, so he rolled out of bed. His plan had been to walk over but the moment he was out of bed, Bobby pretty much scrapped that idea. There was no way he had the strength to walk across this room. Wrapping his bed sheet around him like a protective cocoon, he began to crawl across the room.

He got to Sam side of the room and, much to his displeasure, couldn't switch off the alarm. He tried to hit it a couple of times, half heartedly. His eyes were drooping badly and without the strength to keep them open, he was pretty much blind. He tried to unplug it but the outlet was behind the mattress. And if he couldn't keep his eyes open, there was no way he was moving a mattress.

"Oh, fuck it." He grumbled and encased the alarm clock in ice. Blessed silence. Bobby collapsed with exhaustion onto Sam's bed.

Sam, being the good boy he was, had changed his bedding before going to church. The fresh sheets smelled like laundry soap and fabric softener. The smell reminded Bobby of his mom. Whenever she wore a clean night gown, he'd loved to curl close to her and smell it. It was a good smell.

Bobby raised his head just enough to see his own mattress across the room. The distance looked impossibly long; he could hardly believe he had managed to crawl over.

"Fuck that." He muttered, burrowing into the covers and going back to sleep.

And when Sam came home, to find his alarm clock frozen beyond repair and Bobby in his bed, well… Fuck him too.

End of Chapter Two

End Note: I totally relate to Bobby in this chapter. You wake me up at the wrong time in my REM cycle and I simply can't function. I end up crawling on the floor and feeling around because I can't keep my eyes open, too. -- Catalyst