Dean smelt the coffee before he even opened his eyes. It wafted through the grate in his door, drifting across the floor, over the bed covers, and into his snoring nostrils.
"Mmmm," he said, sleepily. "Coffee."
Swinging his legs out of bed, he stood-up and shuffled, eyes half closed, across the room towards the sink, tripping over his boots along the way.
"Son of a bitch," he said, as he stood in his boxer briefs, hopping on his left foot, his toes on his right foot throbbing.
He staggered on, grumpily, and turned on the tap, splashing water on his face.
"Son of a bitch," he said again, this time from the shock of the freezing water hitting his skin and dripping down the front of his bare chest.
He reached for a towel and wiped the water off his torso, before running his damp hands over his hair, trying to flatten the obstinate cowlick at the back. Feeling his happy mood going down the drain with the tooth paste he spat out of his mouth, he rubbed some deodorant under his arms, grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, and held it briefly to his nose before shrugging and slipping the not too stinky piece of clothing over his head. Taking his track-pants off the back of a chair, he pulled them on while waddling towards the door.
"Sammy?" he bellowed down the hall, "You better've saved me some coffee!" He stopped short in the doorway to the kitchen. His brother was at the griddle flipping what appeared to be a pancake. "You makin' pancakes?"
"Good morning," Sam said, over his shoulder. "Nice of you to finally wake up."
"Yeah, yeah, I hope you made pancakes…" Dean then noticed the table was set for two. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just felt like cooking."
"Ohhhkay," Dean said, as he poured himself a coffee. He slid into his seat at the table and opened Sam's laptop. "Any our kind of weird happening?"
"No. Not that I could see. Maybe… we can have a day off."
"Yeah, right," Dean muttered, as he slurped in a mouthful of hot, black liquid. "Ahhh, that's good."
"It's a new blend. I picked it up at that new coffee place in town."
"Hipster."
"What?"
"Nothing." Dean smirked to himself. "So, day off, huh?" he said. "Might give Baby a bit of love. She could do with a deep clean."
"Yeah?" Sam said, as he walked towards the table with the frypan in his hand. "I kinda thought maybe we could do something else."
"Yeah? What you got in mind?"
Sam dropped a pancake onto Dean's plate.
Dean looked down at the circle of browned batter. "Sammy," he said, looking up at his brother. "Is this a Death Star pancake?"
Sam smiled. "It's May the fourth, Dean."
Dean frowned. He knew Sam's birthday was May the second. They happened to be on a vamp hunt that night. Chopping heads was a good way to celebrate, they decided. But May the fourth? May the for…. "May the fourth be with you," Dean said, suddenly twigging. "It's Star Wars day!"
Sam beamed. "Hence the Death Star pancakes. I saw this thing online that presses the pattern into the batter!" He pushed a pancake onto his plate, sat down, and reached for the syrup.
"And you actually bought it?!" Dean said, snatching the syrup from his brother's hand.
"And I thought," Sam went on, ignoring Dean, "Seeing as there's nothing on the radar, we could maybe watch the movies." He looked up at Dean, eyebrows raised, a swirl of concentration on his brow.
Dean chuckled to himself, he knew he was a geek, but he loved it when his brother showed his geek side too, other than for bizarre lore, or murder podcasts. "Yeah, I guess we could do that," Dean said, shoving a piece of pancake into his mouth. "But not the prequels."
"Well obviously," Sam said, rolling his eyes.
"Like, start with New Hope and see how far we get?"
"Or start with Solo? Then Rogue One, then New Hope. I mean, if we're skipping the prequels, but want to do it right."
"Purist," Dean said, and took a swallow of coffee. Then grinning, he added, "You ever think how I'm like Han Solo, and you're like Luke, and Baby is the Falcon?"
"I always thought of myself more of an Obi-Wan."
"What? An old dead guy?"
"Nah, more McGregor's Obi-Wan."
Dean nodded, "Or Chewbacca. You've got the height and the hair."
"Very funny."
"Hey, Chewie's a good guy," Dean said, picking up his and Sam's plates and tossing them into the sink. "You'd do well to aspire to be Chewie. Though he's a better mechanic than you. And driver. And better looking. And…"
"Yeah, okay," Sam laughed, as he stood up. "Go grab some snacks from the pantry, and I'll pour us another coffee."
"Beer? Did I hear you say beer?" Dean said, as he reached for a couple of bags of Lays.
"It's 9.30 in the morning, Dean."
"You're right. I'll wait an hour," he said, and winked at his brother. "Actually, now I think about it, maybe you're more a Wampa. Or a Tauntaun. I mean, you smell like a Tauntaun."
"Shut-up," Sam said, as they walked towards the Bunker sitting room. "If I smell like a Tauntaun, you smell like a Banther…or Jabba."
"Jabba was the dude, man. He was a gangster!"
"He was a slave trader, Dean."
"Well…he had a cool pad. Live music. Booze. Weird rat creature."
"Salacious Crumb."
"Gesundheit", Dean said, and they both burst out laughing.
"Okay, Solo first, then beer," Sam said, as he dropped onto the couch.
"Don't get cocky, kid," Dean said. And he picked up the remote and pressed play.
-Fin