Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, but I am hoping to get a Sam for Christmas.

A/N: Once again I got a tad carried away with what was meant to be a simple one-shot, but I hope you enjoy the result!

Summary: Sam decides that giving the bed up once is enough.

Room Number 13

"Come again?"

Sam Winchester grimaced as his older brother glared at the silver-haired man standing in front of them, who reached up to adjust his glasses, only just managing to prevent them from falling entirely off his needle-thin nose.

"I said, sir, I am afraid that we have no doubles, only singles."

Dean took a short step forward, the toe of his right boot thudding solidly against the wooden counter which separated them from the proprietor of the roadside motel.

"You sure about that?"

"Quite sure, Mr.-" The man paused and looked enquiringly over his glasses at Dean, who stared back without saying a word.

Nudging his brother, Sam raised an expectant eyebrow, only to have the dark glare turned on him. With a roll of his eyes, he plastered a polite smile on his face and stepped forward.

"Mr. Smith," he finished smoothly, in answer to the man's hanging question. "The name is Smith."

It was Dean's turn to raise an eyebrow, and the hotelier cleared his throat, reaching up to straighten his wire frames for a second time.

"Yes, well, Mr. Smith," he murmured, his voice irritatingly soft, "as I was saying, I'm afraid that we only have single rooms available tonight."

Folding his arms belligerently on top of the oaken counter, Dean leant forward until his face was no more than a foot away from the man opposite. His foot began to thud rhythmically against the tall wooden boards before him. "What sort of motel doesn't have any doubles?" he demanded.

The hotelier cleared his throat again. "You are lucky, sir, that we have any rooms left." Reaching up to straighten his glasses, he blinked owlishly through the thick lenses at the two brothers. "Perhaps the next time you stay with us you will remember to arrive somewhat earlier."

Dean's foot stopped mid-tap. "Next time?" he began sceptically, leaning even further forward.

Hurriedly, Sam elbowed Dean to the side. "Is there a foldout bed which we might use?" he interrupted. "Or some extra blankets?" He ducked his head briefly. "It's just that my brother here and I have travelled a long way the past couple of days..." Letting his statement linger, Sam smiled his best smile, only just managing to hold it as the innkeeper shook his head, the bones in his neck cricking painfully in the otherwise silent lobby, lit only by the sickly yellow glow of the overhead lamp.

"I am afraid not," the man began, with a little cough. "You see, we-"

Reaching out his arm, Dean gave Sam a decisive shove as he himself moved back to stand directly opposite the hotelier, fixing him with a hard gaze. "You mean there's no double rooms, no foldouts and no extra blankets." At the man's nod, Dean pushed himself back from the counter with both hands, quirking a sardonic smile before dropping all hint of humour from his face. "You know, this is a quality establishment you've got going here."

Having only narrowly managed to have kept himself from sprawling to the floor, Sam shifted inconspicuously, reaching out his leg and delivering a sharp kick to the other hunter's left ankle. Ignoring the loud grunt which echoed from his ever-so-stealthy brother, he reached into his wallet, and, fishing out one of the various credit cards Dean had bestowed upon him some months ago, handed it to the man, still smiling. "We'll take the room just for the night, please."

Accepting the card and placing it on the desk before him, the man peered at it closely, pushing his glasses up once more. He cleared his throat. Again. "Excuse me, Mr. Smith," he began, "but this card seems to be under a different name than that which you gave me…"

Quickly realising where the man's thoughts were taking him, down a path containing two potentially axe-murdering criminals who had stolen someone's wallet, Sam was quick to interject. "We're step-brothers. His name's Smith, mine's-" His mind blanked, and, flustered, he leant forward slightly, trying to read the upside-down card where it lay on the wooden desk. "Ulrich," he finished. "Sam Ulrich." His teeth began to ache with the effort of maintaining what he hoped was an earnest and trustworthy smile.

"I see." Thankfully without further comment, the hotelier put through the transaction, and, sifting through a shallow drawer to his left, pulled out a small metal key which glinted dully in the diffused light. From it dangled a dilapidated key ring with the number '13' printed on it in black pen.

Sam accepted it with thanks, and, pulling a still-glaring Dean with him, made his way out the door and across the dark parking lot where the Impala sat waiting before a long brick building marked at regular intervals by doors. Just a few steps out from the warmth of the office, however, he found himself being pushed sideways once more, this time into a row of wet bushes. Only just managing to catch himself, Sam glared at his brother and shoved back. "Can you not?" he asked, exasperatedly. "I nearly twisted my ankle in there."

"Yeah, well, you kicked mine, so let's call it even," Dean retorted, catching his balance with ease and stalking over to the car, whose sides gleamed silver in the dusting rain. "And why the hell did you kick me, anyway?"

Waiting whilst Dean pulled the car keys out of his jacket pocket, Sam glanced over at the other hunter. "Dean, you looked like you were going to punch that guy in there."

"And?"

"And I for one would like to sleep in a bed tonight," Sam shot back, swinging open the side door as soon as Dean had twisted the key in the lock.

"Oh, come on, Sammy, you heard him." Dean snorted. "Only single rooms tonight, sir," he scoffed. "You know as well as I do that he probably just couldn't be bothered to make up another couple of beds."

"Or maybe he'd run out of double rooms, like he said," Sam returned, halfway in the Impala in an attempt to find his laptop, buried somewhere under the many food wrappers his brother had chucked over his head the past two days.

"Whatever," Dean muttered as he unlocked the trunk and wrenched it open irritably. "And while we're on the subject of that idiot, what was with that name you gave him?"

Emerging triumphant from the backseat, clasping the laptop to his chest, Sam looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Sam, Smith?" Dean leant back against the open trunk, paying no heed to the silver streams of water edging their way down the sleek black side. "Dude, I know you had a few years off from hunting, but seriously, anyone could have come up with a better name than that."

Sam frowned as he moved round to the trunk to join his brother. "Look, Dean, I really didn't want to get into an argument with the hotel manager about whether or not we robbed someone. What we're doing is illegal enough without causing any more trouble."

"Well maybe if he gave us the sort of room we asked for then there wouldn't be any need for trouble."

"Dean-"

Yet Dean was off on another tangent. "Maybe he was possessed," he mused, tilting his head back towards the night sky and watching the many thousands of raindrops in their plunge towards earth.

"What?" Seeing that Dean had made no move to get the bags, Sam shoved his laptop under his arm and reached in to grab the heavy duffels, levering them one after the other over his shoulder as the light drizzle transformed into a downpour.

Dean nodded to himself, completely ignoring the miniature monsoon going on around him. "I bet you fifty bucks that guy was a malevolent spirit or something."

Ducking his head against the rain, Sam raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Cursed to give people bad rooms? Yeah, Dean, I'm sure." Seeing Dean open his mouth, ready to argue, Sam shook his head. "Look, man, can we just go inside? I'm getting soaked out here."

"Diddums," Dean retorted. "Is little Sammy getting wet?"

"Yeah, Sammy is," the younger hunter returned, shifting slightly as he felt a small trickle of water creep its way into his left shoe, turning quickly into a stream. "So can we just go already?"

Slamming the trunk shut, Dean shrugged. "Fine. But when that guy goes all Casper on our asses tonight, don't expect me to help you fight him off."

"Whatever." Hefting the bags further onto his shoulder, Sam started for the room with rapid strides.

"Dude, wait up!"

At the shout which echoed from behind him, Sam about-faced, but continued walking backwards, determined to get out of the rain. "Yeah?"

Dean jogged up to join him, heavy boots squelching on the wet asphalt. "You gonna be alright in the car?"

"What?"

"You're sleeping in the car. There's no way I'm sharing a bed with you."

"I'm not sleeping in the car."

"Sure you are."

"It's your car, you sleep in it."

Dean quickened his stride so that he reached the tiny covered porch first. "Not gonna happen, Sammy."

Left standing in the rain, his clothes growing ever darker, Sam frowned. "You've slept in there before."

"So've you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not sleeping in the damn car, Dean. One of us can sleep on the floor or something. Now give me the room key."

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the strip of convoluted metal before launching it in the vague direction of his little brother.

Just managing to tuck his laptop under the arm bearing the bags in time, Sam grabbed the key out of the air way to his right. "Real mature, Dean," he muttered as he pushed his way onto the porch and unlocked the door, nudging it open with his shoulder.

The older hunter backed against the doorframe to let the younger hunter enter. "Ladies first," he said just as Sam passed him.

"Bite me," Sam responded automatically as he stepped inside Room Number 13 and flicked on the overhead light.

Dean came to stand next to him, just inside the doorway. Silence reigned between the two brothers until the elder hunter finally spoke.

"Dude. This is so not a room. It's a cupboard." Taking a step forward and nearly hitting the side of the single bed framed narrowly by four grimy walls, Dean tilted his head to the side. "Or maybe a box."

Ignoring him, Sam dumped the gear on top of the low-slung mattress that was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. Not a single other piece of furniture could be seen, and indeed, would not have fitted. The only thing that broke the monotony was a second door located on the opposite side of the room to which they had entered.

Skirting round the mattress, pressed close to the peeling olive paint which layered three of the four walls, Sam attempted to pull the second door open, yet found it brought to an abrupt halt as it hit the metal frame of the lone mattress. Peering round, he managed to make out a dingy tiled bathroom containing a tiny shower, a toilet, and a stained metal sink shoved into the corner. Shoving the door closed again with a veiled sigh, he edged around the bed for a second time, finally dropping down on its end. Deciding that his brother may have been right about the whole 'quality-establishment' thing, he nevertheless determined that he would never admit such a thing as long as he lived. Instead, he pulled off his sopping brown jacket and let it fall onto Dean's duffel. "It's got a bed, doesn't it?" he reasoned, forcing an indecent amount of amiability into his voice. "What more do you want?"

"Two beds."

Ignoring Dean, Sam bent down and pulled off his left shoe. Holding it up in front of him, he peered inside, watching dispiritedly as a little trail of water ran from toe to heel. Chucking it onto the narrow strip of threadbare carpet visible around the bed, he started on the other foot. "So, who gets the mattress?"

"Me," Dean replied immediately. Kicking the door shut behind him with enough force that it rattled on its hinges, he began to pull off his own boots, balanced precariously on one foot as he tugged at the other.

Thin lines creased Sam's forehead. "Why?"

Dean dropped his second boot on the floor, grimacing at the subsequent squelch. "'Cos I say so, that's why."

Bouncing slightly as he tested out the mattress, which began to sag dubiously, Sam shook his head. "That's not a reason." He tensed as a long, loud creak groaned from the springs below.

"Sure it is."

Sam decided it was time to pull out the big guns. "You got the bed last time…" he wheedled, looking pleadingly up at his big brother.

"So I should get it this time too," finished Dean triumphantly, taking the final short step between him and the mattress.

Sam, however, stood up to bar his way, his expression changing instantly from wide-eyed and beseeching to a set frown. "That makes no sense, Dean."

"Sure it does."

"No way. As you got it last time it should be my turn tonight."

Dean shook his head. "Nu-unh. See, I'm used to having a good bed. I can't sleep on the floor, it would be…demeaning for me."

"Demeaning…" Sam echoed, disbelievingly.

"Yeah. Demeaning."

Sam shook his head. "That is such a load of crap."

"Your point being?"

"My point is that there is no way I'm letting you get the bed this time."

"Hey, man, I saved your life."

"Yeah, like a week ago."

"I still saved it, didn't I? So I should get the bed!"

Sam shook his head.

Dean glared.

Sam glared back.

The next second, their gazes dropped simultaneously to the mattress sitting innocently in the middle of the room, each hunter feeling its soft, sagging call. Another instant passed and two sets of eyes, one green, one hazel, jolted back to focus on each other, each brother pretending he hadn't noticed where his sibling had been looking. Then, within an instant of one another, the two men surged forward, launching themselves in the general direction of the solitary bed.

With the help of his long legs, Sam landed slightly underneath Dean. Grunting as his brother's significant weight thudded into his back, he grabbed the edges of the mattress, curling his fingers underneath for a better grip. Dean, however, reached down and uncurled the digits one by one with skill born of many years of being a big brother. Pulling the younger hunter's right arm behind his back, he pushed up, twisting the limb painfully.

"Get off me," Sam gasped, barely able to breath with the combination of his brother's weight and the hold Dean had upon him.

"Get off of the bed and maybe I'll think about it."

Sam shook his head as best he could with his face pressed against the mattress, which smelt slightly of odd socks.

Dean pushed Sam's arm that little bit higher. "Off."

"In…your…dreams!" Sam forced out. "Now…get off me!"

"Not until you get the hell off my bed!"

"'S'not yours! S'mine!"

Without warning, Dean rolled off the bed, landing with a soft thump on the floor next to the closed bathroom door. Sam waited, sure that the battle wasn't yet over. Sure enough, he felt a strong hand close about his ankle and pull. Hard.

Sam gritted his teeth and held on, gripping as tightly as he could. Muscles primed by years of hunting the things that went bump in the night were stretched to their limit, veins pressing, yet still Sam clung to the bed, knowing as well as Dean that it was no longer about who slept where. This was a matter of principle.

A minute passed, then two, and still the Winchester brothers remained locked in their silent battle. Finally, Sam felt a slight give in the pressure on his leg as one of Dean's socked feet slipped on the thin carpet. Triumphant, he wrenched his leg towards his body, and allowed himself a single moment to readjust his grip.

It proved to be a moment too long. Powerful fingers tightened about his calf, and almost before Sam knew what had happened, he found himself lying on the floor as the dark shadow which was Dean launched itself over his head, claiming the vacated bed in triumph.

Drawing his legs beneath him so he sat cross-legged on the narrow strip of shabby carpet between the bed and the hidden bathroom, Sam rubbed his swiftly reddening elbow with a wince. "You gave me carpet burn," he grumbled accusingly, as Dean lay back spreadeagled over the mattress.

Ignoring the muttered complaint, Dean rolled onto his side and stared down at the younger hunter. "Are you sure you wanna be sitting there, Sammy?" he asked. "I mean, I wouldn't even want my boots to touch what you're sitting on."

Glancing down at the threadbare, moulding carpet, stained with what he didn't know, Sam suddenly found himself glad for his ignorance. An expression of disgust crossed his face, and, quickly pulling his legs under him, he pushed himself to his feet. Repugnance, however, quickly changed to a sly grin as he eyed his brother, noting the sodden shirt and waterlogged jeans. Shifting the couple of feet to where his duffel sat on the corner of the mattress, he pulled it open and began digging. "You know, Dean," he commented offhandedly, as he hauled out a slightly damp towel and the light track-pants and t-shirt he usually slept in, which, thankfully, were still dry, "you're gonna have to get up and change sometime. Unless, of course, you like sleeping in wet jeans."

Dean folded his arms behind his head. "I don't have a problem with it."

"You could get a cold."

Dean smirked. "The way I figure it, Sammy, is that you're the one who'll have to take care of me until I get better, and you know as well as I do that I'm a pain in the ass when I'm sick."

Sam scowled. "Fine. I'll just sleep on the floor then."

"Suits me."

"You know that I'll probably wake up with lycanthropy or something."

Dean closed his eyes and spoke to the ceiling. "I was thinking more that flesh-eating bacteria thing." He paused, then grinned. "That would be cool."

"Come on, man, why can't we share?"

"Don't wanna."

"So you'd rather I get necrotizing fasciitis?"

"Huh?"

"That flesh-eating bacteria thing."

"Geek."

"Please?"

Opening his eyes, Dean lifted his head. "If I share, will you stop being such a pain in the ass?"

Sam nodded, annoyance changing immediately to amenability. "Of course."

"Fine. We'll share. But if you kick me even once, I'm putting you outside." In one swift movement, Dean grabbed his duffle and, rolling off the bed, bolted the two steps to the bathroom door. Throwing open the door, he hurled himself inside and slammed it shut behind him.

Sam stared at the closed door which now hid the shower he had fully been intending to use. He blinked, then, glowering, he dumped his stuff back on the bed. "I'm gonna kill him," he muttered, throwing himself onto the mattress with a curse. The mattress only groaned in reply.

TBC

Soooo…what did you think? I've got the next chapter nearly ready for posting, so that one should be up pretty soon. Thanks for reading and happy holidays!