The alarm blares, and my eyes open gradually. I'm accustomed to this kind of a wake-up call. As I shut it off, however, I remember that it's Saturday and waking up to an alarm is, actually, not a regular occurrence.

But that's because Dean and I are going out this morning – and yes, it has to be in the morning – because it's Garth's birthday and Dean forgot to get him a gift (I didn't, I'm obviously the better uncle) and Garth has already informed us he expects two. Dean spoils them.

"Dean," I say, because whilst he can sleep through a blaring alarm and, presumably, a bomb blast, he cannot sleep through someone saying his name. He tells me I sleep talk sometimes. He's not a fan.

"No, no, Cas, you don't wake me up, I wake up whenever I want to, leave me alone… no, just come back to bed with me, it's the weekend, right?" I work my way out of his octopus grip with a smile.

"You see, I'd be able to come back to bed with you if you hadn't forgotten your nephew's birthday. But things being as they are…"

He groans and pulls a pillow over his head, so I pull the sheet off of his body, causing him to gasp at the sudden change in temperature. "Fuck. Why do you like the air con?"

"For purposes such as these. Up, Winchester."

"Fuck you. Fine, I'm up. How long do we have to the party?"

"4 hours. Get ready."

"I'm having the first shower!" That gets him moving, as he practically runs from the bed to the bathroom. I roll my eyes and instead go to get breakfast ready.

Dean doesn't ever take long in the shower, and I feel like cooking him a nice breakfast would be promoting the behaviour that leads to us being awake at 9am on a Saturday. So I simply put toast in the toaster, get out the butter, and lean against a counter rubbing my eyes. It's a productive way to spend my time.

When it pops, I butter the slices and eat mine slowly, listening to Dean singing along to the AC/DC playing in his head, until I hear the shower shut off. I make a conscious effort to finish off my slice then, before I walk into the bedroom to watch Dean put a shirt on. He sees me and shakes his head dry like a dog.

"This is how I get repaid for making you breakfast?"

He sniffs. "Toast doesn't count. Plus, you're about to get in the shower, it's hardly a problem."

I choose my clothes, then hit him with my pair of jeans. "I buttered the toast for you; if you're not grateful then I won't do that again…" he's too forceful with a butter knife. He always complains at how he ends up with holes in his toast.

"I would like to profess my undying love to you."

"Accepted." I nod at him, and we exchange grins as we go our opposite directions.

The bathroom smells like him, and the water's already hot. I'd never tell Dean this, but I prefer having a shower after he has – we have enough hot water to accommodate it, anyway.

Another thing I won't admit to Dean: I was humming the same AC/DC tune as quietly as I could.

I quickly shower, dry off, get dressed – I've grabbed another one of his shirts. I should really stop enforcing his fetish – and towel-dry my hair. It makes it look slightly crazy, but Dean always grins when he sees I haven't tried to tame it. After brushing my teeth, I stroll back out to see Dean finishing off his second slice of toast. I affectionately cuff him on the back of his head and tell him to brush his teeth.

"You say it like I otherwise wouldn't."

I raise my eyebrows.

"That was once."

"Thrice, Dean. It's disgusting."

"It's not that bad."

"You weren't the one who got kissed by the guy with morning breath… at 3pm."

Dean shrugs. "You liked it."

"No, I didn't."

"I'll go brush my teeth now."

"You do that."

this one's short because there's only so much stuff that isn't boring about a morning ritual.

have you noticed the titling's getting more boring? it's getting harder to deviate from the prompts. exams are sucking my creativity - i'm really sorry!