"ugh, sammy, my back," dean groans, as he rolls out of the motel bed that morning. it's decidedly not memory foam, and the sharp bend of a coil had been riding his kidney since he fell asleep last night.
he's not getting any damn younger, that's for sure.
sam pokes his head out of the bathroom, mouth full of toothpaste.
"huh?" he slurs around the foam. the hair on the right side of his head is sticking up awkwardly, the towel from that morning's shower slung around his shoulders.
"aw, you're no help," dean grumbles, settling down at the kitchenette table where sam has put a coffee and paper bag already soaking through with grease. in delight, dean unwraps a bacon and egg biscuit with sam's name scrawled on the thin foil paper. he pops the lid off of his coffee and takes a sip to find out it already has sugar in it. dean grins.
sometimes, he thinks he might be the most spoiled bastard alive.
sam's already eaten, but there's a coffee sitting across from dean's place at the table, half-empty. sam likes to leave something so he and dean can sit together, even if they're not both eating.
sam eventually joins him at the table, towel gone and hair dripping thick wet spots onto his shirt collar. he takes a sip of his coffee and opens his laptop, shaking a finger on the trackpad to wake it up.
"so, how're we looking on our vampmimes?" dean asks, at the exact moment he takes a bite so large that half of it tries to fall back out again.
"you've seriously got to cut back, man," sam says, half-reflex half-worry. "your arteries are gonna be solid by the time you're sixty."
"aw, c'mon, sammy," dean scoffs. "you think i'm gonna make it long enough to worry about that? please."
~~
"sammy, my back--" dean groans, cutting off in a thick wheeze for air as he scrambles for sam's arms. sam's hands come away coated in blood.
[the "last" series masterlist]
