Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own any of these characters. This is just for fun!

Setting: After Nightshift, when the boys are on the road running from the FBI.

Why do they always think…?

Dean refreshed his grip on the steering wheel, fighting to keep heavy eyelids open. Spotting a roadside motel, he mumbled, "Screw it," and pulled in. Sam was startled awake by the car's lack of motion.

"What, what is it?" he blinked bleary eyes.

"We're getting a room," Dean growled, checking his wallet for a credit card.

"But Dean," Sam shook his head to clear it of sleep cobwebs, "what about the FBI? If you're tired, I'll drive."

One look at his brother told Dean that Sam was in the same state he was – sleep deprived and basically worthless. He shook his head at Sam, "We're getting a room. I have an idea."

"What idea," Sam asked wearily, but Dean's door slammed without an answer. Dean's last couple of ideas had involved poking an old woman stroke victim with a stick and teaming up with a local nutjob who held up a bank to capture a shapeshifter. He was not too confident in his brother's ideas at the moment.

Dean walked heavily to the management office of the small motel. He paused before going inside to wave at Sam. He knew Sam would take it as an order to get their stuff and no doubt would resent it. Dean was counting on both.

He shuffled into the office. It was only about seven in the evening, but they had been on the road for the past 36 hours and he was pretty sure he looked it. He blinked bleary eyes at the woman on duty at the front desk

"Morning," he said.

"Good evening, sir," she corrected him.

He chuckled as though he were embarrassed. "Sorry. We've been on the road a while. Can I get a room for me and my, um, partner?" Dean tugged at his collar as though he were suddenly uncomfortable. He noticed her eyes dart out the glass front doors. He turned to see Sam struggling with both their duffel bags and no doubt cursing him to the high heavens. Dean suppressed a smile.

"Damn it," he slammed a hand down on the counter. She jumped, spinning back around to face him. "I told him not to worry about…" he sighed heavily. "Forget it. What do you have available?"

Still startled, she checked her computer. "Will that be a king sized bed?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation, looking back out the doors. Sam was motioning to him angrily. "Wait a minute. Maybe not." He sighed heavily. "Let me go check."

Dean had to try hard not to chuckle as he walked out the front doors. He allowed his short, sleep-deprived temper take over at the look of exasperation on Sam's face.

"What?" he snapped.

"What do you mean, what?" Sam demanded. "Who the hell do you think you are, ordering me to get your bag? Huh? I'm tired too, you know." Sam's arms were waving through the air as though he expected to take flight.

Dean leaned in close, making sure Sam's back was to the doors and blocked the receptionist's view of him. He stood there for a moment, just staring at Sam.

"What? You want to slug me again?"

"Nah," Dean shook his head. "But you should flap your arms around again like we're arguing."

Sam's red-rimmed eyes narrowed. "I don't flap my arms when I'm angry, Dean."

"Yes you do," was his brother's quick retort.

Sam raised a hand to poke Dean in the chest. "Don't start, Dean. Neither one of us is in the right mood for this."

Dean slapped the hand away. "Don't poke me."

Sam gave him a shove that forced Dean to stumble backwards a few steps. He came in close and whispered, "Perfect" to his brother's startled face.

Dean spun on his heel and marched back inside, allowing his bad temper to show. "Two beds!" he barked, slamming a credit card down on the counter.

The woman shook her head. "That's too bad."

"You're telling me," he fumed, silently pleased with himself. "Oh, let's go take a nice road trip, he said. We can go antiquing, he said." Dean let out a long-suffering sigh. He laid his head down on the counter. "What a disaster."

He felt a soft hand patting him on the shoulder. He looked up, putting as much pain and depression in his tired face as he could muster. "Thank you," he croaked as though he had been on the verge of tears.

She handed over two room card keys, shaking her head sadly. "You poor man. Maybe things will look better in the morning. You two are in room 19, outside and to the left."

"Thank you," he squeezed her hand, "you're very kind." He stuck the two room key cards in his pocket as he walked away, shaking his head.

Outside, Dean handed over the card key. "We're in nineteen. Supposed to be this way." He took his bag from Sam and stalked away, making a production of walking away in a huff in front of the doors.

Sam hurried to catch up. "Dean? Dean!" He caught up with his brother's quick strides. "Dean, what's going on?"

Dean refused to say anything until they were safely inside the room. He tossed his bag on the floor next to one of the beds before collapsing on it. A wide smile crossed his face.

"Let's just say if anyone checks this hotel for two brothers traveling together, they won't find any."

"What?" Sam's eyebrows disappeared behind his long bangs. "Dean? You didn't. You wouldn't. Dean?" But his brother was already breathing deeply, sound asleep. Too tired to argue now, Sam crashed into the other bed and decided to worry about it in the morning.