For both drabbles:
Characters: Sam and Dean
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: I don't own them
Dean had insisted they sit up late to watch some trashy zombie B-movie on TV and now, ten minutes in, he was sprawled unconscious over the couch, mouth agape, shaking the bunker with snores that wouldn't sound out of place in a zoo.
Sam hadn't even wanted to watch this unmitigated crap anyway. Giving Dean a cautious side-eye, he slyly reached for the remote and his headphones; there was a documentary about the Antarctic ecosystem on another channel which sounded awesome.
He'd barely switched over ...
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ - *gnuh?* "Hey bitch … I was watching that!"
Sam stood in the kitchen watching the coffee percolator bubbling.
Dean would be up soon, and Sam knew from bitter experience that Dean didn't normally enter the realms of humanity until his first coffee had gone down.
Moments later, the door opened, and in shambled Dean, bedheaded and unshaven. One sock hanging off his left foot and the dead-guy robe not quite fastened tightly enough to spare anybody's blushes.
"Sam," Dean mumbled, reaching for the coffee, "wha'smatter? Y'standing there like a freakin' idiot gaping at me."
Sam grimaced, looking away from the spectacle before him; "that makes two of us," he groaned.