“Took her home to my place, watchin’ every move on her face...”

More penetrating than any alarm on the planet, his brother’s cheerful singing drilled into his skull, rousing Sam Winchester from what had been a rather pleasant night of restful slumber. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom – which explained the ruckus from that direction – which only served to make his frustration at being awake yet more, well, frustrating. Coming under attack from a chupacabra would have been less painful. In fact, though he never said anything and acknowledging he wasn’t any better, anything would have been preferred to being woken by Dean, pelting out Free’s ‘All Right Now’ at the top of his lungs.

“Least he only does it with the shower first thing...”

Rolling over to look for his jeans Sam shook his head to get a better idea of the day ahead.

Okay, gotta get breakfast, check in with Bobby, then head out to the Park Ranger and...wait a minute...what’s that smell?

“Dean! You been opened another air freshener for the gun oils?”

“She said ‘Look, what’s your game? Are you trying to put me to shame?’...”

Shaking his head again Sam thought, Well, looks like I’ll just have to wait.

Looking round the room, mentally checking everything was where it was supposed to be, the younger Winchester idly clocked that Dean’s toiletries bag was missing. At the same time the similarly idle thought crossed Sam’s mind that he had never seen what his brother kept in that bag. However, his brain reminded him, it wasn’t as if the two men were in the bathroom at the same time so he dismissed the thought. Somewhere along the line, listening to the slow murder of Free, Sam lay back and drifted off to sleep again. It IS 5am after all...

About an hour later he shot upwards, wide awake and scanning the room. Realising everything was fine he swept his hands through his hair, over his face, then reached for his jeans. Pulling them on, he then moved to check the weapons bag once he’d turned his laptop on. It was as he was delving through the various armaments that he realised it had gone very quiet. Grabbing his gun, Sam stealthily made his way to the bathroom, his first thought being that something must have happened while he had dozed off.  This was his life – nothing whatsoever would make Dean stop singing, get out of the shower and not take the opportunity to yell out “Rise and shine, Sammy!”

Creeping to the door Sam’s brow furrowed at the faint sound coming from within. It seemed to have a musical tilt to it but, given that it also sounded like his brother, it could have just been a stomach cramp. Taking a slow, deep breath in preparation, Sam gently pushed the door open.

“You’re a teaser, you turn ‘em on...”

With a towel wrapped around his waist, one in a make-shift turban on his head and his toiletry bag open on the side, Dean Winchester stood in front of the mirror. As Sam watched, he picked up a small round pad and wiped it all round his face.

“Leave them burning and then you’re gone...”

Finishing the line Dean looked at the pad, nodded in satisfaction, then dumped it in the waste. He then picked up what looked like a tiny comb on the end of a stick and began to move it up toward his eyelashes. Two quick sweeps and he was done.

“Looking out for another, any chick’ll do...”

Sam watched in horror as his brother skilfully placed contact lenses in his eyes which, suddenly, made them appear as clear and green tinted as Sam was used to seeing.  Finally he reached out for a small plastic bottle from which he shook a dollop of white cream. This was then briskly rubbed into his skin.

“You’re in the mood for a dance...”

There came a few twinkle-toes steps.

“And when you get the chance...”

Sam couldn’t let this continue. Mortified he stepped into the bathroom, aimed the gun at Dean’s head and asked, “Who are you and what the hell have you done with my brother?”

The pots, containers and bottle went flying all over the room as Dean jumped. His bare feet shot in different directions, hand scrabbling through air to try and catch items whilst the sodden towel on his head unravelled and completely clouded his vision. With a crash that must have echoed into the next motel room along it was over. Sam looked down at the mess on the floor, his jaw nearly joining it.

With his cheeks reddening, his expression a war zone between embarrassment and bare-faced cheek, Dean looked up at his little brother.

“Uhm...”

“Were you just...” Sam paused. “Primping? And moisturising?”

Green eyes flitted round the room looking for escape. Then, with a grin and a shrug, Dean held up the cleanser and moisturiser.

“Rise and no shine, Sammy!"