The Princess and the Memory Foam
Author: blackrabbit42
Artist: riverofwind
Recipient: candygramme
Original Prompt: For some reason, Dean's memory foam mattress: forgets him. Angst ensues...
Title: The Princess and the Memory Foam
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Synopsis: She has one job... to give Dean a good night's sleep. But when she learns that the sweet embrace of her memory foam isn't enough, the Matress has a few other tricks up her sleeve.
A/N:Errrr..... remember the spring fic exchange? Candygramme has been waiting patiently all this time to get her fic, and she has been so gracious about it. My original artist is AWOL, but my favorite gal riverofwind stepped in and produced the perfect art for the fic, and I'm so grateful. Special thanks to beta and first-rate cheerleader firesign10, and to the mods for being so understanding.
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Day 59. If I have to listen to those Dial-A-Sleep-Number bitches going on about how smart they are for even one more day, I’m going to fucking self-immolate. It will be a god-damned mattress factory fire. Big fucking deal, your human tells you what to do and you do it. Try being a memory foam. The surface area of the average human male is 1900 square centimeters, and I will be expected to memorize every damn one of them.
Day 60. I really never believed in MattressGod before, but apparently, my prayers have been answered. Moved from the factory to the showroom today.
Day 61. There are things that happen on the showroom floor that I’d really rather not remember, thank you very much.
Day 72. Okay, please let me say that I am fully aware that I am going to sound like a teenybopper at a Beatles concert when I say this, but… EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! There were some scary moments there in the showroom-that guy who smelled like a goat, that woman with that….growth in the middle of her back, the three-year old who was still wearing pull-ups and showed a predilection toward being an incurable jumper. And while we’re on that topic, who the hell buys their three year old a queen size memory foam anyway?
Anyway, the minute I felt his hands caressing my Everfeel™ Plush surface, I knew I had to have him. He pressed his palm deep into my Cool Action™ Dual Effects® Gel Memory Foam, and I gently molded myself to his hand, doing everything I could to let him know I would support him. I would remember him.
His name is Dean, and I’m to be delivered to him tomorrow.
Day 73. This is what I was made for. I don’t know what type of cut-rate mattresses Dean has been sleeping on, but his neck is all out of whack, and don’t even get me started on his spine. We’ll sort it out, the two of us, I just need a little time. But for now? Oh. My. MattressGOD. It’s almost too easy, because no way in hell would I ever forget a single one of the 2,020 square centimeters of him. What? Yes, I know, I said the average male has an average body surface area of 1900 square centimeters. There is nothing average about Dean Winchester.
The noises that came out of his mouth when he first lay down and felt the way my Comfort Last® Foam Core with Ultimate Edge® gave him support in all the right places, I swear, my Cool Action™ almost failed me. But I’m a goddamned professional, so I did my job like a mother-fucking boss.
I held him all night and he slept like a baby.
Day 76. I said we would work out the problems with his spine, and we did. I would like to murder those mattresses from his past in their beds. How could they have done this to him? No matter. I’ve got him now.
Day 77. Huh. A little trouble last night. Tossing and turning. Dean just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. I don’t think it’s anything I’m doing wrong, so hopefully this is just a minor bump in the road. After all, it’s only our fourth night together, sometimes there’s an adjustment period. I’m just a little deflated (Emotionally! I wasn’t speaking literally. Sheesh) because everything had gone so well during our first few days.
Day 80. It’s hard for me to acknowledge this out loud, but Dean went to the kitchen in the middle of the night last night for a glass of milk and a piece of pie. You cannot know how crushed I am that it came to that for him. He shouldn’t even be waking up, never mind getting out of bed. My embrace should be irresistible, sleep should be effortless.
I don’t think it’s anything physical, so I really, honestly don’t think it’s anything I’m doing wrong. His spine is aligned, his muscles have lost that knotty tension up near his right shoulder. He still greets me with the same slide of his hand over my plush surface and “Hello, Beautiful” that he has since the first night. But it’s like… like there’s something missing. I’ve been paying very close attention, and I feel that he’s reaching for something that’s not there. Something comforting. I’m not too proud to share this job with something else if it comes to that. Giving Dean a good night’s sleep is what gives me meaning, and I’ll do whatever it takes.
Day 81. The house sprites in this place are seriously messed up, but I like them. I really don’t know what to think of the stories they’ve been telling me, but I’ve caught little snippets of Dean’s conversation with his brother and either everyone around here is completely delusional, or there’s a lot more to the world than I ever suspected.
Anyway, I asked them about Dean and sleep. Most of them just smirked at me, I’m not really sure what to make of that. But one kindly old brownie said she’d talk to the sandman for me. I know she means well, but I’d rather not just yet. The sandman is for children.
Day 82. Well, that was unexpected. I am… speechless. More tomorrow.
Day 83. Okay, so now I know why the sprites were smirking. Well, they can grow the hell up. If Dean wants to screw Sam (and I’ll be honest, that’s the last way I ever thought I’d learn someone’s name) within an inch of his bloody life, then that’s none of their business. And guess what? They both slept like fucking babies. All 2,110 square centimeters of Sam included.
Day 90. Okay boys. I am an inanimate object. If I can figure out that Dean is sleeping like shit when Sam isn’t with him, then the two of you flannel-wrapped geniuses should be able to get the hint as well.
Day 91. I’ve got a plan. It goes against almost everything I believe in, but this is really an ends-justify-the-means situation. The good news is, I’ve found out, thanks to this really sweet ghost named Kevin, (guess the sprites weren’t pulling my leg on that one) that Sam is sleeping on a Stearns and Foster manufactured in 1948, for Christ’s sake. She’s old, she’s tired, she is more than happy to let me take over. Which is a huge relief, because what if Sam had a new memory foam too, and she cared just as much about Sam as I cared about Dean?
Day 94. It works out that Sam sleeps here about one night out of every five. To hear the sprites tell it, Dean occasionally “spends time” wink, wink, in Sam’s room, but he never sleeps there. Damn straight. Makes me proud. Which is what makes what I am doing so much harder.
I made Dean as uncomfortable as mattressly possible last night. I curved where I should have swelled, I dipped where I should have held firm. By the time he woke up, his head was actually four vertical inches lower than his feet. I concentrated a pea-sized ball of memory foam right underneath his fourth lumbar vertebrae and kept it right there, no matter which way he moved. This morning when he woke up, I heard him tell Sam that he felt like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat all night, and asked Sam to check to see if he was black and blue. Sam laughed and called him a princess.
It’s risky, I could lose him. But I’ll just make it all that much better when Sam’s here. They’ll get the picture, eventually.
Day 97. Thank MattressGod that I am a bona-fide Serta, because the workout these two give me would smoke the warranty of your average memory foam. You know that phrase, “screwing someone through the mattress?” These boys never got the memo that it’s just an expression. I’m holding up beautifully, thank you very much, and they both slept deep and long. And I’m not just saying that because the words “deep” and “long” happen to be on my mind for reasons.
Day 98. I really feel bad about the way I treated Dean last night. I worked my zones into a kind of ramp from left to right so he fell out of bed three times. This morning he had to walk out of the bedroom completely bent over at a ninety degree angle. I could hear Sam laughing in the kitchen from here, and I learned some new swear words, which -for me- is fucking saying something.
Day 99. Initial success! Sam slept here last night, and when I say “slept,” I mean he just slept. He had on those soft grey sweats I like so much, and he wrapped Dean up in his arms, and I don’t even think Dean was done saying “Night, Sammy” before they were both asleep.
Day 100. Happy Birthday toooo meeeeeee. Haappy Birthday toooo meeeee! Happy Biiiiiirrthday dear ‘Beautiful’, Happy Birthday toooooooooooooo meeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Day 101. It’s a damn good thing mattresses can’t get hangovers, because I might have gotten drunk with Kevin last night. PLUS, Sam and Dean both slept with me again. And… I can hardly even say this without my PillowSoft™ foam going extra soft on me, but when the sprites found out it was my birthday, they blessed me with eternal youth. That’s right. I’ll be able to be Dean’s mattress forever, if he’ll have me.
When they woke up, both Sam and Dean commented on how well they slept. Sam got a funny look on his face like he was thinking of saying something to Dean, but let Dean pull him back down under the blankets instead. I think Sam’s making the connection.
Day 102. Sam had to go somewhere without Dean last night. Something about someone knowing what Dean looks like and blowing their cover. Dean moped a little about it, but I think he had a lot of work to do here at the bunker anyway, because he didn’t come to bed until three in the morning. I took it a little easier on him, because it’s not like he’s choosing to sleep alone, but still. All night, he was reaching out for something that wasn’t there. He woke up cold, a little stiff, and way lonely. Oh, Dean. Not long now, honey.
Day 103. Sam came in very late last night, but I am extremely happy to report that: a) he came straight here, without even stopping in his old room first, and b) Dean said “I slept like shit without you last night”. I knew it was the crucial night. One more good night’s rest together, Dean’s back pressed up warm against Sam’s stomach, fingers laced together and legs all tangled, that would do it. And I did my absolute best.
Day 104. I’m not going to count this as a victory until we’ve got a month of nights together, but I’m tentatively going to say that Dean’s room is the default now, and both brothers are looking much more rested and refreshed than when I first met them.
Day 133. We did it! A whole month straight and I’m going to have to call this one a win. I never dreamed it was possible for a mattress to be this happy, but I guess I must have done something spectacularly wonderful in my past life or something, because I can’t imagine anything better than this. Suck it, Sleep Numbers!
Day 156. Kevin reports that Sam had his old Stearns and Foster taken out yesterday, and put in some new fangled desk from Ikea. He says it’s super snobby, which doesn’t surprise me at all, Ikea is like that. I’m sorry to hear that the Stearns is permanently retired, but Kevin says she was ready.
Day 157. Sam came in the room before Dean last night, and looked over his shoulder, as if checking to make sure he was alone. He came and sat on what they quickly came to agree was “his” side of the bed, and pressed his hand deep into my foam. “Thank you, Beautiful,” he said, “Thank you.”