Title: To Remember Her Name
Summary: Dean isn't the only one that can have random one-night stands. Oneshot humor set before Jus In Bello.
A/N: I'm baaaa-aaack…my Supernatural muse struck again after what, two years? Well, I'll be updating my other stories in the Harry Potter fandom soon, and more SN oneshots to come…I'm getting back in the game, so reviews would be great.
Love you guys! -fairytalemanipulator
A loud crash echoed through the streets of Evansville, Indiana. Dean's swears reverberated through the alley he was walking through as he hopped around on one foot. "Maybe I should have driven after all," Dean mumbled, squinting in the dark. After four beers, at least I'm responsible, Dean argued with himself. And they say Sammy's the smart one.
Blinking away his slightly foggy vision, Dean had to think for a minute. Wait. Where is that one guy? That…one guy. Sammy. Yeah. Him.
Sam had gone back to the hotel a few hours earlier. Like always. Party pooper.
Walking out of the alley, Dean spotted the blinking neon lights of the cheap hotel they found on the edge of the highway. Walking back hadn't been that difficult, considering the seedy area was full of bars and Dean had, of course, aimed for the closest (and the seediest).
Too bad there weren't any bang-worthy chicks, Dean thought to himself, stumbling slightly and grinning at the same time. Eh. Oh well. Flirting with the slightly older but still incredibly sexy bartender had given Dean his fill for the night; he was exhausted after their recent gig in Maryland, and being thrown through the second story window of a Victorian mansion hadn't helped much either.
Wobbling on his way to the cracked door of the hotel, Dean fished for the key in his pocket, only to find it not where he had it before.
Patting himself all over, Dean determined that he did not, in fact, have the key on his person. In fact, he determined this after searching through every pocket twice, or maybe three times, because eventually he lost count.
At this point, Dean was very confused at what to do. Can I break the door down?
Banging a heavy fist against the door, Dean pressed his lips against the door.
"Ssssaammmmmyyyyy let me innnnnn…"
Dean pressed his ear next to the door, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. The creaking sounds of the mattress springs could be heard from inside, so Dean supposed Sam was getting out of bed.
Five minutes later, Dean was still standing with his ear pressed against the door, only now he was wobbling dangerously on his feet. Coming close to falling asleep, Dean muttered random nonsensical words against the door and banged his head once against the door, sliding down until he was on his knees pressed against the door.
That is, until the space in front of him was magically clear and he found himself falling face first into the musky-smelling carpet.
A magical voice from above! Dean thought, face firmly planted in the carpet.
"Dean. Get up."
Sam sighed, wrapping the bedsheet more firmly around his waist. Grabbing his brother under the arms, Sam hauled him up to his feet. "You didn't drive, did you?"
"Do I look like an idiot?" Dean groused, bloodshot eyes still twinkling with alcohol.
"Right. Well, uh, there's kind of a situation,"
Dean freed himself from Sam's restraining arms, ignoring his words. "Your bed looks squishy, why is it squishy?"
Dean hopped on the bed, bouncing up and down a few times while Sam nibbled nervously at his nails. "Dean, can you stop that? Your bed's over there, why don't you get some sleep?"
"Not tired. So why do you always leave early? Your Harvard buddies must have loved your party-pooping ways, Francis,"
"I went to Stanford,"
It was then that Dean heard the sounds of the shower running. His head whipped around so fast Sam was sure he had whiplash.
"Sam, who—what—" Dean hopped up off the bed, waving off Sam's concerned gestures, and stumbled to the bathroom door.
The shriek that erupted from the bathroom chilled Sam's blood, and he had heard a banshee scream.
"WHAT THE HELL?"
Dean came barreling out of the bathroom, eyes wide and pupils dilated.
"Sam, there's…there's a chick in the shower," he gasped out, plopping on the floor. "Sammy, it's a girl. In our shower. A girl. How did she get there?"
Sam didn't respond, watching as clarity dawned over Dean's face. A bit of the alcohol seemed to wear off, as Dean's trademark smirk fell into place.
"Oh, so this is Mr. I-Respect-Women-So-Much-I-Would-Never-Have-A-One-Night-Stand-I'm-A-Pansy-Ass-Who-Doesn't-Like-Hot-Chicks-I--"
"Thanks, Dean. Remember, you're the one who stumbled back drunk and alone," Sam said sardonically, mimicking Dean's smirk.
"Do you think she noticed?" Dean whispered, leaning in towards his towering brother's form. It was then that he noticed the bedsheet.
"Christ, Sammy, can you cover up a little?"
"Sam?" A female voice came from the bathroom. "Can you grab my clothes for me?"
"Sure thing," Sam answered, walking into the bathroom for a quick conversation. Dean scooted closer, hearing furious whispers battling back and forth involving the words "brother" and "creeper".
"I am not a creeper, I am an innocent bystander!" Dean shouted from the floor, leaning against the bathroom wall. The whispers stopped and Sam came out, looking slightly ashamed. Throwing a quick look back at his pouting brother, Sam wandered around the room, picking the panties up from the floor near the bed and the pair of jeans entangled with the lamp. Dean rubbed his eyes, wondering exactly how much he drank.
"How the hell did I miss all of that coming in the door? You two must have had FUN."
It was then that Dean remembered his friendly romp with Sam's bed. With Sam's…bed…
"Oh, GROSS!" Dean jumped up, dusting off his bottom. "Nasty, nasty, I don't want your bodily fluids on these jeans, Sammy! Do you know how much this affects my reputation? Seriously!"
"I told you to get off the bed, you wouldn't!" Sam chuckled, watching his flustered and slightly buzzed brother dancing around the room in some deranged parody of the waltz. "Oh this is way too funny, I should be recording this."
"Shut up, dude! Gah!"
A scowling brunette popped out of the bathroom, her hair still dripping. "Sam, do you know where my shoes are?"
Dean looked her up and down, whistling under his breath. He only caught a fleeting view in the shower before his inner morals took over and he fled the scene, pursued by the young woman's yells. How did Sammy bag that one? Tight ass, tight rack, cute face…I'm proud of you, little brother. All grown up.
"Yeah, uh…hang on," Sam once again secured his bedsheet in place and dropped to the floor, crawling under the bed. He pulled out two strappy sandals, eyeing them with curiosity. "This?"
"Yeah, that," the brunette snatched them out of his hands, hurriedly putting them on while watching Dean out of the corner of her eye. "I'll just be out of your hair now."
"Hey, wait," Sam said softly. She sighed and walked over to him, and they had a quiet conversation.
"Tell her how much she means to you, Sammy," Dean drawled from his prone position on the floor, receiving a very nice middle finger from the brunette for his efforts.
"Oh come on, that wasn't nice," he mumbled to himself, examining his own hands. Middle fingers are weird.
"So you'll call me?" The brunette said, leaning into Sam seductively. He gulped, his large Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll call you," he said, catching his brother's eye. Dean gave him the thumbs-up with a grin.
"Bag that action, Sammy boy!"
"Okay, I'll just go now," the girl said scathingly, shooting Dean a look. She flipped her hair, forgetting it was wet, and left Sam blinking with water clouding his vision.
"Bye bye," she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek and a slap on the ass.
"DAMN, Sammy! She was cute! Not really your type, but…"
"Dean, would you shut up already?" Sam said, shutting the door behind the girl.
"She was over 18, wasn't she? I mean, I don't usually ask for ID, but in some cases you just gotta be caref--"
"Yes she was over 18!"
"But how do you know?"
"I just know!"
"She looked little."
"It's because you're wasted. She looks like she was in her twenties."
"But you don't know that."
"Yes I do. Why am I arguing with a drunk?"
"I'm not a drunk, I'm just drunk. Momentarily. How do you know she isn't one of those cops looking for those sex pervs?"
"What the hell?"
"It's a valid question."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"Fine, it is."
"No it's—dammit! "
"Okay, Dean, bedtime." Sam sighed, once again hauling Dean to his feet, this time not needing to support him as much. "I won that retarded argument way too easily, sleep it off."
"I'm having fun bugging the hell outta you, Sammy, let me have a jolly good time,"
"Next time you come back with a girl, I'm gonna embarrass you in front of her,"
"You manage to do that anyway,"
"Shut up, dude."
Sam pushed Dean into his own bed, receiving a kick in the bedsheet for his troubles. Groaning, Sam dropped onto his bed next to Dean, rubbing his backside. "That was uncalled for."
Dean propped up on one shoulder, his eyes shining with mirth. "So tell me, Sammy, was she good?"
"That's private," Sam said, scandalized. "You're the only asshole who goes around rating girls in bed,"
"Don't lie, you do it in your head."
"False. You're alone in this one, big bro."
"Okay, so at least tell me you're gonna call her, right? I mean, I like seeing you happy, man, mostly because when you aren't being your angsty little emo self, I can enjoy myself as well. And getting laid is good for upping the happiness factor…"
Sam stopped paying attention to Dean, his eyebrows scrunched up in concentration.
"What?" Dean stopped in his musings, focusing once more on his half-naked younger brother. "Didn't I tell you to put some clothes on a while ago?"
"Dean. I don't have her number."
Dean guffawed. "Well you can look her up."
Sam looked at him, kicked-puppy-dog eyes running on full power. "I never got her name, either."