Dean's back and Sam is drunk.

I own nothing. Sam and Dean belong to Eric Kripke and CW. Nor do I own 'Whiskey Lullaby.'

Hint of WINCEST SLASH. No likey, no ready.

"Has any one of about six foot four, brown hair and hazel eyes checked in within the last few hours?" The woman looked at the green eyed man with a raised brow. He looked a tad worse for ware. His voice was ragged and thick. His eyes seemed filled with a mix of confusion and fear. And his hands kept clenching into fists on the counter's surface.

"Was he drivin' a black ca'?" She drawled in a thick New York accent. "Looks like it moight be a Chevy?" She supplied. The man nodded and supplied, "1967 Cheverolet Impala." She watched as his tightly wound body seemed to relax just slightly at the car. "Yeah, Mista' Young checked in about four hours ago." She shook her head and sighed, "'Mazed he was able to drive how drunk he was." She sighed. "I s'pose you're the one the second bed is for then?" The blonde ragged male cocked his head to the side and she answered, "He requested two queens." He nodded and she handed him a key. "Room Fourteen." He thanked her and she watched his retreating back as he left the reception area and made for the room she had indicated. "Poor man looks like he could use the sleep."

She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger

And finally drank away his memory

Life is short but this time it was bigger

Than the strength she had to get up off her knees

We found her with her face down in the pillow

Clinging to his picture for dear life

Dean James Winchester slid the key into the lock and turned it ever so silently. Opening the door just as quietly he stepped inside and his ears perked up at the sound of the small radio crooning out a sad country song. "Whiskey Lullaby." He muttered to himself as he carefully closed the door and took note that his baby brother hadn't bothered to put salt at the windows and door. He then remember the receptionist's words.

"'Mazed he could drive with how drunk he was."

Dean frowned and walked to the bed that held his baby brother's sleeping form. By the light of the crappy lamp near Sam's bed he saw that the younger Winchester was indeed asleep. His face, buried in the pillow and his hands clenched into fists. Inhaling sharply Dean's nose was assulted by the strong smell of Jack Daniel's. Frowning deeply he looked at the empty bottle beside his brother's arm. "Oh...Sammy..." He whispered softly and then his green eyes zoomed in on the crumpled thing in Sam's hand.

The brown haired male's hand was fisted around what appeared to be a picture. After a few moments Dean was able to pry it from his brother's warm fingers. Uncrumpling it he saw it was a picture of himself. It had been taken on a hunt with Bobby. The picture was so crumpled it was almost faded.

Picture in one hand he moved the empty bottle to the night stand and placed the picture with it. Taking a few minutes he studied Samuel Francis Winchester as he slept.

Oh how he missed his baby brother. Four months to Sammy. Four months here on Earth had been fourty years in Hell. And what a long fourty years it had been. Being tortured and beaten every day and given the same offer over and over again, refusing each time. Until...He broke. Then he was some how dragged out of Hell by an angel and was now sitting here watching his poor baby brother sleep in a drunken haze.

He was pulled from his thoughts as a muffled 'Dean, I need you.' issued from Sam's mouth. Dean knew he was dreaming for the sound in Sam's voice. Filled with want, fear, and loss. Dean felt his heart break into a billion jagged edged pieces. He couldn't take it now. No one made his Sammy feel so lost and alone. Not even him.

Shifting he sat on the bed and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sammy," He had leaned in to whisper in the male's ear, "Come on Sammy, wake up Baby Boy." He gently squeezed Sam's shoulder and continued on, "I'm home Baby Boy, wake up. I'm here now Sammy." He felt his throat tighten, his eyes start to sting, a metalic taste rise in his mouth, "M'home and not goin anywhere Sammy." He tried to sound assuring as he worked his brother from his dream.

He had been begging for Dean to come back to him. He needed Dean. He was lost without Dean. Dean was his everything. His life. His reason for being alive. And he had failed him. Dean was dead. In hell. And Sam hadn't been able to stop it. He had even tried going to the cross roads and trading his soul for Dean's. But to no avail. They had started to ignore Sam after a while. Having become bored with his drunken begging. So Sam had done what Dean would do. Hunt. Fuck. Drink. And start all over again. But no amount of hunting, fucking nameless girls, and whiskey could rid him of the knowledge that his brother was dead and in Hell.

He was being pulled from his dream. He was half glad of it and half not. He wanted to never wake up, but this dream was painful. Dean lay there torn and broken. A lifeless corpse. A wasted shell.

But it was the voice that was pulling him from his dream that got him. It sounded so broken. So pained. So...Dean.

Blinking into the pillow he tried to force his drunken brain to focus on the voice in his ear. "Come on Sammy. Wake up Baby Boy." He blinked into the pillow again. Sam couldn't make himself focus on the next words but he did register the warmth on his shoulder and the sound of the voice. Was the other person crying? He wanted to turn and tell them not to cry. That it would be okay. But he himself found that he too was crying. It was impossible. Dean was dead. Dean was in Hell. As he shifted his head and his drunk hazed eyes brought the figure into focus his whiskey roughened throat ground out a sound half way between a sob and a gasp. "...not goin anywhere Sammy." He fouced on the last words of the sentence the figure spoke. "Dean?" he grit out huskily.

Dean couldn't help the sob, "Yeah, Sammy. Its me." He leaned down a bit and went to pull his drunken baby brother into his arms but was beaten to it as Sam shot up and threw his arms around his neck and buried his face in Dean's chest. The six foot four male- apparently having sobered up fast with Dean's return- seemed intent on crawling into the shorter's lap and Dean didn't seem to mind that at all. His arms came up to fold protectively around Sam's shaking body as his brother clung to him like a drowning man. "Its okay Sammy, let it all out."

"I love you big brother!" Sam whimpered into Dean's chest and his body seemed to convulse with each broken breath he took. Inhaling deeply he let the smell that was indeed his big brother permiate his sense of smell. Sam was half expecting Dean to push him away and tell him to go back to sleep and they would talk in the morning. What he didn't expect was, "I love you too baby brother."

Dean pulled Sam back down to the bed while kicking his boots off and shifting the comforter out from beneath them, "I love you too Sammy boy," He husked out again, his throat tight with the tears he too was shedding, "Come on," He whispered into Sam's ear, "Let's get some sleep. I'll still be here in the morning." He promised and was rewarded with Sam nodding into his chest and the taller's arms moving from Dean's neck to his middle as the two fell into a semi-half peaceful sleep.

A/N I would love a bit of feed back. If you've read 'I Promise' and have stumbled upon this, no I don't always do depressing. Promise. Please, R&R?