THE MORNING AFTER
Disclaimer: Own nothing except for a headache and a box of aspirins.
Dean's hangovers are always a challenge ...
Staring at the sprawled lump on the bed, Sam sighed; he was running out of options.
He'd ripped the quilt off, soaked Dean with cold water, tickled his feet, slapped his face and achieved nothing except a tirade of slurred abuse.
What the heck was he drinking last night?
"Dean, wake up;" he yelled, "we gotta check out."
Dean snorted; "shove't up y'ass."
Desperate times called for desperate measures; Sam scowled and tipped the mattress, watching as Dean rolled inelegantly to the floor with an indignant squawk and an untidy thud.
There came a sulky groan as Sam smiled triumphantly.
"Gimme Aspirin, bitch."