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."