"I Freaking Heart You"

Mystic25

Summary: In which Sam Winchester has had one too many, and one more after that, and Dean comes to collect him.

A/N #1: I've always wanted to do a "Drunk Sam" fic. Mostly because Sam is a talkative drunk, but also gets a bit broody, and I find the combination of the two a bit alluring…

RATING: T for language, some imagery and a lot of drunken Sam.


xxxxxXxxxx

"It pays to get drunk with the best people."
-Joe E. Lewis

"What, Sam? Two beers and he's doin' Karaoke."

~Dean Winchester "Supernatural"

Episode: "The Benders"

xxxxXxxxx


The door opened to a lot of raucous laughter, and the place behind it smells like gasoline and cat piss.

Someone brushes past the man in a dark denim jacket and sand washed jeans, though he would never admit to the latter. He didn't shop purposely for them; the jeans were just old damnit!

"Sorry," The waitress with the tray of empty pilsner glasses held high, apologizes. But, she stops short with a look at the man she bumped into, appreciating the stubble, appreciating that it was over a chiseled jaw line, and under a pair of deep blue green eyes. She stops moving the tray, standing like a rock in a stream of other waitress who have to move around her to avoid a pile up.

"What can I get for you hun?"

Her smile is full, and she smells like vanilla flowers even with all the rank sweaty smell from the dozens of other people trying to overpower it.

Dean Winchester is about to answer her, because she has dark eyes and a full chest, and her smile is doing things to him that he wasn't complaining about.

But then he heard it, the reason he had come here in the first place, over the sounds of the bar's choice of music selected, no doubt, by some drunk college chick in here.

"Jessie McCartney? Even I'm not emo enough for this shit!"

A beer bottle clanked heavily on the bar twenty feet in front of Dean, and his eyes finally spot a broad back in blue and green flannel, and a head of hair grown way too long, currently flicked back as the owner of that tangled mess throws his head back to swallow more mouthfuls of beer than should be allowed in one breath.

"I got it," Dean points with one finger to the figure he was eyeing, a head shake threatening to come out like a tick, but he pushes it away and strides over on long legs to the other. Though they weren't as long as those braced against the bar – but he still makes it there in about ten seconds.

"Sam?" Dean's pronunciation is an exasperation.

The shaggy head turns around, swiveling in the barstool like it could swivel.

"Dean!" Sam's voice is way too loud, "You made it!" and way too happy. He turns his attention back to

the bartender, a woman dressed in a red shirt and black slacks, her blonde hair up in a high pony tail.

Sam smiles at her like they're suddenly best friends and not, bar patron, and bartender he met an hour ago and only said 'hi' to. "Everyone!" Sam pounds a massive fist down on the bar, making glasses and empty bottles rattle in his wake. Once several patrons seated beside him, and the bartender, look up at the rattling, Sam raises his arm.

"My big brother's joined the party!" He claps his hands together, once thunderous 'boom', pointing at Dean in a 'I salute you man' way before picking up his beer bottle up again.

Dean eyes his brother. Sam's eyes are hooded and they shine, his smile is loose and pulled back, and his words are slurred, and they're thick as honey, and way too deep. It was this voice that had called him an hour ago to meet him at this dive. The exact slurred invitation being:

"Dude c'mere and ha'some fun, w'me!"

It took some time to find out where 'cmere' WAS. Luckily, Sam must've been really drunk to not remember to switch the off the GPS on his phone so Dean managed to track him to this shitty little bar that didn't even have a real name, just a neon sign that proclaimed:

"Bar. Pool Table Inside."

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?"

"Drinking," Sam stated the obvious, slinking one long leg up over the empty barstool beside him on his left, then adding his other leg, crossing his booted feet up there. He took another pull from his beer, swallowing heavily. "Pretty good stuff too." he held out the bottle to Dean, neck first. "Some sort of dark lager, I think it's from Scotland or Germany, or one of those countries where they give it you with girls in tight clothes and big breasts, you'd so love if we went there, huh, huh?" Sam had taken to poking his brother in the chest with one long finger, waving the beer bottle at him like a flag.

"Dude, I think you've had enough." Dean reached out and took the green Yingling bottle from him, noting how there was now nothing but dregs in the bottom of it. He also noted two other such bottles beside Sam at the bar.

"You know what," Sam slammed his hand down on the bar again, and this time, one of his empty beer bottles tipped completely over. "You're right Dean." He pushed the empty beer bottles, including the fallen one away from him , making them 'clink' against each other. "No more beer." Once his task was completed Sam picked up a shot glass from the bar filled with dark amber colored Patron.

Dean looked incredulously at Sam. "Dude what the hell?"

"What?" Sam's voice was now really heavy and slurred, so the word really came out like: "Whaaat?" "S'not beer Dean." He threw the shot back in one swallow, squeezing up his face at the aftertaste.

"You're drinking tequila after beer?" Dean snapped, had he taught Sam nothing? He sung him the freakin' adage: "beer before liquor" since the day he had gave him his first Bud Light when he was 16 and Dad wasn't looking. The idiot was gonna be sick as a dog in the morning. "Dude are you stupid?"

Sam held up a finger, picking up a lime wedge from a plate across from his right hand. He sucked the wedge, eyes closing against the kick back of the lime. When his eyes opened, they found Dean. "Not stupid Dean," The word stupid came out "stoopid" "Kettle One came before beer, Dean" Sam was pointing to his empty shot glasses that still smelled like remnants of the Vodka. "Then there was -" he pointed to another, taller shot glass, his face misting in confusion. "There was-" His eyes went up to the bartender. "What was that last one?"

"Dirty redheaded slut," the waitress answered, her voice a bit amused at Sam's drunken pointing. The guy was hammered out of his mind, red rimmed eyes, but he was something to look at.

"That's the one!" Sam hit the bar again with the flat of his hand, saluting her with two fingers. "Thanks sweetheart. How about one of those for my bro here?" he reached out a clumsy hand and slammed it against Dean's back in a none to gentle pat on the shoulder, his eyebrows raising and lowering in a wiggling fashion at his older brother. "Don't say I never gave you a shot at a redhead Dean," his laugher was drunken at his own joke.

Dean turned to the waitress whose name tag red: "Melissa" "I'll have a beer Melissa, and he'll have coffee so black I could change my oil with it." He pushed Sam's feet off the barstool next to him and claimed it.

Sam sat up with an indignant huff, "Dude, you're so going to ruin my buzz!" His arms were crossed over his broad chest.

"Sammy, you're so plastered you could go to Paris, so I say me ruining your buzz isn't an issue." Dean picked up his beer, taking it away from Sam's grasp when is brother reached for it, and shoved the steaming black mug of coffee in front of him.

Sam eyed it like it was diseased. "How the hell can I get wasted on that?" He pushed it around, sliding it away from him, and closer to him, and away from him, and then dipped a finger in it, and then with a yelp, pulled it out. "Shit, it's hot!"

"It's supposed to be hot you moron," Dean grabbed the mug before Sam could slide it off the table, as he was trying to do, in drunken incremental pushes with his finger. "And not getting wasted on it is kinda the point."

Sam stuck the finger in his mouth, sucking on it for a moment, which was the only way Melissa the bartender could get in a word, because Sam was a very talkative drunk:

"You're brother's right honey. I think you've had enough," Melissa had seen her fair share of drunks at this job. There were the ones that shouted and got loud, the ones who got promiscuous, some who got broody, some who got angry. And then there were the ones like Sam, who got deliciously happy and childlike . Those were the ones that broke her heart the most, because she knew that they had built up walls that they only were only lowered when all their inhibitions were gone, and they didn't have the wherewithal to try and wear their masks.

Sam huffed again, arms crossed back over his chest, leaning back into the nothing that was the support for the back of his barstool. "Buzz kills, the both of you!"

"Drink your coffee Sam," Dean placed the mug fully in front of him.

Sam pushed it around again, but didn't drink it, instead he smiled slow and long. "Hey Dean."

Dean found his shoulder being roughly shaken by his little brother's big hand. "Yeah?"

"I freaking heart you man!"

Dean almost choked on his beer, both at the declaration, and when Sam slung his arm up over his shoulder, one long part of it dangling just below Dean's sternum. "You know that right?"

Dean swallowed. "Uh huh, Yeah Sammy I know." his voice was placating, but sincere. "Seriously man, drink you're damn coffee, cause I'm the one who's gonna hafta put your drunk ass to bed."

Sam eyed him up and down, "You still gonna respect me in the morning?"

"Of course," Dean didn't even miss a beat when he said this, taking another sip of his beer. "This ain't no one night stand bro."

Sam smiled again, "Good." The pull of the smile was slower than it would've been had Sam not been shit ass drunk, but it managed to make its way across his face. "Don't care what that loves potion made me say. Still need you watching my back."

"I've always got your back Sam," Dean returned, ignoring the part about the 'love potion' because drawing attention to something that everyone shouldn't have heard, wasn't the way to try and pretend it didn't happen.

Sam's arm tightened on Dean's neck, and the hand dangling over Dean's chest gave two soft pats."That's why you're awesome Dean!"

Sam's breath became a rush of warmth in Dean's ear: "S'why I stopped listening to Lucifer, he was saying shitty things about you." He pulled back, seeing Dean's face suddenly on him, his eyes stone serious.

"Sam-"

From the corner of his eye Sam watched Lucifer give him a high sign at the end of the bar before taking a hit of the drink in front of him.

Sam gave an involuntary shudder, that was even more amplified drunk, because his defense mechanisms weren't up enough to mute it. "Kept telling me you were tired of taking care of my gargantuan freakmare self, and my blood wasn't good'fer anythin' cept spillin' on th'floor." A sloppy smile came to his face, but it wasn't a drunk smile, not completely. Sam was shit faced, but he was talking from a real place.

"Sam-"

"S'not the truth!" Sam interrupted Dean's need to shut him up, punctuating each word with a finger in Dean's chest. "'Cause m'a freak, Dean, but you like my blood in my veins."

"Dude-" In one movement Dean slung Sam's arm off of him and took the back of his brother's neck with his hands.

Sam eyed Dean through sluggish, glassy very dilated pupils, watching him curiously, feeling Dean's breath blowing on his skin, "Don't wanna kiss D'n, yer not even my type."

"Man, you're disgusting!" Dean announced, standing up from the barstool, taking Sam with him by a fistful of his shirt.

Sam eyed Dean's fist grasping the front of his shirt in what could only be described as 'drunken curiosity ' "What'r you doin?"

"You've had enough Sam," Dean told him hauling him to his feet by his own clothing. "It's time for bed."

"Dude, s'like 10:30!" Sam slurred.

"Yeah, and you're s'like wasted Sasquatch. C'mon," Dean returned. "Say goodbye to Melissa."

Melissa the bartender gave a fingered wave at Sam, "Bye Sam."

Sam waved back. "Bye sweetheart," his smile was lopsided, the same as his wave, like he was waving to someone who was standing sideways. "Tell Melissa I said bye too."

Melissa could only try and stifle the laugh in her hand. "I'll do that."

"Alright Sammy, bedtime," Dean stated, reaching up to clamp both his hands on Sam's shoulders before pushing him to the exit door of the bar.


xxxxxXxxxxx

"D'n -" Sam placed large hands on his brother's shoulders. "D'n, why 're you getting me naked?"

"Man, you're disgusting," Dean countered with that line again; and his counter made Sam laugh in the way that only the drunken person could.

"Y're the one doin' it," Sam's voice had gone beyond slurred and had reached 'blended puree' about ten minutes after Dean dragged his ass back to their hotel.

But, Dean had been versed on all things Sam since he was still in Pampers, and that included deciphering his 'wasted out of his mind' voice. Dean cocked his head at Sam, in only the way an older brother could, even if the younger brother was almost 30-years-old. "You want to try this after you just spent an hour blowing your dexterity to hell Sam?"

Dean's hands continued to move down the line of buttons down Sam's shirt, pulling them free of their holes. And Sam watched Dean with an almost childlike fascination as it went on, following Dean's hands down each button hole until he was down to the last one, and the front of Sam's shirt was now completely open. "Y're not lettin' me."

"Damn right I'm not, Sammy. I don't have all night to watch your drunken ass play 'Learn how to unbutton my shirt that I horked on' Dean yanked the shirt off his brother's body, the one with the huge stain of yellow vomit that Sam had just added to the design; leaving him down to his gray crew neck t-shirt.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the wadded up shirt in Dean's hand. "D'n that stinks."

"You were always the brains of the family Sam," Dean remarked, he held up the wad directly in front of Sam's face, eyes on him like one would eye an over emotional toddler. "It stinks, because you threw. up. on. it . Sam." He spoke with exaggerated slowness, like he was talking to the same toddler. He placed the rank smelling shirt directly in front of Sam's nose. "Can you say 'no more drinks named after slutty chicks?"

Sam pushed the shirt away with repulsion, swallowing the mouthful of vomit that came up as a result of smelling his self made stain on his own shirt. "Ye're a dick D'n!"

"Yeah I know," Dean wadded up the foul smelling shirt and threw it in a corner of the room to deal with later. He then turned back to Sam. "Let's go kiddo, strip it down," he slapped Sam's jean clad leg, before moving away from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Sam watched Dean go, a look of confusion coming across his face as to why Dean wanted him to be naked. Even inebriated, those thoughts weren't pleasant. They were brothers after all, and that was just nasty. But he was a little too beyond buzzed to question it for too long. He pulled the remaining shirt up over his head, leaving it at the edge of the dusty motel bed, before loosening the brown belt at the waistband of his jeans.

He had one leg out of his pants, and was working on getting out of the second when Dean's voice rang out with a sharp clarity of:

"Dude!"

"What?" Sam was halfway in and out of his pants. "Y'told me to stri-"

"I meant the shirt genius!" Dean's voice was pure exasperation, watching his brother knock over a lamp while trying to find leverage so that he could shake out of his remaining pant leg.

"Sam-"

Dean could only watch with more exasperation as his brother fell back on bed on his ass with a soft 'thud' of a noise, before giving one hard yank to the remaining side of his jeans that was encasing his right leg.

"M'decent now D'n," the voice was triumphant, and slurred as hell.

Dean deciphered the non syllables with a sighed eye roll as he took in the sight of his gigantic little brother seated on a motel bed that spewed dust with each movement in nothing but a pair of dark blue boxers, little bits of sticky vomit clinging to the bottom of his neck and the top of his chest.

"Yeah man, you sure are." Dean approached him with a washrag he had dampened with warm water and a bar of soap he had run over the scratchy fabric. "Tilt your head up," Sam was a lot more compliant when he wasn't sober and he followed Dean's command without a word.

Dean wiped down on Sam's neck with the rag, cleaning up the bits of vomit that stuck to his skin. When he was done with his task, he folded the rag over, and held it out in front of Sam. "Get your chest."

But, all Sam did this time was owlishly blink at the rag in front of him, looking between it and Dean as if he were trying to decipher what it all meant. "Wha-?"

Dean gave another growl in his throat, but it was born as a sigh when it escaped his lips. "Your chest Sam."

Sam blinked again and looked down at his bare chest, a "Yeah, so?" escaping his mouth when his head was still down there.

Dean rolled his eyes with this sigh. "You're useless kid, you know that?" he took the rag to Sam's skin, Sam raising his head to watch in a kind of silent childlike curiosity, and began wiping his brother clean himself.

Sam's eyes closed at the second pass with the warm rag, sighing quietly. "Feels nice D'n."

"Dude I swear if you start making noises; I will punch you in the face," Dean warned on his third pass with the rag to get that last bit of vomit that clung to Sam's stomach like dried egg yolk.

Sam opened one eye, then the other, like they were stuck together and stared at Dean with a kind of bleary drunken disgust. "Told you y're not my type D'n."

"Yeah, well thank god for genetics and small favors man," Dean returned.

"Y're too short," Sam added.

"Shut up Sasquatch." Dean volleyed back, watching Sam looking at him as he moved the rag up to the place on his collar bone where the anti possession charm was tattooed. Back when Sam had no soul, that patch of skin had been completely taught from pure muscle; which was the after effect of not having to sleep, and thus having way too much time to tone himself with chin ups, subsonic reps, and other means.

But, after being 'resouled' the subsequent reinstatements of sleeping and eating whittled down solid muscle to something a little more realistic and less 'Fabio in the butter add' But, when the Wall came crashing down 'whittling down' became 'wasting away' as Sam was trapped comatose or just unconscious for days, decomposing his muscles down to by products.

But, then came the reinstatement of exercising, running on Sam's part, building him back up to a lean taught, status.

Sam was too stone blind drunk to notice any of these things; Dean noticed them instead. And not in a pervy, 'I want to sex my younger brother up' way; because, that was just-no, never, can't scrape such horror from his mind if it was even hinted at' thinking.

He just noticed it because said stone blind drunk brother was currently stripped down to his skivvies in front of him, accepting a freakin' sponge bath from him, at the same time Dean was accepting that Sam was going to be hung over as shit in the morning.

Dean pulled back to check out his work, like he would do to the Impala after she got a good washing. He deemed Sam as clean as he was gonna be able to get him.

"D'snt work." Sam snorted a drunken laugh that burned up his throat like he had gotten water up his nose.

"What man?" Dean tried to keep exasperation out of his voice while best trying to decide how to get his very talkative drunk brother to lie down and sleep. It reminded him of when Sam was 4 and refused to go to bed, talking Dean's ear off, about his entire day to avoid closing his eyes and shutting up.

Sam just continued to stare at him with a ridiculous smile, which made Dean run a frustrated hand through his short brown hair. "Sam, it's been a long night man; and the sooner you start sleeping this off the less of a pain your hung over ass will be in the morning."

Sam passed the pad of his thumb over his tattoo inked on him years ago to ward off evil. "It was s'pose to keep bad things out."

Dean's heart and breath stumbled over their beats. "Dude-"

"Probably should've g'ttn my money back when Lucifer y'nked it from my chest. Too much blood to still be w'rkin'" Sam huffed in drunken indignation, but there wasn't anything amusing about what he was saying anymore. "Pr'tection ward m'ass."

"Alright Sammy, that's enough, it's bedtime-" Dean drew Sam's long legs, complete with bare feet up on bed, making Sam's upper body lose the fight with gravity and start sliding down onto the flat set of pillows behind him.

"D'n," Hands were on Dean's neck stopping his decent, like they had been when Sam was four and wanting to stay up, like they had been in another hotel, with Sam drunk, thanking Dean for agreeing to a shitty deal.

Dean would've taken that sorrowful look from then, compared to now. Compared to now, Sam was a kid, pleading with Dean to end him. A kid compared to the man, the grown up, who hadn't ended, who had lived long enough to save the world and crumble his mind, and be shit ass drunk, too gone to realize he was babbling about something that he normally screamed about.

"No," Dean's voice was firm, he pulled Sam's hands off his neck, and damn something felt so fucking wrong about that, and pushed him onto the bed. "You're going to sleep now, Sam, alright? Talking time is over."

Sam digested this with a pout that Dean hadn't seen in years. "D'n s'ng m'asog."

"Quit stalling dumbass, and close your eyes," Dean warned, tossing the overly floral looking motel comforter over Sam. "You're too freakin' old for lullabies."

"Y're just me'n a'ssh'le." Sam eyed him like an owl again, all wide eyed and blinking way too much, but then when they stopped blinking they were transfixed on his – big damn eyes, all hurt and sad – and something told Dean that the sheen from them wasn't just from Sam being and wasted and girly drunk; because of what he had just been talking about.

Whatever fake anger Dean was going for fell away. He sighed.

"I pulled into Nazareth, I was feelin' about half past dead;I just need some place where I can lay my head.

Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"He just grinned and shook my hand, and 'No!', was all he said."

Sam popped an eye open, hearing Dean actually singing, "D'de, 'The B'nd? S'gs bout a ch'ik."

"Close your big damn eyes Sammy," Dean's order had a growl to it this time. Sam didn't get to be drunk and pick his own song choice; that's wasn't how this worked.

Sam huffed, and closed his eyes like it was the biggest 'screw you' ever to Dean's face.

"Take a load of Anny, take a load for free. Take a load of Anny, and you put the load right on me."

Dean was no natural talent when it came to singing, it was whiskey rough and really off key, and maybe it was all the vodka and whatever the hell was in a dirty redheaded slut, but Sam felt himself dropping off from the off key song about a chick being sung to him by his brother. Maybe it was comfort, maybe it was a lot of things that Sam would contemplate later when he was sober.

Right now he was really into passing out.

Sam was a total lightweight when it came to booze, which meant he liked to check out to Mars, when he finally zonked out from drunkenness.

Which also meant that he wasn't even really awake when he started throwing up again. Dean considered it a blessing then when Sam really wasn't wearing anything, except a whole lot of vomit that Dean kept having to clean off him and himself and the trashcan he kept shoving under his little brother's face.

Sam smelled like a liquor store each and every time he breathed into Dean's face, and it wasn't a pleasant smell added onto the sour smell of vomit. Dean contemplated drowning his brother several times in the yellow puddle at the bottom of the trash can.

But then Sam had to even take that away from Dean when he started babbling about Lucifer hanging him up with meat hooks on the ceiling and friggin' burrowing his more than 90 % naked self into Dean's chest. And that left Dean trapped there on the bed, virtually underneath his drunk ass little brother with no other alternative than to pull an arm across the stupid kid and hold him there.

I picked up my bag, I went lookin' for a place to hide;
When I saw Carmen and the Devil walkin' side by side.
I said, "Hey, Carmen, come on, let's go downtown."
She said, "I gotta go, but my friend can stick around.

"Freakin' dumb ass," Dean's arm smelled like his own brother's vomit. In the ranking of sarcastic 'perfect' things in his life, that was right up there as one of the highest. He growled in anger at that, and cursed a few more times, but the arm slung across Sam's shoulders tightened, and maybe the thumb there started tracing a circle on his brother's bicep, maybe.

Go down, Miss Moses, there's nothin' you can say
It's just ol' Luke, and Luke's waitin' on the Judgment Day.
"Well, Luke, my friend, what about young Anna Lee?"
He said, "Do me a favor, son, won't you stay and keep Anna Lee
company?"


xxxxxxXxxxxx

Take a load of Anny

Guh.

Sam's eyes felt like they were sealed shut with wax. He peeled them open, having to use his finger on the right eye, and wished that he hadn't.

Because the light hurt.

Hell, smells hurt, and his head, and his hair.

Shit, he had to throw up.

"Sam? Dude hit the trashcan!"

Something was shoved under his face, and he took the open invitation, and emptied it all into the metal tin. Smelling the old vomit congealing to the bottom of the can made his stomach roll more, so he went for Round Two.

After about five minutes of Round Two, and a near broken capillary in his right eye, Sam was finally done. He shoved the trashcan away, into the shadow he only assumed was Dean, either that some ghost who like to lift trashcans. Sam would take either if it got that rancid mess away from his face.

"You done?"

Okay the voice was defiantly Dean, kinda shot his ghost theory to hell. But, corporal brothers were better than trash can lifting ghosts any day.

Sam hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands in his hair, trying to yank out the headache thumping behind his eyes. When his head was down in his hunched over position, he noticed something; he could see his boxers.

And, unless his jeans were transparent that meant- Sam pulled back, surveying himself.

"Dude – why am I naked?" His eyes shot up to Dean, who had just come back from rinsing out a tin colored trash can in the bathroom. He gave his brother his 'best bitch face' ever. "Dean, what did you do?" Sam had the strongest urge to check his skin for permanent marker drawn remarks about size and stamina.

"Hey 'no means no' Sam," Dean said, not hiding the laughing smile on his face when his brother's 'best bitch face ever' just got topped. "You got yourself naked dude. You even had props," Dean eyed the fallen lamp by the bedside table, leaving his remark open to suggestion, and Sam wide eyed and all 'what the hell?' in that look's wake. The smile turned into a chuckle before a deadpanned: "Would've been a better show if I had a few singles handy."

"Dean-" Sam fell back on the bed with a groan, covering his eyes, trying to search his hung over brain for every lame ass thing he could've done while whacked out of his gourd. "I didn't sing did I?"

"Now that's a disturbing thought," Dean returned.

"Then why is The Weight stuck in my head?" came Sam's voice from under his hands covering his face.

"No idea," Dean returned, pausing for a beat, where he fully intended not to tell Sam why he remembered it, before slapping his brother's chest with his hand none to gently, hearing the 'oomph' elicit from Sam's mouth a second later.

"Dude!"

Dean ignored him "Let's go champ," He grabbed Sam's bicep and hauled him, also none to gently, to a sitting position on the bed.

The motion made Sam seasick, and he swallowed some really nasty tasting vomit. "Dean, what the hell man?"

"You need to hold your liquor better there Sammy." Dean said in answer to Sam's ruffled retort. "I taught you better than this kiddo, beer BEFORE liquor-"

"Dude, if you finish that crap m'gonna rip your eyes out with my fingers!" Sam hunched over his knees with a groan, feeling his hair pulsate.

"Sam I can't take your seriously when you look like an overgrown fledgling." Dean moved to Sam's duffle, looting around in it for a second and a minute later a pair of jeans and a blue crew shirt were dumped on Sam's back. "Get dressed, you're making me look like a prude."

Sam mumbled something in his hands that sounded very much like 'you are asshole'

"Shut up," Dean retorted.

Take a load for free

"You gonna need some help?" Dean asked, with another smirk, "I'll even respect you in the morning."

Sam flipped him off without raising his head.

"That's my boy." Dean pushed him down by the neck, rough but not at the same time, pulling his hand through the long sweaty hair at the neck that had started to curl. "Chop chop, this ain't no peep show bro."

Ten minutes later, Sam came out of the bathroom, dressed in the clothes Dean had dumped on him buttoning a blue and gray pinstripe shirt, hair damp, still looking hung-over with red rimmed eyes, but less like a transient.

Dean didn't say anything, but stood in the middle of the beds, palm out with two aspirin resting there, and a bottle of water in the other hand.

Sam shuffled over to Dean and swiped the pills from his hand, uncapping the bottle and swigging from it to down the two tablets.

"Thanks," Sam capped the bottle and handed it back to Dean.

Take a load of Anny

He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten this shitfaced. He hadn't intended to do it, but sitting at that bar with shots of Patron and beer, it was freakin' easy to keep taking hits, especially when Satan decided to sidle up beside him and pushed a full shot glass full of red viscous liquid in front of him with an:

'Bloody Mary Sam? Her name was Mary, so-" The smile was horrible, and Lucifer downed some Jamison with a satisfied grin at Sam's repulsion.

That's when he ordered the Dirty Redheaded Slut, a fuck you to Lucifer's suggestions of human blood. After that he stopped remembering what he ordered, he just remembered it burned, in a good way.

He didn't remember calling Dean, he sorta remembered Dean hauling him back to this room, after that, nope. He probably said a whole lot of embarrassing shit that Dean could use for fodder, in-between the bar and the waking up right now.

"No problem dude; grown up or not, you're still my little brother."

Dean's voice was quiet, and sincere sounding, it made Sam's eyebrows lower in confusion, wondering just how pathetic he was last night for Dean to not even snap back with something sarcastic, and come back with something so not.

And you put the load right on me.

Dean's hand gripped Sam's neck, and he planted himself right in front of Sam's eyes, getting directly into his line of sight.

"And I freaking heart you!" He released one of his hands and roughly ran a hand down the side of Sam's face.

Sam pulled back with a silent 'Dude!' at the same time Dean laughed in that 'Ah Sammy' way. He left Sam standing there and snagged his duffle from the bed closet to the door, slinging it up over his shoulder.

"Let's go Sam!" he said over his shoulder, not bothering see if Sam was following him, his smile still there.

Sam stared at Dean in bewilderment, groaning as he tried to remember when exactly he had said last night that made Dean laugh and use 12-year-old girl lines. God, this kind of thing was worse with your brother, because a girlfriend or lover showed restraint. Brothers had a no-holds-bar policy.

"Hey Sam, move your hung over ass!"Dean peaked his head back inside the motel room, hands resting on either side of the doorframe.I'm not haulin' it out. Last night was one time deal man!" Dean's words were a growl, but there was something affectionate underneath it, something that told Sam that he was lying because he wasn't emo.

Sam grabbed his own duffle and moved past his brother, and out to their 'rented' Chevy Chavett. He stowed his stuff in the open trunk, closing it with a satisfying sound of squeaking.

Dean didn't comment, just moved to the driver's side, waiting for Sam to have his girl moment and get in the damn car. After a few minutes though, Dean decided to screw it.

"Sam-"

Sam walked over to the passenger side of the mustard yellow car that should've stopped production in 1989. He rested long arms on the roof of the car that was more rust than paint and metal.

"Damn right you freakin' heart me."

Sam looked more amused that Dean had seen him in years; they hadn't joked so completely in a long time.

Dean didn't even counter, he shook his minutely, confirming or denying nothing.

Just stared at his brother.

(You put the load right on me).


xxxxxXxxxx

Is it bad that I thought this was a fun romp? Most of my stuff is so serious and angst, that to do a lighter themed fic is nice. Getting Sam drunk was fun, listening to him ramble on my head was hilarious. It wasn't total fluff drunk stuff, cause that's not the nature of the show. Sam has a lot of shit on his plate, and being drunk will bring that out.

The song that Dean sung, and the lyrics that kept going after he stopped was "The Weight" by The Band.

It's in honor of Jensen Ackles singing it, Dean can't sing it like he can, but still…

R/R please.

Peace,

Mystic.