Dean woke up in steps. First thing he noticed was his head. It hurt. Scratch that, it was killing him. He wasn't sure if he was hung over or had been in a fight or maybe both. The bad taste in his mouth had the distant linger of blood in it, which could point towards the fight but that alone didn't rule out the other possibility.
The second thing he noticed was that even breathing hurt. So he probably had been involved in a fight at some point. Flashes of a giant snake came to mind. A hunt? He remembered a spear way to big for him and did he run away from some kidnappers? A weird dream in which he had been a kid again but had to take care of an adult Sam. Okay, definitive alcohol indicated so one point for the hungover theory.
The third thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone in the bed. A smile ghosted over his lips. Must have been a good night. Too bad he didn't remember any of it. Normally he didn't stay till morning so he must have been pretty much out of it. Dean shifted a little. His back was pressed against a chest. He frowned. It wasn't soft in the right places. And the arm around him had a little bit too much hair on it.
Dean froze. He hadn't been that much out of it or had he? Shit.
The guy behind him was snoring softly into his ear. So maybe Dean could get out of the bed and out of this place without waking him up and save the last bit of dignity he had left. No way he'd stay and tell this guy it had been all a huge mistake.
Carefully he grabbed the man's wrist to lift the arm and slip out. But he stopped mid-movement. He knew this hand. Knew it better than his own. Dean swallowed hard but he couldn't get rid of the lump in his throat. Another little shift told him that Sam was fully clothed with shirt and sweatpants he usually wore for the night. Thank god for small mercies.
"Em, Sam?" He cleared his throat. "Why the hell are we cuddling?"