Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just playing with them, don't sue me.

AN: This is cha's fault! This story is based on a conversation we had based on the video of Jensen and Jared thanking their fans.


Sam knew there was going to be trouble the moment he got back to the hotel. Dean was in the room on his bed with his arms crossed and the stink of a barroom clinging to him. Dean had been drinking a lot lately and going out, leaving Sam to research their next hunt, find out what they were hunting and, increasingly, doing the actual hunting because Dean was too drunk or buzzed for Sam to feel safe.

So tonight, when Dean had gone straight to the bar without asking Sam if he'd found out what they were hunting, Sam had made his decision. He packed up the Impala and headed out, figuring that he'd be back before Dean got back. The salt and burn had gone pretty well and their spook, which turned out to be someone who just didn't know that they'd died, had gone on without too much protest, but Sam was tired, sore and dirty and not really in the mood for Dean's drunken bullshit.

"Where the fuck've you been, Sam?" Dean growled, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Out," Sam said, feeling a surge of anger towards his brother. He'd thought they'd gotten past Dean being suspicious of Sam going anywhere by himself. Yeah, Sam had fucked up by getting involved with Ruby and getting hooked on demon blood; but wasn't going to Hell, being tortured by two pissed off angels and having Lucifer hallucinations enough? He'd never given Dean any grief for torturing souls in Hell or breaking the first seal and had forgiven Castiel for knocking down the wall; was it too much to ask for Dean to do likewise?

"Out doing what," Dean snarled drunkenly. "You were huntin' for demon blood weren't you? Jus like a fucking junkie, always lookin' for a fix. You were suppsd to finding us a hunt." Before Sam could say anything to explain, his brother hauled off and slugged him.

Sam hadn't been expecting the punch and, exhausted as he was, had no time to brace himself and fell back against the bed, clutching his now broken nose.

"I thought we were past that! Dammit, Sam how can I trust you to have my back when you're cruisin' for demon blood?"

As he listened to Dean rant and rave, Sam felt something he'd very seldom felt: rage. This had happened before, Dean'd get drunk and lash out and Sam would ignore him, knowing that in the morning, if Dean remembered, he'd feel bad and buy Sam his favorite coffee as a way of saying he was sorry. Now, Sam was tired and sore and sick of taking Dean's crap.

He pulled himself up to his full height and punched Dean as hard as he could, putting every ounce of his anger and frustration into the punch, knocking his brother flat on his ass.

"You wanna know where I've been, you self-righteous prick? I was on our hunt! Pretty simple salt and burn and the reason I didn't tell you was because you were too busy drinking yourself stupid and I like coming back from hunts in one piece!"

Dean frowned at him from the floor, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your drinking Dean! It's gotten worse, if that was even possible. I don't feel safe going on hunts with you because I can't count on you being sober or have you forgotten about that werewolf in Gnawbone?"

Dean scowled, "Well, if you hadn't been in such a damn hurry..."

"Dean, you knew what I thought we were searching for and you knew that we needed to act fast or we'd have to wait another month! Instead, you decided to go to the bar on the last night of the full moon!" Sam took a deep breath.

"You wanna talk about trust, Dean? I don't trust you. I don't trust you to have my back on hunts anymore because you drink so much. I've been hunting on my own for weeks because it's easier than expecting you to stay sober and I can't take you with me because I'm scared that one day you're going to go out so drunk you'll mistake me for whatever we're hunting." Feeling a grim sort of satisfaction at the devastated look on Dean's face, Sam grabbed his things and stormed out, letting the door slam behind him.