Have A Drink On Me
For the Angela UnGen Challenge - a tale of shots, celebrations and disturbances of the peace - all on Sam's special day.
Get The Shots In...
"Come on, Sam, just one," Dean said, nudging his brother's arm in the passenger seat. "Look, I been driving all day and you been moaning about some wi-fi hotspot thing - that, for your information, would only be interesting if 'hotspot' meant a part of a girl's anatomy. Come on, just one beer. What's the worst that could happen?" he implored.
Sam sighed, refusing to let his lip stick out. "Ok," he muttered.
Dean eyed him. Don't look like that, Sammy. Don't ever look like that, he begged. Sam's face bore all the hallmarks of a Hunt that had turned out not to his liking. Then again, do they ever? Any time anything at all dies he's like 'ooh no, poor bunnies'! But then, if he wasn't…
He didn't finish that thought as Sam suddenly looked round at him. "What?" he asked defensively.
Dean realised he'd been staring. "Nothin'. Come on, one beer."
"I said ok," he said tersely, turning to his door and squeaking it open. He closed it, leaning on the roof to look at the bar in front of them. "Dean," he sighed, with just the right touch of disapproval, "it's not exactly the kinda place we're only going to get one beer."
Dean appeared from the car, locking her up quickly. "But it's exactly the kinda bar we need."
"Fine. But just one," he warned, his dark brows knitted together in some attempt at sternness. Dean shrugged this off like a drip from the air-con.
"Absolutely," he said faithfully, spreading his hands. "I'm buying," he added, turning away and heading for the bar door, the flickering red neons lighting the side of his face in weird shadows.
Sam sighed then let it go. He followed quietly, hands in his pockets, as they walked into the loud space full of people, wooden tables, plaid shirts and large hats.
Dean grinned wickedly, then gestured to the bar with his head, assuming Sam was watching. "Follow me."
They managed to wend their way to the countertop, squeezing through blond, brunette, red and raven black female heads and attached shapes. Larger male shapes lingered nearby in case of any offside hands or misplaced attitudes, and it was a grinning older Winchester that sat at the bar. Sam plonked himself down next to him.
"Evening," the Amazonian barmaid offered, her eyes sliding over the pair of them eagerly. "What can I get you?"
"Ah… he'll have the hugest big-ass whisky you got, and I mean popcorn bucket big, and I'll have--" Dean began.
"Dean," Sam sighed.
Dean turned to him and put a hand up to stop him, shaking it once as he lifted his chin to look down his nose at him.
"Sammy. Trust your big brother," he said haughtily, turning back to the barmaid.
"And for you?" she smiled, already pouring out a whisky of McDonald's bucket Coke proportions.
"Ah… find the kinda drink you wouldn't give your worst enemy, and make mine a double," he nodded with a definite grin.
"Coupla hard drinkers, are we?" she said with a wicked gleam in her eye. Sam cleared his throat, but Dean stretched his arm out and clapped a heavy hand to his shoulder.
"Special occasion," Dean nodded, patting before he let go to lean on the counter again.
"Is it?" Sam asked, surprised. "What, it's 'We Found A Rowdy Bar Day'?"
"You don't know?" Dean asked, amused at first. Then he looked at his younger brother as he made no answer. "Ser- seriously, you don't know?" he demanded, his grin gone.
"Should I?" Sam asked, accepting his probably illegal drink and looking at it. Dean looked back at the barmaid, pulling what appeared to be a hundred dollar bill from his wallet before standing to lean over the bar.
She smiled and leaned forward, noting her customer's face went to the side of hers to breathe something into her ear, rather than attempt anything else.
Sam watched his brother convey some great message before his right thumb came over his shoulder and indicated Sam. It moved around in small circles and then flicked back to Sam again.
The barmaid grinned and looked at Sam, winking before Dean fell back to his stool, nodding seriously.
"Well then," she grinned. She turned, reaching for the rack of bottles behind her. She pulled out a cocktail shaker and got to work.
"What have you done now?" Sam demanded with a huff.
"I have been an awesome brother," Dean nodded, picking up his strange concoction that smelt faintly of rum, among other things. He swigged a mouthful and it obviously burned as it went down - but then he took another swig.
Sam sighed, picking up his whisky and deciding he might as well try it. It tasted expensive, and apart from doing its best to fry his throat and eyes from the inside out, it definitely hit the spot.
He set the glass down with a clink, feeling perhaps he could afford to mellow out just a tad.
"Here," Dean said suddenly, fishing in his pocket and holding out a small wad of paper.
"What is it?" Sam asked.
"Open it and find out, dumbass," Dean grinned. Sam realised it was actually some small item wrapped in tissue paper. He took it slowly, confused, tearing off the paper and finding a shiny Dell keyring with what appeared to be a narrow blue bar attached. "You like?" Dean asked nervously.
Sam stared at it. His laptop's manufacturer's logo on a keyring with a flash drive. He looked at his brother - just looked.
"Well?" Dean asked, worried.
"I do like," he managed. Where the hell did he get one of these? And how did he know which one to get? A Sandisk Cruzer Crossfire! 4GB! Awesome!
"Girl in the shop said that there fish drive would work with your baby," Dean grinned proudly. Sam couldn't help it; he smiled.
"Flash drive," he corrected. "Thanks, man." He ran his thumb over it, visibly amused. "But why?" he asked suddenly.
"Dude, what's the date today?" Dean said, shocked.
"Ah… April--"
"May 2nd! May 2nd! Ring any bells?"
"Oh," Sam said in a small voice, realising it was indeed his birthday. "You remembered," he managed quietly.
"O 'course I did," Dean snorted. "Let's face it, no-one else could."
Sam looked up at the almost bitter tone of voice, watching Dean take another full mouthful of alcoholic painkiller. Sam straightened on his stool, sliding the gift into his breast pocket.
"Then… maybe we could get another," he allowed with a slight face-pull that passed for a smile. Dean looked at him and grinned.
Sam laughed out loud, slamming into the hard surface and whoof-ing enough of an alcohol-laden breath to almost melt the glass case.
"Easy there, champ!" Dean called from across the bar room. "Having trouble finding the slot? No change there, huh!"
"You're an ass!" he shot back, laughing. He fumbled in his jeans pocket for what he wanted.
"Dude, not in the bar!" Dean shouted, laughter thickening his voice. "That's a Private Man-Time Moment right there!"
"I'm gonna come over there and kick your little six-foot-one ass," Sam managed, finding the coin and yanking it from his pocket. "Shut up and lemme choose summin." He closed one eye to get the coin into the slot in the jukebox, his tongue sticking out in concentration. It clacked home, a tiny ping telling him he had three chances to provide his shot-fuelled fun with a soundtrack.
He jabbed at the buttons, squinting through the rather rosy alcoholic haze.
"Dude! AC/DC starts with an A!"
Dean's voice cut an amused swathe through the shouts and cheers of the lively bar. Girls danced on tables, too inebriated to care that when they wobbled off, clueless young men were there to catch them every time. The music pounded as did the sounds of glasses clinking or just smashing to the already sticky floor as Sam spun himself round and leaned back on the jukebox for support.
He could just see his brother through the throng of noisily partying patrons. He was perched on the stool at the bar, talking to the barmaid with his trademark grin and twinkly eyes. Sam stared, hoping he'd always remember him just like this.
The jukebox rudely interrupted his thoughts as it began to kick out 'Working Man' by Rush. There was a raucous cheer from the bar and on some level, Sam was relieved he wasn't about to start a fight over an injudicious choice. He put his hands out to the backs of the people dancing and jumping around, using them to steady himself as he got back to the bar.
Dean lifted perhaps the eighth shot glass, handing one to Sam, and they managed to down them. They slammed the empties back on the counter and looked at each other. Sam opened his mouth to say something, anything, to tell his brother he was actually so very, very glad he had dragged him into the bar in the first place.
But Dean's eyes suddenly tracked left over his taller brother's shoulder and his face turned annoyed.
"Hey, Bob!" Dean called angrily. "Leave the girl alone, huh?"
Sam turned to find a rather large man sliding a hand over the shoulder of a girl. She was trying to flick his touch from her skin, but his size was making it difficult.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Dean shouted angrily. "Hey! Bob! Keep your hands to yourself!"
The man looked up as Sam turned back to his brother. "Why did you call him 'Bob'?" he asked, confused.
"Cos if he ain't careful," Dean called loud enough for the now interested man to hear, "he's gonna find himself floatin' in the pond out back!"
Sam snorted for about ten seconds with amusement, then just sucked in a breath and started howling with laughter. He slung an arm round Dean's shoulders, knowing he was not the most stable of patrons at the moment and his heavier brother could, would and damn well should act as support.
As always, his mind threw in.
Shut up! We're havin' a great time! Sam shot back, then laughed again.
The man let go of the girl, who skittered away to be swallowed up by the crowd at the countertop. He looked at the two Winchesters, his face dark with resentment.
"Hey there, Bandy-Legs! Make sure your girlfriend don't rupture something," 'Bob' shot back.
Dean slammed the ninth empty shot glass down to the bar soundly. "That does it," he spat.
"Dean, wait!" Sam cried.
"You startin' on ma brother?" Dean snarled at the man.
"No, I'm starting on your pansy-assed excuse for a date," he sneered.
Dean pushed Sam to one side and the man stepped back quickly as Dean reached for him. But Sam caught his arm and held him back.
"Leave him, Dean," he said quickly. "He ain't worth it."
"Sam!" he protested, very much enraged by the slight.
"Yeah, Sam!" Bob grinned.
Sam let go of Dean's arm but put his hands to his shoulders. He looked at his older brother confidently, before nodding and patting once.
"Go for the head first, then the nads," Dean said from the side of his mouth.
"Just what I was thinkin'," Sam grinned quietly.
He turned and punched the man smartly in the face. A roar went up from the bar room and people moved aside gleefully. The man pulled himself off the floor, wiping his nose and growling at Sam. He lunged for him but Sam moved to one side, slamming his arm into the man's throat as he rushed him. He hung onto Sam's arm but Sam's fist went into his kidney.
"Go on, Sammy!" Dean shouted, cupping his hands round his mouth to be heard over the shouts and laughs as everyone looked on.
The man fell, trying to pull Sam down with him. He reached out. He grabbed his leg and pulled the tall Winchester over. Sam rolled and got to his knees, grabbing the man's head and smashing it with his own.
"Ohhh! That's my boy!" Dean cheered.
The man clutched at Sam but he pulled them both to their feet. One punch to the face and one swift kick to the groin, and the man went down faster than spaghetti from a tilted plate. He lay still, and the bar screamed and shouted, patting at Sam in congratulations.
Dean broke through the crowd, shouting and pumping both fists in the air, and Sam grabbed him in a triumphant hug - mostly to stop himself from sliding to the floor too. Dean patted his back then pulled him away.
"Trash first, then shots," he called at him. He turned and indicated the man on the floor.
They bent down and took an arm and leg each, hauling him off the floor. They hefted him to the exit, people clapping in time to the strains of AC/DC's 'Have A Drink On Me' coming from the jukebox. Sam kicked the back door open and they swung the man three times before letting him fall with style into the rubbish out back.
They wiped their hands together and went back inside, straightening their shirts. They got back to the bar, singing through several more shots, before they realised they would have to walk a mile to the motel.
"Hey there," the barmaid said, putting a hand out and taking Dean's shirt collar firmly in her long, painted nails. "Ditch the bro, I'm getting off in ten," she breathed into his ear.
"Sorry darlin'," he grinned hazily, "not tonight. Brother Time," he winked. She shrugged helplessly and watched him slap a hand to his brother's back, heading for the door.
They trudged down the dark road, giving their best joint singing performance, Dean happy to sing whatever came into Sam's head. After several pee-breaks in various bushes, they managed to arrive at the motel and let themselves in the room without too much trouble.
Sam went to his bed and keeled over gladly, looking at the ceiling.
Dean shut the door, pulled off his boots in a very entertaining hopping manoeuvre, then collapsed face-down on the bed.
He heard the television come to life and shifted round so that his feet were against the headboard. He managed to look up at the small screen, six feet from the end of their beds.
"Hey man," Sam slurred. "Wanna watch cartoons?"
"Hell yeah," Dean grinned.
Sam channel-hopped until he found Cartoon Network. Both brothers chuckled as they recognised an episode of ThunderCats.
"Dean? You know what?"
"Whut?" he managed, getting his elbows under him and his chin into his hands securely.
"This has been the best birthday ever."
"Yup."
It was silent for a whole minute.
Then they laughed.
THE END
Again, silly and only to cheer Angela up. But I love me a good rumble.