Shattered, Chapter One

Au: None of the relations and circumstances of the television show apply.

Pairing: Dean/Sam

Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Supernatural.

Authors Note (PLEASE READ)

If you have any problemwhatsoever with the pairing listed above, I suggest you do not read this. If you still must read it and are itching to leave a nasty review, I suggest you refrain and take yourself elsewhere. For everyone else who doesn't mind the pairing, (Or adores it like mee) By all means, read and tell me what you think!

Chapter 1.

One Sexy ass and a Migraine Headache

Everybody in the Club Getting Tipsy

He was twenty-one, three stories off the ground in a suspended condo in L.A.,

had a model girlfriend who let him get away with murder, partied every night,

and was filthy stinkin' rich. Could his life get any better?

'Nah.'

Dean Winchester kicked back on the leather couch he was lounging on, shoving doritos into his mouth while he browsed through the networks on DirecTV

'Nine thousand fuckin' channels and there's shit on.'

Dean groped for a beer on the coffee table behind the arm of the couch, and gulped down half in one swallow.

Sneezing loudly he kept the garbage food flowing, patting a hand on his surprisingly rock hard stomach (surprising in that he ate like this all the time).

'HEY MARIE!' He shouted, mouth full.

'Yeah baby?' A tall, curvy brunette stuck her head into the room where Dean was currently stationed.

She had a cell phone up against her shoulder, pressed onto her ear, and an earring in one hand. One four-inch hooker-red pump was on, but the other was in her free hand. She struggled to pull it on as she hopped on one foot. Dean threw an empty bowl at her, disrupting the fragile balance of objects.

'Gimme some more chips, will ya?'

The girl grabbed the bowl with an exasperated puff.

'Your so lazy Dean.'

Dean smiled crookedly. 'Thanks babe.'

Seconds later Marie reappeared holding out two huge bags of chips in front of him.

'Choose your poison.' She said sarcastically, although a smile twitched at her mouth as she looked down at the adorably sexy man lounging out in front of her.

'I'll take both, babe.' Dean said, with a drawl, snatching both bags.

Then after a moment..

"Could you-" Dean used a sweeping motion with his hand to indicate he wanted his currently vision obstructing girlfriend out of the way of the TV.

Marie shook her head, her full mouth now spread wide in a perfect, red lipped white-toothed smile.

'I hope you know your ass is definitely in the gym tonight.' she giggled.

Dean nodded, mouth full. 'Yeah I know.' Then after a moment he added,

'My sexy ass, baby.'

This is what Dean lived for.

The lights throbbed like the really bad migraine you get when you wake up all hung over.

Music pulsed and vibrated, and sexy body's bumped and grinded. Dean grinned.

You had to be hot to get into this club.

It was all looking good, being naughty, and feeling sexy and unwatched...;

AKA: Girlfriend free. This was one of the perks of dating a model, her loaded skedule made it so they couldn't go out together.

Well that was fine by Dean.

He had two of his boys, a black muscle tee, a great tan, and a tight ass. He was definitely on top of his game tonight.

He walked into the club with a swagger, and his boys followed suit. Heads turned, and people grinned.

'Dean! How are you homy?' 'Sup Dean, bro, you chill tonight?!

People surrounded him the moment he walked in, and a smirk played at his mouth as he casually replied to his many admirers.

Yeah, he truly was living the life.

He looked around, hand loosely hanging from his back pocket.

He could hook up with anyone he wanted here. Girls were all over him.

It didn't really bother him that he had a girlfriend.

Marie was his real girl; the girls he clubbed with were just--

There to be enjoyed briefly.. At least- that was the arrogent state of mind he was in.

Looking to his right, he saw a completely fake looking blonde with five inch heels and an extremely lowcut dress. Beside her stood two equally fake looking girls, taking Dean in. He cracked them a small grin...

..To which they immediatly responded, rushing towards him, faces plastered in an all-to-eager expression.

'So your Dean?' The first said with a slow smile. Touching his arm.

He smiled back.

'In the flesh sweetheart. What can I do you for?'

The girls all giggled in unison, batting their caked eyelashes.

'Wanna buy us a drink?' the tallest one said, twirling her hair around her perfectly manicured finger.

'Sure ladies.'

All three clustered around him hanging onto his arms and staring up at him as he sauntered towards the bar, admiring crew in tow.

Looking down at the skinniest blonde hanging onto his arm, he leaned in close.

'What can I get you sugar.' He breathed.

Flustered and flushed, teeth fully exposed, the blonde responded,

'Oh-- anything you want Dean.. Anything.' She raised her eyebrows at that last part and really emphasized the word.

Dean chuckled, loving the control he had over women.

'I'll take three bloodhound martinis, Rodney.. Actually, make that four, and haul ass.' He said, not bothering to look up.

'Excuse me?' came the reply.

Dean scowled and lifted his head.

Okay... So it wasn't Rodney. That definitely ruined the moment.

He looked the man standing behind the bar up and down.

'Who are you? You new?' Dean said roughly.

The boy couldn't have been more then twenty-one; he was tall and built, with a full head of shaggy hair, and a solid jaw. He looked more then a little irritated by Dean.

'Oh no, I've been hiding under the bar for the past four years.' He replied, rolling his eyes. Then he muttered, 'Look's like we got ourselves a genius.' Just loud enough for Dean to hear it.

That got a response.

Dean brushed the girls off him and placed both hands onto the bar, his muscular arms clenched.

'I hope for your sake your not mocking me darlin.' Then,

'The name's Dean, learn it.
Obviously your not from around here, or your country boy ass would have a little more respect for who your lookin' at right here.'

The boy half laughed at that rubbing a hand through his hair. It was true, he wasn't from around here, but who the hell did this guy think he was? Elvis?

Sam feigned penance with his sarcastic comeback;

'The name's Sam, sweetheart, and right back at ya.'

Dean heard a few scattered laughs, including a giggle from one of the girls standing next to him, and his expression darkened, an invisible blush formed under his perfect tan.

This fucker was pushing it.

'Make the damn drinks.' He said, glaring at the man directly across from him.

'Sure thing.'

Sam firmly set three margarita glasses down onto the bar, and expertly filled each one.

'I said four.'

Sam smiled. 'I know. I'm saving making yours for last. If you don't mind. Dean.'

Dean clenched his jaw.

'Take your time princess.' He replied. Incredibly irritated, but trying not to let it show.

Finally, Sam pulled out another glass. But instead of making a martini he pulled out a small flask of vodka, and a large glass bottle of what looked to be rum.

Then, he pulled out another small square bottle that Dean wasn't sure what was in.

Dean shook his head.

'Make me a fukin martini.' He said, leaning across the bar, inches from Sam's face.

'Well you say you're the shit,' Sam replied, grinning devilishly.

'Just wanted to see if you could hold up drinking some of this stuff.

Never mind, you wouldn't be able to.'

Dean frowned, as the people behind him started to murmur and pat him on the back, saying things like 'Show 'em Dean.'

He wasn't stupid, he knew what the mofo was doing, but he never backed down from a challenge. Especially from an ass like this guy. He was going to show him what the fuck he was made of.

'You know what smart-ass? Make yourself one too, let's see who has the balls to drink it.'

Sam smiled. 'Sure thing.'

He was expecting it, this is how it always went down back in Texas.

The crowd all hovered in, as Sam filled two large bear glasses with all kinds of liquids.

Sliding a large glassful to Dean, and taking his own, their eyes locked.

First of all, these cups were practically as big as a liter of soda.

The stuff smelled putrid, and Dean knew he would regret this in the morning. Swirling the liquid he cracked his neck.

Oh well.

Both swigged at the same time. Onlookers laughed. Somebody started the chant 'Chug it, chug it.' Somebody else shouted; 'Show 'em whose boss Dean.'

By the time Dean had swigged the entire glass, applause came on.

Dean groaned to himself. He was a little light headed. Sure, he was a seasoned drinker, but he hadn't been expecting this much of a.. kick.

But mixing drinks was stupid, even he knew that. Dropping the glass on the bar, Dean leaned onto it, starting almost immediatly to feel the alcohol go to his head.

Sam watched him, frowning.

He was used to this kind of heavy drinking. Back where he came from, a 'drink off' was the only way to show you were the shit. The strong drink didn't affect him, but he could see it was already affecting Dean.

Dean pushed himself off the bar, turning back to the cluster of girls.

'Ready to hit the - florr ladies?' He said, slightly slurring his words. It was barely noticeable but Sam immediatly picked it up. He shrugged off a laugh, and went back to work, watching as Dean made his way to the dance floor.

Dean felt the rhythm of the music, and bodies moving all around him.

He was only vaguely aware of someone holding him from behind, resting their head on his back, but he saw a figure dancing in front of him.

He grabbed whoever it was dancing in front of him and held them on his solid body.

Whoever it was felt so good against him.

He moved against the person, for what seemed like hours, not thinking, just letting the music wash over him.. and then suddenly, he felt like he was sinking.

It felt great.

He let go to the blackness clouding his vision.

'You need to lock up and make sure nobodys still in here, got it Sammy boy?'

'Got it boss.' Sam replied, tossing his hair out of his eyes and shoving the last bottle of rum back into a glass cabinet.

The man he had just called bossed called over his shoulder,

'Lucky for you I don't see any, but double check!'

Sam nodded curtly, and then took a moment to lean against the bar.

Tonight had been murderous; the lethal mix of drinks he drank had sort of-

okay, so it had given him a horrible headache.

'So much for not being effected.' He thought to himself, shaking off the feeling of drowsy aching pain.

He had noticed the arrogent golden tanned man who had challenged him freakin on the dance floor, and had laughed to himself, just shortly before his killer migraine came on.

'Best luck I have.' He said aloud, as the manager of the day exited the bar/club.

It was so different when it was empty.

The club was opened until three o' clock, so all the hard partiers hadn't come till midnight, and that had just meant more work for him.

Sam sighed, grabbing a rag to wipe down the bar.

He missed Kansas.

Brushing the thought away he mentally smacked himself. He should love it here. The bars, the clubs, the energy. Who wouldn't want to live in L.A.?

He remembered how hard it had been leaving his family behind...

Stepping around the bar he scanned the floor and surrounding areas for passed out newbies that couldn't handle whatever they had to drink, or some one who had passed out, and had been forgotten in the drunken state half the people were in.

Surprisingly, there was no one.

He laughed to himself.

'Great for me.' He said, starting to head towards the door. Taking one last look around before he stepped out, he noticed someone in the far corner of the dance floor, leaned up against the wall.

Sighing, annoyed, he did a one-eighty and walked over to the person.

'Get up and out.' He called as he headed towards whoever it was.

There was no response, so he came close, and knelt down by the person.

Surprise surprise. He laughed to himself. It was the ass who had had a drink off with him earlier.

'I guess he got his too.' Said Sammy. 'He passes out, and I get a head ache.'

He stood. What the frigg was he gonna do with him?

Normally back in Kansas he would drag the person out by the shirt, and leave them by the outside of the club to wake up horrified. But he had a feeling this guy was here alot, and he definitely had a huge following. He had even seen him talking it up with the manager of the day.

Sighing, he rubbed his tired face.

'What the fuuuuck.' He said to himself. Then he bent down, and grabbed the man under his arms, lifting him up so that he was suspended above the ground.

He weighed a lot more then he looked.

Grunting Sam dragged him out towards the door, and, towards his car.

Managing to heave him into the front seat of his beat up truck, Sam slammed the door, and got in the other side.

'Now what am I gonna do with you?' He said aloud to the non-moving man beside him.

Dean awoke to a bright stream of light on his face. He groaned and turned his head the other direction, squeezing his eyes shut, and groping for a pillow to shove on top of his head.

His head.

'ahh...' He rubbed his head, trying to shake the fuzziness, and pain.

Lot of good that did him. He couldn't remember feeling this bad in.. Since he was in freshmen year of high school and did shots with a group of seniors.

Well, sitting here in bed wouldn't do much good.

He sat up, groaning as sleep escaped his foggy mind, while testing his sore body.

Formal analysis: His neck was incredibly sore, and he felt like dog shit.

'Hey Marie, come here and massage my neck for a second will you?' He croaked as loudly as he could, closing his eyes, and flipping back down onto his stomach, moaning into the pillow as his aching neck throbbed in pain.

He hazily noted that some footsteps were coming towards him, and then felt someone sitting down onto the bed next to him.

Sam stifled a laugh, as the disoriented man laying on the guest bed of his third story apartment groaned something incoherent and then moaned for someone named Marie to give him a massage.

Bracing himself for the mans shock, and inevitable dumb anger, Sam leaned over and roughly shaking the groaning man.

A/N: R+R