The Golden Nugget

"Beginner's luck I guess?" Sam gave a timid 'Aww shucks' look and pocketed a wad of cash. His three darts had found their mark in the center of the board.

Dean watched from across the room as his brother hustled the group of cowboys. He couldn't hear them over the tinny sound of the overhead speakers playing songs about beer and trucks. Dean thought it was pretty good for country music. The men were loud and excited and thumping one another and Sam on the back as they threw darts. He shook a couple of hands and returned to the table where Dean was sitting.

Later the cowboys came by and asked if they wanted to have a little drinking contest. Why the hell not, Dean thinks.

"Why the hell not?" A tall man in a black cowboy hat and matching boots carries two dollar pitchers of beer to the table. He went by Slim and the name fit. He and Dean shook hands and grabbed a pitcher. The object of the game was to drink them as fast as they could.

The first went down cold and quick. Little rivulets of beer ran down their chins. Sam watched with a mixture of amusement and something that was probably at least a bit of embarrassment. The two other hat wearing, mustachioed men cheered Slim on as he put the second pitcher to his lips. The second wasn't as smooth for either competitor, with both feeling a mixture of queasy and tipsy.

While slamming the second pitcher down on the table, Dean upended the third and spilled beer all over himself. The three cowboys started braying with laughter. He wasn't sure if he should be laughing with them or not so he looked to Sam who was busy handing over the messy wad of bills he had won earlier.

Sam helped hoist him up and put an arm around his shoulder to walk him to the impala, where he made him sit on a scrap of tarp during the ride back to the motel so he didn't get beer on the upholstery and get mad about it when he was sober. Sam had rolled the window down in case he got sick, and the cool air felt good on his booze-warmed face.


Sam hauled him to bed where he promptly sprawled on his belly and buried his face in the pillow while his brother tugged off his shoes and socks.

"Come on Dean, roll over so I can get your wet clothes off." Dean grumblingly obliged.

"Gonna be sick Sammy."

"No, you're not." Sam said, yanking off his elder brother's soaked jeans.

"'M not."

Dean let out a huge and frankly awful belch. As Sam was pulling off his shirt, his blunt fingernails trailed along Dean's ribs and he began to giggle and kick. Leave it to drunk Dean to be both ticklish and giggly. The kicking didn't help with clothing removal, and the shirt got stuck around Dean's ears, which he apparently did not find the least bit funny.

"Bishh." he slurred in Sam's general direction.

"Jerk."

Sam yanked the shirt the rest of the way off. Dean grinned at him childishly as his eyelids began to droop with sleep. He had gotten most of his clothes off and was debating on removing the slightly damp boxers. The fact that they were damp at all probably meant they were uncomfortable and it's not like this is the worst thing Sam had done in the line of duty. They would have to go.

Luckily Dean was more cooperative for that part and it was over quickly and Sam was covering him with all the blankets in the room so he wouldn't get cold because he was naked. Sam is an awesome brother. He would have helped him redress but that would have been a hassle. He was tired, and that was a lot more naked Dean than he cared to see. Ever. He carefully climbed into bed next to his highly inebriated and slightly drooling brother. He knew he would spend most of the night watching Dean with great vigilance to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit. The things you do for love.

"Goodnight Dean."

"M'night Sammy."

NOTE: This fic is actually the incident mentioned in my other fic, Nobody Talks About the Morning After. Hooray for continuity.