Winner Stays On
Winner Stays On
Smoke was suspended in the air, the commercial lights behind the bar casting a weird, pinkish glow over the polished, but sticky, wooden bar. A broad, cheeky grin spread across Dean's face as he absorbed the atmosphere, the old jukebox already churning out something that might have been Judas Priest. Or similar.
Sam smirked down at his brother, not quite sure what the music was, and marvelling a little at exactly how this really wasn't his scene. Really. But somehow, it was just where he wanted to be. Being dragged from pillar to post, from bar to bar was – he stopped himself. If he was honest, how long had it been since Dean had to drag him anywhere? The sawdust on the floor was as familiar and homely to him as the dusty motel rooms and the worn leather of the Impala's bench seat. As soon as his brother clocked the pool table and the dartboard, Sam knew that they were in for a long night. Dean deftly clambered onto a tall barstool, oblivious to the split in the seat and clasped his hands together on the ornately carved wooden bar. Lifting his feet onto the footrest, he leaned forwards, nodding to the bartender that he was next to be served.
Sam leaned back awkwardly onto the stool next to his brother, his large feet still planted firmly on the ground. Somehow he was never quite comfortable, always on his toes and was always ready to move on. He kinda wished he could be a little bit more like Dean, who to Sam, seemed relaxed anywhere. His older brother was rarely phased. Looking around the bar, Sam noticed that their arrival hadn't quite gone unnoticed by a group of three girls in the corner. Odd place for a girls' night out he mused, and maybe frowned a little. Suddenly conscious that he was probably looking confused, he shyly smiled and turned his slightly reddening face back to the bar, not really sure where to look as what looked like the oldest of the girls – maybe a little older than Dean? – grinned and rolled her eyes. Dammit, I'm useless, he thought, she doesn't even know me and she can already tell I'm a geeky kid.
Dean noticed his brother looking down at his feet in a clumsy, panicked manner and brought him back to Earth by pressing the freezing beer to his cheek. Sam jumped, almost off his seat at the icy-coldness on his face and made an involuntary sound that might have been spelt something like 'Mmmrgh!". He glared at his brother, knowing full well that if the girls were still looking, which they probably were because there were three of them, all gossiping and all staring at his brother's ass, they'd be laughing at him again. Or thinking that they were gay. He smirked again despite his glare, realizing that Dean would probably kick himself for that.
"You know there's a whole corner full of girls over there who are probably killing themselves laughing now at your stupid geeky brother." Sam took a swig of his beer. Man, that tasted good. They needed some downtime more than either of them cared to admit. Dean lowered his bottle almost in tandem.
"Yeah… that's if they don't think I'm your lover. Your hot lover, that is." He winked at Sam.
Sam opened his mouth to say something…. Anything… he wasn't sure what. Realizing he was gaping like some kind of bizarre amphibious creature, he clamped his jaw shut and frowned, wondering just what exactly went on in Dean's head sometimes, and what was wrong with his sense of humour?
"Ah, lighten up, little bro. Seriously." Dean widened his eyes and gave his brother his jokey warning glance. "Have a little fun."
"Since when is this fun? You're ridiculous. And you're embarrassing!" Sam stuck out his bottom lip just a little bit, not quite in a pout, but on the brink.
"Can't you relax a bit? When's the last time you even took off your jacket apart from to shower or sleep? You're too tense, man." Dean sucked on the beer bottle again.
Sam blew out a long breath, the sigh flicking at the edge of his bangs. "I know. It's just……"
He looked back at Dean, who tried his best not to meet his little brother's sad eyes. Dammit, the puppy-dog eyes got him every time. The eyes that over the years had meant he got to eat what was left of Dean's ice cream, got him the last of the cereal, earned him so many hugs before he got too embarrassed (and more to the point, too damn big) to climb onto Dean or Dad's knee and have them make him feel better. Dean knew. He could see the last six months taking it's toll on his younger brother, and so far, they'd been in what Dean liked to think of as 'positive figures', that is, more days left of his….. warranty than there were to go. Six months had been a bit of a turning point.
Now they were counting down, and although he'd tried so hard, hell, he'd mulled it over until his heard hurt, that was the only way to look at it. He didn't want to let Sam know that. And now he was sitting here on the brink of another 'moment', and Dean swore that if that happened he was gonna take a swing. No, he knew he wouldn't. Never again. He reluctantly met his younger brother's eyes. He just wanted a night off; to spend some time with his brother. He wasn't going to say 'no chick-flick moments'; he'd overused the phrase over the years and this wasn't just as simple as denying Sam a few minutes pillow talk over something and nothing. He just raised his eyebrows once again.
"Enough, Sammy. Thought we were playing out tonight?"
Sam grinned despite himself. "Yeah, we are playing out….." His eyes turned back to the group of women in the corner. All pretty, but the brunette particularly attracted his attention. She was older than him, he could tell. Probably older than both of them. The women had, however, turned their attention back to one another. One of the blonde girls appeared to be making her apologies and collecting her purse. They said goodbye, planting kisses one another's cheeks. Why did girls do that? Sam wondered. His gaze in their direction wasn't missed as the woman walked out of the bar and the other two settled back to their drinks. Sam nodded to Dean. "Well, if you're playing, I think there's a game for you in the corner?" Sam flashed Dean a wicked grin. He wanted Dean to have the most fun he could for the last six months. And he knew how his brother liked to enjoy himself.
"What, them?" Dean pulled his face in mock-confusion. "Hadn't noticed."
Yeah, right I hadn't noticed, he thought. They're as discreet as a ton of bricks. But not entirely unwelcome… no, Dean, he scolded. He wanted to spend some time with Sam. Some real downtime, that wasn't going to be disturbed by that freak Ruby or that bitch Bela. Sam interrupted, pulling him away from his mildly angered thoughts.
"Yeah them! Jeez Dean, I know you're just screwin' around, but hell, even I noticed!"
What? Little bro wants to play the big boys' game? Bring it on! Dean felt an air of satisfaction, of almost excitement at his brother's sudden enthusiasm. When was the last time Sam had picked up a chick in a bar? In fact, had Sam ever picked up a chick in a bar? A library, maybe……woah woah woah.
Realization, no, probably disappointment washed over Dean. Sam didn't want to pick up the girl. Yeah, he had noticed her. He often noticed girls. Particularly lately. He never acted on it. Not so blatantly, in a bar, anyway. He just wants something in common with me, he thought. Although maybe not…. Was he taking off his jacket?? Sam's jaw twitched, that funny half-smile he pulled when he was trying to be a little cheeky. He flicked his bangs out of his eyes with an arm still a little stiff from their last hunt. He nodded towards the pool table, which was currently empty.
"We playing a game then, bro?" Sam didn't wait for an answer and stood up, heading for the rack of cues on the wall. This was harder than he thought. He didn't want to be doing this, he wanted to curl up in front of his laptop, stick his head into some books and carry on trying to find a way, any way out of all this. Dean's desire to spend most of his time drinking, playing pool and….. 'entertaining' the locals meant Sam had a lot of time on his own to dig deep, deeper than he'd ever dug before to get his big brother out of the mess the idiot had landed himself in. Mess didn't even start to describe it.
Dean grinned and drained the beer bottle, placing it on the bar and motioning to the bartender for two more, knowing that he was maybe drinking a little quickly. Suppressing a slight burp with his fist, he shed his jacket, announcing to anyone who was listening that he was going to give his little bro' an ass-whupping at the pool table. Sam noticed as he flashed the women sitting behind them a big grin, instantly establishing himself as older, smarter and practically screaming 'ladies, look at me!!' Sam's half-smile twitched again as Dean racked up the pool balls, spinning the triangle on his index finger before stashing it back under the table. His back to the corner, Sam caught the eye of the brunette and rolled his eyes at his idiot brother. Dean looked up from his break shot, wordlessly talking to his brother in their usual code of eyebrow raises and half-smirks.
You challenging me for the chick as well as the table geekboy?
Bring it on, big brother
RDGRDGRDGRDGRDG
Dean frowned down his pool cue. This wasn't their usual hustle; there was no-one in to challenge them anyway. This was war.
Sam leaned his tall frame back against the bar, draining his third beer and looked on as Dean cleared the table. No-one else in the bar a worthy opponent (or looking like they had any money to be taken off them), he was giving his all against Sam. Who was giving his utmost back. The brunette in the corner had been mostly forgotten, until Sam became aware of somebody standing next to him at the bar.
"So, you did let him whup your ass then, or was that natural ability?"
Sam turned around slowly, his usual nerves quelled slightly by the beer and the fact that he did actually feel like he'd managed to relax. A bit. He flashed the girl a smile, and then a sly look towards Dean to let him know that although he'd lost the pool game, he was edging ahead in the chick-magnet stakes. Dean glowered at him, but not to be beaten on two counts, continued to give the table his seemingly full attention. Sam turned his back to his brother and towards the girl.
"Well….. I gotta let him win occasionally. He's my big brother, wouldn't want to emasculate him." He ran a hand flirtatiously through his long hair and felt his brother's eyes bore into him, feeling Dean silently calling him a bitch. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this anyway?" He gave her a slightly puzzled look. He didn't really care what her answer was.
"That's a terrible line, you know that."
"Hey, it wasn't a line, I was actually curious!" He laughed. "It doesn't really seem an obvious choice for a girls night out?"
"Nah, you're right." She held up her hands, mocking that she'd been caught out. "We grew up around here, moved away and the three of us were back in town, thought we'd get together. You might have noticed, there aren't exactly a huge choice of quality drinking establishments in this town!"
She looked at guy next to her. He was tall. Like, really tall. And wow. He wasn't as old as she'd first thought, she could tell by his eyes. And no wedding ring. But still young (and still, wow!). She'd penned the two guys as brothers when she first saw them at the bar; although they didn't look particularly alike, their strong jawlines, broad shoulders and similar mannerisms gave them away. And the long haired guy was a real sweetie. He had turned his attention back to his sandy haired, older brother at the pool table, who glanced up, gave her a wink which made her smile in spite of herself, and sank the black into a pocket, bouncing it off 3 cushions before sending it clattering into the bowels of the table.
"He's pretty good?" She looked up, almost challenging the younger brother to put him down, to declare himself superior. The taller one of the two simply raised his eyebrows, as the fairer brother at the table straightened up and stretched his shoulders.
"That's game, set and match to me, Sammy boy!"
Sam sneered back at him, and was pulled from his childish reaction by the woman next to him saying his name.
"So it's Sammy then? I'm Carla."
"It's Sam." Sam looked back at his brother, knowing that using his kiddy nickname was an attempt to swing the odds back in his favour. His brother pulled a face back at him and strode over in Sam and Carla's direction.
"And I'm Dean. Pleased to meet you Carla. Now as my kid brother doesn't seem to have any manners, can we get you ladies a drink?"
Carla took a step back. Dean, also attractive enough, had stepped forward, leaning on his pool cue and opening his green eyes wide. She suddenly realized, she was a game. Not that these two strangers weren't a bit of fun to her either, she just hadn't anticipated a two-sided match with a two pronged attack from the opposition. Each prong clearly had different tactics too…. Fair guy – Dean – seemed to fancy himself as a bit of a ladies man, the younger brother going for boy-next-door cute. Although Sam didn't seem as confident, both were well rehearsed and seemed to have a 'patter'. For a moment, Carla wondered if they might be sales reps. She glanced down to Dean's battered, kicked to pieces workboots. Surely a travelling salesman wouldn't wear boots like that? A wicked smile spread over her face. Game on.
"Ah now, Dean, you should know better than to offer to buy a modern girl a drink?" She leaned on the bar seductively, Dean pulling his eyes away from her cleavage a little to obviously. "How about we get the beers in?" Carla motioned to her blonde friend, still sitting down and mid-conversation on her cellphone.
"Ermm….." Sam stuttered, suddenly at a loss for words. Crap, Sam, don't lose it now. He didn't want to drop into panic mode, say something stupid and lose the game to Dean, he was doing so well so far…. Wasn't he? He could never tell, wasn't really sure how to read a girl's reactions. And he wasn't totally averse to a girl buying his drinks. In fact, he wasn't at all, their current cash flow situation being as it was, he could probably welcome it. However, nobody was touching their drinks but each other; they'd got into far too much trouble in their time and trusted very few people. Night off, but guard not down. Not entirely anyway.
"Shy, Sam?" Carla looked at the bartender and back to the now empty pool table. "How about we play for it?
"Huh? Play what?" Sam frowned, a little confused, and then mentally kicking himself for sounding lame. Dean was smirking. He didn't have to look at him. He could sense it.
"Fancy a game of pool, Sam? Winner gets to buy the drinks." Carla continued, trying to coax Sam into some competition.
"Woah, woah woah, I think not!" Dean interrupted. No way was Sammy getting a game of pool with the hot chick. Not one bit. "Sorry honey, I don't make the rules. But I'm sure you know, winner stays on!" Not happening, little bro. Dean rolled his head round to the blonde girl sitting at the table, seemingly just finishing a call on her cellphone. "How's about doubles?"
Dean leaned back, meeting his brother's eyes as they shared a sneaky grin. Carla motioned to her friend with a flick of her head. The blonde rose, and Dean had to admit, she wasn't un-worthy of his attention either.
"Hayley, this is Sam and Dean. They wanna kick our butts on the pool table."
That's not all I'd like to do to those butts…. Dean opened his mouth to comment back to the girls, wanting so much to make the crude comment but knowing that Sam would probably not so discreetly tread on his feet for overstepping that mark. Just as he was going to speak, his brother interrupted him. What the hell had gotten into Sammy tonight? Other than maybe three beers in the space of less than fifty minutes, Dean reasoned.
"Yeah, sorry Hayley, your friend here's gone all Virginia Woolf on us. You beat us at pool, you get to treat us to a beer." Sam rolled his shoulders in mock-preparation for the task in hand.
Virginia Who-did-what-now?? Dean frowned. Yeah, Sammy, I get it, you wanna play the college boy card. I'm sure they get it – you're educated. Enough of the name dropping. Doesn't even matter if you can spell your own name when the lights are out……..
He needed another beer now, not after another game of pool. He nodded to the bartender who once again uncapped two new bottles, placing them on the bar. Sucking down a cold mouthful, he gasped in something that he recognised from the dim and distant past as almost contentment. Sam was already setting up the table for another game and laughing about something stupid with Blondie, whatever her name was…. Heather? Dammit, his little brother actually seemed to have some moves to play on the ladies, and so far he had managed not to tell them a single lie and hadn't actually said anything lame. Unless you count the big-bad-woolf woman comment of course, whoever the hell she was. Huh. How's that work, he mused to himself. Dean had tried not telling a girl lies once and we all know how that turned out….
He smiled slightly, not in a flirtatious way any more, but at the small glimpse of Sam being himself, being relaxed, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was the Sam that his friends at Stanford had known. Perhaps the Sam that Jessica had fallen for; hell, he had to wonder how Sammy had got himself shacked up with such a tasty chick. Stepping forward to the table to break (winner's prerogative, Hannah had said….), he caught sight of his watch. Realising it was already gone ten, Dean felt a small pang of sadness, knowing that Sam's stressed persona would be back in the morning, the clock would be ticking down and their night off wouldn't last forever.
Dean motioned to the bartender for drinks for Sam, himself……… Holly and the other one. Chloe. And four tequilas. Why the hell not? Suddenly remembering that Sammy doesn't do well with tequila, he wondered if that was a mistake, wondered if he should drink two and then suddenly huge little brother had walked up to the bar, declared 'Woah, tequila, that for me? Thanks, Dean….. have we got limes?' He knocked the thing back in one go and shuddered slightly as he jammed a wedge of lime into his mouth, grinning a stupid waxy-green smile back at his older brother before discarding the mashed fruit on the bar.
Sam gathered up a drink for…. whatever her name was, the other one and himself and started back to the pool table. They'd beaten the girls spectacularly and he'd even thrown a little trick shot in at the end. Might get me some special favours later, he thought. His vision was swimming a bit and he noticed Sam still striding around the pool table, stopping to set up another trick shot to show….Crystal.
Leaning back to evaluate the situation, Dean came to the conclusion that, yeah, he was probably a little drunk. Hey, maybe he was actually drunk for the first time in a while. He didn't like to lose control, let his guard down. Hell, since Sam's midnight date with the Crossroads Demon, he wasn't even sure it was safe to go to sleep and let Sam out of his sight. But the kid seemed to be genuinely smiling. Blondie… Harriet…. took a seat at the bar next to him and began some kind of strange small talk, and before he knew it, Dean was telling her all about his brother. How proud he'd been when he got into college. How he used to love being in the school plays. How they'd moved around a lot when they were kids and they started new schools a lot. How he'd….. he stopped, warning himself to stop his stupid jaw before it got any slacker. He's almost said too much. Sam losing his girlfriend was nobody's business. It was a family matter. And small as their family might be, there were some things that they still needed to keep within it.
Sam seemed to have engaged in another game with the brunette chick, and there seemed to be some money on the table. Smooth, Sammy, gambling with the girls. Although Dean sensed this girl didn't mind…. she seemed fun. And when Blondie (Hazel?) whispered in his ear that they could get out of here and leave these two to it, Dean didn't want to go. Didn't want to leave. He suddenly felt like a four year old again, wondered whether he could get away with stamping his feet, rooting himself to the spot and screaming. Yeah, like that had ever worked. He remembered trying it once when he was little and getting a sharp slap across the back of his legs. Not trying that again. He knew he had to go - he didn't want to let Sam know that this night was getting to him. Have to act like nothing's different. Grabbing his jacket and making a crude gesture to his brother behind the back of both girls, Dean's mood faded as he closed the door of the bar behind him and his night out with his kid brother dissolved into the darkness of just another hook up with just another blonde.
Sam's heart sank a little as the door swung shut behind his brother. His vision a little hazy, he knew he'd probably drunk a little too much, but it was kinda nice. Dean had asked him for a night off. For both of them, not just for himself. Hell, he'd almost pleaded with him. And much as Sam could pout and win the majority of their arguments, Dean could pull the soft, deep hurting eyes on his brother too, and normally get exactly what he wanted from him. And Sam knew that Dean was trying so hard to be his big brother again. The least he could do was try and be Dean's brother back.
The night had started off as a bit of a game; if he could play act being an insurance rep, an FBI agent, he could surely play act 'having some fun with my brother'. And as he chugged back the end of his (how many?)th beer, he realized that somewhere along the way, he'd actually dropped the act and started to enjoy the night. His concentration failing, no, gone, he realised that Carly (Carla?) had started to edge ahead in their game of pool. He wasn't sure that he cared….then he remembered that he'd managed to put some cash down on this one and not just a drink. Hell, I'll let her have this one. I'll get it back. Next game I'm playing properly. Fun as she was, he knew this wasn't going anywhere. The shape of Carly-a's third finger on her left hand gave her away. The slight narrowing of the base of the finger was used to wearing a wedding band. Or at least an engagement ring. Sam pegged that as soon as she approached him at the bar. Married girls were safe. Or at least safer. He figured she just needed some downtime too.
He suddenly realised that he'd never intended this to go anywhere, for anything to happen. He'd just been so over-keen to prove to Dean that he was okay. That he was ready to move on after Jessica…. after everything. Not that he was willing to just accept his brother's deal. No way at all. He just didn't want him to be so scared. Not scared for him, anyway. There's enough for him to be scared of without him being scared for me, too. Through his slightly wobbly vision, he saw Carla mouthing something to him over her pool cue, and he laughed to be polite, really not having a clue what she'd said and not sure whether it was even an appropriate reaction. The thought of where the evening could be headed made him feel a little light-headed, thinking that he had to get out of there. Maybe just one more game…. And one more drink…
RDGRDGRDGRDGRDG
Oh man, I'm in trouble….. Dean snickered to himself slightly as he tried third time to put the motel key in the door. Sammy's gonna kick my butt for being so late again. The room was plunged into darkness, the slight mustiness of the motel smelling oddly like home. Dean slipped off his jacket, knowing there was a chair around here someplace…. Sure of it… oof. He laughed as he stumbled to the ground and landed face first on the grimy, worn carpet.
"Shorry Sammy…." Shoving himself up on his elbows, he suddenly realised that he'd heard nothing back. Not a whinge, not a 'where've you been' (even though he knows full well where I've been…. Oh yeah….). "Sammy?" Dean's consciousness pricked and suddenly his addled brain was clearer. Where was he? Sam was always back first. He felt his chest hitch slightly in an unconscious panic; where the hell, what the hell, dammit, Sam, you always get yourself into trouble. Unless…….
"No way…" Dean exclaimed out loud. What were the chances that Sam had actually left the bar with….. Clarissa? Slim to none, he thought as he scraped himself off the floor, sat down and kicked off his shoes. But tonight, Sam was being, well, not like Sam. In fact, he reasoned, he's acting far more like me. He didn't want to feel the small pang of sadness that his little brother was doing okay; a small part of Dean wanted Sam to need him.
Let it go, Winchester. He scolded himself, knowing that Sam was trying his hardest to look like he could cope on his own, to look like he was moving on. But before tonight, he'd never seen any evidence of that. He sank down on the side of his bed and kicked off his shoes, throwing his jeans into a heap by his feet. Maybe I should call him, he thought…. No, leave him. The kid's probably (hopefully!) getting laid for the first time in about a million years and he doesn't need you calling him. Still, he doesn't have to answer…… No! He argued silently with himself, knowing that he shouldn't call Sam, knowing that he wouldn't sleep until he had done and also knowing that calling him was probably going to make things worse. But hey, a text couldn't hurt, could it? Squinting at his cellphone, he clicked at the buttons….
hey sammy u either got lucky or kidnapped call me
He paused for a moment, wondering whether the 'kidnapped' jibe was even funny…. But he was too tipsy and tired to be bothered. He sank back onto the bed and wrapped his pillow around his head. Sighing up at the stained motel ceiling, he knew he'd never be able to sleep properly. Hadn't for a while. But he could just close his eyes…..
BANG! Dean awoke with a start, his hand automatically reaching for the knife from under his pillow. Crap. Double crap with a side order of (what the hell would be on the side of crap?) – he cursed himself viciously knowing, being absolutely certain that something bad, really bad was going down and it was his fault for not making sure that Sam was back okay, for not looking out for him for not, BANG! What the hell was that? He aggressively scrubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes and shot a glance to every corner, his vision still a little unsteady and finally settling on the door. Something was trying to get in. Dean got ready to lunge forward, shoot first (well, stab, jab or slit, whatever) when the evil, noisy entity behind the door, lunged in, the door swinging on its hinges and the lock no doubt broken. Dean opened his mouth to scream a warning, his heart pounding with adrenaline as the figure at the door mumbled.
"Stupid friggin' door…"
"Holy crap, Sam, you… you…" Words failed him as his younger brother stumbled into the room, cursing the sub-standard carpentry of the less than fine establishment they'd resided in for the past couple of days. Dean groaned in relief, embarrassed at his over the top reaction and sank back down onto the bed, pulling the blankets back over his head.
Sam had dissolved into a fit of giggles and tried to put the busted door back into the doorframe, muttering under his breath about how stupid the thing was and then laughing a little more. Dean pulled the blankets back from over his head and frowned sleepily towards his brother. What the hell is he doing? He reached over to fumble for the bedside lamp and squinted a little as a dim light was cast over the room. Huh. His brother was clearly drunk. And he was laughing at a broken doorhandle. Dean watched for a moment as Sam pulled the doorhandle up, let go and watched it drop limply all the way down with a clunk. He giggled. Picking the door handle up, he withdrew his hand like a three-year old, almost shouting 'see!'. He giggled again. One more time…
"Sam!" Dean's stern voice cut into Sam's bizarre drunken amusement and he jumped back as if he'd been burned, staring back at his brother like a startled rabbit, or as if he'd been caught doing something really naughty.
"Huh?" Sam's face suddenly fell serious.
"Let go of the door handle, put the chain over the door and get in bed." Dean's voice was gentle but stern. Much as he wanted to laugh, he didn't. "You're drunk."
Sam bit his bottom lip, fully aware he was getting a parental Dean ticking off. "Yeah, prob'ly….." His co-ordination surprisingly better than Dean's had been earlier that evening, Sam concentrated all his effort to sliding the door chain over. Dean sighed, knowing they'd have to do a runner in the morning to avoid the extra charge on the damage. If he couldn't fix it. Sam turned around in the dim light, trying to remove his coat and his shoes at the same time. Dean winced, knowing what was going to happen seconds before it did. Hey, I wonder if this is what it's like to have visions he mused, as Sam stumbled into the same chair as Dean had earlier, landing on his face with a huge crash. Dean watched out of one eye, drawing in a slow intake of breath through his teeth as his humongous brother clattered to the ground, a tangle of long limbs and his arms half out of his jacket.
"You okay Sam?" Dammit. I'm not sober either and I'm gonna have to get my ass out of this lovely warm bed – well, warm anyway, and haul the drunken lump up off the floor. He waited for a moment, no response from Sam. Crap. Panic rose once again as Dean convinced himself that the idiot had knocked himself unconscious. "Sammy?" He sat up, looking at his pole axed sibling. Muffled laughter started to emanate from his brother's body, followed by a few more choice curses as he untangled his limbs from the chair and one other. Thank God. Sam slung his jacket over the top of the still upturned chair and sat on the end of Dean's bed, fighting with his shoes. He turned his attention to the buttons on his overshirt as Dean watched him lazily.
"So little bro, what the hell have you been up to? Besides drinking the bar dry of course."
Sam smiled goofily at him, balling up his shirt in both hands and throwing it as far as he could over the other side of the room. "Jus' playin' pool."
"Just playing pool my ass. C'mon, spill!" He had to have gotten some action. Didn't he? Sammy wasn't the kind to kiss and tell. But then, he hadn't been acting entirely 'Sam' for the last few months either. Dean shuddered slightly at the thought, the words of Azazel echoing through his mind. He shoved them to one side, filing them away in his deep archived lockbox of 'things I don't want to think about'. "Sam?"
"She's, was married, Dean!" Sam waved his brother's questions away with a drunken paw.
"Married? No way! She sure as hell wasn't acting married…"
"I know. I could just…. tell." Sam lay himself back on the bed next to his brother, biting on his lip again. Dean looked sideways at him, sensing that Sam had something to tell him. Sam sniggered again slightly.
"What?"
"She kicked my ass at pool…"
"She did what!?"
"She kicked my ass!! I swear, man, didn't see it comin', she was real hot, at pool I mean, not that she wasn't…"
"How much d'you lose?"
"I dunno… think I got about ten bucks left in my wallet…in change."
"Sammy!" Dean's word escaped from his lips in a deep, rumbling growl of frustration, a headache starting to set in from the quantities of alcohol earlier on. They couldn't afford to lose cash like that, not with Hendrickson on their case, not with their (fake) cards nearly maxed out. A wave of realization swept over him as suddenly the events of the night became a little clearer. The girls had checked them out when they took to the pool table, worked out which one of them was the better player, got Dean out of the way and girl-whose-name-he-couldn't-even-be-bothered-to try-to-remember had got Sammy drunk out of his tree and taken his cash….. it all sounded far too familiar. Sam was lying next to him, still giggling contentedly with his eyes closed. Dean sat up with a start.
"Sam, do you realise what happened tonight?" His voice was aggressive, urgency creeping into his tone.
"Hmmm….." Sam murmured, burying his head into Dean's pillow. "Yeah, I think so. You got laid and I got wasted." His voice oozed sarcasm despite his incoherence.
"Yeah, you got that right. Did we get ourselves hustled?" Oh. My. Freaking. God. How did I not see that happening? Crap, that's supposed to be our game, we shouldn't get beaten at it by a pair of amateurs – and chicks at that. Seemed to be happening a lot lately. Maybe they weren't amateurs. Dammit. He was mad. Mad at himself, mad at Sam for not noticing, mad at them both for drinking too much and letting their guard down….. "Sam!" He shook his little brother awake. "What the hell are you doing, get up and get in your own bed, you moron."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Wha? Whassup?" Sam frowned. "Whattttre youdoin in my beddeannnn…?" Sleep was pulling him under and he clearly didn't quite have a clue what was going on. Dammit, thought Dean, he really is wasted, it's like the last ten minutes didn't even happen…!
"You are not getting yourself hustled, losing all our cash and then sprawling yourself over my bed. I don't care how drunk you are. Move yo' ass!" He shoved at his brother's shoulder, Sam's enormous frame rolling over slightly and then falling back, a dead weight. A brief shiver rolled down Dean's spine as the ghost of a memory snuck out of the depths of his mind. I could just roll him right onto the floor, he thought, that'd bring him round with a short, sharp shock. But did he really have the heart? Probably not. Huh. Dean breathed out deeply with a pouting sigh almost worthy of his brother and realised that Sam wasn't going anywhere. And it was actually pretty funny. He knew that if he was going to get any sleep he was going to have to get in the other bed himself. Just as he was about to pull back the covers, get out and cover Sam back up, he felt a gentle touch on his arm.
"Dean?" His brother's touch got more solid as he tugged on his elbow.
"What!" He snapped back at Sam. Stupid drunken idiot in my bed.
"Had fun tonight…" Sam slurred, keeping his eyes closed. Dean froze. He was right. They had. Okay, they'd let their guard down. And okay, so they'd been screwed over. Royally. But did it matter? He smiled. He just wished he'd seen it… Sammy getting more and more drunk, trying his best moves (yeah, probably half-heartedly, he knew his brother was never up for a one-night stand with that girl. And she was far too old for him….). He laughed, his shoulders shaking.
"Ah, Sammy. " He ruffled his younger brother's hair, startling himself at how easily the unconscious move resurrected itself from somewhere in the deep and distant past. He felt Sam rest his head on his shoulder. Drunken geek… Dean settled back slightly, feeling his shoulders relax under the weight of his brother's head, strangely familiar although it must have been at least fifteen years since it'd rested there.
"I'm gonna miss you man." Sam murmured, almost asleep, burying his head a little deeper against Dean's strong shoulder and unconsciously reaching to pull some of the blankets over himself. "Y'know… when… after…"
His voice trailed off as sleep pulled him under. Dean suddenly felt like the room was spinning and he was falling, falling into a black hole, knocked backwards into it by Sam once again, although this time he hadn't tried to shoot him, just scored a well-placed hit with his stupid, idiot, drunken, emo words. No anger, no tears. Somehow, Sam's words had cut deeper than all his declarations of how he was going to save him, than of all his gritty, determined front that he had worn since he found out about the deal. Sam's quiet, drunken words echoed in through his slightly woolly mind. My brother will miss me. And just for a moment, he didn't feel the terror, the anguish, the fear and the anger at himself, not even at his Dad for landing them in this mess. No, somewhere down deep where Dean Winchester was allowed to feel (pretty freakin' deep, he qualified,), there was an empty, dark hole. It wasn't anger. It wasn't rage. It wasn't the weight of his responsibility.
Dejectedly, Dean realised that this is what it was to just feel sad. With a long sigh, he looked down at his younger brother, snoozing, or at least fallen into a stupor, against his shoulder (and smelling like he'd taken a shower in a firkin of ale). He took more than a glance at him for the first time in…. he didn't know how long. His baby brother wasn't there any more. Somewhere along the line the kid that Dean had tried to protect, was still protecting, if he was honest, had become a huge, scarred, tired-looking, hell, worn out, guy. And he wasn't sure where he'd changed (yeah yeah, not thinking about Ol' Yellow Eyes and his stupid questions. Filed.)
He suddenly realised what Sam was going to lose after he'd gone. Dean was more than his brother; Sam was trying to comprehend losing his best friend and his brother in one fell swoop. Dean hadn't understood his own feelings in those days after Cold Oak. He didn't get emotion; any more than he got those fairy-tales that Sammy was waffling about the other week.
So when his 'emotions' got the better of him, when something hurt him, he didn't know what to do. He knew he'd let his Dad down, let Sammy down. He knew it hurt like hell and it just wouldn't stop, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, didn't want to breathe because everything hurt so much. And he knew he'd had to stop it. Had to fix it. But he'd never considered why. Not because of who he'd let down. Or because he'd failed. It was because he couldn't bear the thought of waking up every day and knowing that he'd never share a joke, share a beer with Sam again. Knowing that he'd never wake up again in the Impala with his brother driving and with Sam's emo-rock music playing on his radio. Because he couldn't handle how much he missed him. It was basic, it was obvious, but the thought hadn't even entered his screwed-up head before. Dean reached over his sleeping idiot of a brother and switched out the small lamp.
Suddenly it didn't matter that there was no room for him to stretch out, and he wasn't bothered too much by Sam's slight snoring. The room was plunged into darkness but for a streetlamp glowing around the tatty curtains, casting a spooky, almost sickly orange glow around the room. Closing his eyes and silently warning his little brother not to drool on him, he settled back into the pillow and pulled the blankets up around himself and his brother. His voice was a whisper as he turned back to Sam.
"I'll miss you too, Sammy."