Shout out to TFALokiwriter to kicked me back into gear to actually get some writing done.

Job well done, Dean.

He sips his beer, his Sammy next to him.

Yep, definitely deserved this one.

Dean turns to smirk at Sam, his little brother sipping at his own, first, beer. Someone might think he was a new drinker the way he was milking that beer for all it was worth. Dean was on his third, or was it fourth? Who cares? Point is, Sammy's a lightweight. Yep, a complete and utter lightweight.

His gigantor brother, 6'4", the one who went to college, for crying out loud, is a lightweight. You would think the kid would come back to him with some tolerance built up. Isn't that half of college? Drinking? But, nooo, not his Sam. Sam was there to study. That beer had to be warm by now. Sam had been holding it tightly between his big palms for way longer than was recommended. Maybe next time Dean should insist on shots.

Another smirk. What was Dean's problem? He was acting… weird. But then, less weird than the muscular guy on his left who kept checking him out. That was about as weird as it got. Sam was pretty sure the "cowboy" next to him was a bit more drunk than he thought, because apparently he must think that he looked slightly nicer than he actually did. Sam could smell - no, he could practically feel and see - the alcohol wafting from his sweat-stained shirt. Sweat and other things that Sam had no desire to know about.

Sam glanced at Dean again, who seemed oblivious to Cowboy Man, as he'd decided to call him. And, okay, now it was getting interesting. Cowboy Man appeared to be leaning toward Sam. Sam's heart sped up. This was uncomfortable. How was Dean able to completely ignore this?

Sam cleared his throat. "Um, Dean?"

Slightly dazed green eyes turned his direction, eyebrows raised.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna move over there," Sam decided slowly, removing his hands from his bottle of lukewarm beer to gesture to a booth near the door, and pull out his wallet with his other hand. "You can, um, you can join me… if you want," he finished lamely, and winced. That didn't sound strange at all.

"Ummm," Dean started, confused by this sudden uncomfortable mood. "O… kay, Sammy. Whatever you say, man. I'll just… stay here," he finished just as lamely. Then offered up an uncomfortable, fake smile, as if to encourage Sam in his course of action.

Sam nodded to reassure himself of his decision. Although, at this point, he was just ready to remove himself, decorously or not. Cowboy Man was inching closer every minute he sat here.

Sam gave a final nod to Dean, before scooping up his beer, placing down a few bills, and, patting his back pocket to assure himself that everything was still there, quickly retired from his stool at the bar.

Tucking his wallet back in his pocket, and planting himself in the booth, he glanced at his watch, sighing when he realized they hadn't actually been here that long, and would probably be here a while longer.

Looking up from the table, Sam startled to find himself inches away from Cowboy Boy… Man, whatever he had decided to call him. Okay, something was wrong here. He was losing his concentration halfway through sentences. And, now that he thought about it, he felt really hot and kind of tired…. And how the hell did this guy just sneak up on him? Something wasn't right here.

Cowboy man leaned in. "Got anything for me?" he whispered conspiratorially.

Sam suddenly felt nauseous. Was this douche hitting on him? He was definitely not going to stand for this. "Umm, no?" he slurred stupidly. His brain kicked into overdrive. This was bad. This was really bad. Someone must have drugged him. But when? He tried to jump through his memories of the night and remember when he had left his drink- Whoa. Cowboy Guy was a LOT closer now. Sam could smell the whiskey on his breath, and could also smell some other things he wasn't so fond of knowing about.

Sam's instincts kicked in… kind of? Okay, so he managed to move away from the guy, but now here he sat, on his ass, on the floor? How did that even happen? Where was Dean? He had been at the bar?

Sam glanced that direction, not finding his brother's familiar form, and- Oh God. Cowboy Douche was now right over him. Sam kicked out his legs, trying to move away from this guy. Why was no one interfering here?

And suddenly, between blinks, Sam was being dragged by his collar from the bar. This was so not good. Dark alley, wonderful. Cliche and everything.

Dean stepped from the bathroom, eyes skimming over the bar, taking in all of the patrons and cataloguing them unconsciously as only a hunter would. He started, any buzz he had before instantly clearing. No Sam. Damn it, that kid couldn't keep his shit together for two minutes while he stepped into the facilities?

He scowled, making one last sweep of the bar - still no little brother - and slammed a few bills on the counter on his way out the door. Passing through the doorway, he thought he heard someone yelling after him about not paying enough. But that was minor crap. This, The Missing Sam, that was big crap. And big crap won over minor crap. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Dean dearly hoped this had nothing to do with that big, no-so-subtly interested guy who had been sitting next to Sam. Yeah, Sam had obviously been uncomfortable with the guy, and so had moved. But Sam could take care of himself, while Dean stepped away for a minute. He was a big boy.

Keep repeating that, idiot.

Convince yourself that you actually believe that. Dean rolled his eyes at himself. And turned toward the back of the building.

"SAM?" he yelled, turning the corner to the side of the building. Dumpsters, one stray cat, but no Sam.

"SAM!" he screamed louder, turning the next corner. Back of the building. Still clear of Sams.

That's when he heard it. A quiet whimper. Barely even there. If Dean hadn't been hunter, he probably wouldn't have even heard it. But he had been trained to hear things.

To see things. And Dean did not like what he saw as he turned the final corner to the other side of the building. Dark alley, perfect for creepy guys to take out other guys.

Another groan and Dean saw red. He'd always assumed that that was just a saying. Nobody ever actually saw red. And in retrospect, Dean wasn't really sure exactly what he had seen. All he knew was that he didn't like the picture he was looking at.

"Hey, asshat!" The asshat stopped what he was doing, and turned to look at Dean. And, oh god, was he fiddling with one of Sam's button? And not just one of his shirt cuff buttons. This was unacceptable. And this guys was going to know that by the end of this night.

Dean wasn't sure how he got from Point A to Point B, but somehow he managed to smash his hand into this guy's face. And honestly, he wasn't that particular how it happened, as long as it hurt. And that definitely hurt. He heard a crack. Nose. That had to hurt.

Sam was flailing. Sinking in a sea of confusion and haziness. All he could hear was some guy whispering in his ear as he was dragged against a wall.

And then suddenly he knew exactly what was going on, as he felt someone groping in the dark for his buttons. Shirt buttons first. But Sam had enough awareness left to know what came off after the shirt. And it wasn't shoes.

He moaned, trying to attract someone's attention. Or at least, he thought he moaned. He was having a hard time distinguishing in his head from out of his head.

He tried again to make some sound. Anything. He just wanted the hands to stop.

Sweet relief when a familiar voice washed over him and the hands stopped. The pressure left his shoulder, no longer supporting his weight. And, well, what was supporting his weight. Apparently nothing.

And here came the floor to hit his face. That was… rude.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Sam knew that he wasn't actually making that much sense, even to himself. But he didn't have enough energy to figure it out.

Or any energy, even. He would just lie here for a few minutes until he had enough strength to stand up again.

The return to awareness was slow. And also painful. But at least the pain had gotten the memo and was coming on slowly.

Yeah, at least there was that.

"Sam…"

Pain.

"Awake…"

Pain.

"Eyes…"

Pain.

"C'mon, br…"

Pain!

"Sammy…"

Pain!

"Good…"

Pain!

"Okay…"

And then the rest of the pain, the pain that had been waiting for its turn to make itself known slowly. Hit. Not slowly.

All he could feel was the pain coursing through his right arm, and the aching burn in the heel of his right foot. And the throbbing in his head. And the feverish shivering. And the nausea.

Oh god, that one was gonna make itself known right now. And suddenly, there was a mini tsunami in his throat. And wasn't that pleasant.

Dean saw what was going to happen seconds before Sam even realized. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to react before the volcano spewed. He deftly flipped his brother, to prevent him choking, and immediately encountered a problem.

Limbs flailing, Sam let out a whine and tried to shove his sibling away. Dean managed to avoid the limbs… until he didn't. That was going to leave a mark.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of trying to wrestle with the Samtopus, and after a healthy amount of retching and choking noise, Sam quieted.

"D'n…?" Now Dean was grinning like an idiot. He had been waiting all night and most of the morning to hear that.

"D'n?" Slightly more panicked. Time to stop standing around and actually act.

"'S'ok, Sammy. I gotcha kiddo." Dean slid behind his kid brother, pulling him to his chest. "Just sleep now, little brother. We'll talk when you feel better."

Sam stilled. Sighed. And relaxed against Dean's solid warmth. He made a sleepy noise of contentment, and went limp again in Dean's arms.

Dean smiled to himself. Some things never changed.

Beginning to nod off himself, he couldn't help but think that he should have kept a closer eye on Sam. They were going to have a long talk about this when Sam was feeling up to it. He glanced down at his kid, and smiled in contentment. Yeah, they would talk later, but for the moment….

Job well done, Dean.