Sam was definitely intoxicated, Dean noted with a smirk. It was true that his brother shared a drink or two with him on occasion, but he hadn't seen the man properly shitfaced in years. Quite right, too; somebody had to take care of the rest of the family. But it appeared that Dean had to take care of Sam now. Isn't that what older brothers are for? Though he hadn't quite expected to have a clumsy, depressed moose on his hands for the evening.
Presently, the drunk was leaning awkwardly against Dean's shoulder and drooling just a bit. Dean had one arm around the tall man, and with the other hand he was fumbling with the key to their motel room. His thoughts were interrupted by his brother's drunken, bitter laughing, but eventually he slipped the key into the rusted keyhole and pushed open the door. Before he could move, Sam stumbled in, dragging the shorter man in with him. With an aggrevated sigh, Dean pushed his brother- who was now muttering something about demons- onto one of the beds . He sat down on the other and eyed the form of the drunkard sprawled out on the mattress.
"Never get drunk again, Sammy," the hunter uttered, bemused. With a grunt of acknowledgement, the man in question rolled over and curled into a ball. Being drunk was wasted on him, Dean thought with a frown; he wasn't happy and he certainly wasn't getting shagged. At least they were spending time together- in a weird, dysfunctional way. Or, well, they were, until Dean realized that Sam was now unconscious and snoring like some ancient behemoth. After thinking a moment, the elder brother stripped his bed of its comforted and laid it over the younger.
