Title: Trying to save my soul tonight; it's nobody's fault but mine (Night Off)

Read more by the Secret Wendigo on my LJ - username: secretwendigo

Thanks to The Huntress for being the beta for this story (((((HUGS))))).

Another dusty midwestern town, another dollar.

Oh wait, they don't get paid.

What a fuckin' shame, Dean thought as he handed some pimply-faced high school kid twenty-five bucks for a bag of Great Night Off. This seventeen-year-old kid sells dope and probably has more cash in his pocket on any given day than he does, well, except for the occasional night when Dean works some redneck small town drunk out of his crappy paycheck.

But Dean's mission tonight isn't a hunt. It's Sam. Sam's the mission and Dean never fails when confronted with a challenge. He needs to get his ultra uptight brother to take a night off with him and enjoy life; stop and smell the roses so to speak, or weed, whatever. His brother has been so repressed lately, he was probably about two seconds from cracking. All work and no play makes Sam a homicidal maniac. Yup, definitely time for an intervention.

Dean heads to the grocery store on the way back to the motel to get a six-pack of beer (no reason to wait until he gets to the bar to start) and some aluminum foil. Necessity, after all, is the mother of invention.

Dean pulled up to the motel and mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. Getting Sam to lighten up this year was like talking a fifteen-year-old girl out of her virginity; not that Dean would know what that was like…lately.

As expected, Dean found Sam hunched over his laptop, in the dark, his face illuminated by the screen. He didn't even look up when Dean walked in and turned on the lamp.

Dean screwed the top off two bottles of imported beer and placed one on the table in front of Sam. "Hey, put the internet porn away and let's go meet some real chicks."

"It's not internet porn, Dean, it's research. You know, the stuff you never do anymore."

Dean took a long pull off of his bottle and set it down. This was serious business; he so didn't need a repressed and homicidal brother. He ignored his brother's protests and went around to massage his shoulders. Digging his thumbs into Sam's stiff back, he bent over and whispered into Sam's ear. "C'mon, Sammy, we're going out for a few beers, listen to some music, shoot some pool, hit on some girls..."

Sam stopped typing and softened a bit under Dean's practiced touch.

"You mean you're going to hustle pool and feel up the waitresses while I watch."

Dean smirked and lowered his voice. "I'm okay with it if you want to watch." He really was a cocky bastard.

Sam shrugged Dean's hands off of his shoulders and laughed. "Get your hands off me, you freak."

Dean was pleased when Sam closed his laptop and picked up his beer. "Fine, I'll go, but I swear to God, Dean, you so much as think about trying to hustle pool, I'm outta there. I am not getting into another bar fight because you can't take a night off."

"Deal. So, what are you going to wear?" No way Sam was getting any in that outfit.

"Um…what I have on."

"Yeah, getting laid while wearing that outfit will be the least of your worries. You look like some college yuppie."

Sam glared at him.

"So…what? Okay…fine..." Dean dug through his pile of clean clothes and pulled out a thin, black, short sleeve tee-shirt and held it up. "Wear this."

"Dean, your shirts are a size too small for me."

"Exactly, Master-of-the-obvious. Now put it on."

Sam pulled off his sweatshirt, revealing his bare chest and stretched the black tee-shirt over his head and down his waist. As expected, it clung tightly.

Dean took in Sam's look. His hair was tousled from changing and he had that just-been-fucked look that he always wore well. The tee-shirt was stretched so tight across him that Dean could see the outline of his cut abs. The sleeves were too short, showing off his arms, built from fighting and hunting. The shirt left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

"Well?" Sam began to feel a bit uncomfortable under his brother's scrutiny and reached for his sweatshirt.

"So help me God, if you put that baggy sweatshirt on, I'm going to kick your ass." Dean took a breath. "You look good enough to fuck."

Oh God, did I just say that?

"Thanks." Sam rolled his eyes and added sarcastically, "If it wasn't for my older brother dressing me, I'd never get laid." He punched Dean in the arm and headed for the bathroom. "I need to brush my teeth. I'll be ready in a few."

Dean rubbed the sore spot on his arm and watched his brother walk away from him. He sat down on the edge of his bed and downed the rest of his beer. When the bathroom door closed, he palmed the crotch of his jeans. His dick was hard and his brother was the cause.

What. The. Fuck.

Dean had the faint notion that visions of hellfire, or maybe the lack of pussy in the last few weeks, had started it all. He vowed to never let it get this bad again, and to cure it all, he'd bang some chick in the bar bathroom. Tonight. When your younger brother's hot body was getting you hard, it was time for a trip to the Y.

They pulled into the parking lot of the bar and Dean noticed that for a small town, this place was packed full of customers. A row of Harleys were lined up against the porch of the bar and the cars in the parking lot reflected a variety of classes.

Dean parked at the very back of the lot (no way his baby was getting a door ding from one of these drunk bitches) and Sam moved to get out. "Whoa, dude. We've got something else to take care of before we go in." Dean smiled and produced a rolled up Ziploc bag which he shook in front of Sam's face revealing green buds.

"You'vegot to be kidding me? You want to get high?"

"C'mon, it's not like we've got to worry about our job's "drug free" policy."

"Man, Dean, we are so fucked up it's not even funny."

"Not yet, but give me a minute."

Dean produced the roll of aluminum foil he purchased earlier from under his seat and tore a piece off. He began to fashion his make-shift bowl by crafting a pipe using the foil and the Kubotan off of his keychain.

"Holy shit. You can make a bowl out of common household items, but you couldn't pass twelfth grade English without screwing the teacher? Priceless."

Dean could have taken offense to that comment, but he knew Sammy meant it light heartedly. He bent the end of his aluminum foil pipe and packed the weed tightly in.

"Ladies first," Dean said as he handed his brother the lighter and pipe. Dean knew this would ensure Sam took it easy and he could use Sam's foggy state of mind to hustle just a little pool.

Sam held the lighter up and lit the pipe. He inhaled sharply, holding in the smoke. Dean started laughing, taking in the vision of his straight laced, college student brother firing it up. Sam grinned and followed with a snort, coughing the smoke out of his burning lungs.

Twenty minutes later Dean had a pleasant high and, judging from his brother's constant grin and glazed eyes, so did Sam. They got out of the car and headed across the lot towards the front door. Half way there, Sam grabbed Dean's wrist and turned him around.

"I really love you, man." Sam pulled Dean against him tightly in a hug, crouching over to shove his face into Dean's neck.

Dean smiled at his brothers marijuana induced affection and hugged him back. "I know you do."

"Smug bastard." Sam said it with a straight face, but the smile he was trying to hide didn't stay buried for long. He clapped Dean on his back and turned to continue towards the bar.

Dean paused briefly before following him. Watching his brother's ass he felt his cock twitch and the image of his high, vulnerable brother laid out naked in front of him on a bed flashed through his mind.

Son of a bitch. Drugs are bad…m'kay.

TBC...