Summary: Sam has nonsexual needs. Dean has priorities.
A/N: My last two efforts were Dean's POV so this is a Sam's POV for a change. N.B. Sam has a headache so it can't be Wincest!
Don't Call Me Babe by frostygossamer
Someone hit "Don't Call Me Babe" on the jukebox for the umpteenth time tonight.
Sam leant heavily against the bar.
That damned tune was starting to bore a hole in his brain.
He pressed the heal of his left hand to the sore spot in the middle of his temple and felt the pain slide slyly into the cavity below his left eyebrow. One eye felt twice the size of the other. That hellish music pumped the air around him. It was like standing on the inside of a base drum.
"Freakin' sinus headache", he thought and downed another bourbon. That wasn't going to help, but right now he didn't care.
In a booth across the room Dean laughed manically as some unheard joke. The girl opposite him was slim, pretty and a little slutty, just Dean's type. She twirled one strand of blonde hair around her fingers and smiled at him radiantly, her eyes locked on his. He was going to get lucky tonight, for sure.
Sam shivered inwardly.
He didn't know how Dean could do it. Picking up whatever the cat dragged in night after night. He couldn't live like that. It wasn't his nature. What he looked for, what he needed, what he was doing badly without right now, was love. L.O.V.E. Random sex seemed to be a good enough substitute for Dean, but not for him. His heart needed sustenance not just his loins.
And another night alone in the motel room, while Dean was off somewhere banging his new conquest, was not what he needed tonight.
He knew what to do. He didn't use it often but it always worked, and he'd had enough to drink already.
Sliding off the barstool Sam trailed over to Dean's booth, coming up on his blind side. The hottie noticed him approach and switched her cherryred-lipped grin to him, fluttering her lashes, leaning back away from the table to take in his height.
Dean noticed her movement and flicked his eyes in Sam's direction but didn't turn around.
"My less cool brother", he explained to the girl, offhandedly.
"Ooh", she giggled.
"Hi, party pooper. How's things?", Dean griped over his shoulder, as he toyed with the chick's expensive nail-job. "You got something to say? No? Then quit hanging around like Gigantor cramping my style. Me and this little lady have a whole night of fun planned, and we don't need some escort with a stick up his ass turning the volume down. No disrespect". All this and yet, so Dean, not a hint of malice in any of it.
Sam sighed, "I've had enough for tonight, Dean", he said. "I'm gonna go back to the motel".
"Fine", said Dean, keeping his gaze on the young woman s face, "See you later". He didn't move.
Sam hesitated for a moment and almost started to walk away.
Then, just as he began to turn, he said, all but under his breath, "Let's go, babe" and headed for the exit.
Dean was behind him by the time the bell over the door jangled.
He glanced over his shoulder. Poor sweetie was still pouting at the table, looking a mite surprised. Hey, she thought she had that tasty guy on the hook!
Sam smiled to himself. Yeah, it always worked because Dean knew what that word meant. It was kinda their code. Dean knew Sam NEVER called him "babe".
Except when he really needed to.
The End
A/N: Co-dependence works for Dean. Without it he would be sooo shallow, wouldn't he? ;-) Please review.