Sam opened his eyes, wondering how they'd closed without his knowledge. He peered tiredly at the laptop screen, covered in disjointed pieces of information about whatever the hell they were hunting this time, and then glanced at the clock and then at the empty beds. It was 5 AM and Dean wasn't back yet. The worry cut through his exhaustion and Sam's hands immediately searched across the desk and patted at his pockets, until he found his phone and hit the speed dial.

It surprised him when Dean's ringtone sounded from the direction of the door, and then Dean himself arrived and Sam stopped the call.

"Dean!" Sam greeted, relieved. Dean closed the door behind him and wandered over, a drunk smile lighting up his face.

"Sammy," Dean replied, smiling wider. He kept approaching Sam, beyond the point at which he would usually stop and say something, and Sam was mildly alarmed when Dean finally did stop, directly behind him. His attempts to turn to look at Dean were thwarted by his brother's hands grasping his head and forcing him to face forwards. He was puzzled, but obedient. Then he felt the fingers running through his hair and he had to say something.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean didn't reply; he simply hummed softly, peacefully, and continued to pull his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam cocked an eyebrow, more for his own benefit since Dean couldn't see his face, but didn't protest any further. It wasn't so bad, after all, especially considering all the much worse things a drunk brother could do to him. It felt quite pleasant, really, like a massage.

Dean began pulling bunches of hair apart from each other and then folding them over each other in a complicated sequence, with surprising coordination for a drunk man, but unsurprising for a drunk Dean. It took Sam a second to realise: he was having his hair braided. Still, he did not object. He relaxed in his chair and waited for Dean to run out of energy.

…

Again, Sam found himself with his eyes closed. When he opened them, the first thing he noticed was Dean crashed out on one of the beds, looking as though he'd just fallen there and couldn't be bothered getting up again, which was probably what had actually happened. Sam couldn't feel his hair falling around his ears like it usually did, and he reached up to touch the braid. He felt ridiculous, so he pulled the elastic that was holding it in place out and untangled it all. He looked at the hair-tie and felt even more ridiculous, as it was pink and glittery. Sam hoped that Dean hadn't stolen it from some little girl.

He got up from his chair, walked drowsily to the other bed and curled up, facing Dean. Sam closed his eyes.