Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. If I did, every dispute between Sam and Dean would be solved by an exuberant game of Ro-Sham-Bo, and there would probably be some Gay Chicken every once in a while. Just because the guys on Scrubs make it look so freaking hilarious. XD

A/N: Angst is just dripping off of this, isn't it? What can I say; I'm an expert. *angsts*

...Anyway. Brought on by a review I read for someone else's story. Is that kosher? I sure hope so. It doesn't help that I don't remember the name of the story, the author, or the person who left the review. Because my mind (as I may have previously mentioned) is a steel sieve. Sorry! The story had to do with Dean calling Sam at Stanford to say how proud he was of him, and I didn't get a chance to bookmark it or anything because my brother accidentally hit the 'shut the computer down for no freaking reason' button instead of the 'please eject the CD I just burned' button. Typical.

But if anyone knows where I can find said story, please let me know as I'd like to be able to review it and let the author know that they inspired my silly self. Thanks either way, guys, and enjoy!

Summary: Now that Sam was several states away, and Dean had several beers in him, he thought it might be the perfect time to call. --Pre-series. Sam is in college. Dean has a few things to say.--


The Dangers of Drunk Dialing

Now that Sam was several states away, and Dean had several beers in him, he thought it might be the perfect time to call. Dialing the number hurt, from his finger tips to the soles of his big, black combat boots. It shouldn't. It really shouldn't.

A few rings.

He couldn't do it. Maybe just another beer...

---

Three hours and one ignored phone call later, Dean decided he was finally sloshed enough to hear Sam's voice again. And maybe tell him what an unbelievable ass he was. And that he could try calling once in a while. But mostly just to tell him that he was being a douche. Yeah. Right.

Ring...

Ring...

"Dean?"

He was suddenly and stunningly delighted to hear his brother's voice. The sharp jolt of pain that lanced through his heart having been dulled by the alcohol flowing through his veins, he let a smile curl his lips.

"S'mmy! How ya doin, squirt?"

There was a moment of silence. The tapping of his newest beer bottle on the scratched wooden table couldn't fill it. He didn't know what could.

"Uh... good. How are you, Dean?"

"I'm, uh..." This was becoming awkward at an alarming rate. Didn't use to be that way, not at all. "I'm good... I'm..."

"Drunk?" Sam's voice sounded different over the phone, and Dean remembered that. His words hard around the edges but soft in the middle. Like an Oreo. Dean suddenly wanted Oreos, way more than he wanted to be having this conversation.

"I just-" Deep breath. Wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a cold hand. "I wanted to say-" He wanted to say a lot. There was nothing he could say, in this small amount of time, in the space between his lips and the phone. Nothing that would bring Sammy home. "I'm proud-"

He cut himself off, his thumb pressing the button seemingly of it's own volition.

He sunk his head into his hands, cell phone forgotten on the dirty motel carpet. Struggled not to cry. Winchesters don't cry, and Dean is a Winchester.

His mother's face invaded the blankness of his mind, faded by years of trying not to forget exactly what she looked like when she smiled.

Curled up on the bed, alone in some bum-fuck nowhere town, he felt like a little kid again. The job was done, lives were saved. He missed his mother. All he had left was his father and Sammy, and now he didn't even really have Sammy anymore.

More than anything, what he wanted was his family.