The Primrose Jones Adventure.
Chapter 1: Boobs, beer and burgers.
The light from the strip shone through, passed the less than adequate curtains. The bed nearest the door was occupied by a tall, brown haired young man. Sleeping on his side, with one arm stuffed underneath the rather small pillow. As the light shifted over his face, a grumble was heard. He tried to move, but a moan of pain echoed round the room. He tried to open his eyes slightly, but they were clamped shut with vigour after only making it to the tiniest of slits.
Dean was not a happy morning bunny. Especially with the hangover that he was currently suffering. A headache that undoubtedly would lead to re-enactment of 'that' scene from Scanners. Nausea and dizziness that would probably lead to the rather undignified rush to the bathroom very soon. And a mouth that felt like it could rival the best grade sandpaper. Definitely not a happy bunny.
Chancing a quick glance to other bed in the room, Dean was suddenly grateful that Sam was not there to witness his downfall. A small smirk appeared on his face, it had been a good night (and morning to be honest). It was Vegas week, a week dedicated to boobs, beer and burgers. And Dean was pretty sure that he ticked all three boxes (and more) last night, well what he could remember of it. Dean frowned, trying to remember the name of a certain lovely lady he spent quite a lot money and time with (once her shift had finished). Maybe it was best he couldn't remember.
What he could remember though, was the argument with Sam once he decided that a week camping would be a better way to spend a week off. Dean couldn't (and wouldn't on principle) understand why hugging wildlife and all that hippy crap, was better than Vegas week. Sam had left, not exactly in a huff but quite close, shouting he would leave his mobile on (if there was a signal).
Suddenly, as predicted, Dean found himself running across the room to the smallest bathroom that could possibly be functional. With one hand over his mouth, trying to keep the impending explosion from happening in the bedroom, Dean had to manoeuvre between the bathroom door and sink to access the john. Kneeling down, he let it happen. Again, again and again. By the end he was dry retching, head resting on the seat and a small sliver of bile snaking down from his mouth.
Slowly recovering, Dean lifted his head and looked around the room. He had to admit that yesterday he hadn't taken that much notice of the room (something to do with the 3 B's), dump the bags and ward the room and getting out on the town asap was his goal yesterday. And now he was becoming rather concerned. There were sheep, sheep and more sheep. The wallpaper was sheep patterned, the bedding had a sheep design. Even the tiles in the bathroom hadn't escaped the ovine influence, with tiny lambs jumping fences on the tiles. Dean realised that if he had any trouble sleeping, he would fine counting sheep.
Slowly climbing up from the floor, and after waiting for the room to stop spinning, Dean rinsed his mouth out and thought about the day ahead. A long hot shower was definitely on the list (especially with no annoying little brother moaning about him using all the hot water) and then back out on the town. Sounded like a good plan.