At this point, Dean can't remember what it was that he and Sam had just finished up ganking let alone begin to verbalise it. He was sat slumped over the first bar they'd found, blurred and wavering vision attempting to focus on the dirty, pitted wood grains of the bar as one nail absently scratched over it weakly. There was a dull clunk on the bar as the tender set down another double whiskey under the weary man's nose; Dean perked up slightly at the arrival of more alcohol, reaching out a hand clumsily to grasp the tumbler in his hand as he nodded his thanks to the bartender. Absently, he wondered how many drinks he'd had since they'd arrived as he sipped on the Jack Daniel's; it had to be getting into the low thirties by now, especially with how light his wallet was getting. Thankfully, he had convinced Sam to work the bar and play some chumps at pool and the kid seemed to sense that Dean needed some alone time and was currently doing just as his older brother had said.
The tired hunter sighed as he lifted the glass to his lips and finished it in a few quick gulps, closing his eyes and enjoying the gentle golden burn and fiery taste of the liquid that sent his head reeling to a place where he could forget so much. A place with no fires, no pretty blonde mothers on the ceiling, no hunting. It was what he needed every now and then; some time to forget those things, but never leave them. He would never want to leave them; living any other way seemed wrong somehow.
"Here, have the bottle, I'm gettin' sick of having to refill your glass every five minutes," a gruff voice, the bartender, jolted Dean from his thoughts. He looked up, studying the man; dull grey eyes, wiry black hair just slightly tinged with silver and the kind of beard a leather-clad biker would have. Dean managed to slur out some kind of appreciation as he poured his glass half way full, stopped, reconsidered then filled it almost to the top. Taking casual gulps of the whiskey, he sat silently as he listened to the noise of the bar; an indecipherable concoction of sound, two parts laughter, one part drunken conversation, three parts of glasses clinking and just a dash of unsuccessful chat up lines. Somewhere amidst all the noise, Dean could hear his little brother's fake-drunk laughter as he made bets he knew he was going to win beside the pool tables. Dean winced slightly, an odd stab of hurt sliding through his alcohol-warmed gut; he couldn't be near Sam right now, didn't want to see his face, didn't even want to hear his voice. And yet, he didn't want to be far away from him; he needed to know that Sam was there, that was safe and breathing and just there. With him, always.
Something on the hunt had spooked Dean, got him freaked so bad he had to drink so much he couldn't see straight. And that something was to do with Sam. It always was, always had to be something to do with Sam to get Dean that freaked out. He hadn't spoken a word to the younger sibling since they'd ganked the thing over five hours ago except to tell him to play pool and earn them some money. At first, Dean had struggled to ignore the anxious stares his brother was giving him between turns at the pool table but now, he wasn't even noticing them and that was worrying Sam even more. He was desperately trying to wrack his brain for something he'd said, or something he'd done that would put him in the wrong; he was frantically searching for what he should be apologising for but not a damn thing was coming up in his mind that would make Dean act so...destructively. Sam sighed and put down his pool cue, making his excuses to the men he'd been playing as he pocketed the cash he'd won - well over a grand by now - and approached his brother, gently laying a hand on Dean's shoulder, causing him to startle slightly and turn in his seat drunkenly and look up at Sam. His face slid through a plethora of emotions at the sight of his brother before settling on blankly absent while he swayed slightly in his seat. Sam held his brother by both shoulders to steady him, searching Dean's eyes, "C'mon, man, it's half an hour to closing, it's time to quit and head home, yeah?" he spoke just a few decibels above the noise. It took at least thirty seconds for the words to register and make sense in Dean's mind before he grunted and drew away from Sam, almost falling backwards before steadying himself with a vice-like grip on the wood of the bar.
"No, 'm stayin' here," Dean slurred out, avoiding his brother's gaze as he defiantly finished his glass in two quick gulps to make his point. He fished out the keys to the Impala and dumped them in Sam's open palm, "Take the car, I got a spare key, 'm be back later," he said before turning away from him and filling up his glass again.
Sam chewed anxiously on his lip, standing on the spot and staring at his severely wasted brother. There was no point dragging Dean back to the motel room by force, he'd just be mad and silent for days afterwards. With a dejected sigh, shoulders slumping low and shaggy hair dipping over his eyes which were threatening to tear up, he slowly wandered out the bar then climbed into the Impala. He felt strange in the driver's seat, Dean's seat; he always did feel strange in Dean's seat but today, it just felt even worse. Shaking racing thoughts of blame from his head, Sam drove the five minutes to their motel room and parked outside, heading inside and flopping onto the bed Dean hadn't bothered to make that morning, breathing in his brother's scent as he wiped a hand over his eyes carelessly, brushing away guilty, distressed tears.
Half an hour later, Sam opened the heavy oak door to the bar, biting at his lip and hoping to hell that Dean was still inside. A relieved sigh ghosted past his lips when he saw his brother's spiked dark blonde head resting on the bar, he glanced at the bartender, giving an awkward smile as he quietly stepped up to Dean, laying a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean mumbled and slurred, struggling to sit up and swaying to the side, looking up at his little brother through wide, glassy eyes.
"S'mmy," his voice held no emotion as his spoke, though there was slight confusion on his face.
"Hey, bro. It's time to go home, 'kay?" Sam spoke softly despite his brewing irritation. He was stuck in the limbo between concerned and angry – worried for his brother's health but annoyed as to why he was doing this to himself.
Dean shook his head, grinning a little, "Nuh-uh, wanna stay," he slurred, starting to topple backwards on the bar stool, caught and held in place by Sam's strong arms.
"Sorry, buddy, the bar's closing now, remember? Its 1 am," Sam continued, feeling like he was talking to a toddler. He might as well have been for all the nothing that registered on his brother's face at Sam's words. He gently prised Dean from his seat, taking most of the shorter man's weight as he slumped off the stool. Sam gave the bartender a half-grateful smile coupled with an apology, receiving a nod and a grunt in return before he turned and helped his stumbling, swaying brother out of the bar and down the street.
The pair walked slow, in silence but for the occasional breach of night time noise; a car speeding past, a small burst of laughter as a group of women tumbled out of a cab the next street over. It wasn't until a good ten minutes later that straightened slightly, opened his mouth, then closed it then opened it again. He took a deep breath in, looking puzzled as if he was struggling to form words in his head. "You jus' threw yourself away," Dean finally said, with a loud exhale, one hand lifting to gesture vaguely before it dropped, slapping against his side.
"What?" Sam didn't stop their slow progress back to the motel. Normally, he would have ignored Dean's drunken rambling but tonight, Sam needed to hear what he had to say, needed to know what it was he'd done wrong. Because he was sure that was what his brother was attempting to allude to.
"The…the hunt," Dean was struggling to verbalise his thoughts, "You…'ya just let it get you. No fightin', nothin', Sammy. Like you don' even care," the whiskey-roughed voice sounded bitter but sad, angry but scared.
Instantly, Sam knew what Dean was trying to say, what Dean had figured out – like he knew he would eventually. The taller hunter's gut clenched and rolled as he bit on his lip. It was true, he had been being less careful on their hunts lately, for a while, he was trying to convince himself it was an unconscious action, that he just wasn't what he used to be before Stanford. But Sam knew he was doing it on purpose, trying to get himself hurt, not caring if he ended up six feet under. Since that night, since Jess, he was struggling to find a reason to be careful, to stay aware. Guilt constantly wracked his brain, weighing him down and pulling him under into the depths of pain and he couldn't take it, he just couldn't find the strength to pull himself up and climb back out. Still, he shook his head at Dean's accusation, "I just…I slipped up, Dean. It was an accident," he tried to keep his voice even, feigning honest, but the syllables wavered and shook as he spoke them.
Suddenly, Dean seemed to bristle, pulling himself out of Sam's hold, stumbling backwards then to the side as he tried hard to lift his head, managing a glare full of heat and anger and hurt as he looked Sam dead in the eye, "Don't bullshit me, Sammy," his voice was a jackhammer compared to the defeated whispering it had been mere seconds earlier, "I fuckin' know you, and I know you're doing this 'cos of Jess!"
Sam could only stare in shock before his head caught up with the rest of the world, his face morphing to glare back at Dean, only a ghost of the glare his older brother was giving him. "Shut up, Dean, you don't know anything. I'm fine, okay? I'm fine," he spat out, words echoing against the brick walls around them as he stepped closer to Dean.
"Of course you're not goddamn fine, Sam," Dean spat back, fists clenching at his sides as his whole body tensed and shook with desperate rage.
"And what do you mean by that?" Sam's voice was a little softer, still holding the acerbic tone.
"Ever since Jess, since she…since that, you've been different," Dean waved a hand in vague gesturing, stumbling slightly as the movement caught him off balance.
Sam stepped closer less than a foot between him and Dean, "Don't you talk about her, Dean. Just drop it, okay? You don't know what it's like," his voice was quiet, no longer echoing but his body shook with rage or fear – which one, he couldn't figure out. Dean knew him too well, knew exactly how he was punishing himself, knew exactly why he was struggling to care.
Suddenly, a fist swung up, catching him off guard and slamming into his face. Sam stumbled back, clutching at his mouth as watery eyes looked up at his brother with shock and hurt shining in the hazel. Dean stared at Sam, at his fist, small spots of blood on his knuckles then back at Sam before his knees suddenly gave way and he dropped to the floor with a small whimper escaping his throat.
Sam rushed forward, ignoring the blood dripping from his mouth and the pain as his lip started to swell and dropped down beside his brother, taking him by the shoulders. Dean let out a sobbing breath, trying to withdraw from the younger hunter's strong grasp and press himself into the wall, knees curling up to his chest as tears started to slide down his alcohol-flushed cheeks.
"Dean, hey…Dean, it's okay," Sam soothed, a hand under his brother's chin, trying to lift his face and look at him.
Dean shook his head fervently, dizziness breaching his senses at the movement, "No!" he yelled, though it came out weak and cracked, "I…fuck, Sammy…I just. I'm so sorry," he whispered before he screwed his eyes shut, trembling taking over his form before he turned suddenly, slamming his fist with brute force into the concrete behind him, cursing loudly.
"Dean, stop!" Sam caught the other's hand as it drew back, fist preparing to strike the wall again. "Please, don't," he pleaded, pulling Dean's hand to him which was now seeping blood from the layers of skin that the wall had scraped off. Sam tried to survey the damage, seeing at least one finger broken already. Before he could look anymore, Dean broke into hitching sobs, collapsing into his brother's hold and pulling him close, tears soaking Sam's shirt.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy, I didn't…that…I didn't mean it, please," Dean rambled into Sam's shirt, "Please, I'm sorry. I just- I can't lose you, Sammy. You can't take yourself away from me, I-I need you…please you can hate me all you want, just please don't take yourself away," Dean's voice was hoarse through his tears as he trembled against Sam's body.
For a moment, Sam could only run a hand through Dean's short hair, mumbling soothing phrases and shushing him. He was shaken, completely terrified; he had no idea how much he really meant to Dean until now. He knew their bond meant something to the elder; the way their mouths melded together, the way the sex wasn't just a release of pent up need, the way Dean clung to him in his sleep – that much told him Dean cared. But he hadn't fathomed how much Sam's careless behaviour had effected Dean, had scared him. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean," he spoke softly, voice strong in absolution as he whispered into Dean's ear.
Dean looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened, "P-promise?" he questioned, voice small and scared, reminding Sam all too much of a terrified child.
"Promise," Sam returned, holding his brother's eyes with his own in a silent pact between the two. No matter what, neither of them would leave the other. No matter what.
Dean leaned up slightly, desperation in his eyes as he softly caught Sam's lips with his own, either ignoring the blood or not noticing it. Sam ignored the small bite of pain the pressure caused his swollen lip and kissed back, because he needed this too, he was as desperate for the reconnection as Dean was. Their mouths meld together just as they always had since the first time, so many years ago and a small sound of pleasure mixed with fear fell from Dean's lips as his brother's tongue slid into his mouth and explored in a way that made seem like it was the first time all over again. Dean let his brother take control, though his hand slid into Sam's long hair, fingers carding through the soft locks and gaining comfort from the action. For a while, the brothers only sat together on the ground, huddling into one another and pressing gentle kisses to one another. Dean's lips feathering over Sam's nose, his cheeks, ever so softly over his bruised lower lip. Sam's lips gentle over each of his brother's bloodied knuckles and the tips of his bruises fingers. Dean clung tight as his trembling slowly started to abate and Sam held him back, needing the reassurance himself as much as he needed to reassure Dean. The younger brother had no idea how much time passed before he shifted, moving to get to his feet which elicited a frightened whimper from Dean whose hands clung tighter to Sam's shirt, "Hey, hey, it's okay, big brother," Sam shushed him, "I'm not going anywhere, we just need to head back to the room, okay? You need some sleep."
Dean nodded; making no sound as Sam gently guided both of them to their feet, wrapping an arm round Dean's waist tighter than necessary as they slowly made their way back to the motel round the corner. Occasionally Dean would stumble and fall but Sam was always there to pick him back up again. Always would be there; for every stumble, every injury and accident, every drunken night, everything – Sam would be there, no matter what.