A/N: Wow, first of all, let me thank you for your support. You really gave me the motivation to keep going, so here I am, updating. This is a longer, hopefully more enjoyable chapter. Drunk Sam is so much easier to write than normal Sam :)

Enjoy, and keep me motivated...

Chapter Two

"Here," Dean said, handing Sam a towel wrapped around a few ice cubes. Sam thanked him, putting the iced towel on his forehead and groaning. "That bad, huh?" Dean asked, sitting on the bed next to Sam. Sam didn't answer. The migraine was terrible. "So what'd you see this time?" Dean asked, his voice booming and hollow and twisted through the pounding in Sam's head. Sam still didn't answer, fearing that talking might be the thing that would finally make his head explode. It took ten more minutes for the pain to recede enough to allow Sam to sit straight and be able to answer his brother's question.

"Same vision as before. Still here, somewhere. But I don't think it's the Demon." Sam said, still squinting his eyes.

"It's not?" Dean asked, not sounding too surprised.

"No. Dad said he found a lead on the thing. In Oregon. He's after it." Sam said, risking opening his eyes to see his brother's reaction. Unfortunately, Dean had his back turned to him. Sam closed his eyes again and rested his head against the pillow.

"So, if it's not the Demon, what is it?" Dean asked a moment later.

"I don't know," Sam said, and forced himself up. "Dean, what are we going to do? I mean, if dad thinks he picked up a trail, we need to head up there, help him. But on the other hand, I can't just pretend these visions don't mean anything… Something's happening here, something we need to stop." He said, feeling torn. His visions have been off lately, but could he really take a chance?

"Then we stay." Dean said, sensing his kid brother's hesitation. "We're already here, might as well make sure the coast is clear." He said, sorting through his laundry.

"Yeah, but what about dad?" Sam insisted.

"Dad's a big boy, Sam. He can take care of himself." Dean said, not making eye contact.

"Yes, I know, but we have the Colt." Sam said. At that, Dean glanced at him, giving him a meaningful look. Sam shook his head slightly, not really understanding. Dean let out a sigh.

"Dad's got the Colt, Sam." He explained.

"What? But I thought… We were going after it, you said you had the gun!" Sam accused, a little confused.

"Yeah, well, I lied." Dean said dryly, looking away. "Sue me." And just as Sam was about to say something, Dean smirked. "Not gonna be that easy though, I am dead, remember?" he said, looking so smug Sam tossed a pillow at him, but Dean quickly blocked it. Sam was about to argue, he was more than just irritated by the fact that no one seemed to believe him anymore. They were just trying to humor him. Well, that's not going to fly. What if it really were the Demon? How could they have killed it if their dad had the Colt? Was Sam supposed to just sit there and watch a rerun of what had happened back at the cabin, watch his brother die because their father had had other priorities? But just as he was about to actually say something, Dean shouldered his duffle. "I'm gonna go wash these. I've got nothing clean to wear. Want me to get you something on my way back?" Dean asked, already at the door. Sam looked exasperatedly at him. Dean shrugged, and left.

Sam tried bringing the subject up a few times, but hey, it was Dean Winchester he was talking to – master of subject changing and avoidance. It was so annoying. Sam had spent an hour rehearsing the conversation in his head, thinking of every possible way to deflect his brother's tries to change the subject. He was pretty sure that finally, they'll talk about what needed to be talked. If Dean wouldn't talk about his health or his obvious issues, he would damn well talk about why he lied and told Sam he had had the Colt. This wasn't a game, they all knew that much. The hunt meant volumes to his brother, no way would he mess around. No, Sam was finally going to get the answers he wants. One way or the other.

It only took two minutes for Dean to change the subject though, distracting Sam so much it took him well over an hour to remember what he really wanted to talk about. Damn, Sam thought, I wouldn't want to go up against Dean in court. He'd get the devil himself a not guilty verdict if it meant avoiding any real, personal issues.

A week had passed since they arrived Texas, and Dean was growing bored. Their father had gotten to Oregon too late. Sam knew for sure, because otherwise, his old man would have called by now. He didn't answer Sam's calls, and truthfully, Sam couldn't tell if he were worried or relieved. If his father had gotten there too late, he would probably be royally pissed. They had a chance to end it, and Sam didn't take it. He knew. Every kid that Demon touched now, every family it destroyed was on Sam's head. Sam could have stopped it, and he didn't. Somewhere deep down, he began to wonder if he had made the right choice. He tried talking to Dean about that, too. That was a mistake. The look Dean gave him… it would forever be etched in Sam's memory, along with his brother's words. "You could really do that? You could really kill dad? You really don't care about our family, do you?"

Sam sometimes wished he didn't. It would have made it all so much easier – getting away, staying away, not having to watch his brother getting hurt over and over again trying to protect him. Sam wasn't so sure he deserved it anymore. All those kids, all those families, their own family… It was all his fault.

Three more days have passed, and Dean had had enough. He packed their things, loading them onto the car. And then Sam had had another vision. It started to feel like someone or something was trying to keep them there for some reason. And now even Sam was getting apprehensive about it. Dean seemed downright shocked when Sam told him he wanted to go to a bar and get thoroughly drunk. Sam couldn't really blame his brother, though. He couldn't remember the last time he got drunk, but tonight he really needed it. He had to get away for a while, to escape his own mind, the overwhelming guilt. To tell the truth, he had hoped to get Dean drunk too, and that way he might talk. Just maybe. Even if neither of them would remember it in the morning.

The bar was noisy and busy, but thank goodness, not all that smoke filled. Sam made his way to a small table at the back, Dean following more slowly, taking in every detail of the place. Sam shook his head. His brother, always on guard. But lately, Dean has been on guard from him and dad, too. Sam hated to see Dean withdrawing like that, building up even more walls.

"Okay," Sam said, glancing around, "Where shell we start?" Dean was still looking around, his eyes locking on the pool table.

"There's a pool table." He noted, "I bet I could score us some money to pay for the motel. Could use it, too." He said and started to get up but Sam stopped him. He didn't come here to get drunk on his own, he wanted to spend time with his older brother. He still couldn't believe how much he had learnt about his brother ever since Dean had come to take him from Stanford a year and a half ago. And it was obvious he had barely scratched the surface. Now, as an adult, he had new appreciation of his older brother. Now he saw things differently than he did as a teenager.

"Come on, man, we just got here." Sam said. Dean hesitated for a moment, but then sat back down.

"Okay." He said simply.

"So, where should we start?" Sam asked, and Dean looked questioningly at him. "Well you're the expert. I usually stick with beer." Sam reminded him. A small smile crossed Dean's lips.

"Three beers and you're passed out, little brother." He said. Sam made a face.

"Yeah, well, even if it were true, which it isn't, I want something stronger." He said. Dean stared at him a moment.

"Feeling the urge to bow to the toilet god tonight?" Dean asked, looking intently at Sam.

"Something like that." Sam shrugged. "Come on, what should we start with?"

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked, leaning back in his seat and giving Sam a scrutinizing look.

"What? I just want to get drunk. Can't a guy get drunk every now and then?" he asked. Dean kept staring at him.

"Cristo." He said. Sam rolled his eyes, punching Dean in the shoulder.

"Jerk."

"Well, what do you want me to think, Sammy? You never drink!" Dean said quickly, crossing his arms across his chest, and then changing his mind and lowering them to his gut. Sam stared at him for a moment, and then gave a slight nod.

"Yeah, you're right." He said. "I just… For one night, can't we just get totally drunk and pretend there's nothing going on? That we're just a couple of guys with nothing to do but drink?" he asked. Dean kept staring at him for a long moment, and then slipped out of the chair and headed for the bar, only to come back a couple of minutes later balancing a large glass of beer and a couple of whiskey shooters. "Hey, I told you I didn't want beer." Sam said, reaching for the large glass and yelped when Dean slapped his hand.

"I know. The beer's for me. I got you the shooters. My guess is these two will knock you out and then I could go get my money." Sam shook his head, but couldn't help the grin that crept onto his lips. He downed the first shooter, grimacing at the taste and shaking his head. "So, what's going on, Sam?" Dean asked, and Sam noticed he hadn't started his beer yet. Usually half the glass would be empty by the time he got to the table.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, pretending he didn't know. Dean just stared at him. "What?" Sam asked. He wasn't going to make it easy. Dean wasn't the only one who knew how to clam up. Dean let out a little breath, taking the tiniest sip from his beer.

"What's with the drinking all of a sudden?" Dean asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Sam said, and for a moment he suddenly wasn't sure he really wanted to talk. He downed the second shooter. The taste didn't get any better the second time around. "Why aren't you drinking?" Sam asked all of a sudden, noticing Dean was just sitting there, nestling the still full beer glass and staring at him.

"I'm drinking." Dean said indignantly and took another tiny sip. Sam narrowed his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Sam demanded.

"Well, my little brother started drinking all of a sudden. Kindo' takes time to get used to that, you know? I mean, what's next, you're gonna pick some chick up?" Dean smirked, and Sam tried to read between the lines. He failed, and motioned the bartender for another shot. "Seriously, Sammy, what's with the drinks? Are the nightmares really that bad?" Dean asked.

"What? No." Sam shook his head. "I haven't had a nightmare all week." He said.

"Then what is it?" Dean insisted.

"You tell me, and I'll tell you." Sam said, grinning triumphantly, thinking it was the smartest thing he'd ever said.

"What are you, five?" Dean asked completely inappropriately, in Sam's opinion.

"Oh, come on, Dean. I know you're pushing thirty, grandpa, but there's no reason to act like you're sixty." Sam grinned and started to chuckle. Dean raised a brow.

"You're totally wasted, aren't you?" he asked. Sam snorted and Dean smirked, shaking his head. "You're so easy." He muttered. "Hey Sam?" Sam raised his eyes from the empty glass of the third shooter to look at Dean. "Why are you drinking so much tonight?"

"Because if I drink a lot, you'll get drunk and then you'll tell me what's wrong with you." Sam said, finding no flaw to that logic. Dean sighed, pushing his still full glass of beer aside.

"There's nothing wrong with me Sam." He said.

"Is too!" Sam insisted.

"No, Sam, there isn't." he said just as a waitress came over with the glass of beer Sam ordered. And then he leaned forward. "But, you know, now that we had these drinks, I think there is something wrong with you." He said, appealing to his brother's brilliant drunken logic, looking intently at Sam, who nodded enthusiastically.

"You bet!" he grinned. "See? I knew it! All I needed to do was get you d-drunk!"

"That's it, kiddo, I'm cutting you off." Dean said quickly, taking the glass Sam was holding before Sam had the chance to drop it.

"But I'm not drunk yet! You won't talk if I'm not totally drunk!" Sam insisted.

"You are so going to hate yourself tomorrow." Dean shook his head. "And just so you know, whatever you're gonna do tonight, I'm so taking pictures."

"Why aren't you drinking?" Sam asked, eyeing Dean carefully.

"Sure I am, buddy." Dean said, motioning at the empty glasses on the small table.

"Oh." Sam said, "Good. You drunk yet?"

"I'm gonna get you something to eat." Dean said, and was about to leave when Sam had a sudden moment of clarity and caught his elbow.

"Wait, I drank those, didn't you?" he slurred. "Wait, I meant… you…" he shook his head, "You didn't drink. Why?" he said, deciding small words were the best choice at the moment.

"Sure I did, I'm just not a little girl like you." Dean grinned, but Sam stopped him again.

"You're hiding something." He said seriously.

"Yeah, well, so are you." Dean said. Sam nodded absent mindedly.

"True." He admitted and started to giggle. At that, Dean rolled his eyes and left to get his little brother something to eat.

Sam seemed to find the way the ketchup spilled on his jeans very interesting. Now that Dean had gone off to play some pool, Sam ordered two more drinks and drank them both one after the other, making sure his big brother wasn't watching. This evening was turning to be so much more fun than he thought it would be. There was supposed to be something serious going on tonight, but he couldn't imagine what could be so serious about fries. Especially curly fries. They were just funny.

And then he saw her. She just entered the bar, wearing a red shirt with a matching red skirt, her long dark hair draping her shoulders, and Sam couldn't keep from gawking at her. Definitely his type. And why was it so hot in here all of a sudden? Her eyes looked around the bar and met Sam's. She flashed him a smile and he could tell there was more alcohol in his brain than blood. He grinned back, but she already looked away, going to sit at the bar. Sam thought about going to sit next to her. Unfortunately, his legs thought otherwise, and he nearly crashed to the floor. Someone helped him back to his seat, and a fleeting thought surfaced, telling him that he might need some coffee. Or beer. Yeah, beer sounded better. Sam glanced sideways, making sure Dean wasn't there first. Dean always cramped his style. There was no way a person could be so smug, so cocky, so arrogant, so obnoxious, and still score so many women. Sam had long suspected some sort of deal with the devil and a trading of souls.

This time he managed to actually make it all the way to the bar, sitting next to the dark haired lady in red. He tried to introduced himself, say something extremely fun and brilliant and show her those deadly dimples of his. What he actually said was "Wanna drink some?", and even that was slurred. She laughed and gently declined. No matter. He was drunk. And cute. He could do anything. So he tried to impress her by eating a peanut and nearly choking. Smooth, Sammy, real smooth. Well, at least it got her attention. And another one of those smiles. Man, she sure had a smile on her. And breasts. Definitely breasts. Did he mention she was his type? And wasn't it Dean who told him to pick up a chick? It was an order, wasn't it? So he needed to pick up a chick. And look, there was one right there. What a coincidence. She laughed with him. Or was it at him? Nah, with him. So he'd better start laughing too. The woman shook her head, amused.

"Please tell me you have a ride home." She said. Sam nodded, grinning.

"Nice car, too." He said.

"You're not driving, right?" she arched her brow.

"Why? You wanna watch me?" Sam asked. Oh, he was so smooth. He totally had her now.

"I think you'd better stop drinking now." She laughed.

"I'm not drinking." Sam said, pointing at the absence of glasses before him. "You're pretty." He said. Yep, Dean would be proud.

"You know what, I think I'd better call you a cab. Where d'you live?" she asked, taking out her cell phone. Oh, was that a trick question? Sam frowned, thinking.

"Um... Around?" he tried. She laughed. Mission accomplished. Wait, what was the mission again?

"Are you here with someone?" she tried.

"Well, you're here." Sam smirked. Damned straight, Dean would be so proud. Hell, he should be taking lessons from Sam.

"Right." She laughed, looking at the bartender. "Come on, I'll wait outside with you until that cab shows up." She said, supporting him to his feet and helped him outside.

"Hey, it's cold out here!" Sam noted enthusiastically. It was actually snowing, but if she didn't bring it up, he'll just save it for later. See if he could surprise her. The woman helped him to a nearby car. That was strange. That cab was really fast. And blue. Cabs weren't usually blue were they? "Hey, why didn't you say you have a cab?" Sam asked clumsily as she helped him to the passenger seat and then walked around and sat in the driver's seat, rolling down Sam's window a little bit.

"Just tell me if you feel like throwing up, okay?" she asked as she started the car. "'Cause I'm so not cleaning it up." Sam nodded, grinning, feeling really good with himself. They got to the motel in no time, and the woman stepped out of the car, helping the stumbling Sam out. Sam looked around him.

"Hey, you live here, too? What a coincidence." He stuttered, and nearly fell, chuckling. The woman gripped his arm, steadying him, and helped him to his room.

"You got the keys?" she asked. Sam blinked at her. Why would he have the keys? It was her apartment, wasn't it? Seeing as she wasn't going to get an answer, the woman reached for her purse, taking something out. "Just wait here, would you?" she asked, resting him against the wall. Sam lifted both hands, giving her the thumbs up. It was kindo' funny how everything was swerving around like that. The woman glanced at him, rolling her eyes as Sam studied his thumbs, and quickly picked the lock on the door, pushing Sam inside. "You okay there, Sammy boy?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm better than Sammy boy okay." Sam grinned cheerfully, winking at her.

"Where's the Colt, Sam?" she demanded. Sam shrugged.

"Don't know." He said, "It was supposed to be here. But it's not. Dean lied." He added simply, and nearly missed the bed as he tried to sit on in, slipping down onto the floor.

"You sure? The Colt's not here? I will be so happy if you gave it to me." The woman tried again, searching the room quickly.

"Nope. Not here." Sam said, slumping on the bed. "They don't believe me anymore. Stupid visions don't work, so I don't get the gun. See?" he said and sighed. The bed felt good. The woman looked at him for a long moment, and then took a pen out of her purse. She took Sam's arm and started writing on it, rolling her eyes again as Sam giggled, telling her it tickled.

"This is my number, Sammy. You call me, okay?"

"You bet!" Sam said, giving her another thumbs up. And then he passed out.

TBC

A/A/N: Isn't drunk Sam a much more fun Sam?