AN: Well, no real warnings for this chapter but a bit of angst, and a very drunk conversation. Enjoy!

*** HALF AN HOUR LATER ***

Five stumbles, thirteen bitchfaces, seventeen smartass comments, three punches, one well-aimed kick, and approximately 25 unique cuss words (8 of which Sam was nearly sure Dean had just made up) later, Sam and Dean were settled on the couch in the living room. Sam had two ice packs; one for his crotch (Dean was good at aiming kicks, though Sam may have dropped him first), and one for his cheek (Dean got angry when Sam tried to kiss his booboo better- he was only joking… but still). Dean had three- one for the back of his head where he had knocked himself out when he had fallen, one for his knuckles where they had connected with Sam's cheekbone, and one for his stomach where Sam had punched him after Dean had called him a moose. Each held a bottle of beer as they tried to balance the icepacks, and was enduring a glare from Bobby.

Dean had already recounted what he had seen five times, but none of them could make sense of it. The big dog, consisting of only smoke and terror, had been right in front of him. It had been half his size, if not bigger, and if it had been standing on its hind legs it would've been even taller than the moose over there. Dean… he had never seen something that terrifying, and the eyes… they had been black, like a demons, but not the flat black of a possessed human. They had been pulsing, trapped souls pounding to escape an inevitable fate of torture in hell for eternity.

Bobby sat silently across from them. He looked between them with a look that clearly said what the hell is up between you two?

"Never really got to say hello, Bobby." Dean smiled slightly, trying to ease the tension. "Figured we would swing by, since we were in the area."

"You two always have favored dramatic entrances, haven't you?" Bobby took a sip of his own beer before looking between them and blinking slowly. "What really brought you boys?"

"Bobby, you know Dean made a deal. We're trying to find a loophole, a way for him to get out of it." Sam winced at the sting of talking with a bruised cheek- and shot a pure, level 11, for heaven's sake, bitchface at Dean.

"Sorry 'bout that man." Dean had the decency to look a bit ashamed of himself. Just a bit though. He shifted in his seat, repositioning the ice pack on the back of his head. "And you mean you're looking for a way out. I've told you I don't want to risk your life for mine. Dad told me to take care of you, and I intend to, Sam."

"Yeah, well I intend to find a way out. You're not gonna do me any good dead." Sam turned away and took a mouthful of alcohol. "That is, if we don't end up killing each other first."

"Let's get y'two separated for a bit. You two're bickerin' like an old married couple again." Bobby scrunched his eyebrows together and gestured for Sam to follow him to the study. "C'mon, Sam, I got some books on hellhounds over here you might be interested in."

They wandered over to the bookshelf and left Dean to ponder his thoughts. His stomach was feeling better, as was his fist- though he was gonna have a bitch of a headache in a few minutes. Better drink more beer so he could pretend it was a hangover in the morning- he had already decided they were staying the night. He was in no condition to drive, and with Sam on his second beer of the hour, he wouldn't be soon either. Sam was deep in conversation with Bobby; his ice packs lay forgotten on the table. Dean was glad to see he was feeling better. He took another swig of beer. This was gonna be a long night.

Sam ended up surrounded by books as he read about the hellhounds. There wasn't much information about appearance there- most people who saw them didn't live long enough afterwards to provide a decent description, after all. But there was information about what happened in regards to deals, how the hounds would find you, all useful but not exactly new. One fact was new though- the person who had made the deal would occasionally begin hallucinating the hound was after them before it came. Among other things. He shuddered at the things Dean might… see. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that was what had happened to Dean. Sam thought that the 'sight' of a hellhound would be enough to terrify anyone- though how Dean would know what one looked like he had no idea. Perhaps the hallucinations were based on the person's perception of what the hound would look like… that would make sense.

He became so absorbed in his books he didn't notice the words blurring before his eyes until he was finished his fourth beer. Dean looked like he was in a similar state, relaxing on the sofa. The ice packs were all on the table now, forgotten in the small crowd of bottles on the table. Dean got up and stumbled slightly, catching himself before stumbling over and flopping into the chair next to Sam. The chair wobbled to the side slightly from Dean's off-balance landing, but thankfully it stayed upright. It would serve the jerk right if it did dump him on the floor though…

"Sam… You gotta help me man."

"With what?" Dean was staring at him, his eyes half closed. He seemed to be trying to think through the alcohol-induced haze. "Dean?"

"That hound was… was what is coming for me. Maybe we can stop it. Maybe we can't. But… you gotta promise me."

"Dean, you're drunk. You're not making any sense." Sam looked up from book in front of him, focusing instead on making sense of Dean's drunk rambling.

"You gotta promise me Sammy. I got hell covered. They can himme with their best shot. But you got a life ahead of you. Go find a girl. Get back to that college shit you wanted so much."

"You're asking me to… move on after you… die?" Sam wasn't sure he was following whatever messed up logic Dean was using.

"Not move on, kid. I'm telling you to forget about me. Don't keep my memory and all that shit around. It'll only hold you back, Sammy." His speech was slurred- Sam had to listen closely to what he was saying in order to hear any of it.

"Dean, I'm not gonna just forget you existed. Life doesn't work like that."

"Yes, you are." Dean banged his fist down on the table. "I'll take whatever shit they do to me down there if I know you're happy up here. I'm giving you my life Sammy- giving up my life to give you a second chance at yours. Don't fuck it up trying to remember me." Damn, Dean must have been wasted. Sammy glanced back at the pile of bottles on the table. There had to be at least 25.

"I'm gonna come after you, get you out of there Dean. Even if we can't find a way out of the deal, there's nothing saying you have to stay dead in order for me to be alive."

"No. Don't take on hell on your own, lil' moose. That's suicide, and we'd both be stuck down there."

"Dean… I don't know if I want to be up here while you're down there. We're brothers. We stick together. I think it'd be better to be together down there than alone up here." Sam had closed the book he had been reading- the words didn't make any sense to him anymore, and somehow he felt that Dean's drunken state was allowing him to open up. Sam wasn't about to lose the chance to talk like this.

"Once I'm down there, I... I'm not gonna be me anymore. Hell… Dad said to me once that hell changes a person, no matter how good they were."

"But together-"

"Don't you get it Sam? There wouldn't be no together. They would either keep us apart for all eternity, or force us to… hurt each other." Dean had started out shouting, trying to get his nonsensical point across- of course Sam would come after him, he couldn't see it any other way. But Dean's voice fell quiet, as though he had to say it, but didn't really want Sammy to hear it. "After a while down there, I'm pretty damn sure you would do anything to find a moment without whatever they do to you… even if it means torturing your own brother."

"Dean, I trust you. I know you wouldn't-"

"Sammy… I don't think I can take that chance. I won't be me. You wouldn't be you. And the worst is, even if you tortured me, I would tell you to keep going, hurt me more… because you wouldn't be getting' hurt while you were torturing me."

"I would never-"

"I would, Sammy! This's hell we're talking about! They have experience turning people against each other… in the end, nothing would be different about us, except that hell has one hell of a grudge against us!"

"I don't think it would be worth it up here without you. Saving people, hunting things… I don't think I could carry on the family business without you."

"I'm giving you an out, Sammy. An escape." Dean swayed slightly in his seat, grabbing the edge of the table to stay upright. He gave the floor a dirty look, before refocusing on his words. "I don't want you to hunt when I'm gone- not if you don't want to. Leave the hunting life- go back to law school, start a family, all that shit I kept you from. Just… forget me, Sam. It will be better that way. Better for both of us."

"Dean, you're drunk. You need to sleep. Come on." Sam stood; not quite realizing how much he had drank until the room started tilting around. "Shit… C'mon Dean. Let's go."

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and draped it over his own shoulders, lifting him up to his feet and helping him towards the bedroom Bobby had cleared the bed off in. Dean tripped and fell to the floor though- it had been ages since Sam had seen Dean too wasted to even stand up. Sighing, Sam braced himself against the wall and lifted Dean up in his arms, bridal style, and managed to get the two of them into the bedroom. It wasn't the first time they had shared a bed, so Sam didn't really think anything of it. He dropped Dean onto the bed as gently as he could, before climbing on top of the blanket as well. Neither of them took long to get to sleep.

AN: Hoping to post more soon. As usual, comments make my day, and generally encourage me to write faster and ignore the real world more!