A/N: Thanks so so much to all who review and continue to read this story. d767468

and Adrian Nox and SemperFidelius…thanks so much for the kind words. You guys rock and roll.

Monday blues. Dean used to complain about them all the time, back when he actually bothered going to school. Back when John wasn't gone so much, when life seemed full of possibilities. When getting good grades and staying out of trouble actually mattered. Now nothing did. Hilland Falls had to be the most boring place in South Dakota, and they had been here for three weeks. John had been gone for at least two and a half of those weeks, out in the woods, hunting what he said might be a wendigo. He had promised to come and get Dean when 'the time came', but the eldest Winchester was starting to doubt that. John had always liked having his right hand man, but he preferred working alone.

"Not good enough," Dean muttered, tossing an empty beer bottle into the nearest trash bin. He was walking along Grant Avenue, more of a meandering stroll than anything. A drunk meandering stroll. "Never freaking good enough."

Something about the alcohol made him feel worthless and hollow, after the pleasant buzz had worn off. Dean thought about the tequila and cheap beer that his father drank in truck stops and roadside bars, and wondered if when John felt empty and hollow like this, he thought about Mary. Dean tended to ruminate on whichever girl had broken his heart-or vice versus-recently. Right now it was Molly, a stunning redhead who had-though she had insisted otherwise-been dating several boys at once, including Dean. When they had 'consummated' their relationship in the back of her father's Toyota, Dean had been left with what could only be described as lovesick feelings for her. An angry and awkward confrontation with Molly's current boyfriend, a hulking linebacker for the local high school football team, had ended that. He was 16 and far from a virgin, but he wished he hadn't slept with her. It made everything so…intimate.

At least John had left behind a fake ID, unwittingly enabling his son to buy as many bottles of beer as the occasion called for. Usually, he was hooking up a couple of hot girls with a bottle of cheap vodka, but this was different.

Dean stopped on the bridge over Hilland River, watching the coursing water rush past a dozen feet below. He was taking a pull at his third beer when someone came up behind him.

"Dean?" The voice was incredulous and familiar. Dean jumped about a foot.

"Sammy? Is that you?"

His younger brother edged around to his side and stared at him.

"Dean, what are you doing? It's almost midnight?"

Dean chuckled and took a long gulp of beer. The alcohol burned a fiery trail down to his stomach.

"Are you drunk?" Sam's voice rose an octave in outrage and shock. He had never seen his brother intoxicated before, although it wasn't Dean's first round with Budweiser.

"Mostly," Dean replied. Sam snatched the beer bottle from hand and hurled it into the river.

"Hey!" Dean shouted. "What the Hell was that for?"

Sam glared at his older brother. He was so scrawny, for a twelve-year-old, Dean thought.

"I didn't know you even drank!"

And so naïve, Dean added silently.

"Everyone drinks, Sam. Dad does it."

Sam look distressed.

"Dad's not sixteen. This is illegal."

Dean shook his head and laughed at Sam's stammered protests.

"Right, Sammy, because I should really listen to you."

Sam face Dean with a stubborn expression plastered to his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean, you should listen to me." His voice softened. "Come on, Dean. Please, just put the bottle down."

It was kind of pathetic, Dean thought, being piss-drunk on the side of the road, being scolded by a skinny eighth grader. Even through his alcohol-induced haze, he saw that what he was doing was a bad example for Sam. What if his brother thought that being drunk was okay, just because Dean did it?

"Okay, Sammy," Dean surrendered. "Let's go home."

They started off down the street, Dean stumbling a little where the ground was uneven.

"Shit." He muttered, tripping over a branch. Silently, Sam looped his arm around his brother's shoulders and they continued on like that down the two-lane road.