Chapter 9

Dean awoke slowly; enjoying the softness of the mattress beneath him. Letting his arms slide over the cool sheets he stretched languidly; damn his body was sore! Thinking

of the blonde from the night before he grinned; he had definitely overworked a few muscles last night. Last night…that meant that this was day two. Only five more days left.

Suddenly energized, he rolled out of bed and hurried to the shower. He had places to go and things to do. Water beat down on his back, the heat sinking deep and loosening

muscles. The shampoo had been expensive but it produced a thick lather as he scrubbed it through his hair. What the hell, it wasn't like he needed to save for the future or

anything; he didn't have one. Closing his eyes he rinsed the suds away, shut off the water and reached for the towel.

He didn't take as much time getting dressed as he did last night, he didn't have anyone to impress; today was all about him. His body was relaxed, his dick was sated, and he

had a list; a bucket list of sorts. He laughed ruefully, who woulda thought he'd ever have one of those?

Sitting at the small table by the window, he took a moment to stare out at the nearly empty hotel parking lot at his baby; sitting alone it was a square of black beauty

gleaming brightly in a sea of dull grey concrete. Giving his faithful lady a quick smile, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Unfolding the single sheet of notebook

paper, he smoothed it out across the flat table top and read the list again.

1. Get laid. A LOT!

2. Burger joint in Pontiac.

3. Mountain to watch stars

4. Write letters to Castiel and Sam.

5. Go home.

Reaching out, he picked up the pen and slowly, carefully drew a single line through the first item.

Shoving the paper back into his pocket, he dropped the room key on the desk for the maid to find, shouldered his bag and headed out.

One down, four to go.

His head hurt….his bed was too hard….and he was cold!

Ignoring the nausea that filled his stomach and the drummer that was trying to break out of his skull, Sam forced his eyes open.

What the…jerking his head up, he froze, eyes closing at the vise of pain that gripped him.

Ow shit shit…okay, moving = bad idea.

Swallowing the vomit that suddenly burned his throat, he kept himself perfectly still as he once again opened his eyes.

He was on the floor, in the bunker. All right…so he knew where he was (bunker) and what he was doing (lying on the floor) …so far so good, everything was okay.

Wait, WTF? Why was he lying on the floor?

Moving his eyes around the room, he spotted the empty whiskey bottle on the table…oh yeah.

Rolling slightly he forced himself into a sitting position, groaning at the agony that came with movement, why had he drank so much? Taking several deep breathes he finally

managed to get to his feet without puking and started shuffling towards the bathroom.

It felt like it was the first time he had peed in a week and was he immeasurably grateful he hadn't ended up pissing his pants last night, Dean would've never let him live that

down.

Dean wasn't here.

He swallowed at the thought and viciously turned on the cold water tap, ignoring the stab in his chest; he didn't care damn it, he didn't!

He groaned in pleasure as the cool water splashed over his face, washing away sweat and grit and probably dried drool too. Dean always said he was a sloppy drunk.

Turning off the water, he slammed his mind closed on thoughts of his brother and grabbed a towel to dry off; he moved too fast. Spinning around, he dropped to his knees

just in time, holding on tightly to the edge of the toilet as what felt like the entire bottle of whiskey and half of his stomach lining came spewing out of his mouth. Throat

burning, eyes watering he finally quit heaving and shakily reached out to flush the toilet. Leaning his forehead head against the cold porcelain, he closed his eyes.

Hangovers were such a bitch!

Wind rushed in the open window, warm as it fanned over his face and through his hair. Eyes squinted slightly against the sun, Dean sprawled back in the driver's seat, body

lose and relaxed as the impala ate up the miles. He had been driving for hours, crossing freeways and highways beneath a heaven of cloudless blue, and now Pontiac was

less than a hundred miles away. Warmth spread through his soul and he tipped his head back, laughing out loud; God it was a great day to be alive! Hey wait, weren't those

the words to some song or shit? His brow furrowed in concentration before abruptly clearing; oh yeah, it was some caterwauling country song Sammy had fallen in love with

a couple years back. He remembered now….

He was going to die and not by some rabid werewolf or blood sucking vetala either; he wasn't that lucky. No Dean's death was going to come from his own hands, because he s
wore to God, if Sammy played that song one more time, he was going to stop the car, pull the keys from the ignition, and use them to stab himself to death! He was a

strong man, but a person can only take so much torture. His head throbbed as Sammy threw back his head and sang along with the song playing, yet again, on his I-pod;

"And it's a great day to be alive, I know the suns still shining when I close my eyes!"

Dean clenched his jaw…his jackass of a brother sang like shit…he also sang loud.

"There's some hard times in the neighborhood, but why can't everyday be just this good"

The fucking song lied, it was not a good day! If only Sam would shut up! Please, please let him shut up! But no, Sammy just sat there in the passenger seat, big shit eating

grin plastered on his face, and took a deep breath, ready to belt out another verse. Dean swerved off the road and slammed on his brakes.

"Dean? What's wro…" Sammy's voice died as Dean slowly turned and gave him the death glare.

"Listen Willie Nelson, if you play that song one more time, not only will I put Nair in your shampoo again, but I will also program your computer to play Britney Spears every

time you log on, got it?"

Sam swallowed and shut off his I-pod before giving Dean his bitch face. Without a word, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, pouting. After a moment of blessed

silence, he steered the car back onto the road and resumed the long drive.

Now it was a good day!

The warmth slowly drained from his chest at the memory; the day was beautiful but quiet. What a difference time makes. He would give just about anything to have Sammy

here right now, riding beside him, singing in his extremely loud and off-key voice. Smiling and singing along to his obnoxious fucking music.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. All joy in the drive had vanished; it was too quiet.

The four aspirin he swallowed didn't work, the dry toast he forced himself to eat didn't work, and the bag of frozen tater-tots he plastered to his face didn't work. Sam's head

still throbbed viciously, only now the pain was accompanied by a queasy stomach and constant shivers. Moaning quietly, he curled up on his bed in misery. He could feel the

light from the lamp burning into his closed lids…why hadn't he turned it off? Oh yeah…because the switch was by the door and the door was like five miles away! He

reached out blindly, sighing with relief when he found his pillow and laid it over his head; ahhh, blessed darkness!

He couldn't sleep through the pain; even his eyelashes hurt, but when he stayed really still the nausea didn't choke him; he stayed still. After a while the pain lessened and

he felt his mind start to drift….the last time his head had hurt this bad was back in ninth grade when the senior quarterback had thought that pushing Sam down the stairs

was hilarious; he had not been laughing the next day. A smile curled Sam's lips as he remembered…

"Where is he?" Even through the closed door Sam could hear the anger in his brother's voice and the tension eased out of his body at the sound; everything would be okay

now, Dean was here. A second later the door crashed open as his brother stormed onto the room, all but mowing down the poor secretary trying to stop him.

"Hey, you can't go in there…" her eyes widened comically when Dean spun around and slammed the door in her face, leaving the non-pulsed nurse speechless.

"Hey Dean" he greeted tiredly, staying laid down on the nurses table; he hurt too bad to sit up. Dean didn't say a word, just stood there staring, taking in the bruises and

lacerations that marked his face and bare chest. The air thickened, became ice cold and heavy, as rage swelled up through his brothers body and crashed out of his eyes;

drowning the small room in a tidal wave of silent fury.

"Who did it?" Even Dean's voice was angry; the tone low and deadly, sending a shiver through the quiet nurse. Sam closed his eyes and sighed

"It doesn't matter man, its over. I just want to go home" a sharp stab of pain shot through his side when he tried to sit up and Dean was there in an instant; sliding an arm

around his shoulders and lifting him into a sitting position. The ride had been a nightmare, every tiny bump in the road causing fresh spikes of pain and Dean trying hard not

to hurt him; he drove so slowly the old woman whose head was barely taller than the steering wheel flipped him the bird as she was passing them. By the time they got back

to the hotel Sam was ready to strangle him. After his brother wrapped up his ribs he was parked on the bed and watched like a hawk.

For the next three days all meals were brought to him, the remote was placed in his hand, and his books were set within reach on the nightstand; he was allowed to pee on

his own though and Sam was eternally grateful for that privilege. When Dean was in protective mode he wasn't exactly rational. By the fourth day he had finally convinced his

brother to let him return to school; he should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Not only did Dean pay some chick to carry his backpack for him until his ribs healed; he

paid an

annoying chick. Some girl named Becky who couldn't seem to quit touching him. She had a mouth full of braces, a squeaky voice, and she never shut up. He was a

little afraid of her and tried to hide, but she was like a freaking blood hound, every time he turned around she was there-running her creepy hands up his chest or over his

arms. By the time lunch rolled around, he was thoroughly sick to his stomach and wanted nothing more than to go home and shower in bleach.

Creepy stalker-girl in tow, he headed to the cafeteria, visions of murder strong in his mind. Entering the large room his eyes instantly found his brother; Dean had his arm

slung around the shoulder of a certain senior quarterback, the two looking like the best of friends as they walked to the exit. Oh shit…this was so not good! Breaking away

from the hands that were busy feeling him up, he ran to the exit; bursting outside in time to see the pair disappearing around the corner, heading towards the parking lot. He

caught up with them as they came to a halt beside the impala. Taking in the hardness of his brothers' jaw and the paleness of the football player's face, he stayed silent;

watching as Dean finally let go of the pressure point in the kids shoulder so he could unlock and open the car doors. The day was warm, clear, and a light sheen of sweat

coated his face as he slid into the back seat and closed the door. The bully's breathing was harsh, then harsher when Dean got in to the driver's seat; the small space filled

with the acrid sound of his fear. Sam almost felt sorry for the kid.

Saying nothing, he watched as his brother reached back and casually pulled out his hunting knife, holding it up in the light. Jock boy let out a girly little squeak, and lurched

back in his seat, eyes glued to the weapon. Dean kept his gaze on the cold steel as he spoke quietly…

"Sammy's my brother and it's my job to look out for him" twirling it until the sun winked off the blade, he waited a second and then set in on the dash. Reaching across, he

opened the glove box and pulled out his Beretta. Before the kid could blink, the barrel was pressed to his temple as arctic green eyes bored into him…

"And I'm very good at my job." Sam shivered at the deadly promise in Dean's voice. The sound of a bladder releasing was loud within the confines of the car as the sharp

stink of urine filled the space; his brother didn't even blink.

"Are we going to have to talk about this again?"

The kid shook his head so fast he almost gave himself whiplash and Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"If you or any of your buddies ever touch my brother again, I will come back, but not to talk. Understand?" at the boys frantic nod, Dean leaned over and opened the door,

shoving the stinking, sniveling quarterback out onto the concrete. The kid rolled to his feet and took off running, diving into his car and roaring out of the parking lot. Sam's

brow arched in amusement,

"I'm very good at my job? Really Dean?"

His brother threw him a grin as he put the gun back in the glove box.

"Told you I'd take care of you Sammy, I promised." Sam just smiled as he stared at the blonde before him; he was so damn lucky to have Dean as a brother.

Laughing green eyes suddenly met his "But you're cleaning that up!" as he pointed at the wet seat.

His smile vanished and he opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was already gone; strolling across the lot, whistling as he headed back to the cafeteria. With a grimace of

disgust he headed got out of the car and headed onside to find some paper towels.

Head still hidden by the pillow, his small smile slowly faded as those long ago words echoed in his mind; "Told you I'd take care of you Sammy, I promised."

Dean had only been a child when he first made that promise but he had kept it; had spent his entire life keeping it.

"Just go. I'm not going to stop you."

His own words from days ago played in his ears as he swallowed the vomit that suddenly filled his throat. Under the pillow a single tear rolled down his cheek.

AN: The song used is "Great Day to be Alive" by Travis Tritt.

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think of the chapter.