Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: I'll be honest: for a long time, I thought I wasn't going to be able to tag How to Win Friends. But then this came to me, so here it is… With any luck (and a decent episode this week) I'll make it to hiatus without having missed a single tag.

Thanks to Cheryl for being encouraging, and to SandyDee84 for not giving up on the suggestions. *g*

Thanks to the people who reviewed the last chapter: Klutzygirl33, Katy M VT, hotshow, ThePinkyPop, stelladelnordxd, doyleshuny, nupinoop296, BerrySPNFMA, scootersmom, Phoenix80hp, twomoms, d767468, SPN Mum, Eavis, SandyDee84, giacinta, Twinchester Angel, Jane88, judyann, BranchSuper, Too Many Screennames, Scribble2Much, Starfan1245, Likaella and CeCe Away.

Summary: Tag to 7.09, How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters. Dean's high. Dean talks.

How to Let Go

I snapped the laptop shut and went to check on Dean.

Bobby and I had hauled him to the bedroom he and I were sharing and left him there inside a Devil's Trap, a circle of salt, and, because we wouldn't recognize our lives unless the weirdness factor kept rising, a ring of borax. (I know, I know, a ring of borax wouldn't stop a Leviathan – the thing would just step over it. Still, when you're a hunter you get used to trying just about anything on the off-chance that it might work.)

Dean was supposed to be sleeping it off, but when I went in he was awake. He was sitting up in bed, staring dreamily off into the distance.

"Hot waitress?" I asked.

Dean looked startled. He hadn't heard me come in. "Sam?"

"Feeling any better?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot?"

I frowned. Evidently he wasn't feeling better, if talking like he was in a teen movie was any indication. "What do you mean?"

"You said the turducken was turning me into an idiot."

"Oh." I walked up to the bed. "Well, the fact that I said it was turning you into an idiot means that I thought you had to be turned into an idiot, which means that I thought you weren't an idiot before. Right?"

"You should've been a lawyer," Dean grumbled. "So you think I'm an idiot now?"

"No, Dean." I sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't think you're an idiot now. A stupid, annoying, infuriating jerk, yes, but not an idiot. Happy?"

"How is being stupid different from being an idiot?"

And I should've been a lawyer?

"What's wrong with you?" I asked. "The goo is supposed to send you to a happy place, not…" I waved a hand at him. "Not this."

"Not what?"

"Not cross-questioning me about whether I think you're an idiot. You're not supposed to care about anything right now."

"You always were my exception to everything," Dean said. Then he lowered his head. "You should go."

"What, all of a sudden you don't want me around?"

"Please. I can't – I don't know what I'm going to say right now, Sam. I shouldn't care about anything, but I do, at least about you – no Leviathan goo can stop me from doing that. And I don't care what I say or…"

Dean trailed off and fidgeted with his jacket.

"Dean, if there's something you want to tell me –"

"I don't want you to grow up," Dean said in a rush. "I mean – yeah, I do – because if you're grown up you can take care of yourself and kids can't beat you up –"

"Kids haven't beaten me up for years, Dean."

Dean went right on as though I hadn't interrupted. "And that's important, you're the size of a moose, like Crowley said, and you're as strong as a moose, so I'm pretty sure you're safe from most, you know, most normal stuff. And that's good, Sammy, it really is. But I don't – I don't want you to outgrow –"

"Hey," I said forcefully, not letting Dean finish the sentence. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm never going to outgrow you."

"You sure about that?"

I stared at Dean. "Seriously? Are you trying to start a chick-flick moment here?"

"Not my fault," Dean muttered. "I'm high." Then he jabbed an accusing finger at my chest. "When you were high you said you loved me."

"You're my brother."

"You said that too."

"What's your point, Dean?"

"It's your job." He nodded vigorously. "Starting chick-flick moments. It's your job, and you're not doing it. You can't blame me for that. And, dude, I wouldn't even be able to discuss this with you if I weren't this blissed out, so we're lucky I ate the turducken."

"If you can say the word turducken, you're obviously not that high."

"I'm not high," Dean muttered. "You're high. That's why you're forcing me to have this conversation. Bitch."

I tried not to sigh, because if I sigh every time Dean doesn't make sense, I'll spend my time doing pretty much nothing else. "OK, Dean. Just tell me what you want and we'll do that."

"You're going to listen to me?"

"Don't get used to it. It's only because you're high on Leviathan goo."

"That's gross, Sammy."

"It is gross, and you ate it."

"I didn't know it was Leviathan goo."

"It was gross even when it wasn't Leviathan goo."

Dean didn't answer that. He leaned back and shut his eyes. He was still for so long I thought he'd fallen asleep, but when I got to my feet he said, "Don't go."

"You need to rest."

"I am rested. I'm completely at peace. Almost."

"Dean –"

"I just need to ask you something, Sam. Then you can go shoot Leviathans. Or, you know, borax them. Whatever."

I hesitated. We didn't have time, because who knew what the things were doing, or – more importantly – whether they were onto us and this was a trap. I had work to do.

But Dean was looking at me pleadingly, and I didn't have the heart to turn him down. "OK." I sat back down. "What is it?"

Dean grinned, surveying me with satisfaction. "I did a good job."

"What?" I demanded, feeling like I was in a weird drug-induced dream. (And, believe me, I know all about those.)

"Bringing you up," Dean said, like it should have been obvious. "I did a good job. You're the biggest pushover in the world. Means I did something right. That's how it works, right, Sam?"

(Just for the record, I am not a pushover. It's just that, you know, it was Dean. It was always much harder for me to say no to Dean than to Dad.)

"Sure, Dean," I said, placating. "You did a good job."

"You really think so?"

"You know I do. Dean, what the hell is wrong with you? The funny burgers weren't supposed to turn you into a girl. Are you sure you didn't eat or drink anything else that Bobby and I didn't?"

"You cared about Amy," Dean said, making me wonder why he was bringing that up again. "I know you did. And you had a hard time letting go of that."

"Dean –"

"I'm not blaming you, Sammy. She saved your life. Of course you cared about her. You care about people even when they don't save you. It's the kind of person you are. I'm just saying… think about how much you cared about her."

"OK," I said slowly.

"And now remember that she wasn't your kid, you didn't bring her up, you didn't teach her to walk, she didn't bring you her test scores to see, and you haven't spent years being proud of the woman she's become even when you couldn't bring yourself to say so to her."

"Dean –"

"I'm sorry," Dean said quietly. "I'm trying, Sam. I really am. I know that you're your own person now and I need to let you go. It's just… I'll need some time."

He wasn't meeting my eyes anymore. I was startled and a little horrified – I'd had no idea that Dean would take that comment about him not needing to watch me all the time this way. In retrospect, I should've known, because Dean always takes things this way, but I suppose I'd hoped that he'd finally stopped worrying that I was going to up and leave.

"Dean," I got out, when he finally let me get more than one word in. "Shut the hell up."

"Sam, I understand."

"You don't understand anything." I scooted closer to him. "Dean, I want – God, I want you to do something for yourself, something you want to do, but that doesn't mean I don't need you. You're my big brother. You're the reason I'm still here. You're the reason I let myself remember Hell – because it was the only way to come back to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"After Cas broke the Wall. I was trapped in my head and the only way out was to take the memories back. It's not important –"

"Sam."

"Dean. I mean it. What's important is that I'm here and we're in this, whatever it is, together."

"But you said you didn't need me," Dean said, sounding almost heartbroken.

I grabbed him, pulling him into a hug before he could protest. If he hadn't been high on the Leviathan ooze, he probably wouldn't have cooperated, so I suppose it was good for something.

"She roofied me," I murmured. "I was doped, Dean. I had no idea what I was saying. You're my big brother. There's no way I'm ever going to stop needing you."

"But you're grown up now," Dean protested, pushing ineffectually against my chest. Like he was going to be able to get away.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm grown up, so you don't have to tie my shoelaces anymore. I still need you."

"You can take care of yourself."

"You're not hearing me," I said. "I need you. Not to take care of me. I need you because you're my brother and I like being around you even when you're being a jerk. I need you because I want to need you." Dean sighed. I held him tighter. "I came back for you, Dean."

He sighed again, happily, this time, as he snuggled (yes, Dean, you snuggled) into my arms.

"Sammy?"

"What?"

"I am totally going to deny this conversation when I'm sober."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Dean."

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