A/N

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Five minutes later, the edge of Jacob's door was slowly nudged open.

It wasn't Rumsfeld.

The dog stuck with Bobby as the gruff old hunter headed down the stairs to give the others time to themselves. He'd just dropped off Sam and Dean along with a flask of his prized whiskey outside the guest bedroom. They'd allowed him to hold them for the first time, all in the name of carrying the heavy container up the stairs.

Sam gave a grunt as he pushed at the very edge of the massive door to maximize the torque, inordinately glad that the hinge wasn't rusted at all. Dean dragged the whiskey behind himself, just as glad that he had extra strength at his disposal, otherwise they'd have to make Jacob go get himself his own drink downstairs instead of bring it up to him.

The whiskey finally made it across the threshold and Sam rejoined Dean in dragging the heavy metal flask across the floor. It was only a few feet to the bed. They could manage that, no problem, especially working together.

Jacob, seated on the edge of the bed, was just this close to lying down for the night. After accomplishing as much as he had in one day, he wasn't surprised when the exhaustion hit him out of nowhere. His main goal in exiting the kitchen so quickly was to get out of the way, but his excuse caught up to him in short order.

He covered a yawn with the back of his arm, and in the same instant glanced to the door. It inched open just a bit, and he expected Rumsfeld to push his way into the room. It didn't happen, and Jacob frowned in confusion until he noticed motion down on the floor.

His gaze found Sam and Dean down there, dragging something bulky along with them. Jacob blinked several times, disbelief slowly furrowing his brow. Then, seeing that they were dragging a flask, and that it was cumbersome for them, he spoke up.

"Uh. Hey, guys," he greeted. "What's that for? Saving some for later?"

Dean gave Jacob a flat look, judging the joke as falling far short. "Totally. We figured we'd just sneak it into the walls and try and find a way to prop it up. It'll be the keg to end all kegs and we'll get the mice drunk." He rolled his eyes. "It's for you, Godzilla. You ain't getting out of drinkin' with us that easy, not after all the work we went through to get it this far."

He didn't mention that Bobby had been the one to get the flask up the stairs and to the doorway, along with them having to borrow it in the first place. Details like that just got in the way of the fact that Jacob was going to drink with them. Determination had set in, and Dean wouldn't be convinced otherwise.

"But you better share," Dean complained as they pulled it forward on the hardwood floor, slowly creeping past the bookshelf at a snail's pace. The flask was full to the brim, weighing more than both brothers together. "We gave up on the whiskey downstairs for this."

Jacob stared for a few seconds more, dumbfounded by what he was seeing. And by what he'd heard. He blinked slowly and was practically rooted to his seat on the bed while the two of them continued to drag that flask along. It was like watching two people pushing a car.

They wanted to have a drink with him.

Jacob, swallowing his surprise with a sudden grin, slowly shifted and stood. He didn't need to take many steps before he decided he was better off kneeling so he didn't loom so completely over them. One arm he rested on his knee and the other he stretched out to offer his hand palm-up in their path. They didn't have quite so far to drag the thing that way.

"Well, here, lemme just help out with that, then," he suggested.

That was all it took for them to change their path, angling the flask towards the open palm held out for them. The few seconds that Jacob had been standing had made both brothers stiffen up, but it was only a fleeting feeling with the careful way that Jacob carried himself. One that would probably take some time to dissipate when they spent their time around such huge people all day.

Dean was first on Jacob's hand, tugging the flask up behind him while Sam gave it a good shove from the ground. Determination was something that they both had a huge supply of, regardless of their size, and determination was what got the flask of whiskey onto Jacob's hand with them. It took up most of the space on the palm and was leaning partially off.

Neither brother stopped to think that Jacob could have just picked it up on his own.

Crossing his arms, Dean nodded with satisfaction at how far they'd managed to drag the comparatively huge flask. "Totally worth it," he declared. He glanced up at Jacob with a grin. "Thanks for the lift, Sasquatch."

"Anytime, dude," Jacob replied, returning the smile. Before he lifted his hand off the floor and risked dropping the bulky flask, he placed his other hand next to the occupied one. It left more room for Sam and Dean, away from the edges of his hands. It didn't matter how good they were with balance; having them right on the edge was nervewracking and Jacob didn't want to send them plummeting.

He stood again, holding the whole lot closer to his chest and walking the few steps back to the bed. He sat down on the creaky mattress once more and bridged his hands to the nightstand for Sam and Dean to step off.

Once they were secure, he wrapped a hand around the flask and turned it upright so he could twist off the cap. He carefully tilted it until some of the liquid within poured into the cap, bringing with it a potent smell of some pretty strong stuff. Jacob blinked in surprise before setting the cap on the nightstand for Sam and Dean.

Sam couldn't help gagging at the smell of the alcohol as it washed over both of the brothers. "Bobby actually drinks this stuff?" he managed to hack out.

Dean gave him a heavy pat on the back, almost pitching him face-first into the cap. "Chin up, there, kid. You've gotta try the good stuff."

Jacob smirked at the banter. "Thanks for bringing this up, guys," he said with a genuine smile, very pleased that they actually wanted to bring it to him. "I figured you'd wanna hang out with Bobby, actually."

While Sam nudged the cap dubiously with a boot, Dean dug out the tin foil sheafs he kept hidden in his bag at all times. While at Bobby's, he'd stocked up his supply one day when he'd found the kitchen empty of anyone else. He carefully folded them into the shape of two cups, one for him and one for Sam. Scooping up some of the liquid, he handed one off to his brother and then held his own up in a toast.

"Just 'cause I'm hard on you," Dean said to Jacob, "don't mean we don't want you hanging out with us. We wouldn't have gotten this far without you, and you've done good, working on the Impala these last few weeks. So… thanks. For everything."

Jacob's smile was softer this time, but lit up his eyes just the same. After so many days with endless griping in his ears and diligent work from sunup to sundown, Dean's speech was just what he needed to hear. Even despite how big he was and the mistakes he'd made, they still wanted him around. It was a sign of forgiveness that he had been hoping to see from the very start.

He lifted the flask in response to Dean's toast. "And thank you for the chance," he replied, tilting the flask to take a tentative drink.

The whiskey was strong. Dean hadn't been kidding when he called it the good stuff. Jacob already felt the warmth in his throat and stomach from the powerful alcohol. He let out a short sigh, blinking heavily from the sting.

"This mean I can sleep in a little in the morning?" he asked with a grin, raising an eyebrow at his small boss.

Dean shot him up a fast glare at the thought, then remembered Bobby's words from earlier that night. Are you tryin' ta work him into the ground? came back to him. Dean mulishly considered his options, swirling around his whiskey before taking a shot of his own.

He almost gagged at the taste, shocked at how much of an edge it had. It almost burned a hole in his chest. Where the hell does Bobby get this stuff? Neither brother had ever been able to try more than some beer back when they were kids when some hunting buddies of John's had slipped them some.

Sam tried his own and didn't bother hiding the hacking cough. When Dean wasn't looking his direction, he surreptitiously poured the whiskey back into the cap.

He'd just stick to beer.

Dean took another small sip and found it went down easier the second time around. The warm feeling was welcome as it blossomed inside of him, pushing away the constant cold he felt at any time except for the height of summer, and only if someone turned off the AC at the motel, or if he was sitting up on the roof to take in the sun's warm rays.

"I guess you can sleep in tomorrow," Dean said begrudgingly, determined to do right by Jacob after all the help he'd given them. "But don't expect this to be a regular thing. There's work to do."

Jacob was amused, both by Sam's sneaky moves abandoning the rest of his whiskey and by the look that had flashed across Dean's face at his joke. In the end, he was pleasantly surprised; he hadn't really expected to get extra sleep in the morning regardless of Dean's toast moments ago. It definitely elevated the guy into the list of better employers Jacob had worked under, even if Dean wasn't really an employer in any traditional sense.

Either way, Jacob had worked with some real hardasses before, but none of them offered to have drinks. He smirked and took another sip from the flask, letting the flavor speak for itself now that it wasn't just a constant burn. He'd have to thank Bobby for lending them the flask.

"Hey, man, I'm excited to get that Impala ready again, too," he promised. He glanced over at Sam with a grin. "It's coming along pretty well. Not bad for the first car I've ever restored, if I do say so myself."

Dean laughed at that, the drink starting to loosen up his normal tension around the human. "He's a natural, Sammy. I could probably whip him into a great mechanic if I had the time." He was thoughtful as he took his next sip, staring into the cool liquid in his cup. He'd already downed half of it, and with no resistance to the inebriating effects it gave, his mind was starting to cloud over. "Dude, I bet with enough time we could make him as good with cars as Bobby."

Sam smirked, patting Dean on the back. "Right. And next you'll be ready to whip him into shape to be a better hunter than dad."

"Hey, don't joke," Dean complained, pushing Sam away. "I totally could. I got dad's journal, right? Dad didn't even start hunting until he was over thirty. We could do it."

Jacob tried to hide his snickering, but he really couldn't. The thought of being a professional mechanic was doable, if a bit ambitious. And being a hunter? Going out and finding monsters and ghosts to fight to save people? He wasn't sure he had what it took, regardless of his size and strength.

"I bet you could," he said anyway, taking another sip of the whiskey and relishing the warm feeling that spread from his core. It was relaxing to be able to sit and chat with the brothers, after all the hard work. Normally they had a few minutes at breakfast and lunch, and by the time dinner rolled around everyone was tired enough that the food took precedence.

"I think I'm more likely to make a better mechanic than a hunter, though," he admitted. Despite his size, Jacob had never been much of a fighter. Not at the level he'd need to be in order to fight a werewolf, for example.

Dean sized him up as he drank from his foil cup. No one had ever warned him that whiskey wasn't made to be drank in draughts, and his own inhibitions were already down by his boots.

Jacob was a big guy, with muscle covering his arms and upper body. His legs were most likely the same, but they were hidden underneath waves of sturdy blue fabric every day. Despite the growing warmth outside, Dean couldn't blame him. He wasn't a fan of shorts under any conditions and never had been. Unless they were short shorts on certain girls he'd seen in school…

He had to shake his head to focus, and found himself almost pitching to the side. Sam snapped a hand out, steadying his balance. "Maybe you should sit," Sam suggested, pulling Dean towards the alarm clock.

"No… 'm fine, Sammy, leggo." Dean tried to twist his arm out of Sam's grip. With his own balance off and Sam doing fine, he didn't succeed, pulled like a kitten and placed against the alarm clock to lean.

Dean huffed in annoyance. "Whatever." He turned and pointedly ignored Sam, sadly shaking his cup and watching the dredges swirl around. Looking up at Jacob, he could just vaguely remember what had been said. "Don't underestimate yourself, kid. There ain't many people that go out thinkin' they're ready to take down a werewolf. Least, not any that are still alive." His inebriation brought out his drawl, slowing down his words from his normal pace.

Jacob kept an eye on Dean for a moment, making sure he wasn't about to unbalance himself again. Even leaning against something was no guarantee with someone drunk enough, as Jacob had seen before. And with the way Sam could so easily direct his normally stubborn-as-hell brother, Jacob had a feeling Dean was past 'drunk enough' already.

He had to wonder if Dean had ever had a drink before, and then realized that it was a stupid question. Dean had been living off found scraps for almost fourteen years. Of course he didn't have a tolerance for the alcohol. Jacob would have to slip the cap of the flask away before Dean got the idea in his head to go for a refill.

For the moment, he let the conversation distract them both. "Tell you the truth, I'm still not completely over the fact that werewolves are real," he admitted.

Dean waved his hand around in the air. "Maybe if the legends got half that crap right, people might actually figure out they arereal. I mean, grow fur? That shit doesn't actually happen. Some dumbass probably dressed up in a wolf costume years and years ago to scare off a farmer's sheep and started that rumor." He shook his head ruefully and drained the last drop of his drink, grimacing at the flavor. He could definitely get used to it, though.

Sam tried to hide a grin at Dean and untangled his words for Jacob. "They get really strong, or 'wolf-out,' like Dean says it. Claws and fangs, sure. Fur, no. They go after hearts and it gets written off as animal attacks most of the time. Dad hunted one when we stayed with Bobby one year. At least the lore on them is pretty easy. A silver bullet to the heart takes them down."

Jacob had a bemused look on his face, stuck between awed and entertained. On one hand, more information about the supernatural was an obvious draw for his attention. On the other, Dean's rambling was pretty funny, regardless of the gruesome topic. Jacob was gladder by the second for a chance to just hang out with the brothers without the fear or wariness. The whiskey had loosened Dean up completely.

"Silver bullets, Jesus," he said with an incredulous shake of the head. He took another sip out of the flask, blinking slowly as the warm sensation spread again. "This stuff is just crazy ... I guess you're becoming a fast expert, too, with all this time in the library, huh?" he asked. Whenever he and Dean left to work or came in after a long day, it seemed like Sam could always be found studying a book several times his size, diligently copying noteworthy passages into his tiny journal.

Sam nodded, grinning. "I've got a lot of lost time to make up for, right?" He glanced over at the journal laying on their shelf, not two feet from where they'd chosen to place their bedroom. He supposed if Jacob left they'd need to find a safer home, one random humans couldn't stumble over.

They'd have to give up the shirt they'd snitched from him, too.

Sam glanced over at Dean, who'd become suspiciously quiet. His eyes were slightly glazed over, and he was staring into the bottom of his foil cup with a mournful gaze. Sam silently sidled in front of the cap of whiskey, blocking it from Dean's view and hoping that the maxim "out of sight, out of mind," would apply to his hopelessly drunk brother.

"How's the days with Dean going?" Sam asked Jacob curiously. He didn't see them for most of the day, and whenever Dean came in they just talked about the new notes Sam had taken in his journal or how the repairs were going, nothing about how he and Jacob were getting along.

Jacob shrugged. "Pretty good, I guess," he mused. He had gotten used to the routine of waking up and heading out with Dean on his shoulder, ready to tackle the latest problem with the Impala. After sitting idle for so long, there was a laundry list and Dean was a tireless machine hell bent on fixing her up.

"He definitely ends up teaching me a lot every day. Most of this stuff was new to me when we started." While he talked, Jacob surreptitiously pinched the cap of whiskey in his thumb and index finger, taking advantage of the way Sam had blocked it from Dean's view. It was the best opportunity.

"Only gripes at me a little bit," he added with a wink and a grin. He had a feeling Sam knew the truth behind the statement.

Sam grinned at the wink and held his hand out of sight from Dean, offering Jacob a thumbs-up in return. He had a feeling, from the way Dean was starting to fade in and out of the conversation, that he'd have to drag his older brother back to their hideaway sooner than later, but it was nice to just relax for a bit and hang out with the human that had first captured them, then helped save them from their fate. Jacob's size was still intimidating, but his demeanor wasn't.

"You get used to it," Sam confided. He had a feeling Dean was far enough gone that he wouldn't remember much of the night after his drink. Indeed, Dean was leaning against the alarm clock holding his cup upside down. He shook it as though he was expecting more whiskey to come pouring out.

"That's just how Dean is. He cares, he just has his own way of showing it."

Jacob chuckled gamely, noticing Dean's forlorn movements over by the alarm clock. He looked like he wouldn't be out of place in a bar with his leather jacket and jeans, acting like he'd been personally cut off by the bartender already. It was technically true, but still.

At least he was too small to pick a fight with the 'bartender.'

"I figured as much," Jacob replied, taking one last drink himself before twisting the cap back onto the flask. The early effects of the alcohol were beginning to make his eyelids a little heavy, and he couldn't see Dean holding himself up much longer.

"Well, hey, it looks like he could use some sleep after everything," Jacob determined, the smile lingering on his face. "Want me to get you guys to the floor before you have to drag him to his bed?" Jacob couldn't help but worry just a bit at the thought of Dean trying to climb down in that state. He didn't doubt the man's skill, but skill didn't have much to do with things when alcohol had its way.

"That's probably a good plan," Sam admitted. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder, getting a surprised jolt out of his brother.

" 'Ammy?" Dean mumbled, blinking up at his taller brother.

"Yeah, it's just me, jerk." Sam pried the foil cup out of Dean's hands, folding it in half to put in his own bag. "We better get you to bed before I have to carry you there." It wasn't like Dean would be much of a burden, all things considered, but it wasn't the way Sam wanted his night to end. "C'mon, Jacob's gonna give us a ride. You're too drunk to climb."

Dean drew himself up indignantly, trying to fumble the side of his duffel bag open. "I'm fine, Sam. I can get myself to bed."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "You can? Is the key to the Impala going to help?"

Dean stared dumbly down at the key that he'd grabbed in lieu of the hook that was hanging out of the bag a centimeter away. Before he could correct his mistake, Sam nabbed his arm, pushing the key back in the bag. "Okay, that's enough for you. Time to go."

"Bitch," Dean grumbled as he found himself guided towards Jacob. He didn't bother struggling, too busy trying to use Sam to lean on when the world started to rotate around him.

Jacob couldn't hide his amused grin but he at least held back his laughter so he wouldn't throw off their concentration. It was a good thing Sam had been there to catch Dean before he stubbornly tried to make his own way to the floor. Jacob wasn't sure he'd be able to stop that endeavor without getting himself another cut from Dean's knife in the process, drunk as the smaller man was.

He waited patiently while Sam guided his brother's faltering, drunken steps towards a hand bigger than a bed to them. Their size seemed so secondary now, watching a scene that was so common among humans. Jacob was glad he'd come to his senses about the pair.

Those tiny boots stumbled onto his hand once more, this time finding more room since the flask was out of the picture. With Dean leaning on Sam, they were as ready as anyone could be for someone twenty times their size to ferry them to the floor.

Jacob did so, and made sure his movements were slower than usual. The last thing he wanted was to move too fast and inspire Dean's alcohol-filled stomach to react badly all over his hand.

Leaning down, Jacob flattened his hand on the floor in front of the nightstand. Once they were off, he sat up again and lifted his feet off the floor so he was completely on the bed and as out of their way as he could make himself. He knew that, by virtue of being up on furniture that stood over them, he was still looming. But at least he wasn't blocking whatever route they might end up taking to their "secret" room on the shelf.

"Lemme know if you need anything," he told Sam with a smirk, glancing at Dean once more. "Though I bet he'll be out cold before you even let go of him."

"Uh, yeah, probably." Sam tried to get Dean standing upright, but it didn't work out. Switching tactics, he slung one of Dean's arms over his shoulders, wishing for once that his brother was a little taller. Sam had to stoop slightly so he didn't knock Dean off his feet.

Sam gave Jacob a halting wave with his free arm. "We'll see you… sometime tomorrow. After Dean sleeps it off." He might not be familiar with actual drinking himself, but he remembered how their dad was after a night at the bar. He'd sleep deeper than normal, rarely waking up early in the morning.

"Let's go, ass," Sam said, taking a few halting steps towards the bookshelf. He hitched Dean up all over again. "Dude, you betternot fall asleep on me. That wasn't a suggestion earlier."

" 'M fine," Dean mumbled. "Jus' gotta… finish fixing the car. We gotta hunt. Save some kids…"

Sam's demeanor softened at the admittance from his brother. "That's right Dean," he said. He knew it was a huge driving force behind Dean's actions ever since getting to Bobby's. He guided his older brother's steps towards their shelf, foregoing their normal stealth for the quickest route. It was good that Dean was too far gone to realize it. "We're gonna keep other kids from getting cursed like us. But first we gotta get to bed. Hunters have to sleep, right?"

"Yeah… gotta sleep."

Only the faintest murmurs of the conversation down below even registered in Jacob's ears. He watched them stumble along for a few seconds before he lay back on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head. He watched the ceiling to give them a chance to make their way to their hidden home without someone watching their every move.

Jacob had a smile lingering on his face, aimed at nothing. He was happier than he'd been all week. So many days straight of work and little else had left him resigned to it. Jacob was no stranger to arduous work schedules, of course, but there always came a point that he needed a break.

This was more than he could have hoped for. Sam and Dean, people who had plenty of reasons not to associate with him at all, had dragged a flask full of whiskey to him in order to insist he have a drink with them.

It spoke volumes, and it was the main reason he was happy, aided by the drink he had in his own system.

He heard Rumsfeld on the stairs and smirked, knowing the dog was soon to trot in and take up his post by the brothers' bookshelf. Jacob reached over and shut off the lamp on the nightstand before turning over to settle in for sleep. The mattress springs squealed under him like they always did.

With the help of Bobby's good whiskey, Jacob drifted off to sleep faster than he had since arriving there.

A/N

One reason I love the Dean in Brothers Lost so much is because, unlike canon Dean, he's never been able to go out and do a lot of the stuff he's famous for. No bars, no drinking, no women...

Tiny Dean is innocence. He must fix this.

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