Sam was awakened by something warm and wet lapping at the side of his face. He raised his hand and tried to slap the wet thing away and he heard a whine and panting. He opened one eye, gingerly, and saw a blurry brown shape hovering above him. He tried to open his other eye and realized that that side of his face was pressed up against a hard surface. The floor. His head was pounding and his whole body ached.
"Go away, Miracle!", Sam groaned, waving the dog away. The sound of his own voice shot barbs into his temples and he grimaced in pain. He grabbed his head and rolled over on his back with his eyes shut tightly. His mouth and lips were as dry as the Mojavi Desert and when he tried to lick his lips, his tongue felt like and old piece of dried out shoe leather. He put his forearm over his eyes and just laid there moaning.
"I told you before, Sammy, you never were a drinker!", Dean chuckled. Sam lowered his arm and squinted up at his brother. Dean was standing above Sam's head, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Sam growled at Dean and covered his eyes with his arm again. "Hey! I told you to stop, Man! But you never listen to me! Hell! You never listen to anybody!"
"Please, Dean. If you have any sympathy for me at all, you'll just let me die in peace", Sam whined under his breath. Dean laughed loudly, stepped over Sam and held his hand out.
"Not today, Sammy. Come on, get up", Dean Grumbled. "I'll make you some breakfast." Just the mention of food made Sam's stomach do a nauseating flip. He looked up at the hand in his face and gave it a dirty look.
"Leave me alone, Dean, before I get my gun", Sam snarled, slapping the hand away. He rolled over on his side, away from the imaginary Dean and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was pass out again. To not remember. To be numb.
"What are you gonna do? SHOOT ME?!", Dean shouted angrily, kicking Sam in the backside.
"YES!", Sam shouted back over his shoulder. He groaned in pain, grabbing his head, trying to keep it from splitting open.
"I'm warning you, Sam! If you don't get up, I'm gonna have to fight dirty!" Sam muttered something that sounded a lot like "piss off" at his brother. He rolled over onto his stomach and laid there with the side of his face pressed against the hard concrete. The cold floor felt good on his sweaty temple. "OK! You asked for it!" Dean leaned over and started singing loudly into Sam's ear. "I'm Henry the eighth, I am! Henry the eighth, I am, I am! I got married to the widow next door..."
"OK! OK!", Sam grimaced, pushing up slowly on his hands and knees. "I'm getting up! Just stop singing!" Sam's head swam and the room began to spin. He just stayed there on all fours with his head down, sweat dripping off his hair and onto the floor. When Sam tried to stand up he wobbled sideways and Dean put his arms out to catch him. "Back off, Dean!", Sam growled as he righted himself and staggered toward the map table. "I can't believe you pulled a Swayze on me!", Sam grumbled, flopping down in the closest chair. "GHOST? SERIOUSLY?"
"I know it wasn't one of his better movies, but like I told you before, Sam, Swayze always gets a pass!" Sam rolled his bloodshot eyes and dropped his head down onto his arms on the table. "Look, Sammy, you gotta pull yourself together!" Sam heard the chair across from him scrape across the floor and when he raised his head, Dean was sitting there with his arms folded across his chest, staring at him. "Nut up, Man!", Dean growled. "You think you're the only person who ever lost somebody? The only person who feels pain?!"
"You don't understand, Dean", Sam moaned. "You're my brother!" Sam looked up at Dean with deep sorrow in his eyes and trembling lower lip. Dean stood up abruptly, knocking the chair over backwards.
"I'm so sick of the whining, Sam!", Dean bellowed. "It's time for you to grow up! Be a man!" Sam turned his face away, looking defeated. "Sam?", Dean breathed. "Ya gotta stop doing this to yourself! I love you, Man! I don't wanna see you kill yourself with grief!" Sam slowly turned his head and glared at his brother, breathing hard through his nose.
"You... you love me?" Dean nodded, a tear ready to break lose from his eye. "Than you shouldn't have been in such a hurry to leave me here all alone, Dean!", Sam snarled. He was so filled with rage that he was shaking and his hands were balled into tight fists. He shoved away from the table and stalked to his room, slamming the door. Sam leaned on the inside of his door and slid down to the floor on his rear. He propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. "God, I'm going crazy!", Sam whispered into his palms.
"Your not going crazy, Sam!", Dean barked in his head. Sam heard his desk chair squeaking and looked up to see Dean swiveling back and forth in the chair. "Although, that IS what a crazy person WOULD say, right Sammy?" Dean winked at Sam and did a 360 spin in the wooden office chair.
"What the Hell are you doing, Dean", Sam asked bewildered. Dean pulled his feet up and sat cross-legged on the chair as it came to a stop in front of Sam.
"What's it look like I'm doing? Ya know, I never did this when I was a kid! It's kinda fun!" Dean turned and grabbed the edge of the desk and spun himself around several times, giggling like a little boy. After several more revolutions, the chair slowly came to a stop in front of Sam again and his giggles tapered off. "Maybe you ARE going crazy, Sammy." There was a uncomfortable silence before Dean leaned over and propped his elbows on his knees as he spoke again. "But I'll let you in on a little secret." Dean looked around as if he thought somebody might be listening. Then he cupped his hand and whispered so that no one else could hear. "You always have been, Sammy!"
"I know, Dean.", Sam whispered, dropping his head. "I think I've always...", Sam lifted his head to look at Dean, but the chair was empty, unmoving. "...known."