AN: Since I got a number of suggestions, this combines immertreu's and bagelcat1's, though I have no idea if I hit the mark with "funny but not silly." Takes place early in season 1.

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For guys who'd called the Winchesters for help, the Kerrs had kind of been jerks about it. Darby couldn't stop cracking jokes about Sam's youth and Conall yammered about them being "too pretty" to be hunters until Dean snapped that if he wanted a date, he'd have to buy a beer first.

If the Kerrs thought they were too pretty, they almost certainly thought they were too clean, too. Darby and Conall looked like every stereotype of backwards hillbillies from the Appalachian mountains, and smelled like they were unfamiliar with the purpose of a shower.

Dean found himself curious how their hunt with Dad had gone years before. After all, he'd been the one they'd been trying to reach, only calling Dean when Dad's voicemail suggested it.

But for all their eccentricities, the men were exceptional shots and decent hunters. It had taken all of them to get rid of all the ghosts tethered to a burned out old mill that had gone up in an explosion back in the 1800s. They didn't really know what was riling the spirits up now, but people were dying, and it had to stop.

Afterward, Darby spoke up, "Dunno if you kids 're 'sgood 'syer pa, but that waren't half bad. Drinks on us, huh?"

Dean wanted to clean our some scrapes on a the back of Sam's hand before they found a motel, so when Sam just gave him a shrug, Dean agreed.

A couple beers might help his own headache.

But the Kerrs were committed to their stereotype, and beer wasn't what they had in mind. No, they led the way to a unabomber-esque cabin and offered the Winchesters clear liquid in honest-to-goodness mason jars.

"You make this in your bathtub?" Sam asked, sniffing it with a neutral expression.

"Relax, princess," chortled Darby with backslap to Sam's chest that was just a little too hard. "This'll make a man out of you, cure what ails ya, inside and out."

Dean rolled his eyes. Like Sam hadn't jumped in to save the hick's ass less than an hour before. In a move Dean hadn't seen coming, Darby tipped his own drinking receptacle over Sam's injured hand. Dean almost stepped forward to possibly throw a punch when he realized that Sam hadn't moved and had a look of annoyed understanding on his face, and only a little pain

The hunting community had a serious case of machismo, or as geek boy had termed it once, fragile masculinity. There was a lot of measuring, of stupid games to prove one's toughness. And more than one hunter had specifically targeted Sam for such demonstrations. Perhaps it was his size, or his baby face, or how young he was, or that they wanted to take on a Winchester but found the other two too intimidating. But in any case, Sam had faced it since he was fourteen. And Dean knew that if he stepped in protectively it would only get worse.

He hated it, but instead of jumping in, Dean just snorted. He looked at Sam with pride in his eyes -- that had to have hurt like a son of a bitch. "Darby, do you practice being a dick, or is that all natural?" Without warning, Dean poured his own drink over the other man's cut up forearm.

Darby hissed and pulled back, a far bigger reaction than Sam had had. Dean let the corner of his mouth curl up and raised a now what are you gonna do eyebrow. Sam shook his head, onto Dean.

But Conall just laughed. "He gotcha there, Darb! C'mon, drink up, boys. Don't waste terrible liquor on your scratches!" he took a drink of his own, shook like a dog and laughed again.

Dean sighed silently. This was the next step in the measuring men against each other...seeing who could drink who under the table, and it just might be the only thing these yahoos could beat Sam in, unless you counted stupidity.

That meant it was up to Dean to take one for the team. Too bad nobody gave Sam the memo.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Sam wondered if yelling at Dean and Darby would get them to shut up. Of course, that would involve lifting his head off his folded arms, and his head was incredibly heavy at the moment. Eyelids, too.

And it wasn't so much that he minded the singing, it was just that they were singing different songs at the same time. Dean's was...something Sam should recognize but didn't right now. Darby's was rather obscene and seemed to have a lot of la la las in the middle.

Sam was just grateful that Conall had fallen silent. He cracked an eyelid with effort. The redhead was slumped against the wall, drooling.

Dean and Darby were sitting on the couch, a moth eaten monstrosity that matched the rest of the cabin perfectly.

Sam blinked suddenly. His vision was swimming, but he was quite sure something...someone...had just moved past the window.

"Dean," he croaked, somehow getting his head up. "Look --"

The door crashed open, which sent Sam's vision circling like a dizzy vulture.

"I needed those souls, you fools!" screeched the seven foot tall woman-thing in the doorway, ratcheting up Sam's disorientation. His sight wasn't terribly reliable right now, but he was reasonably certain that she had red symbols painted up and down her arms. Um. He should know what that meant.

A gun barked and even though his head barked back, Sam smiled. Drunk as a skunk or not, he was sure his brother had drawn his gun at Sam's warning.

Oh, yeah. Sam had a gun too.

Sam fumbled for it, blearily recognizing that Dean's shot had only knocked her back. Sam didn't find his gun, but his hand closed around his machete that he'd pulled out to clean before drinking the corn mash from hell.

Machete was easier to aim than a gun anyway. Sam made it to his feet on his second try, which was good because huge angry lady had picked up and was shaking...what was his name again? Oh yeah, Con...something.

Sam brought down the machete and was highly pleased when it cut off her arm and made her drop the guy. That was good.

Something knocked Sam back, and Dean's voice called out, "down!" and Sam obeyed instinctively.

Ow. That hadn't been real graceful.

A head rolled and came to a stop in front of Sam and he snickered. Luckily, her neck was blackened and smoking instead of bleeding everywhere. Sam rolled the other way to come face to face with a snoring Darby. Sam snickered again.

"We win," he tried to say, meaning they'd outdrank...outdrunk?...their hillbilly hosts. But it came out sounded mushy and wrong. Oh well. Sam decided he was going to sleep anyway.

"No, no, nope," said Dean, sounding a bit mushy too. "Not sleepin' with a corpse and a Kerr." He snickered then, and hands were pulling Sam to his feet and leaning him against the wall.

"Whoa." The wall was waving around and taking Sam with it. Closing his eyes helped, but not much.

"I am drunk, but you are toast, little brother," Dean was saying, but Sam couldn't quite sort out the meaning of the words. He let Dean lead him outside, neither one of them steady, and help him into the back seat. Sam was asleep before the door was closed.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean sat behind the wheel of his beloved car with sunglasses on his face and tried not to move at all. Behind him, Sam suddenly woke up, pried the door open and attempted to purge everything he'd ever eaten, the same way Dean had a couple hours earlier.

Finally, Sam pulled himself back into the car but seemed to run out of energy to pull the door closed. It was a good thing, because Dean wasn't sure he could handle the noise just yet.

Moving as little as possible, Dean reached back and twitched the blanket so it covered Sam's head. The kid moaned his thanks.

When Sam had gone 20 minutes without turning himself inside out, Dean reached back again and tapped the blanket with a water bottle. Once it had disappeared under the blanket, he did the same thing with the bottle of acetaminophen.

Dean let himself rest for maybe half an hour more, until he thought that his head wouldn't roll off his neck. "M gonna get us a motel room to sleep this off, if you can get your door closed," he said softly.

In answer, the door creaked twice, then closed on Sam's third try. Dean held his breath until he was sure both of them survived the noise.

Even the beloved rumble of Baby's engine set off snare drums behind Dean's eyes and he knew his lightweight brother had to be doing even worse.

Soon they'd be holed up in a dark room, Dean promised himself.

To his surprise, a quiet voice spoke from the back seat. "Dean, we killed a, uh wight, didn't we?"

"Yeah."

"Did you really pin a note to it saying the Kerrs owe us a steak dinner?"

Dean had forgotten that detail. He chuckled, even though it hurt. "That's right. Yeah, I did." Like Sam, he spoke barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the engine.

"But no more moonshine." Sam sounded all of five years old.

"No, Sammy. No more moonshine. Like ever."

AN: I don't know why sometimes the comments I add with my phone disappear. Oh, well. Trying again.

immertreu: I'm glad you found a smile in the story. :-) Another chapter that's not really cute, but I do hope you enjoyed it a little bit. It's set shortly after Stanford, per your request.

Timelady66: Glad you're reading this! I like writing little one shots in the middle of a longer story as a little break.

Jenjoremy: My brain writes stories when it's supposed to be thinking about stuff like grocery lists and things like that. (You mean normal people don't think about story ideas while they brush their teeth and shower and...? Weird.) Your idea is still cooking, but I haven't forgotten, promise.

Lena: How fun for your kids! I love that you see some Misha in Cas' reactions. *grin* Your daughter's prompt is on my mind, but it's not ready to go yet. It's such a fun idea! I don't think I can get Charlie in it this time though. I'm sorry.

Kathy: I'll try to get in some Weechesters, though that might end up being it's own separate story...not sure yet since my brain is getting kind of full. lol

bagelcat1: Aw, thank you! I did enjoy sticking the Winchesters in towels. I wrote a story that included Dean in a towel a while back, and Kathy and Lena both said there needed to be more Winchester nudity, so it's all their fault! This chapter is inspired by your idea, and I hope you enjoyed it.