The Winchesters had many ways of letting off steam, God knows they needed them.
Hunting had to be one of the most stressful jobs on the planet, so when either of the brothers stumbled into the bunker, their gait unsteady, their breath stinking of too much alcohol, the other would simply haul him off to his bed and dump him there to sleep it off.
All that was in the past though.
Things had become too dangerous for the brothers now. Too many were out for revenge of one type or another, so, if and when, they needed to vent, it was always a double act.
The more the years passed, the more precious one brother was to the other.
Dean would no longer take off on his own, neither would Sam.
Dean wanted to karaoke? Fair enough, Sam would sit, nurse a beer and listen, even if Dean's off-key singing grated on his ears, just as Dean would fiddle with his phone in the movie theatre when Sam had the unquenchable need to go see some boring foreign film.
Something was coming for them, both could feel it in their bones, but whatever it was, it either took them together or there would be all hell to pay, and nothing was quite like the hell a Winchester could drum up when bereft of his brother.