No Idea It Would Feel So Empty…

Rated T

Some time after Lazarus Rising…

He sat back and tried to forget, but found it difficult, almost impossible. The memory was too fresh, stinging like a fresh tattoo. He knew the sting would fade, become itchy and irritating and then sting again when he bothered it until one day he'd barely remember how much it had hurt, have only the scar, fading picture to remind him.

Liquor helped ease the sting and he tipped the amber filled glass, drained its contents before motioning to the bartender for a refill. He glanced around the bar, looking for something, someone, not knowing what, who or why but wanting to connect, wanting something familiar. He saw same kind of people he always found in places like these. Nothing had changed in the time he'd been gone, nothing…except everything.

He sighed. He was different and so was Sam. He brushed a hand over his weary face and watched as the bartender slid another glass of whiskey in front of him.

"Last one."

Dean nodded, and poured the whiskey down his throat. "What's the damage?"

"Twenty and some change."

Dean stood, a little unsteady, as he pulled his wallet from his pocket. He slid a ten and a twenty from his wallet and handed it to the man, "Keep it." He slurred a bit and then moved toward the door. Glancing through the room again, hoping to see what he was looking for, slightly sad when he didn't, even though he knew without a doubt it wasn't in this crappy roadside bar.

He stood outside in the warmth of the Indian summer, forced to squint and hold a hand up to block the glare from the headlights of the car across the parking lot as he stumbled off to his right. Toward the motel that stood beside the bar, he tripped over the curb and cussed when he slammed against door number, he narrowed his eyes, nine or ninety-nine, he couldn't tell. Dean giggled, suddenly forgetting his melancholy and continued on to the stairs.

The stairs proved easier, since the railing was there to hold him upright. He made it to the top and then stopped, straightened in that way only someone truly drunk does and then as if an afterthought, he pulled the keycard from his pocket. He strained to make the numbers stop jumping across the back of the little envelope.

"Two-O-five." Dean glanced to his left and then to his right trying to decide if two-o-five was to the left or right of two-o-nine. He shrugged and moved to left. He glanced at the doors and nodded as he saw the next door, "Good, two-O-eight…" Dean kept his left hand on the railing as he moved counting down the doors. "…two-O-svevin…" he laughed, "slevin…svevlin…fuck it…" Dean held up his hand at the next one, two fingers and then all five.

He frowned, "Should be six." Dean nodded and belched then giggled as he moved to the next door. He looked at the numbers, again reading them even as he leaned his head against the door and traced them with his right hand. "Two-O-five…"

Dean whispered against the battered door, "Sammy?"

Dean tossed the envelope on the walkway and slid the card into the slot on the door. The light went green, but Dean hesitated a moment too long and the lights blinked back to all red. Dean frowned, "Saaaaammmmyyyy…" Dean stage whispered and then slid the card in and out again, this time managing to move the handle down while the light was green.

The door gave beneath him and he fell into the room, stumbling with a loud thump as the door swung wide and slammed into the small chair sitting almost directly behind it.

Dean found himself suddenly pressed nose first, into the nasty green shag carpet, a foot or elbow or something sharp and bony pressed between his shoulders and the barrel of Sam's 9mm pressed to his cheek.

"Dean?"

"Hi, Saammyy."

Sam pulled himself from his brother and slid the safety back on as he stood and flipped the light switch, "Damn it Dean, I almost shot you."

Sam stared down at his older brother, ran a hand through his hair and tossed his gun onto the bed before moving to help Dean from the floor.

Dean let Sam help him up and then slid an arm over his brother's shoulders, "Naaahh, you wouldntashot me…" Dean smiled, eyes half-lidded and liquor glazed, "I'm your brouthur."

Sam nodded and helped Dean to the bed, "Yeah, well you should be glad I'm "the ask first, shoot later" kind of brother then." Sam pulled Dean's arm from his shoulder and let him flop onto the bed. "God Dean you reek of cigarettes and cheap whiskey." Sam eyed his brother, "You been smoking again?"

Dean shook his head seriously, swaying on the bed, "No, Dad." Dean giggled again and then shrugged, "Maybe a coupleortwo."

Sam wanted to beat him, but what the hell; he was old enough to make his own dumbass choices. "I figured you'd find yourself a…" Sam smirked and cleared his throat, "…nice girl and I wouldn't see you till morning."

Dean glared at his brother and frowned before whispering conspiringly, "Nope. No nice girls down there, Sam…all skanks."

Sam rolled his eyes. He knew better than to attempt to reason with his drunken brother, "Never stopped you before, man."

"Ha! Funny Sammy…" Dean let himself fall onto the bed and sighed when his head hit the pillow. "There was one girl, Sammy…she was hot." Dean's eyes drifted closed and his voice was starting to trail off into sleep. "Legs up…to there…eyes, Sammy…"

Sam chuckled as he untied his brother's boots. "She had eyes did she?" Sam pulled the boots off and then moved to the bathroom where he filled a glass with water before grabbing three aspirin from his shaving bag. He returned to the bed and shook Dean's shoulder.

"Eyes…big brown eyes…dark curly hair, Sam…so fucking beautiful…skin, soft and…"

"Okay, Casanova, sit up." Sam pulled Dean upright and then put the three aspirin on his tongue. "Here." He pressed the glass to his mouth, "Take the damn aspirin or I'll have to shoot you in the morning for being an asshole with a hangover."

Dean nodded against the glass, sloshing water all over himself, the bed and Sam, but he swallowed the bitter pills. He patted Sam's arm and smiled. "Sexier than hell…"

"Me? Thanks, bro." Sam chuckled and set the glass on the table

Dean looked at Sam serious, "Not you bitchboy….the woman…tall, god, Sammy I miss her…" Dean fell back onto the bed.

Sam's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Who, Dean?" Sam watched his brother start to fall asleep so he nudged his shoulder hard, "Roll onto your damn stomach, you puke and choke so help me I'll CPR your ass back to life so I can choke you myself."

Dean rolled over and punched at the pillow.

Sam yanked the pillow from beneath his brother's head and tossed it to the other side of the bed with a sigh. He turned, planning to crawl back into his own bed when he heard it.

Sam spun and looked at his brother, eyes closed, but sure enough tears on his lashes, running down the bridge of his nose to drip onto the sheet below. "Shit, Dean you okay?" Sam was suddenly concerned, even drunk Dean didn't usually cry.

Dean didn't answer, just sniffed and wiped at his face with his hand before waving the hovering Sam away.

"Dean…"

Dean answered with his middle finger and then turned his head to the wall with a sigh.

"Fine, good night."

Sam flipped the light off and slid into bed, tired. He sighed, stared into the dark and prayed that tonight it wouldn't happen, prayed that the alcohol would be enough to keep Dean's dreams away. The crying, the begging that came from Dean's bed almost nightly was difficult for Sam to deal with.

Night after night of holding Dean while he thrashed and cried, begging for the pain to end. Nights of hearing his brother cry for him and their father, bargaining with someone, anyone for relief. Nights of tears over his brother's tense body as he shushed and whispered, tried to wake him, begged him to open his eyes, all without ever getting a response.

Sam felt his own tears, brushed them away and prayed.

The room was quiet for an eternity then, "Miss her, Sammy…"

Sam sat up, "Who Dean? Who?" Sam watched, saw when Dean turned his head and laid it back down, eyes open, just catching the light from the alarm clock on the bedside table and casting back an eerie green glow.

Dean ran the back of his hand over his eyes, stared toward his brother, knowing he was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching and waiting for an answer. Dean cleared his throat, "Need to go see her…call her…something…"

Sam brushed his hair from his face and his stomach sank. He knew, oh hell and he'd mailed that damn letter. "Dean…"

"Hell, Sam I…shit man, I'm fucked up right now…" Dean laughed drunkenly.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, don't I know it…You're talking about Cassie right?"

"Cassandra…mmm, so fucking sexy…damn hot…" Dean smiled.

Sam could see the white of his brother's teeth. Shit, damn and fuck it all, he was screwed. "Um, Dean, about Cassie…"

"Hmm? She is hot isn't she?" Dean's eyes drifted shut.

"Yeah, but Dean I sent the letter…"

"Good for you Sammy…shh, I'm sleeping now…" Dean mumbled and then was silent.

"Dean?" Sam asked, he tried again when Dean didn't answer, "Dean...Damn it, she thinks you're dead, how you gonna explain that?" Sam asked his sleeping brother.

"Shit, he's going to kill me."

Sam fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes, he tried to sleep, actually tried to chase it down behind his eyelids. He tried to tackle it in his thoughts and pin it to a specimen board to keep it in one place, but he failed. He was still awake when the alarm buzzed.

The alarm squealed twice and then was promptly flung across the room before Dean rolled to his side and pulled a pillow over his head. "Not moving Sam…fucking truck in my head…tornado in my gut…never again…"

Sam eyed his brother, "Fine with me, I didn't sleep." They had nowhere to be. Sam hoped his brother didn't remember anything from the previous night. Sam flopped onto his back and tucked an arm behind his head.

Dean's head lifted, and he groaned before looking suspiciously over to Sam, "You should be flipping on the lights, turning the TV up and singing, off key very loudly." Dean swallowed, fighting the sudden wave of nausea, "What gives?"

Sam shook his head, "Nothing man, I'm just tired, didn't sleep and we don't have anywhere we have to be so, who cares."

Dean knew he should be grateful, but he wasn't. Something was off and it was bothering him, but just then his stomach protested and he rushed to the bathroom.

Sam frowned at the sounds coming from the bathroom, he knew what that felt like. He also knew there wasn't a thing he could do to help. It struck him that Dean probably didn't remember the previous night. He heard Dean retch again, flush and then his brother cursed loudly. When Sam heard water running in the sink, he smiled and rolled over to face the wall. If Dean didn't remember, that meant he was in the clear.

Sam was sound asleep by the time Dean stumbled back to his bed and fell face first onto the mattress with an anguished groan.

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