Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural (but I wish I did)

The Demon Drink

Dean awoke, his head pounding. How much had he drunk last night? He felt like he had consumed the brewery, the distillery and the vineyard just for good measure. His mouth felt horrible and furry, like he had eaten a live squirrel. His head was thumping loudly in his head, and his muscles were all cramped up. And there was also the not quite so unnoticeable pain in his stomach that indicated that he and his old friend the lavatory would be getting better acquainted this morning. He slowly opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it, the sunlight streaming into the room feeling like it had melted his corneas. He closed his eyes, but knew he had to move soon, because if he threw up on the bed, firstly the motel would charge them extra and secondly Sam wouldn't go anywhere, do anything or even talk to him until he had brushed his teeth at least a dozen times and cleaned up the mess himself and only once he had sprayed enough air freshener that could make the motel blow up like the Death Star if someone lit a match did he consent to be his brother again.

Dean rolled off the bed, gasping in pain as he landed on his hands and knees, before he crawled through to the bathroom, eyes still closed. Hang on, he had woken up on the bed closest to the bathroom. Why was that? Even when he had been out drinking, he always insisted Sam have the bed furthest away from the door, so he could be better protected. After all, the one time Sam had been closest to the door, they'd both been murdered by other hunters, and along with that, he'd seen Fellowship of the Ring, he knew what could happen. Resolving to ponder that at a later date, he finally made it to the toilet just in time.

Ten minutes later, his eyes streaming, his throat burning, his head still pounding and the muscle pains in his mouth and jaw all killing him in their own individually torturous ways, he finally slouched over to the shower, stripped off his clothes, eyes still closed, sat on the edge of the bath, and climbed in. A minute later, hot water was pouring down onto his body, and he finally felt himself waking up. His head was still pounding, his muscles still sore, but he was feeling better, he no longer felt grimy or that he was going to be sick, so he supposed that was progress of some sort. He then became aware of his own body as he could finally open his eyes without feeling like a hot poker was behind them.

There were cuts on his knuckles, a relic from a recent hunt, just like the slight limp he still had, and the cut on his forehead, along with the bruised thumb and grinding knee. Funny though that they all still hurt like hell when his head felt like it was in its death throes. Shrugging it off, he continued to let the water clean away the griminess, the smell of alcohol and the pain in his muscles and head. After a while in the shower, his muscles started to relax and he took himself through to the main room. Throwing on his clothes, he looked at himself in the mirror. Figuring he looked mostly human again, he quickly used his gel to style his hair before turning his attention to the problem that had been vexing him since he woke up.

Where the hell was Sam?

Fair enough, Dean had been comatose with a drink induced sleep. But usually Sam was at least in the same room as him. While he may have reeked of booze, it was only really the smell of sick that bothered Sam and could have made him leave. Dean quickly took a peek outside into the bright sunny world, and immediately regretted it. After reassuring himself that he wasn't blind, he checked again, and could see no sign of his lanky baby brother in their tinpot car of the week. Considering Sam had 'borrowed' a Ford Anglia, claiming that it was vintage, Dean had resolved never to let him get them a car again. Mind you it was still a good little runner, not quite as fast as his beloved Impala, but still quite good. The fact that it was a light blue colour had led to Dean teasing Sam mercilessly, calling him Hermione, but Sam, quite patiently, had then explained that Hermione hadn't actually been in the car, it was only Harry and Ron, and scuppered by his little brother's superior knowledge of Harry Potter, he had had to admit defeat. Maybe one time when Sam wasn't looking, he might swipe the first book from his bag and read it himself. After all, who carried around all seven books in their duffel?

Musing on Harry Potter wasn't helping him find Sam though. Reaching across his bed, he picked up his phone, which he had somehow managed to get out of his pocket last night, quite miraculously in his opinion, he phoned Sam.

As the phone rang, it struck Dean once more just how alone they were, to the extent that Sam was really the only person they could now phone, aside from a few other friends, but no one as close to them as their losses had been. Their mother had died when Sammy had been just six months old. Their father had died several years ago, the victim of a crossroads deal with the yellow-eyed demon Azazel. While they had both died, and come back in the intervening time, some of their losses had been considerably less permanent. Ellen and Jo, two hunters who the boys had come to view as a sort of family, with Ellen acting as a sort of surrogate mother, and Jo a sassy little sister, depending on where he and her stood at the time, had been lost to hellhounds once the Apocalypse had started. Rufus, the irascible old hunter they had come to know through Bobby, had been killed by the newest creation of the monster Eve. Most recently had been two even more painful losses. Their angel friend Castiel, determined to stop the remaining Archangel up in heaven, Raphael, had consumed thousands of souls from Purgatory with the king of Hell, Crowley's help. He had unwittingly absorbed monsters known as Leviathans, and having such power inside him had destroyed him.

But the most recent and devastating loss had been Bobby. Shot in the head by the leader of the Leviathans, Dick Roman, he had lost the struggle to live, and Sam and Dean had lost their closest friend and father figure, someone who a lot of the time had treated them more like his own kids than their own father ever had.

And now Sam wasn't answering, and Dean began to fear that Sam had vanished.

With Sam battling images of Lucifer twenty four seven, he was perpetually worried about his baby brother. Had he cracked and gone off somewhere? Had he found a hunt and gone off to deal with it himself? No, it wouldn't be that, Dean had hit him last time, after cutting off the cast on his broken leg, and typically, Sam had been more concerned about Dean's leg than he had about his brother hitting him, fussing over him once he arrived. Had he gone for food, to the library? No, he would have left a note. Frowning, a sliver of worry in his chest, Dean collected his gun, wallet and phone, and with a deep breath, ventured outside into sunlit carpark.

"Ah, son of a bitch!" he wailed as the bright sun assaulted his sensitive eyes.

Cursing the centre of the solar system viciously, he put his hand above his eyes, alleviating the pain ever so slightly, and looked around. No sign of Sam. Concerned, he headed to the owner of the motel, who had the last room as their own, and a cutaway window so he could talk to customers.

"Hey mate, have you seen my brother? Big and tall, long hair, most likely in a flannel shirt of some kind?" Dean asked the portly old man in the booth, his voice sounding like grit on the road.

"Your brother? No sorry son, I haven't. If I see him do you want me to tell him you're looking for him?" the old man asked good naturedly, though his nose was slightly wrinkled, most likely from the smell of stale alcohol on Dean's breath.

Dean looked around. Alright, now he was officially worried. The bed that ought to have been Dean's hadn't been slept in. There was no sign of any sort of Sam in the room, other than the duffel bag he had dropped there when they had got there yesterday. The car was still here. He wasn't answering his phone, and no one had seen him. Worry filled Dean. Where was his brother? If he was hurt somewhere, and Dean wasn't able to assist because he'd been drinking, he would never forgive himself.

Sam had gotten on at him a few times for the amount of alcohol he had been drinking. Ever since the destruction of his relationship with Lisa and Ben and all that that had entailed, Dean had just been relying on alcohol more and more to get him through things. Losing two of the three best things that had ever happened to him (his brother being the other), combined with the numerous losses they had sustained, Sam's mental problems, Castiel's betrayal and death and the death of Bobby, it all seemed just too much to try and work out without an aid. While Sam never missed an opportunity to let Dean know he was willing to listen if Dean wanted to talk, let him know he just wanted to help his big brother, that just wasn't Dean's thing. And he definitely felt that talking about his feelings fell under the girly, no-chick flick moment rule.

But recently, even Dean had to admit he had been really bad. After all, he could usually hold whatever he drank, but this morning he was suffering from the hangover from hell, and on top of that Sam was missing. How could he be so irresponsible? Sam was his job, looking after him, protecting him. After the thing with Becky, yeah he had said he would back off and stop babying Sam, but it was second nature to him, he couldn't help himself. It was his job, had always been his job, and even though he had screwed it up a few times, he had always gotten Sam back.

So where the hell was he now?

He was just about to go to the car and drive around town to look for him the old fashioned way, very slowly he supposed considering he was probably at least a hundred times over the legal limit, when a police car rolled into the gravel covered parking lot. Two police officers from the town department got out and headed straight for the old man's booth, passing Dean by with a curt nod as they did so.

"Sir, did you see or hear anything around here between the hours of one and three last night?" the lead officer, a spindly man with a moustache and country sounding accent asked the man.

"Sorry son, my hearing aid is on the fritz, say that again?" the old man called, fiddling with his ear.

The officer repeated himself, and an unpleasant feeling crept into Dean's gut, and he didn't think it was the alcohol. It was his protect Sam feeling, the one that usually cropped up when he failed. He edged a little closer to hear what the officers were saying.

"A man was brutally attacked here last night, he was seen by a passing motorist who called the ambulance. He's been taken to the local hospital, but any later and he would have died. He's incredibly lucky to be alive, he was nearly dead when they found him he'd been attacked so viciously. We think it might be one of your guests." The other man, an older man with receding Captain Picard hair said.

"No son, I'm sorry, I didn't hear or see anything. Sleeping tablets you see. Besides, like I said, my hearing aid is giving me grief. What about you lad?" the proprietor called, noticing Dean.

But Dean ignored the old man and looked imploringly at the two officers.

"The man who was found, who was he? What did he look like? See, my brother's missing and now I'm starting to freak out." He said worriedly, his stomach churning with worry, alcohol and premature guilt.

"We don't know his name, he wasn't in any shape to tell us kid. But I'm pretty sure you would know him if you saw. Over six foot, long hair, almost beat to a pulp the poor kid. He only said one word when he was taken in. 'Dean' I think it was." The older man said, looking to the other for confirmation, and the answering nod was all the answer Dean needed.

He didn't need to see the nod. He was on his knees, vomiting up yet more of his stomach's contents, making the policemen leap back in fright, fearful of it getting on their shoes.

"Oh my god, Sammy...Sammy..." he mumbled, and pulled himself to his feet.

"Poor lad, bit under the weather this morning." The old man explained to the police, who were looking at Dean with distaste.

"Whoa son, how much did you drink last night? I'm getting drunk just from the fumes." The moustached one said in astonishment.

"He's my brother." Dean breathed anxiously.

"Who is?" the younger asked in confusion.

"The guy in hospital. He's my baby brother. I'm Dean. He wasn't here when I woke up, I was going to go looking for him, I haven't seen him since last night. Please, you gotta take me to him." He pleaded urgently, his concern for Sam overriding everything, including how pathetic and gravelly he sounded. He would drive himself, but he didn't want to meet these boys in a professional capacity, not when his brother was in such a state.

"You going to puke again?" the younger asked, earning him an elbow from the older man.

"No, I'm good. Please, hurry!" he urged, heading to the car.

"Thanks for the help sir." They said, doffing their hats to the old man, who waved at them cheerily before once more scowling at his ear.

The drive was quick, through the local countryside to the small hospital just outside of town. But Dean's thoughts weren't on the drive. They were on Sam. Someone, according to what the police had said, had damn near murdered his baby brother right outside their room. Dean, his big brother, his protector, had been wasted out of his brain and hadn't even known, not until hours later. His little brother had been viciously attacked, and he was none the wiser. How bad was Sam? Were his injuries as bad as the police were saying? He knew better than anyone that Sammy was a fighter, but how much had he endured? And combined with that, he would have had that prick Lucifer singing in his head all the while he was attacked too. Just how bad was Sam going to be? What if this was the event that finally made Sam crack, drove him inexorably over the edge into insanity, something Dean had been terrified of ever since that treacherous jerk Cas had broke Sam's wall so Dean couldn't stop him getting to Purgatory.

And more importantly, who had done this? Who had hurt Sam? Who had attacked him so horribly, so viciously that Sam was on death's door? It didn't seem the style of the Leviathans, but he supposed he couldn't rule them out. Vampires? As far as they knew there weren't any around, but that meant nothing. Demon? Crowley had apparently called a truce, but that didn't mean some damn Lucifer loyalist was betraying his marching orders. Angel? Yeah, they were more than capable, but aside from Cas and Balthazar they had been mercifully free of those wankers since they'd scuppered their plans for the Apocalypse. Or was it just humans? Drunks perhaps? Muggers? Hunters? After all, Dean never had hunted down Walt and Roy like he had vowed. If they were back, so help him he was going to tear them limb from limb for hurting his baby brother, possibly twice.

His stomach was churning again. The situation was simple. His dad had always told him to break it down. So here it was: One, Sam was hurt, nearly beaten to death and he hadn't been there to help him. Two, he hadn't known as he had been out of his mind with booze and hadn't found out until hours later, when it could very well have been too late. Three, he didn't know what had done it. Four, when he found out who had done this to him, he was going to kill them, very slowly and very painfully.

Musings on his failings as a brother, he was relieved when the car stopped and Dean vomited once more, showering the pavement, guilt making him finish the job of cleaning out his system. Shame it didn't fix his headache, but at least his stomach felt normal now, despite the sickening feeling of guilt and failure. How could he do this to himself? Get so drunk that he didn't know that someone had tried to kill Sam? How could he let Sam down so badly? He had failed in his most basic duty, and he could just hear John yelling at him.

'What the hell were you thinking boy? I always told you to watch out for him, and you didn't! Sam might have died, and it would have been your fault! How could you be so stupid?'

Cursing the voices in his head, and ignoring the questions of the police, he threw them a quick thanks and ran into the hospital. He darted to the desk, and not even noticing how pretty the blonde and amply built nurse was, he demanded to know where his brother was, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean dashed to the room where his brother was being held.

And stopped short, and found himself once more suppressing the urge to be sick.

Dean had seen Sam in a state before, but nothing was quite like this. He was lying on the bed, swollen bruised eyes closed. There were cuts over his face, and plaster on his nose. There were two large purple bruises on his head, and his mouth was swollen around the lips. His neck had purple imprints from where someone had clearly tried to strangle him. His right wrist was wrapped in bandages. Gauze was wrapped round his torso, and there were bruises all over his beaten body particularly the stomach and chest, along with deep bloody scratches on his arms, legs and elbows.

"Oh my god Sammy..." Dean said, rushing to the chair at his brother's side.

"Mr Winston?" the bespectacled doctor from the door asked, and Dean had to remember what name they were using this week, and nodded.

"Yeah, that's me. I'm his brother, Dean." He said, his eyes not leaving his broken little brother.

"I am so sorry for what happened to him. My sister runs the local bar and says there were a lot of rowdy drunks last night, I expect your poor brother happened upon them and they, well took advantage." He said, and Dean turned and looked at him in alarm, fearing what he was implying.

The kindly bald doctor realised what he had said, and his eyes widened in shock.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't meant it like that at all, not at all. Just didn't think before I opened my mouth. No, that area is probably the only area not harmed significantly." The doctor said, looking at Sam's unconscious form pityingly.

Dean looked at his beaten little brother, and automatically started stroking his hand gently through Sam's hair.

"Will he be alright?" Dean asked urgently, looking at his little brother and silently pleading with him to wake up.

The doctor tapped his chin with his pen.

"I don't know. The next twenty four hours are key. If he makes it through the night, he'll make a full recovery. But we're waiting on scan results back to know if he has internal bleeding, but I'm reasonably confident that it's just bruising. But his head took some severe knocks, he had a very heavy concussion, so I'm waiting on the MRI scan to come back to tell me more. And aside from both possible internal bleeding and brain damage, his body has dealt with a lot, so his body might shut down, but I think he was saved in time to avoid that. But there's also the attempted strangulation. From what we've seen, if the attacker had waited a second or two more to let go, your brother would have been dead before we got to him." The doctor recounted sadly, and Dean shivered, unconsciously squeezing Sam's plaster bound hand with his own.

"But you think he has a good chance?" Dean asked, desperate for reassurance.

After all, that was normally Bobby's job, it would be him that would tell him Sam was strong, that he would be fine. But Bobby was gone.

"Yes. I'd say seventy thirty if I'm pessimistic, but I could be persuaded to go to ninety ten if I have coffee and feel optimistic afterwards." He said kindly, patting Dean on the shoulder in a fatherly way.

"Thaks doc. So what did this son of a bitch do to him?" Dean asked venomously.

"Heavy concussion, dislocated nose, severe abrasions to the face, hands, knees, elbows and arms, severe bruising of the abdomen and possible internal damage, broken wrist, two broken ribs but he did avoid a punctured lung, blunt force trauma to the chest and face, asphyxiation damage from the strangulation and to top it off, he sprained his ankle as well." The doctor said grimly.

"Aww Sammy, I'm so sorry." He whispered to his unmoving brother.

"I'll leave you two alone. I shall be back later." The doctor said, nodding to Dean.

Dean watched as the man left, and looked sadly at his little brother.

"Aww Sammy, I'm so sorry. This should never have happened, I should never have gotten so drunk, I should have been with you, this never would have happened. But did you hear? The doc reckons you'll be fine, ok? You'll be fine Sammy." Dean said, and cursed the tears that were stinging his eyes as he held his unknowing brother's hand.

"And don't be your usual stubborn self just to prove him wrong ok? Don't you dare die on me, or I'll kick your ass. And if you even think of going to heaven now, I'm pretty sure Bobby will kick your ass too, and so will everyone else we know. I was usually the one who bore the brunt of Ellen's wrath, but I don't fancy your chances if you go and die and go up there before your time, she'll kick you in the ass, you hear me?" Dean prattled affectionately, smoothing his brother's covers, while his brother slept silently.

"I'm sorry I let this happen to you Sammy. It won't happen again. I promise I'll drink a hell of a lot less. Besides, another hangover like this one might kill me anyway, and I reckon you'd find a way to bring me back just so you could kick my ass if I did that. You kept telling me, and I didn't listen. I'm sorry Sammy."

He looked at his prone brother, still receiving no response, and so continued to prattle to himself.

"I'll find whoever did this Sammy. The police warned me in the car that they don't take kindly to vigilantes, but screw them. They want stop me protecting you ok? I'll find whoever did this and rip them limb from limb for this. I swear." He vowed, growling dangerously, hoping Sam would give him any sort of response, but none was forthcoming.

"I swear I'll get them Sammy. Now, don't you dare die on me. Because if you leave me here, all alone, I swear I'll drag you back to life myself if I have to. If not, I'll be right behind you. You better survive this Sammy. You survived Lucifer's cage bro. You going to let getting beat up put you down? I know you won't. Wake up soon for me, ok Sasquatch? Humour me just this once and come back early. Please." He pleaded, then took a deep breath and stood, wiping his eyes as he did so.

"Alright. I've got the bastards who hurt you to hunt Sammy. But I swear I'll be here when you wake up, hokay? Don't you dare die while I'm out, you hear me? Or I'll kick your ass, and cut your hair." He said teasingly, ruffling said hair gently and affectionately, and turned for the door, but stopped himself.

"Come back Sammy." He whispered, squeezing his brother's hand one last time, and after giving his unresponsive brother a final, concerned once over, he headed for the door, checking his gun as he did so.

Time to go hunting.

Here we are with chapter two!

Poor Sammy got hit really bad, the poor thing. But never mind, Dean's on the case now, even if he is suffering the hangover from hell. But now, he's away hunting to find the scumbags who did this to his little brother. I dont fancy being in their shoes when he finds them.

I'm sorry if Dean seemed a little ooc at the end there, I was basing it on the aftermath of Sam's first death in season 2, but its been a while since I've seen it (I have been watching Dark Angel though, and I must say Jensen Ackles looks quite nice in that one too)

So, hopefully chapter three will be up soon, I've got a chapter of Crucicrux to finish then I'll update this once more! I'm aiming for five chapters just so as you know. And I've also got a couple of ideas for other Supernatural stories, one of which is touched on here.

So I will see you all soon, till then please read and review as always, and next chapter, Dean catches up to the attacker!