Disclaimer: Dude... do I have to dignify this with an answer? 'Cause I kindda lost my dignity when I bought Oscar the Grouch boxers...

A/N: This is awesome guys! Thanks so much for the reviews! Sorry-- no update yesterday... my bad day kind of carried on. But it's much better now! I got away for the weekend, spent some money on myself, and ate some chocolate. On the plus side-- from my bad few days-- I did get a story idea. And this one shot is it. I'm at my parents place for the weekend, so this is another one of those stories that I just wrote up on the spot. I hope you enjoy it!

Title: Sometimes A Little Time Helps
Genre: It's a little angsty, but not really... a little fluffy too... wow, does this story fit a genre?
Summary: Dean snaps at Sam after having more than one bad day. Upset and angry, Dean meets a girl at a bar who lets him know that sometimes time is all you need.

Sometimes A Little Time Helps

"Sam, we've had this same fricken argument for the past two days!" Dean yelled loudly enough to cause his throat to scratch painfully.

"Then you'd think you'd learn!" Sam shot back just as fiercely, "The answer is no!"

Dean took a deep, shaking breath. He wanted nothing more than to grab his brother and shake the living daylights out of him. For two days they'd had this argument; for two days Dean's mood had been sinking and sinking until it took just the slightest wrong doing to spark his temper. This time it had been Sam accidentally spilling a cup of coffee on the floor. One thing lead to another, and soon the two brother's were arguing again about the original disagreement.

Dean wanted to buy some new guns from a dealer in town, and Sam didn't.

The argument was stupid, and Dean would have dropped it easily two days ago if it weren't for the Winchester stubbornness that flowed not only through his blood, but Sam's as well. That and the fact that Dean found himself getting more and more upset or angry by anything, and would always find a way to blame it on Sam, or to bring it back to the useless argument that deep down he agreed with Sam on.

"Sam--!" Dean started, but was quickly interrupted by his hot tempered brother.

"Don't you dare Sam me!" Sam shouted, taking an intimidating step forwards.

"I will say whatever the hell I want," Dean's voice suddenly dropped deathly quiet, "And if you have a problem with that… try and stop me."

Sam stared at Dean a moment, not sure whether to take the threat seriously or not. Suddenly Dean turned towards the chair, grabbed his jacket from it and swung it on.

"Dean--" Sam's voice still bared anger as he touched Dean's arm, intent on not wanting the argument to end.

"Leave it Sam!" Dean's voice roared once more as he shoved Sam back harshly.

Leaving quickly through the door, Dean heard Sam smash into something from his blow, though Dean refused to look back. Refused to acknowledge the fact that he may have hurt his brother in anyway, and instead got in his sleek black car and pointed it towards the nearest bar, wishing he'd smacked Sam even harder.

-§-

"Mary?" Dean stared intently at his drink, "I knew a Mary once."

"Really?" the brown hair, brown eyed lady sitting beside the eldest Winchester spoke with a soft English accent, "Was she as beautiful as I am?"

Dean downed the last sip of his third drink, "More so."

"I beg your pardon!" Mary stood abruptly to her feet.

Dean looked over and smiled, "She was my Mom."

"Oh, ok, " this seemed to settle Mary down as she once again took up company beside Dean, "Your Mum. You said knew… is she gone?"

Dean smirked at the effect alcohol had on people, forcing out blunt, and otherwise inappropriate questions. This didn't stop Dean, loose tongued by his own rye and coke, from responding.

"Yeah," he motioned to the bar tender for another drink, "When I was four, there was a fire."

"Oh no!" Mary looked genuinely sympathetic, "That's horrible."

Dean nodded in agreement as the bartender wordlessly dropped another glass in front of him, "My Dad, brother and I got out, but… not Mom."

"Well that's alright," Mary spoke, before quickly adding, "I mean… at least you still have your Dad and brother."

Dean shook his head, taking a large gulp of his fresh drink, "Dad died last year."

Drunkenness brought about blunt statements all right.

Mary was silent for a long moment, and Dean knew the next question she was about to ask, and knew she was scared to, "…your… brother?"

"Still a pain in the ass," Dean took a deep breath, and closed his eyes-- the argument all too fresh in his mind.

Mary smiled widely, "Well that's good! My brother was my best mate growing up."

"Yeah," Dean spun the green straw sticking out of the drink, "Sam and I were pretty close growing up," another sip of the drink burnt down his throat, "He was the one person I could always count on… even if I thought I was alone."

"You don't sound too happy," Mary finished off her own umpteenth drink, and motioned for another.

"No," Dean agreed, "We had a fight… well… a few of them. That's sort of why I'm here right now."

Mary nodded before stating, "Well it can't be that bad then."

This confused Dean, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you're here drinking about some fight you had with your brother, than you can't be too terribly mad at him," Mary drunkenly rationalized, "If you were really cross with him, then you'd be tearing him a bloody new one right now."

Dean laughed, "Yeah. I already did that to him."

"So?" Mary pulled back half her drink in one gulp, "If you were truly as upset as you think you are, then you'd still be at it. But because you're here-- it can't be that bad."

Again Dean thought about this before mumbling quietly, "It wasn't his fault."

"See," Mary smiled triumphantly, "What was the fight about?"

"Something stupid," Dean shrugged, still playing with the straw in his cup, "And he was right. But..."

"But you were an ass," Mary nodded knowingly, then at Dean's fierce and shocked look quickly continued, "I mean… it's not a bad thing to be an ass. Well… sometimes. If you're not an ass once in a while, how does someone know when you've done something really incredible?"

"But I haven't done anything incredible," Dean found himself sobering up quickly, "I've just been… a complete ass towards Sammy. He didn't deserve it-- all he was doing was looking out for us… for me."

"He's younger, isn't he?" Mary was studying Dean heavily through glazed eyes.

"How'd you know?"

"Well if he were older, you wouldn't be quite so upset about this," Mary rationalized out, "The older brother is supposed to do the looking out. He's supposed to be the protector, not the protected. So naturally if it was turned around, you'd feel intimidated, which would make you angry, which would make you resentful towards your brother… which would cause you even more pain. All ending with your drinking away your troubles and woes at some random bar which you've never been to before."

Dean stared, somewhat shocked at Mary for a moment, "What the hell are you drinking?"

Mary grinned a pristine smile, "He's still your brother. Whether he needs you, or you need him. If he makes you cross, that just means that it's working."

Dean played along, "That what's working?"

"The bond," Mary paused a moment, "When my brother was fifteen, he decided to run away from home. Mum was so worried, as was I. When we finally found him at some old abandoned house, you would have though my first instinct would to be to hug him; make sure he was alright. But no-- I slugged him so hard, we ended up sitting in the hospital for two hours, him with a broken nose, and myself with a broken finger. Later we apologized to each other, talked for a couple of hours over some drinks, and laughed about the whole thing."

Dean laughed at this story, and rubbed his hand over his face, "Why did he leave?"

"He said he needed time," Mary shrugged, taking another large sip of her drink, "He told me that he needed to get away from everything-- all the stress of his life. I guess it worked."

Dean stared down at his nearly full drink, "You're lucky to be so close with your brother."

"I know," Mary nodded, her voice suddenly soft and quiet, "He was my best mate right up until the night he was hit by that car."

Dean wordlessly stared at her.

Mary smiled, "Don't stay mad Dean. It's not all that bad."

Dean nodded through the sudden arrival of a lump in his throat, "Thanks."

-§-

Careful manoeuvring, and even more careful driving got Dean and his car back to the hotel in one piece. He would never admit it to Sam, and Dean wasn't sure if it was because of what Mary told him, or the alcohol which still pumped through his body, but the whole slow drive back, silent tears had marked their path down his unshaven face. All evidence was wiped away as Dean pulled up in front of the hotel room; mildly curious as to the fact that the lights were still all on. Again Mary's words thumped in Dean mind as the hunter went to the trunk of the car and opened it up. Inside was the weapons which he'd memorized, and a few random papers, and files. Stored to the side of the trunk, however, was what Dean was looking for, and he pulled out a case of beer stashed and forgotten about. He walked towards the door, the muffled sound of the television seeping through.

Dean opened the door up and looked over. Sam was laying against the headrest of his bed, and was watching a George Forman infomercial which both brothers had memorized. Wordlessly Dean walked over to his own bed, sat the beer on the end table near the lamp, and pulled out two bottles. Finally making eye contact, Dean looked over at Sam, and held out a bottle. A smile touched Sam's lips as he turned off the TV, and accepted the beer.

"Sammy…" words were anything but easy to come by for Dean.

Sam smiled fully now as he opened his beer, "…I know… me too."

The End.