We're Headed for Heartbreak

Sam followed Dean out of the bar and into the Impala. Sam didn’t really know what’d happened. Dean was the one that wanted a beer. Not him. But Sam couldn’t help himself. He knocked back two, three, four, and then he lost count. All he knew was that he was swaying with each step and his mind was gloriously empty. He grunted when he missed a step and almost fell, blaming it on the gravel. Dean turned around only after opening the back door for Sam. “Alright, Sasquatch. In you go,” he chuckled. Sam all but tumbled into the back seat, sprawling out in every direction. Sam knew somewhere in his subconscious that this wouldn’t end well, but the haze filling his head was too glorious to fight. So, he just laid down and smiled at the imaginary images filling his eyes while Dean drove.

Dean turned the car down another road, snickering at the drunken mumbles his brother was emitting. Dean remembered back to the bar, trying to figure out what set Sam off. One minute, he was barely touching his beer, and the next he was knocking them back like nobody’s business.

Dean waltzed into the bar, feeling good. Sam trailed him with a slightly exasperated look on his face. Anyone who saw him could tell that he wasn’t particularly excited to be there. Dean picked out a booth in the back corner and ordered them both a beer. By the time the elder Winchester had knocked back enough to feel a small buzz, Sam had downed only about half of one. Dean began scanning the bar’s occupants, looking for that “lucky someone”. One particularly good-looking girl caught his eye, along with the attractive guy a few tables over. Dean had always had a small attraction to the other gender. The way he saw it, as long as he was getting what he wanted, why did it matter where it came from? He decided to focus in on the guy, since the girl focused in on the drink in front of her. The guy grinned at the look Dean was giving him, the look of unadulterated need. A semblance of a growl that emanated from Sam’s throat got Dean’s attention. Sam quickly gulped the remains of his beer and ordered another. And another. And another. Sam knocked them back so quick Dean lost count as well as his hopes of a fun night. He knew he’d have to help Sam back to the hotel room.

Sam thought back, recalling how he got in this position.

Sam saw the look that his brother gave that guy across the bar. And he didn’t like it. This trip is supposed to be about Dean and me, not Dean and some nameless guy in a bar Sam thought. It angered him. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t help it. He’d driven himself insane all day trying to figure out why he thought about kissing his brother. All he wanted to do was forget, so he decided to do that the best way he knew how: drink. So he did. One after another

Dean pulled into the hotel, pulling Sam out of his reverie when he shut off the engine. Opening the back door and lugging the mammoth onto his feet, Dean struggled to the door under the weight of his brother. “Stay here, dude. Gotta get the door open,” Dean said as he leaned his brother up against the motel wall.

Sliding a little, Sam grinned at his brother, “Thanks for the help. You’re the best.” The drunken slur made it almost impossible to understand.

“Okay, come on. In you go.” Dean hauled his brother back up and sat him on the edge of the bed. He took his shoes and jacket off, tending to his little brother. He straightened up and leaned over his brother to pull the covers back.

Sam knew drinking made him not only forget but stupid as well. Before he could think, he leaned up and just touched his lips to his brother’s. He was tired of drunkenly wondering what it felt like. He slurred, “Thanks for taking care of me, Dean.” Laying down, Sam passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Dean stiffened at the feel of his brother’s lips brushing against his own. Before he could react, Sam was mumbling something and asleep. Dean rigidly walked outside into the fresh air, the room suddenly feeling too small. What the fuck?! Dean yelled in his head. After taking a few deeps breaths, he walked back inside, relieved himself of his shoes and jacket, and laid down next to his brother. He wished they had two beds. He brushed his fingers over his lips, trying to rid his skin of the still-lingering feeling of Sam’s lips.

Subconsciously, however, Dean knew he was fooling himself. He was grateful for the single bed. He wasn’t trying to get rid of the tingling feeling, but make it last. Dean wasn’t disgusted by the kiss; he was elated. And deep in his heart, he knew he couldn’t wait for more. He would make sure it wasn’t the last.

Won’t be the last he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep, smile resting on his perfect lips.