SPN: Trick Me Easy by WesleysGirl
Title: Trick Me Easy
Author: wesleysgirl
Rating: PG (gen)
Word Count: 653
Spoilers, Warnings: None
Notes: Title from the lyrics of the song "Whiskey in the Jar."
Trick Me Easy
by WesleysGirl
"Dude, when did you get so tall?" Dean is drunk as all hell, stumbling over his untied boots. Sam's arm around him is the only thing holding him up.
"Tenth grade," Sam says grimly. "Three inches in a year, remember?"
"Oh. Right." Dean belches and trips again.
Sam hauls him to his feet. "Come on. Only half a block."
"Where we goin', Sammy?" Dean stops, looking puzzled.
"To the motel," Sam tells him. "It's right up here. Then you can drink half a gallon of water and sleep this off."
"Not if I drink half a gallon of water," Dean mutters, starting to walk again at Sam's insistence. "Huh. Maybe we should just stop here."
"You want to sleep here?" Sam looks around incredulously. To their right is a gas station that probably hasn't been open in five years. On the left, there are three trash cans set out at the curb, which is kind of mysterious considering the out of business gas station, but whatever.
"I didn't say sleep," Dean says. "I was more thinking -- you know, puke." And he does, right between two of the trash cans. The sound of his retching is enough to make Sam's stomach clench in sympathy.
"Jesus, Dean." Sam holds onto him until he's done, breathing through his mouth to avoid having to smell the sharp, acrid stench of vomit. "Okay. Come on, let's get you out of here."
Dean doesn't say anything the rest of the way back; he seems focused on putting one foot in front of the other, which Sam appreciates because despite their disparate heights, Dean is a lot more solid than he looks. Sam would rather not carry him if he doesn't have to.
He gets the door unlocked and Dean into the room, then sits Dean on the side of the bed. "Are you gonna be sick again?"
"No." Dean groans it more than says it. Sam tries to help him get his jacket off, but Dean jerks his shoulder away petulantly. "Just leave it, Sam."
"Fine," Sam tells him. "Sleep in your boots for all I care."
On his own, Dean manages to shrug out of his jacket and kick off his boots while Sam goes to the bathroom for a glass of water. Well, paper cup, actually, but something's better than nothing. Later, when Dean's sleeping it off, he'll go get some more bottled water from the vending machine outside.
"Here," he says, setting the cup on the bedside table.
"Hey, Sammy." Dean, lying down now, reaches up awkwardly and grabs hold of Sam's hand. He tugs and Sam goes along with it, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed. Dean looks like he wants to say something, an apology, maybe.
Sam shakes his head. He doesn't want apologies, not from Dean. "Just sleep it off, man. You'll feel better in the morning."
"Liar," Dean says, smiling one of his rare, sweet smiles.
"Yeah, I am. In the morning, you'll feel like crap." Sam finds himself smiling back; it's impossible not to when Dean's looking at him like this.
"Sammy." Dean grins and pats Sam's hand a few times. "Sam, Sammy."
"That's me," Sam says. "Dude, you are so drunk." He shifts his weight to get up, but Dean grabs onto his wrist tightly and hangs on.
"Wait," Dean says. "Sam..." His eyes search Sam's, looking for something.
"You said that already," Sam tells him gently. "What is it, Dean?"
"It's just." Dean stops, starts again. "I don't. You."
Sam waits.
"Don't go anywhere." At last, Dean manages an actual sentence. He's still holding onto Sam's wrist. "Okay? Don't."
"I won't," Sam says. He can tell by the tone of Dean's voice that he's making a much bigger request.
"Promise?"
"Yeah," Sam says, twisting his wrist in Dean's grip so he can hold onto Dean's hand in return. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, Dean. I promise."
Dean nods, relaxes. His eyes close, and his breathing evens out; he's asleep and doesn't know if Sam's there or not.
Sam stays anyway.
Author: wesleysgirl
Rating: PG (gen)
Word Count: 653
Spoilers, Warnings: None
Notes: Title from the lyrics of the song "Whiskey in the Jar."
Trick Me Easy
by WesleysGirl
"Dude, when did you get so tall?" Dean is drunk as all hell, stumbling over his untied boots. Sam's arm around him is the only thing holding him up.
"Tenth grade," Sam says grimly. "Three inches in a year, remember?"
"Oh. Right." Dean belches and trips again.
Sam hauls him to his feet. "Come on. Only half a block."
"Where we goin', Sammy?" Dean stops, looking puzzled.
"To the motel," Sam tells him. "It's right up here. Then you can drink half a gallon of water and sleep this off."
"Not if I drink half a gallon of water," Dean mutters, starting to walk again at Sam's insistence. "Huh. Maybe we should just stop here."
"You want to sleep here?" Sam looks around incredulously. To their right is a gas station that probably hasn't been open in five years. On the left, there are three trash cans set out at the curb, which is kind of mysterious considering the out of business gas station, but whatever.
"I didn't say sleep," Dean says. "I was more thinking -- you know, puke." And he does, right between two of the trash cans. The sound of his retching is enough to make Sam's stomach clench in sympathy.
"Jesus, Dean." Sam holds onto him until he's done, breathing through his mouth to avoid having to smell the sharp, acrid stench of vomit. "Okay. Come on, let's get you out of here."
Dean doesn't say anything the rest of the way back; he seems focused on putting one foot in front of the other, which Sam appreciates because despite their disparate heights, Dean is a lot more solid than he looks. Sam would rather not carry him if he doesn't have to.
He gets the door unlocked and Dean into the room, then sits Dean on the side of the bed. "Are you gonna be sick again?"
"No." Dean groans it more than says it. Sam tries to help him get his jacket off, but Dean jerks his shoulder away petulantly. "Just leave it, Sam."
"Fine," Sam tells him. "Sleep in your boots for all I care."
On his own, Dean manages to shrug out of his jacket and kick off his boots while Sam goes to the bathroom for a glass of water. Well, paper cup, actually, but something's better than nothing. Later, when Dean's sleeping it off, he'll go get some more bottled water from the vending machine outside.
"Here," he says, setting the cup on the bedside table.
"Hey, Sammy." Dean, lying down now, reaches up awkwardly and grabs hold of Sam's hand. He tugs and Sam goes along with it, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed. Dean looks like he wants to say something, an apology, maybe.
Sam shakes his head. He doesn't want apologies, not from Dean. "Just sleep it off, man. You'll feel better in the morning."
"Liar," Dean says, smiling one of his rare, sweet smiles.
"Yeah, I am. In the morning, you'll feel like crap." Sam finds himself smiling back; it's impossible not to when Dean's looking at him like this.
"Sammy." Dean grins and pats Sam's hand a few times. "Sam, Sammy."
"That's me," Sam says. "Dude, you are so drunk." He shifts his weight to get up, but Dean grabs onto his wrist tightly and hangs on.
"Wait," Dean says. "Sam..." His eyes search Sam's, looking for something.
"You said that already," Sam tells him gently. "What is it, Dean?"
"It's just." Dean stops, starts again. "I don't. You."
Sam waits.
"Don't go anywhere." At last, Dean manages an actual sentence. He's still holding onto Sam's wrist. "Okay? Don't."
"I won't," Sam says. He can tell by the tone of Dean's voice that he's making a much bigger request.
"Promise?"
"Yeah," Sam says, twisting his wrist in Dean's grip so he can hold onto Dean's hand in return. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, Dean. I promise."
Dean nods, relaxes. His eyes close, and his breathing evens out; he's asleep and doesn't know if Sam's there or not.
Sam stays anyway.