Genre: angst, drama, family
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Word Count: 675
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. I'm just having a little fun with the Winchester boys.
Summary: Tag to Episode 10.03 "Soul Survivor". Because fixing everything can wait until tomorrow
LIQUOR AND CHOLESTEROL
It didn't take long for Sam to pick up a bag of fast food for Dean and a new bottle of liquor for himself. He wearily entered the bunker and made his way to Dean's room, stopping only long enough to place the bottle of whiskey in his room.
Paper bag rattling in his hand, he knocked on Dean's door before opening it and stepping inside.
Approaching the bed where Dean was half sitting and half laying, he thrust the bag out in front of him and cleared his throat. "I…uh…I…got you a couple-a double cheeseburgers and some fries…and one of those little pie thingies…"
Dean nodded and reached for the bag. "Thanks."
Sam rubbed his neck and backed away from the bed, his gaze fixed on Dean's face, waiting for the flash of liquid black eyes. "Yeah…no problem. I…um…I'll let you eat. I've got…some things to do in my room…"
Sam shook his head and turned toward the door. "That's where I'll be—you know, if you need anything." With that, Sam hurried out of Dean's room and made his way to his, closing the door firmly behind him.
He broke the seal on the whiskey and sat down on his bed. Tremors of exhaustion wracked his frame. His mind curried through the events of the past few days. Foregoing the nearby glass, he raised the bottle to his lips and took a healthy swig. Settling back on the bed, he locked down his mind, concentrating solely on the bottle in his hand and the liquid passing his lips while he let exhaustion pull at every muscle. For a while, time went away.
An hour later and not nearly as drunk as he'd intended to be, Sam found himself at Dean's door again. No light showed beneath the door and his knock was as quiet as it was perfunctory. He stepped inside and into the dark, his gaze locked on the figure stretched out on the bed. On socked feet, Sam quietly moved forward and sank down on the floor near the head of the bed. He leaned back against the wall, tipped his head back and closed his eyes, letting the sound of Dean breathing eddy around him. He savored every inhale and every exhale. Unbidden, silent tears began to track down his cheeks. His fingers tightened on the neck of the bottle he still cradled.
"Sammy, what're you doing?"
Sam jumped at the unexpected question. He swiped at his cheeks and rasped, "How'd you know I was here?"
Sam could almost hear Dean's shrug before he replied, "I just knew."
A light clicked on, and Sam blinked at the sudden brightness. He watched his brother sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He tensed, wincing at the pull in his injured shoulder.
"Wanna talk?" Dean asked, running a hand through his longish, sleep-mussed hair.
Relaxing his shoulders, Sam shook his head. "Not really, no. Not right now."
"Yeah, me neither. You mind if I have a swig of that?"
Sam held up the bottle of whiskey and eyed the relatively small amount of amber liquid that remained in the bottle. "Sure, why not?" He passed the bottle over. "Finish it."
Dean took a hearty drink then lowered the bottle. He swiped the back of his hand across his lips. "You look like shit."
Sam rubbed at his eyes with his palms, feeling the lingering wetness there. "On that we can agree. And that's about one step up from you."
"We sure make a pair right now, don't we?"
"Yeah…" There was a beat of silence. "I'm glad to have you back, Dean."
"I'd like to say it's good to be back, Sammy, I really would…but it's just…I mean, I need…there so much to deal with…"
"I know," muttered Sam gravely, dropping his head back against the wall. "And we will. But not tonight. Tonight…tonight I want to just…breathe…"
"Yeah," Dean eased back and leaned against the wall, mirroring his brother's position. "Yeah…that sounds good. Breathing's good."