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He was lucky that the bar was so close to the motel. Dean drunkenly stumbled the three blocks back to the room he was sharing with his brother. He hesitated outside the door, key in hand. There was something he was supposed to do. He swayed on his feet for a moment before knocking twice on the door. Thats right! The signal. The sign to his itty bitty brother that it was him, and not anyone else.

He stepped into the room, automatically scanning the floor for anyone moving.

"Sammy?" he whispered. Hearing no reply, he assumed Sam was in the walls somewhere. Thats where he said he was going before Dean left. The night's winnings weighed down his pocket. He emptied out an expensive looking watch and almost 350$ in twenties and fifties. They lay on the table. Pulling up a chair Dean drops himself into a seat. He sheds his jacket and tries to set in on the back of the chair but overshoots and it ends up in a heap on the floor. He cant bring himself to care to pick it up. He feels lonely. Sam isnt here. He's off looking for other people, like Dean was. Except Dean was looking for money and a drink or two, while Sam was looking for people his own size. Because Dean was too big and was too overbearing for him. His eyes became wet thinking about Sam looking for someplace away from his giant brother. A small sob escapes when Dean thinks about how it's his fault that Sam is tiny. That he was left in a motel, thought to be dead for years. He buried his face in his arms and cried about what he couldn't fix. He cries for his dead mother and that he was such a weakling of a hunter that his father would rather hunt alone than with him. That his brother would rather find people his own size than him.

Dean sniffles and sobs for an unknown amount of time before he's interrupted by a small voice calling him. "Dean? Are you alright?" the small voice is becoming louder as the speaker climbs up higher on his shirt. Dean berates himself for not noticing that Sam was climbing up him. You can hurt him without noticing stupid!!
Dean swallowed a sob as Sam made his way up his shirt to his shoulder. From there he walks down an arm to the head.

Sam woke up when two knocks bang on the door. He opened his eyes realizing that Dean was back from his jaunt at the local bar. He hears big feet shuffle inside and high up Dean whispers his name. Sam pulls himself out of his bed with a yawn to walk around the books set up to make his “room” separate. He watched Dean struggle to put the coat on the back of the chair, and blankly watch as it falls. Dean just, leans over on the table and sinks down with his face in his arms. Sam hears a sniffle and watched shoulders begin to shake. oh no. oh no no no!

“Dean!” but Dean can't hear him over his own mental beratement and sobs. Sam runs to Dean in record time, not wanting Dean to stew in his own dark and sad thoughts for longer than necessary.

“Dean?” he asks from near his brother’s shoes, he gets no response. Sam quickly grabs a handful of jean and begins to climb. He calls out again when he starts to climb the shirt. he knows Dean hears him when the sobs suddenly pause and the body underneath him tenses. he still gets no response. He climbs up to the shoulder walks down an arm that’s wrapped around a head. he takes a seat by an ear that sticks out of the arms.

“Dean? you okay?” his reply is a muffled sniffle.

“Are you hurt?” he tries again, still no reply. The table is littered with crumpled bills, and a very shiny watch. Is that gold?

“Looks like you had a good night at the bar. Nice watch, did you bite off someone’s wrist to get it?” this time the shoulders jump in a short laugh and an amused puff of air is exhaled. Ok, this was good. He reaches over to smooth his hand over the shell of the ear, offering what little physical support he can.

“Dean, did you get hurt at the bar?”

“No.” its small and sad, but it's still an answer. Sam continues to stroke the ear.

“So what’s making you so sad?” the shoulders are shaking again. He walks further down the arm and sits down in front of the top of Dean’s forehead. he puts his hands against the warm skin and rubs. The shoulders slow their shaking as Sam continues to comfort his drunk brother.

“Its okay to feel sad. You don't even have to talk about it if you dont want too. I’m here to let you know that if you do, I’m ready to listen, and help you feel better if you want.” the skin in front of him shifts, and a green, wet eye peeks out of the shelter of the arms.

“Or if you need a hug, that’s okay too.” the ground underneath him shifts and the arms unfold. A familiar hand slowly reaches for him with an almost painful hesitation. Sam nods and the hand encloses around him and carries him the scant four inches to Dean’s cheek. He smells like beer and tobacco smoke, but Sam still opens his arms to as much of the prickly skin as he can. Its a little uncomfortable when Dean shifts and the stubble moves around Sam, but he says nothing. A few minutes later there's a few sniffles but for the most part Dean's breathing has slowed down with only the occasional hitch.
The one eye Sam could see was closed and his arms were getting tired.

"Dean?" Sam moves his hand over the skin, the eye opens slowly and the hand holding Sam in place tenses.

"I think its time to go to bed."
Sam is moves away from the cheek. Tired eyes check him over, making sure he's okay, making sure that he's really here.

"Okay Sammy." Dean stands up and takes a few long steps to the nightstand and bends down to drop off Sam by his room. Sam looks up to see a face that bleeds with exhaustion and sadness. Dean is still sad even though he’s not crying. Drunk sadness is a thing that lingers, Sam knew that even a drunk Dean hates asking for something that might make him look weak.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Sam asks. a small smile quirks at the corners of the big mouth.

"Okay Sammy." Dean repeats. The hands bring him to the pillow and slide him off so Dean can take off his shoes and pants. Dean gets under the blanket and watches with heavy eyes as Sam walks across his shoulder and chest. But he doesn't go to the pocket, this time he makes his way to the middle of the broad torso.

“Gimme your hand.” Dean’s hand moves close, unsure of what to do. Following Sam’s direction it ends up half cupped on his chest.

“Now the other.” Sam makes the second hand lay over the first and then lays down, backing himself into the small cave made from Dean’s hands. The hand-cave is warm and comforting. Sam can feel Dean slo-o-o-wly relaxing above and beneath him, The hands becoming a warm, comforting cave of Dean all around him. It was a comfort to both brothers. Sam reaches a hand to the side to massage at the nearby finger.

“G’night Dean.” the chest underneath him expands and contracts with a content sigh.

“Night, Sammy.”