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Dean is drunk. Oh God, he’s so drunk and he can only think about one thing and that’s his baby brother sprawled next to him on his bed, pink sweater ridden up above his belly, all relaxed and giggly, giving him all sorts of naughty thoughts. Sam is quite stoned too, as much, if not more, as Dean.
“Okay, okay, my turn.” Before adding anything else, Sam snickers. Why, Dean doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He doesn’t even care that it’s actually not Sam’s turn. He has rarely seen his brother so cheerful so he’s enjoying this moment and drinks in the sight of his beautifully happy baby brother. It was supposed to be a celebratory drink after a particularly tough hunt, but without Dean knowing it, it has turned into one of these good old benders they used to go on when they were eight years younger and their livers seemed invincible.
Sam’s hysterical laughter finally stops. “Uh…alright, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Dean answers distractedly, like the four or five times before, because they’re both too wasted to get any dare done. All his focus is on the happy tears still slowly rolling down his brother’s cheeks. He wouldn’t do that normally – he hasn’t done it in a long time – but he’s drunk so what the hell, he thinks before reaching out and wiping them away.
If Sam registers what is happening, he doesn’t let it show. Dean would like to say he seems lost in his thoughts but he rather seems to be struggling to try to think straight.
Finally, Sam takes a deep inhalation. “What….is….” He interrupts himself and frowns.
“Are you having a stroke?”
“Sssshhhhh. I’m thinkin’.”
Dean chuckles. It must be a funny stream of thoughts inside Sam’s head right now. He settles more comfortably against the headboard and takes a mouthful of beer. He’s slowly coming back down from his high and is almost ready to fall asleep. He has always handled alcohol well, compared to his brother, who gets tipsy after one beer, clearly drunk after three and that for a few hours.
“Your fav’rite memory of me!” Sam suddenly shouts, making Dean jerk.
He could get away with it in no time. Give an easy and more or less true answer, like “Right now” and Sam would be happy. As crocked as he is, he won’t remember his answer anyway. But Dean knows what the true answer is. It’s been buried deep in his heart since the moment it happened and he has never talked about it to anyone, ever. But he wants to share it with his brother, and what better occasion than a brotherly drinking spree?
“Sure you wanna know?”
Sam nods and finally turns his excited eyes to him. Dean can’t help but notice there seems to be even more colors in them when he’s drunk out of his mind. Or maybe it’s just him. It doesn’t matter, he’s beautiful anyway.
“Alright…” Dean clears his throat and looks at his hands. “First time I held you in my arms. God, you were so small. I told everyone you looked like a peanut, y’know, but…You were kinda cute.” He glances at Sam, who is patiently waiting for the rest, still with that dimpled smile on his face. “Anyway. So here I am, holding you and trying not to drop you ‘cause I would get my ass kicked if I did, and suddenly you…You open your big blue eyes and you know what you do then? You grasp my finger with your tiny baby hand and hold it so tightly that I can’t pull it out for forty freakin’ minutes, ‘til you fall asleep.”
Dean stops there and takes a gulp of beer. He doesn’t say that this moment changed his life for the better. He doesn’t say that the feeling he felt for the first time that day, this sensation of purpose, never left him but only grew deeper. Instead, he takes another sip before preparing to face up Sam’s look but the snores stop him in his movement.
Of course, his brother is sleeping. Of course.
Dean turns to look at him nonetheless. The sense of purpose grows stronger again. Reverently, he adjusts his brother’s sweater on his stomach and covers him with a blanket. Then, he turns off the light and lays next to him.
He wakes up a few hours later and falls right back asleep, peaceful, when he feels Sam’s hand in his.