rivers_bend

Title: First Cut
Words: ~5,000
Rating: Older Teen (mentions of strippers and boy-parts)
Genre: Drunk!Fic
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby
Spoilers: This is kind of AU after 2:2 Everybody loathes Loves a Clown so there may be spoilers through that episode.
Disclaimer: The fabulous writers kinda did this already but with less alcohol and not nearly enough Bobby. They got the money. I just get the fun of borrowing them.
A/N: 1. lima_sierra kindly hand-held through my angsting over this and saved me from a rogue spacebar amongst other things.
2. This is a sequel to Razor Sharp. It ended up going in a totally other direction than I'd intended.
Summary: He hadn't been Dean-drunk either—a combination of beer, shots, flirting, and a hunter-ready sobriety—he'd been drunk-drunk. Sam was starting to wonder if the toxins in the Glawackus' claws had some sort of long-term effect.


First Cut

Sam wiped steam off the mirror and stared at his reflection. He hadn't been sleeping well since their fight with the Glawackus and it showed. Unlike Dean, who'd been sleeping half the day and looked relaxed in a way Sam hadn't seen him in years. Sam was just as happy to let Dean sleep, because a) lately, Dean was more likely to go find himself a drink than help Sam and b) he kept staring and it was making it really hard for Sam to forget the whole hard-on while he put stitches in his brother's thigh thing.

When Sam opened the bathroom door, Dean was on the bed, a bottle of tequila held loose in the fist dangling between his spread knees. Sam'd only been in the shower for fifteen or maybe twenty minutes at the most; Dean had worked fast to get up the road to the liquor store and have made that much of a dent in the bottle already. No wonder he hadn't started rattling the knob, or singing, or any of the other things he usually did when he thought Sam was taking too long.

Sam walked towards the bed. 'Dean?'

Dean looked up, his expression shifting from the blank stare he'd been aiming at the muted TV to a lazy smile for his brother. 'Sammy,' he said, and lifted the bottle into a low salute.

"What's, um, with the tequila? Again?" Dean might have been sleeping away the three days since their run-in with the Glawackus because he'd been drunk every night.

'I'm not,' Dean said.

Sam was confused. 'You're not what?'

'Tequila.'

'Right.' He hadn't been Dean-drunk either—a combination of beer, shots, flirting, and a hunter-ready sobriety—he'd been drunk-drunk. Sam was starting to wonder if the toxins in the Glawackus' claws had some sort of long-term effect.

'You gonna share that?' Maybe if he could get the bottle away from Dean, they could avoid a repeat of last night.

Dean shook his head and turned his attention back to the TV.

Yesterday, Dean had slept off the effects of self-medicating with Cuervo while Sam'd stitched him up, been a grumpy bastard for a few hours, then perked up after supper. Sam thought nothing of it when Dean suggested they hit the bar. They weren't gonna be hunting for a day or two with Dean's leg hurting, and Sam had had quite enough of Dean's mood that afternoon. So he downloaded a bunch of articles onto his laptop and took it with them, settling in a corner booth with a beer. Not paying all that much attention to Dean, who was playing darts with two girls in stonewash and cowboy boots.

A shriek from that side of the room brought Sam's eyes up to see Dean hanging on the shorter of the two girls, trying to undo her jeans. It was the friend who was screaming. The one Dean was mauling brought the heel of her palm up hard into his cheekbone and elbowed him in the sternum when Dean started to crumble. By that time, Sam was close enough to catch him.

'What the hell are you doing?' He hooked an arm around Dean's neck, keeping him in a headlock while he trapped both wrists in his free hand.

Dean just mumbled unintelligibly, leaving Sam to apologize profusely to both girls. He only paused long enough to scoop up his computer before dragging Dean out to the car. Dean was asleep in the passenger seat before Sam even turned the key in the ignition.

Tonight Sam had vetoed leaving the room. He really should have known when Dean only said, 'Yeah, sure, I'll just watch TV,' that he was up to something.

Sam sat down next to his brother. 'Dude, seriously. What's up with this?' He folded his fingers around Dean's hand on the neck of the bottle. Dean's skin felt hot and dry. Feverish.

Dean tipped his head back so he was looking up at Sam from an angle that made his neck look broken. Sam didn’t like it.

'Sammy, Sammy, you shouldn't'a done that.'

Sam was tempted to pull his hand away, but kept it where it was. 'Shouldn't have done what, Dean?'

'Wasting yourself like that.' Dean rocked his head forward again, which did nothing to shatter the illusion that his neck was broken, and peered through his eyelashes.

'I think you're the one who's wasted.'

'You didn't shoulda wanna be a lawyer.'

Of course. Stanford again. Great. 'I'm not just a hunter, you know. I worked hard to—'

'No. No, Sammy.' Dean brought a hand up to Sam's face, misjudging the distance a bit and slapping him before cupping his fingers around Sam's jaw. Seeming to use his grip to steady himself, he stared intently at Sam. 'You shoulda been pre-med.'

'Pre-med? Um…'

'Look at this.' Pulling his hand out of Sam's grip, Dean stood and, still holding the bottle, unbuttoned his jeans.

'Dean, what the fuck?'

'Look, Sam.' Dean pushed the denim half-way down his thighs and pulled up the leg of his boxers so his stitches were clearly visible. 'This is be-you, boo, it's pretty. You shoulda been a—' Dean waved his hand around. 'The doctor with the knife and the needles. Surgeon. One'a those.'

Dean wasn't just drunk, he was insane.

'Gimme the bottle, Dean.' He'd loosened his grip to deal with his jeans, so Sam was able to pull it from his grasp. 'What did that Glawackus do to you?'

Sam turned to put the bottle on the floor next to the bed, and with no warning Dean grabbed Sam's free hand and pressed it to the inside of his thigh. If Sam had thought Dean's fingers were hot, they were nothing compared to his leg. 'You've got a fever.' Sam said. 'Let me look at that.'

Sam got down on his knees so he could look at Dean's wound, then realized that he was kneeling in front of his brother's crotch. When Dean put a hand on the back of his head, there was nothing right about the situation. He tried to shake Dean off.

'Cute when you're look all worried Sammy.'

There Dean was again with calling him cute. At least this time he wasn't talking about Sam's cock. Sam decided that something had to be done about the drinking before Dean asked to see if it was as cute in the flesh as it was through Sam's jeans.

'Dean, get off me. I'm trying to see if these cuts are infected, and that's really not helping.'

'Soft,' Dean said.

Giving up on reasoning with his brother, Sam just grabbed his wrist and forced Dean's hand down by his side. 'Stand still.'

The cuts didn't look red or inflamed in any way. In fact, they were healing much better than Sam would have expected. Dean was right; it did look like a surgeon's work. Which meant this wasn't a standard infection, but something he was going to have to find out more about. Research. That he could handle.

'Dean, do you remember what else Dad's journal said about the Glawackus? Wash out the poison and then eat, you said. What did we do wrong?'

'Where's the tequila?'

'You don't need any more tequila. Have some water if you're thirsty.'

'Don't want water. We could go—' Dean looked towards the door and then pointed vaguely in that direction. 'Beer?'

'Great plan. You can get another black eye to match the one you've got already. I don't think so.'

Dean flopped down on the bed. 'Not my fault.'

'Where is Dad's journal, anyway?' Sam had seen it on the table earlier, but it didn’t seem to be there now.

'How come your hair's so soft?' Dean had the tequila again, and took a sip. 'Soft like a girl's.'

Sam had had enough. Checking his phone was in his pocket, he went out to the parking lot and called Bobby.

'What does your dad's journal say?' Bobby asked when Sam had told him what was going on. He left out the part about his hard-on and Dean thinking it was cute.

'I'd be sure and tell you if I could find it, but I think Dean hid it somewhere.'

'I know John and Dean tangled with a Glawackus not long after you went to college. I think that one got Dean too. You'd think he'd learn to be more careful. There was something about leeches. Got a book here somewhere. Let me look it up and I'll get back to you.'

'Leeches? Like bloodsucking leeches?'

'Yeah. I know a website you can get them from if you haven't got any handy. Anyway, like I said. I'll call you back when I find the book.'

Sam shook his head. Leeches. And then he wondered, if Dean knew this would happen, why didn't he warn Sam? He waited five or ten minutes in case Bobby found the book quickly, and then went back into the room. Dean had dropped the tequila and was trying to push the wet patch of carpet back into the bottle. Before he got right down on the floor to lick it up, Sam grabbed his shoulder.

'Dean, let it go. There's no more tequila. Let me get you a coke or something from the machine.'

Dean leaned back against the foot of the bed, empty bottle resting between his spread legs. 'Where'd you go?'

'Went to call Bobby. Find out what was going on. This isn't you, Dean. You know it's not.'

Dean giggled. Giggled. Christ. 'Those gal- gal- wakka things. They're sneaky.'

'Where's Dad's journal?'

Waggling the bottle, Dean said, 'No more, Sammy. All gone.'

Sam's phone rang.

'Did he tell you where the journal was?' Bobby sounded more curious than worried which made Sam feel a little better.

'No. He's too busy bemoaning the loss of the rest of his tequila, which is soaking into the motel carpet as we speak.'

'Just as well.' Now Bobby sounded almost amused. 'Side effect of Glawackus toxin is a long and profound drunk. It's a sedative—'

'Yeah, I noticed that the night he got scratched,' Sam interrupted.

'Well, the trouble is that even once it seems to have worn off, enough lingers to amplify anything else you take. Like if you mixed tequila and Vicodin. Only more severe.'

'And you think Dean knew this?'

'I didn't know anything,' Dean shouted from his spot slumped against the bed.

'I take it he managed to drink some of that bottle before he spilled it?' Bobby didn't even bother to try to hide his amusement this time.

'Near enough half of it. Probably more. I left him to it when I came out to call you. He's a stubborn bastard.'

'Not a bastard.' Dean sounded almost mournful.

Bobby said, 'You're safe enough?'

'Sure.' Sam said. 'We finished the job. The Glawackus is dead. We didn’t call any attention to ourselves on the hunt. Then Dean started acting like a frat boy during rush week and I didn't want to pick up and go anywhere.'

'A frat boy during rush week is bad?'

Sam tried to picture Bobby at a frat party and couldn't. 'Bad enough. Anyway. We're safe.'

'And Dean knows it?'

'Not sure what he knows at the moment.'

'Well, maybe he needed a break.'

'A break? A break is a day lying by the pool, not a sex-crazed bender.'

'He's sex-crazed?' Now Bobby sounded worried. Shit.

'Not sex-crazed. He just—he got fresh with a girl at the bar last night. I had to apologize, but it was fine.' Then Sam wondered. 'Why? Is that a symptom? The sex part?'

'Nothing I read. I guess it's just Dean losing his inhibitions. Not that he has many of those when it comes to the ladies anyway.'

'Right.' Sam had never thought Dean was exercising inhibition when he avoided mentioning his brother's dick though. He just kinda thought that was a natural thing to not talk about.

'He's had a lot on his plate the last few months.' Bobby pointed out.

'He's not the only one.'

'Sam, that's not what I mean and you know it.'

'Sorry.' Just because Dean was being a dick, Sam didn't have to take it out on Bobby.

'Sammy, are we gonna get beer soon?' Dean was trying to tuck his shirt into his jeans.

'No. We're not. Why don't you go take a shower or something?'

'You and Bobby wanna be 'lone?' Dean's attempts to waggle his eyebrows might have made Sam laugh if he wasn't worrying that he was going to have to put up with a wasted brother for the foreseeable future.

'Sorry. Dean seems to have sex on the brain. I don't think he means anything by it.'

'Sammy's jus' s'cute when he blushes.' Dean spoke loud enough for Bobby to hear.

Sam sighed. 'Cute seems to be his new favorite word. And he giggled earlier. So what am I supposed to do with him?'

'Well, the effects will wear off in a week or ten days, so you can just keep him away from alcohol until then—'

'Right. Have you ever tried to keep Dean away from something he wants?'

Bobby huffed a sound that might have been a laugh. 'Or you can bleed him.'

'This is where the leeches come in?'

'Yep. Something in their spit helps neutralize the toxins. Can cut down the effects to two or three days.'

'From infection or from the time you use the leeches?'

'Now that, it doesn't say. You'll just have to give it a try.'

'Better than trying to keep him sober for ten days.'

'You boys can come up here if you want. Stay out'a trouble. I can give you a hand.'

'Thanks Bobby, but we're in Oregon. I'd probably kill Dean if I had to drive with him in this state.'

'No killing, Sammy.' Dean shook his head violently from side to side.

'Sounds like you'd better get your brother some coffee. The leeches work best if you put them around the site the infection entered the body. You need a hand getting a hold of them?'

'There's a pond out back the hotel. I'm tempted to just throw Dean in and let the leeches get him on their own.'

'Don't want to go in the pond, Sammy.'

Bobby said, 'I'll let you get back to him. Give me another call if you need anything else. Take care, son.'

'Preciate it, Bobby. Thanks.'

As soon as Sam put the phone down, Dean said, 'You're not throwing me in any stinky pond. And you're not putting leeches on my dick.'

'Who said anything about putting them on your dick?'

'Not doing it. I'm still your big brother, and I can stop you.'

Sam pushed Dean back on the bed and held both his wrists above his head with only one hand. Dean struggled, but Sam put a knee on Dean's hip and Dean had neither the leverage nor the strength to get out from under.

'I promise no more tequila.' Dean looked contrite, but Sam had seen that face far too many times to believe it. He figured he'd proved his point though, so he let him up.

'What happened last time? Bobby said you and dad tangled with one of these after I left for Stanford.'

'I had to have leeches on my ass. I'm not having leeches on my ass.'

'Well then, what's with the drinking? If you knew this would happen, why are you doing it?'

Dean rolled over, put his fingers in his ears, and started singing. An' as we wine on down the roa'. Our shadows taller'n our soul. 'Er walks a lay-deeee we all know. Shines whi' light and wants ta show— .

'Stairway to heaven? Dean? Are you fucking kidding me?'

Dean glared over his shoulder and said, 'I can' hear you,' and started singing again. If there's a bustle in your hedgerow. Don' be alarm' now. I's jus' a spring kling for the May Queen— .

'Dean, no. No Stairway to Heaven. Please. I promise we'll stop talking about this.'

'Ok,' Dean said and sat up. 'Le's get some burgers.'

Sam talked Dean into a shower before they left; he smelt of tequila and sweat and the rather disturbing odor of wet motel carpet. He wasn't sober when he came out, by any stretch, but he was closer to Dean-drunk than to sucking tequila off the floor drunk, and Sam figured that was a start. 'Drive-thru?' he tried, fearing for any waitress they might come across.

'S'almost a fucking hour to Bend, an' there's no drive-thru here. Diner down the block. I saw pie through the winnow.'

'If you say one word to the waitress, I'm locking you in the car.'

Which was a totally empty threat, since they walked to the diner, but Dean behaved himself anyway. The fresh air on the way seemed to have sobered him up some. He ate his burger, only occasionally humming snatches of some Led Zepplin tune that Sam couldn't quite place, and then asked Sam if he was gonna be allowed to order his own pie.

The waitress was subjected to no more than Dean's most charming smile and a comment about her apron being cute, which fortunately she took as a compliment. She brought extra ice cream with the pie.

Sam waited til Dean was asleep, which took all of ten minutes after they got back to the room, before he snuck out the back of the motel with a wire coathanger, an old bandana, and a coffee can that had held an odd assortment of sparkplugs, wingnuts and other metal bits until he'd washed it out. The bandana 'net' worked better once he'd poked a few holes in it, and he managed to catch himself five or six leeches. He hoped he wouldn't have to use them, and if he did that half a dozen would be enough.

Dean was his normal self the next day, sort of sullen until he'd had a cup of coffee, and then willing to read the papers to find them a job while Sam went on a supply run. When Sam got back from Bend however, he found the room empty. If you ignored the beer bottles scattered on the floor and the duffels spilling clothes onto the bed.

'I'm gonna fucking kill him!' Sam kicked one of the empty bottles and barely even registered when it broke against the edge of the heater under the window.

There were two bars within what Dean would probably consider walking distance of the motel, but with a six-pack under his belt and Glawackus toxins in his system, Sam didn't feel all that confident he was gonna find him in either of them. Throwing the bag of bagels he'd bought in Bend onto the table, he turned and went back out to the Impala.

The first bar was where Sam'd had to drag Dean out by the neck. There was no sign of him, and the bartender, the same bored-looking guy who'd been there that night, hadn't seen him. 'I remember you boys,' he said. 'I wouldn'a let him in if I did see him. Trouble.'

Sam was almost to the tavern where they'd drunk on their first night in town when he saw a sign that said, "Dancers: All Day." He pulled in, trying to suppress the images of a wasted Dean molesting strippers under the threatening glares of lumberjacks and bouncers.

It took a few minutes for Sam's eyes to adjust enough to see the other patrons, but Dean was immediately obvious, leaning into the spotlights on the stage, waving folded bills at the woman wrapped around a pole. 'Honey,' he was shouting. 'C'mere! I got something for ya.'

The man headed in Dean's direction was at least as tall as Sam and something like twice as wide. Before Dean got pounded into paste, Sam hurried to his rescue. 'Time to go,' he said loudly, sliding between Dean and the oncoming moose.

'Girls've had just about enough of this guy,' the giant said. He actually looked like he was more keen for Sam to solve his problem than he was to start a fight, and Sam figured he was probably the manager rather than a bouncer.

'Sammy!' Dean clapped him on the shoulder. 'Girls 'r takin' their clothes off.'

Ignoring Dean, Sam said, 'I understand the feeling.' He smiled tightly. Friendly, but not taking this as a joke; a placating smile.

'Need help getting him out of here?' There was enough of a gleam in his eye that Sam revised his earlier assessment that this guy would rather not get his hands dirty.

'I got it, thanks.' The urge to pick Dean up in a fireman's carry and just cart him out was strong, but Sam just put an arm around Dean's waist and pulled. 'Let's go,' he said. You've got an appointment.'

Dean stretched back with the arm Sam didn't have in a death grip, trying one last time to give the dancing girl her money. Sam reached across and plucked it from his fingers, handing the ten dollar bill to the disgruntled manager/bouncer/moose. 'Pass that along, will you?'

The guy just nodded and tucked the money in his pocket, watching as Sam steered Dean to the door.

'Dean, you promised you weren't gonna drink anymore,' Sam said as he wrestled with Dean's seatbelt.

'I know.' Dean was trying to pet Sam's face. He sounded completely dejected.

Sam took the patting hand and held it. 'What's going on with you?'

A half-hearted attempt to get his hand back was Dean's only reply.

'If you needed a break, you could have just told me.'

'I needed a break,' Dean said and, eyes closed, tilted his head back against the seat.

Sam let go of Dean's hand, laying it on his lap. Dean didn't stir. When they got back to the motel a few minutes later, Sam was almost tempted to leave Dean in the Impala to sleep. 'Come on,' he said instead. 'Bed'll be better for your neck.'

'S'not bedtime yet,' Dean murmured without opening his eyes.

'Want me to pick you up and carry you?'

Dean cracked an eye and saw the completely serious look on Sam's face. 'Right,' he said. 'Bitch.' He fumbled the door open, couldn't figure out why he was stuck, and then wrestled with the seatbelt. Sam just watched, desperately wanting to forget the look of helplessness that had crossed Dean's face when he'd said he needed a break.

Frustrated and angry was an improvement.

Finally the buckle popped free and Dean half-rolled out into the parking lot. 'Laugh and die, Sammy,' he said over his shoulder.

'Wouldn't dream of it, Dean.' Sam got out and once he was sure Dean was headed towards the room, got the can of leeches out of the trunk. He had to re-shut the passenger door on the way past, since Dean had done a piss-poor job of doing it himself.

'You'd better not leech me while I'm sleeping,' Dean said from his spot on the bed when Sam stepped into the room.

'Well, wake up then. I'm not putting up with this for another week.'

Dean put an arm over his eyes. 'You are such a buzz-kill. It's not even funny.'

The chirp of Sam's phone made him jump. 'Hey Bobby.'

'How's he doing?'

'Found him drunk and slobbering on the strippers in a joint down the road at half past noon, so I'm gonna go with not so good.' Sam studiously ignored the raised middle finger Dean was shooting in his direction.

'But he's still there?'

'Course he is. Why?'

'Just got to remembering, last time, he ran off. Took John three days to track him to San Francisco, and another two to find where he'd left the Impala.'

Dean had come to California? Sam wondered if maybe he hadn't been imagining seeing the Impala around Palo Alto a month or two after school started. Didn't want to think about it. 'Well, he's right here, sulking.'

'You get the leeches?'

'Sure, Bobby. And I'd better get to that.'

'You remember to call if you need anything.' Sam heard the click as Bobby disconnected.

After putting the can down on the table between the beds and turning on the lamp, Sam sat next to his brother. Trying to keep his tone light, like maybe he was joking, Sam said, 'You gonna let me do this or am I gonna have to tie you up?' He wanted to put a hand on Dean's hip—a reassuring hand—but he kept them both on his own lap.

'Whatever,' Dean said from under the crook of his arm.

When Dean made no move to undress or resist, Sam reached for the button on his jeans. 'Dean?' With his fingers at his brother's waistband, Sam waited for a response.

'Just get on with it if you're gonna do it,' Dean said. He sounded angry, but still made no move to lift his arm from his eyes.

So Sam uncovered the cuts on Dean's thigh and started laying leeches on his skin. He'd found a video on the internet that showed him what to do, not that it was complicated. But Sam was a believer in being prepared, and this was his brother, and he didn't want to do anything wrong. He caught Dean peeking once or twice as he picked the slippery worms out of their can, but Sam couldn't tell what Dean was thinking.

Four of the things, one each above, below and either side of the stitches, seemed like the right number. Sam watched in morbid fascination as they squirmed and swelled. When he remembered that they liked to be wet, he dripped water on them, feeling vaguely sick as he did so. 'Twenty minutes? That's what the website said.'

'Don't remember,' Dean answered.

'This is disgusting.' Sam couldn't understand why Dean would rather have this done than just not get stupid drunk.

'Yeah, well, you could have just left me alone. Would'a worn off in another week or so. Probably.'

Dean didn’t sound angry, or sulky. Sam decided he sounded resigned.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'But I need you. When you're passing out, running around doing things that are gonna get you beat up or killed or arrested, I don't—'

'Everything we do could get us dead or arrested. That's our job, Sam. The nature of the beast.'

'But that's for our job. I've got your back, you've got mine. We're making a difference. That's not the same as what you've been doing.'

'I can't—' Dean shifted uncomfortably and brought his other arm up over his face. 'I don't know if I can do it.'

'Do what, Dean?' This time Sam gave in to the urge to comfort, laying his hand on Dean's ribs.

'I will. Of course I will. I always have, and nothing is gonna change that, but, fuck! I just needed a few days.'

'Dean, what are you talking about?'

'He traded— You know what? Fuck it. It doesn't matter.'

Sam pushed away from Dean and stood up. 'Doesn't matter? That's bullshit, Dean. Dad left us, but he left me you. And that matters. He left me you.'

Dean sat up, leaning on his elbows, watching Sam pace. 'And look how much good I am.' With one hand, Dean gestured towards the broken glass, empty beer bottles, the spilled duffel and the leeches on his leg. 'Look at me. Aren't you glad to have me around?'

'You're a fucking dick, Dean.' Turning his back on his brother, Sam started stuffing clothes back into their bag. 'I need you. Ok? I need you. I want your help, I want your opinion, I want you here with me doing this thing we do.

'And it's ok for you to need me too. I'm a big boy now. I can take it. You don’t have to shoulder this all on your own. And you don't have to completely check out to take a break. Just pull over and breathe sometimes. Or let me drive. Whatever you need to do. But don’t shut me out.' Sam turned then and looked at Dean.

'I'm trying,' Dean said. 'I'm doing the best I can.'

With a wiggle, the leech to the right of Dean's cut dropped off and flopped onto the bed. Sam scooped it back into the can. The brothers looked at each other for a long moment.

After what seemed an age, Dean poked Sam's arm and said, 'So you want me, eh?' The mask was back, cocky grin and arched eyebrow firmly in place.

'You wish,' Sam said as he plucked the second fat leech from Dean's leg. 'It'd be the best night of your life.'

Teasing was easier. Sam really didn't like the 'chick-flick' moments any more than his brother when it came down to it. Something had passed between them as they watched each other and Sam wasn't sure what it was. It seemed to have dulled something that was hurting Dean, however, and that was what Sam cared about.

'You kidding?' Dean laughed and prodded the leech closest to his groin. 'What could be better than this?'

Sam looked at the smile on Dean's face, a genuine smile that had nothing to do with tequila or strippers, and said, 'Nothing.'