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Pierpont Inn located in Cornwall, Connecticut definitely has some kind of gruesome and violent history to it.

The corridor on the lower level reeks like piss and blood and gore, as the police run in and out. They order Dean sternly to return upstairs, back to his suite-floor and his room and let the professionals handle this situation. Dean waits until Sheriff Howdy-doody isn't looking before mock-grinning and flipping him off. He does go back upstairs, climbing the staircase two at a time, running a hand through his hair.

They need a plan to stop this… they need…

He hesitates, seeing the suite-room door wide open. "Sam?" Dean calls out, nudging it with his palm and frowning. "Sam, you there?" he tries again, louder, reaching for the pistol shoved in the back-pocket of Dean's jeans. To his relief, Sam is there — he's sitting in the dark, quiet as a mouse.

"What?" Sam mutters grumpily.

Dean glances back into the empty hallway, shutting and locking the suite-room's entrance door. "There's been another death. Some guy—he—" Dean's nostrils flare. "—what is that?"

The nightstand is littered with half-drained liquor bottles. Sam continues to watch him across the bedroom, narrowing his eyes and mumbling incoherently as Dean snatches up a glittering, dark bottle, taking a long whiff. "Whooooooo, momma! That's gonna hurt tomorrow," Dean proclaims, wrinkling his face.

"Shut up… bossy…"

"You're drunk off your ass, aren't ya?" Dean says, recognizing how Sam's hazel eyes are unfocused and moist, how not good his balance is when he attempts to straighten up in the old-fashioned armchair.

"So?!" Sam replies accusingly, his upper lip curling. "Uu'r still short."

A snort-giggle escapes him.

Dean repeats the noise sarcastically back to Sam, rolling his eyes. "This isn't a five-star vacation we're on. What were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?"

Sam's eyes moisten more. "I… I couldn't save anyone."

"The hell are you talking about, man? Save who—" Dean cuts himself off, nodding and wiping his mouth. "—jesus christ, Sam—"

"—no, I should have saved them, Dean!" he insists. "All of them! Everybody we let die!"

Dean's expression goes flat. "You know what," Dean mumbles, walking over and hoisting Sam up by the arm. "I think it's time for the lumberjack to cut some logs. Let's go." As he forcibly drags him, Sam tries to turn around, insisting that Dean needs to listen to him, and to watch out for him. "I always am, Sam. Don't worry," Dean replies, shoving his companion towards one of the lace-covered beds.

His dismissive attitude doesn't seem to be working. Sam falls, stumbling, ending up on the bed. "No-no, listen!" He grasps onto the front of Dean's leather jacket. "D-Dad said you have to make sure that I don't become something else. So you have to do it! Please, Dean!"

San's hands tighten, pulling Dean forward. "Hey, geez," Dean mumbles, prying Sam's hands away. A heavy sigh. "Stop, just… stop. Nothing is gonna happen. Not while I'm here, alright?"

"But if it does… you gotta kill me…"

He doesn't understand how Sam can say this so seriously and solemnly. Dean tenses up. "It ain't coming to that, Sammy." Dean's voice low and dark. His teeth grinding harshly over his bottom, reddening lip. "And don't you freakin' DARE ask me to do something like that!"

"You're the only one who can…" Sam whispers, tears slipping onto his cheeks. "Please…"

Dean's thumb reaches out, pushing under Sam's eye and wiping a line of dampness from his face. There's nothing to say at first. Because he doesn't want to. "Yeah, alright," Dean mutters, lying right to Sam's face and feeling his gut twist when Sam's mouth uplifts into a drowsy, relieved smile.

He grasps Dean's face loosely, and Dean savors the warm, intimate contact before he wrestles Sam's arms out of his personal space, heaving Sam down onto the ornate, purple-striped bedspread.

"You're a real friggin' asshole, you know that?"

Sam makes a guttural, offended noise. "You're… you."

"Nice comeback, Suzie Q." Dean pats Sam's cheek roughly, already sitting down with him. His younger brother is all muscle and tendons and sun-golden skin. So soft. It's almost obscene in a way and makes Dean's head go fuzzy. "Go the hell to sleep before I gotta knock you out to do it, Gigantor."

"Stay…"

There's no fighting Sammy's puppy-dog eyes. Dean lets out an aggravated noise from his throat and mouth. "Move your ass then," he murmurs, pushing his knee against Sam's hip until he obeys Dean.

Sam smells like Guinness beer and whiskey and something with orange citrus. Maybe it's a vodka.

But he does go motionless, lightly snoring and relaxing, as soon as Dean wraps an arm around him protectively, burying his nose and lips against Sam's nape. Whatever happens… Sam is his responsibility. That's just how it's gotta be with or without Dad being there with them.

This is Dean's family and he's not letting it go for anything.

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Supernatural isn't mine. A little something extra for "Playthings" 2x11 aka one of the most Wincesty episodes of that scene. Hello hello it's the Sam Winchester Secret Santa on Tumblr and the person I was assigned to was sdfandomghost! I'm grateful to meet another Wincest fan! :D And if there's anymore of us out there, please come say hello! What's your favorite episode of Supernatural? Favorite moment? Hope you guys liked this and any thoughts/comments are deeply appreciated!