OK so I wanted to have this fic finished today but it’s got very long and out of control and I don’t think I’ll be able to write another 8k or so words this evening, so, have the start of it because it is really a fic for this day.
Sam wakes up on November 2nd with a miserable hangover, his mouth furry and thick and sour and a throbbing knot of pain behind his eyes. He forgot to turn off his alarm when he went to bed, so the tinny ring of it sounds out at 6.30 like it always does, and he rolls over to hit the snooze and notices the date at the top of the screen. It’s shock enough to jolt him fully awake, his dreamless alcohol-coma sleep dropping away to leave him shaky and unrested. Suddenly chilly under his scratchy blanket, he sits up in bed and draws his knees up to his chest. He hugs his arms around them, staring unseeing into the gloom.
Dean’s enthusiasm – no, his unsettling determination – for them both to get blackout drunk last night is starting to make more sense. Sam’s brother has been volatile, unpredictable, since Mom walked out around two weeks ago. The night of, Dean had gone to bed straight away, hadn’t said anything to Sam at all; and then had appeared in the library next morning with an unconvincing grin, bearing overfull plates of breakfast and iron-solid insistent on taking a hunt which he’d found somewhere in the Arizona wild. On the road, he’d blasted the music and slapped down Sam’s attempts to talk, hooked up with two separate women in one night (and in the bed next to Sam’s), and finally had argued Sam into an ill-researched confrontation with a Balrog which almost got the two of them killed. They’d despatched it eventually, although it had burned the both of them badly, so that Dean’s blistered now down one side of his torso and the fingers of Sam’s right hand can’t close.