Rock 'n' Roll with Me

Chapter 6

When Dean finally emerged from his bedroom late the next morning, his hangover had well and truly set in. Normally, he would've just asked Cas to take care of it, and the angel was always more than happy to oblige, but not today. He'd avoid crossing paths with Cas ever again, if he could. After what happened last night, Dean wasn't sure he could ever look his best friend in the eye without being overwhelmed by shame.

The cause of said shame was currently at the bottom of his laundry basket, hidden under a pile of flannel shirts and faded jeans. Dean walked cautiously through the bunker's labyrinth of corridors towards the laundry room, afraid that he might cross paths with someone who'd suddenly developed x-ray vision and would see the offending garment. He stuck his head through the laundry room door to make sure the coast was clear before hastily stuffing everything into an empty machine, tossed in a cupful of detergent and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. He cranked the temperature up to 140F before heading to the kitchen, where he found Sam in a sorry state.

His brother sat at the kitchen table with his arms crossed and head down, snoring softly as his cup of black coffee grew cold in front of him. Ever the caring brother, Dean snuck up next to Sam as quietly as possible before slamming the palm of his hand down on the surface of the kitchen table.

"Mornin', sunshine!" he yelled.

Sam immediately sat bolt upright in his seat and looked around the room with a startled expression. "Whaaa! What...ugh, 'mornin'. What's so funny?"

Dean had to stifle a bark of laughter when Sam sat upright, revealing his face, on which someone had drawn a pair of glasses and whiskers with what looked like a black marker pen. Dean shook his head, struggling to keep the amused smile from his face.

"Nothin'," he lied. "You want a fresh cup?"

"Please."

Dean got them fresh coffees before sitting across the kitchen table from Sam. "Fun party, huh?"

Sam groaned in agreement, taking a large gulp of his coffee before rasping, "Never again."

"Having a party or drinking?"

"Both."

Dean chuckled. He was about to take a sip from his own cup when he paused and his eyes narrowed. "That's a nice cardigan you got there, Sammy."

"Hmm?"

"The cardigan you're wearing," Dean smirked. "That a Christmas present from the sheriff?"

What little color remained in Sam's face immediately drained. He looked down at himself, both surprised and horrified to find that he was, indeed, wearing Sheriff Jody's Christmas cardigan. He looked up sharply at Dean with a schooled expression.

"This isn't what you think."

"Oh, but I think it is," he laughed. "You shakin' sheets with the sheriff, little bro?"

"No," Sam replied defensively.

"You sure about that?" Dean teased. "Say, is that lipstick on your collar?"

Sam instinctively reached for his neck and Dean threw his hands up into the air in victory. "I knew it!"

"Shut up," Sam mumbled, lowering his hand.

Dean proceeded to get up onto his feet and dance around the kitchen singing, "Sam screwed the sheriff! But he didn't screw the deputy..."

"God, you're so childish!"

"I know," said Dean unabashedly, sliding back into his chair. "Don't get me wrong, Jody's a fine lookin' woman. I just didn't think you were into..."

"...older women?"