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    Summary

    “You’re a messy drunk,” Dean says into his hair, says it with so much affection. Sam smiles. It doesn’t sound like a criticism when Dean says it.
    Time goes liquid but eventually Dean laughs, easy and unforced.
    “My legs are going to sleep. Anyway, time for us to go to sleep.”
    “Yeah,” Sam tucks his face deeper into the crook of Dean’s neck, “sure.”
    “Sure,” Dean repeats, then gets an arm under Sam’s knees and, with a groan, scoops him up and carries him across to the bedroom. He dumps Sam a little roughly on his bed and Sam bounces against the mattress, giggling. Dean moves to turn away and Sam grabs his wrist.
    “No,” he whispers. “No. You said you wouldn't leave.”

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