I have absolutely no idea where this came from; I was so overtired yesterday that I barely even remember writing it. This is waaaay more schmoopy than is my normal style, I know. If you get diabetes or romance induced nausea, blame Jared and Jensen for being so damn pretty! Let's be honest, they bring this shit on themselves.

Title is from 'I Love Rock n'Roll' by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

Today had been a pretty crappy day, even by their normal standards. It should have been a fairly simple werewolf hunt. Bullets, fire, and home in time for a few rounds at the bar next to their motel. Or maybe skip the bar, pick up a six-pack and spend the evening enjoying that surprisingly comfortable bed. Sam definitely liked door number two. But then everything had gone wrong. Sam's gun had jammed, and Dean had been thrown rather violently into a brick wall, and before they knew it a little girl was being ripped to shreds right in front of them.

Dean had somehow managed pull himself up and tackle the thing, and Sam put a bullet in it's brain before it did too much damage to his brother, but they were definitely too late to save the girl. Shit, she couldn't have been more than five. Sam felt awful, but Dean was taking it particularly hard, like he always did whenever kids were involved. The fact that Dean cared so much definitely made Sam love him that much more, but at the same time he hated to see his big brother in any kind of pain. So after watching him sit on the same stool at the bar all night, not showing any of his usual interest in hustling pool or drinking too much, Sam really couldn't take it anymore and thought that maybe if he couldn't make things better for Dean, he could at least distract him.

Sam put a gentle hand on Dean's arm.

"Hey Sammy," Dean mumbled without looking up from the glass of whiskey he'd been staring at for the last hour.

Sam moved in close to Dean's back and slid his arms around the slim waist, smiling when Dean tensed and cried "Dude! Public!"

"You don't realize the bar closed, do you?" Sam said into Dean's neck.

Dean sat up a little straighter and took a quick glance around. "Shit, what time is it?"

"A little after three."

"Shit," Dean muttered again, slumping on the bar stool and leaning back into Sam.

Sam pressed a few wet kisses into the soft skin behind Dean's ear, waiting until his brother was humming in pleasure before he spoke.

"Dean, you … look, I know you don't wanna talk about it, but just … you know that it isn't your fault, right?" Sam asked carefully, and alright fine, maybe he'd work on distracting Dean after he got his fill of that damn talking he seemed so unconsciously intent on.

Dean sighed and tilted his head to the side to rest against Sam's. "I … damn it, she was just so small."

Sam squeezed Dean a little tighter and waited for him to go on.

"If we'd just been faster …" Dean trailed off with another heavy sigh.

At least he'd moved back to 'if we'd just been faster' instead of 'if I'd just been faster', Sam supposed that was a minor victory.

"I know," Sam murmured, licking up and down Dean's neck. "But we weren't. And it was horrible but it wasn't your fault. Just, please tell me you know that."

Sam knew it really wasn't cool to be kissing his brother while talking about a dead kid, but usually this was the only way Dean would actually talk.

"Yeah, I … I know that." Dean reached up behind himself to twine his fingers in Sam's hair. "Doesn't make it suck any less though."

"No, it doesn't," Sam agreed, leaning subconsciously into Dean's hand.

"I just keep thinking about her parents, you know?" Dean said quietly, and there was so much sorrow in his voice that Sam found himself chocking back a gasp.

"They are never going to be okay again," Dean continued. "Their lives are ruined because we couldn't … I don't know. It just fucking sucks."

"I know." Sam kissed Dean's temple gently, and then just let his head rest against Dean's, hoping the warmth and weight would be enough to help Dean begin to forgive himself.

"I fucking hate this," Dean muttered angrily. "We're supposed to save people! And she … she didn't deserve to die."

"No one deserves to die," Sam answered, rubbing his cheek comfortingly against Dean's. "But that's what these monsters do, Dean. We can't save everybody."

"Yeah, I know. But I wish we could."

"Me too."

Dean leaned back even more, so that almost all of his weight was supported by Sam's chest, and turned his face into Sam's neck. Sam really should've been feeling awful about that poor little girl and hating what all this is doing to Dean, but somewhere deep inside he couldn't help loving how much Dean needed him right now. And even more that Dean's actually allowing himself to need someone; allowing himself to lean on Sam, physically and emotionally.

So Sam let them sit in silence for the next few minutes, pressing more kisses into Dean's forehead and slipping his fingers under Dean's shirt to pet the soft skin above his waistband; loving the soft sighs Dean couldn't quite hold back. In the end, this was really the only thing that would ever get though to Dean – Sam showing him that he still loved his big brother even if he'd screwed up.

"Hey Sam?"

"Mm?" Sam hummed in place of an answer.

"If the bar is closed why haven't we been kicked out?"

Sam smiled. He'd been wondering when Dean would notice.

"Because I gave the bartender twenty bucks to fuck off for fifteen minutes before he closed up shop."

"Uh, okay … why?"

Sam brushes their noses together for a few seconds before answering.

"Dance with me?"

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

Sam could practically hear Dean rolling his eyes.

"Please?" he whispered, scratching his fingernails lightly on Dean's hip.

"Why?"

"Because I want to, and if I kiss your neck enough you'll give me whatever I want."

Dean laughed softly. "Picked up on that, have you?"

"Mmhm."

Dean pulled back a little so he could twist around and look at Sam.

"And you're planning on taking advantage of it?" he asked, eyes smiling.

"Definitely." Sam grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him off the stool. "C'mon, stud, let's cut a rug."

"Oh god, you are so gay," Dean groaned, rolling his eyes again, but he still went willingly enough so Sam just laughed.

"Says the guy I'm gonna fuck tonight."

"Oh, you think you're gettin' some tonight, do you?"

Sam turned around and raised an eyebrow. "I don't think, I know. And, I bet I can make you beg for it too."

"Really," Dean smirked, playing the game. "I'd love to see you try."

"What do I get if I win?"

"What, my ass isn't enough of a prize for you?"

Sam slid his arms back around Dean's waist and slipped his hands into Dean's back pockets.

"Mm, it definitely is," he grinned, squeezing the hard muscle.

"You're aware that there's no music, right?"

"I can fix that," Sam said, fishing a quarter out of his pocket and moving over to bring the ancient-looking jukebox to life.

The simpering sounds of an acoustic guitar and strings of some sort filled the empty room, and Sam chuckled as Dean groaned again.

"What the hell is this?"

Sam shrugged. "Some stupid love song. Hearts and flowers and all that crap."

"So are you planning on actually growing a vagina, or … ?"

Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "Hilarious. You can bitch and moan all you want but we're still doing this, so shut up and get your gorgeous ass over here."

"Ooh, Sammy, love it when you get all commanding like that," Dean cooed fakely, sauntering over to Sam like he knew just how much it turned Sam on when he moved like that. Actually, he probably knew exactly how much it turned Sam on, and did it just to torture him. Bastard. Sam grabbed Dean's hand and pulled his brother in close, twining their fingers and snaking his arm around Dean's waist, only to have to have it slapped away.

"Dude, if you're seriously making me do this there's no way I'm gonna be the chick."

Dean threw Sam's arm over his shoulders and then wrapped his own arm around Sam's waist, glaring up at Sam as if daring him to argue.

Sam just chuckled. "Alright, alright. I'll be the girl if it makes you feel better."

As Sam began to sway them back and forth in time to the music, he squeezed his arm around Dean's shoulder so the hard body was pressed completely into his. Sam managed to hold in the gasp that threatened to escape his lips, but he couldn't stop thinking about how delicious it felt to have all that heat searing into his torso, even through his sweatshirt and Dean's leather jacket. And Dean, amazingly, wasn't fighting him or tensing up at all. He was actually pressing back into Sam's body and leaning his head into Sam's neck. Sam was so tempted to smirk and quip something like 'You're really into this, aren't you?', but he was totally aware of how fast that would ruin the moment and as girly as it definitely makes him, he kind of loved this.

So Sam settled for saying something that would more likely turn Dean on, because turned-on Dean is far more inclined to the girly, sentimental moments that Sam secretly craves.

"I like having you all over me like this," he murmured.

Dean laughed, soft and low and deep in his throat, and the sound went straight to Sam's cock.

"I'll kill you if you ever repeat this," Dean began warily, "but yeah, I kinda like this too. You smell good."

Sam sighed happily. "You do too. Like leather and gunpowder."

"Plus," Dean continued sensuously, "every time I move my hips like this – " Dean pushed his pelvis a little into Sam's and rubbed briskly to one side – "you get just a little bit harder."

Sam laughed and kissed Dean's temple. "Guess you'll have to take me home."

"Mm, and plow you right through the bed?"

"Oh, well that's very romantic," Sam said sarcastically, because Dean expected him to, but really that idea didn't actually sound too bad to him. Sam loved it when it was sweet and gentle between them, but he loved it just as much when it got rough and fiercely passionate. When Dean was stripped bare and every single ferocious, rabid emotion was out there in the open for Sam to see, and Dean is so turned on he doesn't even care that he's letting Sam see right into his soul.

"Alright, fine, you wanna know something disgustingly romantic?" Dean relented, moving them back into the saying motion Sam had unintentionally stopped.

"Absolutely," Sam smiled, because yeah, Dean was totally loving this just as much as he was.

"When you were at Stanford, the thing I missed the most was waking up with you."

Sam pulled back a little so he could see Dean's face, and stared. Dean blushed a little, but his face was set so Sam was pretty sure he's being serious.

"You - really?"

"Yep. For months after you left, almost every morning when I woke up, I'd look over to make sure Dad was still asleep and then reach for you," Dean huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes at himself. "So there you go, looks like I'm just as gay as you are."

Sam's first instinct was to launch himself into a litany of apologies – I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I put you through that, I'm sorry you had to spend two whole years waking up without me – but he didn't. Because that would ruin the mood too, and it was such a rare phenomenon to have Dean so relaxed and honest like that. Probably, it was because Dean was still feeling so miserable and vulnerable after losing that little girl, and as much as Sam hated himself for it, suddenly he couldn't feel quite as horrible about her death.

So Sam just pulled his big brother back into a warm embrace and planted a few wet-but-sweet kisses on Dean's full, soft lips.

"The song's over," Dean whispered.

Sam nodded. "Uh-huh."

"And you do realize that we're in Mississippi, and if that bartender comes back and finds us like this, we're probably gonna get ourselves shot."

Sam hadn't considered that, but Dean was definitely right.

"So take me home?" he whispered back, brushing his lips once more against Dean's.

"Okay," Dean agreed softly. "I think I remember something about you promising to make me beg for it."

Sam smiled wickedly. "Pretty sure I'm up to the challenge."