The Journal of Sam Winchester

It wasn't as though Sam ever woke up easily on Sunday mornings, but the first inkling of hangover symptoms that he felt upon waking were not helping at all today. He pushed himself up just enough to see that he'd fallen asleep on top of his covers, shirtless but thankfully still wearing pants. Turning his head as much as he could, he surveyed the mess scattered around the room, and the bodies of those who had fallen asleep before leaving.

Then he collapsed back onto the bed with a low groan. If his head ever stopped pounding, Alec was going to die.

[The door's closed, but the post is open. I'll be on slowplay throughout the afternoon.]