(no subject)

It isn't the first time Sam's shown up drunk at Dean's door. Nor is it the first time he's kicked it, thrown a bottle at it, and threatened to break it down, yanking at the knob and pounded until his knuckles were scraped and bloody.

It's also definitely not the first time another tenant has yelled at him and threatened to call the police, but this time Sam's not backing down.

"Dean! Dean, open the fuck up!" Sam shouts, ignoring the glare from the woman down the hall. He doesn't want to care what she thinks right now, doesn't want to worry about the cellphone she has clutched in one hand, doubtlessly poised to dial 911 (or whatever the equivalent is in this place) if she hasn't done so already. Let her. Let the cops come and arrest him on drunken disorderly conduct. It's not likely to change much of anything.

Lips thinning, Sam backs up a few steps and rams his heel into the door, denting the wood before throwing the woman a dark look.

Oh yeah, she's definitely calling now.

"Dean!" he shouts, shoulders heaving. "If you don't want me to end up in jail, you better open this fucking door!"