Dean came back into the hotel room to find Sam lying on the bed, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. "I want to die."
"No you don't."
Sam looked at him with bloodshot eyes. "I'm tired of people dying. I'm tired of nearly getting killed almost every day. I'll never escape it."
He lifted the bottle and took another swig. Dean sighed. It wouldn't be long until his little brother passed out.
Sam was aware of the pounding headache before he even opened his eyes. "Fuck…" he muttered to himself. This was going to be one hell of a hangover.
He opened his eyes and looked around the room. Dean wasn't there. He probably went to get breakfast, Sam thought.
He struggled to sit up, but the movement caused his stomach to heave. "Fuck!" he choked out. He stumbled to the bathroom, already gagging, barely having time to drop to his knees in front of the toilet before he was violently sick. He rested his head on his arm and moaned. It was going to be a long morning.
Dean came back with a bag of bagels. He noticed his brother wasn't in bed, and glanced towards the bathroom. Yup, there was Sam, leaning over the toilet and breathing heavily. "God, it hurts."
"I bet it does."
Dean sat on his bed and pulled out a bagel. "I'm guessing you don't want breakfast?"
Sam moaned. He gagged and Dean felt a stab of sympathy for his little brother. It wasn't an easy life, Dean knew that. More than once he had been in Sam's position, drinking the sadness away and puking it back up the next morning. Unlike Sam, though, he always managed to crawl away and suffer his shame alone. The thought of seeing the pity in anyone's eyes as they watched him so vulnerable made his stomach knot up. He set his bagel down.
He could hear what sounded like crying and clenched his teeth. Being the older brother, there was a protection instinct left over from when they were kids. He watched over
Sam and tried to take care of him as much as he could. It was killing him to hear his little brother crying and in pain, sick as hell, even if he had brought it on himself.
Sam was trying hard not to cry. It hurt his head. He pulled himself up over the bowl again as his stomach churned. He gagged over and over, but nothing was coming up. His stomach clenched, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. After the dry heaves stopped, he leaned back against the wall and tried not to break down sobbing.
Dean thought back to when they were kids and it wasn't so bad to rub your little brothers back when he was sick.
Dean woke up and realized the bed was missing someone. Their dad still wasn't back, even though it was nearly 2 in the morning. He waited a couple minutes for Sam to come out of the bathroom and go back to bed.
He was about to go back to sleep, thinking Sam was in the shower or something, when he heard the sound of his little brother getting sick. He jumped out of bed and knocked on the door. "Sammy? Are you ok?"
Sam's ten year old voice sounded incredibly weak. "Dean, I don't feel good."
Dean eased the door open to see his little brother curled up by the toilet, his hair messed up and his eyes ringed with dark circles. He leaned over the toilet and threw up.
Dean sat next to his brother and rubbed gentle circles on his back. "It's ok, Sammy, it'll pass soon."
The sound of his brother gagging again bought him back to the present. He stood up and walked into the bathroom. Sam looked up at him, his face pale as death. "Dean, go away."
Ignoring him, Dean sat next to him on the hotel bathroom floor and rubbed Sam's back. Sam didn't pull away, instead he rested his head on his arms and took deep breaths. Dean said quietly, "It's ok, Sammy, it'll pass soon."