For all the Winchester brother lovers out there…
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Sam was starving by the time he and Dean reached the cookout.
He hadn't eaten anything all morning because his nerves were on edge.
He was about to be reacquainted with people from a time that now seemed lost.
Sam smelled food, and was practically salivating at the thought of hot dogs loaded with cheese and ketchup and mustard with fresh dill pickle relish.
It was so sweet of his old school friend Becky to have invited him to her house for a cookout.
Even the fact that Becky had invited Dean, and and he was tagging along, didn't bother Sam too much.
It had been way too long since he had seen a lot of his Stanford friends.
As Sam caught up with lost buddies, he munched away on the great food.
He quickly inhaled 3 hot dogs and 2 beers in less than a half hour.
It was bittersweet seeing everyone again, because it brought back memories of all the wonderful times he had spent with Jess.
Everyone it seemed, had something to say to Sam, even after not seeing him for three years.
It was warm outside, and Sam stripped off his button down and threw it over a chair.
He was wearing one of those nice white tee shirts from Old Navy.
Inexpensive, and soft like velvet, it had a blue ring around the collar and sleeves, so Sam didn't feel like he was too casual.
He had just washed it so it smelled like fresh Tide, one of the things that Sam insisted upon.
He had to use Tide laundry detergent.
Dean tried to get Sam to use cheaper detergent, because he could care less what brand of detergent they used.
Considering it was almost always Sam who did the laundry however, he didn't really push the issue.
Sam never told Dean it was because Jessica used to use Tide to wash all of their clothes.
Her scent.
His secret.
Sam looked at the time. They had been there for 3 hours already, and Sam had spent most of it eating his way through memory after memory of him and Jess.
People were slowly starting to leave, and Sam began to feel really tired. And full.
He didn't even realize how much he had eaten until his stomach began to gurgle at him in discontent.
Crap, he had eaten a lot. Maybe seven or eight hot dogs, chips, and a slice of raspberry cheesecake, not to mention the six beers that went down way, way too easy.
He looked around the yard for Dean, and found him chatting up a cute blond that Sam didn't know.
They looked enthralled in deep conversation, well as deep as it could get for Dean and a potential score, so Sam decided to leave them be.
Sam placed a hand on his angry stomach and headed inside to find Becky, and use the restroom.
He was feeling worse and worse with every step, like he night explode at any moment, as he walked into the kitchen.
Becky was there putting dishes in the sink and turned around when she heard Sam.
She was taken aback by his pallor.
"Oh my God Sam are you OK? You look awful."
" Hey Beck, I, uh, really think I ate too much. Do you have an upstairs bathroom I could possibly use, you know, uh, out of the way of, well, you know, people." Sam stammered, the blush creeping up his neck.
"Of course Sam, " Becky smiled her warm smile.
She walked over to him and put her hand on his cheek.
"You feel really warm, here let me show you the way."
She took him upstairs and into her master bathroom.
Sam already seemed embarrassed enough, and he didn't ask her to stay, so Becky left him, gently reassuring that no one would come up.
Thank God for great friends, Sam thought, Dean would have never left him alone, probably cracking jokes, and torturing him while he was suffering.
Sam sat down on the closed toilet seat, arms cradled around his stomach.
He slowly rocked back and forth trying to quell some of the discomfort.
His stomach felt bloated and stretched out, like he had a big gas bubble inside, all the while churning and turning like he was on a boat lost at sea, making him extremely nauseated.
Sam wasn't sure where the assault would hit him first, saliva suddenly pooling in his mouth and at the same time cramps hitting his gut like a fierce punch.
He moaned and grabbed the trash can near the sink, all while pulling his jeans down and sitting on the toilet, praying for this misery to be over soon.
"Oh God, kill me now, " he muttered as the first wave hit him full on.
The vomit projected out of him so fast, Sam almost dropped the trash can out of his hands. He hadn't even known it was coming, it happened so fast.
No heaving, just pure projectile force of nature hot dogs and cheese and ketchup and beer coming back to revisit him.
He barely had time to recover before another one hit him and Sam threw up in the trash can again.
Sam coughed, and tried to wipe his face. His eyes were watering and he had puke coming out of his nose, not to mention the rancid taste in his mouth.
His back was coated in sweat, he could feel the dampness through his shirt, yet he shuddered as a chill ran through him.
He inwardly groaned as he realized he left his long sleeved shirt downstairs.
At least he wasn't being assaulted at the other end too.
Sam pulled up his jeans and kneeled in front of the toilet.
He had a feeling this was far from over, and he would rather puke into the toilet where he could flush the contents, than in the trash can again.
As he braced himself on the sides of the toilet, Sam grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned his face.
He looked down at his shirt.
Still clean thank goodness.
The last thing Sam wanted was to walk downstairs with a puke stained shirt in front of everyone, well, anyone he even knew.
All of a sudden another wave hit him, and he swallowed convulsively, years of instinct trying to stop himself from getting sick again.
The battle was lost, however, as Sam gagged, and the vomit poured from his mouth, splattering the sides of the toilet bowl.
The sound alone was enough to make him throw up again, as he heaved and continued to get sick.
His body was spent now, stomach muscles aching like he had just gone 5 rounds with a heavyweight champion, and as Sam felt himself slump down against the floor, head resting on his arms, the tears began to flow freely from his eyes.
The tears caught him a little by surprise, because as much as he was feeling miserable and ill, wishing for the sickness to end, the pain Sam was feeling right now, the tears, and the hurt, was coming from somewhere else.
His heart.
It was at that moment that he realized he was alone.
Jess was gone.
He had no one.
Everyone downstairs he had just seen had moved on, they had graduated, gotten jobs, some had gotten married, and were living their lives.
Sam had stopped his.
He was frozen.
He was alone.
Stuck in never ending days of never ending hunts, and thankless jobs, saving people and ending their misery.
It was reality, and it was awful.
And it hit him like a ton of bricks.
The pain was all consuming, it ripped his insides apart like gasoline on a fire, and he could hardly even breathe it was so powerful.
All Sam could think of to get him through was the one thing he couldn't have.
"Jess." He half sobbed, half whispered her name, not even sure if he was really saying it out loud at all.
He closed his eyes, felt it pounding in his brain, dizzy and breathless, he struggled for air as the sobs wracked his body.
"Jess."
Sam tried to shake himself back to reality, when he realized that someone else was really shaking him.
"Sam...Sammy, hey, " came the gentle voice.
His hand was rubbing up and down Sam's back, smooth and gentle, but at the same time, forceful and in command.
He registered the voice in his brain, and it had an instant calming effect.
Dean.
His savior.
Sam opened his eyes and looked into the face of his brother.
He saw Becky standing in the doorway, concern etched in her every feature, but when he looked up at her, she softened and smiled at him.
"Do you think that he's OK?" she directed her question at Dean.
"He will be, thanks." His response was quick and got the message across loud and clear.
He wanted to be left alone with Sam.
" Well, I will be down in the kitchen if you need anything at all, Ok Dean?" Becky replied, her strong voice implying that she knew he wanted to be alone with Sam, but also that she wasn't just going to let it drop.
Sam was his brother, yes, but her friend too.
She walked out and closed the door behind herself.
Dean turned back to Sam, full attention now focused on the withering brother.
"Dude, what was that all about?
He got nothing as Sam had his face buried in his arms.
"Sam, c'mon, is this serious? Do we need to talk about this?"
"Gimme something to go on here, man, you're uh, kinda freaking me out." Dean softened as he tried to coax it out of his baby brother.
Sam lifted his head and looked at Dean was about to speak, when suddenly the nausea hit him again.
He lurched forward and stuck his head in the toilet bowl again, the throwing up becoming more painful, as Sam lost more and more fluid each time.
"Ughh... Dean," Sam finally whispered, the desperation in his voice evident as he yearned for the discomfort to end.
"I ate too much. Too...too many hot dogs, " was all Sam offered up, his sore throat turning his voice gravelly from all the acid.
"Yea that's for sure" Dean chuckled, choosing to accept his brother's silent plea not to push the issue more than that.
Dean walked over to the sink and grabbed a washcloth.
He wrung it out and placed it squarely on the top of Sam's head.
It was something Jessica used to do, Dean remembered Sam telling him, whenever he wasn't feeling well.
Why Dean remembered it at this particular moment, he wasn't quite sure.
All he knew was that Sam was suffering, and he wanted to make it better whatever way he could.
Sam felt the cold washcloth and put his head down further.
He didn't want Dean to see the silent tears that were flowing from his eyes, part heartache and part appreciation for the brother that seemed to understood his every need.
Sam shuddered, and Dean placed his hand on Sam's back again.
"Sammy, man you really overdid it this time, no more hot dogs for you, not that you are ever gonna wantto eat them again " Dean snickered.
It was as if Dean knew exactly what Sam was feeling.
He always had.
Don't want to talk about it right now.
Or ever.
Cover up the pain with sarcastic remarks and jokes.
It was Dean's speciality.
Sam had never been more grateful.
They sat like that for many minutes, Dean never taking his hand off Sam's back, Sam breathing easier as the pain slowly started to subside.
Sam's stomach gurgled, but this time, he didn't get sick, he lifted his head from the toilet, and looked at Dean.
"I'm OK."
Dean didn't look convinced.
Sam started to stand up, leaning on the toilet, and as he let go, he swayed, the rush of blood to his head catching him off guard.
He pitched forward, arms outstretched, and unable to find his footing.
But before he could go any further he was stopped.
Saved once again by Dean.
And as Sam looked up to say thanks, he was stopped by the smile that had become the constant in his life, along with the three words that made it all worth it.
"I've got you."
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