A/n: This was suppose to be a one shot that got too long, so now its a three parter. The first part takes place while Sam's in college.
Thank you LilyBolt for your amazing recent reviews and all the not so recent ones as well as for all your support and friendship. Thank you miXiZ for all of your support, reviews and friendship as well. Thank you jojospn for your reviews and support. Thank you to everyone else who reads, reviews, follows, or favorites this story.
It's rated T for language as well as some of the drink names, which I did not make up.
I don't ownSPN or any of its characrers.
Part one
It's the birthday he will always regret.
Sam doesn't even know why he lets Brady talk him into it.
"It'll be fun! Besides, it's the big two one and you only turn legal once."
Sam shakes his head and tries to explain how that's not how that works, but Brady waves him off. "Come on don't be such a stick in the mud Sammy," he teases.
"It's Sam," Sam corrects his friend. "And I know how twenty first birthdays go, especially in a bar with friends," the college student says tilting his head in acknowledgement. Brady simply rolls his eyes.
"Aw come on, lighten up a bit. Take a night to be a normal twenty one year old and not the eighty year old you are. Tonight's your night to thrive man. May it be full of booze and a promise of getting laid. God knows you need it."
"Hey!" Sam shouts punching Brady on the arm.
"What? You do." It was no mystery as to why he had been friends with Brady, he had in a way reminded him of his older brother. Getting Sam to a bar for his big birthday, had been something they both had aimed for.
Dean had been anxious for the day that he could finally sit and have a beer with his brother legally in public. He had only mentioned it to him every birthday and every time they went to a restaurant.
"I'm going to make sure you have a twenty first birthday that you will never forget!" He would say. "It's going to be one of the best nights of our lives Sammy." Dean's face would light up and a playful smile would grow at the thought.
He had been looking forward to this night more than Sam himself, and he wasn't even there to witness his brother's first legal alcoholic beverage. Sam had expected to not hear from his father. More than likely, he had forgotten about what day it was and the importance of it altogether. Sam who? He was prepared for that sting, but he had thought surely Dean would call and wish him a happy birthday. All day since the moment he opened his eyes that morning, he had been sneaking glances at his phone in hopes that he would see 1 missed call or 1 message from his big brother. He had longed to hear his energetic proud voice singing "Happy Birthday" off key to him.
Sam checks again, still nothing. He sighs and agrees to go out, what the hell? It's not like he has anything better to do, and it's obvious that neither his father nor his brother are going to make a guest appearance or bother wasting their breath on a phone call.
The bar is fairly empty, the advantage of having his birthday fall on a Monday. It's a rather small place with one long counter and a dozen backless leather barstools, three pool tables, and a jute box. To the far left their is one restroom for women and one for men and then a back door that leads to a balcony where a few women are smoking and talking with one another. A group of guys between his brother's age and his own are occupying one of the pool tables, and five of the twelve bar stools are taken. Sam and Brady slide onto two of the open seats just as a tall skinny man with a long red beard and bald head come around the counter.
"What can I get you guys?" He asks in a rather gruff voice.
"We'll both have a Jager Bomb and a shot of Whiskey to start," Brady orders with a smile.
"And a water each too please," Sam adds hastily.
"You got it." The man turns from the young men and goes to work. Sam looks over at Brady who gives him a look equivalent to that of Sam's own popular bitchface.
"What?" Sam asks innocently as he shrugs.
"Water? Really?"
"Yes really. I already told you, I'm not getting shitfaced. I want to remember my birthday."
Sam's friend puts his hands up in surrender as the four shots and two waters are placed in front of them.
"Ok ok. Am I right to assume you also like to go to parties and take a shit right in the middle of it?"
"Real classy Brady. I'm not a party pooper, I just want to be able to remember my birthday."
"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. Alright, to Sam Winchester!" He shouts holding his first glass of whiskey up towards the taller young man. Sam gives a shy smile, they clink glasses, and throw back the first shot. Sam places his empty glass on the table and licks his lips. He has had whiskey before, courtesy of his big brother, but it had been the cheap stuff. This has a different taste, it's a bit stronger. Brady picks up his Jager and holds it out for another cheers to his friend. Sam retrieves his glass and they repeat the process. The next round of drinks includes another shot of Whiskey, a Fireball, and a shot of Three Wise Men. By the time they have finished the second round, more of their friends from Stanford join them. They pat the birthday boy on the back and congratulate him on finally being able to drink at a bar. He smiles and thanks them, warmth from the alcohol already starting to work it's way through his system.
"What're we drinking?" A young man with short black hair asks Sam as he clasps him on the back and looks at the various bottles behind the counter.
"You can have whatever, I think I'm good," Sam replies.
"Nah come on! Getting shitfaced is like a right of passage, you still got some left before you reach that point. Excuse me!" He calls out to the bartender and waves a hand to get his attention. "Can I get a Lemon Drop for me and Flaming Shot for my friend here?" The man nods and sets to work fixing the drinks.
"I don't know that I'm ready for a Flaming Shot," Sam says uncomfortably shifting in his seat. The bartender returns with their drinks, lighting Sam's on fire.
"Wait about ten seconds after you blow it out to drink it." With that he walks on to help the next customer.
Everyone crowds around Sam belting out at the top of their lungs "Happy Birthday," drowning out the AC/DC song that's playing on the jute box. When they're done, Sam blows out the fire, waits like he was told, and after much coaxing and chanting from his buddies, he throws it back. Everyone goes wild with hooting and hollering.
Some of the college students start a pool game, which Sam quickly joins. He doesn't want to drink anymore unless it's water. He wants to remember this night. While he waits for his turn at the table, he makes his way to the jute box, finds the song he wants, and selects it to play whenever his turn comes.
"Old Time Rock and Roll," fills the small bar and Sam is quietly singing along and humming the versus he doesn't know.
"What the fuck Sam? Bob Seger? Really? What are you, an old man?" One of them teases.
"It's what I grew up listening to," Sam responds defensively. Normally he would give anything to not have to listen to classic rock since it had been the only music his brother and father had deemed good or worth listening to, and once he had gone out on his own, he had tried to avoid having to hear any more of it. But for some reason, Sam feels the need to hear something familiar to him.
He and Brady win the game of pool, with Sam making the last shot and thoroughly impressing the other men.
"How the hell are you so good?" One of them asks.
"Where did you learn to be so badass?"
"I uh, I have a lot of practice," Sam blushes. "My brother taught me."
"You're brother must be one cool dude," another admires.
"Yeah, he is," Sam says unable to hide the pride in his tone.
"Your brother's a dick." Sam turns to face Brady.
"What?"
"You heard me, your brother is a dick. If he was such a great guy, why isn't he here celebrating with you? Has he even called?" Sam had checked his phone will standing at the jute box earlier, still no sign of Dean.
"You don't even know my brother, so shut the hell up," Sam snaps.
"Just saying, if you were my brother, I would want to be there for your big milestone. Hell, I am here for it." He laughs and a few of the guys laugh too.
"He's-he's just-"
"What? Huh? He's just busy? Too busy to even wish his little bro a happy birthday? Please. It obviously doesn't matter to him. But you have us Sam, you have me." Sam fights back tears that he can feel are trying to worm their way from his eyes. Although Brady had definitely been harsh and blunt about it, and honestly his friend had seemed different lately, he hadn't been wrong. Dean really couldn't be bothered to pick up his phone and call or even text happy birthday?
"Here Sam, this'll help," one of his friends hands him a shot. He doesn't ask what it is, he doesn't care. He tosses it back and slams the glass down as the bar explodes with his friends cheering and clapping.
"How about a Buttery Nipple?" The black haired friend asks. Sam sways a bit where he stands, but recovers smoothly.
"Alright, bring it on!" He shouts with a smile. His friend retrieves his drink and before he can clink glasses with him, Sam pounds it. The group of guys go wild again. It takes a few seconds, but it hits. The room starts to spin slightly.
"Has he had anything with Irish Cream yet?"
"I don't think so. Oh, how about a Blow Job Sam?"
"Youmn alcl, right?" He slurs. Caution in his voice.
"Someone get this guy a Blow Job!" Brady shouts. One of the men disappear back to the counter and reappear shortly after with the Irish cream and Kahlua shot topped with whip cream. Sam throws that one back too, despite him feeling slightly uncomfortable with the name of it, and this time it isn't just the room that erupts in victorious shouts, but Sam's head. He began to sway slightly as he tries to hold himself up on his pole stick. The spinning intensifies until Sam isn't sure what's ceiling, what's wall, and what's floor. He slowly staggers over to the men's restroom, which is thankfully unoccupied, and locks himself in. Sam tries to lean against the wall hoping it will keep him steady, but to no avail. He drops to his knees and crawls over to the toilet, reaching it just in time before he begins to vomit violently. The acid of all the alcohol burns his throat as he heaves and a nasty mix of sweet and bitter after taste lingers. His body begins to shake and his grip on the bar toilet starts to falter. With one last horrific purge, he manages to flush and then sinks down to the floor. He lays there watching the bathroom swirl around until everything goes black and all noise falls silent.
He has no idea how long he lays there, out cold. When he wakes up again, it's the bald red bearded bartender who comes into view.
"Brdy?" Sam mumbles.
"Your pals are at the counter," he explains. "Normally I would call the cops, but it's your twenty first birthday and we've all been there. I called you a cab, they should be here soon. What's your address?" Sam's eyes begin to close as he stutters and mumbles his address before he passes out again.
The next time he wakes up, he's strapped in the back of a strange car. Brady's light sing-songy careless tone saying goodbye. He laughs and it's the last of anything familiar to Sam. He's slumped over so that he's laying on his side, taking up the entire back seat. The world spinning around him. He shuts his eyes and groans as his stomach lurches. The harsh tone of the driver, loud grumbling of the speeding car, and the sickness in his belly makes it harder for him fall into an easy sleep.