Sam opened his eyes and groaned. His stomach rolled.
He was going to puke.
A small trash can was thrust in front of his face as the vomit rushed up his throat and into the plastic can before he even knew what was happening.
Sam gagged and coughed, his eyes watering as he tried to focus his thoughts.
He breathed in.
Impala.
"You were drunk, and got smashed in the head."
Dean.
"Your head is too soft for a blow like that Sammy, and you shouldn't be drinking anyway with the flu."
"What were you thinking?"
Everything would be ok.