Chapter III
Descending the stairs, Dean spoke slowly and calmly. "Sam, you're drunk. We can do this in the morning."
"Why wait, Dean? So you can sneak out again like a coward?"
Coward? Dean tightly gripped the banister. It took all the control he could muster to swallow that insult. If anyone else had said that to him, the least he would have gotten was a bloody lip. "Look, I wasn't…" He caught himself. This would just become another argument and their plates were full.
The combination of menacing and staggering that Dean witnessed, as Sam approached, would normally have struck him funny. But his sense of humor was buried deep.
"What are you trying to do, Sam?"
Sam was done talking. His head was pounding. He walked toward his brother without knowing what came next. He took two long strides, misjudged the distance and swung a wild roundhouse spinning almost one hundred eighty degrees.
Instinctively, Dean reached out and grabbed his brother. The momentum pulled them both down into a heap on the floor, Dean managing to wrap his arms around his younger brother and land on top.
"Dean, let me go!"
"Not until you calm down. Dammit, Sam hold still!"
"I'm warning you. Let go."
Dean held tight. Up until now, they had avoided any serious injury and he knew, soon enough, exhaustion from struggling combined with the drinking should subdue Sam.
"Dean, I gotta get up."
"Are you gonna stop?"
"I'm still kicking your ass."
"Wrong answer."
Sam continued to squirm but his brother was not letting go. Suddenly, he relaxed and his breathing became slightly labored.
"Finally, " Dean mouthed, loosening his grip while rolling Sam on his back.
Little brother's face had lost some color and beads of sweat had collected, dampening his hairline. Dean became anxious with concern for him. Realization struck him a moment too late. As quickly as he could, he flipped Sam onto his side but the damage was done.
Dean's hands, their clothes, Sam's chin and the floor were covered with the aftermath of Sam's drinking binge.
He threw up.