A/N I'm posting this and the previous extra together, because comparing and contrasting the before and the after is always fun.
TIC Extra #12: One Sip
Timeline: The scene is set after B3, before Lost Chapters: Brady.
Characters: Brady
Rating: T
Word Count: 1160
Warnings: Underage drinking, language
Brady wasn't sure how much he had drank this time, but he was pretty sure that this time he had drank too much.
It was pathetic really, that after all that had happened to him, that Brady could be scared of alcohol poisoning, but the part of his mind that was still slightly coherent realized that he was in trouble. He had done the slugging moonshine thing, drinking himself to the point that even a wolf like him couldn't process the amount of alcohol out of his system fast enough, leaving him laughing and grinning and numb. He had done the still drinking thing, where his laughing turned to bitterness and anger, his head lighter and his heart rawer, and his face and fingertips numb. He had done the staggered walking around the shack thing, he had done the raging at the sky thing, he had done the stumbling to the ground thing and having a hell of a time getting back to the next bottle he had waiting thing.
But this time? This time Brady was pretty sure that he had drank too much.
She had left him, you see, and Brady wasn't supposed to talk about it. After all, she had left two people far more important than Brady was, and while Embry was hurting and Jake was whatever Jake was, Brady wasn't supposed to care. At least, Brady wasn't supposed to care any more than the rest of them, and the rest of them were hurt and angry. But Brady? Brady had been abandoned. She was the only fucking one who understood what had happened, the only fucking one who he could look at and know, just know, that she understood that it had fucked them both up more than they let anyone see. She was the one that helped him know that as bad as he got, as dark as his thoughts would go, that she had gone those dark places too.
They had never talked about it, but it had always been there, an understanding, a camaraderie…but she was gone now, and Brady had been left standing alone. Again. Only in standing he was on his knees and he was retching. He couldn't stop retching, and the world wouldn't stop spinning.
Dammit. Too much.
There was a part of Brady that didn't care. There was a part of him that thought that puking his guts out until there was nothing left, alone out here in the middle of nowhere, was better than waking up in the middle of the night screaming, scaring the hell out of Jared every time and bringing Kim to tears. Brady had people that cared about him now, but there was only so much that those people could do when so much of Brady had been broken, and it was up to Brady to find a way to put himself back together again. And he had been trying, he really had. Seeing her function, seeing her smile and laugh and give them hell, it had made him better, made him think that if she could be better, he could be better, that he could leave hell behind and start living normally again.
But she had left, run away, abandoned them all. She wasn't better. If she had been she wouldn't have left them, right? So she was out there all fucked up on her own, and he was in here all fucked up on his own, and Brady had thought that he would be less scared for both of them if he was drunk. Drunk made it easier, until it made it worse, and right now he was pretty fucking worse.
The world wasn't just spinning, it was blurring until he couldn't see straight, and there was nothing more for Brady to throw up, but he couldn't stop the involuntary retching. It was a humiliation to know that they would find him like this, a pathetic drunken asshole, covered in his own vomit and curled up between too many empty jugs. He had drank jugs this time, not bottles. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, Brady was so sick that he regretted it.
He regretted it because he was still retching, and it hurt his throat and his chest and his stomach. He shouldn't be scared. His best friend in the world had taken on the worst vampire they had ever faced, and Collin hadn't been scared. Collin had been brave, Collin had been fearless, Collin had been tough. And in the end, Collin had won. Brady always lost, but Collin always won. Wolves like Collin were able to survive just about anything, wolves like Collin didn't drinking themselves to fucking uselessness just because someone else's girl went somewhere else.
Wolves like Collin—
"Brady? Shit man, what the fuck did you do?"
What did Brady do? Brady did nothing. Brady stopped nothing. Brady helped nothing and he was nothing—
"Oh, hell, Brady. Why the hell do you do this shit to yourself? Come on man, try to stand up. I've got to get you home, okay? I've got to get some water in you, buddy. On three, one, two, three…oomph. Damn, Brade..."
Spinning, spinning, everything was spinning. He was a drunk. He was a mess. "I think I drank too much."
Silence, and then a soft sigh. "Yeah, man, you always do. You always drink too much…do you want to talk about it?"
Talk about that she left him?
"She left us all, Brady."
He was reading his fucking thoughts now.
"Man, you really are fucked up. Shit. Shit…Jared? I need some help over here. Get me some water and a fucking stomach pump if you have it."
Someone's shoelaces, someone else's arms, a bathtub…
"Kid, why do you keep doing this?"
Water, a toilet, retching…
"Jared, I think I drank too much. I think I…
I think I drank…
I think I drank too…
Brady wasn't sure how much he had drank this time, but as he woke up on the couch in Jared's living room, he was pretty sure it had been too much. It was pathetic really, Brady decided as he stuck his head between his legs, hoping that the nausea would pass. How many times had he watched this shit with his own father? How many times had he swore that he would be better, better than his family, better than himself?
Jared would be making breakfast in the kitchen and he would give him a cup of coffee. Kim would wait for him to talk about it, but Brady would only whisper it wouldn't happen again. And he would try, he really would, at least until later that night. Bottle in hand, and heart full of darkness, Brady would close his eyes and take just one more sip. He'd stop this time, Brady knew, after the alcohol started to numb it all away.
Just one more sip and he'd be done…