Dean was going to kill him. Well, maybe not kill him. Dean would probably just yell at him, and then Dad would finish him off.
Sam hadn't meant for this to happen. Really. It's just, they moved around so much, and Sam could count the number of times they'd spent more than a few months somewhere on one hand. They barely stayed long enough anywhere for Sam to make friends, but they'd been here a while with Dad and Dean hunting the surrounding area (and Sam, when he couldn't get out of it).
But tonight, Sam was actually free. And it just so happened, tonight Laurie who was a whole grade above him had invited him to a party. Sam's first. And so he'd stolen one of Dean's shirts and snuck out of the house, hoping desperately he looked older than fifteen.
Contrary to his expectations, parties sucked. Sam knew that Dean drank, even though Dean wasn't obvious about it. It wasn't like there was much else for him to do when they weren't hunting. And Dean seemed to enjoy it, or he wouldn't keep doing it, and on the rare occasions Sam had seen his brother really drunk, he seemed happy.
So Sam had been excited. But he walked into the party, which was in a house probably three times nicer than anywhere Sam had ever lived, and it was packed with people he didn't know and when he finally caught sight of Laurie she smiled and waved but didn't come over.
Which meant he had to talk to her. And as easy as Dean made it seem, talking to girls was hard when you were an awkward sophomore with a weird family. At least, it was hard if you were Sam. And Sam really didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of Laurie, so he'd grabbed a drink, and then that hadn't been enough and he'd grabbed another, and alcohol was way better than he'd expected, way better than the occasional beer he'd snuck at Bobby's and pretended to like to impress Dean.
And then he'd moved towards where he'd seen Laurie and suddenly, his legs didn't seem like they were working quite right, and his head was fuzzy, and now his stomach was churning. And when he looked across the room, Laurie was gone and Sam didn't recognize a single person and some guy by the bar was looking at him weird and all Sam wanted to do was go home.
He'd managed to stumble his way to a phone, his stomach twisting into knots, vision blurring and dancing. This was not nearly as fun as Dean had made it out to be. He'd dialed their number from memory, and almost cried in relief when Dean answered instead of Dad.
And now he was sitting on the curb in front of the house, shaking in the cold and waiting for Dean to kill him. He'd just wanted to be a normal kid for once, not to mention prove to his big brother that he, Sam Winchester, was just as cool as Dean, but he'd fucked that up royally, and here he was waiting on his brother to come save him. Again.
Sam was embarrassed. He'd been at his first party for less than an hour before he'd gone crying to his big brother for help. He didn't think anybody from the party would notice that he was gone, which was something. He didn't have any close friends at the party. He didn't have any close friends. But Dean had been to lots of parties, Sam thought, and he had never needed to be collected, he never needed help. Sam couldn't even exactly remember what he'd said to Dean, not anymore. The memory was already blurring and twisting, and thinking hurt. Sam laid his head on his hands, elbows balanced on his knees. He thought he'd given Dean an address, but he wasn't completely sure. Had he told Dean he was drunk? Maybe he could pretend he was just sick. Maybe he could pretend he had been poisoned, or something badass like that.
More than being embarrassed, Sam was getting scared. He didn't feel very good at all. His head felt very heavy, and he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. The world was tilting ominously around him. He wondered if he could lie down. No, that would worry Dean. It would be more embarrassing. But he didn't like the feeling of the ground slowly rotating beneath him, and he wished it would stop. It made him feel like he was on a boat.
Thinking about boats made him feel sicker, and he shot upright as his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. He swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep everything in place. He took shallow, panting breaths, wrapping one hand around his middle and pressing the other gingerly over his mouth. God, why was everything spinning so much? Why did people do this to themselves on purpose? What if this wasn't just the alcohol, and he really had been poisoned after all?
When was Dean going to get there? He didn't even care how embarrassing it was anymore, not really. He just didn't want to be alone.
He stayed still long enough that his stomach settled some, and he put one hand on the ground behind him for support. The nausea was making his skin feel prickly and hot, but when his fingers bumped against the concrete sidewalk, he realized that they were almost numb. A small part of his brain knew he had been out here a while, and he'd left his jacket inside, and he was probably pretty cold. But none of that felt particularly real right now.
The bass from the party was loud enough to almost drown out the rumble of the impala. But Sam looked up and there it was, the big black car gleaming in the streetlight. And he still didn't feel good, but it was okay because Dean was here now and he'd make everything alright.
It figured that the first time Sammy got drunk, he'd overdo it. And Dean knew for a fact that this was the first time. Sam thought he was secretive, but there wasn't a thing the kid did Dean didn't know about. At fifteen, his little brother was about as easy to read as a book. Like, a kid's book, one with mostly pictures.
The second Sam had walked through the front door after school, Dean had known what he was doing that night. He'd pretended not to hear Sam quietly sneak out the back door, in fact staging a coughing fit so his dad actually didn't hear. The kid who was throwing the party had an older sister, an older sister who happened to like mysterious bad boys, and Dean had listened to her complain about her dumbass little brother's party for almost a week.
So he hadn't needed the address Sam had mumbled into the phone, which was good because it hadn't been the right one. Stupid kid.
Dean pulled to a stop beside the curb. Sam was drooping a few feet in front of the Impala's nose, but when the car's engine rumbled to a stop he looked up. Dean pushed the door open and walked over to his little brother.
"Hey, Sammy," he said, looking down at the kid and trying to resist laughing at his stricken expression. "How ya doin?"
"Mmmf," Sam mumbled, looking down slightly. His cheeks flushed red, either from embarrassment or alcohol.
"C'mon," Dean told him, grabbing Sam's hand and hauling him to his feet. "Let's get you home."
"'M sorry," Sam blurted suddenly, still looking away from Dean. Dean actually did laugh this time, a little surprised.
"Sorry? For this? Ya kiddin'? This is, like, the best thing that's happened to me all month. I get to hold this over your head for years."
Sam smiled a little, apparently not too drunk to catch Dean's meaning. But he still looked a little worried, and when Dean tried to pull him toward the Impala he faltered slightly.
"You gonna tell Dad?" Sam asked, eyes large in his face and damn, he should be too old for that look to work as well as it did. Not that Dean would have dreamed of telling their Dad anyway. Letting Sam sneak out to go to a party…Dean shuddered to think of it.
Dean shook his head. "Nah, our little secret."
Sam's eyes widened even further, if possible, this time in grateful relief. Dean smiled and slung his arm around Sammy's shoulders, pulling the kid closer. It had been a while since he'd seen that look. Sam had hit his teenage years with a vengeance, and apparently, for Sam, that meant a hell of a lot of bitching, and not that many adoring looks directed at his awesome big brother. It felt good to feel needed, even if it was for a reason that was objectively both unfortunate and embarrassing.
"Alright," Dean said gently, starting Sam moving towards the car. "Now tell me what you had."
"Whaddya mean?" Sam mumbled. His face had tilted downwards, his chin resting on his chest.
"What did you have to drink?" Dean clarified. "Shots? Beer? You didn't...uh, take anything besides the alcohol, right?"
"Mm, no," Sam murmured, and Dean was glad he'd understood the question. "...and just...that stuff from the bowl."
"What sort of drink was it, Sammy?"
Sam's head rolled slightly against Dean's shoulder as he thought. "Orange?" he finally supplied.
Dean groaned slightly. He should have expected that Sam had been drinking that crap they served at parties, odds and ends of whatever alcohol a bunch of high school kids could score along with some sugar and fruit juice. It wasn't just the alcohol content that bothered him, although he suspected the drinks had been much stronger than Sam realized, which was why he was now so much drunker than he'd expected. Those drinks were also full of an amount of sugar and gross chemicals that he was sure would not agree with Sammy's sensitive stomach.
"You gonna hurl?" Dean asked him, trying to keep his tone light. He suspected that Sam would, but he didn't want to freak the kid out.
Sam made a non-commital noise. Dean wasn't sure if he hadn't understood the question or wasn't sure of the answer.
"You'd tell me if you were gonna hurl, right?" Dean asked.
Sam hummed lightly against Dean's shoulder.
"Sam?"
"Mm, yeah," Sam finally whispered.
"Alright," Dean said. "Good."
Dean shifted Sam slightly in order to open the door of the impala, and Sam reeled against him.
"Dean," he muttered.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean asked distractedly. But Sam didn't answer. Dean wasn't entirely sure he realized that he'd spoken.
Dean helped Sam into the passenger side, watching as the kid swayed slightly. He leaned Sam back against the seat, quickly making his way over to the driver's side.
"Dean?" Sam sounded confused, and his words tapered off into a soft moan. His face creased in discomfort, big eyes going all soft and upset like freaking Bambi. It totally worked, too.
"Listen Sammy, if you're gonna yak, ya gotta tell me. If you puke in this car, you're cleanin' it."
Sam just blinked softly at him, and his frown momentarily deepened. "Not...gonna puke."
"Okay, Sammy, that's great," Dean said encouragingly. "Let's get you home, huh?" He turned the keys in the ignition and the impala came to life with the purr he never tired of, that he looked forward to every time John let him drive the classic car. He pulled away from the curb, and Sam's head flopped around towards him.
"Dean," he mumbled. "Thanks."
Look at that. Dean had known that somewhere, buried under all the bitchiness, was his little brother. He couldn't stop the smile from breaking out across his face, and wasn't sure that he wanted to anyway.
It was better now that Dean was here. Part of Sam was telling him that he should probably be embarrassed his older brother was saving his ass for the millionth time, but the rest of Sam was soaked in mysterious orangey alcohol and that part wanted to cling tightly onto Dean and never let go again.
Besides, Sam wasn't entirely convinced that he hadn't been poisoned. Besides the suddenly blurred surroundings and the scary levels of uncoordination, Sam could feel his stomach starting to rebel more and more.
That was probably an issue. But he didn't have to throw up right this minute, he didn't think, which meant that that was a problem for future Sam. Right now, he was content just to watch Dean drive.
But soon enough, the rocking motion turned from fun and comforting to repetitive and nausea-inducing, and Sam's stomach felt...weird. Like it was trying to crawl back up his throat, kind of. Was that possible?
Sam opened his mouth to ask Dean, and then all of a sudden there was puke all over himself and the Impala. Some had even gotten on Dean.
For a second, everything froze. Sam felt Dean stiffen. To his horror, Sam felt tears start to prickle at the backs of his eyes. It was just...he hadn't intended this to happen at all. He had thought he would throw up...later. Or never. Or something. He wasn't sure anymore.
But he knew he had fucked up. Dean was going to be mad at him. And anyways, he still felt terrible. The world was spinning slow, lazy circles around him, and it felt like the contents of his stomach were spinning in the opposite direction. He swallowed hard, and the bitter taste of alcohol and fruit juice almost made him start gagging again. He wanted to apologize, but he didn't feel safe opening his mouth.
"I thought you said you would tell me if you needed to do that, huh?" Dean said lightly.
"'M sorry," Sam said with a slight hiccup.
"It's alright," Dean said. "It happens."
He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. Sam let out a shaky breath.
"Just let me know if you're gonna puke again, so I can pull over," Dean said. "Deal?"
It was the word "puke" that did it. Sam's stomach had only settled very tentatively, and simply remembering how bad he felt set him off again.
"Dean, I-" He was cut off when his body jackknifed forward and he started heaving into the space between his feet.
"God, Sam-" he heard Dean say from somewhere above him, and he didn't sound too mad but he certainly didn't sound happy. Sam wondered if it was possible to die of misery.
The Impala stopped at a stop sign, then jolted forward again. Sam was vaguely aware that Dean was trying to drive smoothly, but the movement still made him retch again.
A hand settled heavily onto the back of Sam's neck. "Hey, you're okay," Dean said. "This happens to everyone sometimes. You're alright, we're just gonna bring you home and you can get it out of your system. You'll feel a lot better tomorrow. This is what happens when you get drunk off girly drinks, Sammy…."
Sam kept his eyes closed and tried not to breathe too deeply. He was glad the party hadn't been too far from where they were staying. The ride should be almost over. It had to be….
Sam didn't throw up again, not that that made Dean any happier. Sure, he'd told Sam he was gonna have to clean up any puke, but he'd been lying. No way could Sam clean it up now, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna wait til Dad came out and saw the state of the car. He'd really be in for it then. So yeah, Dean was gonna have to clean up the car and his dumbass little brother. Super.
Dean let out a sigh, but then Sammy hiccupped slightly and looked up at him with slightly glassy eyes, face twisted in apology, and Dean instantly felt bad. He wasn't mad, not really. In fact, with the way Sam had been acting lately, Dean was just glad Sam had called him instead of puking in the street.
"It's okay, Sammy. Really."
Sam moaned slightly, keeping his mouth clamped tightly shut. Dean winced in sympathy and pulled quietly into the driveway of the craphole apartment they were renting.
"Okay, Sam, can you listen to me?"
Sam turned blearily towards Dean, and Dean caught his eyes, hoping for some spark of understanding. Sam nodded, and that was gonna have to be good enough.
"We gotta go in real quiet, okay? 'Cause Dad doesn't know you were outta the house, and I don't wanna get my ass kicked tonight."
Sam considered, then nodded carefully.
"Let's go," Dean told him. He helped lug Sam out of the car, supporting him as his little brother threatened to fall to the ground. Shit, the kid was really out of it. Hopefully he could still manage to be quiet, cuz Dean really didn't want to deal with their dad finding out.
Dean walked Sam up to the back door. It was locked, as usual. They weren't exactly in a great part of town (again, as usual), not that dad ever would have left the door unlocked anyway.
"Hold on, Sammy, I gotta pick the lock." Dean helped his little brother slide down against the wall, and Sam watched him owlishly as Dean went to work. The lock popped with a click, and Dean laid a finger on his lips and pulled Sam up.
The back door led into the tiny kitchen, connected by a long hallway to the two bedrooms. Off the hallway was the living room, where Dean was willing to bet Dad was, working on research for the next hunt. All he had to do was walk Sam down the hallway without alerting his dad. Great.
"Imma throw up ag'n," Sam whispered, gulping slightly. Dean winced.
"Right now, or can you wait?"
Sam closed his eyes, then mumbled something that sounded like "wait." Dean really hoped he'd heard right, and he started down the hall with his little brother.
By some miracle, he actually managed to make it into the bathroom before Sam gagged and retched, not quite making it to the toilet.
"Aww, Sam, c'mon...sit down, okay?"
Sam looked at him beseechingly. "M sorry," he mumbled.
"Sokay," Dean told him. "Just keep your face aimed at the toilet, bro." He was going to be nice and not mention that out of his four good, not covered-in-blood or ripped-to-shreds shirts, Sam had just managed to get puke on half of them. He really was an awesome brother.
"'M I gonna die?" Sam mumbled into the toilet.
Dean blinked. Sure, Sam had never been drunk, but he'd seen plenty of drunk people - Bobby, Dean, Dad. Dean wasn't sure Sam had seen any of them get as sick as Sam was now, but he had thought Sam had understood the basic principle. And anyways, Sam was nowhere near the level where Dean would need to get him to the hospital. He was responsive, conscious, he could even walk a few steps alone, although Dean didn't think they would be in a very straight line. He was just puking, which Dean still thought was more from the girly drinks than from the alcohol itself.
"No, Sammy, you're not going to die," Dean said. "Why would you ask that?"
"Don' feel good," Sam whispered.
"I know," Dean said sympathetically. He went to the sink and started running the water, hoping to get it cold. Sam was sick enough that Dean thought a washcloth on the back of his neck might feel good, and he should probably clean the kid's face off at this point too. Anyways, he knew Sam wouldn't even attempt to drink the water if it wasn't pretty cold, and he would feel a hell of a lot better tomorrow if he got some fluids in him.
Dean was just starting to fill the glass when there was a knock at the door, startling Dean so badly he spilled some of the water into the sink.
"Dean?" Dad's voice said from the hallway. "Are you in there?"
Dean swallowed hard. "Yes, sir," he said quickly.
"With Sam?"
Dean hesitated.
Sam's stomach chose that moment to gurgle ominously. Sam turned away from the toilet, clearly looking for Dean, head bobbing as his eyes refused to focus properly. "Uh oh," he said. "Dean, I think I'm gonna-"
Dean lurched towards Sam, dropping the glass of water in the sink. He grabbed Sam's shoulder in one hand and the back of his head with the other, then manhandled him as gently as possible back over the toilet.
"It's alright," Dean called. "Sam's just got...some food poisoning. That's all."
There was a pause. "Need me to come in there?"
Sam lunged upright, shaking his head frantically. Then, his eyes bugged out and he leaned back over the toilet.
"Uhh, nah, we're good," Dean said, trying to sound unconcerned, not filled with utter horror at the thought of his father marching into the bathroom and instantly assessing the situation. And then murdering them, most likely.
"You sure?"
"Yep," Dean said as breezily as he could manage. "I got this. And you got research to do, anyway."
"Alright." Dad's footsteps moved away, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Sam, from his place bent over the toilet, made an equally relieved sort of sound before he doubled over once again.
Sam had no idea how long he'd been in the bathroom. Probably forever. That's what it felt like, anyway.
But finally, after what definitely might have been hours, his stomach stopped flip-flopping and he could draw in a breath without immediately bending back over the toilet. But even though his insides had stopped crawling up his throat, he still felt dizzy and confused and upset.
"You done?"
He wanted to be, he really did, but he wasn't so sure.
Dean chuckled slightly and Sam felt Dean's hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, you're good. C'mon."
Sam allowed himself to be pulled up and steered back towards the room that he and Dean shared. He still wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't dying, and if he was, he'd rather not die crouched over a toilet.
Before he knew it, Dean was lowering him into his bed and the sheets felt clean and welcoming. He squirmed around a little, but he was still so dizzy and lying down didn't feel as good as he wanted it to. The bed settled a little as Dean sat next to him, and Sam was way too old for the comforting hand Dean dropped onto his forehead, but he wasn't gonna say anything. Not tonight.
"How ya doin', kid?"
"'M never drinking again," Sam announced with finality.
Dean snickered a little. "That's what I said, first time I got drunk. Don't worry. You'll grow out of it."
Sam blinked at the opposite wall, vision slightly obscured by Dean's palm. He made a small sound in the back of his throat.
"You can go to sleep now," Dean said. "I think you're done puking."
"Too spinny," Sam muttered. Maybe he'd be able to stop sleeping when the bed stopped feeling like a roller coaster ride.
"I know," Dean said sympathetically. "Try this for a few seconds, Sammy."
Dean took one of Sam's hands, and placed it flat against the wall. He held it there for a moment, until Sam felt ready to hold it there himself.
"This always helps me," Dean said. "Feel how still the wall is? It's not moving at all, is it? You're not moving either."
Sam flexed his fingers against the wall. Dean was right, it wasn't moving. He took a few deep breaths, and the spinning subsided some.
"I'm gonna sit you up now," Dean was saying. "Since you threw up, it's really really important that you get some water in you. Otherwise you're gonna feel terrible tomorrow."
Sam might have nodded slightly, but he wasn't sure. He felt Dean's hand slide beneath his shoulders, and he was forced upright. The nausea surged through him again at the movement. He must have gotten a look of panic on his face, because Dean was brushing his hair back from his face, talking to him calmly again.
"Just breathe, Sammy, you're fine."
Sam swallowed hard. Nothing bad happened. Dean handed him a glass of water, and Sam gratefully drank a few sips. It did help him feel a little steadier, and having the taste of vomit out of his mouth helped a lot. He leaned back against the pillows, and his eyes drifted closed.
"Ready to sleep now?" Dean asked.
"No," Sam mumbled. He knew it came out whiny, but the alcohol kept him from caring. "This is stupid."
"What's stupid?"
"Why'd it do this to me?" Sam muttered. "Dumb alcohol."
Dean snickered again. "Don't take it too hard. This happens to everyone sometimes."
Sam hiccupped. "Not you," he mumbled sullenly. So much for proving to Dean that he was cool, too.
"Course it happens to me," Dean said.
Sam shook his head before he realized that was a bad idea, then subsided. "Nuh-uh."
"Yeah it did, before I knew how much was too much," Dean insisted. Sam didn't answer. Dean had never done this, it was just Sam, and he was probably the only person in the entire world who'd embarrassed himself this much.
The bed settled a little more, and Sam heard a creak as Dean leaned up against the headboard.
"Remember like four years ago, when I had the stomach flu?"
Sam frowned, unsure what this had to do with his utter and complete humiliation. Besides, everything was a little fuzzy. But thinking back, he did remember one time, a while back. Dean had stumbled into the room looking positively green, and had proceeded to throw up for what had seemed like hours.
"Uh huh," Sam finally answered.
"That wasn't stomach flu," Dean announced.
"Oh," Sam said vaguely, not really clear on why Dean was bringing this up now. Dean sighed.
"I was drunk, dumbass."
"But you said-"
"I lied," Dean said, sounding...embarrassed. Dean was never embarrassed. "I was young, it was one of my first times gettin' that slammed, and I didn't wanna tell my little brother that I couldn't hold my liquor."
This was new information. Sam opened his eyes, looking up at Dean, whose expression was uncharacteristically serious. Dean hadn't told him because he was ashamed? Because he was worried that Sam would judge him?
"You were embarrassed?"
Dean nodded solemnly. "So fuckin' embarrassed. Plus, I was scared you were gonna find out what was really up somehow and ask Dad somethin' suspicious, and we both know how that woulda gone down."
Sam didn't really know what to say, just blinked up at his big brother. Dean...Dean had really done this too? Because if Dean had done it, it couldn't be that bad.
"Course, now I know it's happened to both of us," Dean said with a shrug. "So neither of us can judge the other, right?"
Sam nodded, feeling a bit better.
"Okay, good. Think you can get some sleep now?"
And this time, Sam thought he could.