so, amazingly enough, i'm updating this new chapter very quickly...hope everyone enjoys...thanks for reading and for the reviews!!! remember, reviews are golden!! thanks again, bambers;)
Chapter Two
Dean leapt to his feet the moment he heard the phone ring. Snatching it off the bedside table, he glanced at the caller ID, saw Sam's name, and hit the button.
"Sam, where the hell are you? I've been tryin' to get a hold of you all day."
"Bar." The sound of music blaring and a girl's laughter in the background, nearly drowned out Sam's response.
Dean's grip tightened on the phone. "So totally not enough info, dude. What bar?" Angrily pacing back and forth, Dean listened as Sam mumbled something to someone at the bar.
"Mandy sees ta thin' i's called, Boon-" Sam hiccuped, slurring his words. "Docks, but Ch-ar disagrees."
Jerking the phone away from his ear, Dean glared at it, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You drunk, Sammy?"
"Naw, dude, jus' had three . . . maybe ten lil . . .lille . . .little drinks."
"I'll be right there."
"Good, cuz we're celebratin' . . . Rit-a jus' got out o' law school . . . ."
"You're so gotta be kiddin' me, right, dude?"
Dean grabbed his leather jacket and headed for the door, long strides carrying him swiftly to the Impala.
"Come on, Sammy," Dean heard a girl called to Sam. "Just ordered another round of shots."
Dean got in the car, turned the ignition, the engine roaring to life. The car's tires squealed, kicking up dust and loose gravel from the ground as Dean sped out of the parking lot of the motel.
"Called me Sammy . . . isn' tha sweet, Dean?"
"Yeah, freakin' adorable, dude." Dean turned right onto the main strip, looking from left to right trying to find the bar.
"Thin' she kinda likes me . . . Uh, gotta go, Dean . . . next rounds on me."
The phone line went dead.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Dean stood at the entrance of the Boondock Tavern, mentally taking note of the exits, number of people in the crowd bar, and any possible signs of danger as he searched for his brother. He was just about to give up when he noticed a large group of women hovering in a circle around Sam's tall, lanky form. This is so not happening. I have to be dreaming.
The kick-ass beat of Renegade by Styx blared on the jukebox. At least Sam chose a good bar to get drunk in. Would've had to kick his ass, if I heard some techno-crap coming from the jukebox.
Sam glanced in Dean's direction, gave him a lazy, lopsided grin, and gestured for Dean to join them. Draping his arm around a gorgeous red-headed girl's neck, Sam whispered something into her ear. She giggled and turned to reply.
Dean sidestepped numerous people and tables as he strode to his brother. He stopped short when he saw Sam gather the girl in his arms and kiss her firmly on the lips. Sam turned, grabbed hold of a short pretty brunette woman, crushed her body to his and kissed her as well. Dean couldn't help but smile as he noticed the girl stagger, a dreamy expression on her face when Sam finally released her.
Atta boy, Sammy.
Stopping a cocktail waitress, Dean ordered a beer and motioned to where he'd be.
"Sure thing, sugar." She winked at him, then disappeared into the throng of people, milling around the bar.
"Dean," Sam grinned at him as Dean joined the group of gaggling females. "Jus' tellin' . . . wha's yer name again, sweetheart?" He pointed at a slim, blond haired, blue-eyed girl. "Ah, doesn' matter . . . I was jus' tellin' her what kinda superman you are." He turned to the girl again, and graced her with one of his most dazzling smiles. Placing his arm around her neck, he gestured to Dean. "True story . . . once I s-aw this guy righ' here, fly . . . course it was only through a door cuz I shot 'im . . . still it was pretty freakin' awesome." Sam laughed so hard tears sprung to his eyes.
Dean eyes narrowed angrily as he grabbed hold of Sam's arm and yanked him away from the women.
"Sam, what the hell's the matter with you. You know better than to discuss what we do with other people."
"Jus' tryin' to lighten up . . . yer always tellin' me ta have mo-re fun."
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it closed and shook his head.
Sam suddenly jerked forward, crying out. Clutching hold of Dean's jacket, Sam trembled so hard, Dean could barely keep him from falling over.
"Sam . . . Sammy, what's the matter?" Dean hollered above the din of noise coming from the crowd and the music playing on the jukebox.
"B-back . . . Dea — hurts." Wrapping his arms around his stomach, Sam doubled over and puked on the barroom floor.
"Oh, gross," someone shouted as the crowd moved away from where Sam had thrown up.
"Nee- me — " Sam passed out cold before he could finish what he was saying.
Dean quickly knelt beside him, felt for a pulse and bent to check Sam's breathing, sighing in relief when he felt Sam's warm, gin-scented breath against his face. He patted Sam on the shoulder. "You're gonna be okay, dude. Just need a little air."
"Hey, you." Dean motioned to a muscular man wearing a tight black muscle shirt. "Help me get him up and outta here."
The man looked as if he were about to argue, but then shrugged and helped Dean lift Sam up off the ground. With Dean on one side and the brute of a man on the other, they carried Sam's motionless body out of the bar and to the Impala. Dean yanked the backdoor open and gently laid Sam on the seat.
He turned to the man. "Thanks, my brother could never handle his alcohol."
The man smiled, showing yellowed crooked teeth. "Yeah, got a brother like that myself." Without another word, the mountain of a man lumbered back inside the bar.
Dean went around to the driver's side, opened the door and got in. He swung to look at his brother, shaking his head, a worried expression on his face. "So your back's hurting you . . . why couldn't you just tell me?" He turned back and started the engine. "I'll let you keep your secret for now, Sammy, but another day like today and we're gonna have it out."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Dean grinned as he noticed Sam open his eyes, blink hard then squeezed them shut.
"Mornin', princess," Dean said cheerfully, talking a little louder than what was necessary. "How ya feelin' today?"
Sam lifted his head off the pillow, groaned and dropped it back down.
"Rough night there, tiger?"
"Talk a little louder, Dean, don't think people in China heard ya," Sam mumbled.
Dean chuckled. "Tell me you at least got the phone number of that hot looking red-head."
"Red-head?" Sam shifted in the bed to glare at Dean through glassy bloodshot eyes. "What red-head?"
Dean stood and grabbed his coat and keys. "Ah, Sammy, you were the life of the party, girls all over ya. Too bad you don't remember."
"I-I was?"
"Yeah, have to say, I was kinda impressed." Dean turned and headed for the door.
"Where you going?"
"Thought maybe you could use a little breakfast." Dean swung to stare at his brother, noting how pale Sam looked. "How about a few undercooked eggs with that white gooie stuff dribbling over the sides, and a couple of greasy sausages?"
Sam gagged, clamped a hand over his mouth, and lunged off the bed, sprinting toward the bathroom.
"I'll take that as a no." Dean chuckled as he strolled out the door and shut it behind him.
XxXxXxXxXxX
Sam sat at the table, staring at the small orange bottle of pills in his hand, trying to recall anything he could about the day before.
The last thing I remember was leaving the doctor's office. I know I was heading here . . . wasn't I?
He took out the paperwork Dr. Damon gave him and read the contraindications, stopping when he read: may cause unexplained blackouts, if this occurs, discontinue use and seek medical attention immediately, as it may be the sign of a serious underlying medical condition.
"So much for a miracle cure." Sam threw the bottle in the garbage.
He grimaced, shuddering as a shockwave of agonizing pain ran the length of his back. Closing his eyes tightly, Sam gripped the edges of the table, knuckles turning white with the force he was exerting.
"Gawww . . . come on, damn it." He winced. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping into his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Slowly standing on shaky legs, Sam lumbered to the wastebasket, bent and snatched the pill bottle out of it. His grip tightened on the bottle, eyes blurring with pain and tears.
Just two more pills . . . two more can't hurt.
"I can't." He shook his head. Setting them on the table, Sam stalked back and forth, fists clenching and unclenching, his gaze never straying from the pills offering him relief.
Maybe it was a fluke . . . and I'm worrying for nothing.
"Yeah, but the forms say to stop taking it if blackouts occur." Sam raked his hands through his hair in frustration.
I'll just take two more and if it happens again, I'll stop.
Another torrent of pain ripped through his spine, knees buckling, he crumpled to the ground.
Have to make it go away . . . have to stop the pain.
Crawling to the table, Sam grabbed the bottle, yanked off the cap, took two little blue pills and dry-swallowed them. He replaced the lid and put the bottle in the pocket of his jeans.
Sam took a long, slow staggering breath, then slid to rest against the bedframe, closed his eyes and waited.
Ah, there ya go . . . much better. Sam's head dropped back against the mattress, and he opened his eyes to gaze dreamily at the technicolor light show, floating and dancing above his head. Why did I ever even consider not taking them? This is definitely much, much better. . . .