Nine bottles of beer on the wall
Summary: Companion to the last chapter—John finds out he missed out on that first beer with Sam.
Rite of Passage
It's a whole year and two months after that first beer when a werewolf slashes a gash the length of the Mississippi River into Sam's back. John wants to stitch the wound closed, but Sam's crying and writhing too much to get the job done. He pulls the whiskey bottle out, pours it onto the gushing wound, and closes his eyes when Sam yells and crushes Dean's fingers, blubbering from the pain.
Dean sees it in John's eyes before he even begins to reach out to his younger son. He helps him prop Sam up so they can tip the burning liquid down the young throat, as much as he can swallow.
Sam whimpers again and his eyes slide closed. After some agonizingly long moments, his squirming and arching body goes mercifully limp. Dean checks his pulse to make sure he's alright and nods at his father. Go. Shuttered eyes tell the father to start stitching.
The needle flashes in and out of the ruined flesh, almost hypnotically. Finally, it's done, and they bandage the injury and lay Sam on his stomach so his weight's off of his back. Then they settle in for an all-night vigil, another Winchester custom whenever one of them is hurt or sick enough to warrant watching.
John stares at the tall, gangly figure sleeping on the bed in front of him, gazing past him, through him, seeing the small boy with the bright smile, who was always chattering about something or another. Where had that little boy gone? Where had the time gone?
"So much for buying him his first beer." It slips out before he could stop it.
Dean looks up at him, surprise etched on his young face. The expression in his eyes is too old though. John winces. "Don't worry about that, Dad. I took care of it," Dean says. This wasn't the first time he's had a drink; he hasn't missed out on that rite of passage. I've made sure of that.
John swallows hard, feeling like he's lost something he'd forgotten he had. "That so?"
A muscle twitches in Dean's cheek. "Mm-hm," he nods, unsure of the reception that answer will get. "Sixteen. His birthday."
John can't help it. "Sixteen?" His eyebrows are sky-high, he can feel it.
Dean straightens up. "Didn't want something like this to be his first time. I wanted his first beer to be a good memory." Dean's never defiant in front of Sam, but he's got his moments, when he's alone with John, when it comes to Sam.
John deflates. Yeah, he wanted it to be a good memory for Sam too. He wanted to be the one to do it. But then again, Dean's been more of a father to Sam than he. It hurts to admit it, but it's so. It's right that Dean had been the one who was there for that. It's only fair that Dean didn't want Sam's first to be like his—Dean's first mouthful of alcohol had been on a night just like this; at the ripe old age of fourteen, after he'd caught a poisoned claw in his thigh and had screamed himself hoarse and just kept on screaming until John couldn't stand it any longer.
"That's good," John says finally. "That's good." He glances at his older boy. "You get him good and drunk?"
A fond grin breaks out on Dean's face. "We're talking about me here. Of course I did. On a whopping two beers," he says with a snicker.
John chuckles. "Lightweight, huh?"
"Lighter than a feather. He started talking about mermaids, Dad." Dean gazes affectionately at his slumbering brother and strokes his thumb over a thin scar on the limp hand. "Mermaids." He shakes his head.
"Hangover?" John asks.
"Like you wouldn't believe," Dean replies.
"You tell him about the secret family remedy for getting rid of a hangover?" John leans forward, as if passing on a great secret. "It's a greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray."
The two of them laugh quietly, so as to not disturb the youngest Winchester.
"Dude," Dean says, "that was an awesome movie. Kelly LeBrock was hot."
Movie reference: Weird Science