Bittersweet Misery (1/1)
Summary: Dean's self-destruction leaves a sticky mess
Characters: Sam and Dean (gen)
PG-13: Language warning
A/N: Spoilers for general season 2 and 2.01 IMToD. Set a few months after 2.01. I have a WIP bubbling under the surface and there was one line in it that I have developed into a one-shot. I may incorporate this into the fic at a later date or change a few details and characters. Plus there have been requests for a sequel to my previous one-shot (He's Not Waterproof Anymore)… I'm kinda considering this as follow on of sorts (not necessary to read that though). Dean's purposely out of character because I plied him with alcohol. Me bad.
Disclaimer: The show the boys are not mine. Not for profit
'I sink like a stone,
I lost my control' – Ashes, Embrace
Sam stalked through the room looking for his prey. He did nothing to hide the anger and rage that bubbled away like hot and boiling lava. He'd had, simply, enough.
He spotted him in the corner, body loose and relaxed, with his head back and leant against the wall. He laughed easily, like he didn't have a care in the world, as some girl, with flame-red hair pushed her body up against him, whispering something into his ear to which he just grinned widely back in response. The sight angered him even more.
How dare he act so happy when he, himself, couldn't even see straight with anger and the overwhelming need to break out of the suffocation of a draping cloak of grief and despair.
They both seemed oblivious as he came to an abrupt stop in front of their table as their mouths met fiercely in explosive exploration of lips' and mouths'. He coughed loudly and they parted slowly, some-what reluctantly, with Dean looking up with hazy eyes as he licked his lips.
"Sammy" he said grinning with one arm thrown out drunkenly against the wall in Sam's direction.
"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked, still standing over the table like a disapproving parent.
"Drinking" Dean said with a giggle, sounding like a kid who'd been caught out, as if it wasn't apparent. He rolled his eyes at the girl and she giggled too, "This is Sammy-" he started to introduce.
"-Sam" Sam corrected; eyes still fixed on his brother and the assortment of empty beer and shot glasses.
"Sam, right" he said, the laughter changing to a more recognisable Dean – amused and pissed at the same time – and turned to the girl again, "He does that a lot. This is Candy" he said gesturing to the girl.
"Cammy" the girl corrected.
Dean seemed to find that funny, and broke into more drunken laughter, swatting his hand at the air in front of his face. Cammy didn't seem too offended, instead she just grinned at Dean before turning to Sam, revealing red-stained teeth that matched her lips.
"We need to talk" Sam said, ignoring her, as he stared at Dean and his drunken stupor.
"Later Sammy" Dean slurred, eyes shut, "Can't you see I'm busy".
"Everything is later with you" he spat, "But not this. I've had enough of this shit. We need to…"
"Okay… Don't get your panties in a twist Samantha" Dean joked, eyes cracking open, before returning to Cammy and murmuring "Do you mind giving us a moment?"
"Sure thing babe" Cammy whispered back, leaning in close and pressing her mouth against his.
There was something about how their faces smashed together that didn't look quite right, Sam thought, as if the act was for show and they, or at least one, was uncomfortable in the situation and the close proximities of bodies. And Sam was pretty sure it wasn't coming from Cammy.
She pulled away, unsteadily pushing herself away from the table, and stumbled her way across the bar.
Sam sat down on a stool opposite from Dean and stared at him fixedly until Dean sighed and pushed himself away from the wall, forcing his body to straighten on the bench.
"What do you want?"
"What the hell are you doing Dean?" Sam asked, his voice hard and biting.
"I told you" Dean answered, clumsily bringing his elbows to rest on the table, "Drinking, having fun. You remember what fun is Sammy?"
"You're trashed Dean" Sam said taking in Dean's bloodshot eyes and uncoordinated movements, "I know you're not okay".
"Says you" Dean huffed in reply, a drooping hand waving sluggishly from an elbow.
"This isn't you".
"Oh? What is then?" Dean asked, locking eyes with Sam and for an instant his hazel orbs looked lost and distant, before hardening again, a challenged flare to them.
"Not this!" Sam said, voice rising with exasperation.
"That's a well thought out debate" Dean laughed, picking up one of his, as of yet, untouched shot glasses.
"Why won't you talk to me?" Sam asked.
He felt lost and abandoned. Dean was tail spinning down his very own deep, dark, and lonely road, leaving Sam spitting sharp stones that cut from the inside out. All Sam really wanted was to have his big brother back. His Dean who usually made everything better. It had started, from what he could remember, with the comfort of sharing beds and lucky charms and ended the day they watched their father die.
"Maybe I don't want to talk to you" Dean said, voice quietly calm and controlled as he turned the glass in his hands, "You think of that college boy?"
"Dammit it Dean" Sam said with a half-yell and thumped the table with his fist. It caused a dull ache that shot up from his hand and ended like a spidery web at the crook of his elbow-joint, "This isn't just happening to you, you know? Don't you think this is hard for me too? You are not the only one who lost him and you… doing this" his hand waved wildly between them, "Hurting yourself even more– it's hurting me too".
"You egotistical son of a bitch" Dean suddenly hissed, his own hand waving the shot glass angrily, with a finger pointed crookedly over the rim towards Sam as alcohol sloshed over the table, "Because, really, all of this is about you".
Sam didn't say anything, feeling his bitten down and bubbling anger rise in his throat like bile. He nodded and stood, pushing himself away from the table.
"Okay" he said, pointing his own finger at Dean, "I'm not getting into this with you. I'll talk to you when you are in a better mood and sober".
Dean appeared to be stricken at his sudden, abrupt and angry, retreat. His eyes had become wide and his mouth caught in 'o', cheeks flushed with alcohol or his own bittersweet misery, anger and hostility.
"Sammy…" he started.
"I don't want to hear it" Sam ground out, knowing full well his own anger was starting to win out and that if he didn't get the hell out of the bar and away from Dean, he would punch the startled look right off his brother's face.
He strode back across the bar with less purpose, but more need, then when he had entered. When he got to the door, he turned and glanced back, just in time to see Dean down the remainder of the shot glass and shake off the hold of Cammy, who'd returned to the table, with a wrench of the arm and a miserable scowl to his face.
Sam's anger had subsided down to a low roar by the time Dean eventually returned to the motel. He's laid in bed, simply staring at the ceiling and the assortment of lights and rays that danced across it, from the busy road of cars and trucks that passed by. Some had become bigger and much more spectacular, reflecting the wave of anger that had washed through him, as the vehicles turned off into the parking lot.
It was safe to say sleep seemed a far off release.
He had heard Dean before he had actually seen him, stumbling and murmuring against their motel room door. He still wasn't in the right state of mind to deal with him, so he rolled over, with his back facing the door.
After several minutes of fumbling, the door finally opened, cleansing the room and Sam with moonlight and the dull overhead lights of the parking lot beyond. He heard another stumble as the door thumped closed.
Now Dean was in the room the muttering became clearer.
'The world's come undone
Staring at the sun
What did her daddy do?'
Dean suddenly laughed with a half-chuckle and choked sound, his words caught on the last few words, as he lurched across the room. Sam realised that Dean was singing – his voice, in his own drunken and relaxed way, sounded oddly soft and comforting to Sam's ears.
'What did he put you though?'
The words were suddenly cut off with a curse as he caught himself on something in the darkness of the room and Sam continued to stare at the wall, trying to keep his breath evened in hope that Dean would think he was asleep.
It didn't work though because he felt a hand grab at his shoulder and shake it roughly.
"Sammy" Dean said loudly, alcohol still distorting his words in a slur and when Sam still didn't respond or turn over, he shoved again, even harder, "Sammy!"
It came out like a whine. A petulant child in need of something.
Sam grunted and breathed out of his nose.
"I don't feel so right".
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you started drinking like a fish" Sam said, still not turning to look at him.
"Move over" Dean slurred tiredly, shoving at Sam's shoulder again, "-M tired".
"What's wrong with your own bed?" Sam ground out as he finally rolled over on to his back and shook Dean's hand off his arm.
Dean was most definitely talking under the influence because there was no way he would pout that way while he was sober.
"… and I don't want to be on my own…"
He almost didn't catch it between the slurred drunken honesty and the soft way he'd almost whispered it.
Thanks Dean. I'm supposed to be pissed and angry with you…
He sighed loudly again and shuffled his body further over in the bed, remembering how he used to crawl into Dean's bed late at night when he was a kid, tugging at Dean's arm and pulling him down on to the bed.
Dean grumbled a thanks as he struggled to slide his body under the rough and scratchy blanket.
"Just don't puke okay?" Sam instructed the warning.
His warning fell on deaf ears
"Dude! What the hell" Sam yelled, shooting up in the bed in shock.
He turned and looked at Dean just in time to see, once again, more vomit spew out of his mouth like a re-imagining, and not so violent, of the projectile vomiting scene from the Exorcist.
To Sam's horror he realised that Dean wasn't completely awake and he groaned and made a gagging noise. He shot up and scrambled over Dean, grabbing at his body and head, turning him so that he didn't choke and was relieved to see that whatever had bubbled up and pooled inside of his mouth make it's way out in a disgusting salivary droop.
Sam didn't release Dean, but shuffled backwards and away from the mess.
"Shit Dean" he said, "What have you done to yourself?"
Dean's only response was to moan.
"Hey, C'mon" Sam murmured more gently, letting his thumb stroke at Dean's cheek, "We need to get cleaned up".
And away from this bed
Dean blinked tiredly, head sideways and floppy, as his lips smacked together and he grimaced in distaste.
"Exactly bro" Sam said, tugging at Dean's arm, "We can't lie in this shit".
Dean let Sam pull him up straighter as his legs were pulled out from under him.
"C'mon" Sam said, sliding his arm around Dean's shoulder, pulling him up and gently guiding him away from the sticky mess on the floor and bed towards the bathroom.
Dean actually let him in what appeared to be a daze of bleary startled-ness.
"Sit down" Sam ordered, gently pushing him down on to the closed toilet lid.
Dean looked down at himself, his fingers absentmindedly picking at his soiled shirt, and he gagged again.
"Leave it" Sam ordered, grabbing at his hand and lowering them down to his sides. For Dean's worth, his aim, intentional or not, had been pretty good, as most of the vomit had missed Sam entirely. He couldn't but help swallow down his own wobble and heave at the sight of Dean and the thought of it being so close to his own body.
Sam shook himself and leant over to the sink, taking a small flannel, and dampening it under running water.
"This has got to stop Dean" Sam said quietly as he placed the flannel on the back of Dean's neck, stroking it gently, unsure if Dean was taking anything in.
Dean's eyelids slid closed and then blinked open again.
He pulled the flannel away, Dean moaning his displeasure, and proceeded to wipe at his face.
"Let's get you cleaned up".
Dean awoke slowly, a thumping headache rising up and down with every breath, his tongue heavy within his mouth.
A rustle of papers made him aware through his haze that he was not alone.
He attempted to turn his head in the direction, but the room suddenly spun, taking the insides of his head and stomach with it.
He couldn't manage more than a 'mmm'.
"Morning sunshine" Sam chirped at him from the direction of the rustling papers, "Didn't think you'd join the waking world for a few hours yet".
Dean groaned again and eased himself up in the bed slowly and carefully, struggling with every little move, like he had just been struck with some sudden motor disease.
"… like road kill" he finally managed to rumble out with a voice too rough and loud to his own too sensitive ears.
He caught a quiet 'good' muttered into the air.
"What happened?" Dean asked as his eyes struggled to focus on the three Sammy's that sat across from him, at a table, an open paper in his hands.
"Before of after you puked?" Sam asked, turning the page.
"I did?" Dean asked, shakily raising his hand to his head, and rubbing at his temple.
"On you, on the bed, on me…"
"Oh" Dean said, catching sight of the other bed that had been stripped down, a pink flash of embarrassment flashing across his cheeks, "Sorry".
"This has to stop Dean" Sam repeated his words from before, lowering the paper and locking eyes with him, "You can't do this anymore".
"I know" Dean said quietly, letting his sore and throbbing head roll back and rest against the rickety headboard, "I'm sorry for all that shit. I really am. It won't happen again".
Sam closed the paper up and pushed it aside to the table.
"It's okay" Sam said, pushing himself away from the glass table, swiping a small canister with him.
"Here, take these" he said, dropping a couple of tylenol pills into Dean's open palm. He reached for a glass, that sat on a small bedside table between the two beds, and was half-full of water, "We still need to talk though".
"Later" Dean said, his voice tinged with a desperate tone and his eyes flashed a desperate plea, as he threw the pills back and chased them with the water, "I'm not ready".
Sam took a few steps back and observed his brother's sprawled form on the bed.
He didn't know if it was a false promise to get him to back off and away from another ugly confrontation or if Dean truly meant it and in his fragile state, through last night's activities and the spiralling months that had followed on from their father's death, maybe he simply had to get a semblance of control and his understanding of it all. So he shrugged in response.
"I'll hold you to that".
He turned suddenly, sitting down quickly on to the edge of Dean's bed, jarring Dean's leg and causing him to mutter as his eyes slid tightly shut.
"You were singing Aerosmith" Sam said.
"What?" Dean asked, eyes still closed, head still tilted against the headboard.
"When you came back" Sam explained, "You were singing Aerosmith".
"I was?" Dean said, a grin spreading across his pained face, "Good to know I still have taste when I'm four sheets to the wind. Unlike you Sammy… you're all New Wave shit".
"Shut up" Sam laughed swatting at his leg.
"Whatever dude, you know it's true" Dean said as he caught hold of Sam's wrist with his hand, "Don't think I haven't heard your rendition of ABC's 'Poison Arrow'".
Aerosmith lyrics from 'Janie's got a gun'
A/N2: I must apologise for the vomit-covered Dean – not a nice image I know, but what is in Cuppa's mind must be put to paper.