Disclaimer: I don't own them, Kripke and the CW hold title to the Winchesters and their car.
Sam woke me up in the middle of the night and demanded that this be written. He wouldn't leave me alone until he had his way (with me and not the way I would have had it at all). Based on a true story only the names were changed to protect the innocent…no wait no one was innocent the night this happened.
Some hunts get to you more than others and the one Dean and I just finished got to me big time. Its one thing to send the spirit of an evil old son of a bitch to their final resting place, but quite another when it's the spirit of a once innocent child. I know, I know it shouldn't matter the age of the spirit, all things dead should stay dead. But sometimes salting and burning a child's spirit just feels wrong somehow, but that's another story for another time.
This is my story of coping with my feelings and how sometimes the Winchester way of 'tamp down and apply copious amounts of liquor" just isn't the right way or the smart way to do it.
My brother Dean firmly believes in tamp and apply liquor and his belief has lead to some hellacious bar fights, hangovers and miles and miles of choking back that, "I'm going to be sick feeling."
We are in a bar called Habaneros, there are pool tables, a postage sized dance floor with a band crammed into one corner and me in the midst of it all with a spotty wireless connection.
Dean is hustling pool and some hapless local flora and fauna, the name is not important and Dean probably won't remember or even ask the woman her name.
Meanwhile back at the laptop I'm searching for our next job and tossing back a beer or two or more…Hell I'm not sure how many it is except that it is too many, waaaay too many. I'm really not sure when or why I switched to shots, oh yeah, Dean walked over to the table to transfer some of his winnings. He ordered a shot and headed for the men's room while he waited for his order to be filled by the lovely Tiffany.
The drink arrived, Dean hadn't come back, my glass was empty – his was full so I drank it. I ordered two more, one for me and one to replace his. Dean came back just as Tiffany returned with my order. He tossed one back and ordered another. It looked like the Winchesters were going to get shit faced tonight.
Flora, no Fauna the brunette…err, red head ahhh, no she was a blonde, I think, maybe. Anyways that's not important. This woman came over, got real close to Dean and dragged him out onto the dance floor. His drink got back before he did so I drank it and ordered a replacement.
Somewhere around midnight I had to excuse myself to use the facilities and this is when I get a little fuzzy about the details….
Something had been bothering Sam. He wasn't talking about it yet, but he would, he ALWAYS did. I'd been hustling pool and chicks all evening and was making a killing. I figured Sam would be heading to the motel soon so I was hoping that whoever I hooked up with had a place where we could 'get to know each other better.' No that's wrong I just wanted somewhere to have…well you know.
I stopped by to check with Sam, give him most of the money I made and order a drink. Instead of waiting for the cocktail waitress I hit the head. When I got back there was an empty shot glass in front of Sam. "Hey, Sam where's my drink?"
"It'll be just a few minutes, it's busy tonight."
"Yeah, okay," then this woman came over, set her drink down and used some very persuasive language to coax me onto the postage stamp dance floor. Maybe she wasn't actually using words…but I was persuaded to dance none the less.
When I got back to the table it was to see Sam making his way unsteadily towards the men's room. I didn't think much of it. After all he's a big boy and can go potty all by himself.
So anyway I danced with this chick, had a couple more drinks and headed outside for a little slap and tickle. When I got back Sam was still gone, the lap top was still there but had gone to sleep and there was a line for the men's room.
"Hey, buddy," the bartender called out, "I think your friend is in the john, he was running a tab, can you get this signed for me and take the guy home?"
"Thanks," as I headed towards the john I thought, 'what the hell is Sam doing in there?'
On the way to the men's room another guy asked, "Are you Dean?"
Knowing that I had hustled him at pool I was a little reluctant to talk to him and I had to find Sam and get out of here. I nodded and he says, "Sam's in the bathroom, he won't come out and he's not talking."
"How do you know my brother's name and why won't he come out?"
"He was very chatty when he first went in and I don't know why he won't come out or talk anymore. What I do know is that he's been in there for about forty minutes. He was answering when Jake asked if he was okay then about fifteen minutes ago he quit answering."
"Yeah, well I've been a little busy but I'll get right on it."
It's not often you see a line for the men's room, but tonight there was a serious line. I thought about shouldering my way to the front but had second thoughts after the last two guys in line stepped in front of me blocking the way with a muscle bound wall. I quickly decided that if I had to haul Sam out of the bathroom and to the car I couldn't participate in any head banging on the way.
So instead I settled into the back of the line that took about ten minutes to clear. There was much grumbling in the line and some of the guys coming out were trash talking the giant in the john who wouldn't give up his seat.
When I stepped into the men's room I noticed Sam's feet under the stall door, he wasn't even aware I was there so he could wait just a bit longer.
I banged on the stall door and asked if Sam was decent. He muttered what I took as an affirmative answer. But as I opened the door slowly I glanced in just to make sure.
I found Sam seated on the toilet with his pants up, his eyes closed and leaning heavily on the giant double roll dispenser.
"Hey, Sam, the bartender wants your autograph on the tab and then I think its time to take you home and put you to bed."
"Dean, I don't feel so good," Sam said as he opened his eyes slowly and tried to focus. His glassy eyes refused to focus and bounced around like the steel balls in a pinball machine.
I handed Sam the credit card receipt and a pen, then read the name on his credit card. I couldn't believe it when he handed the signed receipt back. In perfectly legible penmanship he signed Sammy Hagar, although the 'agar' ran down the right margin.
I grabbed Sam by the forearms and had him pull himself up. He swayed before gaining his sea legs, he let go of me so he could stop to wash his hands and almost dove into the urinal in the process.
Grabbing his arm I pulled him around and leaned him against the sink. It was almost like when he was three years old all over again – wiggling while I held him up to the sink.
At three the wiggling was cute at twenty-three it's not cute and it's hard to control his 6'4" frame without making it look like a Broke Back Mountain moment.
Sam splashed in the water then we headed out of the men's room, as we emerged into the bar a cheer went up, "Sam." The whole crowd yelled and then applauded as we made our way across the bar. When we got to the door Sam lurched into a turn to wave at everyone and managed to knock both of us down. Lucky for Sam – I broke his fall. Lucky for me he didn't break my ribs.
It's really hard to maintain a bad ass reputation in a small town when your wiggly giggly younger brother tries to help himself up and manages only to tangle his long limbs with your own.
"Sam, roll to the left so I can get up."
"Your left or my left, Dean?" Sam said leaving a Jack Daniels vapor trail.
"You roll to your left, Sam," exasperation creeping into my voice as I spoke slowly, "You roll to your left."
Digging an elbow into my ribs Sam managed to roll off me and wedge himself against the door jamb. I got up then pulled Sam to his feet to another round of cheers and jeers as we left the bar.
When we got to baby I leaned Sam against the back quarter panel, opened the door and poured him in.
Sam sat with his head tipped back. "Dean, can you make the car stop spinning? It's making me sick."
"Sam, open your eyes and don't get sick in the car. You let me know if you have to get sick. I'll stop and get the door open for you. Do you hear me Sam, open your eyes and don't puke."
"I don't wanna puke."
"That's the plan, Sam. You don't puke in the car and I don't beat you. Is that a deal?"
"I'll try, I don't want you to beat me," he replied plaintively.
"I don't want to do that either, so you let me know if you have to get sick, okay?"
"Okay, Dean," Sam's voice sounding like a small child.
Pulling into the parking lot of the motel, I parked in front of our room, unlocked the door and turned the lights on.
Returning to the car I saw what was about to happen before it actually did, but I couldn't move fast enough to stop it.
Sam's eyes popped open, his cheeks puffed out and his hands shot up, just before he spewed.
Running hard towards the car felt like slow motion, "NOOOOOO, Sam."
But there was no stopping the violent eruption. Sam's hands cupped in front of his face acted like a spoon when you spray water into it. His hands did nothing to stop the flow but did manage to deflect his vomit. The force pushed the sick across his palms then shot to the sides covering the window and drivers seat, and up onto the head liner and into his lap. There was sick everywhere.
Sheepishly Sam uttered, "You forgot to open the door when you stopped."
Once I got Sam out of the car I steered him from behind through the motel room and into the bathroom. Turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature I managed to get Sam into the pounding stream of the shower head, clothes and all.
As the water pounded against Sam he slumped to the side and sat on the cold porcelain edge of the tub.
Leaving Sam long enough to get clean boxers and sweats from the duffel bag I returned to the bathroom to find that he had again been sick in the tub. At least the clean up of this mess would be easy.
"Sam, can you manage to get out of your wet clothes?"
"I can do it, I don't need your help," petulance seeping into every syllable.
"Okay, I'll be right outside, call if you need me."
"I've been dressing and undressing myself for years I'm sure I've got it," petulance had been replaced by down right pissiness.
I left Sam standing in the middle of the bathroom to get dressed. Walking into the bedroom I moved the garbage can to the side of his bed, grabbed a couple aspirin and a couple bottles of water for rinsing if he got sick again.
The shower helped clear my head and I got to feeling pretty good. After dressing in the dry clothes Dean brought I stepped out of the bathroom took two running steps and launched myself at the bed.
This was a bad decision. I overshot most of the bed hitting the far side and flipping the mattress up and me off the bed and into the cramped space between the bed and the wall.
"Ouch," came out in a huff as I landed on my head and shoulder. I felt like a turtle on its back. I was a tangled mess as I tried to right myself, each time I moved, "Ouch," I banged something, "Ouch," into the wall, first my knees, "ouch," then my hip, "ouch."
With my view blocked by the upturned mattress I couldn't see Dean but I knew he was doubled over laughing and from the sound of his gasping breath he might even have tears welling in his eyes.
The sound of Dean's laughter brought unexpected tears to my eyes…it had been years since he had laughed with such abandon.
Once Sam had settled down for the night I took the towels he had used and a garbage can full of water and went outside to clean up my baby.
In the cool hours of the dark night the smell of the vomit was bearable. Best to get my baby cleaned up before the heat of the day baked the stench into the upholstery.
It took several trips to get clean water before I was satisfied with the results. In the early morning light it looked like I had gotten it all. But Baby would need a complete detail as soon I could arrange one.
A few hours sleep and we'd hit the road, Baby and I in pretty good shape and Sam hanging on to his stomach with all his might. He was going to be one sick puppy for a few hours and during that time I had lots of plans for making him miserable. He would not get off scot-free for the mess he caused.
In fact I planned to have him huffing and puffing his outrage through his bangs with a deep squinch furrowing his brow and his mouth pursed in his bitch-face.
I woke up to the sun shining in through the space between the drapes. Dean had been up banging around as he packed our bags and starting loading the car.
I felt like my teeth had fur, the light coming through the narrow gap caused searing pain in my brain and my stomach felt as though it was revolting against the rest of me.
I lay still trying to quell the urge to expel anything remaining from yesterdays binge. Breathing slowly through my nose I tried choking back the bile that rose from the pit of my stomach at the mere thought of the previous night.
In an instant I bolted upright and was half way across the room – but not quite to the bathroom before I blew chunks.
I crawled to the bathroom and draped my arms across the porcelain monument to my pain. Where I remained until dry heaves attacked my insides. "Waaaater," I cried pitifully. "Waaaater."
Hearing Sam lurch towards the bathroom I almost felt sorry for him…almost. But he had, after all, done it to himself. I was ready to let him suffer a bit longer when I heard him pleading for water.
Grabbing a bottle out of the cooler I stepped across the mess he'd made in the room and held the water out for him. "Sam, I don't think you really want water, it's only going to make you drunk again," crouching next to Sam I reached the sink to wet a wash cloth and pressed it to his forehead.
"Waaater," he said as he reached blindly for the bottle, downing the contents an instant before it all came back up.
Gently rubbing circles on Sam's back to release some of the tension caught along his rib cage as another spasm racked his body.
Sam went through three bottles before he was able to keep any of the liquid down. It would soon be time for soda crackers or pancakes to soak up the remaining alcohol. But first he'd need to get up off the floor and into the shower.
We stopped at a Waffle House where Dean insisted on ordering a short stack for me and a full breakfast for himself. The smell of the grease had me running for the men's room before the waitress could return with a refill on our coffees.
I pushed the food around my plate only managing a bite or two before Dean declared it was time to hit the road. I wasn't ready for the confines of the Impala but I couldn't take much more of the stench of pork grease and burnt toast either.
"Sammy, are you okay? You don't look so good."
"I don't feel good, in fact I feel like shit."
Reaching across the seat I pinched Sam on the arm, "Yep, feels like shit." It was an old joke between Sam and me but it never failed to bring a smirk to my face.
"You're hysterical today, Dean."
"Glad you're able to recognize my finer qualities, through those bloodshot eyes of yours. Are you sure you're feeling better, cuz if you puke in my baby again I swear I'll.."
"Yeah, sorry about that, Dean."
"No problem, just don't let it happen again."
"Anyways, I think I'd be fine if I could just dig myself a hole, crawl in, and die."
"Sam, you're not going to die. You might think it's the only way to feel better but give it some time and you'll be back to your old irritating self."
"I'm not irritating," Sam turned towards the window and slouched down into a more comfortable position. Feigning sleep he continued to sulk as the miles flew by.
I knew something was bothering him, the same something that had triggered his binge last night. "What's going on Sam?"
"Nothing, just trying to get some sleep," Sam burrowed deeper into the seat and turned even further away from me.
"Look I know you and something's eating at you. If you don't get it off your chest it's going to keep picking at you until you bleed."
"I'm hung over, I'm not bleeding."
"On the outside maybe, but on the inside you're bleeding. Look, Sam chick flick moments aren't my thing, but you need to talk about this. If it takes some weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth to get you back in the game here's your chance."
Reluctantly Sam turned in the seat to face me. "Dean it's just that this job hit too close to home for me. My God, Dean, they were just kids and I know it shouldn't bother me and that we've had to deal with kids before, but it got to me."
Glancing over at Sam I saw the wall he had erected begin to crumble. Returning my attention to the road I waited for the flood to begin…I didn't have to wait long.
"You know, if Jess hadn't been killed we probably would have been married by now chasing the American Dream, a house with a white picket fence, two point seven kids and a lifetime to make memories and grow old together. But that didn't happen! She died and you and I went looking for Dad and the yellow eyed demon."
I waited, knowing the Sam would continue when he was ready.
"Then I met Madison and if things had been different, if she hadn't turned, maybe, just maybe I could have found the dream again. But you know how that turned out and I had to kill her. No, Dean, don't say it. I know you would have done it but she wanted me to, she trusted me to do it. So I had to."
Taking a shaky breath Sam rushed on, "I held her in my arms, kissed her goodbye and pulled the trigger. It killed me to do it, but I did because that's my fucking job! God I hate that I was able to kill her so easily," tears welled in Sam's eyes as he tried to blink them back.
"Sam," I said as reached over and squeezed his shoulder, "I know it wasn't easy. I also know why you wouldn't let me do it. You loved her, and that's why it's never easy for you." I said quietly.
"Yeah and that's why this sucks. We have to do the job or their side wins. We have to sacrifice our lives and our happiness to keep people safe and what do we get for our efforts? Nothing!"
"Sam, you're right. It sucks and it's not likely to get any easier or better, it's just something we have to do."
"But, why do WE have to do it, Dean?"
"Sam, it's kind of like the Lion King, you know, the circle of life. Mom was killed, Dad made the decision to hunt the thing that killed her. He raised us with the knowledge of evil things and how to get rid of them."
"Yeah, and see what it got Dad. He's dead and we're still no closer to killing the yellow eyed demon."
"You're right, we aren't any closer, we don't have the colt and right now we're not in any condition to continue the fight. But we have to keep going because the circle, err cycle started again in your life," reaching across the seat I grabbed hold of Sam's knee and squeezed it reassuringly before I continued. "Jess died, you decided to hunt the thing that killed her and that lead you to Madison."
"And I had to kill her. Hell of a choice I had to make, kill a girl I could have loved or let an evil thing live. Some cycle of life, but when do we get to have the finale when all the world is in harmony and goodness returns, huh, when does that happen, Dean?"
"Sam, you know I can't answer that."
"It was a rhetorical question Dean, there is no answer." Turning away from me Sam hunched his shoulders, leaned he head against the window and closed his eyes as tears crept down his cheeks.
I woke up to AC/DC's 'Back in Black' playing and Dean drumming on the steering wheel. "Where are we?"
"About four hours away from Lodi, California."
Rubbing the grit of sleep from my eyes I asked, "What are we doing in Lodi?"
"I think I found a poltergeist while you were praying to the porcelain god last night. Do you want to stop for some food?"
"Sure, I think now I could eat and actually keep it down."
"Good, because I don't ever want to clean up another mess like the one from last night, no wait that was this morning."
"Yeah, about that, Dean, I'm really sorry."
"You have no idea, how sorry you'll be," chuckling Dean turned the music up and pressed a little harder on the accelerator.
AN: This was a fun one to write, it was a compilation of drinking stories that really happened – I know for sure because I was there. And as my friend TraSan pointed out to me, there were two innocents during the Habaneros incident, TraSan and her son. They were at home and had one heck of a mess to clean up after I dropped Sam (aka Fred) off.
Thanks for reading!