Summary: Dean's first drunken moment isn't as pleasant as people might think, trust Sam… he knows. Set in S1.

Pairing/s: None.

Warnings: Underage-drinking?

Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural.


People are always impressed with the day Dean drinks. Just gulps it down and never seem to get drunk. Smile was still as charming, his laughter not hysterical like drunken peoples tended to be, no uncomfortable clinging and he did not have that glassy eye-look. He was the perfect one to drink.

Sam had seen it enough times, and often gotten comments when they knew he was with Dean. Things like what a drinker to friend he had, how much before he collapsed, did he even collapse and so on. Sam would barely respond, not liking Dean drinking. He never had.

He looked at his sleeping brother, breaths too quiet to be counted as snores and Dean's peaceful face. Sam can not resist sitting down on his brother's bed, placing a hand on the slightly smaller man's back and feeling the steady rise and reassuring heat.

Dean had learned to handle the alcohol. Sam still had memories of Dean drinking for the first time. Many drank when they were young because it was cool but never Dean. He was just not simply the guy for it. Until a stupid man had tried to rob them and he had a bit too eager to shoot something with his newly bought gun…


Year 1995

"Dad, is Dean's gonna be okay?"

John looked up at Sam's white face, saw his youngest was breathing fast, way too fast, his hands grasping hard at Dean's arm. Dean himself was not aware they spoke, glassy eyes towards the ceiling, gulping down air, his chest heaving and his shirt covered in blood.

"He's gonna be fine," John reassured. "Sammy, go and check if we got any painkillers."

He heard the boy run into John's room and turned his attention to Dean. He quickly tore the shirt apart and began working on the T-shirt, Dean whining at the back of his throat and John could not blame him because being shot in the shoulder, hell anywhere, it fucking hurt.

"Dad, I can't find any!" Sam's panicked voice carried back to him and the man swore.

"Go to the kitchen, get the whiskey!" John called back, wiping sweat from his forehead. Alcohol was never something he wanted to chug down his eldest son's throat, but Dean deserved the numbness. They did not have time to get painkillers.

Sam came back inside, holding the bottle of Jack in his hand.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked as John took the bottle. "Are you gonna make him drink it?"

"It's either him drinking, or him screaming in pain. The bullet's still in there, had it been a clean shot I would have gone for painkillers but I don't have the time."

Sam nodded and sat down again.

"Here, let's sit him up. Let him lean against you, Sam."

The younger boy took his brother's weight against him, held on and Dean moaned in pain. John opened the bottle and said to Dean:

"This is not gonna taste good, but try to get down as much as possible for me, son."

After the first swallow the older one tried to shy away, the whiskey dribbling down his chin but John held his head steady. After feeling Sam squeezing his arm, a whimper please and he was gulping it down.

"Good boy, that's a good boy," John whispered, stroking his son's sweaty hair. He cringed as he saw tears slip down Dean's cheeks, wiping them away with his thumb. "Just a few more swallows, that's it… that's it."

Sam could feel when Dean felt the effects, he began to lean more and more against his little brother and his head lolled back. Their father gently laid him back to the floor again, and Sam took pity on him as Dean groaned, moving so he could place his big brother's head in his lap. John looked at them as Sam moved his head down, stroking Dean's face and whispering comforts to him, Dean tilting his head even in drunken haze to listen to the familiar voice. Distraction enough and John got down to work.

Dean and Sam had not shared a bed in three years now, John felt that they were growing too old for it but now the man did not utter one complaint as Sam slipped into the bed after John had placed Dean down on it. The older boy was moaning in slight pain and John knew he would have a hell of a hangover the next morning.

"Sammy, I'm going to get painkillers for Dean, okay? You stay with him."

Sam nodded and slowly lay his head down on Dean's uninjured shoulder, Dean moving his head to Sam's and mumbled something under his breath to which Sam patted his arm and answered:

"Yeah, I'm fine Dean." John could have cried right there. His oldest boy was in serious pain despite the alcohol running through his system, yet he cared more about Sam than himself. He watched Sam curl up tighter, running a hand soothingly up and down Dean's arm, the touch calming the older one and his eyes fluttered close.

In the end, Dean did not remember much of his first drinking episode the next day or the days following up to the present, but Sam, even to this day, remembered every detail.

End flashback


Sam looked down to see Dean peer up at him, a lazy grin in place.

"What's up?" he asked. "Can't sleep?"

"Something like that," Sam replied quietly. "You go back to sleep, you need to get the booze outta your system if you wanna drive tomorrow."

"You ain't driving my car!"

"Then you go back to sleep."

Dean huffed something, squirmed until he was comfortable and lay quiet for a bit. Sam was not tricked:

"Dean… sleep. Now."

"You 'kay?"

The younger one looked down at his brother and patted his back.

"I'm fine, Dean, I just wanna stay up for a little bit. You go back to sleep, I'll take a nap tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's all Metallica."

"Please, can't we pick something quieter?"

"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Sam shook his head with a small smile on his lips. "Go to sleep, Dean."

Dean muttered something else and with a sigh turned to his side.

"What is it?" he asked, not so sleepy anymore. He sounded disturbingly sober for a guy who had chugged down six bears and maybe one too many shots in a few hours.

"Nothing, I was just thinking."

"And that led you to sit on my bed in the middle of the night and staring at me? Dude, you're totally weird."

"And you're totally sober. Did you drink water at the bar?"

"I don't think so. The shots tasted crap like usual."

"Then why did you drink them?"

"Dunno… they were for free?"

"It's you who's weird," Sam said and snorted.

"Seriously, what were you thinking about?"

Sam was about to say 'Nothing' again when the words made him choke. He looked down at his clasped hands for a moment, then said before Dean would leave the comfort of the warm covers:

"You first drunk night."

Dean frowned. "Dude, I don't remember shit about that. Dad just told me I chugged down more than half of a Jack Daniels by myself."

"We didn't have any painkillers," Sam whispered.


"We didn't have any painkillers, and you had a bullet in your shoulder," the younger one said. "Your blood running down my T-shirt as dad made you drink that Jack. You were crying."

"I was?" Despite Sam's efforts, Dean was sitting up now but at least he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. "You're not kidding with me, are you Sammy?"

"I'm not," Sam said. "I wish I was, but I'm not. You were crying, in pain, and dad made you drink."

"Well, he didn't have much choice, right?"

"I know. I know but still…"

"Hey, it's not like it made me an alcoholic," Dean said and pulled Sam close.

"No, but it freaked me out."

"Well…" No snappy comebacks with that comment coming from his brother's mouth. Dean dropped his chin down on Sam's shoulder, thought for a moment. "It bothers you, right?"

"What bothers me?"

"That I drink so much?"

"You really don't act drunk."

"But you're still bothered."

"Maybe a little bit."

"Guess seeing your big brother drinking while he's underage isn't the best way to be introduced to alcohol."

Sam had to smile at that, a bit. "No… guess not."

"Hn." Dean was getting sleepy again, and he had been drinking pretty well this night. "Go to bed, Sammy, and sleep."

"You go back to sleep."

"You first."

"Alright, can you stop using my shoulder as a pillow then?"

Dean fell backwards and got the covers around himself again. He watched Sam walk over to his bed and lay down.

"Hey Sammy?"

Sam had stopped bothering to make Dean call him 'Sam'. "Yeah, Dean?"

"Today's Saturday."

"Define today."

"Cute. Alright, like fucking early Sunday morning."

"That's more like it, bro."

"Even cuter, shut up."

"Fine, spill it."

"And after Sunday, it's Monday."

"Yeah, I'm not stupid."

"Well, I was wondering for a while…"

"Dean, the point," Sam groaned.

"And after Monday it's a whole week," Dean said. "How about I don't drink that whole week?"


"Dunno. I'm feeling like drinking soda… or something. Plus it's getting a bit too fun scaring the crap outta ya with me driving drunk and all."

"Real cute, Dean, real cute," Sam said. "But seriously man, you don't have to stop drinking just because I don't---"

"Go to sleep, Sam. I've always known you don't like seeing me drink. Lemme indulge you once in a while."

"Like you aren't doing that the whole time," Sam muttered.

"Shut up."

"And another snappy comeback from our own Dean Winchester."

"Seriously dude, sleep."

Sam looked over at his brother and saw him fix the pillow before burrowing his head into it. He could not help but smile, the memories of Dean's unwilling meeting with whiskey and alcohol pushed back to the deepest of his mind and he made a mental note of buying sodas tomorrow.


Weird ending, but I kinda didn't know what else to write. It was a bit fun writing this, a lot of dialogue which isn't that usual with me… I think. Or something.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

Until another time,