|Sam Winchester (bitch____) wrote,|
@ 2008-06-04 17:17:00
|Entry tags:||dean winchester, sam winchester|
Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt ( Dean/Sam fanfic )
What: Hung-over Sam
When: Morning after the Dean/Sam/Jaime thread over on TS
Title: When troubles comes a 'knockin
He had been trying to go back to sleep ( mainly because he felt like he'd been hit by a bus and had spent the earlier hours of the morning with his head in the toilet puking his guts out - not a pleasant feeling ) when someone started obnoxiously banging on his door. "Go away," he mumbled less forcefully than he would've liked. His response was muffled by the pillow he'd buried his face in, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Whoever was on the other side of that door was relentless. So finally, realizing he had no other choice and desperately wanting the awful racket to stop, he'd drag himself out of bed and call out "coming!" The word probably got drowned out by the endless knocking that was pounding into his skull with each and every whack, but he still cringed a little at the way even his own voice had intensified to an unbearable level.
Who else would it be, but yours truly? He'd figured Sammy was having a difficult morning, and he didn't want to miss out on the fun. So after smooth-talking his way into finding out what room Sam had checked himself into, well ... here he was! When the door finally got opened, Dean would leave his hand still balled in a fist, hovering mid-air just a little big longer, before dropping it back down to his side, soldier style. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" He was in no way trying to keep it down, even though he had a pretty good idea of how Sam was feeling. And in a brief moment of extreme cruelness, he smacked his hands together enthusiastically and rubbed them together, all the while casting a curious peek at the place.
Yep, as he'd suspected: Sammy had struck out again. But how? That Jaime chick had been putty in his little brother's hands when he'd left them last night. She'd practically thrown herself at him. So how had he managed to ruin it this time? Though it shouldn't come as that big of a shock. After all, Sam always seemed to strike out with the ladies, no matter how ideal the situation was. What a geek.
When he turned to face his brother, he found him completely unamused - and looking pretty dang exhausted, poor kid. He had to lean against the wall just to be able to remain standing. "Whoah. You look like crap. Rough morning?" He asked with a suggestive smirk. Too bad he couldn't be asking 'rough night' instead. But ah well, maybe some other time. He'd make sure of it. As for now, consider this payback time. Hugging in public ( or ever, for that matter ) was just not cool - especially in front of hot chicks - or just the one, in this particular case.
Rough morning? Yeah, you could say that. Dean knew it too. Why he got such a kick out of moments like these, Sam would never know. If the shoe was on the other foot, Dean wouldn't find it so funny - and he wouldn't be pointing and laughing and basking in his brother's misery. On second thought, maybe there'd be some laughter ... 'cause the sight of Dean hung-over was surprisingly rare, despite the wild, crazy nights he preferred to have as often as possible. Guess the guy was good at holding his liquor - at least way better than Sam. Having such a low tolerance for alcohol really sucked sometimes - like now. Man, he really regretted asking for so many refills.
"Do you have to talk so loud?" Lids remained partially closed as he tried to block out some of the light that'd poured into the room when Dean entered. Though just seconds later, both eyes would squeeze tightly shut, and he lifted a hand to shield his face from the sun's harsh, blinding rays when the curtain was suddenly jerked back. A grown followed the action, before he mumbled "jerk" in annoyance.
The insult left Dean completely unaffected. In fact, at this point he was beaming - obviously quite proud of himself. A chuckle rose from the back of his throat as he shook his head dismissively. "Oh, Sammy. You don't mean that." He felt the rhetorical 'bitch' response was too predictable. Might as well take advantage of the situation. Sam didn't get wasted nearly as often as he should. Maybe if he drank a little more, he'd be less cranky. 'Course that also meant there'd be more of those weepy, awkward moments Sam seemed to love so much. It's like he was always looking for an excuse to gravitate towards the dark and depressing side of life. Talk about being a downer.
"How'd you know I was here, anyway?" Sam perched himself on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands once he'd propped his elbows up on his knees. The brightness hurt his eyes.
"There's this little thing called a front desk."
"They just gave you my room number?" Wasn't there rules against that sort of thing?
"I can be very persuasive," Dean replied. "Especially when the girl working the front desk is a leggy blonde. And let me tell you, she was one smoking hot lady. I mean, whew." He whistled to emphasize his point - as if he hadn't said enough.
Sam lifted his head and stared at his brother in mild disbelief. Was he feeling okay? "Then what are you doing here?" Instead of chatting it up with the tall, golden-haired beauty he'd encountered earlier. Normally he didn't encourage Dean's bad habits, but it would bring him some solitude this time - and he could close those curtains back without interference.
"What? And miss this? I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, you're not getting off the hook that easily. I want to know what happened last night." He wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to hear this - not for any woman. Not this time, anyway ... though what Sam didn't know was that he'd already gotten the girl's number. He was a quick thinker like that.
"Nothing happened." And that was the truth. Whether that was good or bad was up for debate.
"Yeah, I can see that. Question is how come? When I left you two crazy kids, you were already going at it like animals." Okay, so maybe no articles of clothing had come flying off before his departure, but he'd left during a pretty hot and heavy make-out session. For Sammy, that was like ... third base. Forget that. It was more like the point in between third and fourth base where you started sliding into home.
"We were not," he stated defensively.
"No, no. It's okay. It's healthy for you to let loose every once in awhile - let your hair down." Which desperately needed to be introduced to a pair of scissors. "All I'm saying is you had her, man. What happened?"
"She was wasted, Dean." If anything had happened, he would've been taking advantage of a highly intoxicated woman whom he barely knew. So it was kind of a good thing she'd wigged out on him - the part he was conveniently excluding. Jaime was already embarrassed enough. He didn't see a point in adding on an extra dose of humiliation. He knew how shameless his brother could be, and she was far too nice a person to become the punch-line of many, many jokes.
It was clear that Dean wasn't pleased with this answer, and he most certainly wasn't going to drop it that fast. "Yeah, and so were you. I don't see the problem." Hands were turned out by his sides in a 'feel free to clue me in' sort of gesture.
"She was just trying to be nice," Sam protested. Or as much as he could protest when feeling this crappy.
"Come on. You don't honestly believe that, do you?" She was obviously into you." It never ceased to amaze him how naive his brother could be about some things. Ordinarily, he was a fairly smart guy. Sometimes it was even a little scary how much Sam knew, and about the dumbest stuff, too. Dude had way too much time on his hands. A girlfriend could easily remedy that. Maybe then he'd get past this whole 'i'm going to save you, no matter what' binge. Yeah. He hadn't forgotten the clinging or the pleading from the night before, even if it had all happened in a drunken stupor. That didn't make it any less real. It was one of those extremely annoying things about Sam. Even when he was completely sloshed, he couldn't just make a fool out of himself and let everyone else enjoy it. He had to go into all this whiney 'woe is me' mumbo jumbo about how he absolutely would not be able to survive without his big brother around. Whatever. That was such a load of crock. Sam would be fine, whether he believed that or not.
"I am not having this conversation with you." He shook his head ( which was still throbbing tremendously ) to show he wasn't budging on the issue. He was feeling incredibly nauseous again, so he preferred to cut out as much talking out as possible. He especially didn't want to discuss imaginary relationships. He didn't like doing that on a good day, and this ... this was most definitely not a good day.
Well, that had most certainly not been the answer he was looking for. Without warning, Dean roughly plopped himself down on the bed beside Sam, making sure it bounced up and down repeatedly. Oh, the look on Sammy's face: priceless. So priceless, in fact, that he couldn't resist whipping his cell phone out and snapping a shot. Perfect blackmail photo for later - or simply an amusing pic to refer back to whenever times weren't so great ... kinda like now.
Sick was the more appropriate word to use. The urge to hurl he'd been trying to fight back couldn't be ignored any longer. So even though Dean had started saying something, Sam bolted for the bathroom. However, it looked like even though the urge to vomit was still there, his stomach was finally empty. It was about time. But if that was the case, why did he still feel so miserable?
He'd patiently sat in the other room waiting to hear some horrific gagging type sound, but ... nothing. Deciding this meant he'd missed the 'watch out, he's gonna blow!' portion of Sam's hang-over, Dean casually sauntered up to the bathroom door and leaned against the frame. "Boy, you sure look like a stud now. Maybe I should give Jaime a call. Give you guys one more shot at romance. What was her number again?" He'd kept his phone out, just for show - going through the motions, and all that. But he didn't really plan on calling. He wasn't that mean. Though the smirk he wore might've indicated otherwise.
"I hate you," Sam muttered as convincingly as he could ( which in actuality came out pretty bland, not to mention quieter than intended ) as he remained half-way collapsed on the bathroom floor.
"Well, aren't you an ole' sourpuss today?" It's not that he wasn't getting the message. He was, loud and clear. But he was just having too much of a good time with all the teasing. They really needed to do this more often. What?! It'd all be over in a few hours, so it wasn't that big a deal. "Seriously, Sam. This would be a whole lot easier if you just told me how you managed to screw it up."
"I don't get why you care so much," Sam snipped, shoving himself back up to his feet. "Why are you so obsessed with me having a social life? Or better yet, why are you always on my case about getting a girl? I don't see you with anyone." And if Dean started in with any more 'i want you to move on with you life' speeches, he was so out of here.
"No, but I could get someone, if I wanted."
"And I can't?" Sam asked huffily.
"Apparently not," Dean shot back. This had been the primo set-up, and Sam had gone and blown it.
"You want to know what happened?" He'd had enough. If sharing with Dean got him off his back, he'd do it - spill the whole thing. At this point, he'd do just about anything to get a little peace and quiet. "She started talking to herself." This line alone received an immediate quirk of the brow from his brother - one that clearly read 'continue.' So Sam elaborated a bit more, all the while feeling slightly bad about bringing it up. "More like talking to someone who wasn't there. She just flipped out all of a sudden - started hearing things." Her strange behavior had to have resulted from the alcohol she'd consumed, and also in her defense ... "It just happened a couple of times. But I, uh - I took that as my cue to leave." There was only so much weird he could handle, especially on top of everything else that was going on. A relationship with someone who might or might not turn out to be crazy was more than he could handle right now.
At first Dean didn't react. He just stood there with this baffled look on his face, staring. Well that was a little disturbing. Huh. And she'd seemed like such a nice girl, too. That just went to show you, you could never judge a book by its cover. "Wow, you sure know how to attract the loonies." Just a couple of times? That was still two times too many.
The corners of Sam's mouth dipped down into a deeper frown. "She's not a looney." Despite their rather awkward evening that'd gotten foiled because of her erratic behavior, he still felt compelled to defend her. Something was telling him there was more going on here - or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
"No. She just carries on conversations with people who aren't really there." What part of that didn't scream total nutcase?
"It wasn't like that." It hadn't been an 'entire conversation.'
"Whatever. I say she's crazy. And until we can be sure she isn't the incredibly unstable and dangerous 'try to slit your throat' kind of crazy, I say you keep your distance." After all, there were plenty of other fish in the sea. The college campus alone was swarming with an endless supply of awesome catches. Plus finding a new girl for Sammy would give him the chance to get to know some of the locals a little more intimately - aka the hot broads of the area. Look out babe city, here I come. 'Cause no matter how hot or sweet or smart ( or whatever other good qualities got thrown out there on the table ) Jaime was, she wasn't worth putting Sam at risk - even if they only suspected something was off with her.
Sam let out a heavy sigh before turning and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dean was right about one thing: he did look terrible - almost as terrible as he felt.
Suddenly, Dean shifted gears. "Make yourself presentable, and hurry it up. I'm starving." Just the very thought of food piped him up - even more-so than usual. Once Sam did something about his appearance, they could go eat.
Why was it that Dean was always starving? He was never just hungry; he was always completely famished. "You go. I'm not hungry." He didn't think he'd be able to hold anything down, even if he tried. And he'd rather not. He didn't have much of an appetite right now.
"Sure you are!" He decisively exclaimed, followed by a quick slap on the back. "I'll wait for you in the car." And then, just so there'd be no room for argument, he turned and made a quick retreat from the room - but not before giving a triumphant smirk and quipping, "Don't worry, Sammy. You'll get lucky some day." Ha. The real question on the table was whether Dean would be alive to see it when it happened.
Once he was left alone in the room, Sam returned to the bathroom and defeatedly stooped to slosh some cold water on his face, then brushed his teeth and got ready to go out with his brother, like it or not. Although despite all the complaining, he didn't mind it so much. Deep down he knew he'd miss mornings like these. Not the getting sick part, but having Dean around to pester him. It just wouldn't be the same without him. Nothing would ever be the same again.