Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam’s vision is starting to blur. He sets the beer bottle on the table, his lips twisting into a grimace when it lands with a loud bang. The springs from the old couch scrape his legs as he anxiously taps his foot on the ground. Sam looks around and suddenly the people surrounding him seem way much scarier. A group of girls giggle in the corner and their laugh is so sharp Sam feels it cutting through his insides. Are they laughing at him?

He thought drinking would be fun. Every time Dean gets back from some bar he’s smiling and joking. Dad always sits outside with a beer after a hunt to relax. Why doesn’t Sam feel great and relaxed? Is there a secret to drinking that everyone is keeping from him? The very thought of him being (again) a victim of an inside joke makes something in his gut twist.

Oh god, Sam is going to puke right here and there in the middle of some ratty living room surrounded by kids he was trying to impress.

The nausea rises in his throat, so he tries to take a deep breath. He hopes that no one heard how shaky the exhale had been.

Sam can’t and won’t make a fool out of himself. It’s the first time he is included in something other than a forced group project in school. His life may actually be over if he fucks it up right now.

When he fucks it up.

”Sam?” Tyler, the guy who invited Sam here, nudges his shoulder. It burns his skin, Sam is pretty sure of it. He feels his heartbeat in his ears. With way more effort that it should take, Sam looks up to meet his friend’s piercing eyes.

”You okay?” Tyler asks. Sam is so screwed, he must be acting weird. He is weird, they know now, it’s over. He feels sweat cover his palms and, as casually as he can, drops them to his knees.

”’Course I am”, he manages to reply. Sam looks around the room again, he notices the cracked walls and empty bottles scattered around. A guy named Josh has a red stain on his white shirt and Sam can’t stop thinking about blood. He would be such an easy victim to a monster right now. He can feel his pulse, hear his heart. They must be able to sense him from miles away.

”Actually”, the need to escape overtakes him. Fuck socialising, he doesn’t want any friends if it looks and feels like this. ”I think I need to get back. My brother ends his night shift soon and he’ll notice that I snuck out.”

Sam really hoped that he didn’t slur any words and had formed the sentence properly. He hated alcohol, he hated not being able to be in control. He can’t even remember the words he used, maybe it wasn’t even coherent. Tyler keeps looking at him and Sam thinks it’s too long.

Stop looking; say something.

”Aw man, that’s a shame, the party’s just getting started”, Tyler says, hitting Sam’s back. Sam thinks it’s meant to be friendly, but his stomach turns painfully and he has to grit his teeth and stop himself from just running out of here as fast as he can.

”I’ll think of something next time.” Sam hopes he sounds confident, he feels the opposite.

He finishes his beer and waves at the remaining people as he tries not to stumble while heading out. His shoulder hits the doorframe and he prays to whatever’s listening - Don’t let anyone see this, please. Sam blinks rapidly, suddenly there are tears in his eyes and it makes him hate the state he’s in even more. He rubs his face, but the movement makes him lose balance and he has to hold himself up against the fence.

Sam takes a few grounding breaths. He doesn’t know what to do. Where’s the motel? All the cities they stayed in blur together, the streets look exactly the same.

He lets out a shuddering exhale and nearly cries from relief, because on the other side of the road there’s a phone booth. Dean doesn’t have work tonight, it was a lie, and that means that Sam can call him.

Dean will come, and he will make everything better.

Sam still doesn’t understand how being drunk works exactly, but entering his brother’s number is the easiest thing in the world, he’s done it so many times it’s like an autopilot. His gut twists again as he listens to the signal. What if Dean doesn’t wake up? What if something has happened to him? Sam leans his head on the wall and swallows thickly.

„Who’s there?” Sam has never been this happy to hear this familiar, grumpy voice. A shuddering breath slips through his lips before he can stop it. He covers his mouth with his left hand. ”Hello? I’m hanging up, it’s the middle of the night.”

„Dean”, Sam breathes into the phone.

”Sam?” There’s shuffling on Dean’s side of the line ”Why aren’t you in bed? Are you okay?” Sam can hear the worry in his brother’s voice and he hates himself for it.

”I… I snuck out. To a party. Then I run from the party.” Sam swallows. ”I’m really sorry, please come pick me up.” The wetness in his eyes returned and he scrubs at them furiously.

”Okay, Sammy”, Dean says after a few heavy moments filled with silence. ”Where are you?”

—

Sam sits on the curb next to the phone booth, he knows he must look pathetic. Each passing car makes him hope for Dean, and every time it isn’t him Sam feels a little worse. The cold air seems to settle into his bones, so he wraps his arms around his knees. He feels stupid for hugging himself, but shrinking into a tight ball makes the mass of anxiety in his belly settle a bit. He tugs on his shirtsleeve, wondering how long he’s been waiting. He feels a little steadier, but maybe that’s just because there’s no farther left to fall.

Sam jerks suddenly when he feels the familiar rumble of the Impala, he would recognise that sound anywhere. He wants to get up and run to meet Dean, his legs twitching in some kind of aborted movement. He also feels absolutely and utterly ashamed because he was supposed to be the smart one, and his brother will yell at him. And maybe Dean will tell dad. That thought sends more shivers through Sam. Why is he nauseous? He thinks he remembers Dean laughing at his friends getting too drunk and puking. The vision of Dean laughing at him makes his stomach even more uneasy. Sam didn’t think it was possible.

When Sam hears the door open, he raises his head from his knees and looks at the siluette of his brother, still kinda blurry, making his way towards him.

”Sammy?” Dean doesn’t sound angry, and that makes Sam very confused, the conflicting feelings buzz in his chest. He feels so grateful that Dean has come for him, he also feels so scared of Dean seeing him like this.

”Breaking laws on hunts wasn’t enough? Had to go full delinquent youth on me?” Dean adds, his voice as unserious as always, but with something like concern mixed into it.

”Don’t” Sam takes a deep breath, trying to sound casual ”Can we just go?”
He tries very hard not to think about how pathetic he sounds. He fails.

Dean offers him a hand, and tugs him to a standing position. Sam’s vision keeps moving despite him standing still. He tries to keep his balance, but it’s too late and Dean grips his shoulder to keep him vertical. Sam watches as his brother’s eyes widen in realisation and fixes his eyes on his feet just as Dean starts speaking.

”First time sneaking out and you end up trashed in a ditch. Real smooth, Sammy. Real smooth.” There’s a grin in his brother’s voice and relief hits Sam like a bullet. Dean isn’t angry at him. ”You could’ve gotten hurt, Sammy. Or worse. You think Dad needs another reason to blow a gasket?” Dean adds, still not upset, just concerned. It makes Sam’s throat tighten.

”’M sorry.” To his dismay, his eyes start burning again. He rubs at them furiously. ”Can we talk about it tomorrow? I wanna go home.” His voice sounds like a whine. He hates his voice.

”Sammy”, Dean’s voice sounds considerably softer now. ”Are you okay?”

Sam meets his brother’s eyes and notices the concerned frown etched into his face. He has no response.

Then something unexpected happens. The hand that held Sam up pulls him into a hug. Sam is suddenly squished into Dean’s chest, enveloped by him and surrounded by oh-so-familiar scent. He smells leather, gunpowder and cigarettes and he’s never ever felt so safe as right now. Much to his horror, the tears Sam tried so hard to keep at bay the entire night, start escaping. Sam hides his face in Dean’s shoulder, hoping that his brother doesn’t hear his shaky breathing. He feels Dean’s hoodie getting wet and Dean’s arms tighten around him.

”You’re okay, kid.” His brother pulls him even closer, settling his chin on Sam’s head. ”I’ve got you, Sammy, you’re safe.”

Sam expected everything but this from someone incapable of showing emotions and allergic to chick flick moments, Dean Winchester. He can’t help but grip his brother’s back like a lifeline. He takes another few shallow breaths, trying to calm down.

”I don’t get how people like it”, he finally manages to say, turning his head so Dean can hear him. Not letting go, though.

”That’s good, ’cause you’re forbidden for at least few more years.” There is a teasing tone in his voice, but at the same time he keeps rubbing Sam’s back, so Sam decides he’ll allow it.

They stay like that, time slipping past in a way Sam can’t pin down. Dean’s familiarity makes the anxiety in Sam’s belly settle, and he finally doesn’t feel like he’s going to puke at any given moment.

”C’mon squirt, let’s take you to bed and feed you some aspirin.” His brother pulls away and Sam has to stifle a whine. He mourns the loss of touch and wonders how long it will take for Dean to initiate a hug next time.

Dean wraps his arm around Sam and tugs him to the car. Maybe he won’t take that long, Sam decides. Maybe everything is actually okay.