She’s seen him drink, sure – a beer here and there, cocktails when he’s taken her out to dinner. But tonight he’s been carrying around the bottle of Jack Daniels Owen brought over, drinking steadily and keeping the whole thing to himself.
She should have listened when he said he didn’t want a birthday party.
But it’s so out of character. Sam is quiet, reserved, amazed when people like him. Jess assumed he was against the party because he didn’t think anyone would come, and she knew (and she was correct) that they would. She assumed he’d be happy to come home and find the apartment full of people.
Dani grabs her by the refrigerator. “I think Sam’s getting sick. He’s been in the bathroom for like twenty minutes.”
“Shit. Yeah?”
“Want me to get everyone out of here?”
Jess nods, grateful, and Dani starts shepherding people towards the door.
**
She finds Sam on his knees, head pillowed on his arms on the toilet seat. She sinks down beside him and rests a hand on his back. “Hey, baby.”
He heaves in response and fumbles for the flush without lifting his head. She rubs small circles between his shoulder blades and waits.
“Sorry…”
“Shh. No.” It’s their first birthday together. They’ve only been dating for three months. It’s okay that they messed it up.
He sits back, finally, his face soaked in sweat and tears. “Jess.”
“Can I take you to bed?”
“Bad idea.” He does still look a little green.
She ducks into the bedroom and grabs the pillows and comforter instead, and makes them a nest on the bath mat. He shivers in her arms.
“You gonna be sick again?”
“Nn.”
“Tell me, okay?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Phone.”
“What?”
“My phone?”
“Why do you need a phone, Sam?”
“Please.”
He sounds so desperate, she doesn’t have the heart to say no.
**
She sits propped against the wall with Sam tucked under her arm and listens to the muted warble of the phone ringing against his ear. After a minute a rumbly male voice answers.
And Sam breaks down.
He’s sobbing too hard to speak, too hard to breathe, to hard to make any noise at all. He’s gasping. The voice on the line sounds increasingly alarmed, and then Sam dives for the toilet bowl and gags and retches and the phone drops to the floor, forgotten.
“Sam? Sammy!” comes the tinny voice on the other end.
Jess picks it up. “Um, hello?”
A pause. “Who the hell is this?”
“Who the hell is this?” She counters.
“Is Sammy okay?”
He hates ‘Sammy.’ Who is this guy? “He’s drunk.”
An even longer pause. “Ah.”
“Dean,” Sam reaches behind him for the phone without lifting his head from the toilet.
“Dean,” Jess repeats. “Your name is Dean?”
“I’m his brother.”
“What? No. Sam doesn’t have a brother.”
There’s no humor in the responding laugh. “I fucking promise you he does. Let me talk to him.”
She hesitates. “I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Excuse you?”
“He’s sick. If I give him the phone he’ll probably drop it in the toilet.”
“What did you let him drink?”
“I’m not his mother!” Immediately she winces. Sam’s mother is dead. At least, that’s what he’s told her. Who knows what’s true about Sam’s family at this point.
She puts the phone on speaker. “You’re on.”
“Sam.” Dean says, and his whole tone is different. “Sammy?”
“Dean.”
“What’d you do, buddy?”
“Jack.”
“Never could hold your whiskey.”
“You didn’t call.”
“What?”
“My birthday, Dean.”
“Shit. Sam.”
“You missed it.”
Jess glances at the clock. It’s 12:20. Sam’s birthday is officially over.
Cracks (1/?)
She’s seen him drink, sure – a beer here and there, cocktails when he’s taken her out to dinner. But tonight he’s been carrying around the bottle of Jack Daniels Owen brought over, drinking steadily and keeping the whole thing to himself.
She should have listened when he said he didn’t want a birthday party.
But it’s so out of character. Sam is quiet, reserved, amazed when people like him. Jess assumed he was against the party because he didn’t think anyone would come, and she knew (and she was correct) that they would. She assumed he’d be happy to come home and find the apartment full of people.
Dani grabs her by the refrigerator. “I think Sam’s getting sick. He’s been in the bathroom for like twenty minutes.”
“Shit. Yeah?”
“Want me to get everyone out of here?”
Jess nods, grateful, and Dani starts shepherding people towards the door.
**
She finds Sam on his knees, head pillowed on his arms on the toilet seat. She sinks down beside him and rests a hand on his back. “Hey, baby.”
He heaves in response and fumbles for the flush without lifting his head. She rubs small circles between his shoulder blades and waits.
“Sorry…”
“Shh. No.” It’s their first birthday together. They’ve only been dating for three months. It’s okay that they messed it up.
He sits back, finally, his face soaked in sweat and tears. “Jess.”
“Can I take you to bed?”
“Bad idea.” He does still look a little green.
She ducks into the bedroom and grabs the pillows and comforter instead, and makes them a nest on the bath mat. He shivers in her arms.
“You gonna be sick again?”
“Nn.”
“Tell me, okay?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Phone.”
“What?”
“My phone?”
“Why do you need a phone, Sam?”
“Please.”
He sounds so desperate, she doesn’t have the heart to say no.
**
She sits propped against the wall with Sam tucked under her arm and listens to the muted warble of the phone ringing against his ear. After a minute a rumbly male voice answers.
And Sam breaks down.
He’s sobbing too hard to speak, too hard to breathe, to hard to make any noise at all. He’s gasping. The voice on the line sounds increasingly alarmed, and then Sam dives for the toilet bowl and gags and retches and the phone drops to the floor, forgotten.
“Sam? Sammy!” comes the tinny voice on the other end.
Jess picks it up. “Um, hello?”
A pause. “Who the hell is this?”
“Who the hell is this?” She counters.
“Is Sammy okay?”
He hates ‘Sammy.’ Who is this guy? “He’s drunk.”
An even longer pause. “Ah.”
“Dean,” Sam reaches behind him for the phone without lifting his head from the toilet.
“Dean,” Jess repeats. “Your name is Dean?”
“I’m his brother.”
“What? No. Sam doesn’t have a brother.”
There’s no humor in the responding laugh. “I fucking promise you he does. Let me talk to him.”
She hesitates. “I’ll put you on speaker.”
“Excuse you?”
“He’s sick. If I give him the phone he’ll probably drop it in the toilet.”
“What did you let him drink?”
“I’m not his mother!” Immediately she winces. Sam’s mother is dead. At least, that’s what he’s told her. Who knows what’s true about Sam’s family at this point.
She puts the phone on speaker. “You’re on.”
“Sam.” Dean says, and his whole tone is different. “Sammy?”
“Dean.”
“What’d you do, buddy?”
“Jack.”
“Never could hold your whiskey.”
“You didn’t call.”
“What?”
“My birthday, Dean.”
“Shit. Sam.”
“You missed it.”
Jess glances at the clock. It’s 12:20. Sam’s birthday is officially over.