Cherry Pie

The Hangover

[Rayne]

Prying my eyes open, I was greeted with the blaring red digits of the alarm clock that was facing me from the desk by my bed.

2:48 AM.

I rolled onto my back and my stomach rolled along with me. There were no lights on in the motel room but my eyes were adjusted enough to the dark that I could silently watch as the ceiling spun above me in dizzying circles. I sat up slowly but everything continued to spin. I noticed a shape under the covers in the bed next to mine that I assumed was Sam. I didn't even have the energy to check if Dean was sleeping next to me. My pounding head felt fuzzy, my mouth was dry, and a familiar sense of nausea was creeping its way up my throat. I moaned and slid out of bed, staggering over to the bathroom.

Fumbling for the light, I hissed as the brightness burned my retinas. It should have been illegal to have such bright bathroom lights. I pushed the door back behind me, leaving open a small sliver and collapsed in front of the toilet, my arms draped over the sides. With an unceremonious start, I proceeded to heave bright yellow liquid into the toilet bowl for the next several minutes. As my stomach seemed to finally calm, I sensed someone entering the bathroom and closing the door fully behind them.

I glanced up from the toilet to squint up at a groggy, bed-head Dean. He frowned once he took in my pathetic state. "Showtime," he mumbled before sighing deeply and sitting down on the edge of the bathtub next to me.

My stomach chose that moment to lurch and I clenched my abdomen in anticipation of the next spasm. My back arched as I threw up again. And again. And once more. Dean didn't say anything but he handed me a rolled up wad of toilet paper once I was finished. I grabbed at it gratefully and wiped my mouth.

After flushing down the vile evidence, I pushed myself back using the toilet seat to lean against the opposite wall, sliding down to the ground when my legs refused to support me. I wasn't quite sure how my foggy brain managed it, but I suddenly became quite aware of Dean's shirtless presence. Nice body.

I watched him smirk. "Thanks, Cherry Pie."

Blinking slowly, I met his amused eyes. "Did I say that out loud?"

"I'll try not to hold it against you."

"I feel sick." I sniffled.

He almost looked sympathetic. "I know you do." 

I couldn't stop the tears that began to slide down my cheeks. I felt sorry for myself and sick to my stomach and the combination of the two made me cry. "S'rry," I hiccupped.

He didn't have a chance to respond as I leapt for the toilet once again. I was a complete mess, sobbing in between my heaves and gripping Dean's outreached hand tightly with each lurch that racked my body. After a few more agonizing moments of that, I slithered down awkwardly to lie down on the floor, exhausted. I was vaguely aware of how disgustingly dirty the bathroom floor of the motel was, but I figured it couldn't have been any dirtier than I was at the moment, and frankly I just couldn't muster the will to care.

"Dean," I whimpered, curling into myself.

There was some shuffling from him and then he was sitting down on the floor against the bathtub, his legs stretched out in front of him. Suddenly his hands hooked underneath my armpits and he hauled me towards him till my head was resting on his lap. I tried to move but he gently pushed me back down.

"It's better than the floor," he told me in a quiet, somewhat withdrawn, voice.

"Please," I whispered miserably. "Promise you won't ever let me drink again."