Cherry Pie

Sticks n' Stones

[Dean]

It didn't take long for her to get smashed. 

We both had three shots of whiskey, and I could have kept going and felt completely fine, but Rayne was barely sitting upright. The fact that we had pumped her full of nearly all the painkillers that we could find the minute we got back to Bobby's house probably added to the effect. In retrospect, the drinking might not have been the greatest decision after all.

Her wounds were nasty, however, and mixed with the all too fresh grief of losing her mother, I couldn't blame her for turning to alcohol. But Sam could  blame me, it seemed, for giving in to her desperate pleas. And blame me he did.

[Rayne]

I was drunk. 

I was more than aware of that on some level. On another level, however, I was wondering why my head was spinning, why my stomach was churning, and why the stupid, stupid pain in my chest wasn't going away. For some reason, I couldn't make the connection between all of those things.

The alcohol didn't end up making it better. Not even a little bit. Instead of helping me forget, the reminder of my dead mother — somehow even more so intensified by the effects of alcohol — filled every spot in my mind and left me unable to think of much else. I was trapped in a dizzying prison that I couldn't get out of. I couldn't even form a clear enough sentence to ask someone to break me out.

I was drunk and I was more miserable than before.

[Dean]

The minute he and Bobby came back from properly disposing of the Wendigo's body, Sam was on my ass for giving Rayne whiskey in her condition. The girl in question was way past noticing at that point and didn't put up much of a protest when Sam snatched the shot glass from her hand and Bobby put away the bottle.

But neither of them were there when she was begging for me to give her the drink. They didn't see how broken and desperate she looked. I mostly allowed it because I had the strongest urge to get drunk myself. I couldn't stand seeing her that way.

[Sam]

"Get her to bed, Dean," I said firmly, pointing in the direction of the stairs. "Now!"

Her ratty hair hanging in dull strands around her pale face, the dark circles under her glazed-over eyes...how my idiot brother arrived at the conclusion that it was a good idea to give her alcohol in her state was beyond me.

"Dude, chill," he replied as he helped Rayne stand. Actually, he was pretty much doing the standing for her — her knees kept buckling every time he tried to let go.

The bandage that I thought I'd wrapped tightly around her chest was starting to come undone, and I couldn't quite suppress a loud sigh as I ran a weary hand down my face. Sewing up Dean's girlfriend's exposed chest was awkward enough the first time. There was no way I was going to be doing it again. "And redo her bandage," I barked after him as he carried her upstairs.

He was supposed to be the oldest one, and yet there I was, having to make sure he didn't do something equally as stupid as Rayne had...again.

I couldn't stop thinking about her jumping at the Wendigo. It was almost like she did it simply because she didn't want to listen to my instructions — like she would've rather gone to the monster than to me.

In the silence left behind by their departure, I wondered if maybe she now considered the monster and I to be one and the same.

[Rayne]