You had picked up on smoking weed in order to calm your premonitions. The visions had been giving you terrible migraines accompanied with nausea. You were often lying in bed instead of helping Dean figure out cases. It was miserable for you and it irritated Dean-- even if you couldn't help it.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, walking into the hotel room.

You were holding a cig when he walked in. Before you could even try to hide it, he had seen it and was staring at it. Moving quickly, he walked over and grabbed your wrists tightly before he took the cigarette and examined it.

"That's why it reeks." Dean scoffed, smashing the cigarette in the ashtray.

When he finally turned back to you, he slapped you across the face, knocking you back into the wall. It took you a few minutes to pick yourself back up, but when you did, Dean shoved you back into the wall, holding you by the shirt collar.

"I know my little brother, he can barely hold two beers, what makes you think you can hold smoking? What the hell are you thinking, Sam?" Dean yelled, shoving you harder into the wall. He took a step back and threw his hands up.

"Is this why you've been bedridden for the past few days? You lyin' to me about your premonitions?" Dean barked out as he grabbed a beer from the counter.