You barely drank. Not anymore, anyways. So it was a shock to your system when Jo had invited you out for the night and you had drunk several shots of a brightly colored substance that tasted of sour apple and jet fuel. Everything felt so slow. You couldn't get your words out right on the phone with Dean, and he was worried. You had promised him you wouldn't drink too much but Jo had coerced you into it, and damn was he pissed. Back at the motel, Dean was holding your hair as you finished vomiting everything you'd drank.

"That's it baby…doin' so good f'me."

He wipes your mouth with a piece of toilet paper, holding a glass of water to your lips.

"Swish out the taste, okay? It's okay sweetheart, you're gonna be okay."

Dean sighed, holding you close. He knew how scared you probably were right now. You had told him once that back in college you always got really anxious and scared when you were drunk. He hears you whimper softly after you spit out the water in the toilet and he kisses your temple.

"Hey, don't. You're alright. Doin' so good, honey. Don't get fussy, I'm gonna get you a trash can for bed, okay? You're gonna be just fine. M'gonna take care of my girl."

He flushes the toilet and gingerly picks you up.