This one is for Onyx Moonbeam, who is so lovely and kind hearted. Thanks for that. Enjoy.

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Dean stumbles over his own feet and pitches forward, limbs protesting coordination, hurtling him in slow motion toward the cold Earth.

He meets the ground hard, with a low groan. The gravel he hits scraping through the denim of his jeans, digging into his flesh through the coarse fabric.

He feels his stomach lurch and suddenly he is heaving.

Dinner, lunch, and everything in between, expelled in rancid wave after wave of sickness.

His head throbs in time with the spinning of his stomach.

Collapse is imminent.

Strong arms catch him as he starts to fall, pulling him to safety.