Again, he felt something roughly hit him in the face. Jo's fist. Go figure. If he was sober enough to even consider it, he'd probably realize that he'd have more than a hangover when he woke up tomorrow. God, it was going to be an awful day for poor Sam.
"Stupid...stupid," Sam muttered, mostly to himself. When Jo reappeared at his side, he took her hand and, after a bit of a struggle, ended up on his feet. "You're not my mom," Sam grumbled. "She's dead. You can't tell me..." He swayed, then leaned against Jo for support. "...what to do. I'm older than you too." As if that would really make a difference.