Post by Timur on Jan 5, 2017 23:06:01 GMT
Dean Winchester was an interesting person. You didn't find many like him. Ex vampire. Ex Jefferson starship. Ex demon. Died more times than one can count. Had the mark of Cain. Killed death. He was one of a kind.
Part of Dean Winchester was that outside of bar hookups and interviews for cases, he wasn't the most social person. He liked the times when it was just him and his brother Sam, hitting the open road with little to do than salt and burn a body. There he could just blast the music as loud as he wanted and not worry about someone telling him to turn it down once Sam had given up on doing so. There he could be him, and not be judged, not have to worry much about other people. Unless of course a case went wrong, but that was besides the point.
Now the job was a lot more complicated, in more ways than one.
It wasn't just the fact that there was apocalypses and new creatures and weird diseases and horsemen. It wasn't just that he discovered he had a daughter. If it was just Alula, he would be fine. One more person isn't a big deal. One more person he could handle, even if they had gotten off to a rough start. Sam had a girlfriend who hung around? He was cool with that, even if she wasn't fully human she was one hell of a hunter.
It was when they kept on taking in more people and more people that he had a problem. Now there was Lucifer's children running around, part of the fake ah crew- whatever the hell that was, Dean thought - the people Cas had requested they take in, and don't even get him started on the various animals now running around the bunker. It was then that he couldn't handle it. Too many people in one place. It felt like he saw someone he hadn't met before every time he turned the corner.
At first he protested. Tried to put his foot down. Dean did not want all these people around, all these people doing whatever the hell they did. They were loud and annoying, and when they drove it felt like there were too many people in his Baby. It stressed him out, and he didn't like it. So he tried to say no, tried to get them to go away, but now he was powerless. He couldn't get them to listen.
Then people started undermining him. He liked to think of himself as the head. Alula wants a Cofficat, he says no, Sam smuggles it in anyways. Children of the devil start popping up and hanging around, he tells them to go away, they don't. He says that the hellhound needs to go, it doesn't. He tells lark to go away she doesn't, and started calling things weird names. At least Dean Jr seemed to be quiet and in his room. Dean didn't know why he was like that but at this point it was one less person up his ass so he just let him do his thing. Coloring books and apple juice wasn't that expensive anyways, just a trip to the dollar store.
Now, there was just too many people. He felt like he couldn't get a moment to himself, a moment without seeing an empty bunker.
He needed to get out.
So how would he get out? The only way he knew. That meant trips to the local bar.
At first, it wasn't much. Just grab some beer, hit on the ladies, he was good. It felt great to finally get away and get some space to himself. Sure the bar could get crowded, but that was probably the one place he liked crowded. Sometimes he came home in the morning, sometimes he didn't. Sam knew what to do if he was away for too long.
Then he went more often. He felt happy at the bar, he could just let loose and be himself. They had good music too, and when he was drunk the karaoke was amazing. Getting drunk seemed to be the best option. There was a ton of people when he tried to work a case, so that wasn't an option. So he went to the bar and did his thing. If he died and went to heaven, this would be his heaven.
Of course, there was still the ocassional celebratory drinks when a hard hunt went well or one of them decided screw it, they needed to celebrate something. But that didn't happen more than usual, and it didn't effect Dean much positivity in the long run. Sure he got to let loose and blame it on whatever they had in the bunker, but there was still a lot of people and it wasn't as fun bad it had been when it was just him and Sam, or even just him, Sam, lark, fawn, and Benedict. So he still made his trips to the bar- he had become a regular after all.
It started to show in the bunker. Dean was around less and less. He stuck around for cases of course, even if there was a lot of people killing something was a good option. He came home from the bar, when he did come home during the night, drunk and sometimes passed out before he reached his bed. When he didn't he would try to engage in a karaoke contest or something stupid- like who could shoot the best shot or who could run faster. Of course if anyone ever did take him up on these challenges he lost, shooting was hard when drunk. And he'd wake up the next morning with a hangover and benched for at least an hour.
However there were still times when he was sober, but during that he was itching for his next beer. Yes, he had always had an alcohol dependency, but now it was getting out of hand. Sam had tried to talk to him about it but he had blown him off, saying that he was peachy. (yeah, when you're not drunk, Sam had thought) His younger brother was worried, but Dean thought he was just fine. He felt amazing, better than he had in years. For all the wrong reasons of course, but Dean didn't like about why, he just thought that he was. Sam tried to tell him that this was getting out of hand, Dean brushed that off too. Sam tried to tell him that he was worried for him, Dean told him that he shouldn't be. It was a hopeless argument for Sam, and even though he had tried several times to get Dean to see sense he had failed. Every single time.
Sam didn't respond to the influx of people like Dean had, mostly because at first he had had fawn, and now he was busy trying to make it up to fawn, what he had taken away from her and how much of a dick he had been. Sometimes he'd go to the bar with Dean, sometimes alone, but not much more than usual. Sam had a distraction from the people, he was fine on that end, but he had his own problems to deal with. Dean didn't have a distraction. So he made one.
And here he was again, same old same old. It was early in the morning and he pulled into the driveway even though he wasn't supossed to be driving(he was too drunk and tired to care), and would stumble his way down the bunker stairs with a bottle of beer clenched in his hands. He felt amazing, but he didn't look too hot. His hair was ruffled up as if the wind had been pounding through it, and his face was covered in mud because he had tripped and fell. He even had a black eye because someone had pushed him the wrong direction in the bar and a fight broke out. His clothes were wrinkled and a tad rumpled as if they hadn't been washed in a bit, also mostly covered in mud from his fall. The mud was drying, but Dean didn't care. Right now all he wanted was to either sing karaoke or pass out in his bedroom, specifically, led Zepplin or ACDC.
Part of Dean Winchester was that outside of bar hookups and interviews for cases, he wasn't the most social person. He liked the times when it was just him and his brother Sam, hitting the open road with little to do than salt and burn a body. There he could just blast the music as loud as he wanted and not worry about someone telling him to turn it down once Sam had given up on doing so. There he could be him, and not be judged, not have to worry much about other people. Unless of course a case went wrong, but that was besides the point.
Now the job was a lot more complicated, in more ways than one.
It wasn't just the fact that there was apocalypses and new creatures and weird diseases and horsemen. It wasn't just that he discovered he had a daughter. If it was just Alula, he would be fine. One more person isn't a big deal. One more person he could handle, even if they had gotten off to a rough start. Sam had a girlfriend who hung around? He was cool with that, even if she wasn't fully human she was one hell of a hunter.
It was when they kept on taking in more people and more people that he had a problem. Now there was Lucifer's children running around, part of the fake ah crew- whatever the hell that was, Dean thought - the people Cas had requested they take in, and don't even get him started on the various animals now running around the bunker. It was then that he couldn't handle it. Too many people in one place. It felt like he saw someone he hadn't met before every time he turned the corner.
At first he protested. Tried to put his foot down. Dean did not want all these people around, all these people doing whatever the hell they did. They were loud and annoying, and when they drove it felt like there were too many people in his Baby. It stressed him out, and he didn't like it. So he tried to say no, tried to get them to go away, but now he was powerless. He couldn't get them to listen.
Then people started undermining him. He liked to think of himself as the head. Alula wants a Cofficat, he says no, Sam smuggles it in anyways. Children of the devil start popping up and hanging around, he tells them to go away, they don't. He says that the hellhound needs to go, it doesn't. He tells lark to go away she doesn't, and started calling things weird names. At least Dean Jr seemed to be quiet and in his room. Dean didn't know why he was like that but at this point it was one less person up his ass so he just let him do his thing. Coloring books and apple juice wasn't that expensive anyways, just a trip to the dollar store.
Now, there was just too many people. He felt like he couldn't get a moment to himself, a moment without seeing an empty bunker.
He needed to get out.
So how would he get out? The only way he knew. That meant trips to the local bar.
At first, it wasn't much. Just grab some beer, hit on the ladies, he was good. It felt great to finally get away and get some space to himself. Sure the bar could get crowded, but that was probably the one place he liked crowded. Sometimes he came home in the morning, sometimes he didn't. Sam knew what to do if he was away for too long.
Then he went more often. He felt happy at the bar, he could just let loose and be himself. They had good music too, and when he was drunk the karaoke was amazing. Getting drunk seemed to be the best option. There was a ton of people when he tried to work a case, so that wasn't an option. So he went to the bar and did his thing. If he died and went to heaven, this would be his heaven.
Of course, there was still the ocassional celebratory drinks when a hard hunt went well or one of them decided screw it, they needed to celebrate something. But that didn't happen more than usual, and it didn't effect Dean much positivity in the long run. Sure he got to let loose and blame it on whatever they had in the bunker, but there was still a lot of people and it wasn't as fun bad it had been when it was just him and Sam, or even just him, Sam, lark, fawn, and Benedict. So he still made his trips to the bar- he had become a regular after all.
It started to show in the bunker. Dean was around less and less. He stuck around for cases of course, even if there was a lot of people killing something was a good option. He came home from the bar, when he did come home during the night, drunk and sometimes passed out before he reached his bed. When he didn't he would try to engage in a karaoke contest or something stupid- like who could shoot the best shot or who could run faster. Of course if anyone ever did take him up on these challenges he lost, shooting was hard when drunk. And he'd wake up the next morning with a hangover and benched for at least an hour.
However there were still times when he was sober, but during that he was itching for his next beer. Yes, he had always had an alcohol dependency, but now it was getting out of hand. Sam had tried to talk to him about it but he had blown him off, saying that he was peachy. (yeah, when you're not drunk, Sam had thought) His younger brother was worried, but Dean thought he was just fine. He felt amazing, better than he had in years. For all the wrong reasons of course, but Dean didn't like about why, he just thought that he was. Sam tried to tell him that this was getting out of hand, Dean brushed that off too. Sam tried to tell him that he was worried for him, Dean told him that he shouldn't be. It was a hopeless argument for Sam, and even though he had tried several times to get Dean to see sense he had failed. Every single time.
Sam didn't respond to the influx of people like Dean had, mostly because at first he had had fawn, and now he was busy trying to make it up to fawn, what he had taken away from her and how much of a dick he had been. Sometimes he'd go to the bar with Dean, sometimes alone, but not much more than usual. Sam had a distraction from the people, he was fine on that end, but he had his own problems to deal with. Dean didn't have a distraction. So he made one.
And here he was again, same old same old. It was early in the morning and he pulled into the driveway even though he wasn't supossed to be driving(he was too drunk and tired to care), and would stumble his way down the bunker stairs with a bottle of beer clenched in his hands. He felt amazing, but he didn't look too hot. His hair was ruffled up as if the wind had been pounding through it, and his face was covered in mud because he had tripped and fell. He even had a black eye because someone had pushed him the wrong direction in the bar and a fight broke out. His clothes were wrinkled and a tad rumpled as if they hadn't been washed in a bit, also mostly covered in mud from his fall. The mud was drying, but Dean didn't care. Right now all he wanted was to either sing karaoke or pass out in his bedroom, specifically, led Zepplin or ACDC.