Well, the good news is that Dad's alive, so that’s got to count for something, right? Dean does his best to ignore the hard-edged truth of their new reality. John undoubtedly knows exactly how desperate they’ve been. He just isn’t motivated enough to pick up his goddamn phone. As they pull away from the airport and head east, Sam seems to be doing okay, maybe even better than Dean, at least on the surface. They drive slowly, choosing scenic back roads instead of the highway. Dean blasts Zeppelin II with the windows rolled down and tries not to think about how much this hurts.
Gradually falling into an uncomfortable silence, Sam fidgets with the map while avoiding eye contact. Plotting out routes Dean has no intention of following, it only takes a day and a half before the growing tension between them becomes palpable. Increasingly aware of the anger building within Sam, Dean suspects his brother’s personification of an angst-ridden volcano might be funny under different circumstances.
His little brother has never been good at hiding his emotions. Dean knows it's only a matter of time before Sam’s frustration boils over, and he explodes. But it will probably work out eventually because it always does. They just need time to lick their wounds and remember they’re better on their own. Besides, John has a long-established history of pulling this kind of shit. His unexplainable absences have been commonplace since early childhood, most notably around their birthdays, all major holidays, and the entire month of November.
About a week after the whole demon plane thing, Sam loses his appetite, stops sleeping, and regresses back into a depressed teenager. Dean realizes just how much everything sucks while driving endless circles around rural Pennsylvania and living exclusively out of the car. His back hurts, his clothes need to be washed, and his self-confidence is at an all-time low. To make matters worse, Dean finds he cannot stop replaying John's new voicemail message over and over on a continuous loop.
Focusing solely on inflection and tone, Dean loses whole days obsessing over the hidden meaning behind the words. As though decrypting these subtle nuances might solve the mystery of where they should go next. When his denial gives way to apathy and despair, Dean spirals hard. Struggling to accept anything besides his perceived shortcomings, he knows John’s absence is probably somehow his fault.
The worst part is how frequently this kind of thing happens to Dean. Almost as though his entire life has been a revolving door of people pretending to care, then bailing when shit hits the fan. Whether it's teachers, girlfriends, or even other hunters who just weren't cut out for the life, everyone has a reason to give up on him and leave. The incessant pain of abandonment has become Dean’s constant in recent years. It looms over every relationship he’s ever tried to pursue. The lingering echoes of past betrayals impair even his simplest interactions, intensifying Dean's inability to trust anyone enough for genuine connection.
Dean feels overwhelmingly stuck, sitting on the hood of the Impala alone. He reevaluates all the choices that led him to this point. Staring into the amber depths of a half-empty bottle, marinating in depression and single-malt whiskey, Dean tries to imagine a future where he finally breaks free from this endless cycle of crap.
“There’s always gonna be something to hunt,” Dean whispers to himself.
The cool night air wraps around him in an unwelcome embrace as he raises the bottle to his lips. After another long, bitter sip, Dean makes peace with needing a break. With newfound determination, he stands up, letting the empty bottle fall to the ground and break. Ambling toward the Impala, Dean fumbles with his car keys. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and slides into the driver's seat. Glancing over his shoulder in the back, Dean smiles at Sam as he sleeps, his heart already set on a long, overdue road trip to Atlantic City.
The drive to New Jersey is only about four hours away, and Dean figures that will be more than enough time to stuff down all his touchy-feely emotional crap without anyone being the wiser. What's better still is that Sam has no objections about their sudden change of plans. Dean tries not to worry after a Biggersons lunch stop outside Philly when Sam’s still moody as hell. But when they hit Route 76, Dean is pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to ignore everything bad by focusing on all the booze, blackjack, and beach stuff waiting for them.
When they roll into town a couple of hours later, it's just after sunset. Dean finds a fantastic deal on a motel conveniently close to everything and is eager to unwind. After unpacking, Dean tosses his duffle on the bed closest to the door, already opting to skip a shower in favor of grabbing some food. Everything’s almost sunshine and strippers for the first time in months until Sam snaps, and Dean can’t seem to grasp his brother's resistance to fun.
"How about we hit the town, Sammy? I know a casino with free drinks and a buffet right around the corner if you're up for some high-stakes action."
Instead of answering, Sam sighs heavily and looks away as he reclines on his bed. An awkward silence blooms between them, threatening to ruin everything.
"Guess maybe I'll head out on my own then," Dean says loudly, attempting to sound far more confident than he actually feels.
Grabbing his jacket, Dean looks back at his brother, and even though he sees storm clouds hovering above them, the sting of disappointment becomes too much to bear.
"Come on, Sammy, life's too short to be so uptight about... everything."
"No, Dean. Life's too short to keep pretending like Dad is ever coming back," Sam says without bothering to meet his brother’s gaze.
Dean's banter falters momentarily as hints of pain flash across his face. One hand instinctively finds the back of his neck, trying to soothe his fraying nerves. Dean can't help but feel a twinge of vulnerability as he fails to articulate how badly he needs this right now. Sam may not fully understand the full extent of hunting burnout yet, but the reality is folks die bloody more often than not. Maintaining longevity in this lifestyle isn't possible if you don’t at least let yourself pull off the road to blow off some steam occasionally.
"Look, I'm just trying to make the most of what we've got going on right now. Seriously, Sammy, it’s not like we don’t work as hard as anyone else. Why can’t we take a break sometimes?"
Sam's frustration boils over instantly, propelling him off the bed and into Dean's space.
"You think I don't wanna relax sometimes, Dean? You have no idea how much I wish I could. But I can’t just fall into a bottle and drink my feelings the way you do whenever things get tough."
Anger simmers through Dean from his clenched jaw down his spine. This is not the scenario he anticipated, and his patience with Sam's emotional bullshit is wearing thin.
"Watch yourself, Sam. You don't understand the half of what—"
"Oh really, Dean? I might understand more than you think," Sam says firmly.
"I can accept that Dad’s an alcoholic and that it makes him unreliable at best, but it’s really sad to see you doing exactly the same thing!"
The room falls into an uneasy silence as tensions hang thick in the air. Their argument has taken an unexpectedly serious turn, leaving Dean speechless and unsure how to retaliate.
"Goddammit, Sam," Dean says, trying to ignore the pit of sadness opening inside his chest.
Sam falls silent, but his eyes stay locked on Dean’s like he’s waiting for a physical fight. Shit was not supposed to go down this way, and suddenly Dean’s so completely done with all of it. Without another word, he swipes his keys off the bedside table and storms out.
Dean makes it half a block before needing to pull over and remember how to breathe. When he looks up, he's met with the shimmering lights of a bar just across the street. Although the irony isn't lost on him, Dean goes in anyway. Pushing through the front door, the ambiance of stale beer and lingering cigarette smoke leaves much to be desired, but Dean slides onto the nearest barstool anyway.
Before Dean realizes it, there’s a familiar burning sensation down the back of his throat, and all of Sammy’s hurtful words have finally started to fade. By shot number three, he’s become way more comfortable in his own skin. Numb is the closest to anything Dean’s been able to feel in a long time now. So when someone offers to buy another round, Dean just winks and flashes his signature smile. Despite unknowns and implications, he’s never been picky enough to turn down free booze from a stranger.
As the night unfolds, Dean becomes an equal-opportunity charmer, flirting with everyone regardless of gender. When a tall guy in his thirties casually throws an arm around him, Dean leans into the touch rather than pulling away. The shots keep flowing until the room spins, and there is a heavy curtain between himself and where his consciousness should be. Welcoming whatever comfort he can find, Dean gives himself over to lust and desire, readily accepting the first invitation he receives.
Dean awakens with a pounding headache and a sense of disorientation as sunlight filters through the window. His memories are a jumble of hazy fragments, like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit. There's a person beside him, face down and wrapped in bedding. Their features are an unrecognizable blend of masculine and feminine traits. His stomach twists with apprehension when they begin to stir, and before Dean knows it, he's already halfway through his walk of shame.
Sam’s relief upon his return is apology enough, and Dean’s more than willing to forgive and forget. While his brother goes for coffee, Dean lets himself sink into the mattress, the weight of exhaustion settling in. Gravity’s already holding a personal grudge, and all he can do is bury himself beneath the pillows and hope not to puke. He’s not ready to admit it just yet, but there might be some validity to his brother’s concerns. Rather than dwelling on any of that, however, Dean tucks it away and surrenders to sleep instead.
annaxmalina
titsay
gummygunk
stormborns
snowghoul
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
discoholicmusic
