Dean exhaled, walking the length of the room once more, his tongue flicking out over his lips, hands in his pockets. Cocking his head to the side, tears well in his eyes as Sam's form enters his peripheral vision. He has to steel his jaw. Stopping dead in his tracks as a noise came from his brother's throat. Stopping dead. He laughed bitterly beneath his breath, licking his lips once more, pushing his hands back through his hair. He needed to get out of there. Clutching the keys in his pocket, he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly, leaning against the table. Ever since he got back…since he returned from hell, sleeping had most definitely been an issue, not that it had exactly been smooth sailing before, but he wasn't some whiny chick.

At that he snatched the keys from his pocket, heading straight for the door, only pausing briefly as Sam snorted, tilting his head to the side, his eyes tight shut, he opened the door without a backwards glance, the Impala his salvation, tapping the hood twice before getting in, "Come on baby, let's get out of here," tearing out of the motel car lot, already knowing he'd be back before dawn…

* * *

Cutting the engine, he tilted his head back, dragging his hand down his face, staring down at his boots, hands resting on his thighs, leaning back a little, before removing the keys from the ignition, letting his gaze drift to the neon sign tacked on to the front of this…establishment, as if on cue, the light flickers, humming, as if its mere existence wasn't worth it. But he'd seen what was on the other side, and from that point of view existence didn't seem too shabby. Or that was the theory. Pushing the door open, he bit his bottom lip as he allowed himself a quick scan of the bar, near to empty, "Huh," clearing his throat he walked on over to the bar, placing his hands down firmly against it.

"What'll it be.?"

"You got any whiskey?"

The barkeep reached under the counter, plonking down a bottle before him. Slapping his hand down on the bar, Dean left whatever cash he'd pulled from his pocket, swiping the bottle, "Keep the change," taking the glass with his other. He was about to take a swig when he saw her, tucked away in the corner, pretty little blonde, alone and with a look that could break the hardest of hearts. He stood up straighter, glancing down at the bottle in his hand, his tongue flicking out over his lips as he looked back up at her, she hadn't so much as flinched, much less taken register of his presence. She blinked, and if anything it only tore him a little more. He went to her, placing the bottle and the glass down on her table with the intent of breaking her from her reverie, her eyes slowly meeting his, anything he would normally say to such a beautiful girl far from his mind.

"Mind if I sit here? I just…" a hint of a laugh surfacing, a grin finding its way to his lips though it didn't quite reach his eyes, staring off into nothing he licked his lips, before catching her gaze once more, "This isn't exactly how I'd normally do this but…seeing you," he shook his head lightly, "I just can't allow someone as pretty as you to sit here, all alone..."

"Doesn't seem right."

She stopped to look at her hands. Something she seemed to be doing a lot more of lately. The tremor taking hold. Red coated, sticky with a tang of pennies. But there was nothing new about that. She knew the back of this box scrub 'til raw, repeat if necessary. And it was necessary. It never seemed to fade. There was always blood: the blood of those she'd slain, or simply beaten into oblivion. Her own warranting no further thought than her next move. Then there was the blood of those she loved. The ones she'd failed. The ones she couldn't save.

She turned the faucet, water spluttering to life, pounding down against the porcelain, once a gleaming white, tinted grey. Peeling off her shirt she dared to catch a glimpse in the mirror. Though she can't quite meet her eyes, afraid of what they might betray.

Stomach acid rose, burning its way through her throat, hitting the bowl with nothing but water and a breakfast, she couldn't quite remember eating, in accompaniment. Swiping the back of her hand across her lips, she grabbed a towel, blinking as it all washed away. Wishing it could be that simple.

* * *

She had never really been much of a drinker. Still wasn't. But there was something about these musty old bars that kept bringing her back. Not quite comfort, but an understanding of what hitting bottom meant. Although those that frequented these places , as much a fixture as the stale stench of beer and something she'd much rather stayed anonymous, seemed to find it necessary to swagger on over, and those favouring the hands on approach got a broken wrist and a face full of table to prove it.

But as she looked up at the man that now stood before her, a smile, decreasingly weary, crept onto her lips. Her eyes lingering on his before she stared down at her empty glass, biting her lower lip, a façade, her security blanket, slipping back into place, "You had me at hello…"

"…you know if you'd actually said hello, which you didn't, not that you have to, I mean who even uses that word anymore, it's a really, really dumb wor-…and ok Buffy shutting up now," her head hitting her hand. Great. The first welcome distraction she'd had in months and she already shifted gear into ramble mode. Slowly lowering her hand to meet his gaze once more.

Dean smiled warmly, genuinely for what felt like the first time in…well he didn't exactly keep track, "Jerry Maguire fan huh? I like it. Buffy?"

She nodded.

"Dean. May I?" he asked as he pulled out the chair.

"Go ahead. Dean," repeating his name softly, more to herself, and he liked the way it sounded.

Pouring himself some whiskey, proffering her a glass, "Hit me," Buffy smiled, a sadness still tinting her eyes, though she masked it from her voice.

"So what are you doing in a dump like this?" he asked, watching as she let her index finger trace the rim of her glass.

"Wallowing," her casual reply to which Dean arched his brow, "What like only men can come to the shallowest dive they can find to drown their sorrows?"

"Don't get me wrong here, I'm an equal opportunist wallow-er, just…" he smiled, shrugging a little.

"Oh you meant the why with the wallowing…that why?" she eyed him thoughtfully, she was definitely intrigued, this being the sort of question she expected most men to avoid, and the sort of question she wasn't so sure she felt like answering…Dean interrupting her train of thought.

"I'm sorry. I…"

"No. No. You don't have to apologise. I just…broken," barely nodding her head, meeting his gaze, she shook it all off with a smile, "You?"

"Hell."

"Been there. And they're not so much with the novelty t-shirts. Which maybe they should look into, I mean for the fashion conscious that'd be big with the torture."

Cute and funny. Dean couldn't help but grin, though it faded a little quicker than usual. His eyes finding their way to his glass as he swished its contents from side to side, letting it drop back down, he placed his hand down flat against the less than smooth table. Curling his fingers into a fist. What was wrong with him? Besides the obvious.

At Dean's retreat into himself Buffy could have sworn that she felt her heart break all over again, though she knew it couldn't be possible, there was nothing left to break. But that she could feel it? Given its current condition? That was something. And after all hadn't he just saved her from her own reverie?

She reached across the table with trepidation, snatching her hand back a couple of times, unnoticed, before extending her hand fully, her fingers brushing gently against the back of his hand before hers rested upon it. The sensation of it catching Dean off guard. Dean's shoulders tensed, his breath sharp on the intake, his eyes finding their way back to hers, the smallest of smiles struggling to remain on her face, the corners of her lips trembling slightly. And it was then he realised that his were too, his tongue flicking out over them. Some how she knew. How was that even possible?

Giving his hand a squeeze, her voice softer than her touch, "Maybe we should get out of here."