Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Supernatural, no matter how much I wish I did. Everything belongs to Eric Kripke because Eric Kripke is God.
Two.
Dean signals the bartender to get him another beer. Actually, he hasn't even finished raising his hand when the beer slides down the bar, gliding into his hands.
One year. It had only been one year since Sam had jumped into the hole with Lucifer and Michael, but it feels like a lifetime to Dean.
Lisa hadn't asked where he was going this time. He's happy about that, because he didn't want to explain that he was going to the bar for the second time that day.
He tilts his head back, lips covering the bottle's tip, sucking the last drop out.
Five.
Another signal, another cold liquor. The nerves in his fingers tingle at the contact and the man sighs, resting his head against the back of his hand. The girl at the bar has long forgotten him, and he's fine with that. More than fine.
And that just brings on another wave of pain, because what happened to the times when it was Dean trying to get in the women's pants?
Seven.
Dean found out after the fifth beer that he doesn't need to ask for more; it was just a given. He doesn't know if its because every bartender that worked here knew him by name or if he just looks that pathetic. He can't even bring himself to care.
As always, he half-expects Sam's over-grown hand to land on his shoulder to pull him away from the bar. Three hundred and sixty-five days and he still can't shake that feeling.
Ten.
He's only distinctly aware of the people knocking into him. The bar stool has been wobbling beneath him for hours now. He keeps drinking.
Thirteen.
Another woman has come up to him, but he pays her no attention. He's drunk enough to take her home, but not drunk enough to forget that Lisa is his home.
Nineteen.
The new bartender doesn't like him. Probably because he's so drunk he can't speak or walk.
Twenty-six.
He raises his hand again, but the man shakes his head furiously. Dean's finally been cut off. He growls. He has a feeling that if the bartender knew why he was drinking, he wouldn't try and piss him off. No one should have to go through the anniversary of their little brother's death without liquor. It's not human.
Twenty-seven.
He found a woman and manipulated her to buy him another drink. He's pretty sure the bartender knows, from the way he's glaring. He checks his phone for the time and sees that, not only has he been there for hours, Lisa has tried to call forty times. Even in his drunken stupor, he feels guilty. She knows what today is, so he knows she's worrying her pretty little head off.
Twenty-eight.
A cold shock pushes its way through Dean's veins. A large hand places itself on his shoulder, and that really shouldn't be happening. Sammy is gone, dead. He doesn't want to turn around, but the man behind him doesn't seem to mind. He just grabs Dean's arm and pulls him out the bar door. He tries to look up at the stranger, but his vision is blurry. He does, however, know he's being pulled into an alley.
The man pulls Dean close to him and he feels the rush of hot breath hit the back of his neck. He gasps when he feels that uncomfortable, but really fucking familiar, swish of air and suddenly he knows who he's with and where he is. And he definitely isn't at Lisa's.
He hears the comforting, angry voice of Bobby Singer as he swears and helps Cas - because, really, how can even Dean doubt that the man he's clinging to is anyone but the angel? - carry Dean upstairs to his old room. They drop him carelessly on his bed and Dean feels this sensation of finally being home that he doesn't even mind.
He listens as Bobby asks what happened and he nearly sighs when he hears the deep voice that belongs to Cas. He groans out loud when Cas tells Bobby that Lisa had prayed to him about Dean and, for the first time, he regrets telling her about last year. He feels two fingers touch his forehead and he tries to get away, knowing that the angel was either trying to sober him up or force him to sleep and he isn't keen on doing either, but then Bobby is there and he's holding him still and, just like that, the world is cleared and he's left with a faint headache.
He scowls up at the two men and jerks free of their hold. He feels a little bad when he sees just how worried Bobby is and how confused Castiel looks, and he knows they understand what he's going through. And maybe that makes it worst.
Bobby stands to go back downstairs, stopping only to see if Castiel is following him but Cas is sitting still on the old bed and, somehow, Bobby understands the quiet angel and he just leaves the two men alone. Dean prepares himself for a lecture, yelling, punching. He prepares to be thrown against the wall and get yelled at for being so stupid, like Castiel did when he was prepared to say yes to Michael. But it never comes, and Dean slowly sinks to lay back down, throwing his arm over his eyes so Castiel doesn't see exactly how he's feeling.
He feels the mattress shift but says nothing as he feels Castiel lay down beside him. He's still prepared for the angel to say something comforting because, honestly, that's what Castiel does. It still doesn't come. The bed is cramped and way too small for both men to be laying on their backs and Castiel finds himself acting on Jimmy's leftover instincts, turning on his side and throwing his arm across Dean's abdomen, pulling him closer. He expects Dean to freak out and push him away, but instead Dean turns over as well , their faces nearly touching but not quite and Cas sees that Dean's eyelashes are wet but he says nothing, just leans forward slightly and presses his lips to the ex-hunter's forehead. Dean falls asleep, feeling more peaceful than he has in a very, very long time.
I was listening to the acoustic version of Lifehouse's "Storm" when I finished this up, hence the title. I began this months ago, and was going through my documents folder when I found it and for some reason, I'm really inspired today. I think I had planned for this to be kind of like the previous one, where it's all angsty and there's a hot make out session that probably would have included scratching and biting, but I like this version better, where it's angsty and sweet. Not really sure how I did on the angsty part, though. Anywho, I've gotta get back across the street and help sandbag some more (: Hope you guys enjoyed this, and please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes. I tried to fix all the ones I could, but I am human, y'know.