Pills and Beer
I don't own Dean
or Sam. Just for fun!
Came to me while I was pondering the reason that Dean took pain killers and had a beer every now and then.
Dean sat in a crappy hotel chair. Sam was out getting some information on their last gig and he needed to rest. The whole world seemed to be making him spin in every which way, except the way of sleep. And that's what he needed most.
Dean silently grabbed the pill bottle out of his first aid kit and opened it. He downed three pills and closed the bottle. That should keep him asleep for awhile. What did he need to do next? He looked around the room and walked toward the mini fridge in the corner. He opened the door to revel about three packs of soda and an assortment of snacks. Way in the back was two beers. Dean grabbed the beers and sat on the edge of his bed.
He opened the first and downed it in no time. Hopefully the pills would be working soon. He took his shoes and socks off then started on his pants. He took his shirt off and sat on the edge of his bed. He was now wearing boxers. Just boxers. (A/N: Yummmmm! Lol)
Dean grabbed the second beer and took a sip. The beer had the nastiest taste he had ever tasted, but he always drank them. Just to keep him alive. Keep him sane. You see, Dean never enjoyed drinking beer or any alcohol. At all. But if he drank it, he never had dreams. Not once. Never had a dream about seeing his mother on the ceiling. Never had a dream about things before they happened. Not once. The pills and drinks always worked. Always.
Dean finished his beer and got under the covers of his hotel bed. Sleep would soon come to claim him and he wished it even sooner. As he pulled the covers up to his chin, he thought about when he first started downing pills and drinking. He must have been about thirteen when he first found out that the pills could stop his dreams. Before that he dreamt about everything and anything. He dreamt about assassinations before they happened. He dreamt about his mom's funeral. He dreamt about Sammy being born. He dreamt about it all. And some of it had to end. So he started popping pills like no tomorrow. Maybe a year later he started with the beer. Just because it drowned out all his feelings, all his pain.
And he kept doing it. So when Sam admitted to having dreams, he offered pills and booze. But you know Sammy. Never trying to drink or take illegal drugs. Always obeying the law. Never going wild and streaking (which Dean first tried with his girlfriend at 14). Never drinking or popping prescription pills. Nope, not Sam.
Sleep was edging near and Dean knew it would be peaceful. No tossing and turning. No waking in the middle of the night. No squirming in bed, afraid of the dark. And of course, no screaming. He'd fall asleep and be quiet and peaceful and tranquil the whole night.
Before he drifted away, he had but one thought. Thank god for pain killers.