Spoilers: tag-along to 3x16 'No Rest For The Wicked'
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Sad, I know.
Eight
First cup.
It was three in the morning. The rich aroma of coffee filled the small hotel room he'd cramped himself into. He couldn't sleep. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept. The coffee was hot, burning the back of his throat, but he didn't notice. It was too early –or too late—to notice anything. Not the ache in his side. Not the unsettling cold in the room. Not the silence.
Second cup.
He poured the second trying to remember if there had even been a first. He could feel the warm coffee in his stomach, but the lack of sleep had his mind playing tricks on him. He sipped at the coffee, still wondering, as headlights moved across the window. Who was even up at this time of night? He shook his head. He knew the answer.
Third cup.
Awareness was coming back to him. Memories were starting to peek out from the dark crevices of his mind. Stress from the never-ending string of jobs mixed with anxiety and loneliness. The silence was getting to him. He purposely tapped his foot against the ground to an unknown rhythm to keep the quiet at bay. Thoughts of turning on the radio or even the TV came to mind, but he didn't get up. He didn't know if he could get up.
Fourth cup.
He'd never liked coffee that much. Too…bitter. Even if you dumped sugar, cream, and chocolate into it…it was still bitter. But it kept him alert –for the most part—and conscious, whereas alcohol did the exact opposite. He'd much rather have whiskey…but beggars can't be choosers, right?
Fifth cup.
He was starting to lose count of how much he'd had. His mind was preoccupied with other things. Simple things. Happy things. The field they'd practically burned down on the Fourth of July. That winter in Texas where they had built a seven-foot tall snowman. The toy soldier crammed in the ash tray. He definitely wished he had whiskey.
Sixth cup.
The room was spinning. He felt jittery and wired, but exhausted all the same. All he wanted to do was sleep. And never wake up.
Seventh cup.
He was going to get him back. Whatever it took, he was going to do it. He didn't care if he died, as long as he died trying.
Eighth cup.
Dean.