Life it seems, will fade away
Drifting further every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters no one else
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
Need the end to set me free
Things are not what they used to be
Missing one inside of me
Deathly lost, this can't be real
Cannot stand this hell I feel
Emptiness is filing me
To the point of agony
Growing darkness taking dawn
I was me, but now He's gone
No one but me can save myself, but it to late
Now I can't think, think why I should even try
Yesterday seems as though it never existed
Death Greets me warm, now I will just say good-bye
-Fade To Black, Metallica
Peter's Bar
Creston, NE
2:17 am
More Whiskey.
That was all he wanted.
Possibly some sex.
But that would involve flirting, which although he was quite good at, he was not at all in the mood for at the moment.
Or in general lately.
He couldn't remember the last time he had been with a woman.
He used to love to flirt.
But not anymore.
Ever since he had returned it was like his desire to do anything he used to enjoy had been left behind.
He kept up appearances for his brothers sake.
No need to worry his sensitive brain.
Plus the younger man would probably just try to analyze the situation.
And he didn't want to deal with the questions.
So when they were together, he would play the arrogant, flirtatious, sarcastic jackass that his brother was used to.
But when he was alone, like he was then, he'd sit quietly and drink his whiskey and hope that he'd feel something.
Anything.
He had taken to actually looking forward to getting hurt on hunts.
Because pain was better then nothing.
Oh my god.
He was emo.
In an act of desperation, he banged his head against the wooden bar, wincing at the slight pain it caused.
The bartender looked on with mild concern and a hint of amusement.
He wanted to tell him where he could shove it, but the other man held the gateway to his only access to whiskey for a 30 mile radius.
Peter's was the only bar in the podunk little town that they were staying in, and if the dead end on the job they were working continued, they were going to be in that town for awhile.
Of course, in order to try and complete the job, he had to get back to the hotel and get some sleep.
Downing the last of his whiskey, he threw some cash on the bar and nodded to the bartender.
He was walking out the door into the cold night air when his phone rang. He briefly considered letting it go to voicemail and giving himself a few more moments of solitude but quickly disregarded the thought as he glanced at the caller id.
"Yea, Sammy, what's up?" He asked gruffly.
He could almost hear his brothers annoyance before the other man even answered. "Dean! Where the hell are you?! You realize we have an appointment with the medical examiner at nine o'clock in the morning?"
Dean Winchester sighed and rubbed his eyes as he fumbled with his keys in the door. "Yea, I know, I know." He mumbled. "I'll be home in ten minutes."
"Good!" Sam huffed, before switching from concerned younger brother to hunting partner without missing a beat. "So, I've been researching more about the victims and while at first there's no obvious connection, when I dug deeper I found that all the victims were related. Its very distant though, the closest relationship was between the Miller girl and the farmer; they were fourth cousins twice removed. So, chances are the victims didn't even know they were related."
Dean rolled his eyes, finally managing to open the driver side door of his 1967 Chevy Impala. "Dude! There are 215 people in this town and most have been here for generations. Everyone's probably related!"
Dean was listening to Sam's retort when a high pitched scream suddenly resounded from the alley on side of the bar.
"… so stereotypical-"
"Shit! I gotta go Sam!" The elder brother said, cutting Sam off. "I'll call you back in a few minutes!" Dean tossed the cell phone into the backseat and took off running.
He saw them when he turned the corner.
The man was standing over the little girl, no more then three years old. He was roughly holding her arm so high over her head she was nearly being pulled off the ground. Her cheeks were wet with tears and one side of her face was red from where the man had just hit her.
Dean stepped in as the man raised his hand again. "Hey!" He grabbed the man's wrist tightly. "What do you think your doing?!"
"Get off me, man!" The other man said, dropping the little girl abruptly, and jerking his arm from Deans grasp. "The little bitch deserved it!"
"She's a baby! What the hell could she have possibly done to you? What kind of father are you, anyway? Its two am! She should be sleeping!" Dean practically roared, his protective nature quickly taking over as he bent down over the crying child.
Dean Winchester may be many things. Arrogant, sarcastic, a player, and a downright SOB, but never let it be said that he didn't have a heart. He was caring and fiercely protective, and always had a soft spot for children.
The little girl below him was obviously terrified. She was small and undernourished. She was wearing a tattered and ripped nightgown with no shoes and was covered in dirt and mud and god knows what else. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of fear, and she looked like she hadn't slept or eaten in days.
"First of all, its not mine," The man behind him interrupted his thoughts. "Her mother's a whore who owed me money for crack and left the little bitch with me for collateral. Then she ran off with half my stock of coke and left me with this thing that wont stop crying. But hey, you want her so bad, you can have her!"
Dean was so busy fuming at the tale he had just heard that it took him a moment to register the second part of the drug dealers statement. I've said it before and I'll say it again, He thought to himself. Demons I get, people are just crazy… wait… what?
He froze and turned around quickly as the words sunk in, but the dealer was nowhere in sight.
Shit… Now what?
