"Next please?"
A man walked up to the quiet, 'romantically' lit bar, a pretty lady on his arm. "Yeah, hi, can I get a Johnny Black on the rocks and a glass of white?"
"Coming up."
It had a nice, calming atmosphere. There were candlelit booths, assisted by dim lights. Stools lined the bar. A loud shout came from the end of the bar.
"Hey!" The man growled. "I asked for that shot of whiskey a half hour ago!" the deep slur in his voice was all to apparent. He'd been slumped down there for a while.
"Yes sir," a young woman working the bar replied. "And I told you that I'm not serving blind-ass drunk customers." she pointed to a plaque behind her. "Company policy, sorry." she went back to cleaning used glasses directly across from the bar.
He grumbled again, staring deep into the depths of his empty glass. "Whatever." he sighed sadly, flicking the shot glass in front of him towards the other side of the bar. He stood up and, slowly, stumbled to the door. He walked a couple of blocks and found another bar. "This one better fucking serve me..." he growled under his breath, plopping down on another stool at the end of the bar. "Can I get a shot of Whiskey and a beer? Whatever you have..."
"Sure, just give me a moment and I'll be right with you."
"Thank you."
An hour later, the bell rang for last orders. He figured he'd get a fresh beer and stay until closing time. It wasn't like he had anything else better to do. Sure, he had friends, a partner... but, none of them seemed to matter to him tonight. He felt so lost. When you get news like he just got, nothing else matters. Nothing can heal the burning, stinging pain that it gives you.
"Are you alright?" the barmaid asked him.
He'd laid his head down sideways on the bar, staring at his beer. "Yeah, I guess." he replied, voice low and empty.
"My name's Rachel." she offered kindly, coming around the side of the bar.
He gave her a soft, kind smile. "Dean." he didn't lift his head.
"You look like you need somebody, Dean."
"That obvious?"
Rachel nodded. "I watched you come in, muttering to yourself, looking like someone just killed your cat or something."
He chuckled dryly, humourlessly, at her comment. "Worse."
"Oh." she gulped. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"
Dean finally brought his head up and shook it gingerly in acknowledgment. "Nah, I got it." he held up his phone with a shake.
"Okay, well, if you need anything..."
"Another beer?" he asked hopefully, hoping she'd oblige.
"I can get you an unfermented, hop and alcohol free beer..." she grinned flirtatiously.
"Water." he scoffed.
"Yeah. I can't stand people puking in my bar."
Dean smiled, he needed that. A little perk in his very lonely, very drunken night. "Okay." he began to text a message on his phone.
'Can you come and get me?'
He placed it down on the bar and almost instantly watched the screen flash back at him.
'Where are you?'
"Uh, um..." he pointed in Rachel's direction, her name not present in his mind.
"Rachel." she smiled.
"Yeah, Rach... uh, what's the name of this place?"
"Temple Bar."
"Thanks."
'Temple Bar. I'm not even sure where the hell it is.'
'I'll find it.'
"Who was that?" she asked softly.
"My ride." he grinned, sipping the water she'd placed in front of him.
She smiled. "Ah."
A few minutes later, Dean received a final text.
'I think I'm outside.'
"Well, that's my cue." Dean announced loudly, startling Rachel and another barman. "Nice to meet you I guess."
He stumbled out, looking over and seeing his partner standing outside the car. "In."
The door was opened for him and he crawled into the car, tail firmly tucked between his legs. "I'm sorry, Roman."
"Me too." Roman sighed.
"What for?" Dean asked quietly, head resting on his knees as Roman turned the keys in the ignition.
The larger man sighed deeply, pulling away from the roadside. "I... I know about Keith."
He sat quietly, not looking at Roman at all. "Yeah?" his tone was expressionless, a lump growing in his throat.
"Debbie called. Asking for you. I asked why and she told me everything." Roman admitted, reaching to his side and gently clasping Dean's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
Dean's face darkened further. He felt sick. Not like he was going to throw up, just sick. He stared blankly out of the window into the darkness. A slow rock song was playing quietly on the radio, he tuned into it and just sat there all the way back to his and Roman's place, holding his hand tightly over the stick-shift.
When he pulled into the garage, Roman looked over at Dean and lightly tapped their hands on the stick. "Come on, let's get you inside." He watched him nod as he opened the door and slid out. He did the same and wrapped his arm around Dean, steadying his drunken form as they walked to the door. Once inside, Roman guided Dean to the sofa before going to the fridge and grabbing two sodas. He sat down next to him and moved to hand him a can.
A silent trail of tears tripped down Dean's cheek. It was hitting him.
"Dean?" he put the cans down on the coffee table and pulled him into his arms.
His chest lurched with a sob. "I'm never... never riding a train again." he pressed his forehead against Roman's expansive chest and wrapped his arms tight around him, fisting his hands in his t-shirt.
Roman gently rubbed Dean's back, looking upset for him. "I don't think I want to either."
"He has kids. A wife... fuck..." he growled sadly into his lover's skin.
"I know, baby." he kissed the crown of his head and rested his head there.
Dean's voice was thick with anger and upset. "He wasn't even thirty. He was so young... I don't even..." he looked up at Roman and put his hand on his cheek. The tears were flowing freely down his face, his cheeks soaked. "Rome..." he sobbed.
"Shhhh... I've got you." he held Dean tight, cradling the back of his head in his large hand. He peppered his cheek with soft kisses.
"I don't know what I'd have done. If it was you..." Dean whimpered, leaning against him.
"Well, it's not." he whispered, smoothing his back.
He sighed, sitting back away from Roman, drying his cheeks with the back of his hand. His stomach lurched suddenly. "Bathroom."
Roman darted up, bundling Dean up in his arms and quickly carrying him to the bathroom. He placed him down near to toilet and let him purge the night's excesses. He gently rubbed circles on his back, helping him through it, moving a few strands of sweaty hair from his forehead. "Let it go." he whispered. He wasn't the greatest fan of Dean when he was drunk but, he could understand it this time. He wanted to help this time.
When he was done, Roman wet a flannel and wiped Dean's face clean, propping him up on the toilet seat. He looked into his sad, pained eyes and rinsed the flannel, wringing it out and washing Dean's sticky forehead. "You should've come to me."
"I wasn't thinking." Dean replied quietly. "I got out of work... got a call from Joe-" he took a deep breath in through his nose and scrubbed his cheek with his hand. "He told me and I just went straight to the nearest bar." he looked up into Roman's understanding, loving, grey eyes and half smiled. "I didn't want to worry you."
Roman sighed. "Well, you did."
"Sorry." he groaned, voice gravelly. "I should've told you where I was."
"Babe, you're a grown man. You can do what you want." Roman palmed Dean's cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Dean nuzzled his hand with his stubbly cheek. "I only got worried after I heard from Debbie."
Dean nodded softly, eyes welling with tears again. "I wanna shower." he said shortly, stripping his clothes off without warning.
"Alright."
Roman stood him up, keeping him steady as he undressed, leading him to the shower. He sat down on the toilet seat and watched Dean shower himself. He felt terrible for him. He didn't know Keith all that well but, he'd been friends with Debbie for a long time. He'd met Dean at Keith and Debbie's engagement party. Their own connection had a lot of connections to them. Keith was one of Dean's closest friends... and now he's gone. He was so upset for both Dean and Debbie... and the kids. Those poor boys. Beautiful twin boys, barely five years old, with no father in their lives any more. A single tear fell down his face. His head hurt to think about them.
A few minutes later, Dean stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself. He dragged a hand over his wet hair, slicking it back. He looked down at Roman and placed his damp hand on his shoulder. "What're you thinking about?"
"The boys."
"Poor kids."
"It's so tragic."
Roman got up and grabbed a dry towel hooking it over his arm, offering his hand to Dean. They walked silently into their bedroom. Dean perched on the edge of his side of the bed. Roman laid out the dry towel and sat on the other side of Dean. He gazed over him.
"Would be the wrong time for me to tell you how amazing you look?" he blushed, knowing his timing sucked royally but, he hoped it would cheer Dean up, ease the pain for a little while.
To his pleasure, Dean smiled, chucking softly. He looked at Roman with a watery smile. "I love you."
"Come here."
He didn't care that he was soaking wet. He just wanted to hold him. He knew he needed him. Now more than ever and he was going to give him whatever he could. Dean climbed onto his lap and lay his forehead against Roman's. Roman wrapped his arms around Dean and closed the gap between them, kissing him slowly, lovingly.
Roman's warmth comforted Dean more than the alcohol had. He was home in his arms. Dripping wet, naked and home.
"I love you too." Roman whispered between contact. They continued lazily until Dean yawned. He laid down under the covers, watching Roman get off the bed to undress before joining him. He pulled Dean up to him, stroking his scalp through his damp waves.
"Never leave me, lover." Dean kissed Roman's chest, tears dripping onto it as he started to drift off to sleep.
"I promise."