Disclaimer – I don't own anything, unfortunately. I wish I did but I don't. Each character belongs to their respected (highly respected) owner.
A/N - this takes place roughly 2-3 years after Swan Song...
There were days when he did not want to go on. Days when he felt that he had physically passed the point of no return. He surprised himself every time, taking step after step, going mile after mile. The last time he really looked at himself in the mirror he'd been surprised by the dark smudges under his eyes and the hair that now dusted his collar and fell into his eyes. He looked like a man running from his past that he would never be able to escape.
He sat in the driver's seat of his car and peered out into the night. A light fall of rain began to fall and he cursed under his breath. There was no hope of continuing the hunt tonight. The rain would make tracking the demon very difficult, not to mention, unpleasant. He sighed and yawned widely, feeling his jaw creak. He knew getting some sleep would be the best option.
Starting the car, he slipped into gear and drove along the deserted waterfront, keeping an eye out for anything unusual as the rain began to fall with some force. The night was turning to a bust and, in a matter of minutes, he found himself driving back to the motel he had booked earlier in the evening. Even the short run from the car to his room was enough to get him sopping wet and he swore angrily at the sky.
He stood in front of his door for some time, not wanting to spend another night alone. A long time ago he could have gone out and found a girl to warm his bed with him but that was an age ago. Now, he didn't like being around people all that much. He was stuck. Reluctantly, he opened the door and entered his room for the night.
He turned on the nearest lamp while shucking off his wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He fought the urge to curl up and sleep where he stood but forced himself into the shower, letting the warm water heat up his body before he turned off the heat and stood there, shivering as the cold water hit his body like individual pin pricks.
After a few minutes he grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist. He moved into the main room, grabbing a bottle of whisky as he passed through the kitchen area before sitting heavily on the bed. Staring blankly at the television he opened the bottle and took a mouthful of the amber liquid. It moved down his throat in a slow, satisfying burn. Years of practice had made it so he didn't cough on the strength of it.
In his mind he knew what he was doing wasn't healthy and it wasn't fair. He knew that there were people depending on him to save the world but that's what he had been doing for so long now it was instinctive. They never saw what he did, not really. They knew the big picture but they didn't know the half of it.
He took another swig of the whisky and quickly got dressed, wincing slightly as he bumped one of his many bruises. He walked with a slight limp now after a nasty run in with something that had nearly got the best of him. There were so many innocents out there that he had to save. He had to make up for his mistakes. After all, it was his mistake from the very start, regardless of what they said.
Another sip of the drink and he felt himself beginning to fall into the all too familiar haze of drunkenness. He stopped then. He didn't need want to forget and that's what the alcohol did, it made him forget the most important things in his life. He would drink enough to take the edge of the world, most nights anyway. Every so often he would forget his rules and sink into the oblivion that the drink gave him.
Putting the bottle to one side he lay back on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head he stared at the ceiling. The events of the last few years were running through his mind. His mistakes standing out clearly and constantly. He saw Lisa's face, full of concern, worry and love. A combination that he thought that he could live with but soon he knew he didn't deserve that. He wasn't allowed to be happy. During the day he could put on a brave front and carry on with his duty, it was the nights that brought everything back.
He yawned again and rolled over onto his side, looking across at the empty twin bed. It was one of the many habits that he couldn't break. Another yawn broke through his thoughts and he finally found himself drifting off into sleep.
He started awake some time later, eyes wide, his whole mind alert. Something had changed. The lamp was off and someone had placed a blanket over him. He sat up, peering into the darkness trying to see who was there.
"You can sleep, Dean. No one will disturb you while you rest," a familiar voice came from the darkness.
Dean opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. He went to get up when something lightly touched his forehead and he found himself sinking back into a deep sleep. For the first time in two years this sleep was not riddled with nightmares but was, instead, utterly dream free.
"Sorry, Dean. We need your help again," the figure in the room said to no one in particular before sighing and taking a seat opposite the bed, watching as Dean Winchester slept the sleep of the dead.
A/N – a little angst goes a long way...this is set after Swan Song and more shall be explained tin due time...
