This was written for August's Prompt Exchange Challenge (rebooted). Cutting it a little close, but better late than never. This was the prompt I chose: "What we have is worth the pain."—Andrew Martin (Ringer). Set in season 6 sometime after 6x07; spoilers.
He's drunk. Like more so than usual. Usually he likes to maintain a nice buzz, but tonight he had about four or five or six shots too many. He honestly can't remember, not that that's particularly unusual. By the end of the day, he's normally lost track of whiskey sips and bourbon pulls. The old man sitting on the stool beside him is drunk too, which makes him feel a bit better. Mr. Grumpy, as Dean quickly nicknamed him, was rattling on earlier about his mortgage payment and putting his triplets through college all at the same time. The hushed conversation had been between Grumpy and the bartender, but Dean had overheard whether he meant to or not. Pure instinct. Maybe some curiosity.
It was interesting to see what other people ranked as a "disaster."
So, he's drunk. It really isn't that big of a deal, except part of him thinks it might be. There's always this unobstructed sense, this part of him that can never truly relax, even when he's plastered. Which he isn't right now. Things are maybe a little blurry, but the room isn't spinning yet. He takes another sip of beer because it's there in front of him and at this point it won't kill him. Plus, the girl across the bar is shooting him increasingly obvious glances and he feels better when he's doing something. Grumpy leaves about a minute later, all mumbled curses and folded dollar bills, and the girl wastes no time sliding into the seat next to Dean. She's got a beer in her hand, but Dean has a feeling she's normally the fruity-drink kind, just going with a basic brew tonight for one reason or another. She squints over at him and he smiles back, tilts his beer towards hers and takes a drink with her.
"So," she says, adjusting her bra strap and leaning in close. "You from around here?"
"Nope," he replies, happy to let her take the lead. She made the first move after all, which means it's his job to listen. He can do that.
"Me either," she grins, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. If Dean had to label it a color, he'd call it 'strawberry-brunette'- hints of deep red swirled in with the brown. "I'm just here for the night. Heading off to Tennessee tomorrow."
"Oh yeah?" he asks, raising his eyebrows just enough to show some interest. In reality, he's more focused on the curve of her lips as she speaks. "What's in Tennessee?"
She shrugs. "Not sure yet. Just didn't like where I was. And I watch a lot of Nashville, so Tennessee seemed like a good place to start over."
Dean laughs as much as he's supposed to, appreciating the fact that this one's got a sense of humor. She's cute, big almond-shaped eyes and full hips. She should shoot for someone better, not that she'd realize why he's all wrong for her. Ever. He'd be gone long before she could realize anything about him. Sometimes that makes him feel guilty, other times a little wistful. Tonight, he tries his best not to care. He thinks maybe he needs something from her, and she seems willing to give it.
"Kudos to you, changing your life like that," Dean says, envying her a little bit. When he was young, the traveling meant school didn't matter and relationships were frivolous at best. He supposes those things are both still true, especially considering he's been out of school for quite some time, but it doesn't have the same appeal as it used to. Being on the road used to mean freedom. Now it means more miles between Lisa and Ben, more time with the brother he doesn't recognize, the one who usually spends those miles staring out the window of the Impala, saying nothing. Sometimes Dean's okay with the quiet. Sometimes the silence is better than what comes out of Sam's mouth when he does finally decide to talk. And it's not like Lisa's taking him back anytime soon. She told him as much, on the day he stupidly asked for the truth. He'd known it was coming, but he still hasn't quite grasped what the prolonged silence on the other end of the phone means. For instance, does it mean Ellie is fair game?
Ellie. The girl who has just given her name, who is waiting patiently for a response.
"Dean," he says. Autopilot. "I'm Dean."
"Well, it's nice to meet a fellow stranger in this tiny town, Dean," Ellie says.
"Ditto," he nods, finishing off his beer. Damn, he's drunk. And damn, Ellie smells good- a light, un-flowery perfume floating in the air between them. It smells a bit like the ocean. Maybe a hint of something close to coconut. All his traveling and he's only been to the ocean twice. He should go back, he should really…
"You okay, Dean?" Ellie asks.
The question throws him. This is not how his hookups work. Usually at this point, they're halfway out the door.
"I uh…headache," Dean shrugs, too caught off guard to avoid the question entirely. Besides, he needs to keep her at least a little interested, and she'd probably know if he was lying. Looking at him like that, eyes all wide and concerned. Like it should matter whether or not her soon-to-be one night stand is doing okay.
"Aw bummer," Ellie says. Her mouth quirks up. "Well, you know what they say."
"What do they say?"
"No pain, no gain." Ellie waggles her eyebrows at Dean, and takes a long sip of her beer, finishing it off.
"I never liked that expression," she continues, eyes still on Dean as she silently orders another round for both of them. "My dad used it all the time, and it never helped, ya know? When you're hurt, you're not thinking about the payoff. You're just thinking about not hurting anymore."
Dean nods. Ellie keeps talking, really on a roll now. She's probably as drunk as Dean. He just listens, grateful for the new, full bottle in front of him.
"And anyway, there's a better way to say it. There's always a better way to say it. 'No pain no gain' just sounds insensitive. Like you should just toughen up and that's all there is to it."
"How would you say it, then?" Dean asks. Ellie intrigues him, all loose-lipped and shiny-eyed. Dean can't ever lose the filter. It's nice to see someone who doesn't need one.
She's thinking now, forehead smushed down a little bit as she genuinely mulls it over. As if Dean has asked her the most important question with an answer that can't be rushed.
"I'd say…" Ellie smiles as the words come to her. "I'd say that what we have is worth the pain. That maybe everything else is better because there's pain, ya know? Like, if you never got a headache, you'd never appreciate all the times your head didn't hurt. You'd never realize how good you had it."
"But what if life is just one, big, continuous headache?" Dean says. He doesn't mean to say it; tries to swallow the words with a long swig from his beer bottle and ignore the way Ellie is looking at him now—those big, sad almond-eyes again. Like his nonexistent headache has been transferred over to her. Like she can feel it.
"Maybe you just need stronger pain meds," she says after a minute. "Or water. That's the better option."
"Mhmm," Dean hums, looking down at the beer in his hands. He doesn't remember drinking it all.
"Any plans for you after that empty bottle?" Ellie shifts in her seat, the first time she's seemed uncertain since she sat down next to him. It's such a genuine, human gesture, he has to take a breath. Sam doesn't shift the way he used to. He doesn't really shift at all. He just walks, talks, doesn't say anything Sammy would. She blinks at him, those almond-eyes latching onto his each time they open again. Dean shifts his empty beer from one hand to the other. It feels hollow. Ellie is waiting.
So is Dean.
He's still waiting for Lisa. As drunk as he is and as much as he wants it, Ellie doesn't deserve the kind of baggage he carries. Neither does Lisa, not in the slightest, but that doesn't mean he can get her off his mind. And at least she already knows he's ruined. And at least he already knows her back. It's been weeks, and still he closes his eyes and sees her when he sleeps and sometimes when he doesn't, a beautiful smile pulling at her lips as she says his name, as she gives him so much more than he has ever deserved.
"I uh…" Dean fumbles over his tongue, the words sticking in his mouth. He suddenly feels repulsed at himself, as if he's crossing an obvious and despicable line. Ellie is still waiting, still smiling easily. And it would be easy. Everything about it.
"I actually gotta catch up with my brother in a bit," he grimaces, only half-lying. The only detail he's leaving out is that Sam probably doesn't give a shit if he comes back within the next ten minutes or the next ten years.
"I'm sorry," he says, and he means it.
Ellie just shrugs again; light and careless and still wasting that nice smile on him. "That's okay," she says. "We can still sit and talk until you have to go."
"Yeah?" Dean asks, eyes sweeping across the rest of the bar. It's a popular place in such a small town and he isn't Ellie's only option. She follows his gaze and laughs, low and simmering.
"Yeah."
They talk into the morning.
It's four-thirty by the time Dean crawls into the bed next to his brother's, the last dregs of drunkenness leaving him as he lowers himself slowly and quietly onto his pillow, even though he knows the man lying in the bed next to his doesn't actually sleep. They've agreed to fake it on that one, because the prospect of Sam staying up all night is still a little too freaky for Dean to wrap his head around. He groans softly now as his head finds the pillow, but he knows the beginnings of his hangover would be a helluva lot worse if Ellie hadn't ordered him a glass of water before she'd let him leave.
"For the headache," she'd insisted.
She'd saved him in more ways than one tonight, and maybe he will sleep without dreams or nightmares for the first time in a long time, letting the lumpy motel mattress swallow him whole.
Tomorrow he will face the world, and maybe it will not seem quite as hopeless as before.
He'd forgotten there were still people like Ellie left to protect.
Thanks for reading, leave your thoughts if you have time!