Author's Note : This is my very first piece I've done in full-English. Since I'm just a rookie in the amazing world of fanfiction, I'm still having trouble at balancing my 'real' and 'virtual' world. It's been roughly two years since my last attempt on writing, not that it mattered more than a mere lame excuse. I'm on my way (again and again) of getting back to the world of writing fanfic, so while doing it, I'm thinking of doing… this: a.k.a writing a story which stubbornly refused to go away instead of finishing my undergrad thesis.

To be honest, I'm not a native English speaker but I somewhat found it really difficult to put Supernatural stories within context of my native language; as in Dean's garden variety curses for example. So, this is going to be like a 'test-drive' for me attempting at writing in English. Just FYI, this 'pilot' story had been published previously as a one-shot in Indonesian under the tittle "Need You Now," originally inspired by Lady Antebellum's song. So yes, there will be thicker plot on this one, though I don't think I can make it into more than 3 chapters in total…

Please let me know what you think about it. If it works quite okay, I guess I'll put more effort to dwell myself more upon writing Supernatural fic in English. Well, posting next part as soon as possible at the very least.

Aaand of course… I'll be more than real happy if any of you good people are actually willing to volunteer on being my beta… (as for now, all mistakes are definitely mine).

Thank you for all wonderful fanfic writers out there whose stories had been my lights in the dark.

Just a mere social drinker myself, so there might be some possibilities that I didn't put things within the right context. Set just a bit after S9E10 "Roadtrip." For now, enjoy…

Summary : We all knew how the "Roadtrip" ends for the brothers. Disastrous. Dean tried to find comfort by getting himself drunk. That was when the golden liquid caught his attention…

Warning : Heavyweight angst all over, with prospect of Hurt/Comfort. Kinda twisting the canon a bit, so slightly AU, like the FC at the bar. Not a slash, but I DO make attempt on putting heavy bromance between Dean and both Sam as well as Castiel.

Disclaimer : I know, it's not mine…


Midas' Gold


Dean Winchester had never been so drunk before. Well, not this drunk.

Putting it in much simpler way, Dean might have visited each and every liquor store in all over United States for hundreds—if not thousand, or even million—times within his short span of given lifetime. If Sherlock Holmes could make a claim that he was a high-functioning sociopath, Dean probably would have been so proud to call himself a high-functioning alcoholic.

As far as Dean remembered, he'd been so attached to the alcoholic drink further back before his body even fit in his dad's leather jacket. No one could guarantee how many kinds of alcohol the hunter had ever consumed. Might as well every single specimen ever found in human history.

Dean would categorize wine was merely a fancy desert, beer as cheap refreshment, and vodka as a company to spend the night while watching new season of Dr. Sexy MD. Dean had lost count on how many times he'd drink whiskey as replacement of painkiller. He too would never miss at least a shot of tequila before hustling hundred dollars worth of pool game.

So, it was quite a miracle that on the time being Dean wasn't dying of damaged liver or kidney failure just yet. Off course, whatever seemed normal for a Winchester was generally seen as God's mysterious and miraculous work by most people. It worked in vice versa, though, including Dean's impossibly high tolerance towards two things along the years: pain and drunkenness.

And when ordinary people started asking how was that even possible, Dean would give a simple answer: "I can't afford screwing up while depending on the drink as pain-reliever."

Hell, he had even screwed up quite a lot these days sobered. So much for a super human…

So just for tonight, Dean Winchester was an ordinary people. He was seriously drunk and his heart was constricting with a stabbing pain he knew wasn't coming from physical injury. Yeah well, what difference did that make anyway? No matter what kind of sugar coating used to cover it, a pain was a pain. And it always hurt as hell.

Swayed lightly on his chair, Dean waved a hand towards the pretty bartender… or bartendrees? The hunter automatically blurted a shaky laugh. Like she'd care.

"Hiya… Bertha…"

After the time with dying Sam in the hospital, after Gadreel, after the lie… he'd been drinking in the particular bar for a while now to be considered a regular. Each time he came seeking for relieves or some 'me-time', Bertha would always welcome him with that playful yet understanding smile of hers. A smile that faintly reminded him of Lisa… so long time ago.

So as usual, Dean came again. The only difference was that there were no more lies tonight. He had blown it. Awesomely, to be precised. Not that Dean regretted it. Sammy deserved the truth, especially after the whole mess he was thrown into with Gadreel.

Correction. The mess Dean made Sam thrown into.

Nothing mattered anymore, though. Dean had lost Sam's trust and it was for good this time. Nothing he could do would make things right again. But off course, had anything ever been right for the Winchesters?

Before getting really really drunk, Dean remembered ordering something strong to Bertha. He could give a rat's ass about the kind of drink as long as it was placed within the list of strongest alcohol ever sold at the bar. Not that he would also care on the things mixed into the drink. Could be anything at all, as long as it boosted the effect of the alcohol itself. If Dean managed to die after drinking it, that wouldn't be the first time at least.

Contemplating upon himself, Dean thought maybe this was how it felt like to be so guilty he just wanted to get over with life. Again.

"Commin right up in a sec, Hon," Bertha shouted from the other side of the table, snapping Dean back from his reverie.

Well, he didn't mean to interrupt her conversation with another customer—a rough looking beardy guy with biker-like appearance—but once the brunette turned around, Dean knew it was too late to cancel the call anyway. If he wasn't so out of it, Dean might notice a pissed glare coming from the beardy guy—but since he was, Dean could care more but to continue talking. "Ho' long're ya gonna keep m'glass empty?" he slurred.

Bertha let out a simple sigh before leaving the previous customer with an apologetic smile, and then walked towards the hunter. "Now now, what else I can do for ya, Dean?"

It took a few minutes for Dean to notice that Bertha wasn't pouring him another shot just yet, so he raised his glass and displayed something resembled a loopy grin. "M-more… please?"

"Why?" was her only respond.

Why? Dean thought incredulously. What kind of question is that?

"Don't be petty. I know y'still got plenty of th'good stuffs." Dean was somewhat aware that he had just diverted her question and having no answer on why he was doing it. After few silent seconds, he shrugged, apparently choosing to simply ignore the stray thought after all.

Bertha shook her head in slight disbelief. "You've gotta take a look at yourself at the mirror. You're a mess, Dude."

"Thanks for reminding, Bertha. Heard that few times already now," Dean answered shortly. He raised a side of his lips to show his usual charming smile… which seemed to fail miserably. Watching how the bartender frowned, Dean soon realized that he was just making an expression akin to a constipated old man.

"Something happened, right?" Bertha asked using a tone of someone pointing out a point.

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "Not that y'can do anything 'bout it."

"Try me."

As if on cue, Dean leaned even closer to her until the tip of his nose almost touched Bertha's. He looked her in the eye and drew a faint smile. "I want'y t'find me a c'pboard that'll send me t'Narnia… like right friggin now."

"Why?" Bertha asked again. No judgement was in her voice.

"Why do I wanta leave t'lala land, y'mean?"

No nods from the brunette but she did blinked once.

"Same ol' song, Sweetheart," Dean scoffed, "real life sucks out laud… on stereo… with surround sounds…"

"Uhuh."

Dean eyed the shelf behind Bertha's back, well-stocked with a row of various liquors. Among others, he spotted one bottle with goldy brown liquid in it. "That strong enough?" asked Dean while pointing at the bottle.

"Midas's gold, or so I was told," Bertha commented shortly. "A real strong one, that is."

"I'll give't a try," Dean insisted.

Reluctantly, Bertha reached for the bottle and put it on the table near Dean's glass. Hesitation was pictured on her face. "Sure you're up for this?" she asked Dean, just to make sure.

"I'm tellin ya, Bertha, I'd drink just pretty much anything… anything at all that will ease the…"

Dean never finished his sentence. Saying the word pain would only make it felt even more real. As for Dean "The Awesome Big Brother" Winchester, apparently there just seemed not enough pain tolerance to ever begin with…

"Right very now, you're not a guy with adorable smile I used to see from night to night, Dean," Bertha spoke in sympathy.

"Yeah," Dean snorted a bitter laugh, "that guy you just mentioned is not available for now."

Adorable smile my ass, Dean muttered to himself. How could I even smile after denying my beloved brother a luxury of forget-all-crap death? And worse still, tricking him while doing so?

"Well, I know whatever your problem isn't my business but I really think you've had enough for tonight," Bertha said earnestly.

However, Dean abruptly spluttered another laugh. An almost hysterical one this time. Soon as the laugh had been reduced to mere drunken giggles, Dean shifted his gaze to the beardy guy, who was now returning Dean a favor of a death glare. Just a right time for another diversion. "Geez, naw you're kickin me out 'coz you've found a customer with… more adorable smile?"

Bertha followed Dean's gaze and couldn't help but chuckled. She finally grabbed the golden brown liquor and brought in towards her drunken customer. "No worry, Dean'o. You still got the number one-smile," she whispered while pouring the seemingly gleamed liquid into Dean's empty glass, "this one is on me. The very last one. No more drinking tonight. Capiche?"

Dean looked at his now-filled glass then averted the glance towards Bertha. Lazy smile spread on his face. "Aww, I really thought you'd be a bit more generous."

"I am generous," the brunette smiled. "Promise me you'll go home and sleep, then I'll consider to be more… generous next time you're coming."

"'Kay," Dean nodded hazily, "but sure you don't wanna come w'me?"

Bertha instantly quirked an eyebrow. "Come with you? Where?"

"Com'n sleep w'me," said Dean, accompanied by an obviously out-of-it smirk.

"I'm not nursing you while puking your guts out in the middle of the night," Bertha gave a small laugh, "enjoy your last drink while you can, 'kay?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "My last drink, huh? Any… precaution or side'ffect y'arn't tellm'me?"

"Don'tcha want to find it out yourself?" Bertha winked before turning her back on Dean.

By the time she left for other new customers, however, Dean wasn't fully paying attention anymore. He focused solely on the thing in front of him; a small glass filled to the brim with a curious golden liquid.

For a moment, a mass of fog swirled around his brain. Thinking gradually became an arduous task for his befuddled mind. He was sure Bertha did said something about the liquor few minutes—or maybe couple hours?—ago. She called it something… with the word 'gold' in it, if he wasn't mistaken. There was another word; something reminded Dean to some Greek myth and lore his daddy used to make him memorized so long ago.

Was it 'Midas'? Midas's Gold! Yes, that was it. That was the drink's name.

Dean starred at the golden liquid one last time. There was something about the color, how it glowed and gleamed, but he couldn't quite put his hands on it.

Might be poisonous, Dean contemplated. He was actually surprised for having that thought abruptly appeared in his mind just like that.

Right, he continued the train of thought, but aren't I poisonous myself?

And it came to Dean in a painful flash. His conversation with Sam at the dock while light showers of rain drizzling unto them…


"… I'm poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed. Or worse…"

Sam wasn't even looking Dean in the eyes.

"Go. I'm not going to stop you. But don't go thinking that's the problem 'cause it's not…"


Dean remembered asking Sam what was his last sentence supposed to mean. Honestly, that was a downright lie. Dean knew so well that Gadreel and all that followed indeed weren't their real life problem. He was.

Well, I'm done with the thinking part. Screw life! Dean said to himself before picking up the glass and drank the liquid in one gulp.

Almost instantly, he felt the liquid morphed into explosion of heat in his mouth before trailing down his throat. He gasped in reflex, body shaking violently with sudden shock. Soon enough, it gave Dean a weird sensation he could only explained as a 'parade of fireworks on the fourth of July' inside his stomach.

It ended with a white blast. And then, everything was covered in shining golden lights.

For a couple magical minutes—which oddly, also felt like a lifetime—Dean was surrounded with nothingness. No pain, no happiness, just blank. God, how he had almost forgot how good it felt to be blank. How blissful…

So, surrender he did to the blankness that was feathery light, flying like a lone kite in the open noon sky so bright. It was comforting in the oddest way possible to be just like the kite, going up up up until it vanished from the sight. And just like the kite, Dean understood that he might as well faded too… imitating all the golden glows around him, which slowly dulled into blurry odd colors… and then disappeared.

TBC.


Cas and Sam is about to join on the next chap. Your reviews, favs or follows are love :')