authors note:this is set in the present timeline, more or less. Cas is gone, Sam's got his soul back. I like to pretend that most of season 6 never happened. I may in the future reference some of that stuff, but i didn't like how Cas flew off the handle. This is sort of a short story, a warm up for me of sorts because it has been a long time since i have written anything. Meredith is not a big focus, she is just meant to reveal how Dean's past follows him around and how it effects everything he does. I have rated this M because i want to do some sex scenes in the future, at least two that i can think of right now. Enough of my blathering, on to the story!
Dean unlocked the door and peered into the shabby motel room. He flipped the switch and light scattered around the room, revealing two lumpy beds and a bathroom with no door. "Great," he said sarcastically. Sam followed him into the room, annoyed, saying, "It doesn't have a TV, let alone internet." "Don't be so sad. I saw a library on the way here. I know how much you love libraries," Dean said, slapping Sam's shoulder. Dean walked over to the window and closed the blind, blocking out the midday sun. He approached the nearest bed and fell backwards on it, his eyes already closing for a much needed nap. Sam watched him and chuckled, "If you let me drive more often, you wouldn't be so tired all the time." "Shut up, Sam." Dean scooted up the bed and let his body relax for a moment. Sam broke the silence, "Hey, Dean. I'm going to go check out the town, see if I can't find that old water mill. Maybe do a little research." The only reply he got was a hhmmm. "I'm taking the Impala," but Dean was already asleep.
His dreams were horrifying as usual. He saw the faces of all people he couldn't save. The faces of all of the demons he had killed, stabbed in the chest. Even though he told himself that they were evil, the people were only possessed. They had lives, loved ones that they would never see again. He always saw the light leaving their eyes. What horrors they must have watched themselves do, powerless to stop it. His dreams shifted to the memory of Joe and Ellen. His father. Sam with such hate in his eyes when he was soulless. Castiel wading slowly into the water, disappearing in a swell of darkness. His dream culminated with its usual ending. He saw himself torturing souls in Hell.
When he awoke, he could feel the flop sweat on his forehead. He was shaking, wondering if his nightmares would ever get better, even if they just got less intense, less real he would be grateful. Sam still hadn't come back. Dean looked at his watch with blurry eyes and read 19:47. The night was still young, even though at this time of year it was already pitch black outside. Locking the door behind him, Dean flipped up his collar, the chill air bothering him more than he expected. Dean walked from their crappy motel towards a bar he had seen down the street. He was calming down slightly, but he only new of one sure way to calm his nerves after such horrible nightmares. He passed a group of women, scantily clad women. One called out to him "Hey handsome, looking for some company tonight?" Dean looked over. She had bright read hair and small eyes, dressed in a black dress that looked like it was made out of leather belts, it did nothing to compliment her over weight body. He replied with fake enthusiasm and confidence, "Evening, ladies. Out for a good strut are we? I'm sorry but I can't tonight." He turned and walked away, his head hung low, staring at his feet while he walked. "I'm looking for a different kind of escape," he quietly said to himself. He let out a hushed sigh, the culmination of a lifetime of stress and sins. Yea he had had some good times saved a lot of people, but that didn't count for shit in his mind. It was the failures that mattered. It was the failures that haunted him. He walked for several blocks, unaware of his surroundings. Finally he saw the red glow of neon light in the corner of his eye: AJ's Bar and Grill.
Dean wearily sat down on a squeaky bar stool. Slouching over the scarred bar, he waved to signal the barmen. The over weight, balding bar tender slowly walked over asking "what can I get you?" while drying a tumbler with a less than sanitary bar rag. Dean mildly wondered if his glasses would be just as soiled as that one. Dean responded, "four shots of whiskey." The barmen's eyes widened, his brows raised considerably until he looked at the man's face. He could see it was the face of a man much tormented by suffering. Losing interest, the barmen walked to the back of the bar to grab four shot glasses. He set them down two by two in a line on the bar with more force than was necessary. He grabbed the whiskey and poured the shots one by one, never lifting the bottle, spilling the alcohol in between the glasses. Dean didn't care, he reached for the first one and downed it without blinking. He grabbed the second one and did the same. As he moved to the third, a woman walked up to him.
"In a hurry?" she said, looking over the slumped man. When he made no reply, the woman sat on the stool next to him. "Feel like sharing?" "The whiskey or my life's story?" Dean said under his breath, he could still feel the drinks burning the back of his throat, slowly warming his stomach. She smiled to herself saying "Either one." Dean replied with a tired and surly "not really" effectively ending the conversation.
"Oh…" She lifted herself off of the stool and moved away from the bar, away from him. Dean turned and watched as she sat down at nearby table. He felt bad and thought for a moment. He grabbed his two remaining shots and walked awkwardly toward the table where the woman was and sat down. He tried to look apologetic and said "I'm sorry, here." Dean pushed one of the shots in front of her, "I'm Dean." She looked up at him with gentle green eyes. Her hair was dark brown and wavy, it draped around her face of kind features. She had a tall, curvy body, beautiful even if she wasn't his usual choice. She said "Meredith" and lifted the glass to her lips. Her nose wrinkled at the strong smell. Dean chuckled to himself. She looked at him questioningly, unsure of what to do exactly. He lifted the other glass and threw his third one down the hatch slamming the glass onto the stained, scratched table. She timidly drank her's. She coughed and choked a little and slammed her glass down as well, in victory. Dean smiled and laughed, she joined in after her initial response. Dean ordered another four shots and they talked for over an hour, about everything and nothing.
Dean returned to his usual bold and confident mannerisms after feeling the effects of the five shots, forgetting temporarily his current and outstanding problems. He bravely said, "So, since I've shared my whiskey, it is only fair that you tell me your life story." She replied with a huff, "What do you want to know?" He leaned forward, his elbows now on the table, hands placed in front. "Anything. How 'bout you tell me how you came to be in a shady bar in a Podunk town in the middle of nowhere?" She looked down at her recently ordered tequila sunrise, a contemplative look crossing her features. "Okay, but you have to promise to tell me yours after." Dean nodded once leaning back once more in his chair. The worn down, wooden chair complained with a groan as he tilted it on its two back legs.
She looked up at him after a moment. "Well, I had a pretty normal upbringing. My family was great, we always got along and we were all really close. But I have a life long struggle with depression. After two years of college, I decided that wasn't the thing for me. Part of me wanted it, but that same part only wanted it because everyone expected it of me. After a few years of working, I saved enough money to leave home, with no destination really in mind. I wanted to see the country, what it had to offer, the diverse landscapes and people. I wanted to experience everything, so I took every opportunity to do so. And I have done a lot in my short life, but I keep moving, saying preoccupied, for if I sit still for too long in one place, my depression catches up with me. So here I am, the current weigh station on my way to the next adventure." While she had been explaining her life, she kept looking up at him and then back down at her half finished sunrise. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her, really trying to listen even though at this point he had lost count of how many drinks he had. The bar had gained more patrons as the night progressed until it was quite loud, but that didn't mater, both Meredith and Dean were absorbed in their own private world.
Dean was quiet for a moment, not sure what he should say when she had finished. How different their lives had been, but with the same outcome practically. While his was a broken family, he felt such a bond with his brother he could never imagine leaving him. But of course they had put themselves in a world of danger. He had 'attended' so many schools that he had lost count. Eventually he just got his GED instead of starting over again and again, only to be moved somewhere else in a few months at most. Meredith didn't seem to care much about her family, even though they had been so close. How could she throw away that loving, normal life she had? He would never have done that… but maybe he would have. He always felt a sort of pull, urging him to move around. His lifestyle with Sam was fine by him, but his year with Lisa was nice, even though the horror of failing his brother haunted him at night. One more thing on top of a life of misery. His life with Lisa was calm, peaceful, at least as peaceful as an ex-hunter's could be. Family dinners, Ben's baseball games, an honest job, the beginnings of friends, but somehow he felt like he didn't deserve that life. He knew that even though the imminent threat of the Apocalypse was gone, he still was putting Lisa and Ben in danger just by hanging around. After their memories of him had been erased, he felt a profound loss, but he carried on, searching for a way to get Sam's soul back. He slipped effortlessly into is old life, taking care of Sam and 'taking care' of things that go bump in the night.
Dean was shocked back to reality when a waitress dropped a tray of food. Syracuse china smashed, burgers fell apart, and gooey cheese fries splattered on the floor. The waitress swore loudly, bending over to pick up what she could. The cook rushed out to see what had transpired and walked over to the distressed, apologetic waitress. The cook placed a hand on her back lovingly and started wiping the mess with a kitchen rag. He looked at her with such caring eyes. Dean looked back at Meredith with a sinking heart.
Meredith looked at him with curious eyes, "your turn." Dean smiled slightly and began his tail, hoping that he wasn't too drunk to spill the beans about the more terrifying details of his life. "When I was a kid, my dad moved us around a lot." Dean was trying to remember his usual simplified life story. "My mom died when I was very young and he poured his grief into his work. Growing up, he would leave for several days at a time. I practically raised my brother, Sam. He was a baby when our mom was killed. When we were older, we joined the family business and traveled with our dad, living job to job. After our dad died, Sam and me continued what he had started. We are actually here in town trying to find another job." Meredith listened carefully. "God, I'm so sorry, losing both parents, that must have been rough." After a long quiet moment she gathered herself and asked, "What do you do? You and your brother?" "Pest control," Dean replied with a straight face. She looked at him with one eyebrow lifted, "and you have to move around a lot for that?" She started to see through his story. Dean followed up with "It's specialized work," a crooked smile forming momentarily. Meredith decided to drop the subject. She sipped the last of her drink.
Meredith glanced down at her watch. "Oh, its gotten late. I have work in the morning." She stood up to leave but turned back to him. "How long are you going to be in town?" Dean shrugged. She boldly said, "Well if you're still here tomorrow night, you should give me a call. We could meet up somewhere." She scribbled her name and telephone number on a bar napkin and passed it to him. She turned away with a smile on her face. Dean watched as she left the bar.