Special Challenge: Wynefred's Birthday - Hurt Dean and/or brotherly moments. Can be anywhere from 100-1000 words. Challenge from E/O is to include a song title or band name somewhere in the fic.
Words: Mom, Silo, Eyes, old, fragile, strike, bucket
Notes: E/O Challenge SPECIAL FIC! I'm seven words behind, and I have also missed Wynefred's birthday. One of the challenges gave us the freedom to expand the story up to 1,000 words, so I'll be writing one big fic to cover everything I've missed. Massively belated Birthday wishes to Wynefred!
Dean drove along the countryside, watching the farms whip past him. Driving always calmed his nerves. It'd been a crutch to lean on since his Dad first threw him the keys to the Impala. When things got tough, he always had Baby to keep him company.
After what had just happened with Sam, he was going to need as much of Baby's company as possible.
He slid a Metallica tape into the tape deck, and turned the music on full blast, as he whipped past acres of land, barns and silos, and cows lazily grazing in fields. The world was beginning to blur around him. All that encased his world at the moment was blurred farms and Metallica, and his foot pressing on the gas pedal as far as he could make it go.
Dean drove for hours. He'd stop eventually, when his eyes could no longer stay open, but he wasn't sure where he would end up.
Night fell, and Dean pulled into an old motel outside of Oklahoma City. He tiredly got himself a room and parked the car for the night.
The room was small, nothing to write home about. The walls were covered in wood paneling, and the bedspread was something out of the 1980s. For a moment, it reminded him of his Mom's bedspread. A brief memory of climbing into his parents' bed fluttered through his mind, and was gone just as quickly.
He dropped his bags at the foot of the bed and retreated into the bathroom to take a shower. The water was lukewarm, as he guessed it might be in a motel like this, but it was warm enough for him to shower quickly and get out. He stumbled naked into the main room and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts. Too tired to put on anything else, he pulled back the covers and slid into bed.
Dean couldn't fall asleep. He tossed and turned, and struck his pillow repeatedly in an attempt to get comfortable. Around two in the morning, he gave up and threw off the covers. He stalked over to the table, picked up the ice bucket and slipped into the hallway.
He returned moments later with ice, and fished a bottle of whiskey from his bag. He poured some into the dusty glass provided by the motel, and threw a few ice cubs in it. He sat down at the table and took a long swig as he flipped open a lore book he'd brought along. He'd sit here and drink all night if that's what it took to not see Kevin's lifeless body, or Sam's disappointed eyes as he told Dean to leave and not come back.
He'd fucked up, broken the already fragile trust between Sam and himself. What in the holy hell was he thinking, tricking Sam into letting an angel in, of all things, to heal him? Dean was being selfish again, Sam had told him. Just like he was a selfish bastard when he sold his soul to save Sam's life.
How dare he try to keep his brother safe? That was his job, after all.
Look after Sammy.
This time, he really fucked things up. He really was selfish. He didn't consider asking Sam, and he trusted a damned angel, for fuck sake. What the hell was he thinking? He almost got Sam killed this time, and Kevin lost his life for Dean's mistake.
This was his punishment, and he deserved it. Sitting alone, in the dark, drinking whiskey from a dusty glass, assaulted by the memory of his sins.
Alone.
END