As soon as Benny's gone, Dean knows he has to find Sam. That's all that's on his mind right now. Find Sam, and everything will be okay.
He walks to the nearest town, it's a hell of a walk, but nothing compared to purgatory, of course. He pickpockets some rich-looking guy and spends a few coins in the nearest phone booth. He still knows Sam's number by heart, even after a year. Sam doesn't answer his phone, though. It goes straight to voicemail. Dean's stomach clenches - what if something's happened to him? - but he still leaves a message.
"Heya, Sammy," he says a little awkwardly. "It's uh. It's me, it's Dean. I'm back. Uhm. I'll uh. I'll call back later, I just, uh. Yeah. Bye."
Well, that could've gone better, Dean thinks as he hangs up. He stares at the phone, wondering who else he could call. Bobby - dead. Ash - dead. Pamela - dead. Ellen and Jo - dead. Frank - dead.
He could call Benny, but he hasn't got Benny's number, and Benny knows he's back already anyway.
All his friends are dead. It's a depressing thought.
He feels utterly and completely lost now. What is he supposed to do? Sam isn't picking up his phone, there isn't anyone else he could call and he really doesn't have a clue where he is. Should've paid attention to that, but then, all he could think of was talking to Sam.
He wanders around the town - Mill Valley, he'd found out - without a clue what he's doing or where he's going, until he spots a bar and stops dead in his tracks. That is what he used to do, isn't it? Going to a bar, getting hammered and waking up the next morning next to a girl whose name he didn't remember. Two girls, if he was lucky. He hasn't had that for over a year. He realizes he can't remember what that's like.
His feet carry him across the street and into the bar before he consciously makes the decision.
The girl behind the bar smiles at him as he sits down and orders whatever the fuck's got alcohol in it. "Rough day?" she asks sympathetically.
Really, it's a simple enough question, but it makes his brain - which wasn't working all that hard anyways - come to a screeching halt. No, no, it hadn't been a rough day. He's had rough days for over a year, fighting his way through purgatory, but in that year, he's never been so fucking tired as he is now. And he hasn't even done anything.
"You could say that," is what he says.
She sets a glass down in front of him. He takes it and downs the contents without really tasting it, or caring what it is. He asks anyway.
"Kamikaze," she replies. "Vodka, triple sec and lime juice. 'S what my ex used to drink when he felt like crap, which, incidentally, you look like."
"That line work well for you?" Dean asks. She smirks and turns to serve another customer. He looks at her. She's pretty. Blonde hair bound into a messy ponytail and a lovely petite form. Maybe he could hang around until she got off.
He briefly wonders if it used to feel like this. So... forced. As if he had to take a girl to the motel, or he failed. He doesn't dwell long on that, though, because it brings him to the next point: he still has to find a motel room for the night, and maybe the one after that. God knows how long. Until Sam can come and get him, he supposes.
He's jerked out of his thoughts when the girl sets another glass in front of him. "I didn't order that," he says stupidly.
"That one's from me," she says. "You look like you need it."
Dean grimaces.
"Wanna talk about it?" she asks.
Dean snorts. Yeah right. Well, I've been in purgatory past year and I've only just gotten out, with the help of a vampire and an angel, also, my friends are all dead and my baby brother isn't picking up the phone. That would go over well.
"Come on," she pushes. "I'm a barmaid, it's what we're for."
He looks at her, at her pretty doll-face and big brown eyes and decides what the hell.
He doesn't actually tell her the truth, of course. He tells her that he's a soldier, that he just came back from Afghanistan because he got shot in the kneecap. He tells her about Benny and Castiel, not about what they are, but about what they've been through. He tells her about Sam, how he's the only thing he's got left.
She, in turn, tells him her name - Katy - and she tells him about her ex-boyfriend, who used to beat her when he was drunk, about her schizophrenic mother and her absent father, about her foster family and about her little sister - he doesn't quite catch if it's her real sister or her foster sister.
He drinks a few more Kamikazes, and when a stag party comes in, and Katy leaves to attend to them with an apologetic smile his way, he decides to leave. He throws a few bills on the table, enough for the drinks and a generous tip - it isn't his money anyway - and waves at Katy before turning and walking out the door.
The motel room isn't anything special. It's not very clean, the sheets are scratchy and the mattress is bulky, but to Dean it's a treasure. He sits on the bed, still fully dressed, as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that this is where he's going to sleep. For the first time in over a year, he can actually have a full night's sleep in a bed, a proper bed in a proper room, with a bathroom right next to it. A real, proper bathroom with a toilet and a sink and a shower and holy hell. This must be heaven.
He undresses on his way to the bathroom, leaving clothes strewn everywhere, just because he can. The water is warm and soothing, and Dean realizes just how sore he is.
He expects to sleep like the dead that night, but he's wrong. For a long time, he lies awake, staring at the ceiling and jumping out of his skin every time a car passes. When sleep finally does find him, light is already seeping through the curtains.
He sleeps for six hours, but is well-rested when he wakes up. He's never needed much sleep. He showers again and gets dressed, but then he finds himself in the same state as last night. What now?
His stomach rumbles. Breakfast, he decides, then try calling Sam again. His spirits lift at the thought of breakfast. Eggs, bacon and coffee sound amazing.
After a delicious - to Dean at least - breakfast, he finds himself in a phone booth again, dialling Sam's number. Voicemail, again.
"Hey, Sam, it's Dean again," Dean says. "What's wrong dude, you always answer your phone. If you hear this, I'm in Cali, in a town called Mill Valley, and I guess I'll stay here for a while. So, uh. Come get me."
He hangs up, feeling dejected and a little bit worried. Sam is such a control freak, there's just no way he wouldn't pick up the phone for no reason. Maybe something's happened to him. But then again, it's been a year. Maybe he's just got a new phone. Which would be inconvenient.
Either way, he's still stuck in Mill Valley, with no idea how to reach Sam and no idea what he's going to do next.
He ends up wandering around town again, pickpocketing a few other people until he has enough money to buy a cheap cellphone.
When he's back at the motel, he calls Sam again, not expecting him to pick up, but just wanting to leave his number. He's right, Sam still doesn't answer and Dean's stomach clenches at that.
"Hey Sam, it's me again. I've got a cell, so I just wanted to give you the number so you can call when you hear this."
He falls back onto the bed and rubs his eyes. A nap seems like a kinda good idea.