Chapter 9: Three Months and a Hangover Later

"Another." Dean mouthed to Ellen who was working as the barkeep. She held up a finger as if to say 'one minute' so Dean slumped further into his seat playing with the shot glass. Jo came up sitting on the stool next to Dean- she wasn't old enough to drink but she did work waiting tables and on a very rare occasion helping Ash cook. Dean sighed knowing that he was about to get an ear full, which was awful since the music that was playing over every conversation was already hammering away at his skull. He may have still been hung over from drinking last night, more whiskey probably wasn't going to make things any better but this was how he dealt with things now a days. He was an adult, he could make his own choices and if he wanted to get drunk every night- he could do that.

Let's get fucked up and die..
I'm speaking figuratively, of course..
Like the last time that I committed suicide.. social suicide..
Yeah, so I'm already dead on the inside,
But I can still pretend with my memories and photographs,
I have learned to love the lie.

"You know you're gonna kill your liver if you keep drinking this much." Jo reprimanded. Dean shrugged his shoulders, flipping the shot glass on its side. "I wonder how Anna and Sam deal with you coming home drunk every night."

"Patiently." Dean groaned putting his head down on the warm wood. "God damn that music is loud." he complained. Jo laughed a little, though Dean wasn't really sure who she was laughing at. He guessed that she was laughing at his whining, which shot a jolt of irritation through his blood stream. Though after a few moments it seemed to fade away and that was fine. He didn't care. Not anymore.

"It's only loud because you're smashed. If you look around you'll see that most people don't even notice it over their own conversation. It's seriously not that loud. I mean I don't think we even have the jukebox on full volume." Jo observed looking around the bar. Dean lifted his head quickly only to feel the whole room do a one eighty around him. Which caused him to duck back down quickly.

"I am not drunk enough for this conversation." Dean complained. He opened his eyes slowly, watching as people downed their shots. Then closed them at the same speed, he flinched a moment when he felt Ellen invade his space to take his glass.

I wanna know what it's like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent.
I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.. yeah
Let me in, let me in to the club, cuz I wanna belong,
And I need to get strong, and if memory serves,
I'm addicted to words and they're useless.

(In this department)

"You know it's been three months." Ellen tried. "And every night the past three months you've been here. You know what I'd like?"

"Peace on earth, mercy mild?" Dean remarked sarcastically, downing the shot. Jo rolled her eyes and left. Ellen sighed, leaning forward so she was close to Dean.

"Dean Winchester, I have known you since you were six years old. Seeing you like this is just depressing. I expect binge drinking from your uncle and your daddy but you? I expect better of you boy. You need to get your head out of your ass and move on." Ellen snapped with irritation. Dean sighed, sinking down and laying his head on the table. "There's more to life then liquor."

"I'm just tired." Dean whispered tapping the top of his shot glass with his index finger. "I mean every time I try I fail. Everyone I love, I lose. It's just a matter of time before everyone is gone and I can't fight it anymore. I give up. I'm done."

"So what, you're just gonna drink yourself into a coma? Is that it? Work to put Sam through college and then just give up on anything that could be remotely new or interesting?" Ellen asked.

"I dunno. I guess." Dean answered.

"Do me a favor?" Ellen responded."Stop being so damn pathetic."

Let's get fucked up and die..
I'm riding hard on the last lines of every lie,
And the BMX bike of my life is about to explode,
I'm about to explode.
I'm a mess, I'm a wreck.
I am perfect, and I have learned to accept all my problems and short comings,
Cause I am so visceral, yet deeply inept

"Come on Ellen don't be like that." Dean whined loudly. Causing Ellen to walk away to deal with other customers. He sighed and stared through the glass on the counter. The amber liquid bouncing back and forth at the sides of the shot glass. Once they settled, Dean could see himself (at least if he squinted) in the reflection. Dean watched the glass with an uncalled for intensity, as if he was having a staring contest. Jo passed by carrying a tray and looking totally confused by his actions.

"You know it's not gonna move unless you move it." Jo observed.

Dean merely stared intently, the color of amber reminded him of Castiel in his damn trench coat. He tried to conjure up a mental Castiel sitting in the bottom of his glass. His focus becoming even more intense, Jo passed him again. "Seriously, you can't have a staring contest with something that doesn't blink. Are you sure you're not drunk enough?"

"I'm pretty sure." he slurred. If he was still thinking about Castiel then he just wasn't drunk enough.

I want to thank you for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds..
And all the things that don't get old..
Is it legal to do this? I surely don't know.
It's the only way I have learned to express myself
through other peoples' descriptions of life..
I'm afraid I'm alone and entirely useless...

(In this department)

Let's get fucked up and die.
For the last time with feeling
we'll try not to smile
As we cover our heads and drink heavily into the nights
That still shock and surprise.
I believe that I can, overcome this and beat everything in the end
But I choose to abuse for the time being,
maybe I'll win, but for now I've decided to die.

Jo gave him a skeptical gaze, noticing the slur in his speech. "You know that my mom's gonna cut you off pretty soon. I'm amazed that she hasn't cut you off yet. I mean, you seem pretty drunk."

"Sh." Dean silenced.

Jo rolled her eyes looking annoyed, "Whatever."

Sister soldier
You've been such a positive influence on my mental frame
If I could ever repay you,
I would, but I'm hard up for cash
And my memory lacks initiative.

Dean watched the glass, drawing Castiel bit by bit in his mind. First his legs, then his trench coat- beautiful brown trench coat, then his shoulders- little bit broader but whatever, his neck, his face- his angular jaw and just a little bit of five o' clock shadow, his scruffy dark brown hair. Those tired blue eyes, with oceans of pain behind them. Those soul searching eyes, naturally sad eyes. God those freaking eyes. "Why are your eyes so friggan blue?" Dean mumbled to no one.

Ellen took a deep breath, observing Dean from a ways away. He looked so absolutely sad, "Hey Dean. Get a ride. Go home. Talk to Anna. Give Sam a hug. Get some sleep. I am not indulging your habits anymore. I will not give you another drink."

Dean sighed, at rose to his feet staggering a little. He was only half way drunk- which clearly wasn't drunk enough if he was still feeling depressed. He decided not to call a cab and not to drive either- not that he could drive he had left his baby at home. Dean was not going to get into a drunk accident in his baby, no freaking way.

God damn the liquor store's closed,
we were so close to scoring
it hurts, it destroys 'til it kills..
I am tired and hungry and totally useless.
(In this department)

It was early January, the air was freezing actually probably below freezing. Streetlights illuminated the white snow on the ground causing it to glisten even in the late night. Dean did his best to walk along streets and sidewalks that were cleared off- but sometimes that wasn't the case. He listened as the ground crunched below him, the occasional car rolling by. Still, everything was pretty quiet, leaving Dean to face his thoughts. He did his best to shut them out- the alcohol really helped- but because he wasn't drunk enough he still had passing thoughts now and then. The thoughts of Castiel, just the memory of his face- those sad eyes and the panicked look that he gave him. Still the catch twenty two of the whole thing was that had he been drunk enough, he wouldn't have been able to walk home safely. Not that he was walking home safely now, but at least he was walking.

Dean felt guilty about making Anna or Sam come and pick him up every night though. So he supposed, since he was sober enough to walk, he probably should. Besides, he could use the exercise and really, why the hell not? So rather then burdening the people he loved- which he already did on a day to day basis- he decided that walking was worth while. He headed down the lonely road, listening to the sound of his own breathing.

Three months had passed since his meeting with Castiel, Dean didn't know what to think anymore. They kissed and it was absolutely amazing- like take your breath away and leave you speechless or like the earth quakes, the stars shake, and the heavens themselves stop for just a moment type of amazing. Even though the thought of being with another man weirded him out a little, even if it was hard to admit this attraction was the real deal. Not that it mattered now, Cas was gone.

Of course, Dean didn't even know where Castiel had gone to. He was just gone, like he had suddenly dropped off the grid. Which was funny because Cas was always the one complaining about Dean leaving after kissing. Yet here Cas was doing the same exact thing- just dropping off the face of the earth. In fact he was worse then Dean, he left- no explanation, no nothing- and just never came back. Dean stopped under a street light looking up into the light and leaning on the post for support. He exhaled watching the breath float away towards the stars.

"Dammit Cas." he breathed to a vacant street. No one was around to hear him. "What the hell give you the right?" he mumbled.

"What gives you the right to hate me for leaving you alone and then you whip around and do it to me?" he asked, sliding down the pole till he was squatting above the ground. "You stupid son of a bitch... I don't care what you're brother does to me- I just can't be so alone anymore. I don't want to be alone anymore..."

Then he pushed off the ground so he could stand up. Dean wasn't getting anywhere by cursing to himself, the fact was Cas wasn't coming back and he knew it. So he kept walking, feeling the wind whip against his features. It was cold out, so very cold out and Dean only had his leather jacket to keep him warm. He thrust his hands into his pockets hoping that, that would keep them warm. But the truth was, no one could could keep him warm- his heart was turning to ice. Bit by bit, every day he was growing colder and now it felt like no one could melt that ice.

A black hole, that took everything he had left. It took everything and pulled it into an ice cold center that contained far more then it should.

By the time that he got home it was around midnight, Sam was already in bed and Anna was lounging about on the couch. Anna had come to live with Dean shortly after he had his blow out with Cas. They weren't really romantically attached, they had tried it and it had been disastrous. Mostly because Dean was still reeling from Cas and Anna just couldn't be a substitute. She explained it to Dean as, 'she wanted to be close to him because she really cared, but she didn't always want to be the back up plan. It was clear to her that Dean had feelings from the past he wouldn't let go of and they couldn't be in a healthy relationship until he got better.'

Still, she ended up moving in with them as a type of roommate. She even paid Dean rent to use their mom's old room. It helped Dean not to worry so much about paying bills, since she had to get a job to pay rent and that rent went to the house. Things had been tight lately since business for Bobby had been slow. They where roommates but also friends- since Dean was lacking in friends and emotional support. He was always amazed by her ability to deal with him, especially after he had taken up the bottle.

In a way, Anna had taken on a motherly role for Dean- helping to keep him in line. She was a firm guiding hand and Sam was just happy that someone was able to deal with him so well. Sam had never really been one to be patient with drinkers, he never really knew how to help Dean and most of the time he would just get pissed about how Dean was acting. Though, that wasn't anything new for them, Sam was still pissed that Dean wouldn't let them help Cas. He kept saying, "Once you're out of the house, I'll try to get him back so that I'm the only one in the line of fire. But I don't know how that will work, he seems pretty bent on keeping me out."

Part of the reason that Anna wanted to stay close to Dean was so she could wait for news on Castiel. Though Dean could help but find something about her intentions fishy since she was always having phone conversations that she thought Dean wasn't listening to. Dean could never really put together who she was talking to- that or he just didn't care.

Anna jumped to her feet the moment that Dean walked in the door. "Hey, are you okay?" then she noticed how pink his cheeks were from the wind. "Did you walk home? Oh god Dean, you're gonna get pneumonia again!"

"I'm fine..." he slurred, leaning on a nearby wall for support.

She touched Dean's face almost feeling the windburn on his cheeks, "No you're not. You're drunk and you're a wreck."

"You're a wreck..." Dean replied leaning forward on Anna. She held onto him tight, though his weight was a lot to handle. Anna pulled him over to the couch, then shifted his weight until he fell over. He groaned.

"You know you have work tomorrow..." Anna said softly, touching his forehead. Dean closed his eyes staring at the inside of his eyelids, black. All he saw was black.

"He hates me... He totally hates me..." Dean whimpered pathetically. Anna sighed and left the room to grab a wet wash cloth, which she laid on Dean's forehead.

"He doesn't hate you Dean. Lucifer is just a controlling dick." Anna reassured.

"No, he hates me... I screwed up everything and now he hates me... I should have never gone when you told me about him..." Dean whined, he was a pathetic drunk. At least as of late, it was like all of his depression was just magnified. He sounded like a crying child.

"Dean." Anna said softly brushing his hair back. "You shouldn't sleep on the couch..."

He glanced up, putting an arm around Anna who helped to pull him to his feet. "...thank you..."

Anna helped to pull him up the stairs, "For what?"

"...putting up with me..." Dean mumbled.

"It's fine Dean."

When Dean woke up in the morning, he had a raging hangover. His head throbbed violently as he made his way downstairs. In fact he barely even made it downstairs without collapsing because of terrible vertigo. Dean leaned on the wall for support, making his way into the kitchen and grabbing a hold of the phone. There was no way that he could go into work, even if it was irresponsible of him. Still, one can't work if they can't even stand up.

After calling in sick and taking some much needed aspirin- he flopped on the couch, he didn't turn on the lights or the TV he just laid still. Dean pulled a pillow over his face and prayed that the headache would go away soon. After a few minutes (which seemed like a few hours because of being in pain) a loud knocking- which sounded like a jack hammer- was heard at the door. Dean groaned loudly, rolling off the couch and onto the floor. "Son of a bitch..." he muttered as he headed to the door. He opened the door to see his mail man, Chuck standing there.

Chuck was an aspiring author, who lived in his grandparents basement. He delivered mail around town to help pay a rent to his grandparents. Most people considered him just another drunk. Dean actually kind of liked the guy though, he was funny and as much as he hated to say it- pretty much the nicest person Dean had ever met. So even despite the fact that he lived in his grandparent's basement, Dean was usually pretty nice to him. But not on a day like today when his head was in so much pain.

"What do you want Chuck?" Dean asked putting a hand over his face. His head ache raged, like a pulsating heart in his head. The pain was intense, so dealing with his mailman- or really anyone in general was not high on his list of things he wanted to do. Dean looked through the screen, Chuck gave a nervous laugh.

"Hangover?"

"Yes. A nasty one. So I repeat, what do you want Chuck? I'm really not in the mood to be patient." he snapped.

"First class mail. Anna Milton lives with you right?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah." Dean replied opening the door and taking the envelope from his mailman. "What's it for?"

"I dunno." Chuck shrugged, "But if I had to guess, I'd say some kind of invitation. Though I'm really not positive about anything. I've just delivered a lot of letters."

"Thanks Chuck. Later." Dean said handing him a tip and closing the door. He stalked over to the couch wanting to open the mail. Though he was pretty sure that was some kind of federal offense or something. He was about ninety percent positive, at least. Still that didn't mean that he couldn't be curious and it was nice to get his mind off of the raging headache. He grabbed his phone which he had laid on the coffee table and decided to text Anna.

'Hey you got something weird in the mail.' Dean texted grabbing a glass of water and sitting on the couch.

'Oh is it first class mail? Gold insignia on the back?'

Dean flipped the letter over and glanced, she was right there was a gold insignia on the back. It had some kind of bird on it, maybe a falcon?

'Yeah. What is it?'

'It's an invite to a party that my dad throws every year. Every family member is invited. Its very black tie.'

'Everyone?'

'Yeah, though that doesn't mean that everyone goes...'

'Even Lucifer?'

'Lucifer hasn't gone in years.'

'Ah.'

'You're wondering about Cas aren't you?'

'Yeah...'

'He's always invited as one of the musicians. He went every year up till he started working for Lucifer.'

'So you don't know if he'll go?'

'No. But would you like to be my date in case he does go?'

'Sure. Any way we could get Sam in too?'

'Probably. If I talk to some people and call in some favors.'

'When is this?'

'Its usually the first part of February.'

'Okay.'

'You want to open it don't you?'

'Yes.'

'You're so predictable.'

'Okay if I'm so predictable what am I gonna do next?'

'Sleep off your hangover.'

'Well played.' Dean smiled and put the phone on the coffee table, laying his head down on the pillow. It was soft and helped to let his throbbing head hurt a little less. Maybe if he fell asleep then when he woke up the pain would be gone. That would be a nice thought.

My eyes are closed, but I can still hear the sound of jack hammer. The weird thing is, the sound is inside my skull- its like there's a tiny work crew hacking away at my skull trying to pierce into the brain. It hurts so badly that I want to scream out- rather then being mute and enduring this agony. In a way, the pain is so intense I'm not even sure if I'm really the person feeling it. I personally never thought that I was capable of feeling so much anguish on my own.

I try to open my eyes but I can't, as soon as I get close to prying them open I feel a force shut them. Like my brain- which I'm amazed is even capable of thought when I'm in this much pain- is trying to protect me from what my eyes would see. I feel a slow, white hot, needle pierce at the base of my skull. It feels like the needle is injecting me with a burning acid that drips down my spinal cord.

Again I try to force my eyes open but I still can't seem to get them open. So instead I try to move, but that also feels impossible. It feels like there's a thousand pounds weighing down on my chest. Like a big ball of led that I can't move. I open my mouth but no words come out, I manage to get a squint out. A thick black figure sits on my chest, but I have no idea who it is.

Then they speak, "I see you're awake."

Who the hell is it? I know the voice but I can't seem to get my thoughts fluid enough to figure out who it is. The jack hammer and the searing agony in my spinal cord seem to be interrupting me every time that I try to draw up a picture. So despite my efforts I can't seem to conjure up who is talking to me. They shift on my chest and I feel their hip bones grind against my sternum. I try to groan in pain but again no sound comes out.

"Seems like you're having a little trouble there." he says with a little laugh. I cough a little, choking on an irony tasting glob of something. If I wasn't in so much pain right now I think I would hurl.

I fight against myself and finally manage to get my eyes open. Though I can't really make anything out, everything is blurry and there are splotches of black everywhere. The voice laughs a little bit more, "Maybe a little more then a little trouble. Pity."

Again I try to force out some speech but all that comes out is a broken noise that doesn't even sound human. When the noise comes out my lungs throb and I cough loudly again.

"Let me just tell you, I am going to kill you." the voice says matter of factly. I close my eyes giving back in to the pain. "But not yet, first you are going to suffer. I will make sure that your last moments are those of utter, excruciating, and absolute agony. Because you deserve it, you miserable piece of trash."

I feel a blunt pain, dig into my chest- like a tiger digging into its prey. I start to scream-

Castiel's eyes fly open, having had an awful dream. His eyes jump around the room, trying to remind himself of where he is. Cas tried his best to assure that himself that he was safe, but he was never safe. Not here- not now- maybe not ever. Castiel couldn't really feel safe with Lucifer, no matter how hard he tried. It was impossible to feel like Lucifer wasn't just going to randomly fly off the handle.

He rolled from his side to his back, exhaling heavily. He could feel his bones ache and creak as he moved. Like an old rocking chair that was broken- so every time someone sat in it and every time that it moved it would make this high pitched whine. On a chair it was appealing, it gave the chair beauty and age- but on a person it was just plain painful. Cas rolled his neck back and forth a few times, hearing the bones crack. His hips hurt the most though, they felt like they were popped out of place. Castiel gazed up at the ceiling of Lucifer's room which was surprisingly dull and uninteresting. Though there was some nice texture on the ceiling. His eyes shifted back and forth drawing patterns and connecting things in different ways to make images. Then something clicked in his brain.

Lucifer's room.

He looked over to see an exposed back. He hated feeling like he was some kind of toy that existed for Lucifer's amusement. Though he knew that Lucifer would just say that he was his toy. Cas groaned softly- he didn't want to be a toy. He didn't want to feel like such crap about himself, but waking up next to his brother wasn't helping. Incest was wrong. Totally wrong, but he didn't have a choice he couldn't do anything about it. He had no way of saying no, what Lucifer wanted, Lucifer got. Still now he just felt used, he shoved it out of his mind. Castiel didn't particularly enjoy feeling like he was some kind of scum of the earth. Cas rolled out of bed, landing clumsily on his feet. He glanced back hoping that Lucifer wouldn't wake up, which he didn't. Good. Cas gathered his clothes and went into his room changing into some sweatpants and a baggy shirt.

Maybe he should get a shower. He wasn't sure though, as he contemplated the possibilities he heard a knock at the door. Cas rushed to the door, gazing through the eye hole. He pulled the door open to see a blundering mailman.

"Hello...?" Castiel asked slowly.

"Hey. Uh- um... I have two first class letters here for... uh... Lucifer and Castiel?"

Castiel tried to force a smile but it didn't really work. He pushed the screen door open taking the letters and looking them over. "Thank you." he said slowly. The mailman smiled and stepped off the porch. Cas closed the door, putting the letters on the table. He already knew what the letter was so he didn't need to worry about opening it. Though he wasn't sure if Lucifer was going to want him going this year or not. He supposed that it was up in the air still.

Cas made his way over to the sofa, reclining in the arm chair. Morning and late evenings were the best time of the day because Lucifer was usually asleep which meant Cas had time to himself- one of the only times he could not have to filter his thoughts. It was the only time that he let himself think about Dean Winchester, his hair, his eyes, his smile. Though Cas doubted that Dean even smiled anymore. He felt like he probably ruined everything that was good about Dean when he dropped off the face of the earth. Like he didn't already have crushing guilt issues.

He had run away form Dean (again), after kissing him- he only realized to late that kissing him was a mistake. If only he had just taken a step back, if only he had left. But the truth was? He couldn't, no matter how much he might have wanted too. Lucifer would find out about the kiss (and he did shortly after) and he would make Castiel's life a living hell (and he did). Cas let his head sink down, staring at his hands in his lap. The punishment that Lucifer had used- words could not describe the horror. He was locked in the warehouse and couldn't leave for two whole months. While he was on lock down, Lucifer would lock him in a blank room and torture him. Cas was used to being tormented, he was even (to some extent) used to the sexual abuse- even if he always felt like a used up piece of crap afterwards. But this, this was so much worse.

He shuddered just thinking about the time that he spent in that room. Being woken up every night so he was so sleep deprived he was hallucinating- which were so much worse then reality. Having Lucifer hold a gun to his head and shoot it, only to find out that he was shooting an empty gun. Nothing is more terrifying then the actual feeling of having a gun pressed to your temple. Feeling the anticipation in the pit of your gut- wondering if the lights are going to go out and if they do what's on the other side? Even if a person was surrendered to death, the whole action of dying was still terrifying. The most indescribable feeling of panic only to find out that the gun won't end his life.

It was maddening. To the point of Castiel screaming and begging to be killed.

Sometimes it wasn't even Lucifer who was torturing him, it could be Alastair or Azazel- Crowley didn't really take part he kept saying something about 'not wanting to get his shoes dirty'. Still all three of them (plus Lucifer) would come in and talk to him. Usually it was just to torment him, though occasionally Crowley would just go off on a random tangent. Those were the best moments, because he felt like he had a break from what was going on.

Then there was the asphyxiation- a method that Azazel favored since he didn't have to get his hands dirty. Then on Thursdays, he was hung from the ceiling for extended periods of time. In fact he passed out quite a few times from said method.

The whole two months was very blurry. After that, Lucifer offered to let him out provided that he did exactly as he was told. Provided he didn't stray from the path that his brother laid out. Frankly? Castiel was content to do whatever Lucifer wanted as long as it meant that Dean stayed safe and he himself stayed safe. So Cas promised to what Lucifer wanted, when Lucifer wanted. He didn't try to go behind Lucifer's back, he didn't try to do anything stupid.

Cas did what he was told.

And he hated every moment of it. Still he dealt with it, for Dean. For somewhere deep inside his chest was a flame that could not be extinguished, the hope that things would get better. One day, he hoped that he would be free from his brother's grasp. For without that hope, he wouldn't be able to wake up in the morning. Without that hope everything would just be pointless. Castiel decided that if he gave in to despair then he would revert to a horrible, selfish, and malicious self- that simply just wasn't Castiel.

Doing this for Dean? It was selfless, but Cas wasn't one to brag.

He thumbed over the invitation in his hands, wondering what Lucifer would do. He couldn't hope to guess, he didn't understand how his brother's mind worked. Still Cas wanted to know- though he wasn't going to go wake his brother up. As far as Cas was concerned, being alone was the best thing that ever happened to him. Though, that wasn't entirely true, because when he was alone there was no one to catch him if his mind drifted off to another place. Or back to those memories of the past few months. But on the other hand, when he was alone he could daydream about whatever he wanted. As long as he didn't let his mind slip down that road- he didn't have anything to worry about.

But sadly he was learning that it was impossible to stray away from the darkness.

Especially when it was all around him.


I hate this chapter. I hate it a lot. I don't know why but I do. I guess I just for some reason don't feel like it's up to par with all of the other chapters but when I go and read it, there's no real reason why. I just don't like it. That being said, I need this chapter- it sets up the party which is like a large chunk of the story. Its more then one chapter. Still, for some reason I just don't like this chapter.

I think it might be because it feels like nothing is happening, but believe it or not I don't want to always torture Cas. Every freaking chapter. So this chapter kind of takes a step back (although not really because we do see his life has not been easy). So, I apologize for this chapter. It's reminiscent of chapter fifteen in 'Worker Bee' I think.

Anyway, the song that's playing on the jukebox in the road house is 'Let's get Fucked Up and Die' or sometimes called 'L.G. Fuad' by Motion City Soundtrack. I dunno I thought it was appropriate. Especially for the bar scene. I just can't seem to tying songs into my writing, it's like I'm just chilling and listening to my MP3 player and then BAM. A song hits me and I'm just like... 'That works, yayness!'

Are you ready? Were gearing up for some fun stuff. Fun, fun stuff. Can't reveal too much about the party though.

In other news, have you seen the season 8 trailer? Amazing. Freaking amazing. (Except Jared Padalecki's hair was so distracting because it's so fabulous.) I am totally ready for purgatory. Just saying.

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