Show: Supernatural
Title: Touch Of Blood
Author: AllyCat
Rating : maybe R
Genre: Drama
Type: W.i.P
Comment : so, we all know Supernatural is only beginning, so we can't really make out how the characters are going to be in the long run. So I'm going to write them as I wish they could become/be in the show. I hope it'll be ok for you. Comments much appreciated, might I had )

He couldn't sleep anymore. He sulked in the car that had become their home, he drank lots. Way more than ever. The further they went on their hunt for their father, for answers, for some kind of redemption, the further apart from Jessica he felt. Each time he killed one of those metaphorical beast was making him feel like he was drifting away from normality.

So he drank. Like a normal guy would do to erase his problems. He had grown accustomed to the burning sting of vodka and dizziness would come later and later, night after night of drowning.

Dean shouted, Dean pleaded, Dean threatened, Dean tried everything. But he couldn't care less. He was efficient during missions, and that was all that was important. What he felt, what he needed, he wasn't sure Dean could understand. It was a trembling spin of anger and sadness, of need for answers that wouldn't be found, a dark cloud always hanging over his head as he was the one that provoked everything. It was his fault.

Both times, it had been in his room, over his bed, over his head. Every night he was afraid of closing his eyes to open them and discover Dean laying on the ceiling, an open gash on his torso and accusation in his eyes. So he didn't sleep.

Sometimes he would fall into some sort of slumber that would always reminisce him of Jess' death, of this unfairness and of their love destroyed. Burnt to hell he was.

He kept a composed, if not happy-go-lucky behaviour around his brother, not wanting to wake up some sort of Dean-radar that would have his sibling on his back all day long on the reasons of such an attitude. He didn't want to snap at Dean, so he tried to look as good as possible, all the time. All the damn time, it was tiring.

He downed another shot of vodka as Lenny Kravitz's "I Belong To You" began to play in the background. Turning slowly on the stool, he looked at the jukebox like there was a ghost of Jess leaning against it. This was all they always shared. United passion, respect, and cherishing.

"Want some company ?" He ordered with a single move of the hand another drink as he felt the girl sit beside him.

"No." It wasn't harsh, it was just cut. When he wasn't putting up because of his brother, he wasn't gentle. He could be as moody, broody and unpleasant as he wanted. He always thought his whole dark aura was enough to keep people off his back, but that girl sure didn't look as she understood he wanted to be alone, as she turned to him to pierce his skull with the biggest green eyes he ever saw.

"You sure look like you could use some, though."

He sighed, looking at the transparent liquid swirling in his glass. "I'll be fine on my own."

She raised an eyebrow before asking her usual to the bartender. He couldn't help watching her from the corner of his eyes, wondering if she would ever get a clue. He just needed peace, space, some kind of air he couldn't find. Everything was a pressure on his lungs, refusing him to feel free.

"You know..." Her voice was soft, and yet it was going to give him a headache soon. "I used to say the same thing."

"Fine." He turned his stool to hers, taking a good look at her, before rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don't care."

"Oh, I know." She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder, and he could only notice the earring she had on. A gold pendant, finished with a diamond tear, that dangled and moved with her, like it had a living on it's own. Mesmerized without understanding why, he cocked his head to the side when it looked like it began to glow. Shaking off of his transe, he put this on the count of alcohol and turned back to watch the numerous bottles behind the counter.

"It's amazing how sad people can give off vibes, sometimes."

He sucked at these mind games, usually. He didn't want to get involved in this mere conversation, but this girl was't going to let him off, it seemed.

"It's amazing how disrespectful people can be annoying, sometimes."

She shrugged. "Where's the lack of respect ? I didn't ask anything."

"Actually, you asked if I wanted company, and I said no. Though, you're here."

It was like talking with a PMS-ing version of Dean. Constant comebacks and disturbing perspicacity. He already had a hard time living day on day with his own brother, he really didn't ask for some girl that thought she was a know-all to come up to him and try to analyze him.

"I often heard that it felt good to some people to talk to strangers."

He gulped his glass quickly and put it down so hard on the counter it broke in his hand. Swearing under his breath, he looked down at his hand before giving her a last look.

"If you want some juicy story, plug in the internet. There's lots for your kind of perviness. Now, if you'd excuse me."

Sliding off his bar stool, he was feeling like he had been violated. This girl came up to him and tried to get stuff out of him, to enter his mind, like she knew him, like she had any right to do so.

She had broke in his peace, entered his bubble of harshness, and that for what ? He shuddered, walking down the road briskly to avoid any meeting of any sort. Dean and him were squatting an appartment in the middle of Pasadena, where their hunt had been leading them. He had been trying to find a bar as far as possible from their actual living place, not wanting his brother to find him and drag him out of it. He didn't, but someone did it still.

Left empty, he stopped in the middle of the street, shivering in the cool wind of the night, as a flash came back to him. The day he met Jess. He fell on his knees, helpless, as it felt like all of his memories with his ex-girlfriend were coming back to him. His hands over his eyes, as to restrain the tears to fall down, his brain was raking to find every and each moment of his life with Jessica. It was like poison seeping through his veins. Would she ever forgive him ?

After a few minutes, he felt like his legs could carry him, and he resuming his walk to the appartment, shaking to the bones with contained anger and guilt. He would find out, he would understand. But as he approached, he began breathing slower, controlling himself, regaining his composure. Dean wouldn't be asleep. Dean would ask questions.

He entered the dead end street where was their secret door, when a ranch smell made his stomach heave. It was coming from the garbage in front of the door. But it didn't actually stink like detritus. He could smell blood. Getting his gun from his belt, he walked carefully to the door, looking everywhere around him, listening to every little sound, shifting as the slightest move of the wind.

When he finally got there, he looked down to see the body of a young man. With a frown, he knelt to watch closely. His eyes widened, and he made a dash to the door, opening it with more strength than needed.

"Dean ! We got a problem !"