This is a good one.
The room is packed and everyone's had a little too much to drink, even him. And Dean can pack away the liquor so well, you'd think he was born with a wooden leg or second liver. Surly men and rowdy women, loud music and lousy burgers that'll turn your stomach to rot. Yes, this is just the bar he needs and the perfect atmosphere to catch the night on fire. Each punch Dean throws erases a memory and every blow that a stranger lands eclipses the pain he can't escape. His face never catches a fist, though, almost as if it's learned it's too pretty for its own good and protects itself from harm. So Dean never loses a tooth, never scratches a cornea, never learns his lesson. The cure for pain is in the pain. Some nerd told him that once, but he doesn't want to remember the guy's name. It's a sorrow he never wants to sink into again.
Every night he seeks his cure, and turns his world to red.