Free nights off are always the worst.
They're the most fun, Dean thinks, but definitely the worst. Despite all outward appearances, the erstwhile hunter sometimes thinks too much. When that happens, well, shit…he resolves to drink the thoughts away, hoping for some form of temporary amnesia. Sam is still getting the occasional hell burst from good ole' Lucifer and Dean can't help but hide away in his trashy motel room (when have they ever had the money for anything nice?) with a pint of rot-gut and his own sins. At least he knows what to expect in the morning and a face full of cold porcelain isn't so bad, because, fortunately, he made it to the bathroom this time.
His stomach is empty, finally matching the rest.