Sam turned, walking back to his warm room completely numb. He didn't even know how he got there, only that there was bed beneath him and a pillow under his head. He was looking at the ceiling, subconsciously counting the dots that spattered across it. There were exactly sixty-five, most of them clustered to the area above the bed.
Sam noticed none of this, his mind on loop, replaying the conversation over and over again, his world crumbling at the edges. Everything that he had believed to be true was a charade, the truth buried deep underneath. He had a brother that was three times the man that he thought he was, possibly even better than he was. There was this whole new person claiming to be his older brother and Sam didn't know what to do with it.
Dean stormed around the town; trying to find somewhere he could drown every emotion that was plaguing him. He refused to believe that they didn't have some kind of bar around here, they couldn't be that messed up. Dean was close to completing the full circle that he was walking around the town when he saw it, hidden between a dark house, possibly abandoned, and a small variety store, the only light coming out of it was from the 'closed' sign in the window. Dean walked towards it, noticing that it was empty except for the bar tender walking around.
When Dean opened the door, what was once a musical doorbell rang out; far past its expiry date it sounded more like a dying cat than anything remotely close to a song. Helping himself to a bar stool Dean glanced around the place, glad that he had finally found a place that wasn't contaminated by Christmas. The bar was simple, a couple of booths lining the walls, and old, cracked, stained leather covering the seats. The pictures on the wall were mismatched and random, varying from famous people to what seemed like old pets. There was a light by each seat, a cord hanging down so you could choose whether or not you wanted it on. The entire place was muted, the colors dark and drab. The bar was scuffed and chipped, worn over years of people touching, slamming, scraping, and banging.
Dean was still looking around when the bar keeper said, his voice low and broken in the way that a smokers would be after chain smoking for most of their life, "What you want?"
Dean turned, "What's the strongest you've got?"
Bar keeper put his hand under that bar, pulling out a bottle of 151, placing it before Dean. Dean nodded, the man pulling out a glass and filling the bottom with half an inch of the liquid. He pushed the glass towards Dean, leaving the bottle out.
Taking the glass Dean downed it in one shot, clearing his throat after to get rid of the burn. Dean drank a lot, but nothing could prepare him for the alcohol content of 151. It was nice, something that he could actually forget with. Placing the glass back on the counter he simply motioned to it, watching as the glass was filled slowly.
"That bad huh?" The bar keeper didn't look at him, his eyes on the glass, making sure he gave the right amount of the powerful stuff.
"You have no idea," Dean downed the glass again, a buzz starting to form behind his right eye.
It took one more for Dean to finally start feeling better, switching to just beer after. He wanted to numb the pain, not die from alcohol poisoning. It was after two beers that the bar keeper stopped serving him, saying that he had more than enough. Dean would have fought that tooth and nail had he been able to do more than walk. When he tried to get out of his stool he decided that he was right, gripping the edge just to stay on his feet.
He made it out the door; not knowing which way it was to the house. He apparently had chosen the right way as twenty minutes later he was dragging himself up the stairs to the white porch, lugging himself through the door and up the stairs, throwing himself on his bed, and passing out as soon as his eyes closed.
Sam heard Dean come back; he made enough noise to wake the block after all. It took everything he had to not help him or kill him. He ignored him, closing his eyes and shutting out the heavy steps that echoed down the hallway.
He couldn't wait for morning.
All he wanted was to get out of this God-forsaken town.
A/N: *sing to the tune of Thriller* It's a Filler! Filler!
Okay, enough from the peanut gallery. Things(life mostly) are going to start picking up now, so I am mentally exhausted. Ignore anything errors please. I am dog tired.