A/N : Supernatural was a show I never thought I would watch and now it's my new obsession. I love the stories and the characters. The favorite of course being Dean so naturally this story will be centered around him. And I have many…many plans for him. So here's the first chapter! Enjoy and be sure to leave a review :)
Chapter 1: Shattered El Sol
It was a typical night. The same white wrinkly sheets, thin as paper. The same greasy, carb filled stench that seemed to accompany their stays at these dingy motels. The same rusty bed frames that creaked under any slight pressure. Random art with chipped paint scattered on walls to give the motel that "homey feel."
It wasn't real. It was a manufactured prop. A fridge here, a stove there. A rat infested couch they dragged out of some foreclosed house. Bright pillows with flower patterns draped on either side. Old mangled curtains with a few moth holes.
A sense of safety and security so that you can almost fall into a restless sleep. So that you could almost give into the false hope that four walls seemed to provide.
People allowed this boxed up prop to lull them under sheets that some poor soul had used just the day before. People allowed themselves to feel safe here. To feel secure here. They closed their eyes, forgot about their problems. Sleep gave them that unconscious escape they needed. People did that.
But he wasn't just people. He wasn't just another poor soul that trusted this setting that he was currently in. He was a hunter and it was inbred in him to never trust the normal that released everyone else's fears and allowed them to indulge in that sweet relief only sleep could bring.
No, he was Dean Winchester.
And he had a problem.
Problems….
But the one that was currently scraping the inside of his skull without mercy was his lack of sleep. The ability to get any sleep actually.
With a huff of irritation, his green eyes shot open. He reached behind his head and propped the pillow up.
Rolled on his side…
Propped the pillow up.
Rolled onto his stomach…
Propped the pillow up again.
Closed his eyes.
Nothing.
Squeezed his eyes as tight as possible against the empty darkness.
Nothing.
He threw his body onto his other side with a grunt and tried to get his brain to shut off.
Breathe.
Just Breathe.
Suddenly, the pillow was attacked with no warning, receiving a few hard pounds from a fist.
Dean let out a sharp exhale from his nostrils and growled quietly when the pillow, despite the beating it had taken, popped back up to its original condition.
If only people were like that…
He rolled over onto his back and ran his hands over his face. He glanced over to the nightstand and groaned when he read the clock.
2:37 A.M.
Barely even into the night and he was already awake. He looked over to his left to see an exact replica of the bed he was currently laying on. An arm and leg dangled off the side, the blanket draped along half of his body not able to completely cover the giant. Quiet snoring filled the room.
'Lucky son of a bitch' Dean thought to himself as he watched his younger brother sleep without a care in the world.
If he wasn't such a nice guy, he would reach over and smack the contentment right off of Sam's face. For his amusement of course.
Not because he didn't wanna lay here awake in the dark. Not because he didn't want to tell Sam about these sleepless nights. And certainly not because he didn't want to be alone.
Those were weak thoughts. Thoughts that needed to be kept buried. As long as he kept up the facade, made a few jokes here and there, and commented at the right times - Sam would never notice him fading.
It wasn't fair. Sleep was normal. When he slept, he was like every other person on the planet. He wasn't a killer. He wasn't a hunter. He was just a human being getting that sweet unconscious escape like the rest of the world. And now…he didn't even have that.
Dean sat up slowly, his body reminding him of all the aches pulling on his muscles. The sheets had been thrown almost off the bed completely by his agitated jolting as he had tried and failed once again to fall asleep.
He was warm and not just warm. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and yet a shiver coursed through his body and goosebumps pricked up on his arms. His black Metallica t-shirt clung to his torso, the material sticky and damp against his skin.
He rolled his shoulders and winced as he could feel the tightness gripping onto his back. A watery mist started to blur his vision. Whenever he was bone tired, his eyes would water up despite his determined efforts to stop the offending leakage. Running his hands over his face, he swiped at his eyes.
He looked over at the clock again and scoffed. Three minutes had gone by and he knew right then and there it was over. The battle for sleep was lost once again and he was the loser everytime.
With a heavy sigh, he stood up, walking in a sort of drunken manner. His legs shook, trying to hold up his stocky frame. The movements were clumsy. His entire body felt numb and he made sure he didn't wake Sam as he took slow cautious steps to find the bathroom.
His fingers clutched onto the door as his other hand plopped against the wall, fumbling for the light switch. He sighed in relief once he found it and squinted with a grunt as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light.
Dragging his feet over the cool tile, he braced both hands onto the sink and leaned heavily against the counter.
The mirror was something he avoided. It wasn't because he thought he wasn't attractive or satisfied with how he looked. It was because it showed him what others saw. What others felt when they were around him or heard him. It showed him what he didn't want to see.
His blonde hair was matted, sticking up like porcupine spikes in all sorts of directions. His green eyes were dull and clouded, no longer holding that vibrant emerald spark that ignited whenever he got excited. He had deep purplish gray circles under his eyes. His cheeks were hollow and sunken in, the skin just stretching over the bone. Patches of stubble ran along his jawline.
His face had taken on a pale complexion. He sniffed and turned on the faucet to splash some water on his skin, but it didn't do anything to enhance his appearance.
Now he was just cold…and wet.
Drops of water dripped off his nose, his chin, and traveled down his neck. He looked down at his t-shirt that hung askew from his pants. The hem pulled halfway up, revealing his torso.
He reached for the shirt and smoothed it out with shaking hands, trying to tuck the fabric back into his waistband, but his fingers were sluggish and unwilling to respond to his commands. He groaned and hit his head against the mirror, a little too hard. One eye squinted slightly as he reached up to rub his forehead.
"Awesome. Just awesome." He whispered to himself, his voice stiff and hoarse.
His head was already throbbing. Nothing like hitting a hard object with your noggin to make it better…
Hitting the light switch, the bathroom became pitch black as he stumbled back out into the small room. Sam was still sound asleep.
Thank god for that.
Dean wouldn't be able to handle the caring and concern and anxious Sam. Sam anxious about him? Oh god….he'd rather go toe to toe with a Leviathan than deal with his younger brother mothering him.
That was his job.
A loud rumbling caused Dean to jump. His stomach was begging for more than it had been given today. He had been drinking every meal for a few weeks now and tonight would be no different.
It was over. He knew it.
He grabbed his grey leather jacket off the floor and slid it over his arms and then quickly stuffed his feet in his boots. He walked over to the small mini fridge and grabbed one of his most cherished possessions.
A crisp cold bottle of El Sol.
With one final look back to Sam to make sure he didn't hear anything, Dean snatched his car keys off the nightstand, the bottle in his other hand and left, making sure the door just touched the frame as gently as possible.
A sly smirk appeared on his face as he realized how good he was becoming at this charade. Sam would go to sleep and he would drink his nights away.
Drink his fears away.
Drink his nerves away.
Hell….he would drink everything away.
He made his way over to the one constant in his life, his prized possession. His baby.
A proud stride turned into a stumble as the world dangerously tilted around Dean. Bile rose in his throat as his stomach twisted in knots. His hands reached blindly to catch himself before he fell on his ass.
Suddenly the sound of glass shattering against the pavement echoed against his skull.
Dean just looked down for a moment at the shiny shards lit up by the moon shining brightly in the sky, the liquid splattered all over the dark cement. It was as if the moon was taunting him, letting him know that he couldn't have what he wanted and still get what he wanted.
"Son of a bitch!"
Dean regained his footing, but now realizing he dropped his beer, mourned the loss of a dear friend by the only way he knew how.
Cursing.
He groaned and rested his hands on the hood of the Impala as the pavement swayed under his feet again. Taking deep breaths, he managed to keep the nauseous at bay and opened the door, clutching the frame for support.
His battered body protested as he folded himself in half to sit. He rested his fingers against the leather trim on the steering wheel and sat there in silence for a minute.
He was good.
He was okay.
"I'm fine." He said to himself, the words stringing perfectly together to almost seem believable and that was enough for him.
Nothing, a little booze and music couldn't fix.
Cranking the stereo up loud enough to break some windows and to see his rear view mirror vibrating from the bass that only AC/DC's Givin The Dog A Bone could bring, Dean flew out of the parking lot, hoping to get back what was taken from him.
A Cold, New, and Improved bottle of El Sol.
Alright so that's chapter 1! I hope you enjoyed it. I kind of rushed it out cause I wasn't exactly sure how I wanted to take this story. Please review and let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading :)