Dean practically slammed the shot glass back down onto the bar, and wasted no time in downing the next shot once it had been poured out. He’d lost track of how many he’d had already, which he figured, put him one step closer to forgetting the last few months.
The morning would bring back the memories, but for now Dean just wanted to drown out the images that he couldn’t escape. It had all begun when their father had been possessed by the demon, the one who’d killed his Mom and Jessica. There had been a lot of hazy moments after that, Sam had managed to get free and use the colt, the demon had left his Dad and they’d run, Sam determined on getting Dean to the nearest hospital.
Not that they’d made it there. When Dean next regained consciousness it was in a hospital, and Sam was in a chair next to him. Dean hadn’t believed it when they explained to him about Dad. After all they’d fought, that it was a car accident that had taken him out seemed ridiculous. He barely even noticed when Sam had told him that the Impala had been totalled.
Now life had taken a surreal feel to it, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure he was alive, or that he wanted to be. His liver had certainly acquired a death wish, and speaking of, he placed the shot glass down again, but was stopped from ordering another by a hand on his shoulder.
Dean turned to face the figure behind him. “What do you want, Sammy?”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Dean, it’s not worth it. It won’t make things right again.”
The older Winchester didn’t respond for a moment, but then pulled a few bills out of his pocket and laid them on the bar, then slung his bag onto his back before stalking out of the building, Sam quick to follow, “There’s a motel maybe half a mile from here. If we’re quick we can be there in ten minutes.”
“I need a new car.”
“You’re in no shape to drive anyway. Come on, it’s getting late.”
They made it to the motel fairly easily, the cold night air causing Dean to sober up somewhat. The clerk at the desk gave him an odd stare as he booked a room with the fake card that Sam handed him. Dean figured it was probably because he didn’t look so good, but right about now, he didn’t really care. Once in the room he just collapsed onto one of the beds and left Sam to sort himself out. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was Sam’s voice. “You’ve gotta start looking after yourself, Dean.”
It wasn’t until gone noon the next day that Dean woke up, turning over to face the untouched bed next to him. Dean felt his eyes tearing up again, no matter how hard he’d tried to stop it. He whispered to the empty room. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that Sam? So desperate to get revenge. Was it worth it, huh? Because all I had was you and Dad. And now that’s gone. I’ve got nothing left. Is this what you wanted?”
There was no answer, except for the vibration of the EMF from within his bag.