Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summer 2013

“I can’t do this anymore Dean. I have tried, God fucking knows I have tried, but I just can’t do this. I can’t sit there and watch the man that I love destroy himself. I just can’t!” Cas bit his lip and turned away, tears streaming down his face. Dean closed his eyes and took a wavering breath. “I love you Cas. I’ll be better, I’ll stop, I promise, please don’t leave. I love you so fucking much,” Turning back, Cas looked at Dean and a sad, watery smile came over his features “I wish love was enough Dean, I really do… But it’s not, not anymore. Goodbye Dean.” He turned and walked away, leaving Dean alone in the carpark. “Cas, come on please don’t do this. Please? I need you. Come back. CAS” Dean yelled to Cas’s retreating form before sliding down the side of Baby, placing his head in his hands and sobbed.

Present Day

“Dean, seriously? If you keep going like this you are going to suffer a serious burnout. Why don’t you take a few weeks and just relax?” Charlie’s concerned voice came through the speaker. Sitting in the recording booth, Dean rolled his eyes. He’s just come off an American tour for his latest album and is already back in the studio. He likes to keep himself busy, what’s the harm in that? 

“Charlie, I’m just laying some lyrics down and then I’ll sleep, okay? Stop worrying so much.” Dean heard Charlie sigh in exasperation on the other end of the phone. “Fine but I’m not scheduling any press or whatever for at least the next couple of days. Got it Winchester?” Agreeing and ending the phone call, Dean picked up his pen, and got lost in his lyrics and the bottle of Jack that he found. 

He kept writing until the bottle was finished before hauling himself up, in search of another bottle. Wandering through the hallways, Dean found himself stumbling toward the “Dean Cave” where he knew there was a fully stocked bar. Falling through the door, Dean made his way to the bar, grabbing the first bottle he laid his hand on. 

Turning around, he flopped his ass into the recliner and cracked the bottle open, taking a swig and wincing at the feel of the liquid burning but welcoming it all the same. Drinking helps him forget the face that has haunted his dreams for the last 10 years. The same black messy hair that Dean’s hands always found themselves fisting. The blue eyes that burned into his very soul every time they laid upon him. The gravelly voice that moaned his name as the owner pounded into Dean, lighting his nerves on fire. Dean wiped the tears that were threatening to fall and pulled another mouthful of liquor into his mouth, wanting the memories to vanish but finding himself holding onto them tighter than ever before.

He downed another mouthful of the whiskey, and grabbed the pill bottle from his pocket. He popped off the lid and shook the last two pills out into his hand. He threw them into his mouth and swallowed them down, letting out a deep sigh as he felt the numbness start to take over. It was a feeling he had grown all too familiar with—a temporary escape from the pain and the memories that haunted him. He didn't want to feel anything anymore.

As he leaned back, he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, hoping that the alcohol and the pills would finally grant him some peace. 

✕✕✕

Groaning as he woke up, Dean opened his eyes. Blinking and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, it took him a minute to realize that he wasn’t alone. 

“What do you want?” Dean mumbled, throat feeling dryer than the Sahara Desert. Charlie and Sam looked at him as he pulled himself up and walked over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge. Opening it, Dean guzzled down half the bottle, feeling the coolness of the water flow down his throat. 

Charlie cleared her throat. “Dean, you look like hell.” Dean let out a laugh. “It was a late night in the studio okay?” Dean mumbled as he finished off the bottle of water and threw the bottle in the trash, cussing when the bottle bounced off and rolled on the carpet. 

Bending over to pick it up, Dean was hit with a wave of nausea, and grabbed the wastebasket, and hurled. Bile burning his throat as the water and left over alcohol he consumed made a reappearance. Sam threw another bottle of water, which landed beside him and glared at him as he continued to dry heave, his stomach now empty. “Dude, that’s fucking disgusting.” Sam snapped at him and walked back over to the door, mumbling something along the lines of ‘I can’t’ as he stepped out the door. 

Dean sat, holding the wastebasket between his knees, nausea coming back full force. Charlie turned and walked over to Dean, crouching down. “I love you but this needs to stop. It’s not healthy, and you know it.” 

Dean whipped his head up. “I’m not a fucking alcoholic Charlie! I know how to handle my shit. Fuck!” Dean vehemently spat out making Charlie stand back up and stepped away, hands raised in a defensive measure. 

“No one is saying that Dean…” Wrenching himself from his position from the floor, “I need to get out of here,” Dean said as he went stomping past Charlie on his way to the garage. 

Pressing the fob for the garage door to open, Dean turned the key over in the ignition, putting Baby in drive and flooring the gas pedal. Driving always cleared Dean’s head. He took great pleasure in hitting the open road, but touring and being in the studio didn’t give him the chance to bring Baby out often. The feeling of the road disappearing under the wheels was something that he missed, so he just drove. Dean was on autopilot as he maneuvered her through the familiar streets, before noticing where he was. He slowed down and pulled into the parking lot and switched off the ignition. Pulling on a baseball cap and grabbing a pair of sunglasses, he slid them on and exited the car making his way towards the bottle shop.

“Good morning,” the barely legal looking girl said from behind the counter. Dean grunted a response and went straight for the large collection of spirits in the back corner. Grabbing 2 large bottles of whiskey off the rack, he sauntered back up to the front desk. Throwing a $100 bill on the counter, he told the girl to keep the change, grabbing his bottles and making his way back to Baby, he realized he left his phone back at the house. 

Shrugging to himself, Dean kicked the ignition over and tore out the parking lot, heading for the town limits. Pulling Baby into the truck stop, he reached across and pulled one of the bottles out the bag and cracked the top. Taking a couple of mouthfuls Dean screwed the lid back on and placed his head on the steering wheel. I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not John Winchester was reverberating around his head. Snorting to himself, Dean unscrewed the cap and kept drinking until the bottle was half gone. Leaning back against the seat, Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting out a sigh. 

The interior of Baby smelt like leather, vanilla and had the stale stench of motor oil. This lady had plenty of memories that she played a part in, both good and bad. Memories swirled around Dean’s brain as he sat there, breathing the smells in and drinking his whiskey. As he finished downing the first bottle, he noticed that the sun was setting. Fuck , Dean thought to himself as he fumbled with the keys in the ignition. Baby’s engine roared to life, and fishtailed when Dean pressed the gas pedal to bring her onto the main road. 

He knew he shouldn’t be driving but he didn’t care. Dean just needed to get his Baby back home, and he’ll deal with the fallout later. Drifting a little across the center line, Dean pulled the wheel, and Baby jerked back to her side of the road. The brightness of the headlights of a passing car was a bit much for Dean’s eyes, and he briefly closed his eyes… Just long enough not to see the 18 wheeler barrelling down the road towards him.