Post by DEAN WINCHESTER on Mar 15, 2017 17:43:33 GMT -6
it's the demons i've created
FOR MYSELF, THE TRAGIC TRUTH. IT'S HARD FOR ME TO UNDERSTAND MYSELF SO IT HAS TO BE HARD AS HELL FOR YOU.
the world was going to hell in a handbasket. or rather, hell had come to the world. after all these years of putting their lives on the line, the winchesters were unable to stop the apocalypse this time around. it seemed bad enough a few weeks ago, when the threat of darkness was upon the world. but now, oh man, were things worse than ever. they'd dealt with high caliber threats before, but this….this was monumental. he wouldn’t give up on trying to save innocents[or his brother]; that just wasn’t in his hardwiring. he'd go down like a true hunter if that was the case – fighting til the end.
in the last handful of years in his life as a hunter, dean had become a great friend to the bottle. he'd deny he had a problem and even to most, tried to hide it. it was that very fact, the fact he refused to let the world in on his liquid crutch, that had convinced him he was okay. after all, if he got to the point where he didn’t care what the world thought of him, only then would he know something was wrong with him. it was a vicious cycle of hunters that eventually they all fell into. he saw it from old colleagues, his father, and even bobby in some instances. there was no escaping the pain and guilt that weighed him down on a regular basis so at the very least, he felt the need to numb it. and frankly, there wasn’t a glass of whiskey in the whole damn world that couldn’t help him out there.
though seattle wasn’t a home to the winchesters, dean knew it well. they’d been to washington an innumerable amount of times for various hunts. he didn’t know the town well but even the shitty, run down bar two blocks from their motel seemed like home. it was pathetic that bars were becoming just that to him – a home. it seemed to be one of the only places still in business, what with the power outages and trees falling on buildings and whatnot. the smell of gasoline hit him when he entered inside the dingy place, suggesting the generator had been running off it to keep the dim lights powered and the television operable.
disasters he could handle – he’d done it before. it was the other emotions that had begun to cripple him. something was seriously wrong with sammy and no matter how much prodding he did, dean couldn’t find out what. it was terrifying him, causing him to place some mistrust in his brother…all at a time when they needed to be as strong as ever. amara was no less of a concern to him as she had been before. his feelings for her should have diminished with the mark of cain but it was quite the opposite. he felt hollow and empty having not seen her for a few weeks, like a longing void that could not be filled by anything else. embarrassed and ashamed[and honestly, unsure how to correct it], he kept this revelation to himself. as if all of that wasn’t enough, loved ones had begun to surface in the world of the living once more. he was relieved, even happy to see them, but their resurrection brought more than just joy. in fact, it brought unease and guilt.
the bartender tried cutting him off once already but after a flash of a false badge and a fifty-dollar bill, he simply left the hunter with the bottle. no use trying to argue with someone in such a foul mood. dean's gaze was directed up at the tv that was riddle with static, making the sound barely audible. still, he was able to make out the new station which was suggesting an evacuation of seattle. relief efforts had been station around the area for a few weeks now, handing out food and warm clothing in the time of need, but there was only so much they could do. the unknowing mortals were still marketing the whole ordeal as a natural disaster, blind to the real truth. another scoff caught in dean’s throat as he downed his third glass, setting it heavily on the bar top with a mutter under his breath. “not gonna escape this one.” his words were a reference to the fate of the human race in general but subconsciously was a reference to his own life as well. what were they going to do this time?
in the last handful of years in his life as a hunter, dean had become a great friend to the bottle. he'd deny he had a problem and even to most, tried to hide it. it was that very fact, the fact he refused to let the world in on his liquid crutch, that had convinced him he was okay. after all, if he got to the point where he didn’t care what the world thought of him, only then would he know something was wrong with him. it was a vicious cycle of hunters that eventually they all fell into. he saw it from old colleagues, his father, and even bobby in some instances. there was no escaping the pain and guilt that weighed him down on a regular basis so at the very least, he felt the need to numb it. and frankly, there wasn’t a glass of whiskey in the whole damn world that couldn’t help him out there.
though seattle wasn’t a home to the winchesters, dean knew it well. they’d been to washington an innumerable amount of times for various hunts. he didn’t know the town well but even the shitty, run down bar two blocks from their motel seemed like home. it was pathetic that bars were becoming just that to him – a home. it seemed to be one of the only places still in business, what with the power outages and trees falling on buildings and whatnot. the smell of gasoline hit him when he entered inside the dingy place, suggesting the generator had been running off it to keep the dim lights powered and the television operable.
disasters he could handle – he’d done it before. it was the other emotions that had begun to cripple him. something was seriously wrong with sammy and no matter how much prodding he did, dean couldn’t find out what. it was terrifying him, causing him to place some mistrust in his brother…all at a time when they needed to be as strong as ever. amara was no less of a concern to him as she had been before. his feelings for her should have diminished with the mark of cain but it was quite the opposite. he felt hollow and empty having not seen her for a few weeks, like a longing void that could not be filled by anything else. embarrassed and ashamed[and honestly, unsure how to correct it], he kept this revelation to himself. as if all of that wasn’t enough, loved ones had begun to surface in the world of the living once more. he was relieved, even happy to see them, but their resurrection brought more than just joy. in fact, it brought unease and guilt.
the bartender tried cutting him off once already but after a flash of a false badge and a fifty-dollar bill, he simply left the hunter with the bottle. no use trying to argue with someone in such a foul mood. dean's gaze was directed up at the tv that was riddle with static, making the sound barely audible. still, he was able to make out the new station which was suggesting an evacuation of seattle. relief efforts had been station around the area for a few weeks now, handing out food and warm clothing in the time of need, but there was only so much they could do. the unknowing mortals were still marketing the whole ordeal as a natural disaster, blind to the real truth. another scoff caught in dean’s throat as he downed his third glass, setting it heavily on the bar top with a mutter under his breath. “not gonna escape this one.” his words were a reference to the fate of the human race in general but subconsciously was a reference to his own life as well. what were they going to do this time?
