Chapter Text
Sam rubbed his hands together nervously, glancing again at his watch. After leaving Missouri, Dean had dropped Sam off in a motel outside Livonia and “went out for a drink.” Which was a little worrying—back before Purgatory Sam had been subtly trying to wean Dean off his alcohol addiction, without success. He hadn’t seen Dean consume a drop of hard liquor since he’d returned, which might have been the only upside to this whole mess. Now he was out at a bar again, but since Sam was likely the cause of Dean’s little escape, he couldn’t exactly say anything about it. And after everything that went down with the spectre, Sam had to admit he’d needed a little space too.
He’d been angry. What Dean had said—all of it had hit pretty close to home. He knew he’d betrayed his brother, made mistakes. He’d harbored his own fair share of guilt for that through the years. But to have all that thrown back in his face as deliberate choices, and to have Dean tell him a vampire made a better brother than he did...that made him mad. Especially considering how Dean had kept Benny secret from him for months.
But now, Sam was just tired. He was tired of grieving for a brother who was right next to him, and he was tired of making up excuses. Because he was sorry he hadn’t looked for Dean, but he’d never said it. Maybe that was the problem. He knew what he’d said about Benny hadn’t helped, but he wasn’t going to think about it right then. He was already unpacking too much crazy for one night.
Sam let out a sigh, standing from the bed to pace around the room. Dean had been uncharacteristically silent on the drive there, and he’d been out for two hours now. If he didn’t come back within the next half hour, Sam decided resolutely, he would go out and drag his brother home.
Dean leaned over the bar top, balancing a shot of whiskey between his fingers. He hadn’t actually drunk anything yet, besides a few beers. He wasn’t planning on going back to the motel wasted and spilling more of his guts to Sam.
Mostly, he wished Benny was there. Benny wouldn’t question him, put him in a hard spot. They could just relax, have a few drinks, maybe hustle some pool. Like he used to be able to do with Sam.
Then again, he wasn’t sure things would be so relaxed with Benny. His friend had taken some hard hits recently, and he didn’t seem to be rolling with the punches. Dean was worried, but there wasn’t much he could do about it right then. He took out his phone, noticing a couple missed calls from said friend. He sent out a quick text, asking him what he was up to. There was a good chance Benny wouldn’t be able to figure out how to reply, but at least he would know he wasn’t alone.
Not like Dean, at the moment.
Don’t be so dramatic, Dean immediately berated himself. He’d been in tougher spots before. Besides, whatever was going on with Sam, he knew that it was his fault. Truth was, holding on to the anger had kept him sharp, given him a focus. Without it… well, then he started to think.
Dean flinched as a woman’s sharp laughter pierced the air. He’d gotten a little more used to the overwhelming amount of feelings and noises and colors and smells since he’d gotten back, but mostly it was too much. Especially now, for some reason. Maybe the anger had helped with that, too.
Every time someone passed behind his stool, Dean’s grip tightened on his glass. Even the dull glow of the neon sign above the counter was bright, and he finally just slid his drink down the bar, knowing it wouldn’t help. He told himself he didn’t really want it, anyway. The buzz of the crowd grew louder with every passing second, and he was beginning to feel boxed in, paranoid. Okay, Winchester. Time to go.
The room seemed to shrink as Dean made his way through the bar, narrowing down on the distant exit. He quickened his pace, slipping past bodies - not bodies, not bodies, they were alive - and wincing whenever he bumped into someone.
Stumbling out into the alley behind the bar was a relief. The smell of sweat and smoke was still strong there, but greatly lessened by a cool breeze. Dean took a deep breath, rubbing a hand across his hair.
“Dean…”
Dean froze, whirling around to assess the alley while backing himself up against the wall. He carefully wrapped his hand around his gun.
“Miss me, Dean?”
No. That was impossible. It sounded like…
Dean fired three shots into the alley, bullets taking chunks of brick from the walls. Silence.
Dean shakily holstered the gun, hurrying toward the Impala. It was time to leave.
The phone went dim after a few seconds. The thin, metallic device felt flimsy in his hand, and it took a significant amount self control not to crush his only figurative lifeline.
Benny pressed a random button, screen illuminating his face as his eyes roved over words he’d read several times already.
Hey Benny. You doing good?
Such simple words, but the double meaning didn’t escape Benny. Straightening, Benny let out a dry chuckle, his breath fanning out in front of him. He leaned back against the side of his camper and looked up at the night sky. He wasn’t offended—he got why Dean would be checking in every now and then to make sure he was still on the straight and narrow.
But it did make him wonder. Dean rarely contacted him, said it was only in case of an emergency.
And then this message out of the blue…
Benny stared down at the phone, which had gone dark again, and debated on how he should answer.
If he should answer.
Benny stared upwards again, cataloging every star he hadn’t seen in...well, it had been a while. He tucked his phone back into his pocket. He still had a long way to go.