[locked] and packed my hopes inside a matchbox
It's something Dean's been looking forward to, although he can't honestly say why. Last time didn't exactly end how he planned - which in no way explains how he can't stop thinking about it.
Still, with research on how to get out of this place combined with both of them trying to find jobs while they're stuck here (and Sam fighting him about it the whole way, like Dean never worked between towns when they were kids), they both need a break. And if a break for Dean spells somewhat heavy amounts of alcohol, well, so be it. He thinks it's sort of in the hunter's job description, along with good reflexes, caution (what a few people would call complete paranoia), and battle scars.
So he drags Sam to the bar down the road from their motel, and Sam doesn't put up the protest Dean expects from him. He keeps forgetting how different Sam is now. They're both sick of the books, sick of how much their situation looks like a lost cause. They've been tense lately, snapping at each other, and it seems to Dean that a little tequila might ease some of that tension.
Or a lot of tequila. Whichever. He sort of loses track after the third or fourth shot; he just knows there are a couple of fresh twenties in his pocket from hustling pool, a few new phone numbers in his cell, and Sam is leaning against him. He's leaning against Sam. Whichever.
Still, with research on how to get out of this place combined with both of them trying to find jobs while they're stuck here (and Sam fighting him about it the whole way, like Dean never worked between towns when they were kids), they both need a break. And if a break for Dean spells somewhat heavy amounts of alcohol, well, so be it. He thinks it's sort of in the hunter's job description, along with good reflexes, caution (what a few people would call complete paranoia), and battle scars.
So he drags Sam to the bar down the road from their motel, and Sam doesn't put up the protest Dean expects from him. He keeps forgetting how different Sam is now. They're both sick of the books, sick of how much their situation looks like a lost cause. They've been tense lately, snapping at each other, and it seems to Dean that a little tequila might ease some of that tension.
Or a lot of tequila. Whichever. He sort of loses track after the third or fourth shot; he just knows there are a couple of fresh twenties in his pocket from hustling pool, a few new phone numbers in his cell, and Sam is leaning against him. He's leaning against Sam. Whichever.