a Dean-focused hurt/comfort comment meme (#5)

[hoodietime]

Omg, I’m so ready for this right now. \o/

Before we get started, I'd like to thank geckoholic a million times over for making the lovely banner for this meme. You can find her graphics community at bl00dredskies.

Comments

Filled: "Shakes" (pt3)

[marlowe78]

In hindsight, that was probably the beginning of his… well, Dean might call it problem if he was ever honest with himself. Sam certainly would.

Because sleeping pills had the bad habit of making him drowsy, made him feel like he was stuffed full of wool and stored in a room with clouds of cotton-candy, all sticky and sweet and soft. He was fine when he was working, in fact he’d been fine doing anything that needed done - and quite a lot that didn’t - but everything was too loopy to make him feel alright and one day James, the carpenter, had offered him some speed. Hearing his dad inside his head for the whole day hadn’t lessened the awesome affect the little bright pill had had on him. It had sharpened his senses to complete clarity, had shoved away the clouds of cotton, had made him feel alive and capable to take on the world.

It’d been times when he’d been flying like that that made him look for clues on how to break Sam out and it had been those times that had him come crashing down hard and fast. It had nearly killed him - literally, if Ben hadn’t come home and interrupted the fond look he’d given his gun. That’d been too close a call, not just because the kid would’ve had to find his body all gory and bloody but also because he really, really hadn’t wanted to die. Oh no, not because of some fucked-up promise. No. ‘Twas because he… hadn’t wanted to risk missing Sam, like those weird, crazy Italian kids had done in Romeo and Juliet.

Shut up, he’d had to read it three times in three different schools!

Not to mention that he’d really liked living with Lisa. And then there was this uncertainty about suicides and their possible afterlife-destination.

Yeah. So being high as a kite hadn’t worked out so great and Dean had started to look for the best dosage to get his brain on the right level of “normal”, taking mellower stuff to prevent a deep fall.

Best had worked a combination of uppers and downers, spiked with sleeping-pills every two days. Maybe it was just Dean, maybe it was the alcohol he added to the mix now and then - and then again - but simple reduction of the drug didn’t do shit. He’d sill dropped, still burned on his way down and even though he’d never looked at his guns again, not like that, he’d still been freaked by the possibility of not being in control, of feeling every nerve tingle under his skin and his hands shaking and his fingers feeling thick and stuffy.

So he’d found some downers that took the edge off the high he was seeking, also reducing the shakes to nearly non-existent.

And yes, it had been quite an interesting adventure to find the right supplier for his meds.