foolscapper
in
ohsam
[Liquor Is One Way Out, and Death's The Other]
AUTHOR'S NOTES: For a prompt requested at tumblr. Sorry if it’s heavier than even the prompt is expecting - this is actually kind of a really personal piece in a lot of ways, as something I’ve had to deal with in the past, so it was a bit emotional to throw this all out there and write it up. It deals with very strong and verbally/physically abusive alcoholism and isn’t a very nice Dean to read about, though I will say it is not evil!Dean, simply my rendering of a severely alcoholic Dean who’s negative character traits are especially vicious. Takes place after the Darkness is handled in later seasons.
WARNINGS FOR ALCHOLISM, ABUSE, DARK!DEAN, AND VIOLENCE.
It’s been five years since the Darkness, since everything was put back together and everything had a system - the Bunker was expanded on, hunters brought in, taught, trained. There were hours of operation, meetings, new recruits who demanded revenge (though Sam had always tried to drive home that revenge would kill you faster than any vamp ever did, in the ways that mattered; he would always make that note, and Dean would nod and agree, a knowingness in his eyes).
But still, when it came to living there, it was the same as it ever was: a guest room for Cas, and then their rooms. Home. As close as it’ll ever get to one, though Sam has never let his guard down there. The walls of his living quarters is still brick and bare, his shelves lined with mostly lore books, desk neat and clothes still carefully in his duffel when they’re not lazily left on the floor from the day before. Sam hasn’t moved in. Sam simply knows better. His brother, however - his room is expanded and personal, and Sam would never want to change that; his room has his scent of leather and gasoline and gun grease, of trash that seriously needed to be emptied out, of liquor. More bottles than Sam would ever like.
… The liquor smell, he’d like to change. Just the liquor smell.
READ THE REST HERE.
WARNINGS FOR ALCHOLISM, ABUSE, DARK!DEAN, AND VIOLENCE.
It’s been five years since the Darkness, since everything was put back together and everything had a system - the Bunker was expanded on, hunters brought in, taught, trained. There were hours of operation, meetings, new recruits who demanded revenge (though Sam had always tried to drive home that revenge would kill you faster than any vamp ever did, in the ways that mattered; he would always make that note, and Dean would nod and agree, a knowingness in his eyes).
But still, when it came to living there, it was the same as it ever was: a guest room for Cas, and then their rooms. Home. As close as it’ll ever get to one, though Sam has never let his guard down there. The walls of his living quarters is still brick and bare, his shelves lined with mostly lore books, desk neat and clothes still carefully in his duffel when they’re not lazily left on the floor from the day before. Sam hasn’t moved in. Sam simply knows better. His brother, however - his room is expanded and personal, and Sam would never want to change that; his room has his scent of leather and gasoline and gun grease, of trash that seriously needed to be emptied out, of liquor. More bottles than Sam would ever like.
… The liquor smell, he’d like to change. Just the liquor smell.
READ THE REST HERE.