Moving On (Destiel)

34: Screwed for two years

A/N: Don't listen to the song right away (okay you can because it's great, and you can do it on loop, but there's a point in this chapter where I'd recommend you starting to listen, you will see)

Dean knew he should go straight home. Apologize to Cas. But he didn't come back for a long time.

He first allowed himself a drink or two after this whole story. It had gone better than he had expected, but not as well as he had hoped. "What most of them get" had been Jody's testimony.

That helped him so much.

Okay, he probably should be thankful. She – a woman he barely knew – had vouched and gotten a good deal out for him at the court, which meant a lot considering how badly he had indeed stuck in the shit. 

He was a drug dealer. Not just some no-name, no, he was deep involved in all the major business. Even though he only took small deliver jobs – he had all the information, knew all the big bosses by first name and address.

So, for the fact he was such a big deal, he had come away pretty good with his caution and his freedom on parole. Two years.

 If he was caught with drugs during that time – no matter the amount – or doing any other illegal thing, even if it was just driving under the influence of alcohol, or simply driving too fast, it was over for him. From that moment on, he'd go to jail, for two years – the time he was said to be on parole.

Although that sounded manageable – the driving would be a problem though, Dean thought frustrated and ordered a shot in the bar he was sulking at – it felt like a life-lasting burden to him. How was he supposed to ever get out?

They wouldn't just let him go, stop doing his work, only because he was under supervision, under parole. You didn't get out of mafia business that easily, if at all. 

They didn't care how long he could end up in jail with one mistake, they only cared about the job he had been doing and was supposed to continue.

Dean downed his shot and ordered one more.

His life was crap. Had always been crap, and if he had thought things would get better with the move, with Cas, then he had been wrong. Cas didn't even want to be his friend anymore. He couldn't say he blamed him, but it hurt nevertheless. 

How could it still hurt so much if he was already broken?

He was able to drown his problems in his alcohol, but he couldn't suffocate them. They weren't compatible with the liquor.

That's why, when he awoke the next morning, it all came rushing back to the surface.

Groaning from the hangover he sat up and took in his surroundings. Nice, comfortable bed for two. Dressing table. Some doors that possibly led to a walk-in-closet. Another door opening up to a narrow floor.

That wasn't his room.

And it was neither Gabriel's.

"Dean...?", a soft voice muffled and a hand reached for his arm. Dean pulled back, slowly regaining some memories from last night.

The process. His problems. A hot chick much older than him (But still hot), whispering the dirtiest things into his ear. Her leading him to her apartment only a few blocks away. The night... and how he was here.

"Jennifer?", he guessed, and she responded with a disappointed grumble. "No, Diana! Right?", he tried again, and she cried out. "I'm Alison!"

"-Alison, of course! Sorry, not a morning person. I'm just all dizzy after nights like ours."