Supernatural Oneshots | ✓

The Confession (II) {Dean}

Prompt inspiration: 642 Tiny Things to Write About by The San Francisco Writers' Grotto

Prompt: Write the confession of a man who killed his best friend by accident. Write the confession of a man who killed his best friend in a drunken bar fight over a spilled drink, and who repents. Write the confession of a man who killed his best friend and isn't sorry at all.

Summary/prompt change: Once upon a time, he killed a man. Unfortunately, he still can't seem to get over it.

"You know, Dean," you said, taking a sip of your drink. You tried not to choke on the thick smell of cigarettes that hung in the room. "You suck at pretending to be drunk. Don't think I haven't noticed that you're never really that intoxicated, even when you do drink a lot."

Dean shrugged. "It's easier to stop when everyone thinks you're too hammered to drink any more without passing out."

"And why do you, Dean Winchester, feel the need to lie like you need to justify not drinking?" Normally, you wouldn't push people you'd only met a few days before. Normally, you wouldn't still be hanging around hunters that you'd temporarily teamed up with. But there was something about the Winchester brothers, something dark and lingering, that fascinated you. They were a mystery that would drive you mad if you didn't solve it. And out of the two, Dean was the more complicated mystery.

There were several reasons why Dean was so much more complexly complicated and elusive. For starters, he was generally stoic. Sam could be, sure, but the younger Winchester hadn't quite mastered the don't wear your heart on your sleeve part of being a hunter. It was selective for him. But Dean? No way in hell was he going to drop his guard.

There was also the fact that Dean was a quiet kind of smart. Sam was book smart and had plenty of common sense, sure, but it was the loud and in your face kind, the kind usually reserved for the holier-than-thou assholes that always sat at the front of classrooms and had a correct answer for every question. It wasn't that Dean wasn't as smart as Sam. It was that he hid it well. And that intrigued you.

The older Winchester also seemed to constantly know something. What it was, you couldn't even begin to guess. But you knew that Dean Winchester had a hell of a lot of skeletons in his closet–sometimes their fingers and toes slipped through the crack between the doors, but he was always fast to push them back in.

"It's not important why." Dean said.

"I object." The alcohol raced through your veins like fire. You were almost at the point of being more than a little drunk, and your normally-cautious demeanor was slipping fast. "It is important why, because Sam doesn't seem to have a problem with alcohol. Meaning it has nothing to do with your upbringing or anything, and so it must be a pretty significant event in your life. And you're pretty damn important." You made a face. "If I was sober, I wouldn't have said that."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe you should lay off the alcohol." He said. "And in case you'd forgotten, Sam can down two beers and suddenly he's singing karaoke on the bar with his shirt off."

You giggled. "That would be great to see."

"If it ever happens," Dean said, "I'll make sure to record it and send it to you." He took a sip of his drink.

"Please do," you said. "And send me a video of him freaking out the next morning when he remembers or hears about what he did."

"Will do." He promised with a grin.

You shook your head at him. "You're getting me off topic. Stop taking advantage of my intoxicated state." You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. "So. What happened one time that you got drunk that you're not talking about?"

Dean shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "My friend died. Bar fight. They were both piss drunk."

"I'm sorry." You said, feeling a little less sober. "What happened?"

Dean shrugged. "A girl."

"He died over a girl?"

"He was flirting with her." He said. "He pushed her a little too far. Started touching her without consent. The other guy stepped in, told him to back off, and then he started swinging. The guy didn't get off until the other patrons pulled him off, and then he gave up. There was some really bad head trauma, and it killed him a few days later."

"No offense," you said, "but your friend sounds like a real dick."

Dean chuckled, his eyes sad. "He wasn't usually like that, trust me. If he was, I never would've been friends with him." There was something tense about him, something dark crawling beneath the surface. You studied him hard, trying to work out the details of what exactly was different, but you couldn't pinpoint any one thing.

It was a while before you spoke again. "Dean?" Your voice was soft. He glanced up at you, then his eyes darted back down to the smooth, dark surface of the table. "Who was the other man? The one that stepped in to help the girl?"

"Just some random guy." His voice was quiet, strained. He sounded like he was in pain. "Why?"

"I don't think it was." You said quietly. "There's more to the story, isn't there?"

"Besides the girl spilling her drink on his head and then him grabbing her by the arm before the guy stepped in? No. Nothing." He shrugged. "I was drunk. I can't really remember any other important details."

"You mean besides the fact that you were this random guy, right?"

Dean was silent, staring at you for a minute. Then, he began to laugh. "Y/N, are you serious?" His laugh was without humor. "I told you, it wasn't me. It was some guy."

"Bull," your voice was gentle. "It was you, wasn't it? You were drunk, and you accidentally killed your friend because he was harassing some poor girl. I know that you don't stand for that shit, Dean."

He let out a sigh of defeat. "It wasn't intentional, I swear. Not a day goes by that I don't regret it."

"What do you regret?" You asked. "Stepping in and helping that poor girl, or killing him?"

"Killing him," Dean said. "But if I could go back and do it all over again, I'd still step in and beat his ass. I don't care how drunk he was. He can't treat a person, especially a woman, like that."

You reached across the table and rested your hand on his arm. "If it counts for anything, I think you did the right thing."

He looked up at you and smiled tightly. "That means more than you'd think."