Unsteady

I'm a little unsteady

It was a quiet evening. The sun had already set leaving the sky a comforting blue-grey colour. Small gusts of wind came and went causing the branches of trees to shiver slightly before returning to the still position they were previously in. As the night went on, the sky got darker and the world became quieter. The only noise that could be heard was a dogs bark from a block away, the same tone repeating over and over again.

The impala's engine roared before Dean cut off the engine and put the handbrake on. He didn't realise his grip on the steering wheel was as tight as it was until he saw his knuckles go white and his hands started to become clammy and stuck to the leather. He sighed heavily grabbing the duffle bag from the seat next to him and putting it on his shoulder. He climbed out of the impala slamming the door shut and walking to his apartment stairs. He climbed them, stumbling on every other step. Once he got to his door he fumbled for the keys in his pocket. He locked the impala and unlocked his apartment door after many attempts of getting the key in the hole. It was the same routine, it had been for the past six months. Go to the bar, get back home, drink more then fall asleep. It was like his life was on repeat.

Once he managed to fit himself and the full duffle bag in the doorway he kicked it shut and was greeted by his dog. He lowered the bag onto the floor gently the bottles clanking as they came into contact with the laminate floor. He crouched down and greeted him stroking his head and behind his ears. "Hey boy". The dog lowered himself, whimpering at the strong smell of liquor coming from Dean. With a sigh he stood up grabbing the bag and walked into the open kitchen, leaving the dog to stare at Deans back.

Dean emptied the bag, putting the bottles into the fridge leaving a bottle of whiskey on the side. He shut the fridge door and threw the empty bag to the other side of the apartment. With heavy hands he picked up the bottle and pulled the cap off before throwing it on the side along with the other bottle caps and empty liquor glasses.

As he sat down and put his booted feet up on the coffee table he heard the faint taps of raindrops against the small window. He felt so alone. But the problem with Dean is that every time someone tries to help he'll push them away, then there were times like these when he needed someone and no one was there. He put the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back letting the liquid rush out of the bottle and down his throat burning his insides.

He put his feet firmly on the ground and rested the bottle on the table staring at the harmful substance. It didn't take long for the same images to play in his head like an old film, fast and jumpy. He was quick to grab the bottle again and drink the remaining liquid.

Several drinks later he was curled up hugging his knees resting his back against the bed, shouting violent words into thin air, the distressing images playing through his mind again. There was a pain in his chest and his eyes stung. His cheeks sore from the constant rubbing as the tears fell. He wanted it to go away, he couldn't take it any longer. It hurt.

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"Dean?" He felt a hand tap his cheek couple of times "Dean!" He awoke bolting upward taking a breath and holding his head. "Dean?" He looked up to see Sam holding onto his shoulder, Jess behind him holding onto her phone, 911 most likely to have been dialled ready just in case.

Once Dean had managed to stand up and make his way to the sofa in his apartment he was able to process his current situation. "You've got to stop this Dean" Sam said carefully perching himself on the arm of the scuffed up leather sofa. "This isn't healthy, it isn't a good life to live. Look at this place Dean" he sighed picking up an empty beer can from the floor and placing it on the coffee table. "How about you see that professional we spoke about before? She's good, really good. She will make you better, get you back to your old se-"
"I'm not seeing a damn professional Sam!" He groaned and rested his head in his hand. "If dad was here, if he could see you right now"
"He's not here Sam! Dad died! Ten years ago, remember!? So don't use that dad crap on me, it isn't going to work."