A New Kind of Life (A Supernatural Fan Fiction)

Saving Grace

Dean's POV

"I'm too sexy for my shirt / too sexy for my shirt / so sexy it hurts..." 

My voice came out slurred and low, possibly the worst singing that had been through that particular bar all night long. Alcohol was hot on my breath, dulling some of my senses, but not like it used to. It used to feel stronger, dull my perceptions more than it did now. Now, it just made me feel a little bit more human, the demon senses and cravings a little less noticeable.

The booing started, and after that, I don't quite remember. I remember bad singing. I remember booing. Next thing I know, I'm sitting next to Crowley, my new friend, my family now. I hadn't seen Sam in months, and I intended to keep it that way, even if it meant spending all my newly-free time with the King of Hell on my tail. He was like a needy puppy, following me everywhere, yet still thinking that he could boss me around.

Whatever.

This was how life worked these days. It was a nonstop party that I could only remember half of. Lots of girls, lots of beer, lots of late nights. Lots of Crowley. None of Sam. None of Castiel. None of weight-of-the-world Dean. It was just me. It was just new and improved Dean. It was just, as Crowley liked to call me sometimes, the Deanmon

And I was glad.

Joy never came as strongly as it used to when it did come. It was all too fast, fading too fast and coming too fast. The closest thing I got to my old joys was killing. I killed to survive, but that was just the beginning of it. I liked to kill. I liked to murder. I liked to slay. I liked getting covered in blood. I liked the way it felt as I slid the blade into someone's skin and I liked how it always squished. I liked to kill. It was more than an addiction. It was... A hobby, of sorts.

I'd lost the First Blade in Heaven long ago. Months ago. I had left it in Heaven when I was trying my hardest to get away from Castiel. But that didn't stop me from killing. I could kill just fine, with or without the First Blade. My bare hands were weapon enough. Besides. I had plenty of Angel Blades with me. Though I missed the Blade, though my mind called out to it, though I thought about it everyday, I didn't need it.

I knew that once I had it again, I'd feel the joy that I did as a human. Even if I didn't feel that same rush, it was okay. I was a demon, and the party kept going, and I could do whatever I wanted. I could kill whoever I wanted. I could escape any jail, kill anyone I wanted, do whatever I wanted. That was my life now. It was a nonstop party, and I was the life of it. 

But the best part was that, at the price of my joys, I didn't have to deal with pain anymore. It was all wit and snark and punches thrown and witty, angry comments. There was no pain behind them anymore. It was all... Numb, almost. I could still feel, but the emotions were mostly replaced with different levels of cold anger, an anger that I liked, an anger that I had grown used to, grown to love even. It was a comforting rage. And it hurt a whole lot less than it did when I was human.

So, I sat there, drinking away the night, trying to feel something, even if I didn't realize it. Crowley was rambling on about something, Hell, probably. I didn't care. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore. Not a single thing. Everything that I cared about, everything that I worried about, everything that had once been important to me, everything that I had loved once upon a time... It was nothing more than a distant memory now.

I didn't care that my brother was probably searching for me, day and night, trying to find a way to find me, no matter the cost. I didn't care that my friend's grace was fading fast, and I didn't know how he was doing. I didn't care that the last time I saw my best friend, he told me he loved me while I beat him, and I didn't know whether it was in a brotherly way or a romantic way. I didn't care that I had once been a hunter of the kind that I now called my race.