Your Saving Grace

Whiskey neat

Note: I'm working on fixing the paragraph spacing issue. Both chapters should be updated by Friday at the latest.

Dean took a sip of his drink, thinking about how a few months earlier he had his life more or less together. He had a house, a fiancé, a daughter, his job. Now he was living in a crappy apartment, jobless, and throwing what money he did have at getting wasted in an equally crappy bar. He remembered throwing himself into his work after Jo left. He showed up before dawn and insisted on staying until late at night. If he wasn't working on a customer's car, he was working on his own. His boss thought it was unusual, but ultimately didn't care. Dean had done more work at the Garage those last few months than he had in all the years he had been working there before. None of his coworkers really cared either, and Dean was happy with not having to spill his private life to anyone. He decided to finally start unpacking the pieces of his life with Jo. Make his apartment his. Halfway through the first box, he broke. He dug out a little bat stuffie his daughter must've put in there. She used to love hiding her toys in his things. The next few weeks he had trouble keeping it together at work, and drinking on the job wasn't an option. In retrospect that didn't matter, because after getting physical with one of his coworkers, Dean was fired anyway. So, with no job he did the only other thing he could think to do. Drink. He started spending everyday at this run down bar in the sketchy little town he lived in. He'd hit on chicks and drink until the bartender cut him off. He was running out of money and he knew that, but he just couldn't bring himself to find another job. He'd lose his apartment in a few months time if he didn't get his shit together, and with the amount of money he spends at the bar, he wouldn't even be able to afford to keep his beloved car much longer. It was all too much for him to think about, so he just kept drinking like he had money to waste. If he didn't have a bottle in his hand, then he was getting into fights. How he wasn't banned from the bar, he didn't know. Dean forgot that time didn't stand still and everyday he edged closer to being broke and homeless. It wasn't long before the regulars of the bar learned that Dean was nothing but trouble; so the barstools beside him were almost always empty. He didn't mind, more room for him to spread his arms on the table. Did it hurt sometimes when someone would spot him and almost instantly turn away? He supposed it would've if he was sober. As long as he had a few shots in him, it didn't matter. The nasty comments, the dirty looks, the people who'd buy more drinks for him just to see how shitfaced he'd get, none of it mattered. Not even that one night some chick stole his wallet when he could barely stand. Jokes on her though, all he had was two bucks and a coupon for Burger King that was definitely expired. Damn, he was really a fucking mess wasn't he? It didn't matter though. At least... not until that morning Sammy came over to find him passed out on his apartment floor. Dean never wanted his little brother to see him this way, he was supposed to be Sammy's rock. He did a good job of hiding it all too. If only I hadn't had those last couple of shots... That was a thought Dean had a lot, almost every morning in fact. But that thought rung in his head a little louder that morning Sam found him. Sam thought he had lost Dean that day, but sighed a breath of relief when he shook his big brother awake. Dean remembered the tears that welled in Sam's eyes and the fear in his voice. That didn't change anything though, Dean was right back in that bar the very next night. He hated himself for it, but he needed this escape... Just for a little while longer...

Dean was sat at his usual place in the bar, only a few drinks in. He decided to take it slow tonight, even asked for a water to help pace himself. Tonight he could feel all the hate that he never used to. Damn, is this always how people looked at me? And why are the seats next to me empty? He sighed, feeling the weight of the room on him. He was about to order another drink when someone sat down next to him, he couldn't help but stare absentmindedly.
"Uh, hey, you mind?" the man asked in a small, timid voice.
"Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry," Dean said quietly, he focused his attention back on his water, carefully thumbing the rim of the glass. Soon, he found himself sneaking looks at this man. He looked soft and clean, he didn't belong in a bar. He had short black hair that looked like it would be soft to touch, a beige hoodie, jeans, and every now and again Dean caught flashes of his brilliant blue eyes. Electric. The man ordered a rum and coke, light on the rum, Dean snorted at that.
"What?" The man asked, his tired eyes focused ahead of him, staring at nothing in particular.
"Light on the rum, huh?" Dean repeated the mans' words with his own snarky twist.
"So, I'm guessing that's vodka then, hm big shot?" The man never looked over as he spoke, that irked Dean for reasons he couldn't place. Dean looked down at his water that had a thin lemon slice floating in it.
"Touché," Dean cracked a smile before taking a shallow sip of water. The seemingly sudden silence was hard for him to bear; he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took another sip of water. Soon, the bartender served Blue Eyes his drink, he glanced down at it for a moment before looking up again and retreating back into the depths of his mind. "I'm guessing you don't come here a lot," Dean said, his full attention on this man with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. "What makes you say that?" Blue Eyes asked, still not taking much interest in starting a conversation.
"Well, one, you just ordered a rum and coke 'light on the rum'" Dean teased, "two, I don't think I've ever seen you here," Dean drew a long breath when Blue Eyes looked his way for a brief moment.
"You could've missed me, how could you remember everyone that comes through here?"
"I would've remembered you," Dean's words spilled out before he could catch them. Blue Eyes fixed his focus on Dean now, his eyebrows were furrowed and his face spelled curiosity. "Why's that?" Blue Eyes asked, seemingly invested in what the answer might be. I really wish this was vodka now. Dean was sure to keep those words in his head. He flicked his eyes down at his water, then back to the man who was still waiting for an answer.
"Just... trust me, I would," Dean said, then watched Blue Eyes finally take a sip of his drink. "So, what's your story?" Dean asked, maybe staring at this strangers' lips for a second too long.
"My story?"
"Yeah, surely you have one to come here of all places."
"If I did have a story, why would I tell you?"
"That's what bars are for! Getting drunk off your ass and spilling secrets to strangers you'll never see again." Dean added unnecessary excitement to his words, trying to give something more to their exchange.
"Is that what bars are for you?" Blue Eyes asked, wiping the small smile from Deans face.
"No," Dean stirred his water with a thin black straw, "The strangers here don't like me much." Then the silence set in again, it made the air so thick that Dean could feel every breath he dragged in. It seemed they both felt the weight of their awkwardness now, because neither of them had the courage to say anything more for a while.
"What's your story?" Blue Eyes asked suddenly, then gently sipped his drink.
"Still sober," Dean smiled but his face was soft with pain. Blue Eyes nodded and looked down at his glass, suddenly he was flagging down the bartender.
"Whisky, neat," His voice was bold now, like he was gaining confidence in his words. Dean just stared at him, this was all too familiar. Some asshole, or worse, a group of assholes would see him, already way too drunk and order him a couple shots. Or what he remembered to be a couple shots. The first few times he thought people were just being nice. It didn't matter to him because usually he didn't remember those nights. He only assumed people snickered when he'd try to stumble his way out of the bar at night. He didn't care how stupid he looked, it was worth the free drinks. One time maybe he just wasn't drunk enough because he remembered waking up one morning with the worst hangover. That wasn't unusual, but then he started remembering more of the night before. He remembered that guy who kept buying shots for him, just to see how fast he could get his guard down. Before he knew it, he was being taken advantage of by this deceptively nice guy who bought him who knows how many drinks. He's been wary of accepting drinks from strangers since then. Although, Dean wasn't drunk. Not yet anyway. Maybe this really was nothing more than a friendly gesture. He flashed a smile when Blue Eyes slid the shot glass closer.
"I don't take drinks from strangers," Dean said in a low voice.
"Cas."
"What?"
"My name is Cas. What's yours?" Cas smiled warmly.
"Dean."
"Now we aren't strangers, Dean." Cas' voice was so soft and convincing.
"I guess not," Dean smiled back at Cas, then hesitantly downed the whiskey. It was getting pretty late now and Dean wasn't even half drunk, which he guessed was good. Saving all that money was worth it, but he knew he'd probably just blow it all another night. There was something else though, maybe the fact he had some company now. Cas and him really took off, spiraling into meaningless conversation. It was... good. Really good. All that came crashing down soon enough though. Cas' phone was blowing up with messages and the occasional call, but he managed to ignore it for a while, maybe wanting to talk with Dean as long as he could. Dean was his breath of fresh air that night. Lucky him. Soon the insistent buzzing of his phone was just too much.
"I should be going," Cas sighed as he stood up.
"Yeah, of course," Dean was quick to get his words out, not wanting to seem too disappointed. Just like that, Cas was gone and Dean was all alone again. He didn't watch as Cas left, that'd be too weird. He did turn his head towards the doors after he was sure Cas was gone though. He just stared at the doors until the calmness Cas left in his mind had passed. Dean's eyes fell to the floor, then to the beer sitting in front of him. When did I order this? He asked himself, honestly it didn't matter, he'd drink it all the same. His sober mind was shit at dealing with the thoughts that ran rampant in his head, now that he could hear them again. He sighed and ordered more drinks throughout the rest of night until the bar closed.

The next day was just more of the same. Dean pretended to search for jobs so Sam would be happy and stay off his case. Really, he just sulked in his apartment, waiting to rush off to the bar. He'd be lying if he said he liked this routine, but it was how he kept sane. Just like every other day, Dean bullshitted his way through the day and wandered into the bar at night. The bartenders were so used to him that they'd have his drink already there by the time he sat down. Sure he was a nuisance, but they made good money off him. Usually it was just him, sitting alone all night, throwing his money away. Tonight was different though, tonight he'd wait for Cas. Little did he know, Cas would never show up. So he waited the next day and the next, staying hopeful Cas might just show up. His hope was short lived though, after a week of waiting, he decided to get exceptionally hammered that Saturday night. Dean felt stupid for thinking he meant anything to a stranger, even if they did hit it off that night they met. He downed drink after drink, not wanting to feel anything tonight.