Who: Dean and Logan What: First Meeting When: Evening Where: A bar, because Dean likes beer. Open: I guess
Dark and brooding for even reasons that he didn't even know, Dean sat alone at a bar, glass of whiskey in his hand and his eyes narrowed looking at the amber liquid. He didn't even know what he was doing there, what he was thinking. All he knew was that he found himself at the bar, bathed in the dim light that usually set him in a brooding mood if the bartender wasn't some hot chick or he couldn't manage to coax her to come back with him. This time, the bartender was a some guy.
Feeling his fourth glass slightly, he gave a shrug mentally and took a gulp, not sure why he wanted to get drunk exactly. Life wasn't so bad, he was alive...or he thought he was. Still, twenty years in the pit wasn't exactly his idea of a good ole time. Still, he managed to get out...someway...somehow. That was probably the part that was driving him to drink. He was supposed to be in hell, the eternal torture he could deal with as long as he was there, the fact that he got out and could remember it all was hard. It was painful and he wanted to forget. He didn't want to remember the strange and cruel tortures that befell him. The look of pleasure on the demon's face as it happened. He still saw it in his head as he slept, a apart of him glad that he didn't share a room with Sam anymore. He didn't have to explain it, he didn't have any evidence that it happened. Still, he had to live with it and it stayed with him.
Sighing, the elder Winchester brother pressed the glass to his forehead, trying to banish the thoughts before he finished off his glass and asked for another. He was working on getting drunk and he was attempting to do it sooner or later, although he wasn't sure the hangover was worth a night of dead sleep where the fiery images of hell lingered behind his eyelids. Then again, any night where he wasn't tormented by dreams, the price he had to pay was worth it. Now, he knew why he was at the bar drinking like he was.