Casey Donovan (thatshellfire) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-02-02 23:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | sam winchester, sherlock holmes |
Who: Kyle and Daryl
What: His way of helping is so very strange.
Where: His car outside the police station, and then his apartment.
When: After this
Rating: Language and drunkenness
Kyle wasn't much for emotional support, he never knew what to say. He could do hugs, he could tell people everything was going to be okay, he could ask the difficult questions and he could try and make people feel comfortable. But he knew that the best he could do was make this situation end for Quinn, and make this situation end for Gwen. He didn't know how to get her through it, so the best he could do was end it. Or at least try to.
It was that train of thought that had him risking his new career, and probably even his old one, in the parking lot outside the precinct. He was starting to get double vision, maybe it was the bottle of Jack on the floor of his car that was empty, maybe it was whatever he pills he took that were in the glove compartment of his car, but maybe, just maybe he was getting some kind of helpful vision of where to find Quinn. He was giving himself a headache trying to remain conscious, but at the same time trying to get the damn thing to work. He was chain smoking to chase the booze, and half to keep himself awake.
He didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he couldn't find Quinn in his visions, if he did see her they might be able to find her, but the chances of them being too late were higher than he could stand. There were times that Kyle drank, times that he knew it was a problem. but times like these when he drank, he knew it went beyond the nagging need for it that was always on his mind. Even though it may sound like an excuse the only reason to do this was for a good cause. Sort of.
"Fuck!" he hollered punching his dashboard as he tried, and failed, to get it to start working yet again. He had a higher tolerance for alcohol and drugs than most any other person in the world. He assumed that stemmed from his ability, so he didn't think too much as his foot kicked the empty bottle when he reached over to open another one. He took a long drink, gulping and trying to breathe through his nose so he didn't actually have to stop. He was doing a damn good job ignoring the heat that threatened to set his throat on fire, but eventually he had to stop. He supposed the gasping for air he did served two purposes. It helped keep him grounded in the moment at the same time he tried to surrender his mind to seeing whatever he could see, and it helped him enjoy the feeling of the booze doing the other kind of magic on his body. Sure, he felt guilty for doing something so inherently wrong and enjoying it, but the part of him that knew he was doing it for a good cause didn't let him dwell on that too long.
He didn't know how long he'd been passed out in his car when he heard the knocking on his window, he was still messed up, he didn't think he could see for a full thirty seconds before he realized his eyes were closed. He opened them and still didn't see much of anything so he ignored the knocking for the time being. It was probably nothing.