InsaneJournal

Who: Dean Winchester and Stefan Salvatore
When: January
Where: Bar
What: Stefan’s freaking out a little
Rating/Warnings: Low/Talk of Dream Death
Status: Complete



Life had a way of getting to a guy. Sometimes it was the little things all piling up until all a man could see was a sliver of sky through a whole canopy of problems; Dean Winchester had looked up through that glass darkly more than once in his life. Lately he was drinking almost every day to get through to the next day. One day at a time had become a mantra for him. It was impossible for him to imagine surviving if he tried to bear up every problem he had all at once.

He wished his dreams would stay simply dreams.

The urge to drink in public had gotten to him when he'd realized how bad he was getting drinking alone at home. Bars were good for forcing someone to socialize when all they wanted to do was drown their sorrows. There was more than one way to drown sorrows; Dean could exorcise his demons just fine by sharing them with another tired soul if one was handy. Bars tended to always have someone of that nature handy.

It was the whole point of bars, wasn't it? Giving the hopeless a place to find hope---even if it was only false hope?

"You're looking almost as tightly wound as me," Dean remarked as he took a seat beside the vampire he'd met before.

Salvatore. Old, fancy name for a guy who seemed old school enough for Dean to be willing to grant him a modicum of respect. It took a lot to get old as a vamp. People had this dramatized view of sparkly immortals who drove luxury cars, but that was horseshit. Dean knew better than most how hard it was for a vamp to live beyond a decade or two with all the hunters in the world out there taking them out left, right, and center.

"Want me to buy us a few rounds of the good stuff? I'm thinking Patron. Tequila is about the only thing liable to knock the piss out of me with the mood I'm in."

~*~

January had started terribly, and had pretty much gone downhill ever since. Stefan Salvatore was plagued by horrific, terror-inducing dreams that lingered with him day and night, repeating in a horrible mantra whether he was waking or sleeping. While he'd also spent much of his time drinking, it wasn't to get through to the next day. It was to curb the hunger and insanity he could feel growing within him.

Drowning, dying, resurrecting, and waking only to find there's no air to breathe, then repeating the process over and over for months on end would do pretty bad things to a man's sanity. And it seemed like Stefan was going through this night after night, endlessly. He'd reached a point where he didn't want to sleep. Couldn't sleep.

But being around people helped considerably--it reminded him there was still humanity in him, even if he wasn't human. He'd been here an hour, and already through a bottle of scotch when Dean Winchester sidled up to the bar next to him.

"I'm in." Stefan responded. He was pretty much always in. The vampire might not have looked like much, but his tolerance was ridiculous. He could drink his way through a liquor store in no time. "You get the first two, I'll get the next two. It's only fair."

Then he glanced over at his quasi-friend, and raised an eyebrow. It surprised him a little to see Dean looking... looking like a man who was struggling. "You... you look like crap, man."

~*~

"Thanks," Dean smirked, "You're a peach. Keep sweet talking me like that and I'll let you pay for my drinks all night and I am not a cheap date."

Plus he wouldn't be getting any from Dean Winchester.

'Straight But Not Narrow' was the best way to describe Dean. He didn't particularly want to see men going at it -not his thing, not his thing at all- but he wouldn't hold it against someone for being homosexual. People didn't get to choose their lot in life all the time. Salvatore had the look of someone who hadn't necessarily been clued in to the whole story regarding being a vampire before he was turned; Dean certainly wouldn't have signed up to be a hunter if he'd had a choice.

They got their drinks in a literal row. The bartender set up a full dozen for them without question when Dean said simply 'Shots. Patron. Keep 'em coming.'

He downed two in a row with an air toast to Stefan before taking a slice of lime to cool down the heat a little.

Grinning at Stefan with the lime clamped between his teeth, Dean hoped he could manage to get a smile out of his drinking partner.

They could both use some humor it seemed.

~*~

Of course, Stefan could compel himself drinks. That was one of the great things about being a vampire--he didn't have to pay for things anymore. Not if he didn't want to. There was still morality left in him, still the good man that Stefan Salvatore was before he became a monster, so he still paid for things more often than not, still kept up appearances. Because he was still good. A good man, even if he was a blood sucking fiend.

Stefan lifted his glass in a toast, then sipped again before setting it down. The burning felt good. It reminded him he was still alive. This was real, not like being stuck in the safe. Though those dreams were so real. Sometimes he wondered. But Dean wasn't in his Dreams. He couldn't just sit down with a hunter and have a drink in his Dream World. That meant this was real. Or this was the Dream, and his real world was real. And he was drowning in a safe?

He coughed, half expecting a mouthful of silty, lake water to come up from his lungs.

And Dean was making jokes. Stefan gave a little laugh, though it was probably for a very different reason. He was laughing at himself, mostly. His insanity.

"How's 2016 treating you?"

~*~

"About as good as it's treating you from what I can see," Dean countered with a roll of his eyes as he peeled the used lime away from his teeth.

They were the kind of men who weren't going to get through their lives happy as clams. Horror, death, destruction, those were the descriptors for their lives as much as other men got happily, ever, and after. Some would think Stefan deserved it for being a vampire; they weren't Dean Winchester though. A vampire had saved him in Purgatory, saved his brother after, and sacrificed himself to keep saving them.

Vamps weren't any better or worse than Man in the eyes of a hunter who'd seen too much Hell and knew far too much about how Heaven wasn't at all heavenly.

Sliding a shot at Stefan, Dean mumbled, "I keep dreaming about all the people I let die. Or kill. I seem to have a tendency to lead people toward a short life expectancy. What about you? You've got that haunted, broody thing going on. Don't give me some crap about it being a vamp thing either. I knew plenty of vamps who had a lot better attitudes than me. You ain't one of them. Talk or drink. Your pick."

~*~

Stefan figured that he and Dean were the kind of guy who didn't have it easy, and would never have it easy. They were the kind of guy who couldn't have loved ones close for fear that the loved ones were going to be hurt. They were the kind of guy who did the hurting a lot of the time, but sometimes it meant that the world was safer because of it. It was a difficult line to walk, and a lot of weight to bear on one's shoulders. At least they had each other to lean on, help carry the burden.

Stefan accepted the shot and took it quickly, knocking the thing back and setting the glass back down on the bar. "I know that feeling." He said after swallowing. Then he turned his eyes to Dean. "In my most recent set of Dreams I'm locked in a safe at the bottom of a reservoir. Drowning. My body dies, and then regenerates as vampires do. So I wake up drowning, and die again." Beat. "Over and over. It feels like it's been going on forever."

~*~

"Not bad," Dean conceded, tossing back another shot of tequila, "I spent a few decades in Hell getting pulled apart and put back together again before I took up the knife to slice and dice for the demon who worked my strings."

The vampire wasn't doing much to say he was drowning. They could drown regularly. It would have been Hell, yet it wouldn't have been actual Hell. Dean would have traded that dream for his own any time. Stefan could still look himself in the face knowing he hadn't tortured other souls. There was a nasty thought, wasn't it? He was worse than a fucking vampire. Bloodsuckers were doing better than him.

Just.

Fucking.

Great.

"My last Dream? I led a fucking angel into my sanctuary after I had allowed him to possess my brother's body -against his will- and then, because of me, he killed the last true Prophet of The Lord right in front of me. Just a kid. That Prophet? He was just a kid. Now he's a dead kid because of me. Too good to be true, that's what I am."

~*~

Stefan sipped his beer between shots, not worrying about the cost of the alcohol. He could compel it off later. The bartender could leave the bottle--Stefan didn't have to worry about getting drunk, either. His metabolism would burn it off mostly, and the alcohol helped curb his cravings for blood.

"Sounds like you need this a bit more than I do," Stefan said. He reached for the bottle and poured another shot for Dean. They all had their own demons, they all had blood on their hands. Stefan wasn't comparing their experiences, really. He'd done some really nasty shit in his own Dreams. They didn't call him Ripper for nothing. But it wasn't a contest.

"I don't think angels and prophets exist in my Dreams." He added. "It sounds... like a leap of faith every night."

~*~

"It's a leap straight into the devil's lair. That's what it is for me. Every night. Out of the furnace and straight into the fire."

Dean took the bottle instead of the shot. His fingers brushed those of the vampire and he remembered they only got warmer when they'd fed recently or wound up drunk. How much did it take to get Stefan drunk? Could he get drunk? They would not be able to hold back if Dean had anything to say about it. He wasn't there to let them bind him up in chains. He'd been bound enough in his life.

This was a night to release, relax, and refrain from restraints.

"You want to tell me if I should worry about calling you a cab at the end of the night? Some vamps can get drunk. Some can't. Which kind are you? Me? I'm the regular human hunter who plans to get so drunk someone better be prepared to get me home. That's what I am."

~*~

Oh, it took a great deal to get Stefan drunk. He was on his way, though. It was better when he was sloshed. The Dreams didn't come as much when he'd been drinking. Or was that just wishful thinking? It seemed like the Dreams were coming every night lately, drowning him over and over again until he had no idea what was real and what wasn't, which conversations were actually happening, and which were hallucinations--coping devices to deal with his current Dream situation.

"You don't have to call me a cab. I'll just walk home from here." Stefan said, motioning over his shoulder. He lifted the next shot. "I don't feel it as much as others might, but I do still have the effects of the alcohol. So I'll be the one driving your drunk ass home." He teased.

~*~

Dean didn't bother to hold back his laughter. His eyes crinkled at the corners, showing his age in a way he refused to acknowledge otherwise. They attracted a lot of attention, but Dean didn't care. All he cared about was the next drink direct from the bottle, burning all the way down the way it felt when he jumped into Hell. Battles were fought on all kinds of fields. Dean would be happy to be a part of this battle which would be waged in the bar with the liquor flowing free.

"Alright, peaches, I'll let you drive me home. Just know you aren't getting a goodnight kiss no matter how many bottles of Patron you buy me."

Swallowing back more tequila than was healthy for any man, Dean swiped his hand, fingers curled tight around the bottle, across his forehead. How had it gotten so hot in the place? Fucking California weather. He did miss seasons. Those were nice. Sometimes his Dreams? They had nice things in them. Like seasons. Snow and rain and leaves which changed color while wind blew all around…

"I got a girl," Dean mumbled, "Sort of."

He didn't want to talk anymore. All he wanted? Was to drink some more and let himself get taken home by his vampire babysitter.

"Whatever. Drink up, Salvatore. You can keep yourself warm tonight while wrapped up in the arms of our friend Jose. I don't want to do anymore talking. Just drinking. Then you get to drive me home. In your car. No way I'm letting you drive my baby. We gotta get a lot more friendly than we are before that happens."

Dean sloshed tequila into empty shot glasses, not caring who they had belonged to first.

Some nights a man just needed to sing the blues. This was one of those nights. Dean only hoped they didn't have many, many more of those nights in the future.