Dean was coming out of a bar. Nothing at all unusual with that scene, especially not since he came from hell. However, since .. hooking up with Buffy, he found most of his free time was spent at the apartment complex rather then pushing the memories away with just enough alcohol to keep him numb. It wasn't the the nightmares stopped. The self-loathing had gone away. It was just that Buffy was a very welcome distraction. No ... she was much, much more than that. And whatever it was was enough to keep him out of bars for the most part. But not always.
He'd gone the the bar mostly because he'd wanted the space. The came .. he couldn't believe he actually felt this way, was great. He couldn't remember the last time he'd looked forward to, had been excited over something. Had enjoyed something so well. Excluding the most recent prank war with Sam. Which had been a good time in and of itself. Since Hell .. it'd been hard. And Dean wasn't slow enough not to realize that half of these good feelings and good times spent with Sam likely wouldn't have happened if they hadn't had to focus on helping the people at up the complex. However, as great as all of that was. Dean had wanted, no, needed his space.
He was coming from the bar. Not half as drunk as he should have been. Pulling his keys from his coat pocket, heading towards his car.