Tag: drunk dean

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August 26th excerpt:

“Dean…” Jacob began, exasperation touching the edge of his tone again. He frowned when he craned his neck back and saw that he was rapidly losing what attention he had. “Waitasecond,” he called, trying to snap Dean out of it before he really conked out.

He tried to squirm out from under Dean’s hand, but the loose grip around him combined with the dead weight to keep him right where he was. He muttered a curse; if he got stuck there, he would have to wait until the whiskey wore off and Dean woke up. That could take a while.

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August 23rd excerpt:

“Nothing’s your fault, ‘cause I’m fine.”

Curling his fist closer around Jacob, Dean lifted up the kid so he could get his first good look at him since getting home. “How’m I supposed to know that though?” he griped, squinting his eyes so he could see Jacob clearly.

Easier said than done. The whiskey from the bar had blurred Dean’s vision to the point where Jacob’s tiny, delicate features hard to see. Dean nudged one of the boots that dangled from the bottom of his hand, touching the leg to see if it was hurt.

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The way the curse itself works on the cursed children actually heightens their immune systems along with making them far stronger than an average human.

It’s extremely hard to get them sick with a common cold or the flu or even regular viruses. Not impossible, but as close to it as they can get. Their bodies fight off the infections long before they notice.

Getting drunk is far easier, and their own damn fault if they do it (smol Dean could use some lessons in portion control when it comes to drinking).

Of course, living most of their lives without getting common illnesses also leaves them incredibly unprepared if someone does get sick, the way Sam had no idea how to tend his older brother when Dean made the mistake of drinking until he got the worst hangover.

They’re much better at this now with some schooling from Jacob.

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Dean sized Jacob up as he drank from his foil cup. No one had ever warned him that whiskey wasn’t made to be drank in draughts, and his own inhibitions were already down by his boots.

Jacob was a big guy, with muscle covering his arms and upper body. His legs were most likely the same, but they were hidden underneath waves of sturdy blue fabric every day. Despite the growing warmth outside, Dean couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t a fan of shorts under any conditions and never had been. Unless they were short shorts on certain girls he’d seen in school…

He had to shake his head to focus, and found himself almost pitching to the side. Sam snapped a hand out, steadying his balance. “Maybe you should sit,” Sam suggested, pulling Dean towards the alarm clock.

“No… ‘m fine, Sammy, leggo.” Dean tried to twist his arm out of Sam’s grip. With his own balance off and Sam doing fine, he didn’t succeed, pulled like a kitten and placed against the alarm clock to lean.

Dean huffed in annoyance. “Whatever.” He turned and pointedly ignored Sam, sadly shaking his cup and watching the dredges swirl around.

From chapter 25 of The Road Not Taken – Bobby’s Good Whiskey

Wonderful comic by @homeiswheretheheartsare