weary_head | (no subject)

Midnight found Dean wandering, this time with a bottle of booze. Its quality was as dubious as its color (somewhere between pink and a watery melon), but it did the trick, and Dean thanked the life that had enabled him to sneak so easily into the Hub and steal it away with every burning swallow.

He didn't go to the waterfall this time. Sam had found him there too easily. Strange, that it should be harder than ever to talk to Sam about the deal now that he knew. No burden had been lifted, only another settled on top of the first, and the weight of Sam's disappointment and grief was more than Dean could bear most evenings. Gulping down another awful swallow, he wondered if he'd ever sleep a night through again.

And so it was that he found himself at Angua's hut. He told himself that he wanted to see her new digs, which was true. Why he needed to see them at this time of night, he didn't bother making excuses for. He was too busy making a hell of a lot of noise tripping over her front step.

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She couldn't, but Dean didn't hold on to the thought too long, releasing it to slide away with the rest of his thoughts as the warmth that had started in his spine continued to spread, comfortable and heavy now as it seeped into his limbs. "'Kay," he murmured, still mostly on top of her as he settled in.

"I'm not the bed," Angua quietly complained, though there wasn't any real annoyance in her tone. She shifted, putting his chest against her back and bringing his arm around her. If it made her desire to be held obvious, she only hoped he wouldn't think about it in the morning.

Dean followed her easily, spreading his hand against her belly where it landed and giving a few absent strokes. Angua's hair smelled pretty good, he noticed, and he pushed his nose into it as his eyes again fell closed.