timed to mid-March

[prodigaljaybird]

The man is easily contained, though Jason thinks things might have gone differently had he not been so drunk, too slow with it to even raise a hand before Jason had him immobilized. He'd have overpowered him either way, Jason's sure of that, but it might have taken longer, been. Messier. Anxious as he's been lately, Jason almost thinks it's a shame. Sparring with Bucky holds little of the joy of a real fight, Jason unwilling to fight dirty with Bucky these days, and he sighs as he ties the last knot.

Regrets aside, he's out the door of the Winchester in no time, the would be thief a captive and tied, still and silent now, to a chair. Neil's hut isn't far, and Jason takes to the trees, cutting the time it'd take to walk there in half. The home is dark when he finds it, but Jason doesn't think this is something to leave 'til morning.

Raising his hand to the door, he knocks.

Comments

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

It's on the tip of his tongue, to tell Neil to go home to his family while what's left of it is still there to go home to, but he doesn't say it. He's not that far gone yet, and what Dean does do is shrug and pull out another glass.

"Fine," he says, pouring. "Look tired, is all."

[little_moons]

"'m always tired," I murmur, sliding onto a stool and reaching for the glass, "Goin' home to sleep isn't gonna make any fuckin' difference."

Especially since I'll probably just spend the rest of the night awake, starin' at the fuckin' ceiling, now.

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

"Make some difference," Dean remarks, losing half his own glass to a gulp. It burns at his throat, which only means he's gone too long between drinks, and he pours a little more.

"Girls sleepin' in their bed again?"

[little_moons]

"They still try and crawl into ours, every couple nights," I admit, knocking back my drink with a sigh.

"'s been worse, since Abby."

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

Abby, who's...Jesus, Dean hadn't even realized she was gone, so far up his own ass as to miss it. He feels bad for it, but even now, in the face of Neil's grief it's hard to feel it, one small ache pulverized in the teaming wake of Angua's disappearance.

"Yeah, I...I bet," he says, reaching to refill Neil's glass. "Never stops, does it?"

[little_moons]

For the last couple of years, Dean's always, always been the person I can count on most. No matter what. He usually doesn't even have to say a word, it doesn't matter what's happened, just being near him makes things seem better. But it's like... it's like he's not here. Not really. Not anymore, and I could feel it happening before she left, with all that drinking, but now that she's gone... It's like whatever it was in him that always made me feel like everything would be okay has just... slipped away.

Mike is dead, and Tom's still a mess and the one person I really want to lean on just can't handle it. Can't handle me. And I can't help it. I can't help this completely selfish wish that things could be normal. No matter how much I wish Angua was back, no matter how much I wish that he could be happy, because he deserves it more than anybody I know, what I wish more is just to have him back again, for me.

Mike's fucking dead, but Dean's sitting right here and it's like drinking with a ghost.

"No, it doesn't," I mutter, knocking back my next drink, wiping the back of my hand across my eyes and turning my face away.

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

They've moved on to what passes for pleasantries these days, comments on who's gone and who isn't so daily, so normal, that Dean spends the next few breaths just drinking. He pours more into each of their glasses, eyes on the polished wood of the bar and then his hand as it wraps around the glass, then nothing at all as the whiskey burns its way down.

He swallows, but Neil doesn't, and it's only when he goes to ask if he's done drinking that Dean looks up. All at once, it feels like he's on the wrong side of the bar. He's hot all over, skin stretched too thin and dry despite the heat, and his voice, when it comes, isn't much better. "Neil?"

[little_moons]

Clearing my throat, I force myself to turn my face toward his, but I can't quite manage to look him in the eye, feeling stupid and so fucking selfish, my cheeks practically burning.

"Yeah?" I say, a weak smile flickering across my face, but I know it ends up looking more like a wince. There's about a million other things I wanna say, but none of it'll come, so I end up just sitting there, trying to just breathe and not fucking cry or run or anything else equally pathetic and embarrassing.

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

Neil's face is wet and as red as Dean's feels, and in the few steps it takes to get to the other side of the bar Dean actually feels like himself again, moving towards a problem he can solve, a hurt he can soothe.

"Hey kid, c'mon," he says, arms up and tugging Neil gently into a hug. God only knows how long Neil's been crying before Dean even fucking noticed. "It's gonna be okay."

[little_moons]

"Jesus," I breathe, curling my arms around him, purely instinct, 'cause if I wasn't so fucked up, I'd be shovin' him away and tellin' him not to fuckin' baby me. He doesn't need to be the one to fix things. Not now.

But it's too comforting, too familiar, and I practically collapse against him, my face buried in the crook of his neck, holding him tighter like I'm afraid to let go.

Really, I'll take what I can get.

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

Neil hasn't held on like this in a long while, hasn't folded up and let Dean take his weight like this maybe ever, and Dean holds on, one arm around his back and the other landing in Neil's hair, keeping him there against his throat for as long as he needs. He probably smells terrible - been drinking for hours and his last cleanup had been for the clinic, but he's not so worried about that right now.

"You and me, we're still here," he murmurs, feeling Neil's breath hitch against his skin. "Gonna be okay."

[little_moons]

"Bullshit," I say with a dry, sobbing cough of laughter, and maybe I'll be embarrassed later, but right now, I've got no fuckin' shame for the way I'm clinging to him.

"I dunno what the fuck I'm supposed to do with you. You're supposed to be the fuckin' adult around here, asshole."

As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I know how much of a fuckin' guilt trip it is. I'm married, for Christsakes. Got two kids at home. But when it comes to him, I've got it in my head he's better at handling shit than I am. That he's the one that holds it together, while everything falls apart. When really, I know that's pretty fuckin' far from the truth.

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

"M'tryin', man," Dean exhales, but it isn't true. He's not trying, doesn't even want to, but times like this he wishes he did. That drive is still there in him, it has to be, the need to pick up and keep going, to burrow out of all the miserable shit piled on top of him, but Dean can't feel it. He can't seem to do anything but drift along, at least until something hits him hard enough to wake up for a few moments, and the sight of Neil's tears packs a damn fine punch.

Dean takes a shaky breath. "If I let go of you you're not gonna swoon or anything, right?"

[little_moons]

"Probably," I mutter, but I pry my arms away from him, sitting back on my stool, my hands still braced on his shoulders.

"Shit, man. I'm... I'm sorry, I just..." There's no excuse. None that he's not already aware of, anyway.

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

Dean can guess what Neil's going to say, and he doesn't think he can handle hearing it, not as keyed up as he is already by the sight of Neil's red eyes. "Just what?" he asks. "Just tired, maybe a little pissed you got dragged out of your bed for my dumb ass?" he asks, and makes it all the way to a smile this time, even if it's a tired one.

[little_moons]

"'m not pissed," I mutter, scrubbing a hand across my face and sliding off my stool, brushing past him on my way to put my glass in the bus bin behind the bar.

I'm a lot of things, but the anger went away a long time ago.

"You're right. I oughta go. I told Tom I wouldn't be gone long."

[weary-head.livejournal.com]

"Yeah," says Dean. "I gotta...get back." To what, he doesn't say, nor could he if asked. Sam has Cori, O-Ren, Roger and Jess can look after themselves, what is he going back to? An empty bed, and he can't bring himself to feign its appeal.

"Thanks for the drink, man."

[little_moons]

"Next time, try not to get busted," I murmur, and on my way past, I step in close again, resting a hand on his back, high between his shoulder blades and leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. And maybe it's a strange sort of gesture, not something I do with him very often, but I'm too fucking tired to give a shit about boundaries or what's normal for us.

I don't want him to go home on his own. I want him to come with me. I want him to be where I can keep an eye on him, I want him to be where he can keep an eye on me, but we've got a full fuckin' house already, and he's got Sam and Cori and O-Ren and Roger there. There's no reason, other than pure selfishness, for me to need him so close when he's already got family all around him.