"What're you doin', boy?" Dean jerks his head up from where it's been resting on the bar for at least half an hour, drunk and confused. He could have sworn that he heard-
"Over here, ya idjit." Dean turns his head so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. Sitting next to him, looking alive (and pissed) is the one and only Bobby Singer, who in reality has been dead for over 6 years.
"What." Dean's thought process is slow to say the least, alcohol clouding his judgement and just about everything else.
"Do you have cotton in your ears? I asked you what in the hell do you think you're doing?" Dumbstruck, all Dean can do is stare, taking in Bobby's worn baseball cap and wondering how this is even possible. They had burnt everything of Bobby's, from the flask to his clothes, everything was gone. So why-?
"Speak, boy. I ain't got all day." Brought back into the present, Dean can't think of a decent answer.
"Balls. I'll tell ya what you're doing. You're wasting away, when there's a world out there that needs your savin'. Sam's worried sick, and so is Cas. They want to help your sorry ass, but you just keep pushing them away, when they're all you got. You listenin' to me?"
Still woozy and unfocused, Dean's filter is shot, and he doesn't know or frankly care if this is the real Bobby, but either way he has no right to be meddling in his private life. What he chooses to do to his liver is his own business, thank you very much. "Look, I don't know if you're my mind playing tricks on me, or if you decided to pay me a visit from the heavens above, but stay out of it. I've heard the same shit from the other two, I don't need your spiritual ass repeating it another time." What can he say, Dean Winchester was not only a piece of shit, but he also treated the dead with zero respect. What a keeper.
"Some things never change. Listen, I'm not here to coddle you or nothin', but I thought I would give it a shot. Turns out you need more help than my visiting hours allow." Bobby's eyes soften. "I don't like seeing you like this, boy. You've got people that want to help, let 'em in." With a final pat on the shoulder, Bobby disappears.
Dean orders another shot.
--
"I can't believe you! Dean Winchester, I did not die for this!" It's been a month since Bobby visited, and Dean is in the same situation, just a different bar, surrounded by different people. Drunk off his ass and wallowing in self-hatred.
Just as shocked as the last time, Dean turns to see fiery red hair and pale skin. "Charlie?" Emotions are starting to claw at his chest but no, emotions are what got him here in the first place, so he pushes them down. She's scowling at him anyways, so he's already feeling his defensive walls go up, almost on reflex.
"It sure is, you asshole. And you're about to get firmly scolded, so you might wanna take a seat." He's already sitting, but it doesn't matter, there's no point in interrupting her. He can see that she's building up her anger, so all he's gotta do is ride it out and wait for the worst of it to be over.
She seems a little taken aback at his lack of response, but quickly recovers. Dean's drunken mind applauds her. "I heard from Bobby that you're getting bad, and I just had to come see for myself. He sounded sincere and worried and I thought to myself, "Charlie, you gave your life for this man, you better make sure he isn't wasting it." And sure enough, I come down here and bam! You're on a crappy bar stool, in a crappy bar, drinking crappy liquor. You son of a bitch."
Dean has the dignity to feel ashamed, if only for a short second.
"See, you've probably had a drinking problem since you were 6, but-"
