That Sweet Fall Into Sin

Title: And the Bottom Falls Out
Series: Alec Winchester Verse
Author: Jinni (jinni.tth@gmail.com)
Rated: Pg13
Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke, et al. All things Dark Angel belong to James Cameron, et al.
Notes: Takes place after “In My Time of Dying” in the AW Verse. ankhesenamen12, dhark_charlotte, and blue_icy_rose all asked for AW Verse drabbles. Instead of writing 3 100-word snippets, I wrote a 400+ word ficlet. Enjoy.
Summary: It’s hard to escape the pain.
Wordcount: 418


~*~*~

Pretty sure that he’d never felt so goddamned awful in his entire life – including all that bullshit torturous physical training and emotional abuse that Manticore had fed him for most of it – Alec wearily opened his eyes to stare at the ratty ceiling of the motel. His head was pounding. Didn’t matter if he was a transgenic and had a kickass metabolism or not if he was going to drink a bottle and a half of cheap whiskey, knocking back shot after shot like water, just to try to get to the point that he was blissfully numb.

He’d gotten there. That much he remembered. Numb. Completely wasted. In fact, he’d go as far as to say that he’d never been that drunk in his entire life.

And he was sort of hoping to never, ever get that drunk again. This seriously sucked.

He winced and rolled, arm flopping loosely on someone. Alec lifted his head. Sam. And, damn, was he drooling. Also? He was completely out for the count. Alec lifted his head enough to check that, yeah, Dean was on the other bed, also dead to the world, before flopping back down with a sigh and letting his eyes drift mercifully shut again.

The night before was a blur, and he wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing. Dad was… Alec shut his eyes tight, pressing back the hot, stinging tears that popped up. Dad was dead. He just was. And crying over it, moping about it, wasn’t going to bring him back.

Alec knew that.

Didn’t make it stop hurting, though.

So they’d set out to get drunk. Quickly, quietly. Without fanfare. Just them, some bottles of booze, and a crappy motel room, with Sam and Dean telling stories, remembering their old man as only they could. Alec hadn’t had much to contribute, but when the tide of conversation turned to childhood stories, he could remember fuzzily telling them about Manticore in detail. About how he’d been trained since he was just a kid.

Drinking and talking, talking and drinking. Until it was nothing more than a run-on in his head, memories getting sloppy, going in circles in his head. Alec groaned softly. It had been therapeutic at the time – almost making that hollow feeling nice and full again, not so empty.

Now he was paying the price for it: a hangover from hell.

Damn.

And the worst thing?

He didn’t feel any better about John being dead today than he had last night.

END