"Maybe once more with feeling," he says, turning his head back as he trudges through the snow.
While Sam may survey the place first, Dean heads straight to the bar. He is too sober for whatever the hell is going on. And if he's dead, then it doesn't matter how sober or drunk he gets, does it. But, if he's dead then why is Sam here. Sam circa -- no, he won't do it. He's thinking again.
Popping open the nearest bottle, he lifts it.
"What the hell." He shakes the empty bottle, setting it back down and tries another. Tips his fingers along the well as the empty bottles clank together. Facing the shelves, he tries another, before peering close.
"Who restocks empty bottles."
Point 1 for: This is Dean's Hell.
"Raptured towns don't rapture the alcohol," he whines, turning back to face his brother. And then to himself he can't hold back a, "Son of a bitch."
no subject
While Sam may survey the place first, Dean heads straight to the bar. He is too sober for whatever the hell is going on. And if he's dead, then it doesn't matter how sober or drunk he gets, does it. But, if he's dead then why is Sam here. Sam circa -- no, he won't do it. He's thinking again.
Popping open the nearest bottle, he lifts it.
"What the hell." He shakes the empty bottle, setting it back down and tries another. Tips his fingers along the well as the empty bottles clank together. Facing the shelves, he tries another, before peering close.
"Who restocks empty bottles."
Point 1 for: This is Dean's Hell.
"Raptured towns don't rapture the alcohol," he whines, turning back to face his brother. And then to himself he can't hold back a, "Son of a bitch."