[Dean is out of touch with what's going on around the Barge. It's only partially deliberate, and partially just how he operates these days - or rather, fails to. Sometimes he just loses track of time, of how it passes for the rest of the world, how it passes for him in it. Things happen and he misses them, or things he is waiting for never do.
The long and short of it is that he's not sure how long Stiles and Lydia were gone, and he misses when they came back, and today he isn't sure where or when he is because he's been drinking since he woke up this morning. Some days he can get by okay, but today is one of the days he doesn't even care who he has to ask for liquor or what he has to do to get it, as long as he does. As long as he doesn't have to stop drinking. As long as he can eventually just pass the fuck out of consciousness and not have to deal with anything until he wakes up again a day from now.
That's the plan. He's not quite there yet, still restless and desperate to move away from something, but the more he moves around the Barge, the more he's certain that what he's trying to get away from is himself. It's not the first time he's thought this, felt this way, but acknowledging it is always a sign that no one else should come near him. He spends a lot of time on the deck anyway, now, and when he looks up from moving from one point to another, he knows it's less than ideal. He knows someone will see him here, someone will approach eventually, but it's the best he can do.
Maybe he'll get lucky and they'll leave him passed out on the bench. Maybe he'll get lucky and he'll pass out at all. As if he ever gets lucky. It will have to do: he slumps down onto the bench, breathes in, and tries to make anything at all make sense - anything at all to feel better than it does.]
[ Spam ]
The long and short of it is that he's not sure how long Stiles and Lydia were gone, and he misses when they came back, and today he isn't sure where or when he is because he's been drinking since he woke up this morning. Some days he can get by okay, but today is one of the days he doesn't even care who he has to ask for liquor or what he has to do to get it, as long as he does. As long as he doesn't have to stop drinking. As long as he can eventually just pass the fuck out of consciousness and not have to deal with anything until he wakes up again a day from now.
That's the plan. He's not quite there yet, still restless and desperate to move away from something, but the more he moves around the Barge, the more he's certain that what he's trying to get away from is himself. It's not the first time he's thought this, felt this way, but acknowledging it is always a sign that no one else should come near him. He spends a lot of time on the deck anyway, now, and when he looks up from moving from one point to another, he knows it's less than ideal. He knows someone will see him here, someone will approach eventually, but it's the best he can do.
Maybe he'll get lucky and they'll leave him passed out on the bench. Maybe he'll get lucky and he'll pass out at all. As if he ever gets lucky. It will have to do: he slumps down onto the bench, breathes in, and tries to make anything at all make sense - anything at all to feel better than it does.]