More for Dean to drink and the sooner he'll be properly wasted for this conversation. Red wine. He'll have to remember that. He'll start keeping some of it for her. He knows that, but he also thinks that she'd rather know the truth than be told a lie.
He shrugs at little and, while his body language is casual, his expression is sympathetic. "Truth isn't always helpful." Or what you want to hear.
He takes a deep breath and lets out a world-weary sigh. He takes another swig of whiskey because no, he is not drunk enough for this conversation. He rests his head back on the headrest of the seat. "We don't tell Sammy about this conversation." He points between himself and her. Sam has enough worries without worrying about whether Dean is tired of this life, about whether Dean wants more from this life. His relationship with Sam is a typical sibling relationship in a lot of ways, but it's also very paternal. For the most part, Dean raised Sam and he hides things like this from Sam, or at least he tries. In that way, he also understands Kara's feelings for Clark, her need to protect him, to be the older one. "I'm freaking exhausted. I'm pretty sure I have been for the last twenty years."
He's not sure what else he'd call it. It's hunting. Sometimes, they can put spirits to rest, but most of the time they're hunting something ugly in an attempt to save innocent people. If he could sit them down with a milkshake and a basket of fries and talk them into not killing people, he would. He swirls the whiskey in the bottle, eyes fixed on the dash of the Impala; he nods at Kara's words. "I used to figured I'd die too young to ever have anything else, you know? Go out in a blaze of glory." Obviously, for a lot of reasons, that's not what's in store for Dean. He's lived to be middle aged. Hell in a little over a decade, he'll be the same age his dad was when he died. He scrubs a hand over his head. "Different world. Different life...I guess I'd have that picket fence you talked about. Dog in the backyard. Couple of kids running around. Wife...but I draw the line at a mini fan," he tells her, turning to look at her, a grin on his face. He takes a swig of the whiskey. "Impala is a damn good family car."
It doesn't have seatbelts or airbags, but it's where Dean grew up and he insists it's a family car.
no subject
He shrugs at little and, while his body language is casual, his expression is sympathetic. "Truth isn't always helpful." Or what you want to hear.
He takes a deep breath and lets out a world-weary sigh. He takes another swig of whiskey because no, he is not drunk enough for this conversation. He rests his head back on the headrest of the seat. "We don't tell Sammy about this conversation." He points between himself and her. Sam has enough worries without worrying about whether Dean is tired of this life, about whether Dean wants more from this life. His relationship with Sam is a typical sibling relationship in a lot of ways, but it's also very paternal. For the most part, Dean raised Sam and he hides things like this from Sam, or at least he tries. In that way, he also understands Kara's feelings for Clark, her need to protect him, to be the older one. "I'm freaking exhausted. I'm pretty sure I have been for the last twenty years."
He's not sure what else he'd call it. It's hunting. Sometimes, they can put spirits to rest, but most of the time they're hunting something ugly in an attempt to save innocent people. If he could sit them down with a milkshake and a basket of fries and talk them into not killing people, he would. He swirls the whiskey in the bottle, eyes fixed on the dash of the Impala; he nods at Kara's words. "I used to figured I'd die too young to ever have anything else, you know? Go out in a blaze of glory." Obviously, for a lot of reasons, that's not what's in store for Dean. He's lived to be middle aged. Hell in a little over a decade, he'll be the same age his dad was when he died. He scrubs a hand over his head. "Different world. Different life...I guess I'd have that picket fence you talked about. Dog in the backyard. Couple of kids running around. Wife...but I draw the line at a mini fan," he tells her, turning to look at her, a grin on his face. He takes a swig of the whiskey. "Impala is a damn good family car."
It doesn't have seatbelts or airbags, but it's where Dean grew up and he insists it's a family car.