somebody tryin' just to stay alive

An extremely heavy, loud bass-beat is thumping down the hallways and spewing out of the library.

Dean has acquired a boombox.

He's also legitimately doing research, for once in his life, plucking books here and there and stacking them in a rather haphazard fashion on the nearest table, all the while singing along to Separate Ways by one of the classic 80's bands, Journey.

Don't judge, you sonsabitches.

"Troubled times, caught between confusion and pain...pain...pain," He bobs his head along with the music, chucking another leather-bound book onto the desk.  "Distant eyes-" Dean spins around, boots skidding along the wood floor, "Promises we made were in vain - In vaaaain, vain."

Never mind how well the lyrics appear to mimic some bits of his own life - they don't matter.  What matters is how he can't find any information on skinny dudes with tentacle-arms in any books relating to supernatural subjects.  "Most of this shit doesn't even make sense," Dean grumbles, leaving the volume up on his music-maker and taking a seat in the nearest armchair.  "Stake a vampir- Who the fuck wrote this?!"

He's been thinking about this for a while.  Let's be honest, here - Castiel is a virgin.  He has to be.  He knows absolutely nothing.  It might do him some good to get out and have someone who's attracted to him crawling all over him.  Someone who isn't Dean all hopped up on clingy Christmas cheer.

That, and this intervention might make Cas stop staring at him so much.  Dean knows he's sexy, but he isn't exactly the most interesting thing in the world to look at.  Staring stupidly is what they invented movies and porn for.

"Fudgin' holidays," He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and kicking aside a pile of tinsel on the floor.  He's had better plans in the past, but Santana is his last resort.  Dean doesn't want to go to her, but she probably knows some hot chicks, and she can help him pull Cas out of his shell a little bit.  So he sucks it up and buckles in, knowing it might very well be a bumpy ride.

Dean stops by Santana's door, knocking a couple times and leaning casually on the jamb, hands in his pockets.

Silver lining: Even if he can't touch, he'll still be able to look at his smokin' hot date.  If she accepts.

The camera is in the usual spot, on the table, switched on.  Dean is starting to record himself whenever he feels disgustingly pathetic enough to send out a silent request for company.  He's managed to pull one of the records out of the closet that's actually good Christmas music - none of this crappy new-age shit - and sets it carefully on the pin, placing the needle at the edge of the vinyl.  "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" by Judy Garland starts playing, and Dean sighs, taking a step back and shoving his hands in his pockets.  Almost longingly, he glances over one shoulder at a tiny, near-pathetic tree bedecked in strings of multicolored lights and pine-scented car air fresheners.

That was the exact tree Sam had made on their last Christmas, and when he'd asked the closet for decorations, this is all it would give him.

At least there's a fireplace.

Moving to the table, he pours another shot of liquor into the already-spiked eggnog and knocks it back.  Sniffing as he caps the rum - or whiskey, or Bourbon, or Scotch - Dean nudges it away on the wooden top and takes a deep breath.  Jesus, he used to love this holiday.  And as soon as the decor started going up in the house, Dean was more than pleased to dodge flying ornaments and tinsel just to stand in a corner and watched the magic happen - literally.

Now, though...now he's alone.  There's no brother to celebrate the last Christmas with, no pagan gods to gank, no evil Anti-Claus to worry about.

He's trying to avoid the booze but it keeps hitting him harder every time, and at least he falls asleep when he drinks.  Not feeling fully invested in the Christmas spirit, Dean perches on the edge of his bed and stares morosely at the blank television across from him.  No Christmas football game on, either.

And he hates football.