Author's Note: alright guys, this is the first thing I have ever posted on this website, so I'm sorry if I did something wrong in that area! :o anyway, this drabble was written at four in the morning - an it's unbetaed.. /shutter. any mistakes are my own. Title taken from City and Colour's "Sorrowing Man." Written on request from a friend.

oOoOoOo

“Sorrowing man, look how worn you've become - you once were Lord of the baron sea. There’s blood on our hands, in this perfect madness you're living on borrowed time. Oh how you have lost your way...”

Dean didn’t know her name, and at the drunken moment, he didn’t care.

She was cute, with big brown eyes and long dark hair to match, her ample breast spilling over the top of a small white tank that practically screamed “cmere’ and bang me big boy.” So, like any good self proclaimed womanizer, Dean had tried to strike up a conversation with her, a simple “hey sweetheart, can I but you a drink” to start. Kitty was her name, or at least, that's what Dean thought she said between her slurred giggles. Whatever, he didn’t need to know. The sooner he could bury himself in this tramp the sooner he could forget about it all. About the apocalypse that wasn’t. About hell. About all those pour souls he tortured. About his little brother and his angel - although you’d think he’d want to remember Sam and Castiel, and he did, honestly - just not now. Seriously, who the hell thinks of their brother and, Christ, their angel while they’re about to get laid?

After a few words and a wink here or there, Kitty or Kathy or whatever was getting anxious. She began lightly playing her fingertips over his scarred up arm, peering down makeup caked lashes through lidded eyes, whispering things like “cmon’, lets blow this wank joint!”

But by now someone else had captured Dean’s lustful gaze, a sweet blonde across the bar throwing back shots. He mentally kicked himself, screaming “get ahold of yourself Dean! Cmon’! Look at this chick!” So while Dean eyed his newest target, trying to push away the thought of strong arms throwing him down on the bed and rough facial stubble against his thighs, Kitty continued to ramble on about leaving or some ****, but he wasn’t even listening anymore. Instead, he was weighing his options. His obnoxious little brother Sam, who ironically towered over him at least four inches, wouldn’t be back at the hotel until tomorrow night - meaning he wouldn’t discover Dean’s secret giving he go after the hot blonde guy. Or, he could take home Kitty.

Dean glanced away for a moment to look at Kitty’s sticky, over glossed lips, probably tasting of cherry or some other type of overused fruit, and then back up at Mr. Nameless, sitting there by his lonesome and still throwing the whiskey back.

He made a decision.

It was another half hour before Dean left alone, exhausted and drunk beyond his past lowest points. He slid behind the wheel of beloved 67‘ Chevy Impala, turned his Led Zeppelin album up loud, rolled down the windows, and sped off into the sweltering Arizona night - praying he’d hit someone head on.

But Dean knew he wouldn’t get that lucky.

"Oh how you have lost your way..."