Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not the good kind of fuck, either, but the bad one. He grumbled a bit to himself, felt like he could even hear his own heart hammering away in his chest. This whole situation sucked, this whole thing was fucked up. He was stressed out, and found himself craving alcohol again, wanting to just say fuck the world, and drown everything out, like he had done before.<br/><br/>He gets up off the couch, and in this moment of weakness, he starts looking around in the kitchen, checking all the cupboards, pantry, fridge, everywhere, looking to see if Cass happened to keep any sort of booze around. Beer, hard liquor, whatever, he didn't care at this point.