Title: Twelve Step Process

Rating: Teen for references to drugs, death, and alcoholism. Also some homosexuality, don't like, don't read.

Fandom: The Men Who Stare at Goats


The AA meetings all said that getting off the wagon was a twelve step process. They said no one did it overnight, it required dedication and religion, but Bill Django figured that mostly it really required a little bit of luck. He wasn't sure that he had much luck, and maybe that was just karma coming back around to bite him in the ass for some past mistake. He was sure he'd made a lot of them. What he really thought most of the time was that he was just paying the piper for earlier happiness; and while this was not optimistic in the least sense of the word, he didn't really feel very optimistic about anything.

Sometimes he could feel himself almost get back up on his feet, he'd put aside his bottles of hard drink for a few weeks and sometimes a few months. It wasn't an urging to drink, it wasn't that seemingly unquenchable thirst that burned in his throat that led him like a horse back to water; it was the insomnia. He'd lay awake in his bed and look at the ceiling and think about all the ways he'd screwed up and he'd think of the people he'd wronged in doing so. Voices would float through his head, this person and that one: Larry Hooper, Lyn Cassady, people he'd met on the road, Dean Hopgood...It always came back to that. It was funny, Dean had been dead for years, and yet it was his voice that haunted Bill the most frequently. It would talk in his ear until he finally shrugged up his shoulders and reached into the cabinet for some liquid relief.

Then he would sleep. Step one: get wasted: He was good at that. Step two: pass out on the couch/in am armchair in front of the television/ on the front rug feeling nostalgic/ or worst of all: in bed. Step three: dream about what you were running away from and wake up feeling like hell the next day. Step four: wake up and repeat steps one through four. That was why he couldn't get out of the endless loop, he thought to himself, he only ever counted to four. Didn't that just mess everything up?