Song Remains the Same

Chapter 144: Thunderstruck

"You better start swimming or sink like a stone, cause the times they are a-changing."

— Bob Dylan

The tiny bar was grungy and mazelike with a distinctly seedy feel, despite being built into a quite lovely historic building downtown. Right after entering into the short hallway that led toward the main area, Sam and Alex stopped abruptly on a dime, mutually recognizing the current karaoke participant by voice alone. In disbelief, they listened to their missing brother singing with gusto, off key and in too low of a register for the song.

"She's my cherry pie, cool drink of water such a sweet surprise, tastes so good makes a grown man cry, sweet—cherry—pie!"

After a second of shock, Alex charging forward blindly into the main area, temper gone hot. She barged past the bar itself and then by some tables and booths, knocking over an empty chair or two as she made the beeline for the tiny stage. If she'd been paying attention, she would have seen Meg trying to flag her down from a dim corner, but there was only thing in Alex Winchester's sphere of vision: Dean, inexplicably carefree and singing with a bottle of beer in one hand and mic in the other. She marched up onto stage and snatched the microphone out of her brother's hand so hard and far that the AV cables ripped clean out of the machine—with a loud whine of feedback, the bar went silent.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she bellowed, because this was a slap in the face: she and Sam had spent the past three weeks torturing themselves over their brother's condition, worrying if he were alive or dead—and here he was, drunk and dicking around?! Faintly, Alex registered a few people commenting things like 'thank god' and 'can't sing for shit' and 'terrible song choice anyway.'

Dean, who had his hair styled in a wild way he had never worn it in before, reacted to his sister's sudden appearance by becoming instantly disgruntled. "What's it look like?" he retorted sourly. "Putting Robert Mason to shame, that's what." His expression pinched insolently as he brushed at his rust-red shirt—which had beer sloshed onto it from her rough swipe of the mic. "Until youruined it." He rolled his eyes and made to move, tossing the beer carelessly over his shoulder to shatter. "Outta my way." He brushed past—so startlingly hard that she nearly lost her balance and had to stumble to catch herself.

Dean reached the bottom of the stage stairs only to run into his brother, who was heaving from his heavy, impassioned breaths. "Explain yourself, now," Sam demanded dangerously, hovering between angry and concerned. "What is this, a psychotic break? Drugs?"

Dean seemed genuinely amused at the suggestions. "Ah, you wish," he replied lightly, then chuckled. "Loosen up a little, Sammy! Where's your sense of adventure?" He patted his brother on the shoulder then swept past, headed straight for the bar.

"My sense of a—" Sam repeated incredulously as his sister got to him. Together, they watched in aghast bewilderment as Dean walked into the employee's section of the bar and grabbed an entire bottle of whiskey for himself off the supply shelf. He drank straight out of it.

"Sir, this area is employees only—" the bartend sputtered. "And you really can't do that!" With his fun ruined, Dean lowered the bottle and stared menacingly. Brave and foolish, the bartend shrunk nervously. "Y-you gonna pay for that?"

As answer, Dean put the bottle to his lips again, finished the entire thing in a huge guzzle, then made a refreshed sound and then gave a very ominous smile. "Now just why in the hell why would I pay, bub?" he asked, then swung the dense glass bottle at the poor guy's head—knocking him down in a daze as shattered glass went flying. The second bartender, a few feet off, screamed. At the violent outburst, the few patrons in the bar fled en masse.