Wings of Desire -Dean Winchester x Fem Reader-

Chapter 7

Dean

I finally arrived at the dimly lit bar, the neon signs casting a colorful glow on the weathered façade. The air was thick with the scent of exhaust and the distant murmur of conversations spilled out onto the sidewalk. 

Parking baby, I couldn't help but notice the striking contrast between my car and the sleek, black Indian Bobber nearby. Its polished chrome details gleamed under the neon lights, capturing my attention.

As I made my way towards the entrance, I glanced at the array of motorcycles lining the parking lot. Each one seemed to tell a story of its own, adorned with stickers, patches, and scars from countless journeys. However, the Indian Bobber stood out like an enigma among the local rides. 

The craftsmanship and allure suggested it belonged to someone with a distinct taste and, judging by the lack of familiarity among the other patrons, probably not from around here.

Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I settled into the driver's seat of my car. The events of the evening played over in my mind like a movie reel, each frame a puzzle piece waiting to be fitted into a larger picture.

As I made my way inside the bar, my gaze returned to the black bike parked with a quiet confidence that hinted at the adventures it had witnessed. I found myself wondering about its owner — the person who rode into town with such a distinctive machine.

 Was it a traveler seeking refuge, or perhaps someone with unfinished business? The questions lingered as I contemplated whether unraveling the mystery of the bike might hold the key to understanding the events that had brought me to this moment.

Anyways, despite my inclination to poke around where I probably shouldn't, I resist the urge and continue on my way. The entrance of the bar beckons, and as I step inside, I find it in a state of casual occupancy—half-filled with patrons engaged in their own conversations. 

The subdued glow of the overhead lights paints the scene with a warm, amber hue, revealing just enough to keep the details shrouded.

Eyeing the bar, a routine I've adopted in every new place, my eyes sweep over everything and everyone, the worn wooden decor, and the collection of vintage signs adorning the walls. It's a typical watering hole, seemingly ordinary at first glance. There's an air of familiarity in the clinking of glasses and the murmur of diverse conversations melding into a harmonious buzz.

A resigned sigh escapes me, dispersing into the ambient noise as I adjust the sleeves of my flannel and over my shoulders. My gaze lands on the lone bar-stool positioned conveniently near the entrance, a solitary island in the midst of the social currents. 

It's the only seat available, and I claim it, grateful for the dim glow of the nearby light. The worn leather beneath me creaks slightly as I settle in, the cool surface offering a momentary respite.

Leaning against the bar, I allow my thoughts to drift, contemplating the events that led me here. The rhythmic pulsing of a bluesy tune from the jukebox punctuates the air, adding a layer of nostalgia to the atmosphere. The possibilities of what to do next after what happened at the warehouse has me worn out.

"Here you go, from a secret admirer," the bartender announces his presence with a wink as he hands me a glass of whiskey. "Uh, thanks, I guess," I respond, my confusion evident. I glance around the dimly lit bar, searching for any hint of who might have sent this mysterious drink. It's not the first time I've received such gestures, usually, it's easy to spot the person, but this time, it proves to be a challenge.

As my eyes sweep across the bar, a chill runs down my spine, a sensation I dismiss, attributing it to the overly cold ac in the bar. It was cold, real cold. It's like an arctic breeze, and I can't help but wonder if the bar owner secretly enjoys living in an damn igloo.

Suddenly, a figure at the opposite end of the bar rises abruptly, seeming almost in a hurry. Struggling to catch a glimpse, I discern a beautiful individual with long (H/C) hair cascading almost to their hips and a curvaceous silhouette. 

Something tell's me that this might be the elusive "secret admirer." 

Jackpot! 

Just as I prepare to get up and approach her, she swiftly passes by me, almost running. In her wake, that same chilling sensation races down my spine, jolting me enough to nearly send me backward in my chair. But this time was more intense. I didn't pay attention and just sit there forgeting about her for now. 

Shit got wierder every time, but that's my "new normal". 

"hey buddy, give me your best beer and keep it coming". 

I sat there for a good few hours until I decided it was time to move on. Feeling a bit dizzy, I made my way out of the bar, stumbling a bit at the door. Great. While trying to steady myself, I noticed the same girl from earlier, seated on that cool bike.

Hell yeah! She's my type!

Heading toward my car, which happened to be parked behind her bike, I saw a group of guys eyeing her like she was their prey. I didn't know her, but for some unknown reason, I felt the need to protect her. Moving in that direction, I could sense her tension building. Brushing it off, I continued until I was in front of my Impala.

Struggling to find the keys in my pocket, I heard shuffling getting closer. Glancing at her, I noticed one of the guys putting his hand on her shoulder. "Hi, sweetheart." Damn it! No one steals my line, especially not with the girl I feel the need to watch out for. "Hey, jerk! Get your hand off her!"

The guy, clearly unfazed, shot me a smug look and chuckled. "Back off, man. We're just having a friendly chat."

I clenched my fists, feeling the tension rise. The girl shot me a quick glance, she has her helmet on, I know she was grateful. Now I had to stand my ground. "Well, your definition of 'friendly' seems a bit off. How about you leave her alone?"

He took a step closer, and I could see his buddies closing in, too. It was about to get messy. Without thinking, I reached into my pocket, pulling out my knife gripping tightly on it. "Last warning. Back off."

The girl seemed to sense the escalating tension and stood up from the bike, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Guys, let's not make a scene." Her voice was calm, but I could feel the tension in her touch.

The standoff continued for a moment until, surprisingly, the guys backed off with mocking laughs. As they retreated, the girl gave me a small, appreciative nod. "Thanks for stepping in. I appreciate it."

She has the most angelic sweet voice. Almost captivating. The voice that can get any grown man on his knees. I wish she take that helmet of and show her beauty that I'm hundred percent sure is behind it. 

I shrugged, trying to downplay the heroics. "No problem. Just couldn't stand by and watch that unfold." I watch her got on the bike, rev it and took off.