Blood On The Streets (Supernatural fanfic)

Dive Bars (Part 1 of 13)

Him......
Sometime, years ago.

Dean Winchester sat up at the bar. One hand wrapped around maybe the fifth beer of the evening. His head, bent low towards the counter, providing a close-up view of spilled alcohol and peanut bits.  AC/DC played on the jukebox, the song was generally a favourite of his, but not today. Today he couldn't seem to drown out the lyrics, although he desperately tried.

Jesus! Just how many times did the damn song mention the word 'blood' anyway.

He screwed his eyes shut as every line of the song forced an image of the kid he and Sam hadn't managed to save. He couldn't stop picturing that lifeless body and those terrified eyes..........

Thump!

He pounded his fist against the counter top. The loud thud dragging  his mind away from the gruesome imagery. A nearby bartender jumped at the outburst and took a step forward to chastise the surly patron, but stopped at seeing glassy, apologetic eyes as Dean took a moment to lift his head.

Sammy was off somewhere else, doing.... Heaven only knew. Probably back at the motel, researching their next case on the computer. It still surprised Dean just how different they were in dealing with all this crap. Whilst Dean sat and wallowed in his failures, Sam would be focusing on the eight other kids they had manage to save from the horrific monster. But the bottom line was, Dean wanted to save everybody and struggled to handle it when he fell short.

Starting on beer number six, he gave a small chuckle when AC/DC finally ended on the jukebox and was replaced by Kate Bush. He had never been so happy to hear the haunting tones of the British songstress.  Lifting his head, Dean took a moment to cast an eye over his surroundings. Just a dark dingy bar, full of dark dingy folk. Pool table, neon beer signs, plus a half dozen booths that hadn't been reupholstered since way before the smoking ban. It was exactly the kind of place he liked.  Dive bars were like fast food joints to him. He looked for one in every town they visited.

His stare stopped on the booth nearest the jukebox, two young women sat across from each other but Dean could only see the girl facing him. The pair stood out amidst the otherwise seedy clientele and he couldn't help notice their lack of conversation. As a rule people came to bars for two reasons. To socialise, or to drink alone. They didn't seem to be doing either of those things. The girl he could see, stared absently down at the table or maybe she gazed at the glass of Bourbon sat on top of it. It didn't take him long to recognise that stare, it was the same one he'd been sporting for the last two hours. It was pretty clear she hadn't ordered the hard liquor just to look cool. It was a stiff drink. One you ordered because you damn well needed it. He didn't want to hazard a guess what troubles had brought them to such a place, looking paler than a glass of milk.

Chocolate brown hair fell across the girl's face as she lifted the whiskey with a shaky hand.  She took a sip of the dark amber liquid and Dean couldn't help but notice how fragile she looked. He considered dragging his ass off the bar stool and walking over to check they were both okay, but his hesitance only made time for someone else to beat him to the post.  A stocky looking dude with a trucker cap and denim jacket had approached the two girls. Although a little too far away to hear the conversation, Dean could still tell from the brunette's face, that the denim dude's advice  was unsolicited.  The blank stare the girl had owned since entering the bar, suddenly changed. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as 'trucker-cap' made his move. Placing her whiskey glass back on the table, the girl slowly rose from her seat. Dean watched on, at what he assumed was a confrontational move on her part. He could almost see the storm swirling around her, as she came eye level with the dude. Then to Dean's shock the girl kept on rising until her full height towered over the guy.

Dean sucked in a breath as he looked at the tall brunette standing in a bright pink vest  and tight jeans. Damn, she looked anything but fragile now. Measured words came from her mouth and although Dean was out of earshot, it was  easy to lip-read a good number of them.  'Bad day, 'snap like a twig' and a few dozen F words were all in there. Whatever the full message had been, it certainly seemed to have the desired effect. Trucker-cap reluctantly walked away with his tail between his legs.

It was then the girl seem to sense Dean spying on her. She lifted her gaze to lock eyes with him. Her shoulders straightened out and her chin jutted slightly forward, daring him to go over and attempt what the other guy had just done. Dean's stare lingered while he considered the options. He gave her the once over, taking in the sight of the tall drink of water. On a better day, he would have gladly taken up the challenge.  Charmed his way into her good graces, but not tonight. He was just too tired, too gloomy and too drunk to get into something. Thinking better of it, Dean turned away from the girl's challenging glare.

Upon seeing his submission the 'tall drink' seemed to relax and sat back down. Dean risked a quick glance a little later and noticed dark circles under her young eyes as she quietly conversed with her friend. She kind of looked, just how he felt. Completely spent. He sincerely hoped the two of them could overcome whatever had made them that way.

How long had he been sat there now? The clock above the bar gave him his answer. Way too long! Dean slowly pushed the empty beer bottle away and pulled his heavy frame up from the stool. He felt the full hit of alcohol as he moved, confirming he'd done enough self pitying for one evening. Tomorrow, as they say, was another day. A day when it would all start again and he would need to get his head in the game, if he was to do better.

With a heavy head Dean paid his tab and walked towards the exit, but couldn't leave without chancing one more look over at the troubled brunette. As he passed close to the booth, his eyes lifted to see she was staring right back at him. He wanted to say something to her, something that would help her cope, but words were not his friend at that moment. Instead Dean managed a knowing nod of the head. It was to tell her that he understood what it was like to have a shitty day and that at some point he hoped it would get better for her.

Whether she understood the sentiment, Dean would never know, but she offered back the saddest of smiles that made his heart hurt a little. Then he turned his back to the girls and the bar, pushed open the door, breathed in a lungful of cold evening air and headed back to another in a long line of sleazy motel beds.