Fallen [Dean Winchester FanFiction]

I

One

Gatlinburg, Tennessee. 1:13 a.m.

Alaine had been sitting alone at a table in the back of an old country bar. As classic rock blared in the background she silently noted the shift in the atmosphere inside the bustling establishment. The small place had become overcrowded with middle-aged men. Some had taken to drowning their misery of a broken life into bottles of cheap bear while others sat on the prowl for whatever poorly-dressed women they could get their hands on. Ultimately to her, they were all arrogant, overbearing pigs that she preferred to avoid at all times, even more so while being on the hunt for a case.

For two full weeks, she'd been searching endlessly for any leads that would point her towards something potentially supernatural. She scanned through newspapers, and checked all forms of online media for anything that would stand out to her as "unordinary," but to her growing frustration, she'd only come across radio silence. There was no news on any demon possessions, or tips leading to a possible vamps' nest; there was absolutely nothing, and that was something she found to be annoyingly odd.

She'd blown the third exasperated sigh of the night as she propped her elbow up onto the table, her temple pressing against her knuckles. With a bored expression, she reached for the half-finished beer in front of her to take another swig when out of nowhere, a man drunkenly approached the side of her table. Flickering her gaze to him, she was met with a sly smile that was almost hard to notice underneath his thick, graying beard. He leaned in closer—possibly as an attempt to inspect her nonexistent cleavage—before his thin lips parted to address her.

"What's a pretty thing like you doin' here all alone? In need of some company?"

Offering him a cheap smile out of courtesy, Alaine downed the remnants of her beer and shook her head. "Sorry, sugar. Not interested."

With a soft thud, she set the empty bottle down onto the table and pushed her chair back to rise from her seat. She adjusted the hem of her t-shirt, then took a step to walk past him, but as her shoulder brushed against his, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

"Hold on now," he purred, his sweaty fingers locking around her. "What do you say we head on over to my truck? Maybe I could change your mind."

The muscle in her jaw twitched slightly. Slowly, she turned to face him, and with a smirk now tugging at the corners of her plump lips, she gently settled a hand over his shoulder.

"You'd like to try, wouldn't you?"

Eargerness flashed across his wrinkled features, his eyes lighting up, expectantly. "Oh hell yes."

"Well—" she gripped the collar of his old biker jacket into her grasp, and leveled her gaze to his, "—sorry to break it to you, but I'm not in the business of screwing backwater-town trash like you."

His expression looked momentarily stunned, then his aged faced contorted as he visibly recovered, a nasty scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"You disrespectful bitch. I oughta teach your ass a lesson—"

"Really?" Alaine smiled. "Go ahead then."

By the look in his eyes she gathered he hadn't at all expected for her to challenge his threat. He stood there, appearing somewhat stunned as her gaze flickered down to the hand still firmly clamped onto her wrist. Without having to utter a word, he pulled his fingers away from her.

"Ah. Didn't think so." Releasing her grip on his shoulder, she took a step away from him, but not before giving him a small push that'd sent him stumbling backwards into the table.