Tough Love ✔️

Celebration at Vixen

To commemorate yourself and Dean and Sam Winchester's job on the nest, you found it inside yourself to take the truck to the only bar in town - a neat little joint dubbed Vixen.

You strolled in, and became aware almost immediately of what you were wearing; boots and jeans and a shaggy jacket were not the norm inside. Women, both younger and older than you wore revealing dresses and shorts that barely did their job, shirts that almost couldn't pass as bras alone and heels too high for your taste. You were a rough-it girl. One that could dress up at times; use the whip of femininity to your advantage...but still a rough-it girl.Your eye catches the men; they range from barely of age to almost in the grave. Drinking and hitting on them all.

You give a sigh at their desperate mating calls and waltz over to the bar.

"You're not quite such a looker, then, are you?"

You turn to the voice, and see the dilated pupils of an intoxicated man, smell the alcohol on his breath. "Oh, so now it's a requirement now, is it? I have to make myself look appeasing to your gender now?" You groan. "Hit on someone your own size, pal."

Turning back to the bar, you see the bartender and see him giving a well known gaze to you: the suspicious eye.

"I'm passing through town," you tell him to quell his thoughts. From the faded photograph taped to the wall behind him, you see he has a pair of twins, male, and near your age. "And I'll have a beer."

The man beside you chuckled slowly, the liqueur taking its toll on his speech. "So your a lesbian, then," he scrunched his nose. "No, you're not. You're straight ... up wanting me. I get it. Play hard to get. Such a turn on."

You turn to him, and give a slicing glance. "Piss off, mate," you growl.

His smile widens. "You're so gorgeous," he slurred, and not thinking straight - you can kill vampires without a second glance, but not flinch away - the guy's hand is on your upper arm.

"She said piss off."

The guy's hand dropped, and your eyes darted to the person who had held off the unpleasant occasion of being felt up.

"Really?" You laugh, beside yourself. Half pleased, half amused. All dubious.

It's Dean Winchester.

"Really." He turned to the guy, and with a tilt of his head and narrowing of his mustard green eyes, he frowns, "Why can't you desperate jerks learn that no means no?"

The guy wilts away, his drunken bravado becoming sullen and dwindling. He heaved a sigh, "You should have just said you're taken," he grumbled, and gave Dean the stink eye, sliding out of his bar stool to a booth nearby. "Jerk."

He rolled his eyes, turning to you. "______, you possibly couldn't have thought you had that guy under check," he gave you a look.

You frown. "I was going to use the element of surprise," you don't want to let Dean know you were almost prey to a predator. You need to be strong, make a good first impression. Be the hunter that Bobby trained you up to be. You see that Dean is still looking at you that way, "What is it, then?" You frown, "stunned by my incredible ability to slay fangs?"

He snorts. "Let me buy you a drink, ______?" He gives you a wink.

You hold your beer up and give a smile. "Covered, chief," you grin, "So what's the deal, why is it also by chance you and I are in the same bar on the same night?" You look around the bar, and remember, "And where's that brother of yours, Dean?"

You watch as the elder Winchester slide onto the unoccupied bar stool beside you, adjust his leather jacket and give you an award winning smile.

"I'll admit it, I followed you here. Wanted to make sure you were A-Okay after the raid earlier," he paused, flagging the bartender for a beer, "and Sammy? He's holed up in the motel. Reading up on his folklore. You know, that kind of stuff."

You nod, taking a drag of the beer. "That's all fine and well, Dean, but why? You do know it's only fine to stalk rouge monsters, but," you pause, "I'm not some mystical beast."

He frowned. "Are you drunk, ______?"

You shook your head. "Just this one, Dean."

He nodded. "Well, seeing as I had some before I got here and this ..." he did a series of calculations, "is the sixth drink I've had to tonight, I've got to tell you something."

You nod to get him to kept talking, and take a sip of your beer.

"I like you, ______." You want to groan at another pickup line, but somehow, being slightly hit on by Dean Winchester of all the men in the world seems like not the worst thing in the world. "You're a great hunter."

Embarrassed blush roars over your cheeks something like hell fire over dry grass.

"Thanks," you stumble over your words. "You too, Dean."

He raises his glass to you, and you do the same. "To hunting. There will always be a fight."

You knock your bottle gently into his, and echo, "to hunting."

The pair of you drink to the toast, and you drain the beer in your bottle. Dean, noticing this, sees and gives you a gentlemanly grin. "Let me buy you your second, ______, if I can't get you your first."

With a shake of your head, you sigh. "Ah, I'm driving out tonight, sorry pal. Got to get to South Dakota pronto."

Dean nods. "Job?"

You shake your head. "Hunter. You heard of Bobby? Singer?" He nods. "Yeah, well, he's like a dad to me. Make a rendezvous, stick to a rendezvous, y'know?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "It's nearly eleven o'clock, you shouldn't be driving, not even in your huge truck."

You go to protest, "It's tough, Dean, I can drive at night -,"

"Check into the motel again, ______ -,"

"It's way after hours -,"

Dean rolled his eyes, near to the point of the debate where he wants you to settle.

"Crash in our room, then."

"Fine. Deal."