Summary: When Dean returns to their motel room from a bar beat to hell, Sam begins to worry more is going on.
Dean called the winning shot before the eight ball gracefully sunk down into the pocket. "That's a wrap," he grinned setting his pool stick down on the long bar table next to it. "It's been fun, gentlemen," he scooped up his winnings and counted them out before stuffing the hunk of twenties deep into his front pocket.
"Don't you want to play another round? The night is so young," Chad asked, already in the process of setting the table up for another game.
"Yeah. We want a chance to win some of our money back," Richard added.
Dean gave it a thought. He rolled his sleeve up and glanced at his watch. These guys were a challenge and it had been fun playing them.
It had also been over three hours since Sammy left him there. He took the Impala to crash at their motel room which was only three blocks down. Dean assured him he could walk the distance and do not wait up. He chuckled at their last conversation.
Ever since his run in with the demon and his almost death, Sam had been watching him like a hawk. Not that Dean didn't appreciate the show of affection, but you could only hang out with your younger sibling for so long without him getting on your nerves. He was surprised the way Sam had been acting, he wasn't already back at the bar attempting to drag him out. For sure he was still up playing on his laptop or watching whatever crap the motel offered on television. Most likely the moment he stumbled in Sam would play it off and act like he was just now tired and going to bed.
Dean rolled his sleeve back down and lowered his arm. "Na... the night's not that young. Thanks for the offer, though." He grinned at them and nodded his head before making his way over to the bar. He eased onto the stool and flagged the bar tender down, ordering a shot of their best tequila and one draft beer.
The lightening from outside was illuminating the bar from the few windows every five seconds. The thunder so loud it roared over the music. He couldn't hear the rain but one glance at the window closest to him... it was coming down hard. A few drinks and he'd suck it up and take the walk. A little water never hurt. Or a lot.
He slammed his shot and let the hard liquor warm his insides. He sipped his beer and found himself zoning out, relaxing, even tapping his foot to whatever crap was on the jukebox.
A quarter way through his beer he found his shoulder being jostled. He snapped out of his comfortable daze and looked over to find Chad easing down into the stool next to him. "Hey," Dean grinned at him, only to feel his other shoulder being jostled in a much similar fashion. He looked over to find Richard easing in the other unoccupied stool to his left.
"This seat taken?" Richard gave him a not so pleasant glare.
Dean raised his beer to his lips and took another swig before answering. "Free country," he replied setting it back down on the bar. He then felt someone standing behind him. A quick turn of the head and back he knew it was the one they called Bill. He didn't play pool with the guy but he was clearly with Chad and Richard.
Dean cleared his throat. "Is there a problem?"
"Not if you call hustling my buddies out of their hard earned money a problem," Bill growled into his ear.
Dean chuckled. "Hustled? That was a fair game, gentlemen. I thought it was extremely entertaining."
"If you don't want a rematch I suggest you give my pals here their money back and leave before this place gets ugly."
Dean held down the insult that the place was already ugly with just his presence in the bar. Instead he lifted his beer again and downed the warm remains of it. Setting it back down on the bar, he said, "Look, I won fair and square. I ain't asking for trouble. Why don't you let me buy you guys a round of beer? I need to be heading out."
He began to stand and found Bill's hand planted firmly on his shoulder, forcing him back down into his stool.
"I don't like to be touched. I'll only ask you politely once to remove your hand," Dean warned. His hand wrapped around the beer bottle in a tight grip, ready to swing it at this asshole in five seconds.
The bar tender stepped over to them, phone in hand. "These guys giving you a problem?" He looked Dean in the eyes.
Hell yeah they were. They just ruined his night. Couldn't he play a legit game of pool and interact with humans and not get into it?
The bar tender began to dial a number on his phone and Dean instantly removed his grip on the beer bottle. "No, thank you, no problem at all. Nothing we can't handle outside anyway, right, gentlemen?"
Bill began to ease his hand off Dean's shoulder and he took it upon himself to shrug it the remainder of the way off.
The bar tender looked at him questionably but Dean stayed firm. "Seriously, man, no problem. Thanks."
The man shook his head and set the phone down, nodding his head in a gesture that said 'Fine, get the fuck out of here'.
Dean didn't need any more problems. The fact that he was in the FBI data base and wanted for murder was enough. He didn't feel like rotting in jail waiting for Sammy to bail his sorry ass out one way or another. He was slightly buzzed but he knew he could take these three morons on in his sleep.
"Gentlemen, lead the way," he said calmly, easing out of his seat. Bill backed off while Chad and Richard stood.
Dean found himself following the three men out the side entrance.
"Great, just great," he muttered. He sizes them up on his long journey to the door. He can take all three on, no problem, as long as they fight fair. He has his blade on him but would rather not use it. He could always give them back the money he won but damnit, he won it fair and square. It's the principle and it's just not an option.
The second he steps from the bar, he eases his leather collar up. The rain is pelting him. This is going to make for one interesting fight when he can barely see two inches in front of him. The second the side door slams behind him he's speaking. "Guys, lets talk about this first. I mean, do you really want your sorry butts kicked over one hundred bones? Are you that desperate for the money? Maybe you do need it more than me."
A voice echoes from his left. "Always the smart mouth, aren't you Winchester?"
Dean squints. Visibility is nil. Then he frowns. A sick feeling rising in his gut. He may have kicked a few too many back and he may have thought he was in company of just human jerks, but this one won't slide by him. He curses himself for having such cloudy judgement.
"How the hell you know my real name!"
"We know all about you, Dean Winchester. It's not very often we come across a well known hunter... one that is allllllllllllllllllll alone..." the eerie voice has him centered.
"I'm flattered you know me," Dean spits out, the fear rising in his gut so hard he thinks he's going to choke on it.
"Where are your hunter friends, Winchester? Who will save you from this?"
Dean pulls out his blade, swiping at his eyes for more visibility. His ears are arched and he's ready to pounce.
"Oh wait... you don't have friends," the voice comes from his right.
Another from the center. "You've always lacked the social skills to keep friends. We almost feel sorry for you."
Another comes back from the left, "Shame. Your father's death was such a shame. You don't know how happy that made us the great John was down for good. But he wasn't your friend, cause you don't have any, do you? He was your mentor."
He swipes the blade out not hitting any target. "Shut your trap! Just shut your fucking mouth!"
"Where is that delicious brother of yours? He's your friend, right? The only person you have in this dying decaying world?"
Dean's nostrils flare. He thrashes out with his blade again to no avail. "You got one thing right. I am alone. I hunt alone and I will kill you ALL!" He seethes, "Lets go. Show me your true form!"
"Liar, not a very good liar, we saw your brother with you. Your only friend." The voices are all combined and coming from every which way.
"NO!" He screams. "WE HAD A FALLING OUT! I'M ALONE. NOW BRING IT ON!"
Dean is slammed against the brick siding of the bar, his arms outstretched. He holds onto the knife as long as he can but some unseen force twists his wrist to the point he can no longer hold it. "Noooooooooooooooooooo!"