This wouldn't be here if my Lil Sis hadn't Beta'd every single goddamned page and MADE me finish it. I'm so glad she did!
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
"Anyway, he was an asshole," she said firmly. "You're better off without him and you know it."
"Yeah," the younger girl nodded with a resigned sigh. "Can we just get more drinks in now?"
"Good idea," she agreed, getting up and going to the bar. It was barely two minutes before she was back with a tray.
"When I said drinks, I meant--"
"I know," she interrupted, looking down at the six shot glasses accompanying the two beer bottles on the tray. "But there's no harm in a little extra on the side."
"That's what he said," the younger one reminded her pointedly.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry," she said quickly, biting her lip.
"Forget about it," she said, making an effort to smile. "Hand me the beer first. Let's be logical about this."
The older girl, tall and willowy, smiled and sat. She lifted one beer and passed it to her young charge, pausing to take the two empties and place them on the tray.
The door to the bar room opened and the younger girl looked up to see two men walk in.
"Possibles, twelve o'clock," she hissed, as the other girl's eyes flicked up, joining her in following the two men walking to the bar. "No wait - two definites," she corrected. "You want the tall one?"
"Oh yeah," she smiled, letting her eyes wander up and down the brown-haired man talking to the bartender. "You want the shorter one?"
"Do I ever," she grinned, eyeing the jeans on her target as he leaned over the bar to reach for something. "Get them over here."
The older girl cleared her throat, got to her feet, and walked over to the bar slowly. There were only two other patrons at the counter, both of whom seemed much more interested in their drinks than watching her. She leaned and listened to the two men and the bartender, picking up a coaster from the counter and fiddling with it.
"So this is it?" the taller, brown-haired man was saying.
"Yup. Finest bark dust," the man said. "What the hell you two need that for, anyhow?"
"My uncle said it was good for, er, painting," he replied, handing a small leather pouch to the other man. He hefted it in his hand, pulled a shrug with his mouth and nodded at the taller accomplice. "We're just picking it up for him."
The bartender watched them with a knowing smile. "Fine, if you think you know what you're doing." He noticed the girl and then looked back at the taller man. "If you want to know how to use that there crap properly, you ask Sunny here," he smiled.
The two men turned and looked at the girl. The man seated at the bar behind her looked up too, in the mistaken belief he was being referred to. He realised the men were looking at the girl between he and they, and his head quickly sank back to the sight of his drink.
"She knows more about that stuff than anyone in this county. Sunny, tell 'em not to mess with native medicine stuff - even if it is for 'painting'," the bartender was saying with a grin.
"I'll tell you that you shouldn't put it anywhere near a paintbrush," she said, then stuck her hand out. "Hi. I'm Sunny. You?"
"Not too cheerful right now, but workin' on it," the shorter one said, putting his hand up and shaking genially enough. She grinned.
"And you?" she asked the taller one, noticing his large, clear green-brown eyes.
"Ah… Sam," he managed, putting his hand out. Their fingers clashed.
"Sorry," he said immediately, giving a tiny embarrassed smile.
"No worries, I'm sure," she said. "Look, if you want to know about that dust you just bought, come and take a seat," she said, indicating the table and the other girl still sat.
Sam looked over, then glanced at his shorter colleague. "Oh, er, I don't know, I mean, we have to get--"
He was shoved slightly in the arm and the other one grinned from behind him. "Sure, we'd love to," he interrupted.
Sam's lip stuck out a tiny way and Sunny was sure she heard the slightest huff. She smiled though as the boys turned back to the bartender. He was looking at the male customer.
"Another one, Roger?" he offered. The man nodded and lifted his glass for him to reach.
Sunny walked back to the table and sat. She aimed serious eyes at the younger girl.
"I've bagged the tall one. He's gorgeous," she breathed. "Very foxy."
"Yeah? So what am I left with? The ugly one?" she teased.
"Hardly," Sunny scoffed, reaching out and picking up her beer bottle.
The two boys walked over from the bar, Sam leading the way. He sat opposite Sunny politely, nodding to her and the other girl. The shorter man appeared after a moment, putting his beer down but pausing to peel off his black jacket before he sat.
"So," Sunny said. "Sam, this is Moon," she said, indicating her younger friend.
"Moon - cool name," Sam offered with a smile. She nodded.
"So long as you don't make jokes about 'beware the'," she said politely, but Sunny cleared her throat and shot her a look. Moon made herself smile more warmly. "It's been done," she said by way of defence. Then she looked at the other man. "So do you have a name?"
"Dean," he said, nodding to them both.
"Sam and Dean," Sunny said with a large smile. "So tell me, what do you want that bark dust for?"
"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Sam said with a smile, casting the other man a brief look.
"Really? Cos that stuff's only good for breaking curses and severing blood lines," Moon said pointedly. Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. Moon smiled. "Or clearing bad mojo from a person's body. So which is it?"
Dean leaned forward to get his beer, watching her with slightly narrowed emerald eyes. "It's for our uncle. He's a painter," he said slowly. "He just likes the colour."
"Is that so?" Moon asked, fixing him with a look. Dean just met her gaze and Sam cleared his throat slightly.
"So, Sunny…" he began, his voice a little higher and more polite than usual, "what brings a coupla nice girls like you two out to a bar like this?"
Dean cut short his Battle Of The Eyes with Moon to roll them over at Sam in an expression of disbelief. Sam realised he was being stared at and looked at him. "What?" he asked innocently. Dean clapped a palm over his eyes and shook his head.
The two girls burst into giggles, and then Moon spoke.
"Oh I like these two, they can stay," she laughed. The boys shared a look before Sam gave an embarrassed half-smile and looked at the table.
"So what do you boys do for a living?" Sunny asked, her eyes on Sam eagerly.
"He writes articles for a magazine," Dean said. Sam nodded faithfully.
"And you?" Moon asked.
"I'm his - his -"
"Photographer," Sam put in with a smile.
"Really?" Moon asked, looking at Dean, who nodded. "You don't look like you'd know one end of a camera from the other."
"I know which end shoots," he said pointedly, and she stared at him. He returned the gaze with a slightly arched eyebrow.
"And here I thought you were gonna be another asshole. Are you?" Moon asked. Sunny gasped in surprise but Sam put his hands up quickly to interrupt her defence.
"Wasn't planning on it," Dean shot back. "Could change my mind though."
"I don't like assholes. And I don't like people who waste my time. Or Fords," she added thoughtfully.
"Well I'm with you there. But that's a lot of don't likes," he observed. "What do you like?"
"I like rock and roll," she smiled.
"So put another dime in the jukebox, baby," he said, smiling suddenly.
"Don't call me baby," she said stiffly, and Dean's face fell back into a detached scowl. But she bit her lip and pushed a hand in her pocket, producing a shiny coin. "Sorry. Here - peace offering. Pick us something appropriate."
Dean studied the coin for a moment, then spared her a glance before he leaned over and took it. He looked at it in his fingers then got up slowly. She watched him walk over to the jukebox and smiled as he paged through the album covers.
"You'll have to excuse my sister," Sunny said politely, looking at Sam. "She's having a bad week."
"Oh, well, I'm sure there's a reason," he said lamely, looking back at her. He took in her long, flowing brown hair, the beautifully arched cheekbones and regal shape to her face. "You, er… You have interesting names," he offered to cover his staring. He realised his mouth had gone dry and picked up his beer.
"Most people just take the piss," Moon sighed. "I still think we should go back to our real ones and screw 'em."
"Moon," Sunny said quickly, annoyed. She turned back to Sam. "Sorry."
"No no, it's fine," he said quickly. "Why don't you use your real names anyway?"
Moon took a sip of her beer and eyed him. "Cos mine's Pukkeesis," she said flatly. Sam stared for a second, then nodded.
"If I get funny looks being called Moon, think of all the shit I'd get for being called Pukkeesis Paloquin," she tutted. "It's alright for her, she's just Keesis," she added, gesturing to her sister with the neck of the beer bottle.
"When I was a kid I kinda got teased for my name, too, although I doubt it's the same," he smiled.
"So what's your name then? Smiles-With-His-Eyes?" Moon quipped. Sunny nudged her.
"Winchester," he grinned, his face slightly red as Sunny smiled at him shyly.
"Like the rifle?"
"Like the rifle," Sam nodded.
"So how long are you in town, Sam Like-The-Rifle?" Sunny asked.
"Ah, actually, we're supposed to be leaving tonight," he said, then flicked his gaze to the beer on the table. He noticed the girls' shots. "Oh - I'm sorry, were you expecting someone else?" he asked, his face betraying his inexplicable disappointment.
"No," Moon said, "we were expecting to get wasted."
"Ah," Sam observed, and Sunny started to laugh. Moon started too, and then Sam let himself chuckle.
Dean appeared back at the table, sitting down slowly and watching them. "Whut'd I miss?" he asked cautiously.
"Walking straight lessons," Moon managed. "Ride a lot of horses do you, Bandy-Legs?" she laughed.
Dean let his eyes roll and caught Sam looking at him, his eyebrows communicating his sympathy but also the fact that he was dying to laugh out loud.
He got up again and patted his brother on the shoulder. "Don't forget your beer, Sammy," he said quietly, leaving his jacket on the chair and walking off to the toilets.
Sunny managed to stop herself laughing. "Moon, that was rude," she admonished, but she was still giggling.
"But it was true," Moon protested. "Anyway, he was asking for it."
"How?" Sunny asked flatly. "He's nice enough." She stopped herself and looked at Sam. "Sorry. We're just talking about your friend like he doesn't exist. And in front of you, too."
"Actually? He's my brother," Sam grinned. "And it's kinda nice to see him getting the rough end for a change."
"Oh really?" Moon asked slyly.
"Moon," Sunny said, a blatant warning in her tone.
Moon stuck her tongue out at her, then looked at Sam. "So come on, who's this uncle and why does he need mojo-killing dust?" she asked.
"His name's Bobby. And he just likes to paint," Sam shrugged.
"Really," Moon snorted. "Well he's not going to like the colour that dust turns when it's on canvas," she said.
"Really? What colour does it go?" Sam asked, intrigued.
"Deep purple," Sunny interrupted. "And don't sniff it for a while after you mix it with water."
"How do you know all this stuff?" Sam asked, a lovely rainbow of bemusement and nervousness twisting his features into a delicate smile.
"Brought up on a reservation till we were school-age, then dumped here, there and everywhere, looked after by my grandmother," Moon interrupted.
"You're native - ah - no, American - ah - oh - indigenous perso--"
"Native Americans? Half," Sunny said.
"Just don't ask about the other half," Moon sighed.
Sunny shot her a glance and she reached for her beer, taking a few long sips.
"Sorry. Carry on," Moon said brightly, and Sam shook his head.
"So… if you know all about this stuff, then tell me why you think it's for clearing bad mojo," Sam smiled.
"Cos my grandma said it's what she used to wake a man who was a zombie," Moon said.
"Moon!" Sunny cried angrily. Moon stopped short, eyeing her older sister. "You're not suppos--. Just keep your mouth shut," she hissed, clearly out of patience.
"Whoops," Moon muttered, then looked up as Dean returned from his leisurely washroom time-out. "Hey," she said lamely. "You gonna sit or do I just apologise while you stand?"
"Apologise for whut?" Dean asked, sitting anyway. Moon sighed and then nudged her sister.
"Let me out," she said. "I got to make a pit-stop."
Sunny sighed and shuffled off the bench seat, standing and waiting for her to get out. She disappeared off to the toilets and Sunny sat again, looking at Dean ashamedly.
"Sorry about her. She's having a bad week, and she just doesn't know how to be nice right now," she said heavily.
"Sounds like it," Dean grumbled.
"The crazy thing is, she does actually like you."
"How can you tell? Is it cos I still have my eyes?" Dean sniffed, picking up his beer. Sam tutted at him but he cast him an uncaring glance before taking a long swig of his beer.
"She's just a little anti-men right now. She's normally really nice," Sunny offered. Dean put the beer back on the table, then looked at Sam.
"Well I hate to break this up, but I think our uncle really needs this paint stuff," he said. Sam's eyebrows twitched in appeal and Dean paused. "Whut?"
"He doesn't need it right now, does he?" he said cautiously. "I mean… he could get it tomorrow night."
Dean's slightly annoyed face slowly morphed into a crafty smile, and as Sunny watched, bemused, it stretched into a completely wicked grin.
"Oh, I see," Dean chuckled. "Right. Well in that case, I'm sure the old man can wait," he nodded. "Guess whut - they got a pool table in the back, too," he said deliberately.
"That's great," Sam managed.
"You like pool?" Sunny asked. Dean nodded. "So does Moon. But I don't know how to play, really. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but she's hustled a few people out of money before."
"Is that so?" Dean grinned, getting up and feeling in his deep jeans pockets for change. He winked at Sam, then turned and walked away toward the bar.
Sam turned and looked at Sunny. "He likes pool," he said lamely. Sunny grinned.
"And - er, I like, er…"
"What do you like?" she asked quietly.
"I… er, well, I kinda like… er, well yeah, really," he babbled. Sunny giggled and a tide of red went up her face. She put her hand to her mouth and then let it drop, looking at him.
"You seem like a really nice guy, Sam Like-The-Rifle," she offered.
"I try to be," he ventured. She smiled and Sam looked away quickly, to his brother at the bar.
"Hey there. You got change for the table?" Dean was asking.
The bartender put down his cloth and glass and went to the cash register. "Sure do," he nodded. Dean leaned on the counter, waiting as he opened up the till and fished out some coins. He noticed the man sat at the bar was watching him.
"Evening," he nodded to him, his eyes sweeping over the shock of black hair, the rumpled Rush t-shirt and used jeans over a thin frame that smacked of off-duty Office Go-Fer.
"Is it?" the customer grumped, watching him intently. Dean just shrugged and swapped his bill for the change in the bartender's hand. He nodded his thanks, then paused as his peripheral vision took in the man's gaze still on his profile. He turned to confirm his sneaking suspicion. The man was indeed staring as if Dean were totally unaware of the scrutiny.
"You gonna propose?" Dean asked pointedly. The man blinked. "Then quit staring," Dean added politely but nevertheless firmly. The neat dark hair hunched back over the drink.
"Roger, leave the man alone," the bartender admonished as Dean walked away to the pool table. Roger looked up at him, and for the barest of moments, his eyes actually appeared black - completely and entirely black.
The bartender blinked and found Roger exactly as he expected; semi-inebriated, grumpy as usual, ready for more liquor and clearly hazel-eyed.
"Sure," he allowed. The bartender nodded to him and turned for the whisky bottle again.