Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the Sookie Stackhouse books.

Setting: Pretty obviously the end of season two for Supernatural, and the Sookie portion is set right before the vampires came out of their coffins, so Sookie's somewhat oblivious.

A/N: I'm planning on doing more one-shots from these two verses, perhaps a whole series, so any suggestions you would be great. Or even just encouragement. Heaven knows, the Sookie crossovers don't get enough love.

Damn it, Sammy.

It took me a few seconds to realize he wasn't thinking about my boss, Sam.

"Hi, there," he said, spreading a heartbreaker's grin.

"Like another?"

His eyes were sad, wet, and determined. A dangerous mix. But he softened them slightly when he registered my voice. A pretty girl's smile, even a nervous smile, was sure to do that to most guys.

He tipped his bottle slightly, as if just realizing it was empty, and sat it next to the other. I picked them up with a curt move, but his eyes didn't stray from the table to the hem of my uniform shorts. His flirt seemed half-hearted. I tried to wipe the puzzled look from my face, and I wondered, faintly, if it had to do with this Sammy he kept thinking of.

"Sure." His voice was low and anxious, the smirk at his lips tight. "Keep 'em coming."

It's never a good idea to read a patron's mind. Granted, I usually don't have much of a choice. I slip up, accidently open myself up, and wham-bam, I'm hearing way too much information. This isn't a good thing. I mean, you wouldn't like to hang out with someone who knew your supposed "fishing trip" was actually to the annual transvestites' convention in Atlanta or catch a game with a girl who knew that you thought her ass looked like jell-o when she was walking up the stands. It wouldn't be fair to you, or me, for that matter.

But that's my misfortune.

And sometimes one dose of bad luck leads to another.

I tried blocking him the first ten minutes he entered: Just hold on, Sammy. Just a little longer. How the hell can I do this? I can't—I've got to. He'll hate me. But it's what Dad would have done. What Dad did do.

But eventually I gave way. I knew automatically that he was thinking he shouldn't drink anything hard, not if he wasn't staying long. And he was wondering why he stopped in at Merlotte's in the first place.

For courage? I didn't laugh when he brushed that theory off, replacing courage with 'drink myself stupid.'

I put the bottle on a paper mat and stopped. We were near closing and the few stragglers were at Arlene's tables. Sam was wiping down the bar, his smiling eyes darting up to me with a question. I nodded at him in answer, and he went on with his nightly ritual.

Without a second thought, I sat down across from the stranger. His name was Dean, I knew. Dean Winchester. But he was jumpy sort of guy, so I didn't figure addressing him would be a good idea.

He looked up at me in surprise.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

He blinked. "Full service bar you got here," he commented, taking a sip off his fresh drink.

I was smiling. I tried not to, but I couldn't stop. It's just my way.

"Did you lose. . .?" I heard his walls go up, and I tripped over my own words, backing up. "You just look upset."

He released an anxious breath. That's when I saw his hand. It had wandered into his jacket pocket without him registering his own movement. He only thought of it afterward. And when he did, my blood went cold. He had two items at his fingers, a flask of holy water and a five-inch skinning knife.

A shiver ran down my spine. I thought of calling out then, to Sam. I'd stopped trouble in the bar before, because my little talent had caught a whiff of violence. But something in this man's expression stopped me.

Don't be so paranoid, you'll scare the poor girl. Not everyone's a demon.

"I'm fine, thanks."

He stood, reaching for his wallet this time. A hefty tip dropped down with his bill.

That's when I heard it, what I'd been blocking. My eyes were wide, I suppose, because he was staring at me again. I was used to that look. It was the look most patrons gave me when I was acting a bit off. Like Weird Ol' Sookie.

"Don't," I breathed. "Please, don't do it."

His face grew hard. Dean opened his mouth but didn't speak, stepping towards the door instead. I watched him go with a pitying expression. A hand touched my elbow, and I turned.

"What's wrong?"

Sam the caring, always checking up on me. I smiled back at my boss.

"Nothing," I said, trying to shake off the chill.

Sam nodded, doubt lining his face.

"Sam," I began, swallowing anxiously, "do you believe in those old wives tales, about deals with devils down south?"

He laughed off the question, and I smiled, too, not quite feeling it. I shook my head, wiping down the table. I should have been used to crazies by now. That man was. . . probably in mourning, probably already drunk when he came in. After all, there's no such thing as demons. Monster's like that don't exist.