It's common knowledge that Dean Winchester is never too tired for a drink. Even on the brink of death, Dean Winchester would accept a beer with a smile. Hell, he'd probably be asking for one.
So when he sits at the bar sipping water, Ellen Harvelle knows something's wrong. She surveys him from afar, taking in the tight set of his jaw, furrowed eyebrows, and narrowed eyes staring straight forward, before moving close.
"Alright, Dean?" she asks carefully, drying a glass as she does so.
Dean blinks, as if he'd been dreaming, and gives her an entirely unconvincing smile. "Peachy."
Ellen rolls her eyes when he's not looking. "Where's Sam?" If anyone could shake Dean out of one of his moods, it would be his little brother.
Dean just shrugs, eyes on his glass. At this, Ellen's eyes narrow. Something must really be playing on the boy's mind if he wasn't worrying like a housewife about Sam.
"Water," she comments, eyebrows raised, refusing to give up.
At this, Dean smiles, a sarcastic smile. "Yeah, it's a drink. Pretty universal."
Sighing, Ellen retreats, though her mind's fixed on this, and there's no way she's just going to let it go. Though she keeps her distance (for her sanity's sake - she could kick Dean's ass with both hands tied behind her back), her eyes are on him. Eventually, he takes a look over his shoulder, only to see something, scowl, and turn back to his glass.
All Ellen can see in the direction he glanced is a man in a tan trench coat, looking awkward and entirely out of place as a few girls talk to him.
Then, it clicks. The angel. She completely forgot the Winchesters had recently acquired a third member in their little hunting party, Castiel. Pushing aside her internal cringing at her rudeness with a resolve to make it up with drinks on the house, she starts watching Castiel, too.
It only takes a few minutes before she realises exactly what's going on, and it takes every ounce of control not to go over and slap Dean in the face. Instead, she settles for a very heavy glare, and eye rolls every time he shifts a little. Considering he's meant to be the best hunter in the world, this is pathetic, and Ellen has every intention of having a talk with him about this. Once she's sorted it, of course.
Trying to ignore his plaintive stares in Dean's direction, Ellen keeps a close eye on both Castiel and his companions as she continues working, turning a blind eye in Dean's direction, even when he tries to ask for more water.
Finally, one of the women extracts herself, and starts making her way towards the bar. She's got dark curls, a smile, and looks respectable, and for this Ellen is grateful. She's had too many encounters with busty blondes with an attitude problem, and, quite frankly, knocking them down a few pegs is exhausting.
"Hi," the girl says when she's in hearing. "Uh, vodka and coke, please." Ellen nods, then beckons the girl closer. Eyebrows raised, the girl leans across the polished wood, looking a little wary.
"The man you're with," Ellen starts, but before she can finish, the girl is shaking her head.
"Oh, no, don't worry," she says quickly. "He's gay."
Ellen smiles: finally, someone on the same page as her. "Yeah, that's the problem."
The girl looks confused. "Problem? No, it's cool, we all know." She raises her hand in a Brownie salute. "Totally honourable intentions. Promise."
"I believe you," Ellen replies, dismissing this with a wave of her hand. "The problem is that everyone knows, except him."
At this, the girl laughs. "No way. The moody guy at the bar is totally his boyfriend."
Ellen doesn't know whether she wants to slap Dean, or hug the girl: it really is that obvious. However, she composes herself, and nods. "He should be. But he's not."
"Uh," now the girl looks lost. "That... sucks, sure. But what do you want me to do about it?"
She splutters. "I'm sorry?"
"Trust me," Ellen says confidentially. "That guy?" She nods towards Dean, who's taken to spinning his knife in his hands (she silently grounds Jo for teaching him that trick). "Jealous type. Very jealous." The girl still looks unconvinced, so Ellen sighs. "Free drinks. Forever." Anything to get that Winchester to perk up. Brightening visibly, the girl nods.
"I'll make sure he's watching," she says, before grabbing the drink Ellen'd poured during their conversation, and striding off.
Five minutes later, there's the sound of a chair hitting the floor, an angel being pulled out of the bar by his coat, and a group of worried girls left in his wake.
Ten minutes later, Ellen informs a worried Sam Winchester that if he happened to be looking for his older brother and aforementioned brother's angel, he'd find them engaging in activity of the romantic variety against the impala.
"It's about time.