A Bullet And Some Booze
Just a short one-shot folks as I had a hankering to write something that didn't involve tooooo much thinking. I hope any who read this flight into fancy will enjoy. Plot? Ummm… NO!
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!
It's one of those 'time slows down' kind of moments when the gun goes off; he can almost see the bullet as it leaves its resting place to barrel outward, its only mission in life to lodge itself into whatever object stands closest in its way. And right now that particular object, he realizes as an afterthought, is him. Ain't that peachy.
He snickers a bit when the gunshot reaches his ears and his gaze drifts from the weapon to the bad guy's nervous face; obviously not dealing with a skilled marksman here. It's a good thing too because he can hear Sammy's bitch-voice echo in his head. 'Seriously? You need to make another beer run? Haven't you had enough already? Fine, but the car stays here. I swear dude, it won't be monsters that get you in the end, it'll be the damn booze, it's gonna end up killing you Dean.' Granted, it wouldn't have actually been the booze that killed him but he highly doubts Sammy would see the validity of that point. Plus, he supposes it would be impossible to deny the reason for his late night visit to this establishment.
Whew, seems he dodged more than one bullet with this jackoff's lousy aim; there would have been no stopping Sammy's lectures if this thing had gone south. Huh, he thinks there's a joke in there somewhere; something about someone not being able to hit a barn? Woah dude, that was a bit random.
Strange how his footing betrays him after just one step, his body choosing that exact moment to wrench itself into the opposite direction. Pissed off, that's how he feels. He's pretty sure the gun-toting asshat just escaped, not to mention the fact that his own body decided to careen awkwardly to the side and for no apparent reason managed to wipe out the magazine rack; the faint flutter of papers off in the distance undeniable evidence of his sudden lack of coordination.
Muffled sounds start to mingle with a weird kind of buzzing; a nagging hum that goes off in his ear and makes him feel like his head is submerged in water.
A shake of his head and a wriggling finger in his ear does nothing to alleviate the strange cocoon he seems to be wrapped up in. His eyes glance downwards and his lips lift up to form a smirk. Well now, that's kinda cool; what are the odds that it would be a copy of Busty Asian Beauties that would descend from its spot on the shelf to land perfectly below him; a playful grin displayed on the faces of the girls on the cover? Awesome. Definitely a sign.
He narrows in on his prize and as he begins to bend to retrieve it, his eyebrows twitch in confusion; at the slow spattering of rain… rain?... as it drips down from some-freaking-where to douse the scantily clad women at his feet. Ah hell, way to ruin a perfectly good read.
But, hold up. Rain? That's weird; that doesn't make sense. It takes another second for his muddled brain to come up with a couple of conclusions; one, it's not rain and two, he is currently an idiot. Nope, not rain, that there would be blood, Dean. Damn. Huh, kind of makes his barn comment sound sort of stupid.
Yeah, okay, now he gets it. That's the thing; that's the not so awesome thing about all that slow motion crap; it never, ever lasts and it never, ever seems to give the good guy quite enough time to sashay nonchalantly out of the path and miss getting clipped.
It's fine, though, really. The situation doesn't faze him much, he is a seasoned hunter after all; hell, he isn't even concerned about the steadily increasing pool of crimson that has totally obscured the view he was enjoying from above. He's fine. In fact, he doesn't even feel like he's been shot; probably just got nicked, or maybe it's just a nosebleed, or a shaving mishap from earlier in the day. Yeah, he'll be as good as new, as soon as he gets his hands on his patented Winchester cure.
He's vaguely aware of movement on both sides of him and indistinct voices as he stumbles haphazardly over to the litany of bottles on display. Although he can't really seem to focus as intently as he thinks he should, he impresses himself with his ability to pick out his favourite in the line-up by shape alone. His mind is calm as he turns the lid, a lopsided smile making its way to his lips as he takes a long, deep swig.
Mmmm… that's the stuff. He manages three more draws on the bottle before he feels a light touch on his arm and the bottle being taken from his grasp. What the hell?
Wearily, his unfocused eyes shift slowly to the offending hand and travel upward until they land on its owner's face.
"Son, can you hear me?"
He nods numbly; the alcohol working its magic and filling him with soothing warmth.
"Alright, that's good. You've been out of it for a few minutes. The ambulance is on its way but we need to try and stop the bleeding."
"Is there someone we should call?"
Call someone about bleeding? That doesn't make any sense, does it? Confusion makes itself known as he slowly turns to see half a dozen people in the perimeter around him. Huh, didn't notice them before. What gives?
"Son? Any family we should call?"
Shit. It figures that right then; right at the moment he is churning over in his brain whether he should travel this ride alone or face the wrath of mother hen Sam, his phone echoes out into the store. Uncoordinated fingers make a dive for the pocket of his jacket but come up empty, the man who he seems to be leaning on now for support beating him to it.
"Hello," the man gazes into his eyes "is your name Dean?" Another nod betrays him before he has a chance to stop it. "Yes, Dean is here. Me? My name is Charles, I own the convenience store on Bridge Street. Well, I answered Dean's phone because he's been injured. There was a robbery here at the store and Dean… yeah, that's right… he put himself between me and the robber… might well have saved my life but… I'm sorry, but he was shot in the process. He's doing okay as far as I can tell. Well, I don't know, he's been kind of out of it, mind you some of that might be from the drinking… "
"No, no, I'm sure he'll be alright. We've called the ambulance, shouldn't be more than another ten minutes before it gets here. Hello? Hello? Well Dean, I guess," a quick glance at the screen, "I guess Sam is on his way."
It's at that moment that his lethargic appendages finally give way and he starts to slide slowly to the floor, his new buddy helping ease his descent. As the man tries to talk him into staying awake and opening his eyes; the ones he didn't realize had slid shut, one thought rattles around in his head as he edges towards unconsciousness.
That damn ambulance better get here before his brother.
End. Thanks for stopping by! :)