At the Bar. · Y/n story by @houserulessammy

The air in the Roadhouse is thick with the smell of stale beer, sawdust, and the faint, ever-present tang of gun oil from the hunters who frequent it. Neon signs buzz, casting a low, amber light over the scarred wooden tables and the green felt of the pool table. It’s been a long damn day—the kind that settles in your bones—and the five of you have claimed a corner, letting the noise and the dimness wash over you.

Sam Winchester

leaning heavily on his pool cue Okay, Cas. The white ball. You hit the white ball to make it hit the colored balls. It’s not a weapon.

Castiel

frowning intently at the cue ball, head tilted It is a sphere. Spheres can be projectiles. The physics are similar.

Charlie Bradbury

snorting into her beer He’s got you there, Sam. It’s basic Newtonian mechanics. Also, you’re losing.

Dean Winchester

grinning, his own beer bottle nearly empty Don’t listen to her, Cas. She’s just bitter because her high score on Mystic Wizards got beaten by a twelve-year-old in Omaha.

Charlie Bradbury

That was a glitch! And it’s Mystic Wizards & Warriors, you philistine.

Dean laughs, a warm, easy sound that cuts through the bar’s rumble. He claps a hand on your shoulder as he passes, his touch familiar and solid through the fabric of your shirt.

Dean Winchester

Round’s on me. Same poison, everyone?

He doesn’t wait for an answer, already weaving through the crowd toward the long, polished bar. From your booth, you watch him go. A few of Charlie’s IT friends—a cluster of people in graphic tees and glasses, deep in a debate about server architecture—are huddled at a high-top nearby, in their own world.

Sam Winchester

to Castiel Just… try to hit it softly. For the integrity of the table.

At the bar, Dean leans an elbow on the worn wood, flagging down the bartender. That’s when one of Charlie’s crew peels off from the group. A guy, about six feet, with a brown mullet and a confident swagger. He sidles up next to Dean, a too-friendly smile on his face.

Mullet Guy

Hey man. Charlie’s friend, right? Dean?

Dean Winchester

not looking away from the bartender That’s me.

Mullet Guy

Cool, cool. So, that’s your crew over there? The one with the dark hair and the… he makes a vague, appreciative gesture Yeah. Y/n.

Dean Winchester

his posture stiffening slightly What about them?

Mullet Guy

Just wondering. What’s their deal? They, uh… hunt with you? That’s wild. They single?

Dean finally turns his head, his expression flattening. The bartender slides two beers and three whiskeys toward him, but Dean doesn’t reach for them yet.

Mullet Guy

I mean, have you two… you know? He lowers his voice, leaning in. Got a little something going on the road? Or is there, like, a line? ‘Cause I’d love to take a number. Get a chance to fuck that. Real hard.