|Dean Winchester has the mark (ofcain) wrote in rooms,|
@ 2014-12-04 18:13:00
|Entry tags:||!supernatural, *narrative, dean winchester|
Who: Dean Winchester
Where: A bar in Wisconsin.
Warnings/Rating: Some violence.
Tap, tap, tap, went his fingers against the bar. A drumbeat of boredom Dean couldn't get out of his head. Crowley wasn't around, Sammy was AWOL-- not that he missed his brother, oh no, but he was fun to mess with. Now he didn't even have that option. Jo was around, sure, silly little Jo who had no idea he wasn't the man she remembered... he could have fun with that. He mulled it over as he tipped back his beer, slow, the booze doing nothing to satisfy that nasty little itch beneath his skin. The one he needed to scratch. He leaned back on his stool, cast a glance with brows cocked around at the sorry sons of bitches gathered in this dump.
Man, he needed to shake himself out of this slump. He could do whatever he damn well pleased.
Dean pushed his beer away, slid off the stool, and headed for the door. Without paying. The bartender, some brunette chatting up her pal over at the end of the bar, suddenly started paying attention and called after him.
"Hey, asshole! What the hell?"
He just raised his middle finger high, a shit-eating grin on his face, and walked right out the door.
It took security (a big guy in a black shirt, scary!) two minutes to follow him. Tsk, tsk. Dean was waiting, and when the guy appeared he looked at his nonexistent watch and shook his head. "I could've been long gone by now. How much do they pay you, Mister Big and Stupid?"
He never got his answer. The guy came charging towards him and Dean laughed, easily sidestepping the clumsy swing. Wham, bam, the security guard grunted like a stuck big and ended up on the ground, fists pummeling his ugly face, and Dean didn't stop until he'd stopped fighting and just twitched, his face a bloody mess.
Suddenly a hell of a lot more cheerful, Dean stood and headed to the car. Yep, he felt better. His boredom, for the moment, was gone.