Dean really hated walking into vampire dens unarmed. It felt a little bit like a box of chicken nuggets sauntering into a bear cave, but packing would've been even worse. Sighing, he looked around the bar and wrinkled his nose at the music and the decor. It wasn't his type of joint, but then again, he wasn't there to have fun. But that didn't stop him from ordering a beer.
Taking a pull after tipping the bartender, he looked around, trying to see if he could spot the head honcho. He wasn't there on official hunting business, he was there on what he'd come to think of as a hybrid mission. In his own reality, the idea of meeting peaceably with a vampire would have boggled him. Since his time in the tornado, though, he'd been friends with a few, slept with God, and come to trust in the fact that sometimes aggression was really stupid and negotiation was actually a viable method of getting things done. For most people, that was called growing up, but Dean secretly suspected he was just settling down and didn't want his home life disrupted.
Silently cursing his son for having hacked Ye Olde Vampire Shindig, he leaned against the bar and waited for someone to notice that he wasn't a vampire groupie. He was wearing too much denim for that.