Chapter Text
If anyone who knew Dean at the age of nineteen said to him he’d follow some chick to a basement bar, he’d laugh and ask what they’d been smoking. The hunter instincts were still rough around the edges, but a bar with no other exits sung of a death trap. Especially in a town that seemed to have little resources for emergency services. The girl was hot enough that he would have followed her anywhere, even if he hadn’t lost count of the shot glasses he’d turned upside down. Sure, the bar was alright. It was dark, the air thick with the smell of good whisky. The rare kind that didn't peer too close at I.D.s. The thin walls almost shuddered in their foundations with music he didn’t want to recognise. He didn’t want to be reminded.
In this dark, smoky bar, she was everything.
Weaving past the crowd at the bar, she led him by the hand to a table. Her drink was held high above her short brown curls in the other. His skin seemed more alive at her touch. Living, and not robotic. For once, a smile came easily.
“So,” she started. “Four dives down and you’re still coherent and upright.”
He smirked, leaning forward on the alcohol-soaked table.
“Why, do you floor all the other guys?” he asked, downing another shot and putting the glass upside down on the table. It was a good job he’d been drinking for years even at this point – she seemed just as practiced. He didn’t want to be shown up. “Olivia.” He turned the name over in his head, and liked the way it sounded.
She grinned. “You’re a rare creature,” she leaned forward, pushing a stray curl out of her light grey eyes.
The playful glint in her eyes was too geniune to be malice. It screamed sincere. It howled human so loudly it nearly transcended into something better. The thought kept his hunter senses calm enough to remain under the alcohol haze. It kept him from being on edge.
Yeah, I bet no one you know spends every night screaming their heads off, expecting to get their guts ripped out. Swallowing distractedly, he realised she was waiting for a reply.
“I could say the same thing.”
“And I bet you say that to all the girls.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “What’s a pretty face like yours doing in a town like this?”
Just me, my baby, the open road. Not being a soldier to a war that’s going to get me killed. Not a son to drill sergeant, chasing a monster for a ghost never coming back.
“Passing through,” he said easily.
“Mm. That doesn’t sound like a long time, Dean.” She looked disappointed. He couldn’t stand it.
The expression was an echo of his Dad’s, his still snot-nosed little brother’s.
“Oh, I dunno. There are things that could make me stay,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Dude, why are you being so fucking corny?
Olivia’s eyebrows rose. At least that expression had gone from her face, banishing his family from his thoughts. “Please tell me you’re not reading out of a book promising to get the girl of your dreams.”
He laughed and she laughed with him. The sound was the best thing he’d heard in a while, putting his hands up to surrender. “Alright, no more corn. It was an accident, swear.”
To his surprise, she got up. She was leaving. And he’d blown it – just like he’d ruined everything. He wanted to hit something, upturn the table, so it would remember him when she wouldn’t, when she’d just carry on like everyone else did without miserable existence. His life came back in a rush – a running theme of broken trust alienation, just waiting for the moment he’d sink under-
She sat on him.
The lingering sense of hurt, mixed with shock sent his heart hammering more than any hunt in his life. The intimacy was more intoxicating than anything he’d had that night. Olivia smelled like lavender and liquor, a pleasant cloud that settled over him. It was addictive. In the close proximity, he noticed how the curl she’d been trying to brush out of her face just wouldn’t budge, but it couldn’t hide the intense look in her eyes. Her irises had tiny flecks of blue in the light grey.
His eyebrows rose, his hands immediately on her hips before he could stop himself, and he couldn’t help but notice how well they fit together.
Another smile curled her lips. She wound her arms around his neck. “Okay, pretty face. How about we see how many bottles we can finish off before you even think about deciding you wanna hit the road, and leave my ass in the dust?”
He smiled, then. Not the flirty smirk that cut corners and devoured small talk. A genuine one that he could feel pulling at his eyes.
She was a tonic to the nightmare of his life.
Dean couldn’t help but notice the way she looked at him. Or, the way he’d been looking at her. It wasn’t the usual I want you tonight, no. That seemed tragic. Anything less than something permanent just screamed injustice, as long as she wanted him.
“I’m game,” he replied. “But first…”
“If you were going to say something about my ass, Dean, that admission about reading that book is coming out,” she growled, and grabbed his face in both hands, further closing the gap between them.
She was a dream.
The hair on his arms rose as something rumbled, louder than the music could mask.