The bar was filled with spirited chatter all around, but Dean couldn't find the will within himself to have the environment uplift his spirits. The young man focus drifted about from the freshly cleaned glass beer mugs hanging in the wooden cabinet, the condensation of his Budweiser glass trickling and cooling along his palm, and, occasionally up at one of the many flat-screens speckled about the bar.
Dean's eyes flitted back down to the bar in front of him quickly once he heard the thud of a full bottle hit the wood, and he was greeted with the charming face of the bartender, a woman with thick ringlets of black hair, and a very bountiful cleavage.
"Aah, just on time!" Dean pushed aside his ill feelings for the moment as he mustered up enough cockiness and good-humour to show his appreciation, a grin playing on his lips when he wraps a hand around the new bottle. The bartender returns his seductive smile with one of her own, a bit more mirth in it compared to Dean's attempt, as well as lacking in dimples, and she looks as if she were wanting to lean over to say something more to him, but another patron takes her attention and she continues along the bar to work.
Dean finally sighs once she turns away, shoulder's slumping, facade crumbling. He suspects that something exciting happened on a football game, or something, because he finds himself instinctively twitching at the sound, ready to turn on his feet and jump into action, albeit the movement is subtle.
"Too loud for ya?"
Dean whips his head towards the man who settled beside him at the bar, and slowly grins despite himself. He shakes his head at the smirking John, before finally taking a swig of his beer. "Nah. Too..." he makes a displeased face as he tries to recall the appropriate word, "Alert for this sort of scene."
John nods sagely at his son's answer, looking down at the wood of the bar, before looking up to Dean and replying with a hint of a grin. "Figures that the only bar in town is a fucking sports pub. Always trouble."
At that answer, coupled with the way his father looked like absolute sin every time the man granted someone with a pleased expression and the giddy nerves Dean felt under the surface nearly every time the other man spoke to him, like his throat was tightening up, Dean chuckles in a rough tone. "A dive's much more my style, y'know?"
His father barks a laugh and purrs; "Definitely fittin'." The bartender comes by as Dean tries to hide his blushing face with a long draw of beer, and she asks John what's his poison for the night. John just opts with 'what he's got' coupled with a gesture to his son with an easy smile.
The bartender looks back over at Dean slightly inquisitively, and looking again like she wanted to speak to him, but continues back over to the stash of beer. John notices, files away the information, and asks Dean, much more gruffer than he intended, "Where's your brother?"
Dean turned sour at just the mention of his brother and scowled. John thinks he might have even caught his son attempting to fight off rolling his eyes, which, in turn, causes John to raise his brows, realising that this was slightly unusual. Dean sets down his beer a bit too hard and tightens his lips as he speaks. "Back at the motel. He's fine. 'Usually never comes with me to the bar unless there's a case involved with the place, anyways."
John makes a noise of acknowledgement at that, but doesn't have a chance to respond, as his beer arrives with less of a show than Dean's did, set upon the hard wood without any preamble. He takes a draw of Bud before giving Dean a questioning look that Dean recognises as the obvious; 'What did Sam get upset about now?'
Dean hesitated momentarily, thinking that HE was the one that lost his cool over one simple, simple comment that shouldn't have even bothered him. Dean and Sam were having a good day with one another while their father was away to meet with a friend in town before regrouping with the brothers back at the motel, but Dean had been fretting a bit too much about John for Sam to deal with; Sam rolling his eyes with a "Do you really have to be so obsessed with Dad? I know you've got the foot-soldier routine down to a t, but c'mon, there's a fine line between protection and acting like a distressed wife, Dean." which shouldn't be bothersome but 'obsessed with Dad', 'distressed wife' kind of made his heart quicken in a bit of a panic; Dean didn't even realise he'd been asking about John off-handedly so much while they were hanging out. And the overkill was, at the lack of Dean's external response, Sam continued with "Dude, you really have to think for yourself sometimes instead of following every command-" which was basically a shorten quip at the long rant Sam already gave him but he was done, really done with this conversation and told his brother to fuck off before he simply just left the motel for a distraction, more mad at himself than he was at his brother. Dean had been seriously fighting an inner battle about John intensively over the last couple of weeks now, now that their father was back with them again, finally. Close quarters really riled feelings up heavily so Sam really picked a wrong time to poke the bear.
"'Got in a fight 'bout the laptop." Dean said tersely, knocking back his near-empty beer. He added afterward, "Somethin' about the last time I used it, the thing became virus city", and John nodded, believing the story.
"You should be more careful with that, then, Sam's computer can be very valuable source of information; we don't want it to get screwed up."
Dean seethed internally at how much of a child John was treating him, but replied with a serious mask of; "Yes, Dad."
At overhearing that, the bartender straightened slightly, and turned back to where John and Dean were at the bar. She'd gotten the vibe that they were a couple, what with their flirting she overheard earlier, but she'd deemed herself wrong once she hear 'Dad' be slung in the conversation. Perhaps that was just their brand of humour? Planting her hands on the bar, she gains Dean's attention, and smirks playfully at the young man.
Now Dean, Dean's mind is a whirlwind. It's obvious that this woman was interested in him. But here he was, right next to his father and- and-
God, it was a maddening situation. And not just then, no, the whole prospect of harbouring feelings for his own father was simply maddening. Dean wanted so desperately have John as his; but at the same time, grew sickened in himself for even thinking such. And sure, he liked women. Liked women a whole lot, but he found himself loving John even more than that. There were times here and there when Dean thinks that maybe, just maybe, the feeling was mutual, and it made Dean's heart sing with hope and fear. Venom and sugar.
Dean took the easiest route he knew. "Need somethin', miss?"
The bartender's smile grew before she bit down on her lip slightly, flipping open a blank sheet of paper in a tiny notebook. "Nope." She scribbles down her number on the white paper, ending with a flourish of ink, before ripping out the paper and outstretching it for Dean to take it. "But you probably do."
Dean playfully masks a bit of shock, and chuckles smoothly, instinctively, despite his nerves screaming at him, almost feeling like lead in his arms and too wild in his chest as he takes the paper before pocketing it. "I'd say you're right."
She laughs before being summoned to a table, her lingering hand on the bar swiped away slowly. Dean makes a point to stare at her as she walks away, going overkill on pushing away thoughts of John. Desperately wanting to be normal.
"That happen often?"
At the sound of John's voice, Dean whips his head over to his father to notice a stony face staring back at him. He instantly began being nervous again, but carried on with the plan he had put into place earlier with the bartender. "Of course, the ladies just absolutely love me."
John makes a derisive sound, like a condescending snort of a laugh, looking down at his beer before slipping out a; "Didn't know I raised my boy to be a whore."
And that was the breaking point. Dean couldn't fucking win; if he hit on his father, his father would most definitely just hit him, and Sam would hate him. If he pushed thoughts about John aside by going after countless women, then he'd lose not only the respect of the man he was in love with, but he'd lose the respect of his father. Dean felt a headache forming, nausea building, and his chest tightening at all the conflicting thoughts and feelings swirling about his conscience- he just needed to get out, now. Leave both options behind.
Dean digs into his pocket for his wallet, flipping it open hastily to pay both his and John's current tab. "Y'know what?" He says, flipping throught the bills, his stare intense in the brown wallet, away from his father, away from the bar. "If you honestly think that way then fine; have the rest of the night to yourself, I'm going back to the motel. Just can't do anythin' right without endin' up like a fucking screw-up, I'm done." He slams the money on the bar.
And that was probably the third time in Dean's 27 years did he ever talk-back to John, causing his dad to be utterly shocked and wholesomely worried. He almost opens his mouth to speak, but then Dean's gone, gone through the raucous crowd and out the door, and John looks down at his beer with heavy eyes and a heavy heart.
He wishes to go after Dean, but he's hurt him enough already, he surmises. Maybe in the morning. Maybe that'd be easier to bare, maybe it wouldn't.
