Author's note: Aside from all the usual disclaimers... this story contains Extremely Explicit Violent and Sexual Content. (not wincest). The author in no way, shape or form condones violence to women. This story is written entirely for fictional and entertainment purposes only. You have been warned.
She was small with fiery red hair and covered in tattoos, but all Dean could look at were her legs, long compared to her height. In 4" stiletto heels, she looked taller than her actual height of only 5'2" and her left leg had a dragon tattoo curling around her calf and up her thigh, breathing flames that shot upward on her inner thigh toward her lace thong. That wasn't all he noticed as she swung around the pole and bent directly over him to take the $20 out of his hand, red curls falling on his face. He smiled, drunkenly, up at her. Damn, are those real? he thought to himself, knocking back the last of his beer.
"Can we go now?" Sam asked, walking up to the table where his brother was sitting. He waved off the waitress who walked up to him, expectantly. Dean looked at the empty bottle in his hand. Several more empties were sitting on the table. The redhead was strutting away, her set over. An older, Hispanic woman took her place on the pole. This woman was old enough to be his mother. Dean shuddered as the thought occurred to him. "Yeah," he said, glancing back up at the woman, then at the curtain where the redhead had disappeared, "yeah, let's go." He put his hand on Sam's shoulder as they walked out, seemingly in 'big brother' fashion, but the truth was he was too drunk to stand on his own.
They started for the door, but their way was blocked by a large, heavily tattooed biker wearing a green army jacket. They both saw the bulge under the jacket at the same time, but it was too late -- Biker Dude was already reaching inside and pulling out the sawed-off shotgun from a concealed inner pocket. The Winchester brothers dove in opposite directions -- Dean toward the tables near the bar and Sam under the dancer's catwalk. As they did, Biker Dude began firing, hitting the Hispanic stripper in the chest. "Stella!" he cried out in anguish.
Stella? Dean said to himself, who does this guy think he is? Brando? He looked over at Sammy. "You packing?" he mouthed to his brother. Sam reached instinctively behind his back for the gun he usually kept under his own shirt but came out empty-handed. He shrugged at Dean and shook his head. "No," he mouthed back, "You?" Dean shrugged back and shook his head, trying to shake off the effects of the alcohol and looking around for something they could use as a weapon against Biker Dude. Damn, this guy's huge! How the hell are we gonna take him down? he wondered silently.
Biker Dude was now walking around the room, waving the shotgun in the air, throwing tables and chairs, as frantic patrons and waitresses scrambled to get out of his way.
Sam felt something warm hit him in the face, just over his eye. He reached up and wiped it away. Blood, he thought as he looked at his hand. The "blood" was pitch black. He raised up slightly and looked down at the dead stripper. Black ooze was pouring out of her chest and dripping off the stage.
Bam! Directly over Dean's head. The sound made him jump and raise his arms over his head. Sam dove back under the catwalk. The bartender, who had ducked down when Biker Dude started firing, came up with a shotgun of his own, hitting Biker Dude in the back. The impact spun him around and now Dean could see his eyes -- solid black! Black ooze was pouring from the wound in his chest. The shot had gone clean through him but he was still standing. "Damn!" he said under his breath, "Demon!" He rose up and dove at Biker Dude as he heard the bartender pump his shotgun for another round. Sam tackled Biker Dude too, hitting him at the same time. The shotgun slid across the floor toward the backstage curtain as the three of them fell to the ground. The bartender came over the bar, his gun cocked and ready, aimed at the three on the floor.
Bam! Over Dean's head again. Stop doing that! he thought, looking over his shoulder at the bartender. The shot hadn't come from him. The bartender's shotgun slipped slowly out of his hand as he fell forward onto his knees. "Bitch!" he growled just before falling, face first, to the floor.
Flipping both Dean and Sam off him like they were horseflies, Biker Dude sat up and spun around to face his own shotgun, now pointed directly at him, black blood still oozing out both front and back wounds. Stunned, Dean and Sam watched, as he moved forward on his knees, tears falling from his eyes. "Stella?" he said in a near whisper, "Stella, please!"
The redheaded stripper was standing over him, still in her black stilettos and lace thong, a short, black silk robe tied loosely around her waist. Biker Dude's shotgun was cocked and ready to fire, aimed right at his heart. He reached out, but not for the gun. He was reaching for her. "Stella..." he pleaded. She leaned over at the waist, just exactly as she had done earlier to take Dean's $20 bill, her hair softly brushing Biker Dude's face. She reached out and cupped his cheek in her right hand, the gun balanced on her thigh in her left hand, still pointed at his chest. She brushed the tears from his face, kissed him lightly on the lips, whispering, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry..." and pulled the trigger without even flinching.
Biker Dude fell back, dead this time. Dean and Sam, both on their feet now, stared, dumbfounded at the stripper who took two steps back, the shotgun still balanced on her left thigh, aimed at Sam now. "You boys better get outa here," she said, "The cops'll be here any minute." Dean started forward but she flipped the gun up, pumping it for the next shot with her left hand, her right hand holding Dean at bay.
"Dean, don't," Sam said, his hands raised in defense, the gun still pointed at him. Dean looked around at the now empty bar and the three dead bodies. He saw black oozing from all of them, including the bartender. They weren't moving. Still, he wasn't convinced they were really dead.
"Miss, I'm sorry, but we gotta salt and burn these bodies. They're dem..."
"Demons?" she finished his sentence with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, I know. I took this job to flush them out. Poor Hector here just got in their way, is all," she said, waving the gun in the direction of Biker Dude, dead on the floor in front of her. "I tried to get him to leave, but they got to him. Too bad. He was good in the sack." She backed up to the stage behind her and climbed up with a bit of effort for her height, never turning her back on the brothers. Jumping down had been easy, getting back up was a little more difficult for her. "And as for burning the bodies -- no need. Silver bullets forged from an ancient alter cup," she added, raising the gun over her head. She turned and ran backstage, grabbing her keys and her purse on the way to the back door. A siren could be heard pulling up to the front of the building, where Dean's car still sat. Dean and Sam bolted after the stripper and out into the back alley.
Dean caught up to her and grabbed her by the elbow, "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said, "just who are you? Are you another hunter?" Moving quickly and without turning around, she caught him in the groin with the butt of the gun, then turned it on Sam who stopped in mid-run and reeled backwards.
"Hunter? I don't know what you're talking about. I don't like guns and I don't like killing, but I'll do it if I have to, so back off." She opened the door of the red 1965 Mustang parked in the alley and tossed her purse in, glancing back at the dark strip club. "Too bad this gig had to end. Money wasn't that bad. Made $300 off you alone," she winked at Dean, still on the ground, as she started up the Mustang with a roar and peeled out of the alley.
Sam ran to Dean's side and pulled him to his feet. He was still doubled over from the blow to the groin. "That bitch!" he said under his breath, "I swear I'm gonna..."
"Get out of here," Sam interrupted. "The cops would've heard her pull out. We gotta go!" He pulled Dean around the corner, just as a policeman stepped out the back door, looking toward where the Mustang had gone and away from the corner where the Winchester brothers now hid in the shadows. Sam put his arm under Dean's and helped him around the building to the car. With the policeman still in the back, they were able to slip into the Impala unnoticed, Dean curled up in the passenger seat, Sam behind the wheel.
"That bitch!" Dean said again, handing the keys to Sam, who took off in the opposite direction from the Mustang, the black Impala disappearing around the corner just as two more police cars came screeching up to the strip club. Sam looked over at Dean. "Three hundred dollars?" he said.