(I do not own Supernatural nor do I own the Winchesters. WB and Eric Kripe do. I'm just feeding my fantasy.)

1

She really didn't want to do it. More than anything, she just wanted an escape, even for just a few hours.

She wore a tank top like there was a fabric shortage; her hair cut short like a lost pixie; her lips were glossed like a mirror; pants that took so long to put on but won't take a few minutes to take off. She also wore glasses just to screw with your mind.

She found herself in this dark and musky watering hole filled with noisy and half tired yuppies, scantily clad women looking for something more than a free drink and young men hunting for a good time with aforementioned women. She settled on a worn out stool by the bar and asked for a brewski from the tap. She had three goals for tonight: a) get drunk, b) start a fight and c) forget her life for a moment.

She's always been an acquired taste. Her attitude may make her intimidating to most men, more so women. Men would probably be turned on by it but women would immediately gather their forces and pitchforks and cry Witch! or another similar sounding word. That attitude has saved her ass a lot of times but admittedly, it got her ass kicked a lot of times too. This is one of those times and truth be told, her ass is getting sore from all that fucking that she's figuratively getting up that orifice.

There are times she just wishes she'd disappear – which is ironic because she always wanted the attention. Scratch that, she didn't like the attention but it followed her like stink to a shithole. Even when she wore potato rags or a dress that Big Momma can fit in, she'd still get attention. She liked to work and being a fucking overachiever, she does her job well and beyond performance expectations. But because achievement attracts attention, she settles for being mediocre and she hates it.

So, for this one time, this one night, she'd like to forget her current life and all its mediocrity. She wanted to feel like her old self, her old powerful self that is but natural.

She looks around the bar and sees a lone man in a button down shirt at the end of the bar. He's drinking, what she presumes to be whiskey and a side order of coke – in a fucking carafe, which he's drinking from. She lets out a disgusted snort that she poured out in her beer mug. Unfortunately, he heard and looked at her. Crap she thought. She offered a half-meant apologetic smile but it was too late. The carafe jerk was on his way to her side. Double crap, she said under her breath.

"Excuse me, did you find anything funny or amusing with me?"

Of all the lame opening lines…"No, I'm sorry. I just tried to stifle a sneeze." (Now please go away)

"Didn't seem like a sneeze to me."

"Trust me buddy, it was."

"Just admit that you were trying to get my attention…" He smiled, trying to be charming but failing miserably.

"Oh yes, you caught me. I was trying to get your attention…" His smile got bigger and she's sure that his mind must be doing 180 miles per hour with all the dirty thoughts. "I wanted you to know that you looked like a fucking idiot drinking from a tiny carafe." His smile instantly changed into a scowl.

"You're a bitch"

She let out a full laugh. "And you're an idiot. See you later chucklehead." She swung around in her stool and tried to get back to her brew but wasn't at all surprised when a burly hand grabbed her arm.

"I believe you owe me an apology"

Wonder-fucking-ful. She wasn't even buzzed yet and she's getting her goal #2. Though she prefers a good fight with alcohol in her, she never backs down from a challenge – it's the overachiever in her. She looks at him with a glint in her eyes.

"I'm sorry…that you're an asshole and I'm sorry you'll have to miss work tomorrow."

He scoffed. "Why would I miss work?"

She leaned close to him, allowing him to brush his fingers across her breasts. "Because you'll be in so much pain." She then pried his hand from her arm by his thumb and twister his wrist so that he found himself bent closer to the floor. She yanked him up and twisted his hand behind his back. She pulled him close again so she can whisper in his ear. "Look, all you have to do is leave me the fuck alone to enjoy my beer. Go back to your corner and I promise you I won't have to break your hand. You could sue me but do you really want the world to know a 109 pound chick kicked your ass? Plus, imaging what else I can really do to you. I'll let you go slowly, okay?" She patted his shoulder and she pushed him away "Smile, Eugene! It's a great day!"

She rolled her eyes and focused her attention back to her beer. The next thing she heard was a loud thud and a muffled pained groan. She looked behind her and saw 'Eugene' on the floor. She looked at the bartender and instinctively said "Dude, I didn't do that."

"Of course you didn't. Francis here tripped on his own. Clumsy, clumsy…"

The voice was low and almost growling. A pair of rough and strong hands lifted 'Eugene/Francis' off the floor. The hands were attached to arms that were hidden under leather sleeves. The arms met a chest, a neck, a gorgeous face and a disarming smile.

She finally found her voice and said "Yeah…Eugene is quite a klutz"

"Aw…poor Francis. Must be his big feet, which I'm sure he puts in his big fat mouth most of the time. Plus, I don't think it was very polite of Francis to attempt to backslap you when you weren't looking."

"Eugene can be insensitive at times…"

"Umphf…My name is Raymond…"

But by this time, they were ignoring carafe jerk and were smiling at each other. He takes a stool next to her and asks for a bottle of Bud Light.

She raises her mug and offers a toast to leather jacked dude. "Thanks" she said and he clinked her mug with his bottle. "Anytime" he replied with a smile and a wink. He then took a swig from his bottle and extended his hand. "I'm Dean."

She shook his hand and said that her name was Sarah. He raised an eyebrow, as if smelling the bullshit name she gave. She cocked her head and raised a similar looking eyebrow threat.

"Okay. I just thought you had a hard time rolling that name off your tongue. Especially since the waitress that just passed had a nametag that said Sarah"

"Does it bother you that I didn't give you my real name?"

"I just thought, you know, having saved your ass from Francis there, I deserve some common courtesy and honesty.

"I believe his name is Eugene. Besides, I hate my name. Can't you settle for a thank you instead?"

Dean shrugged and smiled that disarming smile again. She groaned and finally said…

"Philippa. It's Philippa. But please call me Philip. Not Phil, not Pippa. It's Philip. And if you give me grief about it, I'll kick your ass until next Wednesday, got it?"

Dean raises both hands in mock surrender. "Loud and clear. Besides, I don't want to be on your bad side. Saw what you did to Francis a while back there."

Philip raises her eyebrows, sort of challenging him to add to that comment. Dean let out an amused sound. "Look, I thought it was cool. Kind of a turn on, actually."

"You're turned on by violence?" She made a face – mock disgusted.

"It wasn't the violence. It was the fact that you wear those glasses…" he poked at the red frames "…and still manage to kiss ass and look cool. That turned me on."

She pushed her glasses up her nose and managed to smile. "You are one weird person, Dean."

"You have no idea." He said and took another swig from his beer.