Just Another Night
1020 words
He opens the door and walks through the room stepping on pretzels, peanuts and the usual debris. The smoke is so thick he could cut it with a knife. Hell, it's so thick he could cut it with his .22. But even as annoying as it is, this smoke filled room gives him comfort. It's nowhere special, just an old, run down bar off some back road, but to him it's almost like coming home. Grabbing the bartender's attention he signals for a beer. Downing it quickly he asks for another and after drinking it, one more. But he sips the third one slower.
No need to go overboard as Sam would say.
Sam always says something. It's been 6 months but his brothers' voice still snuck into his head like his own personal Jiminy Cricket. Forever reminding him of his failures and mistakes.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda.
Dean went from being the worshipped older brother to despised and disregarded in what seemed like only a few short years. It started when Sam was 13 but steadily picked up pace until erupting when Sam graduated High School. His father and Sam would go at it like two wolves fighting over territory and eventually it was all he could do not to be bitten in the fray. Didn't seem to matter how hard he fought to protect Sam, it didn't seem to be good enough.
He wasn't good enough. Not enough to keep Sam or his Dad around.
But Sam was not here now and Dean had energy to burn. Paying his tab, he turns around and then surveys the room. It's the usual weekday bar crowd, with older couples in booths, aged men on barstools and a few groups of bikers playing pool. CCR blared from the speakers as tired waitresses scurried around collecting glasses and taking orders. He gives them a cursory glance but none catch his eye. He observed the pool tables, looking for the minute details which would signal the weaker players. A grimace, shifting of feet, eye's widening. All the signs that would point him to an easy mark. Finally he notices a thin, scrawny man with tattoos up his left armand a black leather vest with "Agent of Hell' written on its back.
Definitely over compensating.
He walks over and waits his turn patiently. "Scrawny" seemed to have won his game but it was more lucky shot than skill. Dean reached in his pocket and pulls out 10 twenties and throws them on the table.
"Up for a game?" He asks
Scrawny looks toward his three buddies then nods his head eagerly. Snickering Dean picks up a pool cue and racks up the balls.
Easy money he thinks.
The game moves quickly, with Dean purposely missing his mark on a few turns then sinks the eight ball "on accident" effectively losing the game.
"Ah man, I just lost my room money for tonight. Will you give me a chance to win it back?" he asks as he takes out wad of twenties.
"Double or nothing"
Scrawny again looks at the wad of cash and at his companions and who cheer him on to accept. And just as eagerly as before Scrawny agrees. One of the other men in the group, a burly looking drunk, is giving him a look that is more condescending than Dean would usually tolerate but the nights not over yet.
"Excuse me" Dean says as he shoves "Condescending" a little harder than necessary to pick up the small chalk square, laughing as the other man puffs up his chest and takes a step closer.
Dean just looks at him boredly. He could drop him easily but just waits. The man glares at him then looks to his friend.
"Do it Mikey, clean him out!"
Scrawny looks at his friend and agrees enthusiastically. Dean tries smile innocently but is getting fed up with the ritual. He just isn't into it as he usually would be. Normally he enjoyed playing pool and if he hustled some schmucks out of some cash lining his pockets for a few days, he did so willingly. But tonight he just wanted the game to be finished. Letting the other player rack and break he waited for his turn. After his first shot the group of guys began the usual shit-talking that would normally inspire him, but tonight just grated on his nerves. A few more snide remarks and he feels his temper rising. Scrawny gets more brazen and looking at his friends for encouragement gives Dean a slight shove as he walks past him
That's it. I'm done.
Dean waited. Scrawny finally finished his preening and attempted to knock his ball into the left side pocket but scratched instead.
"Even with that scratch I'm still going to walk out of here $600 richer."
"Oh yea?"
Dean studied the table momentarily then pulled out the cue ball and set up his shot. Sinking his ball, he repositioned himself and sunk another. And another. And another. And kept going until the table was clear.
"Well, would you look at that? Must be beginners luck!"
With a grin Dean grabbed the pile of money of the side of the table and glanced at Scrawny before walking away. "Sorry boys, no repeat performances tonight. See you around."
As he walked away he heard one of the men advance behind him. "You little shit, you hustled him! No one hustles my little brother!" Dean turned around and allowed the cheap shot to make contact with his cheek.
Ok, now this is finally getting interesting.
Wiping a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth he faced the four men. He glanced at Scrawny and for a brief moment his own little brother came to mind again. Sam. Away at college, trying to escape his past and hunting. The sting of his absence still fresh. As a surge of betrayal and anger rushed through him, he steadied his stance and looked back to the men with fire in his eyes.
"Ok, who's first?"
Just another night in the life of Dean Winchester.