Hey so it's been a while but I'm finally home for the summer. Here's the June in-prompt exchange with just a few days to spare:
"So many admirers," he mused. "It must be tough, being a heart-breaker."
"Zip it, unless you want to see a leg-breaker as well." [Sent by Heslen]
It's written kind of vaguely, but there's a reason for it, I promise. A little bit of language. (Spoilers for season 9)
The Way is Dark
She was pretty. Long brown hair flowing past her shoulders and a tight blue v-neck that was just short enough to reveal a small sliver of tan skin above her dark-wash jeans. She was a girl Dean would've hit on instantly, especially since she'd been staring at him for a while now, twirling a thin strand of hair between her painted fingertips and batting her eyelashes with the ferocity of someone who had suddenly discovered that they wore contact lenses. As it was, Dean smiled weakly at her and immediately turned back to the beer he had been nursing, taking a long pull and closing his eyes against the dull burn that cascaded down his throat, wishing it was more satisfying. He drummed his fingers against the wooden bar to the beat of a Bob Seger song until a plump, blonde bartender with an unfortunate smattering of bangs shot him a look. Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her, instead signaling for another beer.
"I hope you're planning on calling a cab."
Crowley's voice drifted lazily over the clink of bottles and the dull pulse of a song no one could hear. Dean couldn't stop the roll of his eyes this time, barely acknowledging the King of Hell's presence as Crowley took a seat at the tall stool next to him and tossed a wrinkled bill onto the bar, ordering a shot of top-shelf scotch.
"And I hope you're planning on dropping dead, but we can't always get what we want," Dean snapped, pulling his newest beer to his lips for a long swig. "What do you want, Crowley?"
Crowley sighed and shook his head morosely. "There's just no room for smalltalk with you, is there?" he asked, picking at the napkin beneath the drink that had been almost immediately placed in front of him. He took his time answering, casting a long glance at the girl who was still observing Dean, swiping a long finger along the edge of her glass. She ignored Crowley's stare, her eyes never leaving Dean for more than a few seconds.
Crowley shook his head, a small smile on his face.
"Alright," he said after a moment. "Here's the thing. You need me. You've got no idea what any of this means, and right now I'm the only one who can help you through this. I mean who understands better than me what you're going through?"
"Oh please," Dean snorted humorlessly, finally twisting in his chair to face Crowley head on, still feeling the brunette's eyes on his back. "Don't pretend like this isn't exactly what you wanted. You've been playing me from the beginning, just waiting to get to exactly where we are now. And if you think you're getting anything from me..."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Crowley cut in. "You don't honestly believe that do you? I had no way of knowing. My only motive here is making sure you understand your role. It's not just a free-for-all. There's a hierarchy to all this you know."
"Yeah I don't give a shit about your hierarchy. Count me out," Dean said, making a move to get up. The blonde bartender had now joined the brunette in staring unabashedly at them from across the bar, her beady eyes flickering back and forth between the two men as Crowley stood up to block Dean's way.
Dean trembled visibly, one hand reaching almost imperceptibly inside his jacket and curling around something unseen as he regarded the demon in front of him. "I will end you right here and now, I swear to God," he growled under his breath, conscious of the eyes on him.
"Oh Dean," Crowley shook his head sadly, mouth curling into a patronizing smile. "Any role God might have played in your pathetic existence on this earth has been completely snuffed out by now. And you know that. Just like deep down, you know that I own you. There's no coming back from this."
And with that, Crowley turned and walked out of the bar, scotch glass left untouched. Dean watched him go, relaxing his grip on the First Blade that thrummed against his palm, still hidden beneath his jacket. He sat heavily back down onto the barstool, finishing the last of what had to be his sixth or seventh beer of the night.
Dean felt the curious brunette get up from her chair, her face coming into view a few seconds later, eyes wide and inquisitive as she settled into the seat next to him, brushing not-so-subtly against his shoulder.
"You okay?" She whispered it like a secret, her whiskey-stained breath tickling his ear as she leaned in close. He knew he should be pleased by this, should want to let this whole familiar scenario play out, but instead he slapped a thin wad of cash next to his empty beer bottle and stood up.
"Sorry," he mumbled, "I gotta go."
He found Crowley waiting for him outside, standing just a few feet from the door and casting a long shadow along the rough gravel.
"So many admirers," Crowley mused. "It must be tough, being a heart-breaker."
"Zip it, unless you want to see a leg-breaker too," Dean snarled, cracking his neck disdainfully and rolling out his shoulders.
Crowley simply raised his eyebrows in response, watching as the hunter paused in front of him, shifting the gravel beneath his feet and trying not to look directly at the King of Hell as he debated his next words.
"If you really want to help..." Dean said after a while, kicking up a small cloud of dust and finally leveling his gaze on Crowley. "If you really want to help, you gotta tell me how I fix this. You gotta find me a way out. I don't care what it is, I just can't stay like this."
Crowley shook his head and chuckled, pursing his lips. "I hate to break it to you Dean, but there is no 'fixing' it. This is your life now, and the sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be. Accept that, and we can get into the logistics of it all. I can show you the ropes. But until then..." Crowley snapped his fingers, Dean blinked, and suddenly, he was alone in the empty parking lot.
Dean turned to stare at himself in the broad window that surrounded the outside of the bar, somewhat struck by just how tired he looked. How lost. His face was pulled into a long grimace, shoulders hunched and hands shoved stiffly into his pockets. Dean blinked and stared longer, trying to see himself looking back. He blinked again and lost any chance of recognizing himself.
He blinked again and his eyes were pure black.
I've got a few stories sitting around so I'll be posting those within the next few days and then I'll eventually start posting my longer multi-chapter story that's kind of an AU to the end of season 9.
Thank you guys so much for reading. It's good to be back!