Are we still running?
This cold city, these cold streets. The windy nights and dull mornings. There's nothing much more here. No use being contained in this dead place. This dust covered town.
All the right signs, say to leave. Get up, pack the few items to name, and Run.
"Start over," is on repeat in this stressed head. "Nothing much to lose," always following along after.
And the decision is made. Where to Run? As far as possible.
Just making it by is not a new feeling. Starved and tired with just a few rumpled bucks in pocket.
It's nothing much, almost nothing at all. But it's what got him away, and that's enough to get that long gone smirk, back onto the Ohioans face.
It's night by the time he arrives. The city doesn't buzz with flashing lights and rambling crowds. But it's not the usual, dull street lamps and growling hounds either. It's a comfortable night so far, besides the caking humidity this air brings. And all Dean knows is a steaming shower and cold beer would be the cherry on top of his eternal vacation from Cincinnati.
And that's exactly what he gets. After checking into some cheap, three dollar motel. The man takes his shower, throws on some dark jeans and shirt, then trudges his way down the street and into a local bar.
There's a buzz in the air, voices all around. The lights are dim, but it's clear to see people everywhere. Talking, drinking, lounging. No room for him, accept that open stool near the bar. It's damn there deserted over there, besides the lone man leant up, nursing his drink.
He makes his way over, arguing on whether to take the seat beside the man or keep his distance. But the decision is made before he gets to really think on it. His feet walking up, and taking the seat right next to said stranger.
Dean feels a pair of eyes on him, the second he's sat and comfortable on the stool. But doesn't stare back. Just waves the bartender over and digs out his wallet.
"What can I get'cha?" Dean thinks over it for just a few seconds, "Cold beer, don't matter the brand." He gets a nod.
The bartender walks away to the far end, shiny glass in hand, ready to fill it to the brim with whatever beers in stock. And since he's just about on the other side of the bar. That leaves just the two men. Strangers to one another. The eyes don't leave the back of Dean's head, causing an antsy feel to crawl up and down his spine.
He can't take it anymore, and icy blue lock onto the smokey eyed stranger.
Dean expects the man to cower away, like any normal motherfucker that's caught staring. But this man, just stays poised. Giving Dean a once over as he sips his drink again. Licking those full lips as he sets the glass down with a clink onto the tabletop.
Just as Dean readied himself to speak up, he was cutoff by his beer being flashed in front of his face and a quiet "Here you go sir,"
The Ohioan nodded his thanks and looked back over to the stranger. But was surprised to see those gray eyes no longer staring his way. Instead looking over at an expensive silver watch, clasped on his wrist.
Dean takes this time to look over the man sitting next to him. Stranger's got long dark hair that's slicked back and into a low ponytail. A crisp white button up framing his large shoulders. With the sleeves rolled up, and showing a long, intricate tribal tattoo. Damn, Dean couldn't just do a once over. Had to look back up.
Go back over the missed features. Like that trimmed goatee framing the sharp jawline. Or the muscles straining in that too tight button up.
Shit, what was he? A real life walking God?
"I got somethin on my face, or do you just like staring at strangers." A deep rumble of a laugh follows the mans question.
And how dare he? Looking like that, he should know staring would be a given.
"Hey man, you were eyeing me first. I just wanted to make sure you know how it feels." Dean looks away and takes the first sip of his beer.
"Well, I was over here, by myself I should add, minding my own business when you come plop down next to me. Knowing you could've went anywhere else. Why wouldn't I stare."
Dean shoots him a look, setting down his drink harsher than necessary. Making some spill out and onto his fingers. He pays no mind though, instead ready to snap back at the smirking motherfucker that sits right next to him.
"Well, if you looked around, you'd see the place is fuckin packed. Where else am I supposed to sit man. I just wanna drink on my first damn night here, in peace."
There's a deep hum rumbling out of the others mans throat. Eyes lighting up, like he just found the last piece of a puzzle.
"Ah I knew it."
There's a confused look set up on Dean's face. Eyebrows scrunched up, mouth parted open and it makes a snorted laugh come out of Stranger.
"You knew what?"
"I've never seen you round here before. If I did, I would've remembered." Those eyes rake over him again followed up with a wide smirk.
"Wait, what do you me-" Dean's cut off when the man asks for his name.
With a roll of his eyes and a gulp of his beer he responds with a quiet "Names Dean,"
The other man nods, repeating his name like he's testing it out on his tongue. As if they'd ever keep in touch. Hanging out in bars together, crashing cars on endless nights. No, Dean didn't come here to make friends.
But just because he doesn't want anything to do with this rude, godly, motherfucker. Doesn't mean he shouldn't know his name too.
Just when he's about to ask, Dean gets cut off for what feels like the twentieth time that night. And by some guy clad in all black, even sunglasses. Despite the fact they're inside and all the light are damn there off.
Stranger, hears the guy utter one word and the smile wipes right off his face. Turning around quickly in his stool. Waiting for the other man to speak to him again.
"Boss, we've gotta finish that project. I'm gathering everyone up so we can head out."
Those gray eyes blink twice, slow and black. "Get my card and pay the tab," he motions for the other to come closer.
And when he does, there's a whisper that Dean can't pick up. Not even able to read the lips of Stranger, to get a glimpse of what was said.
Then all of a sudden, in a blur he's getting up and leaving. Dean doesn't even think as he's grabbing Stranger's hand. And he expects the deep gray eyes to go wide, showing any reaction. But all he gets is a turn of the head.
"You never told me your name? Don't think that's fair, right?"
That gets a short laugh outta him, and he's turning back to Dean fully. All tall and big, Dean might even let his pride slip and say intimidating.
"Nah man, it's not. Call me B.D."
But what the hell does that mean? There was no question for a nickname.
"Still not fair, that's just a couple initials. What's it stand for?"
B.D. Gives him an amusing smirk. Grabbing up the glass that was long forgotten on the counter. Stalling to take a sip then answers, "Big Dog. It means Big Dog." Then he's walking away, leaving Dean there, nameless and by himself.
He sighs and turns back in his stool. The place seems so empty now, and he'd just like to finish his drink and head back to that cheap motel.
Dean motions the bartender back over, "How much do I owe you?
"Owe nothing, the man who was sitting next to you, said he'd take your tab for the night."
Dean pauses the sip he was about to take, looking up at the bartender, who wipes off the counters.
"Huh, alright. Well then I'll take another one of these and whatever the hell he was having."
"Coming right up sir."