"Okay. You need to stop this. You need to eat."
"Thanks mom." Dean didn't even look away from the television, shouting a halfhearted question at Jeopardy. The shadow of the larger man loomed over their moth bitten couch, but Dean was doing his best to ignore him. It wasn't as if Dean didn't know that he needed to eat. His stomach reminded him every so often that he'd neglected himself, he didn't need Roman to rub it in. The tall, muscular man shook his head, sighing at Dean.
"It's honestly fucking depressing to look at you. You're getting gray."
"Like you're one to talk," he sneered, "When's the last time you ate?"
Roman rolled his eyes. "You know that's a different story."
And it was. Dean wasn't friends with Roman nor their other roommate, Seth, when they moved in together. He didn't even know the other man. Theirs was a friendship of convenience, and it was absolutely fucking convenient not to have to explain why they lacked certain amenities or why the oven was more of a storage unit than an appliance. There weren't many of their kind walking out in the human world, and it was nice to forget the charade when it was time to sleep.
Roman fed on flesh. While Dean or Seth could go out and feed and no one be the wiser, Roman could not just go around mauling whenever the hunger struck him. Roman made due with raw meat from the butcher until his hunter's instincts couldn't take it any longer. Comparatively, Dean's method of feeding wasn't so gruesome, and there was really no excuse not to go feed.
Well, almost no excuse.
"Look." Roman walked closer, shoving Dean's head. That wrinkled brow, however, told Dean all he needed to know about his intentions. "If you want to die, so be it. I imagine there are a dozen hunters who would love to mount your head. If not, go out there already."
"Where's Seth?" Dean tried to change the topic.
"Where do you think he is?"
Seth had a boyfriend... well, a bloodbag. And when Seth wasn't feeding on "Wes the EMT"—he said the whole thing obnoxiously every time, no exceptions—Wes the EMT was stealing literal bags of blood from work for him. Seth had it the easiest of the three of them. A bit of that good ol' blood demon hypnotism, and Seth could drink from anyone he wanted, and the victim themselves wouldn't know anything, much less anyone else.
Dean had suggested all the hypnotizing must've been taking its toll on Wes the EMT and Seth punched him in the face. If Seth wanted to believe he was actually dating Wes the EMT, so be it.
"Don't distract from the issue here. Just go to a club. I'm sure you'll have a feast in no time."
"I don't feel like going to a club," he lied.
"You can work your charms on the street, but that might get you more attention than you want."
"I don't feel like going to a club."
Dean's stomach, as if to protest the statement, growled loudly. For a moment, Dean couldn't even hear the answer coming from Alex Trebek's mouth. He heard that stupid little victorious laugh, and despite the fact that Roman was by far stronger than him, the urge to punch his perfect face kicked in. "Okay, you go ahead and starve."
"Have fun eating strays!" Dean shouted. Roman just chuckled again, leaving Dean to the stupid game show.
Okay, he really couldn't blame Roman. Roman couldn't have known why Dean wasn't out feeding, and even if he did, Roman wouldn't get it. He was physically powerful where Dean was mentally powerful. Roman had to kill to survive, lived with it every day. Dean thought he saw ending human life the same way up until the day he actually killed someone. And it wasn't the act, but the dreams the months after that wrecked Dean.
He hadn't realized when he killed, he'd be plagued by his stupid prey's memories. Nightmares every night of the guy's fucking existence. The pretty blonde wife he couldn't decide if he loathed or loved, the daughter he lived for, the stupid fucking dog. Waking up nights, trying to punch the image of that fucking dog out of his head. By day, he was all right… but they inevitably came back at night.
Dean wanted, needed to feed... but god, he could do without feeling sorry for a dead human and his stupid dog.
Dean ground his palm into his hand, trying to forget the human's name. He can hear it on the wife's lips. It could be worse, every few nights a jubilant "Daddy!" would pull Dean out of slumber. The thought of another set of memories filling his dreams froze him every time he felt like he could go out and finally get some sustenance.
He'd never felt like this before. He loathed it.
Dean sighed. The strength gained from draining a human whole was beginning to wear off. He couldn't put this off much longer. Well, these stupid memories causing him to fail at attempt number five might be a better waste of time than more game shows.
Dean walked to the largest of the neighboring cities. The cold air was good for getting his mind on straight, for banishing the image of that man's family out of his mind. The run down houses in his neighborhood slowly gave way to more stores and shops. Besides the Deli two blocks from the house, there was nothing around the house he, Roman, and Seth lived in. Better for them, Seth had said, lest they shit where they eat.
Fox and Hound wasn't too busy a bar, and the idea of shoving past people was a turn off to Dean at the moment. His powers also worked better when the prey could hear him. Clubs had more variety, more choice, but Dean didn't need much. Just a couple guys and gals to feed off of.
Dean's power wasn't too different from Seth's, except he couldn't make people do whatever he wanted with the precision Seth could. Seth could make someone jump off a building with just a few words, but Dean's power worked in the long term. With a few words, humans saw Dean as their closest friend. Given five minutes, the human would be absolutely enamored with him. Seth's power offered temporary obedience; Dean's offered lasting loyalty. Seth left his victims without the memory at all; Dean left a lasting imprint on the prey's mind.
Dean saw a couple drunken girls. College aged, maybe? This could be easy. The little blonde woman and her taller, darker blonde friend. A second of hearing the other girl's accent and he wondered what he would see if he killed her. A house on the Jersey shore, or a rundown shack in…
Stop, Dean told himself. You're not going to kill her. You're just a little hungry. Stop thinking about it.
The little blonde woman looked like she probably had a doting father. He probably wasn't crazy about the dyed ends of her hair, but daddy would let her get away with anything.
Daddy! An eight-year-old blonde girl shouts, running into arms that aren't Dean's, and Dean's kissing her forehead…
"Are you all right?" Dean blinks. The darker one is in front of him, looking up at him with a sad smile. Her eyes are wide, expressive, and Dean wonders if she'd be so concerned if she knew why he was there. Her hand is already on his arm, squeezing, an invite to speak.
"Uh… yeah. Just a bit of a headache." The charm slips easily into his voice. As if on cue, the girl is suddenly moving an arm around him, the distance between strangers gone.
"Alexa went to get you some water. You should sit."
He honestly should thank her for taking the decision out of his hands. Had the girl… Carmella… not checked in on him, Dean was sure he would've high tailed it out, found another way to escape his head. As soon as he kissed her, and felt her energy slip into his body, he wondered why he hesitated at all. She moaned into his mouth and stumbled back, holding onto the seat.
"Whoa."
"Why don't you sit?" It was easier than he thought. No fragment of Carmella had lodged its way into Dean's mind… although the night was young. Dean helped Carmella into the seat, and she flashed that now permanent smile at him.
"You're one hell of a kisser."
"Are you okay?" Alexa had appeared behind them, water in hand. "What happened to her?"
"She was just feeling a little dizzy." Dean dipped his thumb by his mouth twice, signaling that the alcohol had gotten to her. He could see her worry give way to the same kind of sweet, waiting smile Carmella had on. "Why don't you give her that water?"
The girls were one hell of an ice breaker. Dean could imagine Roman laughing at him tomorrow… probably just accuse him of being difficult for the sake of it. The more energy he'd gotten, the more confident he felt. People in this stupid bar were laughing at his jokes all night, buying him shots that he regifted to the next person he'd suck the life force from. Some of them could barely stand, but for a chance to be around him, they swayed like zombies, waiting for their turn. He'd matched pairs based off nothing at all and had them kiss each other for his amusement. Some, for titillation, others for laughter. Getting a man named James a kiss from every pretty girl in the bar was something he thought was hilarious. He was almost as drunk as the slaves around him, dancing to a stupid pop song. They lazily jumped in place while Dean grabbed them at random, pulling them into dances they didn't have the energy to fulfill.
Alexa had just stolen another kiss… Dean had to remind himself not to be greedy with her, lest her memories join the ones already lodged in his brain… when he spotted someone sitting at the bar. Alexa stumbled off as he watched the man who'd completely ignored the group of people on the dance floor. Shoulder length brown hair, plaid shirt. There were only two people not involved in the revelry, and infecting the bartender… and probably costing him his job… didn't seem like the kind of sport Dean would be into. But no, the kind of guy who would just hunch over the bar when everyone was laughing together sounded like exactly the kind of fun Dean liked.
The guy turned his head gently as Dean walked over. Guess he could feel the eyes boring into him. He shifted in his chair. The guy was older than Dean, but still pretty handsome, with a nice set of blue eyes. The idea of convincing him to fuck Alexa or Carmella slid through his mind. A nice show to end the night. He'd remembered fucking was where he went wrong last time, but with three pieces… well, it would be easy to not get greedy.
"What are you drinking?" He whispered in the older guy's ear, waiting for the pliant smile to cross his lips. Instead, the man just held up a bottle of beer, making the label readable. Dean raised an eyebrow. Okay, maybe the drunken people were easier. "Maybe you can get me one too?"
The guy turned to him, shaking his head. He pulled his pockets out of his jeans, revealing nothing but a pair of keys. "All outta cash."
The southern accent was cute. "You don't carry a wallet?"
"Easier not to overspend on booze when you don't have everythin' on ya."
Dean could hear someone calling him back, but he ignored them. "You usually ignore the party?"
"There's not usually a party." He kept waiting for him to smile. It usually didn't take this long to worm under someone's skin. He'd come across stronger willed humans before, but everyone was eventually pulled into his charms.
"Dean." Dean holds out his hand, and while the older guy shakes it, he does not offer his name in response. Interesting. "You not a party guy?"
"I like my quiet."
"Seems like buyin a six pack would've gotten you all the quiet you need." Dean slid a hand down his arm, and all the older human did was reach for his goddamn beer. Dean looked at him quizzically, trying to discern what was going on here.
"Sometimes, a man needs to get out of the house." Dean could understand that. What he couldn't understand was the older human's immunity to his charm.
"And sometimes a man needs other things." Dean hinted. Despite not talking to the bartender, the amount of power he put into that one statement caught his attention. The bartender was staring at him, waiting, and yet there this stranger was. Laughing at him.
"What, none of them are what you need?" The older human motioned to the group of people. The lack of energy was catching up to them. They were no longer dancing without his command to do so, instead staring at the bar, waiting for him. Some were sitting on the floor; others were attempting to remain standing. James motioned for him to rejoin them, and Dean held up a hand, which caused all of them to nod.
"Nope." This time, Dean's hands rested on his knees. He took a look at those thighs. He would've loved watching them jiggle as he fucked one of the girls. Or maybe as he fucked him. "Just you." Dean caught the bartender's face and noted its disappointment. "I'd appreciate some space please. Go do your job." The bartender nodded, lighting up at the idea of Dean's appreciation.
"We don't need space." The older human pulled away, and Dean reached for his hands this time, grasping around his wrists. Pulling him back in closer.
"What are you?" Dean hissed. They were close. He could kiss the older man and taste his energy, but the fact that this human was not willingly closing the gap kept Dean from making the move.
"M'not your dinner." He snapped, yanking his arms away again. Dean sat, stunned for a moment, before thinking to reach out again. He grasped air.
Dean watched as the door closed. Two offers to go get him rang out, but Dean shook his head. After all, dragging the older human back kicking and screaming would be no way to start their friendship. He turned to the bar, taking the beer bottle into his hands. His eyes then caught a cap left abandoned on the stool, and he pocketed it. Roman could help arrange another meeting with his new friend.