Ladies and gentlemen... I present to you... an incredible tale of adventure, suspense, romance, loyalty and family! The first chapters are inspired by Cole Swindell's song "Middle of a Memory". After that, the story took a life of its own.

Baby, it just took one look at you

For me to change my one drink order to two

Like we already knew each other

Like we've been talking all night

About a minute into our first dance

We got blindsided by your friends

All in a hurry like you had to go

Didn't they know you can't leave someone

Girl, you can't leave someone

In the middle of a dance floor all alone

In the middle of an old school country song

Right when I was just about to lean on in

Why'd you have to go then?

Baby, in the middle of the glow of the neon light

It shoulda, coulda, woulda been the night of our lives

Girl, it ain't right, no

How you gonna leave me right in the middle of a memory?

We were gonna dance 'till they shut it down

People'd be staring while I spin you 'round

Thinking we were so in love, yeah

They wouldn't know we hadn't even hooked up

I'd get your number and I'd give you mine

And we'd be hanging out tomorrow night

But now I don't know where you are

I'm under these lights right here in the dark

In the middle of a dance floor all alone

In the middle of an old school country song

Right when I was just about to lean on in

Why'd you have to go then?

Baby, in the middle of the glow of the neon light

It shoulda, coulda, woulda been the night of our lives

Girl, it ain't right, no

How you gonna leave me in the middle of a memory? yeah

Yeah, it's like you walked right out in the middle of a movie

Tore the back half out of a book

And no, you'll never know, girl, what you did to me

It ain't right saying goodbye…

Middle of a Memory by Cole Swindell

She waved to her three friends as they headed to the dance floor then turned back around to the bar. She was not in the mood for dancing now. All she wanted to do was sip her drink, people watch, and get lost in her own thoughts. Her friends had invited her out for "happy hour" and she accepted for the sake of having nothing else to do. She had even finished all the work from her classes, something that rarely occurred.

Two men sauntered to the bar and took seats. Individually they were both head turners but together people ogled over the beauty God had graced them with. One was enormously tall with shaggy brown hair and carried himself proudly. The other, as tall as he was, appeared dwarf-like in his companion's shadow. He wore a leather jacket that had seen better days, boots, and jeans stiff though the legs but obviously well-worn. Both men sported plaid shirts.

The one wearing the leather jacket sighed heavily. "Come on, Sammy, lighten up a bit. You're ruining my good mood." He slapped the other on the shoulder and glanced over. He was slightly surprised to find that the woman a few seats down was looking their way. Her hazel eyes were clouded and unfocused, though.

The lone woman at the counter noticed the new arrivals but did not pay much mind. That is, until she came out of her daydream and realized she had been absently staring at them.

He turned back as the one named Sam complained, "We should be investigating the house or doing research, not sitting in a bar."

"Nobody is forcing you to stay." The one in a leather jacket shot a look sideways to find the woman's eyes now sharp with focus. He winked, causing her to blush and avert her eyes. She was pretty, with black shoulder-length hair pulled into a loose pony, dark skin no spray tan could quite perfect. A liveliness he so rarely saw danced through her eyes. But there was sullenness to her as well.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong but I thought Fridays were for happy night. Sweetheart, you don't strike me as particularly happy," he said.

She smiled slightly. "I suppose I have a lot on my mind."

"Don't we all," he grinned. He motioned the bar tender over to take his and his companion's orders. Once the bartender left, his attention reverted back to her. "Don't tell me a pretty lady like you is out alone on a Friday night."

"No, I almost stayed home tonight, but I'm here with some girlfriends," she motioned to the dance floor pulsing with music and moving bodies.

"What, can't dance?" he teased.

"I will have you know I was on the varsity dance team in high school and was offered a full-ride scholarship," she haughtily said in defense. His eyebrow rose as his eyes scanned her tall yet lean figure.

"Of course you were. Not many can naturally be that sexy." She hid her smile behind the rim of her glass.

The bartender returned and set two beers down before the men. The one carrying on the conversation asked, "what do you want, Sweetheart?" She shook her head and insisted she was fine but he persisted. Giving up she requested a beer.

"Don't think this means I'll sleep with you," she warned.

He smirked and her knees grew weak. "Whatever you say, Sweetheart."

"My name is Abigail."

"That's a nice name."

"Thanks, I hate it. It sounds like an old grandma's name." He laughed at that, a deep sound that came from his chest.

"Dean," he replied. It suited him wonderfully.

"Are you from around here?"

"Nah; my partner Sammy and I—" the other man glanced over at the mention of his name—"are passing through."

"Oh, that's a shame," she hid her disappointment behind a teasing smile. She then realized what he said. "Partner? You mean like—?"

Dean's eyes widened. "No! We're FBI," he quickly explained, waving his arms to ward off any more assumptions. Sam smirked to himself. His "partner" should really choose his words more carefully.

To answer Dean's following question Abigail said how she was a student at the college in town. "I get my bachelors degree at the end of the semester," she proudly stated. She had always worked hard in school and was finally receiving the payoff.

They continued to talk for the next several hours, slowly drawing nearer to one another. Dean left Sam and came to sit on the stool beside her. Abigail's friends came back to refill on their drinks but quickly found a different table to sit at noticing how engrossed in conversation they were.

"What would two incredibly handsome FBI agents be doing in this small town?" she propped an elbow against the bar. Dean leaned forward. He smelled like leather and cologne and beer. His eyes traveled over her face.

"If I told you it would kill your buzz," he said in a rumbling voice. She sat back slightly irked. That was the second time he had refused to tell her something. It was killing her. She was intrigued by this mysterious man in leather. He did not strike her as a law-enforcing man but at the same time he had a certain look that suggested he had seen plenty.

"Tell me something about you and I might spill," he smirked. Oh if he had any idea what he was asking… but she would sound completely nuts if she told him the part-time job she worked, for instance. At least, that is how she considered it. It sounded less dangerous that way.

Tipping the last contents of the glass down her throat she stood. He watched her with keen interest. "Are you ready for your dance lesson? I am going to show you just how good of a dancer I am." His face lit up. Leaving Sam observing them with a small knowing smile, she reached for his hand and led him away.

"A bit cocky, are we?"

"You just wait and see, mister."

Abigail was an incredible dancer, Dean had to admit. Her limbs knew just what to do; her hips swiveled effortlessly; she absolutely flowed with the music. The power of her muscles was not noticed while they were sitting; her entire body was ripped—more so than one would expect for a dancer.

He understood that he was staring and shook himself out of it. She was just another girl in another town, he had to remind himself. But that didn't stop him from having some fun anyways.

Dean would spin her in circles then pull her in again and she would flit out of his reach; they would play a cat-and-mouse game, though he was not sure who was the cat was and who was the mouse. Neither of them noticed how people paused to watch them. Sam saw, though, how the two of them seemed to mold perfectly to the other. If nobody knew any better, they would assume the two of them were deeply in love and had not met less than mere hours ago.

Sliding around him Abigail murmured in his ear, "I never have met a man quite like you, Dean. There is something about you I cannot put my finger on; it infuriates me." She draped her arms over his shoulders, crossing them over his chest.

He glanced back at her. "I could say the same thing about you." Grabbing her hand he twirled her around to the front. A laugh escaped her lips as he spun her around to draw her close. The sound filled him to the toes. His arms folded around her stomach, her back pressed against his broad chest. She was perfectly content to stay this way for as long as time permitted. It must have been the buzz, for even her friends were surprised at how comfortable she appeared with a total stranger. This was a new side of Abigail few had the opportunity to witness before.

"Dean, what is your last name?" He hesitated for such a time she thought he was not going to answer.

Then, softly he rumbled, "Winchester. Dean Winchester" and the vibration could be felt on her back.

Something about Dean caused a flurry inside of her when he smiled or called her "sweetheart"—even though he probably said that to all the girls. That thought sent a jolt through her system. By morning he would be long gone, just a faint memory in this town. No one here would even remember him. But she would. Right there she swore to never let the memory of Dean Winchester fade.

She turned around in his arms to face him. His green eyes latched onto hers, momentarily causing her breath to catch in her throat. Whatever words she was going to say died on her tongue—they completely evaporated from her mind. Dean licked his lips, eyes trailing to the lower portion of her face.

Suddenly her friends pressed around them speaking over one another and gesturing. A very tall redhead, looking like she might pass out or vomit any second, was leaning heavily against a smaller brunette. Instantly the spell was broken.

"Lindsey is having a hard time holding her liquor," the petite woman motioned to the one she was supporting. "We should head out." Abigail forced her gaze away from Dean. She processed the woman's words in the back of her mind but made no move to do anything about her friends other than ignore them.

"Abby, we have to leave now," a blond girl—Sidney— drawled. As if seeing him for the first time her focus flickered to Dean. "Oh… well make it fast." Then she excused herself and ushered the other two to the door. It was hard to tell who was keeping who upright, though.

"I-I," Abigail stammered looking around for words written on the walls that would help. "I am so sorry. I need to leave. I'm sorry." She was close to tears.

"Your friends can take care of themselves—they are adults," he protested.

"No, they really can't. I have to make sure they get home safely."

"Wait," Dean caught her hand. "You can't just run out on me like that." She looked into his green eyes with wet ones. Reaching up she pressed a kiss to his cheek, holding his face with her free hand. As she turned to leave their clasped hands fell apart, fingers still reaching out to the other person.

"Find me around town," she suggested. Dean saw her blond friend loop their arms together and speak in giggled words. Abigail turned back and met his gaze one last time before stepping out into the dark night. Then she was gone.

Dean was left standing in the same spot staring at the door.

Why did she have to leave? He kept asking himself. The kiss she gave him replayed in his mind. I never even got her number, he realized. Or her last name. He wanted to bash his head into a wall. It would hurt less than what he felt inside.

Sam appeared at his side. "Hey, man, I think we should get goin'." He had seen it all: from the look on his brother's face as the two of them danced to her untimely departure. Dean silently nodded and followed Sam to the Impala. The drive back to the motel was silent save for the radio in the background. Sam was nodding off and jerked straight in his seat when Dean's palm slammed into the steering wheel.

"Sammy! You can't trust women!"

"She was really something special, huh?" Sam prompted quietly.

"Hell yeah she was. And I let her slip right through my fingers."

I hope you enjoy!