Dean examines the group of loud college kids at a pool table in the corner from where he is perched at the bar. The bar he and Sam entered a few moments ago is nicer than the ones they usually visit, and Sam welcomes the change. The group in the corner hollers and slaps their friend on the back while yet another opponent walks away dejected. Dean raises his eyebrow and turns back to the bartender.
"They always like that?" The bartender, a woman in her early 20's sighs and nods.
"Yep. They're in here most nights."
"I take it you don't like them?" Dean asks the woman while she wipes down the bar.
"How could I? They make my job even more unbearable."
Dean turns back to Sam who has been listening to their conversation. Dean mouth forms a cheeky smirk. He tilts his head towards the college kids.
"Shall we?"
"We are a little low on cash." Sam, who is in one of his rare good moods, smiles a little at his brother's antics. Dean slaps him on the back joyously.
"Great! Let's go have some fun, little brother." Dean takes a swig of his beer and Sam picks his bottle up. The walk over to the pool table.
"Up for a round, boys?" Dean slurs. The college kids smirk and one steps forward.
"Sure. 50 bucks?" Dean slaps the money down and pushes Sam towards the table. Sam puts his beer down on the edge.
"Gimmie… Gimmie one of the sticks." Sam commands, waving his hand floppily towards the rack. The kid grabs one and throws it to Sam who fumbles and almost drops it.
"I believe the technical term you're looking for is a 'cue'" The college kids chuckle and nudge each other cockily.
"Whatever." Sam slurs. "Rack 'em up." The kid breaks. He easily pockets two balls. Sam leans over the table and misses miserably. The college kids laugh loudly and Sam stands up, his shoulders slouching. The bartender watches with a small smirk on her face. The game continues and the kid wins by a landslide. He pockets the money, smirking. Dean steps forward.
"Play me?" He slurs and puts his hand on the edge of the table for support.
"Sure, man. Whatever you want." The kid grins at his friends. Dean slaps down 50 more bucks. Sam stumbles back and hands Dean the cue. Dean breaks and a couple drop into the holes.
"Not bad." The kid says condescendingly. Dean holds his hands out, shrugging limply. He takes a swig of Sam's beer.
"I'm a good player." He slurs.
"Yeah, sure buddy." The college kid glances over his shoulder and smirks at his friends. The kid pockets a few more. The kid lines up a hard shot and tips his head towards a pocket.
"That one." It goes in and his friends cheer.
The game eventually ends the same as Sam's, with the kid pocketing the money.
"Again." Dean commands. "200 bucks." He digs into his pocket and puts the money on the edge. "Plus the 100 bucks you won off me if I win." He slurs. The kid looks doubtful.
"C'mon man, it's easy money." His friend says.
"Yeah." Another one cuts in. "They're smashed. Look at that one." He points at Sam who sways on his feet. "They're way drunk."
The kid steps up to the table. "Let's go."
"Let's go." Dean confirms. The kid breaks and a couple of balls drop in. He smirks and steps back. Dean steps forward, swaying slightly. He leans over the table and shoots. Two balls drop in. The kid steps in and three balls drop in.
"Nice." Dean slurs. "But not good enough." The kid's friends laugh and smirk at Sam over the table. Sam takes a swig from his beer and grabs the wall for support. Dean steps forward and scores a couple of easy shots. The kid takes a hard shot and gets it in. He misses the next. His friends groan. Dean leans over the table and scores his first hard shot. He walks around the table confidently. He easily scores another shot. The kid and his friend's jaws drop as Dean strolls around the table, scoring shot after shot, suddenly not looking so drunk anymore. Dean leans over the table and scores a near impossible shot, barley looking. He shifts slightly and scores the winning shot. He turns and walks over to the college kids. He doesn't sway and when he finally speaks, there is no hint of a slur.
"Good game."
"You hustled us." One of the kids accuses.
"Good job Sherlock. Gold star." Dean says sarcastically. He holds his hand out for the money. "I believe you owe me my $300."
"But… but..." The kid says, shocked. Sam pushes himself off the wall, all hints of drunkenness disappearing in him too. He walks over and stands behind Dean, straightening up to his full height. The muscles in his arms ripple and Dean's would be doing the same under his plaid shirt. The kid hurriedly digs his hand into his pocket and hands over the cash. Dean picks his money up off the table and tips an imaginary hat to them.
"Nice doing business with you gentlemen." The corner of Dean's mouth quirks up. Sam smiles a little. They walk away from the table, leaving the college kids shell-shocked. The bartender grins and goes back to cleaning the bar. Sam places his empty beer bottle on a table as they exit. A few seconds later all that can be heard in the silent bar is the loud rumble of the impala pulling away.