I'm so sorry everyone...another long (2 weeks?) update, you probably all hate me now! Forgive me! If anyone is still reading, and I entirely hope that everyone still is, here's chapter 12. Drop me a line! I have a Halloween party tonight, so it might take me longer to reply to your reviews. I'm dressed as a French maid, a costume only bought due to limited funding ($20) and was kinda surprised that when I put it on it looked incredibly slutty. It's complete with pink feathers and fishnet stockings, I'm still afraid to show my dad...anyway, on to the story!
A slightly disgusted Sam Winchester grimaced as he watched his older brother virtually devour his jumbo-sized bag of M&M's. The strange thing about Dean's face-stuffing spectacle was that he was successfully managing to do both that and drive the Impala at the same time, a feat accomplished by leaving the bag of candy precariously perched on top of the dashboard, behind the steering wheel. Sam has said it before and he would say it again: his brother never ceased to amaze him.
"So what bar do you have in mind, Dean?" said Sam, choosing to simply ignore Dean's revolting behavior and focus on where they were going.
"Pfffgysss frraodhhhse," garbled Dean with difficulty, having answering before swallowing the mass of masticated chocolate in his mouth.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" said Sam, laughing. "I didn't quite catch it." He cupped his hand around his ear, leaning in towards Dean and placing a look of focused concentration on his face.
Dean swallowed with a gulp. "Shove it, Sammy," he said. His voice sounded angry, but the hint of a smile on his face revealed his actual amusement at the situation. "I said it loud and clear, you deaf idiot."
"Nah, I don't think you did, unless we're going to "Piffgy's Frods" which is what I heard."
"'Piffgy's Frods?' Close Sammy, but no cigar. You're dumber than I thought, scholastic-boy. We're going to Pugsy's Roadhouse."
"Pugsy's Roadhouse? That sounds charming, Dean. Maybe we'll meet a nice motorcycle gang."
Dean shrugged. "Maybe."
Sam just laughed. Dean hadn't seemed to get the sarcasm in what he had said, probably even thinking that a motorcycle gang would bring some excitement to their day. He turned his head and stared out into the nothing landscape around them, attempting to clear his mind of all thoughts related to his visions and the Winchester Mansion. They were here to relax, to have fun. He was determined not to be the moody younger brother sitting off to the side while Dean made himself into a Casanova-which is how things usually turned out. About meeting girls, though...as much as he would love to rub getting another date in Dean's face, he couldn't seem to get his mind off of Veronica. Stupid, he told himself. I barely even know her, and we'll end up leaving anyway. I'll never see her again.
Dean glanced over at Sam, who seemed to have rid himself of his previous flippant behavior and was now staring pensively out the window, traditional Sammy-boy behavior. Grinning his usual mischievous grin, he silently put a Blue Oyster Cult cassette into the player, waited for the opportune moment, and turned up "Don't Fear the Reaper", blasting the song through the car speakers.
Sam jolted in his seat. "God, Dean! Why do you always have to do that?"
"Cause it's funny, Sam."
Sam sighed. "Blue Öyster Cult? Now I'm getting reminded of the whole Hell House job, with that symbol on the wall, not to mention the reaper that nearly killed you. Thanks a lot for those soft and fuzzy memories, Dean."
"Dude, it's just a song. Don't look so far into it. Hey, I wonder how those two Buffy-loving nerds are doing? Ya think they made it all the way to L.A.?"
"I'm sure they had to stop when they smelled that dead fish in the backseat, Dean."
"Oh yeah," said Dean, laughing, "I forgot about that. Whew, those were some good times." He looked at Sam, raising his eyebrows.
"Don't even think about it, Dean! We called a truce, remember? No more stupid practical jokes."
"Whatever. If anything...unusual...happens to you, then, remember: we made a TRUCE. It won't be my fault."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, Sammy. I'm just saying, don't blame me for anything."
"Don't you think that you saying this is kinda a clue, Dean? Now if something does happen I know it'll be your fault, unless you're psychic now too and are predicting things before they happen."
"Nah, that's only you, Sarah Michelle Gellar."
"Fine, then. Same goes to you."
"What?"
"You heard me."
The boys had reached an unspoken agreement. It was on. When it would start, though, now that wasn't as definite.
SPNSPNSPN
Pugsy stood by his bar counter, proudly puffing out his chest and observing his loyal crowd. He had made this bar from nothing...or at least, that's what most thought. He had become a sort of legend in the town, being the only son of two drunks and still having successfully built up a business. He had regular customers, the so-called "rough crowd", all of whom still greeted him jovially at the door. They weren't rough, they just acted tough. Greeting at the door? It was always " Hey Pugsy, how's life?" as they sat on the barstool. "Get me my regular." They dressed in black leather, they were tattooed and pierced, but they were nothing. Softies in disguise. He was the something. He had no blatant sign in his appearance as to his true nature. He was balding, overweight, seemingly a harmless, lonely man. A close observer, however, could see right through him. The dead giveaway were his eyes. They were small, dark, and shiny, like pieces of coal. He always had them narrowed at passerby, scrutinizing their every move. The were eyes that had been witness to his own evil act, an act he had committed long in the past, an act responsible for his mysterious sudden access to money, money which allowed him to build the bar. The act of killing his parents.
He glanced out the window, which had a view of the parking lot, and saw a black '65? '66? Nah...he looked closer...a classic '67 Chevy Impala pulling into the nearest available parking space. Two young men stepped out, somewhat raggedy in appearance, although distinctly proud all the same. They walked close together, hands in their pockets, and as the shorter man's back faced him he caught the glint of a pistol sticking out of his back pocket. A pistol, huh. These guys surely didn't fit in with the usual comers, but Pugsy already gathered they were tougher than most who entered. They didn't need to fake anything.
SPNSPNSPN
Sam, it seemed, had also noticed Dean's gun.
"Dude, why'd you bring that? We're not going on a hunt, it's just a bar! Someone could see it."
"There's a potential hunt everywhere you go, Sammy. A place like this, especially. The crowd's a bit...iffy. Don't worry, Sammy-whammy. I'll hide it, it's not like I want to start a fight."
"Sure, Dean."
Dean nodded his head in approval. "Thank you anyway, mommy."
Sam said nothing, but followed Dean through the heavy oak door and into the dimly lit roadhouse. The smell of smoke was overpowering, as was the blaring classic rock throughout the room.
Dean grinned as he walked in. "My kind of place."
Sam just gave a small, forced smile. This really wasn't his type of scene. He glanced around and saw the usual: girls in short skirts gathered around a pool table, caressing scroungy men playing against another group of guys (an activity he was sure Dean would want to partake in), extremely drunk fat guys wearing leather, swooning even as they were sitting, and a few younger guys wearing cowboy hats in the corner. The thing that threw him off was the guy behind the counter. His eyes bore into his mind, staring him down and distinctly giving off a foul impression, an impression of, well, evil.
Sam nudged Dean, whispering into his ear. "Does that man at the counter seem a little off to you?"
Dean looked where Sam was pointing. "Who do you mean? Baldie over there?"
"Yeah," said Sam. "He gives me the creeps."
Dean scrutinized the man for a second, receiving a deathly stare and a sneer in return from the bar owner. "I think I see what you mean. Who cares, though?" he said throwing his hands in the air. "You can't expect everyone here to be all nice and friendly..." he stopped short, just noticing the girls standing over by the pool table. "Well, there's my sign, Sammy," he said, as a blonde smiled at him. He walked to the wall and grabbed a cue stick, striding over to the other end of the roadhouse. Sam sighed. He wouldn't follow Dean, as he was an awful liar and couldn't convince anyone that his brother was a truly bad player. Instead, he braved it and sat at the counter, in front of the evil-looking man.
"I'll have a Coors Light, please."
"Please?' the man growled. "Why so formal, sonny-boy?"
"Just trying to be polite," said Sam cautiously.
"There ain't room fer politeness in a place like this, boy," said Pugsy. "I own this here bar, and I ain't gonna put up wit' some goody-two-shoes."
Sam sighed. "Sorry for offending you, sir. Could I have that beer now?"
"There ya go again. All polite-like. I saw yer friend there had a gun, ya can't be all that civilized."
"If you're not going to get me that beer, I guess I'll just leave then." Sam started to get up, disgusted at how he was being treated. The man had watched them from outside, and looked closely enough to notice the small glare of silver from Dean's pistol? Something just wasn't right with him.
"Hold yer horses there, sonny-boy. Yer a touchy one, aint'che? I'll get that beer if ya shut up and stop mouthin' off."
"Then I don't want it." Sam stood up and this time did walk away, leaving a stunned Pugsy behind the counter.
Where had that little shit gotten off? Nobody mouthed off to him, not nobody! He was the owner of this establishment, he had worked hard enough to build it up and now he got freakin' disrespectful customers. He watched the young man walk over to his friend, a shorter man who currently had two girls hanging off of him and was playing pool. The annoying brat nodded over to where he was standing, causing his friend and both of the girls to turn around and look. The girls were Becky and Regina, his daughters! His daughters were flirting with that little asshole, that was the final straw. Pugsy left his spot from behind the bar, walking slowly over to where those two disrespectful boys were standing.
SPNSPNSPN
Sam and Dean hadn't yet noticed, as they had turned back around and were again facing the pool table.
"He's not so bad," said one of the girls, a pretty brunette with red lipstick on.
"What are you talking about, Regina? He's a hard ass! He doesn't let us do anything, and you know just as well as I what he did..." the other girl, evidently Becky, trailed off, looking almost ashamed.
Regina just glared at her, saying nothing.
"What did he do?" said Sam, curious.
"That's private business, Sammy, you don't want to pry," said Dean quickly, disappointed that his flirting time was being interrupted. "Look!" he said, trying to distract them. "Perfect shot, right here..." He knelt over the table, carefully angling the cue stick, and took a shot that sank two balls.
The man he was playing against scowled. "I thought you said you hadn't played before," he growled. "Yer a liar, I ain't playing no more." He walked away, leaving a disgruntled Dean behind.
"You bet me! Five bucks a ball, bucko, pay up!" The man took no heed, instead just leaving the bar.
"Shit," Dean said. "That sucks ass." He looked up. Sam gave him a small smile as a response, but was still focused on Becky and Regina. They were hiding something.
"Wha..." Sam attempted to ask both of the girls again what was up, but was interrupted by a strong shove from behind. He turned around, immediately greeted by the cold, calculating stare of Pugsy. Dean, aware of how Sam had complained of the older man's behavior, immediately stood up straighter, ready to stand up for his brother.
"Ya boys better listen up, I ain't saying nonna this again. Next time ya guys piss me off things aren't gonna go as nice, if ya'll get my drift. Ya boys stay away from my daughters, ya hear?"
Dean shook his head in disbelief, somewhat amused that this guy was supposed to scare him. Sam looked a bit more timid, but was standing strong nonetheless.
"Come on, daddy!" pleaded Regina. "They didn't do anything, we're just having fun! I swear!"
Becky sighed. "Jesus, Regina! You're just going to take this! You're unbelievable!" She turned to face her father. "I'm an adult, dad," she said coldly. "I can hang out with whoever I want, whenever I want. I'm not going to take your crap anymore." She spun around, attempting to walk away, but shrieked a second later as Pugsy grasped her shirt from behind, forcibly yanking her into his grip. He started shaking her, yelling indistinguishable obscenities, seemingly forgetting that he was still in a public place. Regina cowered in the corner, covering her ears.
"Hey! HEY!" yelled Dean. "Get your hands off her!"
"I'll do whatever I want wit' my own daughters, ya little shit," he said snidely. He released his hold on Becky, who immediately ran into the corner and joined her sister. Pugsy was focused on Dean now, intense hatred burning in his eyes.
"Lets see how yer 'tude there is after I get a little rough wit' yas," he said. "Drop yer gun, lets have us a fight."
Dean laughed, placing his pistol on the nearest table. He raised his hands in the air, accepting the challenge. "Whatever you say, old man."
"Dean..." warned Sam, shaking his head and frowning.
"Nah, Sammy, I got this. I'm not gonna let this jerk mess with his daughters like that, there's some things you just can't take, Sam-o."
Sam accepted his defeat, sitting at the booth with his head in his hands. When Dean got angry, there was no changing his mind.
Dean stepped out to the center of the bar, where Pugsy stood waiting. He was cheered on by several of his fat biker friends in the corner, and seemed pretty confident he would win. He kissed his bicep, flexing his non-existent muscles.
"Ya ain't got a chance in hell, boy," he snarled. "I boxed in junior high, ya know."
"Did you now?" said Dean, trying not to laugh. "Very impressive."
The two men circled around the bar, each one waiting to make the first move. After a few seconds, Pugsy formed a fist, slamming it in a punch against Dean's gut.
The old barkeeper stood back, apparently expecting Dean to moan or fall over. But he didn't move. Instead, the young hunter grinned hugely, and began laughing at his opponent. "That was weak, baldie! Sammy over there hits harder than you."
Sam open his mouth in protest, while Dean just shrugged. That punch really hadn't hurt at all, from a guy that big he was expecting more.
"Uh...that was just, ya know, a taster. Ya should be scared now..." He then began throwing random, uncoordinated punches at Dean, who ducked each one easily and threw one, hard punch to the side of the bitter man's face. Pugsy was pushed against the wall, stunned by the force behind the blow.
Dean banged the man's head against the cement wall, and then threw him to the ground. Pugsy stood up on weak legs and attempted to hit Dean again, missing the younger man's face completely and instead stumbling and almost falling forward. Dean sighed – he was at least hoping for a challenge, but this guy was just too out of shape. He gave a fake yawn and lazily pulled Pugsy from behind him, throwing him down on the floor. He gave him one final, nose-breaking punch, and then kneeled down to speak directly to the despicable man.
"I could hurt you more now, buddy," he said with a laugh. "Oh, so much more...a little junior high boxing isn't exactly a match for 22 years of fighting lessons from your father. I like to fight fair, though. I think this is enough. Whatever bad thing you've done in the past to win your respect, I think it's pretty safe to say you've lost it all now." He glanced around the bar, where the majority of the people were looking down at Pugsy with disgust. They had seen their previous role model abuse his daughter and then lose a humiliating fight, they weren't coming back. The bikers were laughing as they left, pointing at the defeated man and making jokes. "Yep, you're toast buddy. Have a nice life."
Dean stood up, leaving Pugsy on the ground and walking over to where Sammy was sitting with Becky and Regina.
"Thanks for that," Becky whispered. Regina nodded in agreement. "He really needed someone to knock him off his high horse, I'm glad you came."
Dean smiled. "No problem, ladies. I'm always at your service."
Sam smirked. Dean was still trying to flirt, although it was pretty useless at this point.
"We should probably go now, Dean. I don't exactly want to stay here after that enjoyable experience."
"Uh, yeah..." said Dean, obviously disappointed. "Bye, ladies...you know you're gorgeous, right?" They both smiled, red in the face, and he gave him a wink in return as the left the bar. Sam kicked Pugsy as he walked by him, something which caused Dean to look at him with surprise.
"I had to get something in, Dean, you kinda stole the show," complained Sam as they got into the car.
"You mean, I got the girls and beat baldie to a pulp?"
"You charmed a couple of girls and punched their psychopath father a couple of times, Dean. I still got Veronica."
"Shut up, Sammy. They wanted me."
"Sure."
"What're we gonna do now?" asked Sam. "When we're not hunting, we've got pretty boring lives, Dean. We've got absolutely no plans, bro."
"Ah, we'll find something. Probably just hang till sundown, prepare for the big showdown. You gonna be ready?"
"Oh, I'll be ready."
TBC
All right, please review! The next chapter is the mansion!
