Late last Saturday, Saturday night

a/n: Takes place somewhere early to mid-season four. Dean's back and well, he's … adjusting.

Tags: OutsidePOV, barfights, brothersWinchester, People just have no idea, even after they see it themselves, Deans_green_eyes, Sams_dimples

Disclaimer: Sam and Dean and the world of Supernatural belong to other people. No profit made, no disrespect intended.

Chapter One

The clink and clatter of glass is my music. That and voices, laughter and the sound of liquid pouring, neat, into a tumbler, or over ice. Tonight's no different than any other - the bar is packed and the noise is a clamoring thing, settling over me like coming home. College kids and sports, conversations and the sound of pool tables, racking n' breaking. I'm almost humming under the chaos of the Saturday night crowd, with a quick swipe of a damp rag across the bar, sopping up spilled whiskey and beer.

I'm being watched. It's not unusual, since it's always busy here … and whether they're drunk, rowdy or just having fun, most people are polite enough to let me clean up before they ask for a drink.

I look up, nodding at the man across from me. He's like a lot the guys that come in here, young and casual for the weekend, in blue jeans and a couple of layers for fall weather. I take this in about the same time I absently note he's handsome. The chiseled playboy/model type of handsome, in case you're wondering. His eyes are green. The green of a forest after the rain, or grass lit up with morning dew. They make my breath catch and then he smiles. Damn.

"Hey, darlin'." He lays a few bills on the counter. "Two beers, please."

"Sure thing," I smile back and hope I don't sound like my heart's beating double-time. Reaching down as I answer, I snag two bottles and pass them up. He takes them and turns, heading back to the pool table - one side of his mouth is quirked up in this little grin that says, yes, he sure as hell heard my heart tripping along at 2x normal, bastard.

Someone else steps up then, partially blocking my view as he reaches the table, handing one of the bottles to a tall guy with longish hair, waiting for his drink and leaning lazy on a pool cue. He's talking with one of the regulars, and I feel a twinge of worry. Saul, the guy they're playing with, comes off real sweet and friendly until things don't go his way. He's got a flash temper and hates losing. I look around and see Saul's buddies are there too, lounging on stools against the wall and watching the game. Again that twinge in the back of my mind … but the kid in front of me wants a drink (I say kid, 'cause he is, just turned twenty-one by the ID he shows me). I mentally prepare myself to take his keys later that evening, already knowing where that's headed. Then, someone else steps up for a vodka tonic and I forget about the guy with green eyes.

It's later that night, maybe an hour before closing. I'm wiping the bar top again, finally getting to move a little slower. It's been crazy (even for a Saturday) and the bar is hot, like it always gets with too many bodies in the small area. The pool tables are still running and I hear it like white noise, moving to stand over the tiny vent pumping cool air at my feet. I sigh and tip my head forward, trying to ease the tension in my neck.

But then something tugs at me – an angry undertone in the layers of voices. It's a warning I know better than to ignore, borne of nights just like this, when too many people and too much liquor, spend too much time in a small space.

I look up sharply and see the beginnings of the storm. Now that I'm listening for it, I can make out what they're saying. "You been conning me all night. You're tryin' to rip me off." Saul. Friendly smile gone and I can see that mean look in his eyes that always means trouble.

"You're mistaken, friend." It's green-eyes. He's down to a black t-shirt and jeans in the heat of the room, having shed the layers he was wearing earlier - his jacket and long-sleeve plaid, laying across a stool against the wall. He's standing there cocky as you please, leaning on his pool cue with a half-smile. A smile that might seem sincere, if it weren't for something in the back of his gaze that I can't quite place.

Not one for subtleties, Saul shakes his head, roughly drops his cue, throwing it, really, against the wall. It bounces and almost falls. "You think so?" And the words must mean something else in man-speak. Saul's friends stand up, stepping forward and it's more than a threat. I see the long-haired friend of green-eyes take note. He hasn't gotten involved – he's up against the wall, shoulders braced against it, holding his pool cue in one hand, the other loose on his hip. He's smiling, too, showing dimples that I suspect are amazing when there's humor behind it. This smile, though? I wouldn't want it directed at me. Lethal and sharp-edged, a shark in bloodied waters.

Something squirms in the pit of my stomach, in that heartbeat of time, as Saul's face twists and he lunges. Too quick for me to do anything but watch (from half-way across the bar), two of Saul's friends dive for green-eye's arms. Rough grips hemming him in with bruising strength. The cue clatters to the floor, with a sound that says it's broken. A bottle falls, shattering. Saul steps forward, snarling, leaning into the fist he punches into the man's stomach. My mouth tightens and I'm reaching for the alarm, pissed as hell because all this means I won't be going home anywhere close to closing. At the same time, I see the long-haired guy launch off the wall, shockingly quick, throwing himself into the man holding his friend's left arm. Saul's man goes down hard, a ridiculous expression of surprise on his face when his hold is jerked away. Green-eyes anticipates the yank, bracing for it, half-turns to the one holding his other arm, and Saul, poor bastard, hasn't figured out there's a bigger problem here. Saul swings another clubby-fist, this one to the stranger's face. He puts his weight behind it and my breath hitches – that's going to hurt. It snaps the young man's head back and I lose sight of those eyes for a moment. The stranger takes the hit with a grimace, and he's turning, ignoring the flash of pain it must cause, slipping his shoulder from the grip of the other man restraining him. He throws a body shot into the generous gut of Saul's buddy and I don't quite follow how he does it, but the next thing I know he's got his assailant's arm twisted back in a lock, putting the sorry local up on his toes, to ease the strain on his arm. Green-eyes doesn't hold on long, pushing sharply to throw his (now former) assailant into Saul. Saul and his buddy go down with startled yells, in a tangle of arms, feet, and a bar stool or two.

"Sam!" The stranger spins, diving for the struggle in the corner between dimples and two guys, pushing past two others (apparently the only ones in Saul's group with any sense … or maybe they're just not as drunk). One's trying vainly to break up the fight and the other is hesitating, just out of punching range. Green-eyes reaches for one and takes an elbow to the face – I don't hear anything over the noise, but it looked like it would knock stars across your eyes - he shakes his head quickly, blinking and slipping an arm under a shoulder (Eddy, that's Eddy. What an idiot), and whipping his hand and forearm up and around the back of Eddy's neck, across the shoulders. Even from here, I hear Eddy's yelp of pain, once the half-nelson is set and a strong arm pushes down, making his neck creak. He flails, finds himself pushed up against the wall, wincing, with an ear crushed against rough stone for his efforts. I hear the stranger say, clear and low, "You want to stop this right now, buddy."

But Eddy doesn't know when to quit. Instead of giving in, he curses and bucks against the hold, the weight of him crushing green-eye's fingers between him and the wall. I see something flicker in the stranger's gaze and my heart stutters. The muscles in his arm and back tense under the thin black shirt and I take a breath to yell something, anything to stop this from getting worse and where are the cops? When dimples (Sam) steps up behind the two and says, "Dean. Stop. Let him go."

Dean's mouth tightens and he's not listening, he's not going to listen, but then Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, saying, "Come on, man. They're just drunk. Being stupid." There's something else that he's not saying, I can see it, sitting there behind his eyes. Hear it, in the pause before he finishes, "It's not worth it." Dean blinks and takes a breath. He breathes out again, slowly, tongue flicking out to catch the blood on the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah."

Finally, he lets Eddy go, stepping back. Narrowed green scans over Saul and crew. Two of them step past him carefully, moving to wake the one dimples put to sleep. The rest, including Saul, back up, looking everywhere, except at the two men who'd beat them twice in one night. The stranger, Dean, laughs shortly. "Time to go, Sammy." Striding over to the pool table, he slaps his hand over the bills laying there, pockets them, and walks over to retrieve his jacket and shirt.

Dimples … Sam looks up and around and his eyes settle on me. I try not to look nervous when he heads over. I don't know this guy. Regardless of the lack of threat in his gaze now, I remember the expression on his face, right before the fight - even from a distance, you can read that kind of danger. My eyes flicker over the unconscious man he's leaving crumpled in the corner.

"Hey, miss." He says quietly, when he steps up to the bar (after walking through the few people left in the place, who hadn't made a hasty exit when the fight started). He's wearing a small smile and a careful expression, like he's trying not to spook me. Too late for that.

"The police are on the way."

He grimaces, nodding, leaning on the counter. He gives me this look that says they really didn't mean for this to happen. Unaccountably, I find myself feeling bad for him. "Sorry for the trouble," he says. He looks over at his companion. "Dean." Green-eyes casts a sidelong glance at us, as he walks away from the pool tables. I can still see an edge that wasn't there, when he'd stepped up to the bar earlier to get the beer. But Sam raises his eyebrows at the other man that clearly says something and Dean apparently gets the message loud and clear. Sighing, he walks over, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few bills.

"Here," he says, handing me two hundred in twenties. "For the damage. The pool cue and anything else, miss…?"

And like his friend, his expression is calculated and careful. It's as if he turned a switch and forgets about everything that just happened. The last of that buzzing tension in his eyes dissolves and he treats me to a lop-sided smile when I reply, "Kelsey."

He nods like he knew it all along, smile widening. "Kelsey." And there goes my heart again. And he knows it, damn it. I hear a gusting sigh from Sam. Green-eyes looks down at that, smirking, before looking up again. The smirk turns wry. "Like Sam said – sorry for the trouble." Then, from outside, sirens. The two exchange a meaningful look. Before I can protest, they're gone.

The place is almost completely empty by the time the cops pull up, which doesn't really make a difference. As expected, I don't head home until over four hours later, sometime after three a.m.

Damn bar fights.

It's a lonely walk back to my apartment. The streets are silent and no one, absolutely no one, is out. I glance around, at the forest along the road, pitch black and rustling with the late night breeze and keep my steps quick.

Creepy forest.

Especially here, on the outskirts of town. Another reason I hate late nights. It really sucks that my car broke down and I can't afford to get it fixed.

I walk past the only motel in this part of town and see it actually has guests tonight. A few sedans and some kind of muscle car, its paint gleaming black in the street light.

I hear a voice, not yelling, but raised and I pause, because there's something familiar about it. I realize that the room that's now closest to me (the one at the very end of the building), still has lights on.

"Dean, you've got to be kidding me."

Dean? Ah. The guys from earlier and a big part of the reason I am still awake past three a.m. Dean was … green-eyes, right.

What was dimples' name?

"How, Sam? Is this my joking voice? We're not leaving."

"There's nothing here! We need to find Lilith."

"I don't care about Lilith, Sam!" A pause and the faint sound of what might have been a sigh. "Look, man. I'm tired. I'm tired of all this death. Seeing it. Fighting it and fuck it all, watching it come for me." He laughs then, a short, heartbreaking sound, and I can almost imagine the expression that went with it. "For both of us." He stops talking, and I wonder for a moment if he plans to continue. "I need a break. I almost … I almost really hurt that guy."

A pause, like he's searching for the right words, then Sam says, "We've done worse, when we had to."

"He was an idiot, not a monster. And I almost -"

"But you didn't."

The next words are sharp and too sure to be comfortable. "I would have."

"Dean …"

"If you hadn't been there," and then, that pain-filled laugh again. My chest tightens. "Please, Sam, let's just stay. A little longer. The girl went missing just a block or two away. There's a hunt here, I know it."

It's been a couple of minutes that I've been standing here, stupidly, head-cocked to hear what they're saying. There's no denying now, that I've been eavesdropping and I've gone from feeling guilty, to really nervous. Death and missing girls? Who are these guys?

Noise, then. Something being set down. A chair scooting across tile and I hear the sigh this time. "Okay, Dean." Dimples … Sam must have sat down, because I hear the chair again and after a moment he says, "Let me get some research done on this. Get us some beer?" another beat and then, more quietly, "Are you all right?"

Keys jangle and I hear green-eyes say, "Yeah," but it sounds tight, forced, and then, "Want anything else from the store?"

"Yeah. Grab some pretzels or carrot sticks, would you?"

"Chips it is."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

After that bewildering exchange, the door is opening and I should have noticed that, hello, he'd be coming out soon, but I didn't. And now there's absolutely no where for me to go.