Graham took another sip of his beer and smiled at the woman perched on the bar stool next to him. She was talking about her thesis or something and most of it was going completely over his head, but as long as he smiled and nodded now and then, Nora didn't seem to notice. The night had been going well. Graham had sat in a corner booth for almost an hour, nursing a beer and pretending to watch the baseball game while really watching the pretty brunette. It had taken him that long to work up the nerve to approach the beautiful woman, but now that he had, and she was actually talking to him, he was feeling pretty confident that the night might get even better.
"After I do my defense in June, I'm going to apply for this post-doc position in California" Nora said.
"Hmm, yeah, California is great" murmured Graham, idly wondering what a post-doc was.
"Yeah, if you like spray-tanned hipsters and overpriced sushi."
Graham jerked his head up, suddenly fully present. Some guy in a flannel shirt was leaning against the bar to the other side of Nora, grinning casually like they were all best friends. Graham disliked this intruder immediately; the other man was attractive, if slightly drunk, and obviously rude enough to not care that he was interrupting a private conversation. He was still mentally expostulating on the stranger's deficiencies, when he realized to his dismay that Nora was laughing at the man's comment.
"Well, I guess everywhere has its downsides, but Stanford is one of the top academic centres in the country."
"Stanford hey? My baby brother went there." The man settled onto a stool clearly not planning on leaving anytime soon. "I'm Dean by the way."
"Nora" Nora replied, and Graham wondered how he could tell this Dean guy to get lost without seeming like a territorial ass.
"Umm, Nora and I were actually talking, so . . ." Graham attempted lamely.
"Yeah, I could see you were talking, but now we're talking" the guy spoke in a low, almost threatening voice.
Now Graham had had enough. It wasn't everyday that a guy got this far with a woman like Nora and he wasn't about to let some random drunk loser ruin it for him. Buoyed on by irritation and two and a half bud lights, Graham walked around behind Nora and grabbed the other man's arm in a decidedly non-friendly way. He barely had time to realize that he'd made a mistake before he found himself pressed up against the bar with a hand around his throat as Nora gave a surprised squeak and backed away quickly. Graham struggled as hard as he could, but Dean held him down easily with one unrelenting, vice-like hand. Flailing his arms out in a panic Graham was relieved when his fingers made contact with his almost empty beer bottle. He swung it as hard as he could to smash it against his attacker's head. To Graham's dismay, the other man barely reacted at all to the blow except to squeeze his hand even tighter around his neck. As darkness began to creep in around the edges of his vision, Graham could almost have sworn that the man's eyes looked entirely black.
Dean felt someone grab him from behind, probably a bouncer, and try to pull him away from the man whose life was slowly slipping away in his hand. He ignored it. Just a moment longer and . . . yes, there it was, Dean could sense the moment the man died, his soul detaching itself from the body and floating until it could be picked up by a reaper and sent to its final destination. Only then did he turn around casually to stare down the beefy man behind him. The bouncer lurched backwards, reacting to Dean's black eyes, and Dean reached for the first blade. His hunger for destruction, now awoken, was far from sated.
Dean spun around and stabbed the bouncer through the centre of his sternum, pausing only a second to watch the man gurgle blood before pulling the blade free again. There was no point in taking his time with this kill, not when he could already see a group of men, who had previously been playing a rowdy game of pool, charging towards him, apparently intent on being heroes. The men were still a couple of feet away when Dean raised his hand in their direction, and not sure exactly how he was doing it, pushed out with his mind. The three men flew backwards through the air and slammed painfully into the wall behind them. Dean grinned to himself, it sure felt good being on the other end of that for a change.
In the moment of calm that followed, Dean heard the breathy sound of a woman whispering. His attention snapped to Nora, now crouched down on the sticky floor and trying to hide behind a vinyl booth. Her mascara was running down her face and her words were hard to make out through her sobbing, but it didn't take a genius to figure out who she was calling on the cell phone she was clutching in her shaking hands. Dean strode over to her and knocked the phone from her varnished fingers. The woman shrieked a little and tried to scramble away from him but didn't make it far enough to be out of the reach of the first blade. Dean scowled in annoyance as he looked down at the newly dead grad student. He had been thinking about reviving some of the skills he had learned from Alastair, it had been so long since he had gotten to use any of them, but now the police were most likely on their way, and he had to finish things quickly. Sighing, he turned back to the centre of the room and prepared to get to work.
Dean walked out of the bar several minutes later feeling more alive than he had in years. No more anguished moralizing, no more internal debate, he was finally at peace. As he strolled past the dilapidated sign for the Black Goat Bar towards where he'd parked Baby, Dean actually hummed to himself. The familiar notes of AC/DC the only thing breaking the silence of the cool night air.
Sam woke up gasping. He struggled to catch his breath as the bright and bloody images faded from his head. It had been a long time since he'd had one of his prophetic dreams, many years, but he still remembered what they felt like. Now, even though he could already feel the vision's after-burn forming into a migraine, he had never been so happy to have one. It had been 18 days since he had summoned Crowley and the vat of demon blood was two thirds empty, but he still hadn't been able to track down his wayward brother. Now, after weeks of scouring the news for demonic omens or grisly murders, of chasing down even the thinnest lead, he didn't have to search at all. He knew exactly where Dean was going to be.