- cannot aim -
"So, it's true what the other demons say. Crowley's got a Winchester doing his dirty work for him." The demon gave him a little smirk, fingering the hem of her apron. Her eyes flashed back to blue as she ran them up and down Dean's figure.
Dean pulled a face. He hated when the demons wanted to talk. He hated it even more when they wanted to flirt. "Yeah, because you should always trust what a demon says."
She giggled, and Dean could tell that normally, the giggle, coming from that mouth, was sweet. Now it made his blood curdle. "Such little faith you have, Winchester. And here I thought you and faith were kind of in an exclusive relationship." Dean bristled.
"Yeah, well, think again."
He wasn't going to waste time pandering her. He had had enough of this graveyard and enough of everything from heaven to hell making gay angel jokes. Without waiting for her to say another word, he dropped his gun and reached for Ruby's knife, tucked safely away in his jacket pocket.
The smirk on the demon's face morphed into a scowl, her teeth bared. Dean dropped into a fighting stance. "I'd offer you a choice, but all you black-eyed bastards pick the hard way."
He pulled the knife out, and she stood her ground, waiting for him to make the first move. He leapt at her, fingers clenched tightly around the handle of the blade, but she dodged his attack, turning on him and delivering a sharp blow to the back.
Dean whirled around, ready to counter attack, but was never given the chance. Suddenly the demon was right in front of him, her hand curling around the fabric of his shirt and thrusting him backward, sending him flying - straight into the iron rails of the fence.
There was a crack as Dean's skull and the metal collided. His vision flashed black, and all he felt was a slow, hot drip down the back of his neck. Then the pain set in. It dug deeper and deeper into his skull until his whole head was throbbing to the beat of his heart. His mouth fell open and he moaned.
"Not so tough now, huh?" It was getting harder and harder to open his eyes, but he could still make out the blurred silhouette of the bartender drawing nearer. He struggled to push himself up, knowing that if he didn't act now he was dead, but it was useless. The pain in his head was like a weight dragging him into the ground.
Suddenly she was so close that he could feel her, and Dean thought, this is it. He braced himself for the blow, but it never came – not from the demon. He was unprepared for the thing that slammed into his shoulder from behind, sending him sideways onto the ground. There was a blinding flash of white and the unmistakable sound of a demon fleeing its host.
"Cas…?" he mumbled through the grass. There was no response. In the last few seconds that he was conscious, he managed to open his eyes, but all he saw was a pair of leather Ariats squatting in front of him and two gloved fingers pressing against his forehead.