There wasn't anything particularly special about this bar. Its drinks were expensive, its food was suspiciously greasy (even the salad), and the ambiance was hardly the backdrop for a grand story of romance or intrigue.
It was the only bar in the small town and proudly boasted its singular atmosphere and unbeatable prices. The fact that there was no one else in town to contest their prices hadn't seemed to occur to them.
The bar's counter was the usual long wooden structure acting as a barrier between the more frequent customers and the glass shelves lined with a surprisingly wide selection of beverages. Monotonous, flickering neon signs advertised the more popular brands of beer, and for those who preferred the smoother taste of wine, a sign behind the cash register proudly proclaimed that the bar carried both red and white. Were an aficionado of the grape to ask what wines were included in their 'vast' collection, they would be met with a blank stare and a wholeheartedly serious reply of, "Well, see, we've got red and we've got white." Any further discussion of the wine list would inevitably end in the defeated customer ordering a pint of lager simply to end a conversation they found personally offensive.
The most interesting thing in the bar – unless you counted the framed photographs along the walls that showed the progression of the local high school's football team, seemingly since the sport was invented, which, shockingly, most people didn't – was the open-mic karaoke nights every weekday.
The stage that afforded the singer the illusion of fame was less than two feet high and was accessible by a stepladder (when the bartender remembered to put it out). The sound system left much to be desired, but they compensated by projecting the singer's performance onto the wall behind them with a projector whose glitchiness was matched only by the ATM machine in the far corner. The mounted televisions (which were by far the most modern things in the bar) displayed the lyrics of the song being sung, unless of course, there was a game on. Which there usually was.
Regardless of its many faults, and its beer-and-grease smell, Jeb's Bar was a nice enough place to while away the hours between work and bed for all those in town who didn't have children (and for several who did).
Melanie just couldn't quite figure out why the most powerful and feared demon in existence chose this bar, of all bars, to visit.
She hadn't been so nervous since the day of her SATs. But while the fear associated with those now-meaningless exams was unfounded, there was a very real chance she would not survive the next twenty-four hours. In fact, she might not survive the next four hours.
That knowledge didn't scare her in the way she thought it would. She was nervous, yes, but that only seemed to fuel her fierce excitement. She might die before her next birthday. This could well be her last Thursday on Earth. Her heart rate was slightly more rapid than usual, but for all intents and purposes, she simply did not care.
As long as she took him with her.
She was sitting alone at one of the small round tables near the stage, slowly nursing a virgin cocktail. There were three empty glasses adorning the whirling wooden table top, and her posture suggested that she was intoxicated. Which was, of course, the point.
Taking another pull through the coloured straw, the chilled fruity liquid clinging pleasantly to her tongue, she looked around the bar once more. It was half full of men and a few women, most of whom seemed to be engaged in some kind of silent contest as to who could wear the shortest dress and still be considered fully clothed.
There were more younger people in the bar than she had thought there would be. But then, she reasoned, in a town this size, the only other place for the young to hang out in the evenings was the bowling alley two blocks away. And considering it didn't sell alcohol, it had probably been claimed by the high school students.
It had been over two hours since Melanie had first arrived and ordered her first virgin Sex on the Beach, carefully disguised as the real thing despite the fact that there wasn't a drop of alcohol in it. She couldn't afford to cloud her mind tonight.
How Maalik knew Dean Winchester would be in this bar on this night remained a mystery to her. She had asked him several times to explain but he had always just smiled and told her to believe in him and his god. Apparently this X character had access to the demon's schedule or something.
It wasn't suspicious at all.
Despite her nagging doubts and scepticism, she had come to trust the angel over the past few months. They had worked so closely together for so long, researching and scheming every facet of their plan until it was perfect. They had finally agreed they were ready exactly one week ago. That was when Maalik had returned to the motel with the news that his prayers to X had been answered, and he knew where the Winchester demon would be, and when.
All there was left to do now was execute the plan, and then the demon.
Which was why Melanie had spent two hours preparing and optimising one of her greatest weapons: her body.
Dean Winchester was not one to deny himself the pleasures of female company, so Melanie had become the most enticing bait in the bar.
She wore a dress Maalik had produced almost from thin air one evening that must have cost over a thousand dollars. The black material was smooth and so light she almost forgot she was wearing anything. It was revealing, but still classy; alluring, but not slutty. Melanie had never been one for dresses, but even she had to admit, if she saw a woman wearing this ridiculous dress, she would break her no-dating rule and buy them a drink.
Maalik had also given her a shoebox full of makeup from a brand whose name she couldn't pronounce. She had protested – she already had makeup, after all, and she knew how to apply it to attract a man from some of the cases she'd worked. The ever-polite Maalik had resisted the urge to scoff (with obvious difficulty) and insisted that she wear what he had brought her.
She also wore a bra that seemed to defy gravity. There was so much padding laid into the carefully moulded cups that it probably would have made a good pillow if she'd been stuck. The bra, coupled with the careful design of the dress, made her unremarkable B-cup breasts look like something out of a porno.
To be honest, she kind of liked that. Or she would, if it weren't so horrendously uncomfortable.
The other major drawback of the dress was that it was too tight to conceal more than two carefully chosen weapons beneath it. As a result, she only had one small knife and a vial of holy water with her.
Several men had already approached her. Indeed, she hadn't had to pay for a cocktail since the first one. She rejected them all, allowing an icy fire to slip into her gaze when they didn't take a simple 'no' for an answer.
She ignored the jealous scowls and the many eyes ogling her figure and took another long sip of the cocktail.
She looked up as the bar door swung open and the drink froze halfway up the straw.
It was him.
Dean Winchester.
The man she was going to kill.
She watched through her eyelashes as he strode confidently over to the counter, banging a hand on the wooden surface as he ordered a drink. He looked around the bar, eying the nearby women without even trying to be subtle.
He wore dark clothes: a deep grey-blue shirt, a black jacket and jeans. Melanie wondered if he chose those clothes to match his eyes. They were human eyes now, though she couldn't quite make out the colour from here. She knew they were green, though. A bright, striking green.
She knew every inch of his face. She had memorized every mug shot, every video, every available picture she had found of Dean Winchester. The stubble had grown into a beard that suited him, and the hair was longer than in most of the photos she had seen, almost shaggy as it fell over his forehead.
Her heart beat faster as she watched him take his beer from the bartender and take a long pull of the golden liquid.
She'd found him. At last.
Rage was coursing through with such intensity her knuckles had turned milky-white. She looked down into her glass, forcing her emotions under control. She would not allow anger to ruin the best chance she'd have of finally killing the creature she had hunted for so many months.
Taking deep, calming breaths, she slowed her heart rate and focused her thoughts. She knew the plan. Now that he was here, it was time to put it into action.
She looked back up at him. A third of the beer was already gone, and he was leaning against the counter between two empty stools, surveying the area. He looked like a big cat casually spying out its next meal.
He drank more of his beer, which gave Melanie enough time to realise the First Blade was not on his person. It was possible it was concealed in the small of his back, but she hadn't seen the tell-tale bump when he leaned over to take his drink from the chubby bartender. His jeans were too tight fitting for it to be hidden in an ankle holster, and she couldn't think were else it could be stashed. No normal ways, anyway, she allowed. There must be some portable, multi-dimensional demon cubby-hole floating around him or something because Maalik had been resolutely certain, and Melanie agreed, that someone – or more accurately, something – with as powerful an asset as the first murder weapon at their disposal was unlikely to let it out of their sight. Unless, of course, they were either invincible or incredibly stupid.
Dean Winchester was many things, but he was not stupid.
And Melanie Harker knew he wasn't invincible. The question was whether or not he knew that.
Downing the last of the pint, Dean said something to the bartender, who nodded and gestured toward the stage. Dean smiled and sauntered over, pausing to select a song on the karaoke machine that sat patiently beside the stage. His back was to Melanie as he keyed in the track code, and she felt a burst of relief and gratitude for choosing the least noticeable table. He would see her once he got on stage though, which would give her the few seconds she needed to complete her composure and switch into her sexy mode. That always took some doing.
She groaned quietly, one long, monotonous note that dragged itself up from the back of her throat and dribbled lifelessly down into her almost empty cocktail glass. This was going to suck. It would be worth it in the end, provided she didn't die, of course, but for now, this next phase was definitely going to be unpleasant.
She repositioned herself on the hard stool, straightening her back and not-so-subtly pushing out her cleavage. She sipped the last of the fruity drink and stirred the empty glass idly with the straw, watching Dean through thick lashes.
The demon leapt nimbly onto the stage and grabbed the microphone from its stand. His voice, even deeper than she had heard in the old videos, boomed out from the suspended speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Dean, and I'm gonna be singing one of my old favourites tonight." His mouth was quirked in a sly smile, as though at a private joke.
A few seconds later, Melanie got it. The corners of her lips pulled upward in a wry smile.
The first chords of AC/DC's "Back in Black" punched themselves into the bar, and Melanie suppressed a flinch at the volume. She looked up and noticed for the first time that she was sitting directly under one of the black speakers. Great.
Her head started bobbing along with the rhythm of the song. AC/DC was one of the few bands she couldn't resist loving, and this song had a beat that could not be ignored.
"Back in black!
"I hit the sack,
"I been too long,
"I'm glad to be back –"
Oh. Oh god. Melanie quickly schooled her features into a less horrified configuration. Wow. Dean Winchester really, really could not sing. He screeched the words into the microphone, his eyes screwed shut, which was lucky since the entire bar had just winced at the famous song being so expertly butchered.
"Yes I am,
"Let loose,
"From the noose,
"That's kept me hanging about!"
Oh it was so awful. So awful. His voice kept catching. The song was far too high for his register. Melanie was suddenly very grateful she didn't suffer from second-hand embarrassment. Well, any more than she was right now, anyway. She resisted the mighty urge to cringe.
"I've been looking at the sky,
"'Cause it's gettin' me high,
"Forget the hearse 'cause I'll never die!"
He opened his eyes at last and looked at what he clearly thought was his adoring crowd and not a bar full of people doggedly avoiding making eye contact with the idiot on stage. Some of them looked personally offended.
"I got nine lives,
"Cat's eyes,
"Using every one of them and runnin' wild!"
Melanie was the only one openly watching his 'performance'. His eyes met hers and a shiver ran up her spine. She let it and smiled indelicately.
It worked. He winked at her, smiling around the next phrase in the song he really should not be singing in public. But then, he was evil incarnate, so she supposed it made sense that his singing be a form of torture.
"'Cause I'm back!
"Yes, I'm back, well, I'm back,
"Yes, I'm back!
"Well, I'm back, back,
"Well, I'm back in black!
"Yes, I'm back in black!"
She spent the rest of the song stealing carefully timed glances and the man she intended to kill. He was comically focused on his desecration of one of the best rock songs ever written.
He was atrocious. People were booing. Loudly. Yet he sang on, right to the end, clearly enjoying himself.
When the last verse had wrenched itself out of his throat, he stayed on stage, ignoring the continued booing of the crowd and bobbing his head to the beat of the song until it faded into a silence that Melanie doubted had ever been so appreciated.
He tucked the mic back in its holder on the stand and, with a bow, finally skipped down from the stage. The bartender chose that moment to switch the TVs over to a football game that only had one quarter left to go. Several of the customers cheered.
Dean glanced over at Melanie as he picked up the jacket he had thrown to the floor during his performance. Melanie stood up, as gracefully as she could in the comically high black heels. She held his gaze with eyes full of promises, plucked her pashmina from the edge of the table and strode out of the bar as though the slightly sticky floorboards were a catwalk.
Once out of the bar, she shuddered in the chilly night air. The sky was heavy with dark clouds that obscured every star, but the moon's light shone through the misty screen like an idea.
There was an alley beside the bar. It was a narrow dead end between Jeb's Bar and the closed convenience store next door. Someone had bothered to draw two thick yellow lines down the dark corridor, despite the fact that no cars could fit down it. Not in one piece anyway. There was just enough room for the two dumpsters to stand sentinel near the mouth of the alley, side by side like nightclub bouncers, facing the bland exterior wall of Jeb's Bar.
Melanie waited until she heard the door swing open behind her. She looked over her shoulder with a coy smile as the demon stepped out onto the pavement. Knowing he would follow her, she slipped in beside the dumpsters, into the alley.
She turned on one foot and leant against the dirty wall of the convenience store, the dead end several feet to her right. She tucked her hands behind her, feigning shyness as her fingers searched for the brick that was just an illusion.
"Not the classiest place for a hook-up," Dean called, wandering down the narrow path at a leisurely pace. He tilted his head slightly in a small shrug as he reached her. "Not that I mind. I'm Dean."
Melanie bared her teeth, disguising the action in a smile. She just needed him another foot closer ...
"I know," she said softly, batting her eyelids. "I've been looking for you." Her fingers found the hidden alcove. She slipped her hand inside and gripped the weapon Maalik had left for her.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his smile remained unchanged. "Have you now?" His voice was a low rumble. He took another step towards her, until their faces were just inches apart. "And why is that?"
Her grin widened. There. Perfect.
Things happened very quickly then.
Maalik appeared several feet behind Dean and shouted, "Winchester!", making Dean look around and away from Melanie.
Melanie's arm twisted around with impossible speed, her hand clasped firmly around the grip of the Colt.
Dean's right hand sailed through the air near his thigh, his middle finger and thumb touching at first, then breaking away from each other as he flexed his hand. As his fingers travelled farther out and away from his hip, his hand clenched into a fist. Somehow the First Blade had materialized into being exactly where his hand was going to be so that, instead of his hand gripping only air, the bone knife was suddenly there, in his fist.
Melanie brought the gun up just as Dean turned, his eyes flicking to black, a snarl ripping itself out of his chest at the sight of the angel.
Maalik took a step back.
Dean raised the Blade.
Melanie pulled the trigger.
The crack of the hammer reverberated around and around in the enclosed space, as though a hundred guns had been fired a split-second after each other. The flash of magnesium was blinding in the dark night, and Melanie blinked as the Colt recoiled sharply in her firm grip.
The bullet sliced through the air faster than thought and burrowed into the demon's abdomen. Blood exploded from the wound and coursed down over his shirt and onto his jeans. A bright, orange light flashed beneath the flesh around the wound and Dean collapsed to the ground with a strangled gasp of pain.
Melanie panted in the sudden silence as the echoes faded. The demon was lying on his back, unconscious. Blood spread slowly over his dark clothing, staining his grey shirt in deepest red.
She'd done it. It had worked.
She stood frozen, the gun still pointed where Dean Winchester had just been, shaking slightly in her trembling hand.
Maalik stepped forward and stooped down beside Dean. He studied the slightly pinched face, satisfying himself that the demon was not currently a threat. He then reached forward and pulled the First Blade from the unconscious man's grasp.
He straightened up and looked at the still-frozen hunter.
"Well done, Miss Melanie," he purred in his deep, lilting voice. "A perfect shot."
Nodding jerkily, Melanie lowered her arm and gasped, realising only then that she had been holding her breath.
"Now," Maalik said, his eyes alight with zeal. He twirled the Blade between his long fingers as he stepped forward to tower over the young hunter. "The fun begins."