This is different, I wrote a story! Actually I wrote it a long time ago and never posted it, since I have never considered myself a writer. But I found it the other day and thought, what the heck. It’s about Dean’s reflections on Sam in a seedy bar, in a nameless town, like a hundred others they have been in. Probably fits more around the early years of their hunting together, before all the heavy stuff happened.\
Title: One Tough Macho Dude
Characters: Dean, Sam
Dean sat in the furthest corner of the smoky bar, his back against the rear wall of the shabby establishment. The booth he sat in gave him a clear view of the front and rear door as well as the entire sweep of the bar that lined one wall and most of the other tables and booths in the place. The only section not in his direct line of sight was the smaller area off of the front door where a pool table and jukebox pulled in the rowdier patrons.
He wasn’t chasing a lead, he wasn’t checking out the place as a possible venue for his hustling skills. His choice of a strategic position was merely a reflex action, something he was only half aware of doing whenever he entered any location.
In reality, all he was doing in the bar was nursing a beer and waiting for Sam to turn up before ordering some sandwiches for their dinner. It was late and they were tired from a long interstate drive. They were willing to put up with a skimpy meal as long as it was fast and they could get out of there and into a motel room as soon as possible. He scrubbed a callused palm over his face and leaned back into the old vinyl upholstery of the booth with a sigh. It was good to be out of the cutting wind outside and his stomach was making happy noises at the prospect of food.
He took a long drink of beer and then flicked his eyes to his watch. It was no more than 10 minutes ago that he had parted from Sam after they clambered stiffly from the Impala in the parking lot. Sam had headed to a small convenience store down the street while Dean went straight into the bar to find the head before ordering up two cold ones and settling into the booth. Now as he sat waiting with stomach growling, he couldn’t help frowning with annoyance. But he wasn’t sure if the annoyance was at his brother for taking so long, or at himself for feeling paranoid about Sam being out of his sight for any prolonged amount of time.
He drummed his fingers on the scarred table and fought the urge to go to the door and look down the street. With a slight scowl he leaned back again into the seat and resolutely turned his attention to checking out the crowded bar.
The customers were the usual cross section of the people that you would expect to find in a seedy bar of a tiny Midwestern town. Weather hardened older men in overalls, truck caps and flannel jackets. Young toughs full of brash laughter and loud talk, winking at the bored waitresses. There were not a lot of women in the crowd, but the few there seemed to be laughing just as loud and drinking just as hard as their male companions.
As Dean’s practiced eye wandered over the female forms in his view, he decided that the pickings were slim. Most looked a little too tough or old for his taste. Honkey tonk music blaring from the jukebox completed the picture. He idly wondered if there would be any rock selections available on the jukebox but quickly nixed the idea.
After another quick pull on the beer bottle he set it down with a resigned sigh and prepared to haul himself from the booth to find Sam. But even as he leaned forward the door swung open and Sam blew in on a gust of wind that rattled the wine glasses on their racks over the bar. Dean sank back into the shadowy corner, instantly at ease. He watched with fond amusement as Sam gave a small jerk of his shoulders as if to shake off the cold and took a look around the bar.
There was a slight lessening in the volume of talk and laughter as some of the bar patrons checked out the new arrival, mostly as flickering side glances or unobtrusive stares. Dean wondered if the same thing had happened when he arrived. It would be hard thing to catch upon entering. But the thought made him look again at Sam and try to imagine what the barflies saw when he entered. A tall broad shouldered young man, with the collar of his brown corduroy jacket turned up against the cold, shaggy brown hair ruffled by the wind and curling over his forehead and into his eyes. His high cheekbones were ruddy with the cold as he stood there, a little breathless, his curiously slanted hazel eyes searching the crowd for a familiar face. It occurred to Dean then that the lean muscular body didn’t quite match the face, especially when those hazel eyes lit up at the sight of Dean. With a soft smile Sam nodded in Dean’s direction and then took a step to the bar to try to get the bartender’s attention.
Dean continued to observe Sam thoughtfully. Sam had his unusual height of course, but there was something more that made him a commanding figure. Maybe it was those big hands. Dean knew that they could shoot a rifle, shotgun or handgun with lightning precision. Or the arms that could wield an axe or machete with deadly force. Maybe it was the sure way he moved which reflected the hard physical training that made him such a formidable opponent. Whatever the reason, Sam’s body was a commanding presence that could give most other men a pause.
And yet, though his body was tough and authoritarian, his face was young and unassuming and they didn’t match. Dean smiled to himself and gave his head a shake. “Ah little brother”, he thought, “ You’re one tough macho dude, and I still feel uneasy letting you walk down a dark street alone”
Dean kept watching Sam as he leaned on the bar and talked to the bartender. He had a stack of newspapers under one arm and he struggled to get his wallet out of his pocket with his free hand to pay for something he had ordered. Dean noticed with amusement that one of the likelier looking women had climbed onto one of the stools next to Sam and was trying to attract his attention. She was attractive in a hard-bitten kind of way. Tossing her long black hair over one shoulder, she leaned on the bar to take a sip of her drink through a long straw, all the while cutting her eyes at Sam. Sam was oblivious as he struggled to pay the bartender. Her mouth twisted unattractively for a second when she realized that her maneuvers were having no effect on the big stranger. She turned the stool toward Sam and stared at him more openly.
Sam picked up the cup of hot chocolate the bartender put on the bar for him. He balanced the cup, saucer, spoon and napkins in one large hand and prepared to move, but his determined pursuer also chose that moment to make her move. She stood on the rungs of her stool and reached across his arm to snag a napkin from a dispenser located on Sam’s other side. He quickly set the cup down to avoid spilling the hot drink on her and froze when her ample cleavage passed inches from his nose. She settled languidly back onto her stool with a knowing smirk on her face. He gave her assets a startled glance, quickly averted his eyes and muttered a soft “S’cuze me” as he lifted his cup again and made a hasty escape. Dean shoulders shook in silent laughter as he watched the scene unfold. Sam headed his way with a slightly concerned expression on his face, completely missing the huffy exit of his would be
seducer in the opposite direction.
Sam slid into the booth, took one look at Dean’s grinning face and testily said “Shut up”.