Chapter 6

They slip back into the bar after closing.

The lights are up, and the place is deserted. Empty glasses and tattered napkins litter the tables. The floors are tacky with spilled drinks.

The only sound is the soft rustle of bills as money is counted, a pause while someone licks their finger, then continues counting.

The bartender is behind the register. His eyes are on his task, and he hasn't noticed them come in.

Dean clears his throat.

Jackie, they called him. He looks up, and seems genuinely surprised to see them here. "Hello, boys," he says. He's smiling, but the expression doesn't reach his eyes, and the trepidation is evident in his voice. "You know, we're closed. I'm sure I locked the door. But if it can wait just a moment I'll be done here, then we can have a drink."

"That's not why we're here." Dean pulls the angel blade from inside his jacket, and he lets his arm hang at his side. Not yet on the offensive, but making it clear exactly why they're here.

"Huh," Jackie, the bartender, says. "You're not FBI, are you."

Dean glances at Sam. Sam's wearing the same incredulous look Dean's feeling, because it's not often something supernatural hasn't heard of them, doesn't know the Winchesters by sight.

"No, asshole. We're not the feds." Dean moves his arm, testing the weight of the blade. "We're hunters. And you made my brother fall in love with me, so now I'm looking for payback."

Jackie looks from Sam, to Dean, and back again. "Just him? Huh. Only one reason it wouldn't have affected you." He comes out from behind the bar, and he approaches them, slow, his hands raised to show his palms, to show that he's unarmed.

Except his hands are his weapons.

Sam's thinking the same thing Dean is. Dean can read it in the way he shifts, can feel the tension in him, ready to move.

"You were already in love with your brother," Jackie says. "That's twisted."

"No more twisted that what you've been doing in this town. Tell me one thing," Dean demands. "Why?"

Jackie shrugs. His hands are still exposed, and he takes another step toward them. "I was doing what I was told. I came here to do a job, but I needed a vessel. I found Jackie. He was sick. He drank more than he served. He was angry, bitter. But he let me in, and I tried to take control, but he was stronger than me."

"You telling me an old drunk did all this? Started firing random arrows around town? The guy with the horse? The altar boy?"

"He didn't like that I stopped him from drinking. He didn't like that I dragged him to church. He wasn't strong enough to cast me out, but he could channel my bow."

"People died," Dean says. "All you had to do was leave. But you stayed. You're not innocent."

The cherub takes another step toward them. "You two? That was all me. I didn't need the law hanging around, you understand? I thought if you were distracted—"

"You just pissed us off." Dean shifts his blade to the other hand, reaches for the cuffs that will hold the cherub.

That second of distraction is all the angel needs. One wave of his hand and Dean's blade, the cuffs, are jerked from his grip even as he struggles to hold on. They fly across the room and hit the furniture with a clatter of silver against steel and steel against wood.

There's a third sound as Sam loses his blade as well. They're both unarmed.

"Go," Dean barks, as the cherub rushes them, but Sam moves too late, and Dean moves too slow.

The cherub gets a hold of them both, a hand on Dean's wrist, the other on Sam's shoulder as he tries to twist away. A kind of energy, a fire, burns through Dean's veins like Jackie just gave them each a mega dose.

Dean didn't feel it before. He feels this, and as he looks at Sam all he knows is an insatiable hunger. It's a need that will only be sated once they're naked and sweaty and coming in each others arms.

They both stumble back when the cherub releases them, and Sam goes to his knees, whimpering as he reaches for Dean.

Dean can't help but take Sam into his arms, there's nothing more important—

Jackie the bartender stands over them, laughing. Dean's focus shifts as his anger takes precedent over his need for Sam only because Dean needs it if he's going to protect his brother.

In one fluid motion, Dean pulls the handgun tucked into the back of his jeans and fires. A tiny perfect circle appears in the middle of Jackie's forehead, spilling white light.

Dean drops the gun, and he reaches for Sam. They kiss, open mouthed and hungry. If you could see cupid's arrows, they'd both likely be full of them, an entire fucking quiver emptied into their bodies. Dean can feel them, his whole being screaming with need for Sam, for his brother, a need stronger than anything he's ever felt in his life.

"The body," Sam moans. He's fighting, and he's right. They gotta get it out of here, they've got to get out, or they'll end up in the cells themselves.

It takes more effort than anything Dean's had to do before, but he pulls away, and he turns his attention to the body on the floor.

There's a pair of stubby, stunted wings burned into the hardwood behind it.

They get the body into the trunk of the car, and they immediately head out of town.

It's a fucking miracle they don't crash, because Sam plasters himself to Dean. He pulls at Dean's clothes and licks and sucks and bites at any bit of bare flesh he can reach.

Finally, Sam gets Dean's jeans open and lowers his head, and Dean pulls over onto the side of the road. Road head is fucking fantastic, but there's no way they won't end up wrapped around a pole the way Dean's feeling right now.

Bear with me, guys, it'll be a few days till I can get the last chapter out, gotta write the final scene and get everything transcribed 🥰