nekare

No, this is not the SPN fic I've been talking about, but rather a short idea I just had to get out of my head. I like it, in all. I cheated in two of the drabbles, because they just couldn't fit in any other way. So sorry.

Title: Color Me Jaded
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/OFM
Author Notes: A 7 drabbles series, Dean and Sam from a stranger's perspective. No spoilers.

She’s bored, as bored as one can get in a bar in the middle of fucking nowhere, cleaning glasses and bending too low over the counter so the custumers will keep coming and studying lines in the back of the bar, sitting on an empty, upside down bucket, dreaming of Hollywood. Her tips are lousy, nothing but crumpled one dollar bills, but she really needs the money, and there’s nothing else to do around here anyway.

She’s deadly, frighteningly bored, and then two brothers enter the bar and nothing is normal ever again.

She somewhat regrets ever wishing for exciting.

---

The older one, the one with the attitude, is charming as sin, lop-sided grins and low voice. She smiles too, because she’s tired of this shithole and this stranger might only want to get into her pants, but she’ll let him just because he’s something new, interesting.

His name is Dean, no last name. His brother sits in the corner of the room, hunched up and silent. When she asks Dean about him, he just snorts, and tells her not to worry about moody princess over there. He plays with her hair, talking nonsense, and she forgets all about it.

---

They fuck against one of the brick walls in the back of the bar, her back getting scraped raw, and she can almost imagine the texture of the bricks getting tattooed into her skin, the pigment entering through her pores. He kisses her behind the ear, and she can feel he knows what he’s doing in the way his hand slithers between them as he enters her.

It’s fast and dirty and good, with none of that small talk crap, and she doesn’t mind, not really, when he sucks her fingers into his mouth.

It’s more exciting like this, anyway.

---

Afterwards, he sets her down on the ground, and leads her inside, in silence. He kisses her, lazily, just before going in again, and turns his back on her to return to the corner in which his brother seems to be counting the tiles on the floor out of boredom.

She watches them, afterwards, sees the way Dean seems to be much more in peace with the world than when he entered the bar, the way he’s joking with his brother instead of looking one step away from murdering him slowly.

She should feel used, but she doesn’t, not really.

---

If anything, she gets one hell of a tip. Half of it came from his brother’s pocket, but a tip’s a tip.

Dean glances her way just before he closes the door, gives her a blinding grin. She watches him through the dirty windows, fighting like children with his brother to get the driver’s seat.

Then they’re gone and it’s not as if she’s that young to wish Dean would come back just for her. Life’s life and life’s a motherfucker, so she smiles at the next custumer, bends low over the bar, and goes on as if nothing had happened.

---

The next time she sees Dean, he’s burning the remains of her zombie ex-boyfriend, a look of determination on his face, and amidst the confusion and fear and the adrenaline that still won’t leave her body, she vaguely registers the way this man – hands still bloody and watching his injured brother from the corner of his eyes - can be a complete different person than the man that fucked her with such an easy grin, such a confident swagger.

He doesn’t touch her again, even while she’s sobbing as the last of the ashes gets blown away with the wind.

---

He doesn’t say goodbye.

Not in so many words, anyway.

His brother pats her in the shoulder, wishes her good luck with an open, earnest look on his face, and gets into their car silently.

Dean stands in front of her, hands on his pockets and looking definitely awkward, and it’s stupid, because it isn’t as if she hadn’t known that he had never planed to see her again after that single fuck.

He says she should get a better taste in men, and she’s feeling enough like herself again to ask him if that concerns him as well.

He laughs, shakes his head, and climbs into the car as well, never to return.

Sometimes, she remembers him. Sometimes, she doesn’t want to.