In which Serafina Lockhart, legendary hunter, is on a quest for the truth of her family's murder when she collides with the Winchester brothers as they investigate a string of eerie ritualistic murders across the Midwest.
Supernatural AU - Does not...
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【─── Chapter Six 】
A Familiar Stranger
The air hung thick with a warm cocktail of sweat, smoke and beer.
Wooden beams crisscrossed the low ceiling, strung with fairy lights that cast a honey glow. The bar stretched out horizontally, stopping short of the walkway to the kitchen doors. In the back area, two pool tables stood, where a game was underway with two stout men in black leather jackets.
A motley crew perched on the stools, a lone biker nursing a beer, a group of men in suits sharing a pitcher, and a couple stealing a kiss in the corner booth near the jukebox.
The jukebox hummed with a honky-tonk classic, creating a laid-back atmosphere.
A red-haired server with prominent dimples strode out of the back kitchen, holding a tray of burgers and fries, making her way toward the couple in the corner booth.
The bar was reasonably busy, but luckily, Sam snagged a high-top table closer to the back near the pool tables before anyone else could claim it.
That left her and Dean at the bar to order drinks.
Instinctively, she located the two nearest exits of the establishment. It was an age-old skill, a constant reminder her father instilled in her.
"Know your exits and know them well. You never know when you'll need a quick escape." His words echoed in her mind like a rigorous drill sergeant.
When they made their way to the bar, Serafina rested her arm against the long counter, noting the countless elbows had worn the wood smooth.
Plumes of cigarette smoke invaded her senses. Her nostrils flared from the rancorous smell.
Even after all those years in and out of the bars, she barely tolerated cigarette smoke.
Alcohol? Yes, please!
Cancer sticks? Hard pass.
"I'll get the first round." Serafina swiftly pulled her black wallet from her back pocket before he could protest, fiddling with a wad of cash in the fold. She glanced up at Dean sweetly through thick lashes. "What are you two drinkin' on?"
Dean started to open his mouth to protest, but something in Serafina's determined gaze stopped him short. "Alright, alright," he conceded with a chuckle, "you win this round."
He jutted his thumb toward the Mexican beer the biker was nursing to his right, "We'll have a couple of Del Sol's,"
The bartender, a tall, dark-haired man with a wry smile and a chiseled jawline to match, was putting the finishing touch on a drink with a flourish of orange peels around the side, before sliding it to a customer.
