Witching Hour | Winchester

Eight

After wrapping up the demon case in Pennsylvania, the hunters traveled for a few days. They settled into a motel in Illinois, searching all the while for new cases.

Christmas had been discussed, and all parties agreed that the holiday would not be observed. Dean had rough memories of stealing gifts from families to give to Sam when their dad was away. Sam had memories of receiving useless and thoughtless gifts and being without his dad nearly every year. And, of course, Roxanne had memories of losing Jake and Caleb just days prior to the holiday.

Immediately following this short, heated discussion, Roxanne and Dean decided they'd visit a bar just down the street. They both needed a drink, and Dean figured he'd check out the women.

"What do you want?" Dean asks as he shoulders past a group of guys.

Roxanne glances at him as they make their way to the bar. "Whiskey."

"You're an expensive date."

"If you consider one whiskey expensive, you should really evaluate your priorities."

He scoffs. "One whiskey is expensive with you; you like the fancy stuff."

She stares at him for a moment as they sit down. "I'm a fancy lady."

He motions to the bartender, then chuckles. "Yeah, alright. Your Colt would beg to differ. Seriously, how old is that thing?"

She crosses her arms over her chest defensively. "It was my grandfather's."

He raises his eyebrows but says nothing. The two banter for a few more moments, but before Roxanne is even halfway through her drink, Dean makes his way over to a redhead across the room.

"Great," Roxanne breathes to herself.

She orders herself another round, rather enjoying the time to herself. Of course, it's never fun getting ditched. But there was something about this bar that was nice. The noise of all the patrons around her faded to the background, and it was easier for her to think clearly. She had a hard time with that usually.

Everything seemed to be so complicated. She was always analyzing everyone's motives, always trying to stay one step ahead. Because the second you fall behind is the second something gets the drop on you.

She wonders what Sam is doing right now. Maybe he's already asleep. Or maybe he's watching the old television back at their room.

What kind of shows would Sam like anyway? Was he more of a detective show man or a sitcom man? Was he a game show kind of guy? Or maybe he likes something else entirely- dramas or something.

"You sure seem to be deep in thought."

Roxanne looks to her left, seeing a man in the seat that Dean abandoned. His hair is dark and curly, and his brown eyes light up as he smiles.

"I am."

"I've been sitting here for a few minutes, and you never noticed me."

"Oh, I noticed," she frowns, sipping at her whiskey. "I just didn't comment."

A chuckle escapes his lips. His voice isn't terribly deep; it's much higher-pitched than Dean's. He rests his hands on the polished wooden bar, and Roxanne eyes his hands subtly. They're rough and calloused, and dirt is caked around his fingernails. Between that detail and the logo on his shirt, she'd say he just got off work at some manual labor kind of job.

"I'm Derek."

"Hi, Derek."

A moment passes in silence, and Derek's brow furrows. He stares at the brunette curiously, almost as if he's unsure how to proceed.