Supernatural Short Stories

All the Wrong Men

The beer bottle felt cool against your lips as you took a sip, surveying the run-down bar. The liquid slid straight down, cooling you down from the heat of the place. The bar was packed, filled with college students, small groups of friends, and lonely singles. It was what Dean probably considered the perfect place.

"Damn, we need to remember this place," Dean exclaimed, knocking back the rest of his beer. "The beer is cheap and cold, and there's plenty of...fish to chose from."

Winking at you, he slid from the booth, leaving you and Sam to watch as he strode up to the bartender. And of course, he had to stand right next to the prettiest blonde in the entire place. "How does he do it?" You asked your best bud, Sam. setting your empty beer bottle down. "How can he love these places so much, and find the energy to pick up a woman almost every time?"

Sam just shrugged. "Beats me. I'd rather be back at the bunker."

You had to agree. Your bed at the bunker was calling your name with its memory foam topper and soft sheets. But then again, anything would be better than this smoke-filled joint with creepy guys eyeing you.

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed, dropping a beer in front of you. "While I was up there talking to Kristie, I saw this guy checking you out."

"And?" You asked, thinking here you went again. For some reason, Dean had taken it into his head that he needed to set you up with some random man. It had started a couple of weeks ago, and it was driving you crazy.

Dean clinked his beer bottle with yours. "Well, we know that Sammy here is hopeless. He'll probably head back to the hotel tonight and spend it researching a new case. Me? Kristie already gave me her room number. But why can't you have a little fun too? And that man, well he looks like he's ready to have a fun time with you."

You looked over to where Dean had gestured. Sure enough, a guy was standing off to the side of the bar, his gaze fixated on your chest. He had greasy dark hair, brushed back from his face. His flannel shirt was buttoned too low, and his jeans fit him a little too snug. Not your type at all.

"Um, no thank you," you answered, drowning the last of the beer. "Sam? Shall we go find ourselves a new case?"

Sam nodded, and just as you slid out of the booth, Dean reached over, grasping your wrist. "Y/N, this life isn't all about hunting. You need to have some fun too."

You glanced back over at the towering lumberjack who looked as if he hadn't bathed in a week. "Nope, not my kind of fun. Thanks though."

You left the bar, walking beside Sam on the short distance back to the hotel. "But seriously Y/N," he spoke up minutes later. "Just because we're hunters doesn't mean you can't find someone. Me? I agree with Dean, it could be hopeless. But you...you can have it all."

You thought about the man you had dreamed about having it all with. The hunting life right alongside the normal. Both intermixing together. It had been your dream for such a long time, but it seemed to grow smaller and smaller with each visit to another nameless bar. "Thanks, Sam. But I'm not sure it's for me either."

It was another run-down bar a week later. Another ice-cold beer in your hand, loud country music blaring from the jukebox. Dean was up at the bar, flirting with the petite little redhead sitting up there. Sam had opted to stay back at the hotel, leaving you sitting at the table, watching everyone else.

Dean turned toward's you, lifting his beer bottle when the redhead left for the bathroom. He nodded his head towards the end of the bar, where a man sat sipping a glass of wine. Dean winked your way like he was sending you some sort of secret message. And you knew exactly what it was. He was trying to set you up again. This time with a man drinking wine and wearing a salmon-colored polo and khaki pants. His blonde hair was so gelled perfectly in place that you weren't sure a hurricane would be able to move a strand. He was checking his watch every minute or so, and you shook your head at Dean. No way would you pick this guy.