You Broke Me (Supernatural FanFiction)

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Walking at a fast pace, I only had to travel a couple of blocks before coming across a small bar sitting on the corner of its street, calling to me, inviting me in.

Looking up at the worn down building, I wrestled against my gut instinct that was telling me to keep moving. To find somewhere else to drink away my betrayal and anger.

Pushing that nagging feeling aside, even as my mind screamed at me to listen to my instincts. I shoved open the door, quickly stepping into the gloomy, disheartening room and made my way to the bar running along the wall conjoined with the door.

The lonely, depressing people scattered throughout this miserable little hole in the wall, that wreaked strongly of old beer and stale cigarettes, didn't even bother looking up from their glasses to see the new comer, who came to join in with the drinking away their worries or pain.

Pulling out a bar stool at the end of the bar, closest to the door, I nodded toward the equally depressing looking, tall, skinny, greasy haired bartender as he simply lifted his chin at me in acknowledgement.

Reaching into the inside, left side pocket of my leather jacket. I rifled around for the wad of cash that Carlo, had all but shoved into the pocket, insisting that I would need it more then he would. Chuckling, gloomily to myself, I shook my head at the fact that he was right, I did need it.

The greasy bartender appeared in front of me, raising his eye brows expectantly, waiting for me to get to it and order what I wanted already. Pulling out the money, throwing out a couple of rumpled up twenties and tossing them on the counter, directly at the bartender.

"Jose Cuervo, I don't care what kind you have, just bring me the bottle and a clean shot glass." Looking up to meet the disinterested eyes of the man standing before me.

Sizing me up, the man tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. Probably trying to see whether or not he should serve me or if it was worth the hassle of arguing with me.

With a roll of his eyes, he scooped up the bills without a single word to me and headed back down the bar to retrieve my order. Thankful that the bartender decided against being an asshole tonight.

Running a shaky, irritated hand through my still somewhat wet hair as I stared down at the wooden top of the bar, trying to rein in the uncontrollable agony, betrayal and rage that was pulsating through my veins.

Biting my lower lip, running my teeth over the plump flesh. Replaying the whole conversation with Winchester over and over in my head. What did he give up in exchange for my protection? What did that have to do with him sneaking out on me all those years ago? Why do I hate and love the fact that he went to those great lengths to protect me?

The thump of the bottle being placed before me, pulled me from my thoughts. Without either of us acknowledging the other, the bartender retreated to the other end of the bar to speak with a patron he must be friends with as I unscrewed the cap from the bottle, flipped over the shot glass and poured myself a much needed drink.

Throwing back another throat burning shot, I tilted the bottle to the side and saw that I had already finished off a little over half the bottle. Licking my lips, I tried to think of how long I've been sitting here? An hour, two, maybe even three, who knows for sure?

Chuckling, I knew who would know exactly how long, Winchester. He was probably pacing around the motel room like a caged lion waiting to pounce on his unexpected prey.

Shaking my head, I poured more of the amber looking liquid into my glass. Just as I threw back the shot, I saw out of my peripheral that the door was opening and a blurry figure was stepping into the room. Blinking my eyes, setting my glass down, turning to get a better look at the new comer.