1 | 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓- D. WINCHESTER ¹ (COMPLETED)

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 | The Calvary Or The Indians

     Deans jaw clenched, "Well, that's flattering and i'll be sure to let Sam and Allison know when they get here."

    "If they show up first. What, you thought I was flying solo? You shouldn't underestimate, Dean. It might be the death of you," Casey taunts as Deans jaw locks and he walks toward her, "You can give me  hard eyes all you want, but the fact remains, we just have to wait and see who shows up first — the cavalry or the indians."

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SAM AND BEK ARE in the bar, waiting for Dean. A prostitute stared Sam down just as Allison stared down a man in the bar. "You look tense," the prostitute says to Sam, and it pulls Allison from the intense stare down between her and the unknown man, "You know, I know a surefire way to relax."

"Maybe later." Sam tells her and moves over to the bartender. The prostitute looks over to Allison and her smirk grows wider, "How about you, hot stuff?" Allison gives an uneasy laugh and walks up to Sam.

"Hey," Sam greats the bartender.

"What can I get for you?" He asks Sam.

"Uhm, you remember the guy we was with last night? We sat right here. Uhm . . ."

"The big hero who jumped on Reggie." The bartender says and Sam nods. "Yeah. Yeah. The — the big hero. Right. Uhm, have you seen
him around at all today?"

"Maybe. Depends."

"D-depends on what?" Allison asks, glancing up at Sam. Sam realizes and scoffs, "Oh my — does everyone around here have their hand out?" Sam pulls out a twenty dollar bill and hands it over. "He left with Casey about an hour ago." The bartender says.

"Any idea where they went?" Allison questions this time. "Her place for bible study." He says.

"You got an address?" Allison asks.

"What's wrong with you?" The bartender asks.

"Maybe I need a little Jesus in my life," Allison snaps at him.

"You think i'm gonna give you a co-workers address just so you can go over there and get your freaky peeping tom rocks off?" Sam holds up another twenty and the bartender didn't hesitate to take it. "Corner of Piermont and Clinton. Have fun."

───── ◦'𖥸'◦ ─────

DEAN SETS DOWN AN object and steps on top of it, holding his phone up to try and get service. "Why don't you relax?" Casey asks him.

"Why don't you kiss my ass." Dean retorts.

"Why, Dean, you're a poet. I had no idea. Look, we won't have any effect on the outcome of this. We might as well be civil." Casey claims.

"Civil, huh? Killing Richie — that was civil? The guy was harmless." Dean says.

"That knife he pulled on me didn't look so harmless."

"A knife wouldn't hurt you."

"No, but it would damage this body. And Casey has such a fine body, I wouldn't wanna see it ripped." Dean chuckles, "A demon with a heart. Wow. Well, you know, there's a bunch of dead people in town that might disagree with you."

"Hey, I didn't pull any triggers."

"Yeah, you did something."

"You want to know what I did — what I really did? I had lunch. Me and Trotter. He had a cheeseburger, I had a salad, and I just pointed out the money that could be made with a few businesses that cater to harmless vice. So Trotter built it, and, man, did they come. Supposedly God-fearing folk, waist-deep in booze, sex, gambling. I barely lifted a finger." Casey explains.