THE LIGHTS WERE LOW AS ASH glanced around the club. Her skin prickled, sensing the impending danger. Hazel eyes skimmed through the crowd, determined. She had been inside for nearly twenty minutes, the rush of being exposed having passed. She told herself not to drop her guard. As she pushed past people, set on making her way to the bar, Ash was surprised to realize she wasn't afraid at all. She was definitely not the same girl she had been those years ago when the vampire had first victimized her. She wouldn't cry or beg for her life this time.
"Whiskey." Ash addressed the bartender when she finally reached her destination. She didn't return the bartender's smile, opting to glance over her shoulder quickly. She couldn't explain how, but she was certain that the vampire was here. It was like she could feel it.
"Here you go, doll." The bartender slid the glass across the counter top. If she hadn't been preoccupied by her nerves, she would have been unsettled by the way he was looking at her.
"Thanks." Ash caught the drink. She usually didn't prefer whiskey, but she had the taste stuck in her mouth ever since sharing that bottle with Dean so many weeks ago. It was a taste that she had acquired to remind herself of the hunter.
Brushing her hair away from her mouth, she threw back the drink. She puckered her lips at the taste, allowing the sensation warm her body. She shivered into Wyatt's jacket, comforted by the smell of him that clung to the leather. Her nerves were slowly disappearing. Maybe it was the alcohol in her system or maybe her adrenaline had finally been regulated.
"You looking for someone?" The bartender questioned, noticing the way Ash's eyes never seemed to settle. "You're gonna have a hell of a time finding them in this place tonight."
The club was packed, and the flickering lights made it nearly impossible to make out anyone's face. The atmosphere certainly matched Ash's mood: bleak and sinister. No wonder this was where the vampire came to abduct girls. Under the lights and music, everything was a distraction. No one would notice a kidnapping.
"I don't think I have to find anyone." Ash replied absently. Her fingers slipped into the pocket of her jacket, reassuring herself that she wasn't completely defenseless. She had the vial of dead man's blood Sam gave her.
"What do you mean?" The bartender asked.
"He's going to find me." She knew it to be true. There was no explaining how she knew it; she just did.
"He's a lucky guy," The bartender said with a half smile. He refilled her glass kindly, a satisfied expression smoothing over his plain features as Ash laughed at his comment.
"You think so?" She questioned, finally looking at the bartender with her full attention. She raised her glass to her lips, watching him from behind the drink. A uncharacteristic laziness slowed her movements. His eyes followed her mouth, his own lips pulled into a thin smile.
"Of course," He said, drawing a little closer. "Why wouldn't he be?"
Ash frowned. That feeling of calm and slowness had suddenly become overwhelmingly strong. As her small frame being to sway slightly, she put her pale hands on the bar top, bracing herself.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This was not the effect of alcohol. She was well versed in the world of drinking. Two whiskeys should not have caused this effect on her. This was something else. Something she had been too occupied to see.
Ash blinked twice, strands of her light hair dangling in front of her eyes.
"I mean, any guy here that gets to leave with you would be lucky." The bartender continued unbothered.
Fighting the strangest feeling that she was slipping, Ash's face burned as she raised her eyes to the man. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. "You drugged me?"
He bartender didn't feign to be startled. "Sorry, doll. I don't ask questions. Just do what I'm paid to do."
Of fucking course. Ash knew this was her own fault, yet she couldn't help but feel that using such trivial means as drugs was unfair. The thought had never even crossed her mind.
Ash reached into her pocket, taking a blind step away from the bar. She pulled her phone out from within the leather jacket, just as the edges of her vision began to become blurry. Her fingers trembled and moved uncoordinatedly as she tried to dial Dean, but it was like they belonged to someone else.
She continued backing away from the bar, trying to get away from the asshole from behind the counter. Everything was slipping. She was slipping. As she bumped into a dark figure from behind, her legs turned to liquid. Before her knees could hit the ground, an arm hooked around her waist.
"Let go..." Her attempts to wriggle free of the arms of this new man were futile. His arms were steel. Strong and cold as steel.
She craned her neck. The edges of her vision were cloudy, but she recognized the face immediately, even through the fog. Even as her muscles turned to ash and she collapsed backward into the arms circling her waist, against an equally solid chest, she became rigid with panic and fear. It was him. Him.
Her body failing from the drug, Ash rest limp against the vampire. He held her tight and gently, as if she were a china doll. She heard him speaking into her hair, his voice sounding the same as it had all those years ago. His words made no sense to her. She was too focused on trying to grab someone's attention. But she knew it was hopeless. Everyone in the club was either intoxicated themselves or too absorbed in their own activities to notice as Ash was half led, half dragged from the bar. She looked simply like a girl that had too much to drink.
Dean. Ash thought vainly. This was her fault. It was her dumb idea and she had been so stupid to assume that she would be able to handle herself in the midst of this danger, danger so much greater than herself. Defeated by a drink. A fucking drink.
The iron grip holding her too tight as she slips from consciousness, Dean's name on her mouth.
***
"I'm going in." Dean gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the steering wheel for a moment before he clambered out of the Impala.
"Are you sure?" Sam followed suit. "If we go in there, guns blazing, it's over. Maybe we should give her more time-"
"Fuck that, Sammy." Dean said, already walking towards the entrance of the club. He shook of his brother's half hearted attention to stop him.
Obviously Sam didn't understand. Okay, that was probably unfair to say. Dean knew Sam to be the most level headed, caring person, but even suggesting that they wait one more second to go after Ash made the older man doubt his brother's competence. Of course Sam understood. He knew the danger, he knew that Ash was not qualified for this type of trap, if for any. No, Dean figured Sam had comprehension of all of the logistics. But Sam didn't know how it felt.
A foot from the entrance to the club, Dean tried calling Ash again. He didn't like the feeling he got when she didn't answer. She was his responsibility; if anything happened to her, it would be his fault.
"Come on." He muttered impatiently to himself as the phone rang. Hand on the gun inside his jacket, he kicked open the door and walked in. It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust; he was used to the darkness. Foggy lights and syncopated music thrumming through the space like electricity, Dean felt a peculiar sense of anxiety. Every face was a blur, every body looked the same. For a moment, he was lost. And sure that finding Ash in here would be impossible.
"No, no, no..." Dean muttered under his breath as he looked around, bordering on frantic. I should have stopped her. We used her as bait and now she's probably-
He stopped himself before he considered the worst. His eyes skimmed helplessly, his grip tightening on the gun concealed inside his jacket as the knot inside his gut wound tighter and tighter. Just a glimpse of short, light hair or that damned short dress she was wearing would be enough. Anything that assured Dean that he hadn't let Ash walk into a trap- that he hadn't broken his promise to keep her safe.
Breaking a promise is nothing you haven't done before, he thought bitterly. How many people had he failed to save? Every single time it weighed on him, but this was different. This was a separate form of torture altogether.
"Hey." Dean came to the bar, snapping at the bartender with a no-nonsense voice that rendered the woman opposite him speechless. This bartender was tall and had a pretty face, one that could have gotten Dean into a whole lot of trouble under different circumstances. "Have you seen a girl here tonight? Short blond hair, skinny, wearing a black dress, pearl necklace?" Dean knew it was far fetched; he wished he had a picture of Ash. Even though he couldn't describe her articulately, he was picturing her clear as day in his mind.
The woman frowned, stunned by the urgency in Dean's voice. Clearly she wasn't used to being approached like that.
"I can't be sure." She smiled shyly, an expression that would have been endearing if Dean wasn't so hellbent on finding Ash. "A lot of pretty girls come around here."
"Think harder, then." Dean pressed. "Short black dress, black motorcycle jacket."
The bartender's smile faltered.
"Have. You. Seen. Her." Dean repeated.
"M-maybe." The female bartender stuttered. "I think so." She gripped the counter. "I wasn't really paying attention, but I think I remember a girl sitting alone at the end of the bar. Drank until she couldn't stand."
Dean blinked in surprise. Could they be talking about the same girl? He doubted they were.
"I usually stop serving after four drinks but Tom doesn't care-"
"Tom?" Dean cut her off.
The woman nodded, dark hair flooding around her face. "He works the bar with me." She looked around, down the length of the bar. It was clear she expected him to be behind the bar top, but she was alone. "He was just here. He must have gone to take a smoke."
"This girl," Dean continued. "You said she drank until she couldn't stand. If she really was that drunk, where did she go?" Dread settled inside Dean.
"She left with some guy." The bartender said. "Looked like her boyfriend, or maybe some guy she was just hooking up with.
Great. Fucking great.
Dean stormed away from the bar top, feeling equally like murdering someone and like throwing himself in front of a speeding car. How in the world had he created this mess for himself?
The vampire had Ash. It was the truth. It was his fault and her fault but mostly his. And there was just one thing for him to do to that feeling out of his gut.