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Rocky"s was busy all hours of the day and night, because - well, because there weren"t any rules, really. Time was variable, if it even existed at all; it moved differently around there, blah blah, it made Dean"s head hurt to think about it for too long. So he didn"t. He set his own schedule for his corner of the afterlife, and it included regular days and nights, a 24-hour bar, and a clientele that varied from day to day. Mostly hunters, and people he vaguely recognized as related to him because the shapes of their faces were the same as Mom"s, or Sam"s, or John"s.
Once in a while, though, they got a wanderer.
Dean knew the minute he walked through the door that they had a stray that day. The volume of chatter was low, the jukebox oddly muted. He nodded to Benny at the bar, and Benny tilted his head in the direction of the corner table. "Wouldn"t take a bottle or a glass, that one," Benny said. "Wanted a tankard."
"A what now?" Dean said, squinting, while he rifled back over a lifetime of nights spent in bars way seedier than his own joint for some reference. He came up with Game of Thrones, because of course he did; too many hours spent falling asleep on Sam"s bed in the bunker, waiting for ice zombies and beheadings to show up in between all the boring-ass politics Sam loved about that show.
"Best I could do," Benny said, pulling a beer mug off the shelf and holding it up.
"Huh." Dean bladed his body toward the corner and leaned an elbow on the bar. From there he could see the top of the stranger"s head where it was bent over his drink, and his hands curled around the mug; silver rings on his hands. Tall boots under the table.
"Feels as if I ought to know him," Benny said, gazing at their customer. "Like knows like."
"Vampire?"
"Pirate."
Dean raised an eyebrow at that, because for sure they didn"t get folks from the distant past - well, his distant past; Benny"s was another issue - often. Or ever, really; Dean"s space in the afterlife tended to contain only the familiar. The man wasn"t causing any trouble. He was sitting still, keeping to himself. But there was something in the set of his shoulders, in the way his feet were planted on the ground, as if ready to push up and strike out at any moment...
So Dean leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle, and two shot glasses, and made his way over to their guest. "Mind if I join you?"
"Fuck off," the man snarled, and lifted his head to fix Dean with the kind of stare that probably made people shit themselves on a regular basis. Dean, though...he"d seen that stare. He"d killed the things that tried it; he had seen it in his own mirror, once upon a time.
He set the bottle and glasses down with a clink, pulled out the second chair, and took a seat, posture open, hands visible. Piercing ocean-green eyes tracked his every movement, so Dean took it slow. Not like there was any real danger, but it felt enough like there could be to make Dean interested - zeroed in on the threat like he used to be, that feeling of finding a case and anticipating the degree of adrenaline it could produce.
Two shots, a little messy; he pushed one of the whiskeys over to the stranger. "This is my place," he said, by way of introduction. "Seems polite to accept a drink."
In answer the man picked up the shot, downed it, and slammed the glass back down. "Accepted. Now fuck off."
Dean laughed, which made the man scowl, and the lines of his body turned rigid. Dean held up one hand in appeasement, and tossed back his whiskey with the other. It approximated a Macallan 30, though there was no telling what the other man tasted when he tried it. Heaven could be tricky that way.
He poured another for himself, and wagged the bottle at the stranger, who only watched, not agreeing. He poured the stranger a shot anyway. Why not. It was free.
"How"d you find our little joint?"
The stranger sat back in the chair. Anyone else might have mistaken him as slouching, but Dean could see two pistols, a long dagger, and a sword stuffed into his belt, and all the man had done by leaning back was increase his ease of access to them. "It was here," the man said, his lip curled over a nasty smile. "I walked through the doors. I mistook it for a place where a man could have a drink in peace."
Dean nodded, and met the man"s eyes. "You don"t seem the peaceable type, mister. And whatever kind of trouble you came in here looking for, you"re not gonna stir it up in my roadhouse."
The man sighed, sniffed, and looked casually over at Benny, who was wiping down the bar. Dean knew damn well Benny was ready to hop over that bar at the first hint of trouble. There was no place in the universe totally free of trouble, and --- well, they both liked it that way just fine. Usually. When they knew what brand of trouble they were in for, at least. It made Heaven a little more bearable.
"Fair enough," said the stranger. His shoulders relaxed, and he turned his gaze back to Dean. "Your place, you say?"
"Yeah." Dean extended his hand, exactly halfway over the table. "Dean Winchester."
The man took it; his grip was firm, just this side of unpleasantly strong. "Captain James Flint."
"Gotta say," Dean said, tightening his own grip, "wondering what brings you over this way."
Flint released his hand abruptly and his eyes lost their sharp focus for a second. "I"m not entirely certain," he answered. "When I arrived here, I was...let"s just say I was a bit surprised to have made it here at all. Ever since, I"ve been waiting for others to arrive, wondering if they have made it." He scoffed a little. "If I can fit my past misdeeds through the doors, certainly they could widen the gates for the rest of them."
Dean chuckled. "I can relate. I"ve literally been to hell, man. This beats the alternative."
"No doubt that"s a tale worth telling." Flint smiled the barest ghost of a smile, but it faded immediately. "Some arrived on the beach nearly as soon as I did, but - there"s one I"ve been waiting for, and I don"t understand what"s keeping him."
"No chance he"s...?" Dean pointed down and made a face.
"Absolutely none. Certainly not in his case." Flint frowned. "This all feels too familiar."
"How so?"
"The waiting. The not knowing. The interminable separation." Flint looked away. "Have you ever wanted something - someone - so much that you just - no place can be home, and nothing can be right, without them?"
Dean thought, Sam; folding his brother into his arms at the end of a long drive, on a peaceful bridge, and the way Sam"s tight hug had been like coming home - like feeling settled at last. He thought, Cas; the first, overwhelming flutter of a thousand wings, blinding crimson in sunshine, and seeing Castiel"s true form as he dropped shyly into a meadow to face Dean for the first time since the Empty stole his life.
He nodded, his throat tight.
Flint nodded in return. "I can"t bear the waiting. Not again." He reached for the bottle and poured another tall, sloppy shot.
"Then find something to do." Dean knew that wasn"t obvious to everyone, because he had practical experience. He"d had to prod Sam into killing time reading old books in a perfect replica of the Bunker, while waiting for his namesake nephew to show up. He was aware it made no sense, and no matter how many times Cas told him in small words how the physics worked, it never sunk in. (He asked often anyway, because he liked watching Cas"s illusory forehead furrow in concentration as he attempted new varieties of explaining Non-Linear Constructs of Time For Human Dummies, Specifically Dean Winchester.)
"Don"t you think I"ve tried? But there"s no challenge in it," Flint said, disgusted.
"I get that," Dean said. If it weren"t for random bar fights among the denizens of the roadhouse, and hunting down the occasional rogue angel for Jack, he surely would have lost his cosmic mind centuries (minutes?) ago, waiting for a fight with real stakes that would never come. "Think bigger, then. You can make it what you need it to be, until whoever you"re waiting for climbs the ladder." He gestured around the roadhouse. "We make our own rules here, now."
"That has taken some getting used to," Flint said. "I"m still not sure whether I"d rather be back where I was, farming all day and fucking all night. It was a pleasant enough day to relive."
"If that"s your thing," Dean said, shrugging. "Guy like you should see the possibilities, though."
"Seeing them and reaching them are two distinctly different things. But I take your point."
A momentary flare of pride sparked through Dean, and he thanked Jack and Cas, silently. "So why are you in my bar, then? Given the possibilities."
"Because it could be dangerous, flouting the rules of Heaven," Flint said. "A wise man told me long ago that when my passions are aroused, good sense escapes me."
"Good sense is way, way overrated, and I know what I"m talkin" about," Dean said. "And it"s not like they"re going to toss you out of here for breaking a few rules." He hoped. At least, he was pretty sure. And not just because the boss was his kid.
Flint gave him a measured look, the kind that instantly reminded Dean of Crowley"s more calculating moments back in the day, and then he smiled. Slowly. It shimmered up to the surface like a shark coming up for prey. "What is there to lose, really?" he asked. "Whether here, or elsewhere, I"ll still be waiting."
"That"s the spirit." Dean slammed his palm down on the table. "Go get "em."
They had another shot for luck, and then Flint hit the road, a new kind of gleam in his eye. When the door closed behind their guest, Benny put his bar rag in the sink and said, "Think you might have unleashed a monster there, brother?"
"Nah, it"ll be fine." Dean smiled confidently. "Trust me, some folks just need a reminder that this isn"t like life. They can make it all happen here."
"Don"t you think you should get to know someone just a little better before you send them out to do...whatever that man"s going to do?"
Dean made a scoffing noise. "How much trouble could he really cause? It"s Heaven!"
*
It was a week, or ten years, somewhere between the two, the next time Flint strode into the roadhouse - dripping wet, soaked head to toe. Even his boots were leaking. Dean raised an eyebrow as Flint stalked up to the bar and growled at Claire, "Rum. Two tankards."
"You leave your manners at the bottom of the ocean, too?" Claire answered, with a look Dean was oh-so-familiar with, and Flint sighed.
"My apologies."
Claire gave him a slow once-over as she pulled the mugs up from the shelf. It would have made a lesser man cower. Dean was so proud, though he was careful not to show it, lest she punch him in the face.
Sam paused in his counting change with Dean at the jukebox; he elbowed Dean and said in a stage whisper, "Is that the pirate?"
"Shh," Dean stage whispered back, though Flint appeared not to notice.
The front door banged open, and another drenched man appeared in the doorway - shorter, with long wet curls and an honest-to-god pegleg, plus a cutlass on his belt; Dean attempted not to stare, and totally failed, as the one-legged man made his way over to Flint and took the mug Flint pushed over to him. Then they both drank, in total silence, until the shorter man said,
"All right. I"d like you to consider, just for a moment, that your approach was flawed. Just-" The man threw up a hand, pre-empting whatever Flint had been about to say. "Consider it!"
"It was an excellent plan, well-conceived and executed." Flint scowled at his friend. "You love to criticize, but I didn"t hear you calling it off."
"I would have, if I"d thought you would listen. And it"s not like Billy didn"t try to-"
"Billy wanted me to wait until the music was finished. Do you honestly think I was going to hold the start of a battle until the captain was finished with his little concert?"
"Well clearly not, since I saw that violin go floating by with the cello after you rammed the ship." The short man drained his tanker in one long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What about the longboat, then? What was that all about?"
"Vikings," Flint said, a tinge of disgust in his voice. "No one even invited them!"
"No one in-" The short man broke off incredulously, and Dean and Sam leaned forward in unison. "You made a point of inviting everyone! All comers! The fabled Cap"n Flint and his stalwart companion, Mr. Silver, challenge one and all to-"
"Not the Vikings," Flint said stubbornly. Meanwhile, Sam had dropped the coin box and was staring with his mouth open, and oh yeah, Dean could see a fangirl moment coming on, though damned if he had any idea what there was to be excited over with two surly pirates dripping sea water on his pristine wooden floor.
"You took a little too much pleasure in opening fire with all guns on the Renown."
"Have you met me?" Flint said incredulously. "Do you not remember the entirety of my reason for-"
"When are you going to let that go?" Silver shouted. "It was centuries ago now!"
"Never," Flint hissed.
At that moment, Castiel appeared in the center of the bar - a flurry of lightning and crimson-silver-black wings; it always blew Dean"s mind to see him in his true form, even for a moment, before he resolved into the form Dean and Sam knew and loved best. He nodded to Dean and Sam before rounding on Flint. "You," he said, in a voice that shook the roadhouse. "Come with me."
Flint smiled a lazy smile and his hand moved to his belt; Silver backed up a couple paces. Cas immediately began to glow silver-blue, and oh, no.
"Hold it, hold it," Dean said, because it seemed good to intervene before Castiel accidentally took the bar down to its foundations with all that attractive and frankly terrifying Holy Wrath. He moved quickly to stand between Flint and Cas. "What"s, um, what"s the trouble?"
"This man," Cas said, stabbing a finger toward Flint, "has wrecked at least six distinct areas of Heaven and cut a swath through otherwise peaceful dominions, just for his own amusement."
"To be fair," Silver said, "it amused much of the rest of the crew as well."
"Not helping," Dean said nervously, when Castiel"s blue aura intensified.
"Don"t think I don"t know you put him up to this," Cas said, not looking at Dean, though his voice shivered over Dean"s imaginary skin and up his non-existent spine.
"He was bored?" Dean tried.
"That"s no excuse," Cas said. "And frankly, Flint, if you hadn"t been so determinedly wreaking havoc that I"ve spent far too much time repairing, you would have realized that he"s arrived."
Flint dropped his hand from his pistol and pushed away from the bar, swaying. "Thomas," he said, in a voice filled with hope and ashes.
Silver grinned and put a hand on Flint"s forearm, squeezing. "Looks like you managed to shove everything into alignment, old friend."
"Where is he?" Flint asked; his change in tone seemed to calm Castiel, who was powering down.
"Waiting for you in the place you made for him," Cas said, "beside the sea."
"Can you-"
"Of course I can. But this isn"t the end of this conversation. You"ll have to atone for-"
"Please," Flint said, and now there was nothing of the fierce pirate about him; Dean swallowed and looked away, because of the naked hope on his face.
"Fine, we can discuss it later." Cas put a hand on Flint"s shoulder, and glanced back at Dean. "And I"ll be back to talk with you later as well."
"Counting on it," Dean said with a grin, which made Cas roll his eyes right before he disappeared, Flint in tow.
"Dean! Do you know who that was?" Sam was staring at him now, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder.
"Buy me a beer and tell me all about your little pirate fantasies, Sammy."
The man at the bar - Silver - gestured to Claire for a refill, and then turned coolly assessing eyes on Dean and Sam. "So you"re the proprietor?"
"I sure as hell am," Dean said. "Flint mention me?"
"Flint seems to think you"d make an excellent recruit. Well-suited to riot and havoc." Silver picked up his mug, and sipped from it while looking them over. "Perhaps we should discuss it."
Sam sputtered beside him, and Claire threw back her head and laughed, while Dean thought briefly about how great he"d look in pirate gear, with two pistols and a sword. A nice, long, sharp sword. He should bring Charlie in on this, because for sure she"d have some pointers.
Anyway - it was just another average day at Rocky"s, where everyone was welcome. No telling who might be next to wander in that door.