Work Text:
Jason is drunk.
Jason is drunk, and he’s in the middle of Nowhere, USA in a little bar named the same. Roy’s in the motel down the street with all their gear, having elected to forego the drowning sorrows method of dealing. Jason doesn’t blame him and rather considers that line of thinking abnormally healthy for the vigilante-antihero population. He commends the man, really.
Their last mission had gone to shit. They had raided the building, but the victims — kids — were already long dead and the perpetrators killed themselves rather than face justice — or murder, depending. It was shit.
And, so, Jason drinks.
The little bar does well for the small town it’s situated in, though Jason gets the feeling at least half the customers are locals as often as not, and they’re all made of the same type. The lighting is low, and there’s a haze in the air like a ghost of a place that used to allow smoking indoors. The floor’s sticky with something Jason would rather not look too closely at, and the booths are worn in and the wood scuffed. There’s a pool table set up in the back, and several people jockey around it, placing bets. There are other patrons scattered around, including at the bar alone a young-ish looking blonde with sharp features, heavy makeup, and denim ripped clothing and a guy with short, spiky hair and copious flannel.
He elected to ignore them all after deeming them not a threat, and signaled the bartender for a shot. It’s not his preferred drink, but it felt like a taking shots kind of night.
And now he’s drunk.
Jason’s staring holes into the clear liquid in his shot glass when he feels a presence sidle up on his left. He blinks at his glass, then turns to look at who’s intruding on his personal space.
It’s the blonde he noticed earlier.
She smiles up at him, “Heya handsome.”
Jason blinks at her. “Hi,” he responds slowly.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Is this flirting? If so, he’s pretty sure that’s his line. But he’s not interested. “Um. No thanks.”
She tilts her head at him, placing a hand on his arm. “You sure? One drink’s no harm.” The slight pressure sends pinpricks through him, and he shifts away, uncomfortable.
“Yeah, lady,” he grouses, “I ain’t interested.”
Her eyes narrow momentarily, then she does a full body pout that somehow presses her further up against Jason. She taps her fingers against his arm. “I promise I’m worth it. You and I could have a lotta fun together.”
A cheer goes up around the pool table, and Jason finds his attention drawn to it momentarily. Someone must have won a lot of money — or lost a lot of money. A shift in movement from the blonde brings his attention back to the woman that’s practically hanging off of him.
Jason smiles stiffly. With his free arm, he detaches her from him, trying not to be too rough about it. “I’m good. Not lookin’ for any fun.”
With one last look, she retreats with a flirtatious smile, eyes raking Jason up and down one last time in a way that makes him feel distinctly uneasy.
Jason turns back into the bar and downs his shot. He can barely taste it, except for the burn against the back of his throat.
The night wears away. Jason drinks, and wonders if he should call it a night once he starts feeling increasingly woozy and scatterbrained. It’s not his usual reaction to alcohol, but with how cheap the stuff he’s drinking is, he wouldn’t be surprised if his body reacted adversely.
Right when he stands, having considered the way his head’s spinning is reason enough to call it a night, he feels pressure against his arm.
He turns, and it’s the woman. She sidles closer, hooking one arm under his where he’s leaning too heavily against the bar, her hand coming up to play with the hair on the nape of his neck. Her other lays on his waist, underneath his leather jacket. He can feel the warmth through his thin tee.
His skin prickles, and an uneasy feeling churns behind his chest. “Can I— Can I help you?”
She smiles, “You okay, hon? You’re lookin’ a little rough. Tell me where you’re stayin’, lemme help you back.”
Jason blinks rapidly, trying to figure out why his brain’s telling him that’s a bad idea. He does feel bad. He definitely had too much to drink. Maybe he should let her escort him back. But— No, he shouldn’t. But why? “Lady!” he tries to protest, “Lady, I’m not… I’m not…” He shakes his head, trying to remember his train of thought.
Why’s he protesting exactly? Fuck. Fuck.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of ya, promise.” She runs her fingers through his hair, stroking him in a way he thinks is supposed to be reassuring. He just feels kinda ill.
“I’m— I can find my own way back.”
She tilts her head at him. “You sure? Without me and the bar, I’m pretty sure you’d be kissing the floor. It’s no harm, is it?”
No, he thinks dumbly. Roy’s there. Roy’s there, but something whispers against the idea. He’s not sure why, but he responds, “Thank you, but I’m good, miss. Please just—” he cuts himself off as the world tilts, vertigo hitting him full force. He stumbles into the woman.
“Come now, hon—”
And then someone shoves themself between her and him, and Jason is grabbing onto a wall of flannel for support instead of soft skin and denim.
-----
Dean watches as the kid down the bar gets progressively drunker.
Normally, he’d let kids do their shit and not think twice about it. But Dean had already been at the bar when the kid walked in. He’d noted several things at once: the kid is definitely not able to legally buy alcohol, the kid has the stance of a season soldier, the kid might have more weapons concealed on him than Dean does, and the kid has entirely too many scars on what little skin Dean can see.
So Dean decided to keep an eye on him, eating leisurely from his own food and only occasionally sipping from his beer. However, he didn’t seem to be getting into any trouble, and he brushed off the blonde who hit on him, though Dean got distracted by the loud jeers of the guys playing pool. He seems to be there just to drown his troubles. Dean still needs to make some money, and he figures that if the kid isn’t going to get up to anything, then he might as well take advantage of the pool table in the back.
With his drink in hand, he wanders over to the current game being played at the pool table. He introduces himself to the people there briefly, dumbing down his demeanour. He’s several games in, and about to go in for the kill, when he hears it.
“Lady!” the aggrieved words ring out across the bar. Dean looks over to the kid, who’s standing, but leaning heavily against the bar. Pressing up against him is the blonde from earlier. One of her arms is slipped under his arm, curling against the back of his head while the other lays deceptively on his waist. “Lady, I’m not… I’m not…” he trails off, blinking rapidly before shaking his head.
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” she says faux-concerningly, patting the back of his head. “I’ll take good care of ya, promise.”
The kid doesn’t look interested in the least. More of his weight is leaned against the bar than his feet, and the unfocused look in his eyes and the flush speaks to the highly drunk. His face is pinched in confusion and his attempts to pry the woman away are weak and brushed aside.
Dean doesn’t like the look of it.
One of the guys he’s trying to hustle says with a chuckle, “Looks like Annie’s at it again.”
Dean looks at him, “The guy doesn’t appear all too interested, if you ask me.”
The guy gives him an incredulous look, smiling greasily, “What Annie wants, Annie gets. He’ll have a good time.”
Something churns uneasily in his gut. Yeah, Dean definitely doesn’t like the sound of that. He sets the pool cue down on the table and hastily makes his way through the bar, ignoring the protests of the group behind him.
He approaches the two just as the woman – Annie – is trying to coax the kid away from the bar and out the building. Dean figures if it weren’t for the kid’s towering build, Annie would just be leading him out.
“---I’m good, miss. Please just—” the kid halters as his face pales and he sways, digging into the bar and inadvertently leaning into the blonde for support.
“Come now, hon—”
Dean steps up to the pair, shoving himself between Annie and the kid. He feels a hand grab onto his upper arm as his jostling dislodges the tenuous balance the kid’s maintaining. “Look, lady, the kid clearly isn’t interested. Back off.”
The woman frowns up at him, eyes running calculatingly over his frame. Like a switch, her face pulls upwards into a smile, and she shifts in such a way that her boobs are near-flashing him. “You can join us, if ya like. The man looks like enough fun for the both of us, and I’m nothing to laugh at.”
A threesome. The lady’s offering a threesome. Any other day, Dean might just be interested, but the kid behind him clearly has no interest of his own, and the woman’s already pissed Dean off enough that the idea of sleeping with her is a turn off.
“No thanks,” Dean says firmly.
Annie scowls, tilting her head at him. “Are you sure? Having him all to youself’s not fair.”
“Annie — It is Annie, right? — Annie, I’m not interested. The kid’s not interested, and not in the right mind to be interested. Back off.”
Her scowl deepens, and the glare she gives him is smouldering.
Dean glares right back, and sets his stance into something more appropriate for vampires and werewolves than a small, human woman.
“Fine,” she hisses, straightening her spine and flicking her long, golden hair over one shoulder. “Have it your way. Might want to get outta here before you overstay your welcome, though.”
Dean sets his jaw, looking around the bar. The whole place is very obviously not watching the standoff directly and the guys he was hustling earlier are all sizing him up. He has no wish to get into a bar fight, not with the incapacitated kid behind him, though the idea sizzles in his blood eagerly. He tampers the thought down, and makes a face that’s more warning than smile.
“Fine,” he replies shortly. He turns before he can see Annie’s reaction, stabilizing the kid with one hand on his elbow when he sways dangerously. Up close, he can see they’re the same height, though the kid’s broader and has a good fifty pounds on him in muscle mass alone.
“Hey, kid, you alright?”
The kid blinks at him, and it’s clear that the words are slow to comprehend. Dean wonders for more than a moment if alcohol is all the kid has in his system.
“‘M fine,” he says after a beat, “Could’a handled that myself.”
Dean snorts. “Sure. You can barely stand.”
The kid scowls at him, but doesn’t deny it. He can’t, not with the way half his weight is now being supported by Dean alone. The kid’s heavy.
He shuffles, moving so that the grip he has on him is more comfortable. “I’m Dean, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Jason,” the kid responds immediately, before frowning, “Fuck. I wasn’ supp’s’d to tell you that.” He fumbled for his wallet to pay off his bar tab. He places down a wad of cash that’ll more than cover both their bills, and Dean lets him.
“Alright, Jason,” he replies, ignoring the bit about not telling him his name, “how about I get you back to where you’re staying? We ain't exactly welcome here anymore. There’s no nothing behind it, just trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
Jason’s eyes narrow on him. Dean feels entirely too analyzed for it to be by a punk kid who couldn’t fend off a woman five minutes ago. He must pass some kind of test, because the kid says, “...The motel jus’ down the street. Holin’ up there after our last job.”
The same place Dean’s staying. “Our?” he asks, moving so that one of the kid’s arms is draped over his shoulders and he can wrap an arm around his waist and get a grip on Jason's side.
“Mm,” Jason agrees, walking at Dean’s prompting, “Roy. Roy’s nice. Doesn’ much like bars, though. Last job didn’t… didn’t…” He shakes his head as they exit the bar, the cool night’s air refreshing after the sticky warmth of the bar. “Fuck.”
Dean grunts agreeably. Losing your train of thought isn’t an alcohol thing, it’s a drugged thing. That monstrous bitch. He wants to turn around and give her a piece of his goddamn mind, but he has more pressing matters.
He starts leading them down the streets towards the motel. It really isn’t that far away, which was the whole reason Dean chose this bar in the first place. “Okay. Okay, damn. Which room you staying at?”
Jason’s face pinches. “Eleven.” He frowns. “No, thirteen. Fuck. Thirty-one? Roy’ll know.”
Dean sighs and runs a hand down the front of his face. “Alright. I’m taking you back to mine since you can’t remember. You cool with that?”
Dean really hopes the kid agrees because he’s going to be dragging Jason back there either way. There’s no chance he’s leaving him out here to fend for himself.
“I— Sure,” Jason responds. Mumbling, he says, “Not like you can take me…”
Dean raises his eyebrows. He has no doubt the kid could be absolute hell in a fight, but with the state he’s in now, Dean doubts he could successfully fight off a butterfly, let alone Dean.
They make their way down the road, and get to the motel with minimal near-faceplanting stumbling after a few minutes. He leads them along the row of doors and stops at the one he’s renting out with Sam. He fishes his key out his pocket and jiggles it in the lock, which is harder than it should be with Jason half-hanging off of him.
He does get the door open, though, and he shoves it open with his foot. “Sammie!” he calls, “Got company!”
Sam looks up from the computer he’s hunched over, frowning at the pair of them. “...Dean?”
Dean grunts, hauling Jason inside and closing the door behind him with the heel of his boot. “Town ain’t real friendly. Pretty sure the kid’s been roofied.”
Sam raises his eyebrows, clearly noting what Dean first had when the kid walked into the bar. He slips out of seat and walks over to support Jason from his other shoulder. “Damn. Do I need to call someone?”
They release him onto what’s supposed to be Dean’s bed. The kid falls onto the mattress willingly, though he catches himself with his elbows before he sprawls across it.
“Says he’s staying here in the motel with a friend. Roy. Couldn’t get a straight answer about which room they’re stayin’ in, though.” He moves across the small room to grab one of those complimentary paper-foam cups so he can fill it up with water from the bathroom’s sink.
He can practically hear Sam’s frown behind him. “I can go ask the front desk.”
Dean exits the bathroom and sets the water on the bedside table beside the bed. The kid looks increasingly worse, sweat having broken out over his brow and breathing grown harsher. His eyes flicker over Sam and Dean unseeingly.
He grimaces. “Worth a shot,” he replies with little hope.
The door clicks behind Sam as he leaves, then Dean’s alone with the kid once more. He crouches down in front of him. “Hey. Hey, kid.” He snaps in front of his face. “Jason!”
Jason blinks rapidly, eyes going in and out of focus on Dean. “Fuck,” he drags out.
Dean snorts despite himself. He grabs the water off the table, and holds it out to the kid. Haltingly, he puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder to stabilize him. “You think you can drink?”
“Think I had too much,” he mumbles, eyeing the water in Dean’s hand like it’s poison.
Dean shakes his head. “Just water. Promise.”
Jason shivers, but brings a hand up to the water heavily. He takes it, and Dean watches as he drinks it with surprising accuracy. He drinks the whole thing, then sets it against the comforter like his arm gave out on him. His gaze gets captured by the pattern on it, and he traces it with absentminded precision.
Something about the whole scene makes Dean twitch uncomfortably. Just minutes earlier, the kid was fending off his potential rapist and now he doesn’t even protest Dean's suggestions, despite the way he doesn’t look entirely pleased to be following them. Dean has the uneasy feeling that if he had left the kid alone, he would’ve eventually given in to the woman’s pestering.
He breathes out sharply, trying to dispel his anger. He doesn’t want to upset the kid. He takes the cup off the bed and puts it back on the bedside table. When he takes his arm away from Jason’s shoulder, the kid half-falls into the mattress. The only thing that keeps him up is his elbow digging into the blankets.
Dean hooks his hands under the kid’s arms and shuffles him so he’s leaning against the headrest. It takes a lot more grunting than he expected it would; the kid is practically dead weight in his arms.
They sit quietly for a moment before Jason says, “Dean? Dean, you ever hafta fight monsters?”
Dean looks at Jason sharply. The kid doesn’t look like he’s prying for Dean’s life’s secrets. He looks… lost. Confused. So it’s his own crap then.
Dean swallows, saying with entirely more weight than intended, “Yeah, kid. Every damn day.”
“Me too… Me too,” he agrees. “And you don’ always win. How d’you… How?”
“I don’t stop movin’. Can’t stop to think, or else—” He breathes out heavily, “But that ain’t good advice, kid. You’re young—” hell, Dean’s young, “---get out while you still can.”
Jason snorts but doesn’t respond. Based on the kid’s expression, he’s lost track of the conversation again.
The door bangs open a few minutes later. Dean startles and turns towards the noise. Behind him, the kid’s reaction is less subdued, but a knife has appeared in his hand from— somewhere. The fact that he has one doesn’t surprise Dean.
Sam blinks at them. There’s a redhead behind him, long hair pulled back under a trucker’s cap. He’s wearing a red tank which shows off his tattoos, and he must have about as many scars as Jason.
“You must be Roy,” Dean says, moving from where he’s crouched in front of Jason to let the man have access to his friend.
Roy nods shortly, quickly approaching the bed where Jason’s spaced out. “Jay?” he asks softly, “Hey, babe, you in there?”
The kid’s eyes rove onto the redhead, and Dean suddenly feels like quite the intruder. He turns around, facing Sam. He jerks his head to the door for them to step out.
The night’s air is just as cool as it was earlier. Sam and Dean don’t talk, and when Roy appears in the doorway a few minutes later, Jason is supported over one shoulder.
His eyes flicker between them, landing on Dean. “There’s a terrible lack of people who would do what you did. Thanks.”
Dean shifts, uncomfortable at the praise. “Ah, no thanks needed, man. I’m an ass, but not that kind of an ass.”
Roy tilts his head to the side, unperturbed by Dean shrugging it off. “Still.”
Dean nods, and Roy takes his leave. Their motel room is only a few doors down, but something tells Dean that they’ll be gone before Dean even wakes tomorrow.
The kid asked about monsters. Somehow, the encounter reassured him that he isn’t one.