Chapter Text
Jimmy Novak, a 34-year-old man from Pontiac, Illinois, is looking dreadfully out of place. And, well, he’s feeling out of place too.
He’s been getting these migraines for almost two years, and they got exponentially worse today. His eyes are sunken in, and he feels like his heads going to explode.
So, he decided to make a pit stop on his way home. Jimmy took a detour off of I-90 and drove up North Halsted Street, spotting a lively bar with music audible from outside, and stopped. He braced himself against his car as a wave of pain shook his brain. His legs feel weak, and he swears there’s millions of whispers layered beneath the pain, almost indistinguishable from the wind. The soles of his shoes rub against the concrete as he makes his way into the bar, passing by the oval sign over the door, marked ‘aliveOne’.
A bar stool at the counter calls his name, and he slouches as he sits, ordering one beer. The music is all mildly different from other recordings he’s heard, though all of them are rock songs, so it’s not like he’s listened to them often. Maybe they’re from live shows?
The bartender hands him a cold bottle of beer. They nod to each other, and Jimmy takes a sip of it, cooling his throat as it pours down. He groans and holds the bottom of the bottle to his forehead.
Maybe it’s the cold bottle giving him some relief, or maybe it’s the song that begins playing.
You might think that the song was something soothing or calm, but no. Jimmy nearly chokes as music shakes the floorboards of the bar, a live recording of Bon Jovi yelling the lyrics from the jukebox, “SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU’RE TO BLAME!”
Honestly, Jimmy isn’t into rock, but this song especially isn’t for him right now. He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as the sound pounds against his skull.
Someone sitting a few seats away from him pushes himself up from the bar stool, looking to a younger guy beside him and smirking. These two aren’t much to think about, really, they were pretty unassuming until the first guy stood up. He’s wearing an ungodly number of layers, especially for a crowded bar, and he’s got high-energy. He’s singing along to the lyrics as the younger guy rolls his eyes, leaning away from him and laughing. He’s got longer hair that falls in his face, a darker brown than the others, and he’s slouching, letting the front of his green jacket hang open over his white t-shirt. They seem like polar opposites, but they complement each other.
It takes Jimmy a minute to realize he’s been watching them intently, subconsciously, like he was supposed to surveil them. He shakes his head, turning his attention to the beer in his hands, his migraine returning with a vengeance.
All he can hear is their conversation, “C’mon, Sammy! It’s a fucking rock bar, enjoy the place!”
“Bon Jovi? Really, Dean?”
The first guy, Dean, pats him on the shoulder, “I’ve told you this before, man. Bon Jovi rocks on-“
“-On occasion, right.” He laughs and tips his beer back, “I’m not singing along, Dean.” Sam takes a swig, “You do what you need to do though. Process, repress, whatever it is.”
Dean clicks his tongue and walks away, seems like he’s done talking. Jimmy hasn’t looked over again this whole time, how can he tell what’s happening? What is happening?
He feels Dean pass behind him and turns, watching him make his way to a chair between the front area and the back, where everyone’s dancing along. He climbs onto it, and his voice rings out across the bar, and Jimmy can hear it perfectly.
“An angel’s smile is what you sell!” It’s strange, this feeling coming over him as he hears Dean singing. “You promised me heaven, then put me through hell!”
He can hear Sam, who’s 10 feet away from him, singing along under his breath.
“Chains of love got a hold on me! When passion’s a prison, you can’t break free!” People are cheering him on as Dean sings into the neck of the beer bottle like a microphone. He’s dancing confidently on the chair, knowing exactly where to step to keep balance. “Woah, you’re a loaded gun, yeah!”
“Oh! There’s nowhere to run- no one can save me! The damage is done!”
The ground rumbles with the sound of everyone singing the chorus.
“SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND YOU’RE TO BLAME! You give love a bad name!” Sam is singing the smaller part, echoing the words, “bad name!”
Dean seems so dedicated to this song, like it’s all that he can do and by God is he going to do it. “I play my part and you play your game! You give love a bad name!” “Bad name!”
The music in the air cradles Jimmy’s head, and his migraine is a low buzz in the back of his mind. He sighs, looking Dean over curiously. The lights reflect off of a wet sheen on his forehead. He seems excited, but looking closer, he’s hiding something. His eyebrows are creased together and there’s so much passion in his voice, it can’t just be from the music.
What is going on in that head of his?