Chapter Text
The cold Spring air chills Jimmy’s face, his nose tinting red the longer he stays outside of the bar.
His tinnitus worsens by the second. He groans as he stands, pushing himself up by the knees and leaning against the wall with his elbow. He sips his beer and pushes his way back into the bar, the headache befriending the noise.
A conversation halfway across the room is clear as day to Jimmy, and he feels his mind filing away any information that could be of interest to… someone. He isn’t quite sure who.
“Dean, what is this?” Sam sighs slouching at the bar. Dean faces his brother, cocking an eyebrow and gesturing with his arms. “This. You’re singing at a random bar in Chicago—”
“No, not just any bar, Sammy. A ‘rock bar’. It’s customary.” He pauses and shrugs, “probably.”
Sam exhales and chuckles at the same time, like his breath was in spite of what his brother said. “Yeah. Sure, man.”
Dean lets his head hang back a moment before addressing his brother again, “You got shit to say, then just say it. Stop using implications and all that bullshit.”
“Whatever that djinn showed you today, it’s messing with you. You’re never this social, man.” He wags his head back and forth in contemplation, “You’re never social, period.”
“That’s ridiculous, Sammy, I can be hella social.”
“Without trying to sleep with them?”
Dean waves his bottle at Sam, “You never specified how I ‘don’t socialize’. You’re only getting specific with that crap because I won.”
Sam shakes his head again, resting his chin on his hand. “I just want to know what could’ve been so awful about that ‘dream life’,” he sighs, whispering to himself, “it sounded kind of nice.”
“It doesn’t matter, because it’ll never happen.” Sam furrows his brow at Dean, who scowls in response. “That’s all it was, Sam. A dream. Something fake to keep me trapped there.”
“That’s bothered me too—how did you get out? These things are supposed to be, y’know, impossible to escape.”
Dean swallows the last of his drink and places it firmly on the bar, “I’m not talking about this, Sammy. I didn’t go to a crowded bar and dance like no one’s watching because I wanted to talk about this shit.” He turns to walk off, but Sam grips his arm, keeping him far enough away that he can still be pissed but he’s got to hear him.
“You shouldn’t have ‘danced like no one’s watching’ in the first place, Dean—we’re fugitives, for fuck’s sake.”
“Let me forget about this backwards-ass life for two minutes, will you?” He yanks his arm away from Sam, swearing under his breath as he walks briskly to a free seat at the other side of the bar. Right next to… Jimmy. Perfect.
What the hell has he gotten himself into?