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firmament2010-04-08 02:57 am
gorgeousnerd) wrote in firmament2010-04-08 02:57 am
Entry tags:
"A Cold One", Supernatural, PG, gen.
Title: A Cold One
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG for mild language.
Length: About 730 words.
Characters/Pairings: Roy, Walt, Dean, Sam.
Spoilers: Through 5x16.
Summary: Roy gets more than a quiet drink after he and Walt take care of the Winchesters.
Notes: This isn't your typical 5x16 coda! :D
A Cold One
The air at Danny's was the same as it always was: hazy with cigarette smoke, thick with the smell of booze, and heavy with stuffy heat. It was Roy's favorite watering hole. Stepping through the front door meant he'd survived another day, and he could reward himself for a good hunt.
Not this time.
He usually started with a beer, and had two or three at most. He liked a comfortable buzz, one that wore the edge off and helped him sleep. But tonight, he'd been on his stool a half-hour, and he'd only sent whiskey down his gullet. And he was going to have as many as his wallet would allow. He wanted to kill brain cells, and wake up in his own drool wondering what he did the night before.
"Chin up," Walt said, as he walked out of the can. He slid onto the stool to Roy's left and held a finger up to the bartender. "It needed to be done."
"Yeah," Roy said. "It's not every day you gun down your friends."
Walt snorted as the bartender put a coaster down in front of him. "Friends don't let friends end the world."
"Ha ha."
They were both quiet for a minute as the bartender filled a pilsner with a thick golden liquid. Roy watched the foam swirl and moisture drip down the side. He downed the rest of his own drink as Walt accepted the drink.
"Another?" Roy asked.
"You aren't having second thoughts, are you?" Walt asked, after tasting his drink.
"No."
"Then what's the problem?"
Roy scowled as the bartender tipped a bottle of Jack over his glass. "Just because it had to be done don't mean I gotta like it."
The front door slammed behind them. Roy twitched, and unhooked the holster in his jacket.
"Two beers," a familiar voice said behind him.
Walt glanced back, and Roy watched him. When his face went as white as a ghost's, Roy wrapped his hand around the handle of his pistol.
He dropped his hand when Dean Winchester slid on the stool to his right. He also knocked his glass of on the bar in front of him.
"Jesus," Roy breathed.
"Hiya, Roy," Dean said. He glared in Walt's direction. "Walt."
Roy heard footsteps on his other side, and he tilted his head. Sure enough, Sam Winchester was sitting on Walt's other side. Walt, at this point, was sweating bullets. Roy was just glad the contents of his stomach weren't heaving up.
"How?" Walt said.
Dean didn't answer, and neither did Sam. The bartender, oblivious to what was going on, placed two beer bottles in front of them and went back to the busier end of the bar.
Roy stared down at the bar. He didn't feel drunk, but he had to be. He'd seen the Winchesters' blood spray all across their motel room. No way they'd should be walking. Hell, no way they should be breathing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean drink his beer. His body was tilted specifically so he could stare at Roy and Walt the entire time. Roy was willing to bet Sam was doing the same.
God. He deserved whatever they were gonna give him.
Dean sighed as he put down his bottle. Roy's hands trembled.
"Didn't I say," Dean said, "I'd be pissed when I came back?"
Roy couldn't take it. He jumped off his stool and backed away from the bar as fast as he could manage. Walt wasn't following, but he couldn't sit between two men who were supposed to be dead and not do anything.
He bumped into the wall at the back, and turned. The door was right next to him, and he didn't hesitate to leave.
But Roy did wait in the parking lot next to the pickup they shared. He pulled his pistol out and kept it low.
"Come on, Walt," he muttered. "Come on!"
Sure enough, Walt came out not five minutes later, walking briskly. Roy sagged with relief.
"What in the ever-loving--"
"I don't know, and I don't care," Walt said. "Let's get the hell out of here."
They climbed in the pickup, and Walt pulled out fast enough to make the tires screech. Roy spotted the Impala by the exit, and prayed he wouldn't see either of those boys again.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG for mild language.
Length: About 730 words.
Characters/Pairings: Roy, Walt, Dean, Sam.
Spoilers: Through 5x16.
Summary: Roy gets more than a quiet drink after he and Walt take care of the Winchesters.
Notes: This isn't your typical 5x16 coda! :D
The air at Danny's was the same as it always was: hazy with cigarette smoke, thick with the smell of booze, and heavy with stuffy heat. It was Roy's favorite watering hole. Stepping through the front door meant he'd survived another day, and he could reward himself for a good hunt.
Not this time.
He usually started with a beer, and had two or three at most. He liked a comfortable buzz, one that wore the edge off and helped him sleep. But tonight, he'd been on his stool a half-hour, and he'd only sent whiskey down his gullet. And he was going to have as many as his wallet would allow. He wanted to kill brain cells, and wake up in his own drool wondering what he did the night before.
"Chin up," Walt said, as he walked out of the can. He slid onto the stool to Roy's left and held a finger up to the bartender. "It needed to be done."
"Yeah," Roy said. "It's not every day you gun down your friends."
Walt snorted as the bartender put a coaster down in front of him. "Friends don't let friends end the world."
"Ha ha."
They were both quiet for a minute as the bartender filled a pilsner with a thick golden liquid. Roy watched the foam swirl and moisture drip down the side. He downed the rest of his own drink as Walt accepted the drink.
"Another?" Roy asked.
"You aren't having second thoughts, are you?" Walt asked, after tasting his drink.
"No."
"Then what's the problem?"
Roy scowled as the bartender tipped a bottle of Jack over his glass. "Just because it had to be done don't mean I gotta like it."
The front door slammed behind them. Roy twitched, and unhooked the holster in his jacket.
"Two beers," a familiar voice said behind him.
Walt glanced back, and Roy watched him. When his face went as white as a ghost's, Roy wrapped his hand around the handle of his pistol.
He dropped his hand when Dean Winchester slid on the stool to his right. He also knocked his glass of on the bar in front of him.
"Jesus," Roy breathed.
"Hiya, Roy," Dean said. He glared in Walt's direction. "Walt."
Roy heard footsteps on his other side, and he tilted his head. Sure enough, Sam Winchester was sitting on Walt's other side. Walt, at this point, was sweating bullets. Roy was just glad the contents of his stomach weren't heaving up.
"How?" Walt said.
Dean didn't answer, and neither did Sam. The bartender, oblivious to what was going on, placed two beer bottles in front of them and went back to the busier end of the bar.
Roy stared down at the bar. He didn't feel drunk, but he had to be. He'd seen the Winchesters' blood spray all across their motel room. No way they'd should be walking. Hell, no way they should be breathing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean drink his beer. His body was tilted specifically so he could stare at Roy and Walt the entire time. Roy was willing to bet Sam was doing the same.
God. He deserved whatever they were gonna give him.
Dean sighed as he put down his bottle. Roy's hands trembled.
"Didn't I say," Dean said, "I'd be pissed when I came back?"
Roy couldn't take it. He jumped off his stool and backed away from the bar as fast as he could manage. Walt wasn't following, but he couldn't sit between two men who were supposed to be dead and not do anything.
He bumped into the wall at the back, and turned. The door was right next to him, and he didn't hesitate to leave.
But Roy did wait in the parking lot next to the pickup they shared. He pulled his pistol out and kept it low.
"Come on, Walt," he muttered. "Come on!"
Sure enough, Walt came out not five minutes later, walking briskly. Roy sagged with relief.
"What in the ever-loving--"
"I don't know, and I don't care," Walt said. "Let's get the hell out of here."
They climbed in the pickup, and Walt pulled out fast enough to make the tires screech. Roy spotted the Impala by the exit, and prayed he wouldn't see either of those boys again.