Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Word Count: 206
Summary: By five I'm ready to fight all night. And then six, seven, eight to make me break your face, sometimes.- Whiskey Hangover, Godsmack
The pool cue was smooth beneath Dean’s hands, the whiskey a sour after taste on his tongue. He heard nothing, saw everything in slow motion. He spun to his right, the rubber end of the cue slamming into a patron’s stomach then chin. With a shift of his feet and a twist of his hips, Dean was facing his left, the chalked end of the cue snapping down into the side of another guy’s head. He swept the cue back to his right, catching another person in the ribs before spinning around and nailing the guy between his legs with the steel in his boot.
A shotgun cocking had him stepping back, the pool cue clattering to the floor as he raised his hands. The world rushed back in followed by his old friend pain, and the warm sticky feeling of blood coating his skin. A blood coated smile graced his lips as Dean lifted his head. Eyes on the shaking bartender, Dean walked backwards, grabbing the whiskey bottle off the counter as he passed. He ignored the distraught look Sam shot him and with a sarcastic salute, he exited the bar, a wad of cash in his pocket and whiskey still humming through his veins.