Comment fic: Supernatural/Leverage, Dean/Eliot, Mexico
“Who doesn’t have warrants in Mexico? If we start avoiding places because we’ve got warrants we’ll never leave the house.” Dean’s ears perked up at what sounded like a southern twang approaching from the hallway to the back of the bar, but he kept his eyes focused on the amber liquid in his glass, pretending not to hear a conversation that was probably supposed to be private.
“Alice…” He could hear the change in the man’s voice, southern twang replaced by something more controlled--tense. “I thought we were supposed to be closed.”
“This customer had money.” Dean could see the woman bounce, a little blonde who had looked very pleased when he plunked five twenties down on the bar and asked her to keep the scotch flowing.
“Haha, yeah” The man’s laughter was fake and Dean wondered again at the emptiness of the bar, which he’d originally decided not to sweat because he was pretty well armed. “You know, I’m real sorry about all this, but we’ve got a private party coming in. Why don’t you take this whole bottle-on the house?”
The man tried to take the bottle of scotch from the woman’s hands, but she yanked it back and the two of them began mumbling at each other, a mix of ‘give it’ and ‘we don’t give things away’ until the man grabbed the bottle so fast that Dean wondered if he was human.
“You know where I could get a good monte cristo?” Dean looked quickly between the two of them, but they were both looking at him as if he’d told them the truth about why he was in the bar trying to block out his memories in the first place. There was no evidence of demonic nature in either one of them, but he repeated for good measure. “Christo?”
“Um…no.” The man pushed his hair back off of his face and Dean wanted to ask him what the deal was with that look, but he’d just come off of a hunt and wasn’t exactly in the mood for a fight. “Look, buddy, there’s a bar down the road, full of girls that’ll be more than happy to help you through whatever’s bringing you down.”
“Not really what I’m in the market for tonight.” Dean’s smile was visibly pained as he contemplated the fact that after everything with Anna he hadn’t been in much of a mood for random hookups. Or relationships. Or anything outside of a drink and whatever he could salvage of his connection with his brother…maybe even his connection with Cas.
“Gay bars. There are lots of gay bars.” The blonde perked up, turning her head to look at him from the corner of her eye and quickly pouring a bit more scotch in his glass. In Dean’s peripheral vision, he could see the man give her an eye roll that could rival one of Sammy’s.
“Point is,” The man switched on a practiced smile and Dean recognized it as one he’d use on a family he was trying to get out of a haunted house, “We’re closed. Now I get that you’ve got something going on, but you’re not gonna resolve that here.”
“Well maybe I just like the company.” Dean reflected the other man’s smile back at him, getting tired of being treated like someone too stupid to know something shady was going on.
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” The girl chimed in, hugging the bottle of scotch to her chest.
“Alice... Alice,” the man raised his voice until the girl took her eyes off Dean and her face shifted into a pout at whatever she saw when she looked over Dean’s shoulder. “Why don’t you see how far along our guests are…I’m thinking they’re about fourteen minutes away. And lock that front door while you’re at it so we don’t have to deal with this again.”
The girl twitched her nose, looked between the two men and snaked her hand out to grab the bottle back and take it with her as she left.
“Alright, I don’t want any trouble, but more importantly, you don’t want any trouble.” The man’s hair bounced as he spoke and Dean laughed at the absurdity of this guy trying to intimidate him.
“Not looking for any trouble. I know, how ‘bout you throw in some tequila with that scotch there. Got a thing for those Mexican drinks.” Dean took a slow sip and reveled in the narrowing of the other man’s eyes.
“It’s time for you to go.” The man dropped all pretense of courtesy, on guard now-maybe he thought Dean was a cop, maybe a blackmailer. But Dean was a hunter, and that meant he’d investigate when something wasn’t right.
“You a hunter?” Dean made full-on eye-contact for the first time that night.
“A hunter?” The man paused, squinting at Dean and obviously trying to adapt to whatever this new angle was.
“Yeah, do you hunt?”
“No. I don’t hunt.” The man was visibly irritated.
“What do you do?” Dean shifted around, resting his elbow on the bar, but keeping his left hand in a position to grab the knife in his waistband if necessary.
“I own a bar.” The answer was too sarcastic and Dean laughed.
“You’re about as much of a bar owner as I am an FBI agent.”
The man’s lip lifted into a sneer, raising his voice a bit as if warning someone hidden nearby, “This some kind of a set-up?
“Sounds like the words of a man who has something to worry about.” Dean saw when the man moved to lunge, and he was fast enough to jump to the left, but the man switched his trajectory and was still able to grab him by his jacket. “Looks like the moves of a man who does more than own a bar.”
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Dean,” he answered, wondering if this man, or this creature, had heard of him-wondering how far spread the news about him had truly spread, figuring that a last name wouldn’t be necessary if his assailant was in the loop. “But, I’m not the interesting one here. What are you?”
“Name’s Hardison,” the man paused and the tiniest of smiles crossed his lips before he continued, “But you can call me Eliot.”
“Didn’t ask who you are, I asked what you are.” Dean tried to punch Eliot in the ribs, but his arms were both grabbed before he made contact. “You’re pretty fast.”
“You’re pretty armed.” Eliot nodded down and Dean saw that his shirt was raised enough to show the handle of one of his knives and the butt of one of his guns.
“Like I said.” Dean eyelids lowered and his words came out in almost a growl. “I’m a hunter. What. Are. You?”
Eliot squeezed Dean’s wrists and he quirked an eyebrow at the hunter. “I don’t know what this is about, but there’s a five year old girl who’s gonna get screwed out of a new heart if I don’t get you out of this bar in three minutes.”
“What is that? Some werewolf thing?”
“Werewolf? What the hell are you…goddamnit! Stall him!...agh, fine. Look, I need to go back there and be the owner of this bar for the next two hours-”
“You some kind of psychic?” Dean twisted around, but he wasn’t able to get Eliot to release his grip.
“This is going to be a disaster,” Eliot sighed just as the bartender rushed back in from the back hallway and unlocked the front door for a group of four men and two women.
“Ah, Gavin,” a British woman on the arm of an overweight older man giggled as she walked towards them, “My step-brother could find a pretty boy in the middle of Antarctica.”
Eliot leaned in slightly, attempting to make Dean’s captive position look less adversarial. “Yes…I sure can.”
“Gavin’s boyfriend likes scotch!” The blonde noted happily from behind the counter and Dean looked over to see her nodding happily.
“Don’t really think he’s gonna go along with this.” Eliot hissed barely audibly and Dean realized that he must have been communicating with at least one of the other people in the room.
“Of course I do!” Dean shouted a bit too loudly before leaning in closer and dropping his voice to a whisper, “I’m gonna stay here, and I’m gonna find out what you are and what you’re up to.”
“Whatever, just don’t go trying to sell the boyfriend thing too hard.” Eliot whispered back.
“And miss the opportunity to run my fingers through that hair of yours?” Dean smirked, keeping his eyes on Eliot, but he could hear choking laughs coming from several people in the room.
“Alice…” He could hear the change in the man’s voice, southern twang replaced by something more controlled--tense. “I thought we were supposed to be closed.”
“This customer had money.” Dean could see the woman bounce, a little blonde who had looked very pleased when he plunked five twenties down on the bar and asked her to keep the scotch flowing.
“Haha, yeah” The man’s laughter was fake and Dean wondered again at the emptiness of the bar, which he’d originally decided not to sweat because he was pretty well armed. “You know, I’m real sorry about all this, but we’ve got a private party coming in. Why don’t you take this whole bottle-on the house?”
The man tried to take the bottle of scotch from the woman’s hands, but she yanked it back and the two of them began mumbling at each other, a mix of ‘give it’ and ‘we don’t give things away’ until the man grabbed the bottle so fast that Dean wondered if he was human.
“You know where I could get a good monte cristo?” Dean looked quickly between the two of them, but they were both looking at him as if he’d told them the truth about why he was in the bar trying to block out his memories in the first place. There was no evidence of demonic nature in either one of them, but he repeated for good measure. “Christo?”
“Um…no.” The man pushed his hair back off of his face and Dean wanted to ask him what the deal was with that look, but he’d just come off of a hunt and wasn’t exactly in the mood for a fight. “Look, buddy, there’s a bar down the road, full of girls that’ll be more than happy to help you through whatever’s bringing you down.”
“Not really what I’m in the market for tonight.” Dean’s smile was visibly pained as he contemplated the fact that after everything with Anna he hadn’t been in much of a mood for random hookups. Or relationships. Or anything outside of a drink and whatever he could salvage of his connection with his brother…maybe even his connection with Cas.
“Gay bars. There are lots of gay bars.” The blonde perked up, turning her head to look at him from the corner of her eye and quickly pouring a bit more scotch in his glass. In Dean’s peripheral vision, he could see the man give her an eye roll that could rival one of Sammy’s.
“Point is,” The man switched on a practiced smile and Dean recognized it as one he’d use on a family he was trying to get out of a haunted house, “We’re closed. Now I get that you’ve got something going on, but you’re not gonna resolve that here.”
“Well maybe I just like the company.” Dean reflected the other man’s smile back at him, getting tired of being treated like someone too stupid to know something shady was going on.
“Oh, that’s so sweet.” The girl chimed in, hugging the bottle of scotch to her chest.
“Alice... Alice,” the man raised his voice until the girl took her eyes off Dean and her face shifted into a pout at whatever she saw when she looked over Dean’s shoulder. “Why don’t you see how far along our guests are…I’m thinking they’re about fourteen minutes away. And lock that front door while you’re at it so we don’t have to deal with this again.”
The girl twitched her nose, looked between the two men and snaked her hand out to grab the bottle back and take it with her as she left.
“Alright, I don’t want any trouble, but more importantly, you don’t want any trouble.” The man’s hair bounced as he spoke and Dean laughed at the absurdity of this guy trying to intimidate him.
“Not looking for any trouble. I know, how ‘bout you throw in some tequila with that scotch there. Got a thing for those Mexican drinks.” Dean took a slow sip and reveled in the narrowing of the other man’s eyes.
“It’s time for you to go.” The man dropped all pretense of courtesy, on guard now-maybe he thought Dean was a cop, maybe a blackmailer. But Dean was a hunter, and that meant he’d investigate when something wasn’t right.
“You a hunter?” Dean made full-on eye-contact for the first time that night.
“A hunter?” The man paused, squinting at Dean and obviously trying to adapt to whatever this new angle was.
“Yeah, do you hunt?”
“No. I don’t hunt.” The man was visibly irritated.
“What do you do?” Dean shifted around, resting his elbow on the bar, but keeping his left hand in a position to grab the knife in his waistband if necessary.
“I own a bar.” The answer was too sarcastic and Dean laughed.
“You’re about as much of a bar owner as I am an FBI agent.”
The man’s lip lifted into a sneer, raising his voice a bit as if warning someone hidden nearby, “This some kind of a set-up?
“Sounds like the words of a man who has something to worry about.” Dean saw when the man moved to lunge, and he was fast enough to jump to the left, but the man switched his trajectory and was still able to grab him by his jacket. “Looks like the moves of a man who does more than own a bar.”
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Dean,” he answered, wondering if this man, or this creature, had heard of him-wondering how far spread the news about him had truly spread, figuring that a last name wouldn’t be necessary if his assailant was in the loop. “But, I’m not the interesting one here. What are you?”
“Name’s Hardison,” the man paused and the tiniest of smiles crossed his lips before he continued, “But you can call me Eliot.”
“Didn’t ask who you are, I asked what you are.” Dean tried to punch Eliot in the ribs, but his arms were both grabbed before he made contact. “You’re pretty fast.”
“You’re pretty armed.” Eliot nodded down and Dean saw that his shirt was raised enough to show the handle of one of his knives and the butt of one of his guns.
“Like I said.” Dean eyelids lowered and his words came out in almost a growl. “I’m a hunter. What. Are. You?”
Eliot squeezed Dean’s wrists and he quirked an eyebrow at the hunter. “I don’t know what this is about, but there’s a five year old girl who’s gonna get screwed out of a new heart if I don’t get you out of this bar in three minutes.”
“What is that? Some werewolf thing?”
“Werewolf? What the hell are you…goddamnit! Stall him!...agh, fine. Look, I need to go back there and be the owner of this bar for the next two hours-”
“You some kind of psychic?” Dean twisted around, but he wasn’t able to get Eliot to release his grip.
“This is going to be a disaster,” Eliot sighed just as the bartender rushed back in from the back hallway and unlocked the front door for a group of four men and two women.
“Ah, Gavin,” a British woman on the arm of an overweight older man giggled as she walked towards them, “My step-brother could find a pretty boy in the middle of Antarctica.”
Eliot leaned in slightly, attempting to make Dean’s captive position look less adversarial. “Yes…I sure can.”
“Gavin’s boyfriend likes scotch!” The blonde noted happily from behind the counter and Dean looked over to see her nodding happily.
“Don’t really think he’s gonna go along with this.” Eliot hissed barely audibly and Dean realized that he must have been communicating with at least one of the other people in the room.
“Of course I do!” Dean shouted a bit too loudly before leaning in closer and dropping his voice to a whisper, “I’m gonna stay here, and I’m gonna find out what you are and what you’re up to.”
“Whatever, just don’t go trying to sell the boyfriend thing too hard.” Eliot whispered back.
“And miss the opportunity to run my fingers through that hair of yours?” Dean smirked, keeping his eyes on Eliot, but he could hear choking laughs coming from several people in the room.