Miracle Anti-Aging Cream (9/?)vikkiMarch 27 2010, 17:46:16 UTC
There he was, sitting at the bar, looking every bit as miserable as anyone other man drinking alone, except that he was looking right at Dean. He flipped a poker chip over the knuckles of his right hand, tictictictic, back and forth, a bourbon in his left.
Dean stared, then put aside his pool cue and crossed to the bar. Patrick watched him all the way over. "I hear you've been looking for me," Patrick said when Dean got within earshot.
"Yeah?" Dean asked, not looking at him as he leaned over the bar and cued the tender for another beer. As soon as it arrived he took a swig, then sat next to Patrick. "You're a hard man to find. Not like last time."
"I've been taking a vacation," Patrick said in his strange accent. "I recently lost something valuble to me."
"The bitch, huh?" Dean took another swig of beer. "Yeah, that's pretty--"
Patrick slugged him.
Dean's head twisted with the blow; he spilled some beer on the floor. Heads turned to stare, but as Dean sat back up and fingered his jaw, glaring, Patrick hissed, "Don't speak of Lia that way!"
"Punching me, really? Pretty pedestrian of you, don't'ya think?" Dean growled back. When a fistfight didn't break out, the other patrons lost interest. Patrick's poker chip reappeared from his fist, and he ticked it over his fingers again.
"Would you like me to do something worse? I would be happy to oblige," Patrick replied, the rage retreating from his face. "Did you brother recover from my applause?"
Dean took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay, you sonuvabitch, I didn't come here to kill you. Stop making it tempting."
"Then stop being provoking, Dean Winchester," Patrick replied, taking a sip of his drink.
"Can you take a break from your vacation long enough to play a game with a friend of mine?" Dean asked.
Patrick raised his eyebrows. "You desire a game? Why should I play with you, when you worked so hard to kill me last time?"
Dean rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. "Look, I don't like it," he said. "And if it was up to me, we'd have gone back and killed you the second you finished that game with my brother, but he insisted. Just one game."
"Everyone says that. Even you," Patrick opined idly.
"No, I really think he just needs one game with you," Dean said flatly. "We actually want you to win."
"What a twist," Patrick said, raising his eyebrows.
"Look, will you play him or not?" Dean demanded.
Patrick took another sip of his drink. "I don't know. I have accumulated so many years, you see; I have not decided whether or not I want more, or if I wish to give away the rest."
"Then take them from C--my friend and donate them to charity, I don't care. Wait. Are you trying to die?" Dean leaned back, staring. "Because of that - Lia?"
Patrick smirked at him. "Don't say that as if I cannot love. I was once a man like you. Now I'm simply much greater than a man like you."
"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, but didn't elaborate. They were both silent for a moment.
"I will see your friend," Patrick said. "Tomorrow, at ten in the morning. We will meet here. Don't be late, or I will leave."
"Okay," Dean said, exhaling. "Okay, good."
Patrick tossed his poker chip into the air and caught it; when he opened his palm it was gone. He held out his hand. "I believe it is traditional to shake on it?" he asked, grinning.
Dean glared at his open hand, then reached for his wallet. "Fuck you," he said, tossing his payment for the beer on the counter, and walked out the door.
Dean stared, then put aside his pool cue and crossed to the bar. Patrick watched him all the way over. "I hear you've been looking for me," Patrick said when Dean got within earshot.
"Yeah?" Dean asked, not looking at him as he leaned over the bar and cued the tender for another beer. As soon as it arrived he took a swig, then sat next to Patrick. "You're a hard man to find. Not like last time."
"I've been taking a vacation," Patrick said in his strange accent. "I recently lost something valuble to me."
"The bitch, huh?" Dean took another swig of beer. "Yeah, that's pretty--"
Patrick slugged him.
Dean's head twisted with the blow; he spilled some beer on the floor. Heads turned to stare, but as Dean sat back up and fingered his jaw, glaring, Patrick hissed, "Don't speak of Lia that way!"
"Punching me, really? Pretty pedestrian of you, don't'ya think?" Dean growled back. When a fistfight didn't break out, the other patrons lost interest. Patrick's poker chip reappeared from his fist, and he ticked it over his fingers again.
"Would you like me to do something worse? I would be happy to oblige," Patrick replied, the rage retreating from his face. "Did you brother recover from my applause?"
Dean took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay, you sonuvabitch, I didn't come here to kill you. Stop making it tempting."
"Then stop being provoking, Dean Winchester," Patrick replied, taking a sip of his drink.
"Can you take a break from your vacation long enough to play a game with a friend of mine?" Dean asked.
Patrick raised his eyebrows. "You desire a game? Why should I play with you, when you worked so hard to kill me last time?"
Dean rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. "Look, I don't like it," he said. "And if it was up to me, we'd have gone back and killed you the second you finished that game with my brother, but he insisted. Just one game."
"Everyone says that. Even you," Patrick opined idly.
"No, I really think he just needs one game with you," Dean said flatly. "We actually want you to win."
"What a twist," Patrick said, raising his eyebrows.
"Look, will you play him or not?" Dean demanded.
Patrick took another sip of his drink. "I don't know. I have accumulated so many years, you see; I have not decided whether or not I want more, or if I wish to give away the rest."
"Then take them from C--my friend and donate them to charity, I don't care. Wait. Are you trying to die?" Dean leaned back, staring. "Because of that - Lia?"
Patrick smirked at him. "Don't say that as if I cannot love. I was once a man like you. Now I'm simply much greater than a man like you."
"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, but didn't elaborate. They were both silent for a moment.
"I will see your friend," Patrick said. "Tomorrow, at ten in the morning. We will meet here. Don't be late, or I will leave."
"Okay," Dean said, exhaling. "Okay, good."
Patrick tossed his poker chip into the air and caught it; when he opened his palm it was gone. He held out his hand. "I believe it is traditional to shake on it?" he asked, grinning.
Dean glared at his open hand, then reached for his wallet. "Fuck you," he said, tossing his payment for the beer on the counter, and walked out the door.
tbc
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