Winchester Fun: The Bet Chapter 8
by Woman of Letters
Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]
Chapter 8: Fran Gripped Him Tight
Harry O'Shaunassy goggled at the two rabble-rousers who were running so wildly through his bar. Did they have something to do with that loud crash by the pool table? He wouldn't put it past 'em. The tall one (Harry had to look up to him, and at Harry's six-foot height, that was saying a lot) was grabbing hold of the shorter one, who looked a bit weaselly - ferret shaped face, shifty eyes - when both of them smacked into him like a runaway freight train. And then a pretty girl - Harry's eyes widened when he saw who it was - smacked into all three of them.
He grabbed both troublemakers by the collar and yelled, "Hey, watch yurselves! What are ye lot doing, wreakin' havoc in my bar?"
He was about to go on, and demand a good accounting (maybe he should set Molly on 'em, she could be fierce, but she was upstairs mindin' the little ones) when he heard a deep, gravelly voice echoing through the bar. The man sounded angry.
"Sam? What the hell are you up to?"
Harry broke into a grin. It had been four years, but he'd know that voice anywhere. Now they'd get to the bottom of this mess! John Winchester didn't stand for any nonsense, tha's for sure.
"John!" Harry called out, turning towards the man, who was coming out from the bar, "Are these troublemakers yours?"
"I don't know the weasel-face," said John.
"Hey!" yelled Snark, "no one calls me weasel-face and gets away with it!"
John ignored him. "But yes, the tall one's my son, Sam. And he's got a lot to explain." His face was hard, the eyes cold and distant.
"Now wait a minute, Dad," protested Sam. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"No, he didn't," said Sarah. She had stepped back from the human sandwich and was busy smoothing her dress. She put her hands on her hips. "This man stole from me and Sam was helping me catch him."
"Sarah McLaughlin," Harry sounded bewildered and bemused, "What are ye doin' mixed up in all o' this?"
Ah, thought Sam, at last … a name!
Snark finally piped up. "Hey," he whined, "This woman is crazy! I didn't do nothin'! Put me down!"
"That's not true!" protested Sam. "You ran away with Sarah's money!"
"Her pool cue scraped the table. That's a foul and an automatic win for me." Snark sneered.
At that moment, Dean and Beth ran up, followed closely by Beth's twin sisters trying to hold back their inebriated sibling, who had just gotten a second wind. She focused on Sam, zeroing in as if guided by laser beams.
Sam's eyes widened as he saw the redhead's (no, he amended in his head, Sarah's) sister coming toward him like a torpedo. She was moving fast for someone so drunk. Before the others could stop her, she had wrapped her body around his in a great bear hug. Sam's skin tone turned fire engine red.
"Where did you go?" she wailed. "You were going to take me home."
"What?" John's voice rang out. He sounded indignant.
"I never said anything like that, Dad... Believe me!"
Dean smirked. He couldn't help it, the line just slipped out. "Way to go, Sammy. Didn't know you had it in you!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean," he groaned. "Come on, man. You're not helping."
Harry looked at Fran with concern, "Fran, how many beers have you had tonight?"
Beth stepped forward and tried to pull her sister off of Sam. "I'm sorry," she said to him. "Fran's usually not this bad. She must've had more to drink than we realized."
Sarah joined in, tugging on Fran's arms. "Come on, sis," she coaxed. "You can't hug Sam all night."
"Why not?" Fran's words were slurred and her eyes were bloodshot.
Sarah almost said "because the man's mine" but bit the words back before they could come out. Jumping the gun a bit, aren't you? she thought. Chloe, one of the twins, moved forward to help her sisters. All three of them tried, but Fran was really gripping Sam tightly.
Sam didn't know what to do with his hands. Should he push the woman away or try to free himself from the guy holding him? "Look, Dad, get this guy to put me down, and I can explain," he said.
John looked over at Dean. His whole body was still, rigid, but his eyes blazed fire. "And you, Dean... you've got a lot to answer for... I hold you responsible for this whole mess!"
"Why?" asked Beth, curiously. She looked up for a minute. The man's reaction seemed a bit extreme. "What, are you against drinking, or picking women up at bars?"
"I'm against being shanghaied by women who've been told I bought them a drink!" he said, fuming. "Don't think I don't know who engineered that diversion, Dean."
Dean felt his anger rise. "Come on, Dad," he said. "It's not like you gave me much choice. I knew how you'd react to finding us here... Sam's not a child. Don't treat him like one!"
Harry interrupted. "Are you sure you boys want to have this argument here?"
Fran lifted up her head and turned to John. "Yeah, you m.. meany. Be nice to S.. Sam..." She suddenly pulled away from Sam, swaying on her feet. Her sisters, who were still tugging on her arms, were caught off balance and almost fell. She wrenched away from them, stumbled over to John, and tried to slap him, but he caught her hand in a fierce grip. For a moment, it looked like he was going to throw her, but he stopped himself. She stood there, caught in his grip.
John's face remained stiff and unyielding, and a stranger might have thought that he wasn't fazed at all. But Dean could read his Dad like a book, a habit born of collaboration, survival and a deep love that Dean would never admit to. John was taken aback. Nobody got away with slapping him. But this woman was a civilian, heavily under the influence. Fighting with an inebriated woman in a bar didn't fit John's image of the hunter; it was not in his mission statement.
"Fran!" yelled Beth, and tugged at her sister. John let go. Beth glared at him.
At this, the brothers and sisters all started talking, protesting, arguing. Beth began to argue with John, Sarah and Sam were arguing with Snark, Dean was interceding for Beth... The noise level was bedlam, the effect was like the Tower of Babel. Beth was still fussing over Fran, and Harry was looking from one participant to the other while still maintaining his grip on Sam and Snark.
"Are you people daft?"
A hearty voice bellowed through the bar. It was feminine but deeper than most women's voices, and it gave Sam the image of those women who, in wartime, would roll up their sleeves and load the cannonballs while their husbands shot at the enemy. And the woman who rounded on Harry certainly fit that image. Her greying brown hair, cut to the shoulders, framed a square face, with high cheekbones and a pert nose. Her green eyes flashed with anger. Sam could imagine this woman facing off against any enemy... and he'd bet his last nickel she'd come out on top.
She stood there with her hands on her hips. They had all stopped arguing and were looking at her.
"Harry Patrick O'Shaunassy." Her voice was pitched not much lower than the bellow she had used when she first came in. "What are ye thinkin', to allow such a hullabaloo? There are bairns upstairs sleepin'!"
"Now, Molly..." Harry's soft voice did not seem to calm her down.
"I mean, the bar's usually noisy, but you people are beyond! If ye wake the babes up... "
"Molly?"
She stopped. "Yes, Harry?"
He spoke softly. "Love, ye were louder than all o' us put together."
"Well!" She snorted, a blush creeping up her neck, but her voice dropped about 10 decibels. "Ye can bet there'll be no pool game tonight, if that's yur attitude."
Harry sighed. "There may not be a pool game anyway."
"Wha'? Wha' happened to the pool table?" Her voice had a resigned note in it, like one who'd been through the same thing so many times, it was as regular as the sun rising.
"Well, that's what I was tryin' to find out... But yur right, Mol. It's time t' get this whole thing settled." Harry looked at John. "Tell you what, John, there's a lot t' sort out here. What's say we take this lot over to the pool table - the scene of the crime, so t' speak - and figure out what's goin' on? And when we've put this t' bed, we can go and have our own talk?"
John nodded. "Whatever it takes," he said. "I just want to get my boys home." He put a special emphasis on the word home.
Harry said, "And Beth - y'got Fran, or do ye need some help?"
"No, I'm all right."
"Good."
He set down Sam and Snark. "All right, people, follow me! Let's clean up this mess." The whole group trooped over to the pool table, pursuing justice... Harry O'Shaunassy style.
Reach Chapter 9: Snark Gets His