Dean Winchester sits at the table in the bunker, mulling over a stack of police reports and newspaper clippings that Sam had gathered about the recent strange deaths. The victims all had two small, precise puncture wounds on their necks - a telltale sign of a vampire attack. As he reads through the files, Dean's brow furrows in concentration, his hunter instincts kicking in. "Hmm, looks like we got ourselves a vamp problem here, Sammy. These attacks seem to be isolated to one small town - not your usual vampire nest situation. Probably just a lone bloodsucker causing trouble." Dean leans back in his chair, fingers drumming against the table as he thinks. "Something seems off about this case, though. The kills are clean, no sign of a struggle. Vamps usually can't resist making a mess when they feed. And the puncture wounds are oddly precise - almost surgical, you know?" He shakes his head, eyes narrowing.
"I dunno, man. Feels like we're missing something. Might have to go check this out in person, see if we can track down our fang-faced friend." A wry grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "And who knows, maybe I'll get lucky and find a cute little vampire groupie to have a lil fun with while we're at it, huh?" Dean stands, stretching his tall frame as he heads towards the weapons cache to gather his gear. Time to hit the road and take care of business. This hunt just got a whole lot more interesting... Dean grabs his duffel bag and starts packing his usual arsenal - silver knives, machetes, a couple of dead man's blood-laced syringes, and of course his trusty Colt revolver. As he's securing everything, Sam walks in, eyeing the bag curiously.
"Going somewhere, Dean?" Dean slings the bag over his shoulder and flashes his brother a roguish grin. "You bet your ass I am. Looks like we got ourselves a lone vamp causing some trouble in a small town a few hours from here. Figured I'd go check it out, see if I can't put an end to our fang-faced friend's little feeding spree." He pauses, brow furrowing slightly. "Something's kinda off about this case though, Sammy. The MO doesn't seem quite right for your average bloodsucker. Gotta go take a closer look." Dean reaches out and gives Sam's shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, I got this. You just hold down the fort here and I'll be back before you know it, alright?" With that, he turns and heads for the garage, ready to take the Impala out for a little solo hunt. This was gonna be fun...
Dean cruises down the highway, the rumble of the Impala's engine and the classic rock blasting from the speakers putting him in his element. As he passes by a small, nondescript dive bar, something catches his eye - a sleek, Camaro parked out front. His hunter senses tingling, Dean can't resist the urge to investigate further. As he pulls the Impala into the gravel parking lot, he pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the scene. Something about this place just doesn't feel right. Reaching into the glove compartment, he pulls out a syringe filled with murky, reddish-brown liquid - dead man's blood, the bane of any vampire's existence. Carefully, he injects the potent blood into his veins, feeling the familiar rush as it courses through his system. Now, if he runs into any fanged freaks, he'll be ready for them.
He then steps out of the Impala, straightening his leather jacket as he approaches the bar. The thumping bass of the music can be felt even outside, a group of patrons are gathered out front, some smoking and chatting, their eyes drifting curiously over to the newcomer. Ignoring their stares, Dean strides towards the entrance, pushing the heavy door open and stepping into the dimly lit interior. The air is thick with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke, but Dean's gaze immediately zeros in on the attractive redhead standing at the bar. There's something about her that piques his interest - the way she carries herself with confidence, the way her cherry-red lips curl into a coy smile as she interacts with the bartender.
Sidling up to the bar, he flags down the bartender, his gravelly voice rumbling, "Whiskey. Neat." As the bartender pours the amber liquid into a tumbler, Dean slides a $20 bill across the worn wooden counter. His gaze drifts back to the woman, an appreciative glint in his eye as he takes in her alluring appearance. Picking up the glass, he takes a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the smooth burn of the whiskey as it slides down his throat. Then, turning towards the redhead, he offers her a roguish grin. "Hey there, darlin'. You new around these parts? I ain't seen a pretty face like yours in this dump before." his gravelly voice lowering to a murmur, his eyes never leaving the redhead's form. There's just something about her that draws him in, an allure he can't quite put his finger on. But Dean Winchester has always been a sucker for a pretty face, and this one seems to be hiding something...intriguing. His hunter instincts are on high alert, but he can't deny the pull of her captivating presence. "Because I gotta say, a pretty thing like you definitely stands out. So what's a classy broad like you doing slumming it in a dive like this, hm? Not really your scene, is it?" Dean's voice drops to a low, suggestive purr. "Or maybe you're just looking for a little...excitement."
He raises one brow, a hint of a challenge in his expression. Something about this woman has got his interest piqued, and he's more than willing to see where this little encounter might lead...
Slowly but surely the night had most of the large crowd depart. Earlier the bar had become a bit overly packed with so many present. Unexpected, but good profit. Even outside, the parking lot area had its people gathered around and lost in good times. Things had been busy, an 'all hands on deck' type of night. Closing time should have been hours ago. The clock that hung on the back wall of the bar currently read 2:15 AM already. The ones who still remained were quieter, but it hadn't stopped their fun from continuing.
Pool was being played on the opposite end of the bar. Music still could be heard, but it wasn't as loud as it had been formerly. Some others were caught up in a drinking game where one fella would always quickly change and make up the rules to try and ensure he'd end up winning. Voices rising, and mild tension present here and there from bickering back and forth, but it was all finished off with laughter.
Now being less busy himself, Murphy sat at a table in the back corner. It only offered the opportunity of a perfect spot to observe the whole span of the bar. Keeping an eye on it all gave that chance to enjoy the rest of the night. He'd close down only when the final customers went crawling themselves right out the main doors. Unless something happened that warranted kicking them out sooner.
His hand stayed wrapped around the chilled glass of a bottle as words were jotted down onto the opened notebook in front of him on the table. One would think he was just handling business and calculating up the night's earnings. Instead, he was researching back over those tiny little clues he'd found and wrote down. Personal details were added in. Scribbled out notes of reminders done across the pages. The notepad was shut when seeing a shadow appearing up. A cover closed as he rose up a stare onto his brother.
"Where are you going?" His younger brother was already caught up in trouble. Fines to pay, and a license suspended was just the tip of the iceberg. It was obvious his plan was to leave as he had the keys to the truck clutched in his hand. "Home." Murphy could tell he was already drunk. Swaying there even as he stood still. Trying to keep composure while bloodshot eyes gave away the inner struggle he was having. "Good. Then you're walking." Snatching the keys from out of his brother's hand, the house keys were taken off of the small metal ring before being handed back. The set of keys that belonged to his truck were dropped into his own pants pocket as Murphy stood to his feet. Collecting up the notebook, Murphy finished what little had remained inside his bottle of beer before getting up to go discard it.
"You're really serious?" "It's three miles. You'll make it. Wreckin' your sh*t you can do, but not with my truck." "You don't have to keep acting like a son of a bitch."
Murphy then turned an eye to the twenty-six year old. His brother acting like some spoiled brat of a teenager who was pouting and pissy all because they didn't get their way. "Go on home. Now." Murphy's tone changed from what it had last been. It held a hidden warning and showed he wasn't about to play his drunken fool of a brother's game. "Why, so you can stay here and avoid sh*t? That's all you ever f***ing do." Drunk, and just looking for a reason to fight. Murphy breathed out a sigh to himself. His brother all of a sudden getting so angry. "What did I say?" A fast hand then landed down and stopped his brother's hand from reaching for a bottle of whiskey after he had followed Murphy back behind the bar. "You're done."
His brother tore himself free from his hold as he held himself back from a reaction. Murphy noticed the balled fists, and how the wheels in his brother's head were spinning. Probably wondering if it was a good idea to make a swing or not to land a punch in. He always was a stupid kid. "Did I stutter?" Murphy raised his voice more, and it ended up getting the attention of others who now stopped what they were doing to look over at the two brothers in suspense of there being a fight.
Abruptly, the younger one stormed away and made his way outside the main doors. Murphy watching him walk out of the parking lot before turning his focus to that whiskey bottle. Coffee was poured right along with whiskey entering into the ceramic mug as well. Behind him he could hear the main doors opening again. A fast glance over a shoulder was made, only taking notice that it hadn't been his brother returning back, Murphy returned his attention back to the coffee. It was late, he hadn't thought anyone else would be showing up. Tonight had only been full of surprises though.
