“’Dean grabbed his brother’s arms, stilling him in his frantic search of a Hail Mary! out of their situation. In the background, the grandfather clock kept on ticking, seconds that they did not have rushing away to Dean's deadline.
Already, Dean could hear the hell hounds deep growls, calling for him…’”
Alice flipped through the pages and moved forward to her favorite part of the book. Bare feet tucked underneath her sweat pants, she took a sip from her ice tea before letting her eyes rest on the familiar words once more.
“’When the blinding white light finally faded, Sam was surprised to find out that he wasn’t dead. It struck him quickly and heavily: for whatever reason that was completely irrelevant for him at the moment, Lilith was powerless to kill him.
It took the hunter only half a second to realize that he was still holding Ruby’s knife and that everything could end now, right in that minute.
The ancient demon, residing now in Ruby’s former vessel, realized that too. Fear consumed her perfect features and she backed away, hand extended in a gesture now devoid of power.
Taking no more than a step, Sam watched in frustration as she threw her head back, a loud, shrill scream tearing through the room as the demon poured out of her mouth, escaping in a cloud of black smoke.
The blond girl’s dead body flopped to floor, landing in a mess of limbs right beside Dean. Unmoving, not-breathing, dead Dean.
Tears filled Sam’s eyes as he realized that he was too late. He had already lost Dean to Hell…’”
Alice closed the book and threw it against the wall. The reaction was always the same, no matter how many times she read it. Why would any one write a final book in a series only to finish the story like that? That was not an ending... and that was most certainly not the proper ending for the adventures of Sam and Dean, hunters of the supernatural. They deserved better than that.
Heroes should be rewarded in the end of their adventures; heroes should find peace from their troubles in the end of their journey. Hell was no reward; Sam staying apart from his brother, left to face a cruel world alone, was not peaceful.
“Alice… you were already warned about those anger displays,” the nurse, watching over the patients in the recreation room, reminded her. “Now, are you going to pick that up or do we have to hide those books from you again?”
Alice jumped to her feet. She hated being admonished like some small child, but she hated even more to have those books locked away from her. “I’ll pick it up, Ms. Durst... sorry.” But she wasn’t. Sorry, that is. She couldn’t feel such things - it said so in her file.
Meek and gloom existence, hidden from real life, Alice had nothing but crazy people and cold professionals to deal with in that place, mindless sheep that went through the motions of life like they had no purpose or objective.
The two boxes of second-hand books donation, given to the mental facility the previous year, had brought some color back in to her black and white life. Carver Edlund and his brilliant work had turned her world around in to a new place full of possibilities.
Sighing, her hand passes reverently along the row of Supernatural books lining the top of the metal bookshelves before she puts the last one, 'No rest for the wicked', in its rightful place. From the first black covered title that had introduced a baby Sam and a toddler Dean in to her life, Alice remained marveled at how she could relate to those characters, on levels that she hadn’t been able to relate ever before.
No one that she's ever met, not even her own family, could spark the same kind of emotions and depth of caring that these two characters had. They were the missing piece in her life, the piece that was broken. They were broken too, just like her, but they were also brave and fearless.
Sam and Dean were her alter egos, her heroes, her soul mates. And Carver had destroyed them both… just like that.
Suddenly, they said she was all better. The same 'they' who'd assured her parents, years ago, that she was in for a life of institutionalized living. The same 'they' who'd declared that it wasn’t safe for her outside, were now saying that it was... OK.
Now, they said it was good for her to get out, have a go at living, that it was a 'positive experience' for her to 'assimilate' and 'interact' with society's members and rules.
The fact that her parents were now dead and that she had no financial means with which to maintain the health insurance paying for her stay, was never mentioned. But Alice was crazy, not dumb.
So, without so much as a 'by your leave' she grabbed her meager possessions and left; no note, no good-bye, just gone. Alice had no friends in there; she didn’t want any friends from there. Most of those people were too insane to even know what a friend is supposed to do or how they are supposed to behave.
She didn’t said goodbye to the staff either. The stolen collection of Supernatural books burned like hot coals inside her pack and she didn’t want them finding out about those before she was long gone.
And just like that, Alice left all else behind. It didn't matter. Her best friends were going with her anyway.
Alice was crazy, not dumb… and they kept forgetting that. They couldn’t –wouldn’t- keep her in the mental institute, but they wanted her close by, keep an eye on her, see her once a week, check how she was doing.
A week later, Alice Gean had become Alexa Bean and changed states. It was too easy to change the letters in her documents and grab herself a job serving lunch to truckers on the interstate.
Alice had spent most of her adult life in a mental institution; Alexa was a drifter with a penchant for rock music that had left home at the tender age of sixteen because she wanted to be a rock star. Alice was a diagnosed psychopath with a tendency for delusional disorder; Alexa was sane, fun and caring. Alice was the dark past; Alexa was the bright future. The only thing that Alexa Bean had in common with Alice Gean was her collection of Supernatural books.
First cash she made, Alexa tracked down the few books that were missing from her collection, hoping that there would be at least one more after ‘No Rest for the Wicked’. But there wasn’t.
Out here, the same way as it had been in the mental institute, Dean still ended up in Hell with no hope of rescue and no telling of the horrors he was going through.
She had tried to keep the story going on her own, writing paper after paper of 'what if’s' for Dean and Sam. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t official. It wasn't their lives.
And she couldn’t keep on living her life knowing that Dean was burning in Hell and Sam was burning on Earth.
She needed the rest of that story. She needed to know what happened next.
Tracking down Carver Edlund hadn’t been all that hard. All she had needed was a computer and a few hours of research.
She wasn’t dumb… the single IQ test that she had taken, back in first grade, when her life was still normal, had downright classified her as a genius. People just kept forgetting that.
One phone call to Carver’s publisher, posing as an IRS fact-checker, and she had both the author’s real name and his address.
Alexa took her time planning her actions. She figured the author, this Carver Edlund that was actually a Chuck Shurley, wouldn’t take lightly to her coming to his house and asking for the next chapter in the lives of Sam and Dean. She would have to convince him. Plus, writing took time, whether it was on a computer or on paper, like she had tried.
She needed time, she needed persuasive methods and she needed undisturbed space.
She needed a cheap car bought in a second hand place that didn't bother to ask for her nonexistent driver's license. She needed a small house, secluded from the rest, where Chuck could work in peace and quiet.
She also needed a gun.
“’Dean stood from his perch on the prison cot, dangling chains clanking against each other in a melancholic tune as he shuffled his feet.
-I’ve been waiting for this for a long time- the FBI man said, his hand sneaking inside his jacket, producing a gun at the same time his eyes were filled with the vile blackness of demonic possession.
Sam’s reaction was immediate. Reaching through the bars, he pushed the gun away even as a stream of seamless Latin began pouring out of his mouth.
But it was too late. Seconds before Sam connected, the gun spat one bullet too many and Dean was down for the count. On the grey wall of their cell, the red blood spatter was bright and glistening, accusatory finger of all that went wrong in there.
On the cot, Dean clutched at his bleeding shoulder in stoic countenance…’”
The loud purr of a powerful engine distracted Alexa from her reading. She was parked outside Chuck’s place, trying to figure out the best time to catch him outside, but as far as she could tell, the man hardly ever left home.
The noise that had called her attention belonged to a big black car. She didn’t understand much about car brands, but this one had a classic look about it. It was all made of long lines, slick curves and shiny black steel. The silver words imprinted on the side made her sit straighter and focus her attention on it. It was an Impala. An old looking Impala, just like in the books.
It parked right in front of Chuck’s house. From her spot, she couldn’t see much about the guys that came out of it other than the fact that there was two of them and that they both looked tall. Very tall.
With rapt attention she watched as they climbed Chuck’s front steps and rang the bell.
After a few exchanged words between the tall guys and Chuck, and one failed attempt to close the door on his visitors’ faces, the two guys got in. From where she was standing, it didn’t look like Chuck had much saying in the matter.
A feeling that could almost be confused with concern blossomed in Alexa’s chest. But it wasn’t concern, or care, or even worry. She couldn't feel those.
But she needed Chuck alive so that he could finish the story for her and if those two guys harmed the author in any way, or even killed him, she would never know. She would never find out.
Alexa left the safety of her car and raced to Chuck’s house. When the door opened all of sudden and all three men stepped outside, she was caught out in the open. With no other place to hide, Alexa slipped under the big car and hopped that they wouldn’t drive away just yet.
She was lucky. And the fact that her body wasn’t run over by the classic Impala was only the smallest part of it.
Alexa could not believe what she was hearing. The door squeaked as the trunk was opened and one of guys started to make a list of everything they had in there. The guns. The rock salt. The fake IDs. Everything that Sam and Dean had in their car’s trunk. Their Impala's trunk.
When Chuck was still calling them fans, Alexa had already realized who they really were. Sam and Dean. In the flesh.
The characters that she cared for more than her family members, the main players in all of her dreams and fantasies, were real. And they were right there, as if fate had brought them all together. Brought them to her.
The whispered words about angels and demons and seals and the apocalypse floated by her mind, stored for later use. Right now she needed to adapt her plan.
Alexa no longer needed Chuck Shurley. She had the real thing. And she could finally hear, first hand, how come Dean was there, alive and breathing and not rotting in Hell.
It was only a matter of waiting for the perfect opportunity.
Alexa decided early on that she would never be able to catch Sam and Dean at the same time. They were both accomplished hunters, they were bigger than her and they had been trained to fight their whole lives.
Her best chance was to grab one of them alone. The other would shortly follow anyhow, because more than anything they loved each other and one would not be able to stand idle while the other was missing.
Dean had been tireless, moving earth and hell when Sam had been missing, both in ‘The Benders’ and ‘All Hell Breaks Lose’. It didn’t matter if the individuals responsible for his brother's disappearance were human or supernatural, Dean always managed to find him.
Very much in the same way, Sam had been very determined in finding Dean when he’d been captured by Gordon in ‘Hunted’ or imprisoned by a Djinn in ‘What Is and Should Never Be’.
They would always find each other. She only needed one.
Alexa figured that Dean would be easier to capture. Not because he was weaker or more gullible, Alexa had no illusions about that, but because his habits made him a better prey.
Dean liked anonymous female company; he used sex to make up for his lack of social connections, to ease his pain and feelings of abandonment, even if he didn’t realize it and claimed in several books that he just loved to enjoy fun of the female variety.
So, given that she was a woman, Alexa was certain she could make herself in to someone fun, who's company Dean could enjoy for a couple of hours. No compromise, no strings attached. Or at least, the illusion of such.
All she had to do was watch and wait. The odds were on her side and, sooner or later, Dean would walk in to a bar alone and if she remained vigilant, she would know when to make her move.
There were no bar visits while the brothers were in Chuck’s town, their stay very brief, filled with rushed comings and goings.
Alexa had chosen to stay at the Toreador motel instead of following Dean around. Sam hadn’t left their motel room the entire time and she knew that Dean wouldn’t skip town without his brother.
Booking the room next to theirs, Alexa remained alert, waiting, biding her time. Just a few hours later, at night, she briefly entertained the thought that maybe her chance had arrived sooner than she expected when she heard angry shouts and words echoing through the thin motel walls. There was no mistake; it was coming from their room.
The heated discussion ended with a banged door that shook the glass on her windows, followed by a very stiff, very pissed off silhouette of Dean stalking by her room’s window. No duffel bag, no car keys, and a short trip that ended with a muffled bang near the soda machine.
Alexa relaxed back. Dean wasn’t going far.
“'Sam paced the motel room’s length. The tiny place with two beds and a bathroom felt too big for him. Everything felt insurmountable big and empty without the presence of his big brother.
The knock on the door was faint, shy. Even so, Sam looked around the room, eyes quickly checking for anything that might give him away. But aside from the medical journals and the notes scattered everywhere, nothing in that room marked him as a hunter. Just a desperate brother.
Sam opened the door and the last face he was expecting to find greeted him. Dean. An unhealthy pale pallor marred his face and he stood slumped against the door’s threshold looking for all the world like it was the only thing keeping him up.
The reaction of reaching out and grabbing his debilitated brother was instinctive on Sam’s part. The arm beneath his grip was trembling, like Dean had used up all of his energy just to reach him. Knowing his stubborn brother, Sam figured he probably had.’”
Alexa dropped the book when she realized that the whole room was shaking. While she'd never in her life experienced an earthquake, somehow this struck her as something all together different.
Sliding across the room towards the window, Alexa looked outside. The rest of the world was quiet and undisturbed. Apart from the bright light.
It was the middle of the night, and yet everything was lit as if the sun had decided to rise in the parking lot.
No… not the parking lot. Sam and Dean’s room.
Before she could decide on what to do or realize even what was happening, it was all over. The shaking stopped, the light went away and the world went onward as if nothing had happened.
Maybe nothing had actually happened. It wasn’t the first time that things like this had occurred in Alexa’s world alone. Things that only she could see, things that weren’t real for others. She looked at her medicine bag, wondering if she should actually keep on taking the meds like her doctors had advised.
The door to Sam and Dean’s room banged shut and the tall shadow of one of them walking by her window distracted Alexa. Pushing the curtain panel aside slightly, she watched Dean go into the manager’s office, room key dangling from his hand. They were going away.
Quickly gathering her stuff, taking care to make sure that none of her books were left behind, Alexa packed everything and ran for the car. She didn’t bother to check out. The manager wouldn’t wise up to the fact that she was gone until noon of the next day and by then, if she knew these guys well, they would all be far, far away from there.
Despite the bone tiredness that made every cell in his body ache, Dean could feel this bubbling energy inside him that was threatening to explode in the nastiest of ways if he didn’t do something about it.
They had driven almost nonstop for a whole day before either would admit defeat and stop to rest. Stop for respite from the uncomfortable silence that had taken residence inside the Impala. Just stop long enough to catch a breath and figure out their next move.
Sam wanted to hunt Lilith down, try again and again to kill her until he actually succeeded, or died trying.
Dean wanted to plan ahead, be sure that they wouldn’t need a frickin' archangel to save their asses if they failed again.
They had stopped in Peru, Ohio for no particular reason other than the fact that the motel offered free internet service and the town seemed quiet enough to allow them at least a couple of days of undetected credit card fraud with their current cards.
That had been three days ago.
The impatient energy of Sam’s belief that they were just wasting time was starting to grind on Dean’s nerves and the fact that, on top of everything else, he could still feel every one of the bruises soccer-mom’s car had gifted him with, did not help Dean’s patience.
Instead of staying in the room with Sam one more tense and veiled-commented night and risk the chance of landing a punch on his face, again, Dean figured it would be better for both of them if he took a moment to himself, to cool off.
“Going out,” he announced casually, grabbing his jacket and the car keys. Where once Sam might've offered to keep him company, or at the very least ask where he was going, this time there was silence. This time Sam just nodded and went back to whatever it was he was doing on his computer.
Sam was on his own mission these days, and the presence or absence of his brother didn’t seem to matter much for the outcome of his plans.
The fact that Lilith had played him and that he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop her didn’t matter much to Sam either. Only the fact that she was still alive and he hadn’t killed her yet seemed to matter now.
Dean banged the door shut to avoid speaking his mind to his brother. At this point it would do more harm than good.
Sam believed that he could defeat Lilith and no matter how scary the implications of that were, what had freaked out Dean the most was the fact that he too had started to believe Sam could do it.
Without even realizing it, Dean had started to feel safe in the notion that, if all hell broke loose, Sam could be their secret weapon. Their fail-safe.
Sam had killed Alistair. Where Dean, where the angels had failed, Sam had succeeded. And no matter how terrified Dean was of the price Sam would pay for having the power to do that, it had somehow given him some hope that there was at least one chance of them winning.
That sort of thinking, he realized, was a mistake. The price, whatever it was, would always be too high and Dean would never be able to stand by and watch Sam pay it. And now... now he wasn’t so sure that, price or no price, Sam would actually be able to defeat Lilith.
And Chuck couldn’t tell them nothing about that because Chuck, the prophet, had no frigging clue.
A prophet… assigned to them. The notion alone made Dean want to laugh each and every time he thought about it. Or would’ve, if it weren’t for the fact that, since this whole mess had started, Dean had already read and reread the Bible more times than he cared to and he knew that things rarely ever ended well for either the prophets or the subjects of their gospels.
That part at least Chuck seemed to have understood loud and clear. Trapped with the burden of this knowledge, he knew enough about things to seek solace and drown his misery in booze.
Taking a page from Chuck's book, so to speak, Dean decided to find himself some liquid numbness.
Finding an open bar in the middle of the afternoon was no problem; the green neon sign announcing 'BEER' in giant flashing letters was all Dean needed to turn his car in to that direction. The nightmares were going to be a bitch tonight, he knew that from experience. The usual couple of shots of JD before hitting the hay, just as he'd done every other day, had thus far been his lifebuoy, keeping him barely afloat in a sea of night terrors. Tonight, however, that would simply not suffice.
And how fucked up was it that he actually had experience enough to know which days would bring him the worst nightmares?
Teeth gritted, Dean punched the bar’s door open, immediately soaking in the smoke saturated air and the stale smell of spilled beer.
Spent peanut shells crumbled and crushed under his feet as Dean advanced towards the more or less illuminated central island where all the good bottles hid in plain sight.
The tattooed mountain of a man behind the counter gave him a uninterested glance that probably served only to figure if he was just a bum or an actual paying customer, before moving on to serve someone else.
There was a certain welcomed anonymity that came with low-lit places where background noise could pass as music. In this place, Dean wasn’t the man who had started the apocalypse. In this place, he wasn't a guy whose soul had been -literally- been to Hell and back. In this place, he hadn’t left behind a brother, abandoned for now in their motel room; a brother who could kill demons with his mind and that was quickly slipping away through Dean fingers. Away from his protection.
No, in this place, Dean was just one more guy in the bar before it was even six in the afternoon. A drunk, a loser, some bastard celebrating his promotion, his resignation, his wedding, his divorce. People could choose to believe whatever they wanted about him. No one would even come close to the real deal.
As he made his way towards a bar stool, Dean took in the meager selection of his ‘drinking companions’. Most of them could be slotted in the refugee-from-AA group, from the way they nursed and treated their drinks like old friends, oblivious to the rest of the world around them.
A couple of 'professional' ladies prowled around, rustling and primping their fur, sniffing for any potential prey like hungry hyenas searching for rotting meat.
In a table by the silent jukebox, a group of four tourists from some south-European country, if their looks and the faint wisps of conversation coming from their table were anything to go by. Though what they would be doing in a bar in Peru, Ohio was well beyond Dean’s comprehension. Probably lost, the dumb fucks.
The door opened once more at the edge of his vision and a busty blond came in. Somewhat out of place in this bar, she had probably come to drown her sorrows after some fight with her boyfriend. Or maybe she too had arrived to pick up some customers for the night, get an early start.
Any other day, and she would be just what the doctor ordered to get Dean out of his head. Today, though, today the only frisky blond he wanted for company was his beer.
Dean signaled the bartender to hit him again, same poison: one beer, three shots of tequila. Tonight was a night to get thoroughly shit-faced. Tonight was his day-off from having nightmares. And if he happened to pass out on the ground outside the bar, in a blessed state of alcohol-induced coma, all the better. It would, at least, make for a good excuse to avoid facing Sam before tomorrow.
Alexa knew Sam and Dean better than she knew herself. She knew about the things that had shaped them in to the men that they were now; she knew about their hidden hopes and fears, about their deepest desires and wishes.
She knew what Sam searched for in a woman, knew what had attracted him to Jessica and Madison, knew that Lori -the preacher’s little vanilla daughter from ‘Hookman’- hadn’t really registered in Sam’s attraction radar, despite what Dean and Lori might’ve thought at the time; knew that Sarah Blake, from ‘Provenance’ would never work in long term.
Bela, despite her conniving methods and unethical behavior, stood a better chance of conquering Sam’s heart than either of those two.
Sam liked strong-willed women, women that grounded him, women with roots deep enough to be home for him. Jessica had been that, had been the future that Sam had envisioned for himself, had been the foundation material that Sam had needed to make himself stay.
Madison, as fleeting as their relationship had been, had shown the potential to be that as well. A strong enough anchor to help Sam fight the pull of his brother, the pull of family.
Now Dean, Dean was a different animal.
Dean had given his heart to a woman once. In return, the only thing he received was tiny, tiny broken pieces; he'd learned his lesson and put a stop on long-term relationships. Dean’s list of quick conquests, laid-back anonymous fucks and even quicker goodbyes was something of a recurrent theme in the books.
Alexa could see the deeper meaning behind it. The hidden depths of a little boy who'd lost all connection to normal and steady at the age of four. The hidden depths of a man who'd gotten horribly crushed on the first real attempted that he’d made to reconnect with that world and those notions.
Now sex… sex was Dean’s food for the soul. His greasy burgers for the ego, the ones that tasted wonderful going down but that, in the grand scheme of things, left his notion of self-worth and value clothed with fat and cholesterol.
And Alexa knew exactly the type of women Dean searched for to appease his appetites.
She looked at herself in the rear-view mirror of the car. All the stuffing that she had jammed underneath her breasts had changed her from a C cup in to a double D, amply advertised by the low cut dress that she was wearing.
Alexa knew that she was an attractive woman. She noticed when men look at her, even though the feeling of being desired did nothing for her.
When she enters the smoky bar and attracts the eyes of almost every men inside, Dean, seated by the bar counter, gives her nothing more than a cursory glance.
A thrill runs through her, raising goosebumps on her skin. The close proximity with Dean, she finds, is both exhilarating and intoxicating. Even though she had been watching him and Sam for close to a week now, looking from afar was nothing in comparison to being able to breath the same air as him; to be able to stand close enough to see the tiny nick he has in his chin from shaving too hastily before leaving, to smell that sweet mixture of clean and dirty that seems to surround Dean.
But it won’t do for her plan to catch him if Dean doesn’t bite the bait that she’s laying.
Everything else was ready, all Dean needs to do now is take the bite. When she figured that Sam and Dean were in for a longer stay in this town, Alexa figured that they had found themselves a job there. Finding herself a house that would fit her purposes was the easy part. Getting Dean there…
Alexa watches from the corner of her eye as Dean downs shot after shot after shot. Even if he gets very, very drunk, she knows that he won’t willing follow her or give her his car keys. She looks at the watch in her wrist. They’d been there for more than one hour and Dean has made clear to her and to two other women that actually neared him, that he wasn’t there to pick anyone up, much less to allow himself to be picked up.
Alexa fingers her black purse, a perfect match for her tight black dress. Slipping a hand inside, she searches for the bottle of pills. It was time for plan B, and the overweight guy seating to her left, getting progressively drunk faster than Dean, the one that had been eye-fucking her for the past half an hour, was just tailor-made for what she needed.
Alexa might not feel anything when men’s hungry eyes focus on her skin, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't know how to play them just as well as any other women.
A fleeting glance over to fat-guy, a seemingly absent-minded finger playing with her red-painted full lips and the guy is out of his stool and charging in her direction.
“So… whas’ a honey like yerself ‘s doin’ in a beehive like this?” Fat-guy offers as a greeting. The smell of fermented alcohol on his breath is enough to disinfect the whole bar.
The disgusted look in Alexa’s face is the only thing sincere in her act.
“I’m waiting for someone,” she offers, trying to distance herself from him.
“No need t’wait no more,” he says, the lopsided grin in his face affecting his body’s whole balance in such way that, for a minute, he looks like a felled tree about to fall over her. He grabs her arm to steady himself.
“Let me go!” Alexa shouts, attracting more than her fair share of stares. In the middle of her scared and fragile act, she’s elated to see that Dean’s head is among the turned ones.
“No need t'shout, bitch!” The man said, letting go of her arm and clenching his head instead. He looked as if her voice had actually physically pained him. Given the amount of wobbling that he was doing, it probably had. He charged again, in his drunkenness, sure that he was the man of her dreams. “Wha’ you need ‘s a real man… give that temper a bit of a distar… distrak-“
Dean moved faster than she could follow, momentarily distracted.
“Got an ear problem along with that tongue thing or you just plain dumb?”
It was a brief fight that could barely be classified as one. The guy didn't look like he had much of a fighting-skill bone in him, even if he were sober. Now, drunk as he was, he could barely coordinate his movements to walk, much less aim properly the punch that he tried to land on Dean's face.
Like some choreographed scene from an action movie, Dean had only to duck the man's erratic flying fist, watch as he lost his balance all by himself and see him land face first on the stool that Dean had just vacated. From there, to the floor, to complete lack of consciousness, was as sure as ants on a picnic. Dean didn’t even touched him.
Alexa isn't actually following the 'fight'; she already knows who will win. Instead her attention shifts to Dean's unfinished drink, now left unguarded. After a quick glance around the room, just to be sure all eyes are on the ensuing battle, her hand slips inside her purse fingering the round smooth caplet with practiced ease. All she need do was to side step them, to avoid being caught in the men's struggle, and move her hand a fraction of a second over Dean's beer.
By the time the drunk is on the floor, moaning and bitching about a chipped tooth, the pills she dropped are already half-dissolved.
"Thank you for that," she offers to Dean as he stands over the fallen man, making sure that the fighting is all out of his system. "Some guys just don't get a clue."
The seductive smile that she puts on has little effect on Dean as he slips back on to his stool and grabs his beer, acting like he had just stepped out to take a piss. "You better call your date and tell him to hurry his ass up," he says casually, a free advice that carries no judgment or bite for her attention-calling presence in a bar that would've spelled trouble for any attractive women.
Alexa watches as Dean gulps down the rest of his beer, makes a face at the taste and chases it away with a shot of tequila. All she needs to do now is wait. The pills are fast acting and she used two just to be sure.
Ten minutes later Dean slumps against the counter and she's by his side instantly.
"I think my friend has had enough," she says with a shy smile for the busy bartender. If he remembers her from the scuffle before, he doesn't say a thing. Despite the dinginess of the place, slobbering drunks at the counter is bad for business and if she's willing to take this one off his hands, before they have one more drunken scene to sour the night, and he's more than happy to let her.
"Does he owe you anything?" Alexa asks, slipping on arm around Dean's shoulders, holding his pliant body against hers.
The barkeeper shakes his head and goes back to tend to the other customers, the ones that will actually keep on consuming something, leaving Alexa to struggle to her feet with the combine weight of a barely conscious Dean.
"Who... wh'r we goin'?" Dean slurs, his voice thick as molasses, as if his tongue is twice the normal size.
"We're gonna go meet Sam, remember? Sam's waiting for you in the motel room... he'll get worried if you get behind the wheel in the state you're in," Alexa explains. The pills alone would be enough to get him confused and cooperative, she knew that because that was why they used to give them to her in the institute. Mix with the alcohol, she knows that the only thing that Dean will understand from her speech is Sam's name. She's counting on that to get him inside the Impala and drive him to the place she rented.
"Sam’my... Sam's g'na get 'mself kill'," Dean said earnestly, his eyes crossing when he finally looks at the person leading him away. "Do... d' I k'ow ya?'
Alexa smiles reassuringly at him. "We spend the whole night drinking together and I bet you don't even remember my name do you, Dean?"
The way Dean scrunches his face assures Alexa that he's so far out that he's actually trying to come up with a name for her.
Dean falls asleep leaning against the passenger side door of the Impala and Alexa takes a moment to relax and congratulated herself. The hard part was done and now she could move on with her plan to fix Dean.