Warnings!!! - Slight swearing and insults. Also, there is a Civil War-era ghost story that mentions blood, decapitation, and murder. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with any of these things.

(F/D) - Favorite Drink

    You had been there for ages now; you sat at a corner booth in your favorite bar as you stared into the bright screen of your laptop. You sighed as you mulled over the words for a story you were writing, nursing an extravagant glass of (F/D) as you did so.

    A silent groan escaped your lips as a hand suddenly slammed down in front of you. You looked up into a pair of vibrant blue eyes as the stench of hard liquor filled your nose.

    "Hey, gorgeous," the strange man before you smiled as he openly checked you out. You rolled your eyes, but the man refused to take the hint.

    "What's up?" you asked, a hint of annoyance seeping into your voice. This was the fourth time tonight someone approached you, and all of them were looking for hookups. What was it about diligently working on your laptop that made it seem like you were interested in anyone there?

    "Well, I just saw you from across the room, and there was no way I could let you leave without hearing how gorgeous you are," the man rasped, and soon, you noticed the familiar tint of green glass from the beer bottle in his other hand. "Now, tell me, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

    "No, but it did sting a bit when I scraped my knee while crawling out of the pits of hell," you smirked as you watched his mouth drop slightly, "I don't know why you would think someone like me could ever be an angel. But how about you tell me something? How many times has that pick up line actually worked on a girl?"

    "Oh, come on, baby, don't be like that," the man smiled as he reached his hand out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind your ear.

    "Alright, that's enough, Duncan," a loud, gruff voice boomed over the room, but the noise of rowdy dancers and drinkers still managed to dim the speaker's voice to a slight yell.

    "What's your problem? Is she your girl or something?" the man you assumed was named Duncan asked as he stood as tall as his posture would allow him.

    "She is a paying customer, and a great friend of mine," Johnny, the man with the loud voice and the owner of the bar, spoke with such conviction it made even you shiver, "So, you better leave her alone, or I'll kick you out myself."

    You sighed a breath of relief as you watched Duncan raise his hands in mock surrender and turn to leave with a few slurred apologies.

    "Really, (Y/N)?" Johnny asked with a shake of his head, "Why do you keep coming in here to do work? You know what they're going to do to you."

    "Because unfortunately, that guy just gave me the perfect idea for the chapter I'm stuck on," you sighed with an exasperated huff.

    "Can't you people-watch in a park or something?" Johnny laughed.

    "There's no interesting people in a park. I'm writing about young, drunk party-goers, not old ladies who feed the pigeons every Sunday after church," you rolled your eyes playfully.

    "Right," Johnny smirked, "I have to go take care of some business, but if anyone else tries to mess with you, come find me and I'll take care of them."

    "Thanks, Johnny," you smiled, but the twinkle didn't reach your eyes. You hated having to rely on Johnny to make creeps leave you alone. You wished drunk men would just have the common decency to leave women alone at the bar when they were obviously busy and uninterested. You hated having to run and find Johnny because a man wouldn't leave you alone, especially when it ended up with you losing your booth to a rowdy couple.

    You knew that men only respected the presence of other dominant men, but it filled you with indescribable rage every time you thought about it.

    You sighed as you tried to escape the negative mindset that threatened to give you writer's block for the rest of the night. You allowed your eyes to wander over the crowd of people, searching for a new specimen to write about until they settled on the most perfect man you had ever seen.

    You bit your lip as you stared at a man who sat in a booth across the room, his eyes buried in a pile of paper as he rummaged through them. You smiled; another fellow bar worker.

    Once you saw him, a light bulb went off in your head. If you sat with a man who, by the looks of it, would have no interest in hitting on you, other men would think you were with him, and they would leave you alone! You smiled triumphantly to yourself; your plan was ingenious.

    A small smirk played on your lips as you shut your laptop and pulled it close to your chest. You collected the rest of your things, including your half-finished drink, and walked through the crowded bar towards your future safe haven.

    Your heart rate increased when your eyes studied the man you hoped to befriend. He was even more attractive than he seemed from across the room. He had long, shaggy brown hair that fell to his ears, and you couldn't help but think about what it would feel like to run your fingers through such soft locks. However, as soon as the thought crossed your mind, you shook your head as if to clear it of any sinful daydreams, nearly gagging to yourself as you realized you were just like the creepy men who hit on you every Friday night.

    "Hey," you greeted awkwardly, your words nearly catching in your throat when the man stared up at you with chocolate brown eyes, "Do you mind if I sit here? I'm trying to finish some work, and it's way too crowded over there."

    "Not at all," the man's smooth voice rang out clearly over the loud music as he motioned for you to sit in the seat across from him, "I'm Sam, Sam Winchester."

    "(Y/N)," you smiled as you plopped into the squishy bench, but you couldn't help the feeling of familiarity that washed over you when you heard his last name, "Thanks for saving me. I think they'll finally leave me alone with you here."

    "What do you mean?" Sam asked as he stared at you quizzically, dropping the papers fully from his hand for the first time that evening.

    "I come in here a lot to get some inspiration for the book I'm writing," you explained as you opened your laptop  with a flourish, "but every time I come in here, I spend more of my night chasing away creepy perverts than writing about them."

    "They won't leave you alone?" Sam asked as confusion twinkled in his eyes, "Not even when you ask?"

    "No, they only leave when my friend, Johnny, asks them to," you groaned, "Men around here don't listen to girls. They only respect another man's wishes. That's where you come in."

    "Me?" Sam asked, his mouth dropping slightly, "You sure trust me a lot for someone who has quite a few problems with men."

    "Well, you haven't hit on me yet, so I call that a success," you smiled, showing your teeth for the first time that night, "I mean, I've given you plenty of opportunities."

    "My Dad taught me the importance of respecting women," Sam smiled, "Besides, you seem pretty busy. What are you working on?"

    "I'm writing a novel, actually," you smiled as you looked down at your laptop, a sudden nervousness flooding you. You were always shy when it came to your writing; you only shared it with a few people.

    "What are you writing about?" he asked as he leaned back in his seat, his full attention directed at you.

    "I'm writing a romance about a girl who houses a year abroad student," you replied as you thought about the best way to work your work, "However, she has a big secret, and I can't give it away."

    "What, not even for me?" Sam gaped, his hand resting on his chest as he feigned a hurt expression.

    "No, I can't," you giggled, "It wouldn't be fair to my other fans."

    "Well, you better get it published soon because I don't think I can handle waiting very long to find out," he smiled, causing you to blush lightly.

    "What about you? I saw you working on something pretty diligently while I was over there," you spoke as you tried to deflect the attention from you, "By the way, I'm sorry if I distracted you."

    "Oh no, you're no problem at all. I'm actually researching for a college paper with my brother, Dean," Sam nodded to a man with short, brown hair and light stubble who stood near the bar, surrounded on all sides by beautiful blond women in short, tight party dresses.

    "You might want to warn him to stay away from those girls," you suggested as your face crinkled in disgust, "I know those girls, and I'm sure your brother doesn't want sloppy seconds, or hundredths, for that matter. They go home with a new guy every night."

    "You sure do know a lot about the people here," Sam pointed out, drawing your attention back to him, "Maybe you could help us with our paper."

    "Sure," you nodded as you slammed your laptop shut, discarding the work that you were sure you wouldn't get to, "What's your paper about?"

    "We're researching ghost stories that originated from around here," Sam spoke, his hands moving to help his story flow, "Do you know of any good legends? Maybe one that includes a headless woman?"

    "Well, there is one I know..." you smirked, your eyes twinkling as you thought about the story you heard countless times as a kid, "Everyone who grew up around here heard it."

    "Really? What is it?" Sam asked, leaning all of his weight on his forearms, his attention glued to you. You could feel your cheeks heating up from the close proximity.

    "So, it all started back during the Civil War," you sighed as you leaned back on the bouncy leather, trying to make yourself comfortable for the medium-length story.

    "There was a wealthy plantation owner here who supplied the Confederate President, Jefferson Davis, directly, with the help of an assortment of slaves. He had a strong slave woman named Big Liz; she could carry a huge boar under each arm without a problem. Big Liz did not agree with supporting the Confederacy, so she spied on the plantation owner and fed the intel to Union soldiers. When the Union began destroying her owner's supply line, he figured that there was a spy, and it didn't take long for him to find out it was Big Liz. Of course, he wanted her gone, but he couldn't take her by himself; she was simply too strong..." you trailed off, wanting a break from the long story.

    "And? Then what happened?" Sam asked desperately, "Please, you've got to tell me everything you know right now."

    You laughed lightly at his distressed tone. "Wow, this paper must be really important."

    "You have no idea," he mumbled under his breath. You giggled again before he shot a dirty look at you, his cheeks tinted pink from embarrassment.

    "Alright, alright, I'll continue," you tittered, "The owner told Big Liz that he needed to bury a chest filled with a large treasure that belonged to the Confederates for safekeeping. He needed Big Liz to follow him into the wetlands and bury it. She was excited that she would have this information to share with the Union soldiers, so she followed him out there. The owner made her dig in the marsh, which isn't an easy task. The mud kept filling up the hole again and again, but Big Liz continued the work, digging until she was exhausted. Finally, she dug deep enough that she could stand in it, and her master finally ordered her to stop. She went to climb out of the hole, but before she could, her master cursed her for being a traitor, decapitating her with one swing. Her lifeless body fell backward, covering the chest as her head rolled away. The master couldn't find her head, but he thought nothing of it, knowing that the animals out there would make it disappear anyway. He filled the hole in before returning to his home-"

    "So, that's the connection," Sam mused as he cut you off.

    You stared at him quizzically, your eyebrows knitted together, "What connection?"

    "Oh, the connection to our writing prompt," Sam explained hurriedly, but you weren't sure you believed him. You just sighed, deciding to drop it for the time being.

    "Did you want to hear the ending?" you asked, half-jokingly as you watched his eyes widen in disbelief.

    "There's more?" he gaped, causing you to laugh for the thousandth time tonight.

    "Yes, there's always more," you nodded with a slight smile, "On the way back to his house, some weird things started happening. The moon hid behind the clouds, the wind blew around him, the sound of other people's footsteps filled the air. He was paranoid already, so he was beyond happy to see his house. But when he reached it, he came face to face with the muddy, bloated, headless body of his late slave. He heard laughter, only to look down and see her holding the head he couldn't find. She set her head down and killed him right there."

    "Wow, someone didn't like the swamp," Sam commented sarcastically.

    "Legend has it you can still see her in the swamp today, so it couldn't have been so bad," you responded nonchalantly with a shrug. Sam was nowhere near as calm as you were, though, as he flew to his feet before you.

    "How?" he asked, his tone urgent.

    "If you drive out to the bridge where all of this happened at night with no other cars around you, you might see her. If you turn off your car, leave your keys on the hood of your car, and honk three times, she is supposed to come out, holding a lantern and her head. There's a good chance your car won't start again until morning. Legend has it, she beckons you to follow her to the swamp, promising to take you to the treasure. Those who follow her never come back," you spoke with a devious smirk.

    "Does anybody ever try it around here?" Same asked worriedly.

    "Of course, teenagers go all the time," you shrugged, "My friends and I are actually planning on going this weekend if you want to come-"

    "You can't do that!" Sam nearly screeched, causing you to stare at him weirdly. Who was he to tell you what to do?

    "Why not?" you asked, your head tilting to the side.

    "Didn't you hear about those disappearances recently?" Sam asked, his voice dripping with concern.

    "That's why we're checking it out!" you exclaimed, a wide smile tugging at your lips.

    "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but-" Sam began before being cut off by a new, deep voice.

    "Wow, look at that, Sammy finally got himself a girlfriend," the new voice boomed, causing you to look up and come face to face with the man Sam pointed out earlier; Sam's brother.

    "(Y/N), this is my brother, Dean," Sam introduced after he awkwardly cleared his throat, "Dean, this is (Y/N)."

    You cringed at Dean's obvious "free love" lifestyle. Dean was the kind of guy you spent all night hiding from, and you could already feel the rage from earlier returning at full force.

    "Actually, I came over here to work and avoid manwhores like you who just want to take women home without pleasing them," you snapped as you rolled your eyes, "By the way, the next time you're looking for some girls to mess with, why don't you pick some girls that haven't been used by every man in town?"

    Sam and Dean stared at you with wide eyes and open mouths. You sneered at them as you opened your laptop again, opting to return to work until Dean left.

    "...If you don't marry her, I will," Dean broke the silence as he turned his attention to Sam.

    "That's it!" you growled, jumping to your feet as you slammed your laptop shut with a small bang.

    "(Y/N), wait-" Sam called to you as he stood, but you quickly cut him off with a sharp glare.

    "I was actually enjoying my time here with Sam until you got here, Dean, not that you care," you snapped, your voice cold and harsh, "You're just like every other drunk pig in this bar, and I'm sick and tired of men like you ruining my weekends with your misogynistic bullshit."

    You pulled your laptop to your chest, collecting the rest of your things as you prepared to leave.

    "(Y/N), I'm sorry-" Dean apologized as he reached out to grab your wrist, but you didn't want to hear it.

    "I'm sorry the night has to end this way, Sam. I really was having a good time with you," you spoke as calmly as you could as you directed your attention to the taller brother, "Maybe you and I will cross paths before you go back to school."

    With these final words, you turned and left, looking for Johnny so you could return your glass and say your goodbyes.

    Sam groaned as he allowed his body to fall into the seat, his glare focused on the place where you once sat.

    "Way to go, Dean," Sam huffed, "I finally find a girl I'm interested in, and you had to come and ruin it."

    "It's not my fault you chose the self-advocating feminist to hit on," Dean rasped, but he avoided his brother's gaze as the guilt threatened to consume him.

    Sam threw back the rest of the beer he had been nursing all night. "Well, I'm going back to the room. (Y/N) gave me some good leads, but she's dead set on investigating some things for her self within the next few days. We can investigate tomorrow and take care of things before she gets involved."

    Sam pushed past Dean, sighing to himself as he regretted not asking for your number. But, Sam perked up a bit at the thought of your last words to him.

    As Sam entered the dingy motel room, he vowed to see you before he left.
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This is my first ever Supernatural one-shot! I hope you guys enjoy it. Is anyone interested in seeing part two? Let me know in the comments!