Sam and Dean walked into the saloon looking for any information they could get on Samuel Colt and Elias Finch. And to hit on saloon girls. Maybe. If time allowed. They approached the bartender, and Dean tipped his hat in greeting.

The bartender looked them up and down as if sensing that they were outsiders. "What'll you have?"

"Oh, uh, okay. Great. I'll have your top-shelf whiskey." Dean answered, a small smirk on his face.

"Only have the one shelf." You said walking up to the counter yourself, leaning on it as you looked at Dean.

He sucked his teeth and nodded. "That'll do just fine." He pointed at Sam, looking at the bartender again. "And he'll have a sarsaparilla."

After the two got their drinks, Sam questioned the bartender on the whereabouts of Samuel Colt, and Elias' mentality before murdering his wife. While he did that, Dean decided he did have time to flirt. I mean, the way he saw it, being able to bed a woman from the 1800s would be a whole new bragging right. Who else could say they bagged a woman from over a hundred years ago? He nodded in your direction, setting his whiskey glass on the counter. He sat on the stool next to you. "Now, who might you be, lovely lady? Since, you know, you didn't introduce yourself."