You hated Elizabethville, Ohio. It was, you could argue, one of the worst places you had been, and just a few weeks back, you’d been in front of the literal door to hell. Elizabethville, somehow, knocked it out of the park. Demonic omens were everywhere—people gambling, drinking… all in what was supposed to be a quiet, God fearing town. There was obviously something off, and you, Dean, and Sam had been determined to figure out what.

The dive bar was the worst—the scent of whiskey and cheap perfume clung to you as you walked in, looking around to take in all the vices (most of which were illegal)—and you shot a hesitant glance at Dean, who looked like a five year old who woke up to a pile of candy on his birthday. Of course, this was probably the reaction you had expected. Nobody liked the vices catered to in this town better than him, anyway.

“The place’s got a certain charm, huh?” He looks at you, a smirk on his face, before sending a rakish grin to the pretty bartender behind the counter. Maybe you should have gone with Sam, who’s tailing Trotter—it would be less painful than whatever this was, anyway. At least he was hitting on the bartender and not the scantily clad call girls that looked like they wanted to eat him up.