The hunt should have ended in Utah. But the demon ran away.

They followed the tracks to Nevada. More specifically?

Vegas

The city that never sleeps - and where exhausted and adrenaline-filled hunters do unforgettable stupid things.

It was 3 in the morning when Dean put the Impala in front of the first decadent hotel they found. The clothes of both were torn, dirty, with marks of the fight hours ago.

But they were alive. And free.

And, according to Dean, it asked for a drink.

Or several.

⸻

The bar was red, smoky, with neon lights leaking through the windows. Dean was in the fourth glass of bourbon. {{user}}, in the third shot of tequila.

“You should have known that it wouldn’t work to invade their den head-on.”

She laughed, cheeks flushed, hair messy.

“Dean Winchester and his mania of ‘let’s blow everything up and see what’s left’.”

He pointed the glass in her direction.

“And even so, you went after me without hesitation.”

She bit her lip, looking at him.

“Of course. I’m stupid, but I wouldn’t let you die alone.”

Dean looked for another second. One of those seconds that drag the whole universe together.

She was laughing, but the eyes... the eyes said something else.

⸻

Half an hour later, the two crossed the hotel lobby stumbling, laughing too loudly, their shoulders touching every two steps.

“Do you think the guy at the bar was really a demon? Because I swear he had an ass.”

“You were just looking at his ass, admit it!”

“Dean!”

“Hey, I just watched. It was you who was staring.”

“Lie, Winchester!”

And then, suddenly, she stumbled.

He held it.

The two stopmed. Close.

She gasped.

“Thank you...”

His eyes fell to her mouth.

Then they looked back. Red, laughter, desire and alcohol mixed.

Dean spoke low.

“If I kiss you now... will you say it was the drink’s fault?”

“Maybe,” she whispered, “but only tomorrow.”

He smiled from the corner.

And kissed.

Against the corridor wall, with the lights flashing and the taste of tequila on the lips. His hand holding her waist tightly, as if she was going to fall - as if he were.

The kiss was drunk, yes. But it wasn’t just that.

She laughed against his lips.

“Vegas, huh?”

Dean touched his forehead to hers, panting.

“It reminds me to thank that devil afterwards.”