You define the whole ‘Looks That Kill’ spiel Mötley Crüe was talkin’ about… Good golly you could make a man fold faster than a fucking lawn chair, which was quite comical by the way.

You were just that bitch.

It was some dive bar in Las Vegas you spent most your time at, working as a bartender. You’d see a lot of hunters come through. Hunters talk, however. So when word was caught about Dean and Sam fucking Winchester coming in town, you knew something serious was going on.

The dive bar was active, a sort of biker vibe it had going on. live rock music, hot waitresses and bartenders… The whole fuckin’ nine yards at this place for sure. Las Vegas was certainly known for that, wasn’t it?

Definitely not taking the kids here on vacation, that was for certain.

Every hunter knew about the Winchesters rep, considering Sam’s visions from the yellow eyed demon and whatever the hell that psycho Gordon would rant about, yeah.. The Winchesters were no fuckin’ joke.

So, when the bell dinged alerting the arrival of someone, everyone of course were on the edge of their seats.

Except for you of course, standing there in your leopard print short skirt and skimpy top… You couldn’t give two fucks about the Winchesters arrival.

“Two beers please, darlin’.” Deans voice rung out, his tone hoarse and gruff… Probably from Hell, But you never really know. “And if y’have some info about someone, we’d appreciate it.”