A small epilogue to Jealousy / Uncertainty, explicitly written for @canniboylism honestly
CW: Recovering whumpee, Kauri’s Poor Life Choices Redux, alcohol use, alcohol abuse, angst, drug use
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“Hey, Jer.” Tim, the other bartender, nudges Jeremy with his elbow while he pulls a beer, the pint glass expertly tilted, tipping back to normal until it’s full with only the thinnest layer of white foam above the dark stout beneath. “Look over at the corner.”
Jeremy’s busy shaking up a cocktail, but he looks the way that Tim points, both of them going through the motions of their job with mindless perfect precision even as their minds are entirely elsewhere. “What’m I looking at, Tim? I just see the usual crowd.”
“Yeah, maybe a little too usual.” At Jeremy’s obvious confusion, Tim laughs and sets the beer down in front of the customer who ordered, giving him a wave as he grabs it and turns around. “Who do you see who hasn’t come around in a while, huh? Take a look.”
Jeremy checks again.
His eyes roam over the crowd - mostly men, although there’s some women here and there. Men moving together on the dance floor, shimmery with sweat and more than a few with glitter, too. That’s enough of a bitch to clean up after the bar closes for the night that they mostly just let it be.
He sees Kenny, Brent, Ollie, Robert, Emory, Kauri, Isaac, a guy who tells everyone to call him Remington that Jeremy badly wishes he could throw out for that reason alone-
Wait.
“Shit, is that Kauri?”
“Sure is.”
Jeremy’s eyebrows nearly meet his hairline. “I haven’t seen him since-”
“Since he shacked up with that tall fucking drink of water, the guy who looks like he should be a linebacker.” Tim grins, taking another order, pouring another beer. And another. And another. Jeremy throws together a Jack and Coke, a little sloppier than usual, but the customer sure doesn’t complain about the accidental heavy pour of whiskey that finds its way in.
“Wonder if there’s trouble in paradise,” Jeremy says, head tipping to the side, a bit of his dyed-blond hair flopping nearly into his eyes. He hears someone call for the drink special of the night, the Sister Roberta, a slightly lower-alcohol take on the classic knock-your-ass-on-the-floor cocktail.
He hums, turns to start working on it, and loses sight of Kauri in the crowd.
The song changes, and Jeremy gets hit with a rush while a slow song plays, everyone getting their drink orders in before the next good beat begins.
He’s honestly forgotten all about him when Kauri himself pops up at the bar, glitter smeared across his cheeks and jaw from someone’s lips. His hair’s a wild riot of black curls. His blue eyes are hazy, not the usual sparkling warmth Jeremy remembers. He hasn’t ordered a drink yet, Jeremy doesn’t think... and Jeremy wonders who gave him whatever’s in his bloodstream right now.
“Long time no see, gorgeous,” Jeremy says, friendly as always, with his slightly-distant bartender flirtation. He and Kauri hooked up a few times, years ago, but Jeremy’s got a boyfriend these days and he’s done with the whole wild-oats stage of his life.
But Kauri was always good for a no-strings-implied flirt.
Kauri smiles at him, bright and shining and purely perfect. Too perfect. Like a vase in a museum, one little bump and it’s in shards on the floor. “Hey, Jer. Long time no need to go dancing, I guess. Look, I see the Sister Roberta up there, but I want the real thing.”
“I’m not making you an Aunt Roberta, Kaur.” Jeremy dips down to start pulling together the Sister version, pouring heavy on the blackberry juice, going light on all the liquors. “For one thing, you get super fucked up on absinthe.”
“Maybe I want to get fucked up on absinthe.”
“Maybe I don’t want to let you.”
“Aw, why not?” Kauri pouts, and Jeremy watches the way his eyelashes bat, just a little. The glimmer of interest he puts into every expression, and it’s all… performed. Kauri isn’t the only regular who knows how to put on a good show, but he’s the only one who can do it flawlessly even high off his ass. Like he’s an actor, like he’s secretly been Vincent Shield all along pretending to be someone else. “You love me drunk, remember?”
“Yeah, but I don’t love you mixing whatever shit’s already in you with booze and blacking out in the alley behind the bar or on a goddamn bus stop bench like you used to.” Jeremy keeps his voice firm, and he sets the drink he’s made in front of Kauri, catching his eyes, keeping their gazes locked until something shatters, just a little, in Kauri - and he looks down and away.
“Yeah, okay,” he mutters. “Asshole. I don’t tell you how to live your fucking life.”
“You’re not as young as you used to be, Kauri. I’m just worried.” Jeremy says, and lets his voice soften a little.
“Yeah, well, neither are you.”
“No. I’m not. And I don’t drink like I used to, either.”
“Neither do I.” Kauri won’t look at him. Those big blue eyes are trailing without focusing over the crowd dancing in the dark. The thump of the bass beats alongside Jeremy’s heartbeat, but he barely notices other than to wonder how much hearing damage he’s going to discover he has whenever his body starts accumulating the cost of a job like this more than it already has in his knees and back. “Tonight’s an exception.”
“What’s exceptional about it?”
Kauri hesitates. His fingers trail over the stem to his drink. “It doesn’t matter. I fucked up.”
“With the guy you’re living with these days?”
“With my husband,” Kauri whispers. Jeremy only knows it’s what he said because bartending for more than a decade has him pretty great at reading lips. The wedding band on Kauri’s left ring finger glints in the light as he looks down at it. “We should’ve known better, anyway. I should’ve known better.”
“Known better about what?”
Kauri looks at him again as if for the first time. There’s something fragile in him, nearly shattered. He looks like he’ll cry and blow away with the breeze. “I never wanted to be like this, you know. I know that now, that I didn’t want to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“Doesn’t matter. Start me a tab, yeah?”
“No. That’s the only drink I’m gonna make you. Why you doin’ this, man? What happened?”
“Because I fucking deserve it,” Kauri snaps in return, spilling some of the drink with how violently he picks it up and turns away. “If you won’t make me drinks I’ll go somewhere else after this one.”
Jeremy watches him disappear back into the dance floor, gulping down the drink and abandoning the glass at someone else’s table. He talks to someone, hands over money and Jeremy watches him lean over and snort something off the tabletop.
Jeremy’s jaw works. “I need to stop him.”
“He’s just a customer, man.” Tim frowns at him. “I mean, he’s a longtime regular, yeah, but-”
“I don’t care, I’m calling the fucking bouncer. I don’t need coke in my fucking bar tonight-”
“Nah, that’s just ecstasy. I know the dealer.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” Jeremy’s not sure why it bothers him so much, but it does. He gets the dealer thrown out and a look of pure childish anger from Kauri in return when it happens. Even a middle finger held up in his direction.
Jeremy turns away. Let him be angry, if it means he doesn’t overdo it on the drugs tonight.
Kauri dances with desperation as much as skill, and between customers Jeremy catches glimpses of him with his head resting back against someone’s shoulder, sees him sandwiched between two men at one point. He used to look content that way, like his entire life had led up to being looked at with lust on a dance floor.
Now, he just looks exhausted, and miserable, all of it papered over with the patented Kauri Grant charm. His sparkle can’t hide the real him like it used to, Jeremy thinks. If it ever really did. He hesitates, rinsing out the cocktail shaker.
“Hey, Tim?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” Tim sets a dry martini with two olives down in front of a woman who barely looks up from the book she is inexplicably reading in the middle of a violently loud dance bar. She has a tiny flashlight hooked to a wire over the page.
“Call Tessa and see if she’ll start early tonight.”
“You wanting to cut out? Still staring at Kauri Grant basically fucking everyone with his clothes on?”
“Jesus Christ. No. I mean… look. I want to take Kauri home.”
Tim looks over at him sharply, then out at the floor, where Kauri has his chin tipped up, his mouth less than an inch from someone else’s as he moves in rhythm to the beat. The glitter on his face could be mistaken, from this distance, for the tracks of tears. “Dude. You sure? You’re not really the rebound-sex type, and that man is clearly coming out of a rough-ass relationship moment.”
“Not like that.” Jeremy rolls his eyes. “I’m not a total asshole. Something’s really wrong. He’s not having fun, Tim, he’s trying to hurt himself tonight.”
“Yeah, it happens. Not our circus, not our monkeys.”
“I just-... I don’t care, Tim. I’m making it my business, I don’t want to see him fucking dead because he overdoes it on a bad night.”
“Well, better move fast. You’re not the only one trying to take him home,” A regular named Boyd they’ve all known for a decade or more remarks as he picks up his beer.
“What?” Jeremy looks. Tim looks. Even the woman pretending not to eavesdrop while she reads turns and looks.
There’s a new man, one Jeremy has never seen before, taking Kauri by the arm and pulling him from the crush of the crowd to the edge, where it’s quieter, easier to hear.
The new man is taller, but not so tall as the big fucking blond dude Kauri usually brings around on his rare visits these days. He’s slim, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a feline look, drowning in the oversized hooded sweatshirt he wears, his hair mussed and messy.
He pulls Kauri close, and Kauri goes willingly, eyes turned up to meet his. The man’s lips thin as he takes in the evidence inherent in Kauri’s blown-wide pupils, his slightly shamed smile that falters and fades under the man’s scrutiny.
Jeremy’s too far to hear them, and they’re not looking the right way for him to read their lips either. But he sees the man’s mouth moving, and Kauri shaking his head, closing his eyes and trying to turn away, only to be pulled back by the man.
Kauri’s mouth twists into the telltale snarl of a sob forced back before it can escape, and he shakes his head again.
“Who the fuck is that?” Jeremy mutters. He’s never seen that guy around before, but it’s clear he and Kauri know each other. The guy’s not the husband, but he’s got a wedding band on his left ring finger, too. His hands go up to cup either side of Kauri’s face, leaning forward until their foreheads touch.
Kauri looks up again, but there’s a new desperation there, now. Tears well up and spill over, and Jeremy can see them even in the shifting lights of the dark bar, how the man wipes at them with his thumb. He gives Kauri a soft and gentle smile.
Kauri’s fingers curve over the man’s, tighten, and hold on for dear life.
Jeremy thinks, seeing the look on Kauri’s face, of a man trying to jump off a bridge, caught at the last second, clinging to the rescuer’s hands as he realizes he didn’t want to drown after all.
Save me, that face says. I can’t save myself.
Jeremy’s seen that face before.
The man leans forward to kiss Kauri’s forehead. Kauri breaks down into tears, right there on the dance floor, burying his head into the man’s chest as his arms go around him. He’s weeping, openly, there at the side of the dance floor.
But he’s listening to what the man has to say.
Jeremy gets another crush of orders, and when he finally has time to look up Kauri and the man are gone.
Thank you for the ask MJ! I'm supposed to actually describe it now, right??
The Bartender and the Blond! Alex is a bartender at a place where Henry and his boyfriend go every week at the same time, acting all lovey-dovey. Alex is always watching them bc he has a crush on "The Blond." Over time, he watches as they spend less time talking and more time staring at the walls or the other patrons or their phones. (This part was inspired by a date I once witnessed at a restaurant where I swear the couple didn't look at each other once the entire time.) Alex is frustrated and pining from afar. Eventually, The Blond comes in alone. 🫢
Ooooh right the high age limit for alcohol I always forget that we can start legally drinking at 14 but start..... Younger xD with parents ofc (at 13 without becquse we just are like that and at the age of 13 everybody has someone who knows someone who has a friend who's over 18 and can buy alcohol.)
See now why there's so much beer even a child is a bartender?
Author’s Note: The story is set at Club Boomerang in Wichita, KS. I have never been to Kansas, so I have not had the fortune of visiting Club Boomerang, so the description I give of the bar is out of my own little head. Forgive me for the discrepancies.
I also want to give a shout out to @samsbeecharmer & @piratedaydreams for letting me throw random passages at them for feedback.
“It’s your birthday this weekend. Got any big plans?” Dean asked Claire as he walked into the surprisingly empty Men of Letters library.
“Not really. I think Jody and Alex wanted to plan a surprise party. Which is why I’m here and not there,” she answered with a shrug.
Dean sat down on the arm of the sofa. “I meant, do you and Kevin have any ‘plans’? You know, were you planning to pop his ‘man cherry’?”
“First of all, dude, gross. Second of all, virginity is nothing but a social construct. Do you actually believe for a second that where someone puts their penis changes them? Or the other person? No, no it most certainly does not!” Claire paused to take a breath and gather herself before her rant took on full force. Alex didn’t want to hear it. Jody didn’t want to hear it, so she could believe Dean Winchester definitely did not want to hear it. Calming herself, she continued. “Third of all, it’s none of your business.”
Dean slid off the sofa arm and backed away, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I was just joking. Mostly. Geez. I’m just trying to look out for you. For all of you. And I just want to make sure you have a good 21st birthday. Lord knows someone in this family should.”
“Oh.” Claire replied, chastised. “Actually, we’re going on a road trip to Wichita. There’s this bar Charlie really likes that she wants to take us to.”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean, you’re not going. At least not by yourselves. I’m not leaving you alone to romp off to Wichita when there’s any number of demons and other monsters who would love nothing better than to get their hands on a prophet, a green hunter, and a genius. I’m going with you.” Dean stated, as if his word was final.
Claire rolled her eyes and huffed at him. “We’re going to a gay bar.” As if that would be enough to stop him.
Dean crossed his arms over his chest and shuffled as if he were uncomfortable. “Why-why are you going to a gay bar?”
“Um, hello! Charlie is a lesbian!”
“But you and Kevin are straight!” Dean proclaimed dumbly.
Claire rolled her eyes again. “I never said I was totally straight.”
Unable to respond to that, Dean’s mouth simply opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“Honestly, I think the only reason Kevin agreed to go is because he’s hoping I’ll end up making out with some hot chick,” Claire continued, perfectly aware of Dean’s budding discomfort and building on it.
“You will do no such thing, young lady! You are in a committed relationship with a Prophet of the Lord! You will not make out with anyone else, hot chick or otherwise!”
With another roll of her eyes and huff, Claire retorted, “Monogamy is also a societal construct. Besides, who are you to lecture me, Mr. Hook up of the week?”
“I’m not in a relationship!” Dean stated.
“Shocker.” She deadpanned.
Lacking any kind of a retort, Dean simply pointed his finger at her and said, “You’re not going, and that’s final!” He turned on his heal and left the room.
“You’re not the boss of me!” Claire called after him.
���#�?
When Claire, Kevin, and Charlie entered the club, they were immediately swallowed by the throng on the dance floor. Kevin found himself sandwiched between Claire and a guy wearing tight jeans and little else. “This place is great!” he shouted over the thumping music.
“It totally is!” Claire enthusiastically agreed.
Just then, Charlie gripped them each by a wrist and pulled them away. “It’s time for shots!” the Queen of Moons declared. And no one questions the Queen of Moons.
By the time they made it to the bar, all three of them were chanting “Shot, shot, shot, shot!”
“Let me guess, you want shots? And what are we celebrating?” the bartender asked when the trio had settled. He was dressed in a fishnet top and leather pants that left little to the imagination. His facial piercings glinted in the low light of the bar.
“It’s her,” Charlie gestured across Kevin to indicate Claire, “Twenty-first birthday. What do you recommend?”
“I’ve got the perfect shot for you lovelies!” He busied himself behind the bar briefly before presenting them each with a stemless cordial glass filled with a red liquid and garnished with a maraschino cherry.
“What is this?” Claire asked suspiciously.
“It’s Cherry Cheesecake. Everyone should have cheesecake for their birthday!” the bartended declared with a flourish.
Claire sniffed it, held it up and looked at it discerningly, and sniffed it again before passing it to Kevin. “This is a girly drink. Give me a whiskey,” she said with a nod.
Charlie gave the guy an apologetic shrug before downing her shot, and Kevin just rolled his eyes before drinking both his and Claire’s. The bartender had no choice but to give Claire what she ordered.
“What was that all about?” Kevin and Charlie asked in unison.
“Hunters drink whiskey.” Claire stated as the shot glass was put in front of her. She slammed the shot back and immediately gagged. “Ugh, that’s disgusting!” She crammed her tongue into Kevin’s mouth to try to get rid of the offending flavor. She pulled away, her blue eyes wide as saucers. “Wow, that stuff you were drinking is really good.”
“Well, yeah. Most bartenders do know what they’re doing.” Kevin said, rolling his eyes at her.
“I want one.” Claire said.
Kevin crossed his arms and gave Claire a look. “First, you need to apologize for questioning his expertise.”
Claire scowled at him. Kevin met her scowl with a firm look of his own. “Fine!” she huffed.
Kevin flagged down the bartender. “My exceedingly hot, but sometimes ill-mannered girlfriend has something to say to you, kind sir.”
She put on her most contrite face before saying, “I’m so sorry I doubted your expertise. Whiskey is gross and I would very much like to try one of those cherry cheesecake things, please.” She batted her eyelashes for good measure.
“Another round, please?” Kevin added.
“You got it.”
While they were making nice with the bartender, Charlie had found someone to make nice with as well.
“Enchantée,” the hottie with curly light brown hair said as she clinked her shot glass of purple against Charlie’s cordial glass. “I’m Starla.”
“Charlie,” the red head replied with a smile. “What is that you’re drinking?”
“Purple nurples,” Starla replied as she beckoned the bartender over. “Another one of these, and one for my friend as well. And keep them coming, Brad!” Starla took Charlie’s hand and led her over to a corner booth. Charlie trailed behind her, admiring how her tight black skirt hugged her rear.
By the time Claire and Kevin got their new drinks, they had three drinks, but only the two of them. They looked at each other and shrugged. Claire drank her shot and the extra one. Kevin opened a tab, and the couple found a seclude booth of their own.
Dean left the bunker a couple of hours after “the kids” did. He wanted to leave right after them, but Sam managed to stop him by making him grilled cheese and agreeing to finally watch Tombstone with him. And if he used his puppy face to guilt Dean into “quality bro time,” well who had to know?
What Dean didn’t know was that Sam was doing everything in his power, short of chaining Dean in the dungeon, to keep him from following Charlie, Claire, and Kevin to Wichita. They deserved some down time, and Sam was going to make sure they got it. But, since he couldn’t just chain him in the dungeon, Sam wasn’t able to keep Dean in the bunker for long after the movie was over.
Dean had hacked the GPS on Charlie’s phone and followed it right to Club Boomerang. “Perfect.” He muttered as he parked his Baby in a dark corner far, far, far away from the rest of the vehicles in the parking lot. He strode purposefully towards the club, showing the bouncer one of his fake IDs to get in the door, and made a beeline for the bar.
Before the bartender could get a word out, Dean said, “I’m looking for an Asian kid, about yay high,” he held his hand about shoulder high, “who’s with a sassy blonde and feisty red head.”
Brad winked at him and pointed in the general direction of what looked like a darkened alcove where couples could get cozy. “They went and found themselves a couple of booths. I’m off in fifteen. We could find a booth of our own, Hot Stuff.”
Stuttering, Dean stepped back, putting his hands up warily. “I-I-uh…I think I’m going to, um, just go find my friends…Yeah.” As he turned to walk away, he ran right into a couple grinding on the floor. “Oh, uh, sorry.” He quickly retreated in the direction of the alcove.
He approached a couple that he hoped was Claire and Kevin. All he could see was blonde hair curtaining the faces of whoever was in the booth. Dean tapped the blonde on her shoulder and was met with fiery blue eyes when Claire’s head whipped around. When blue eyes met green, Claire slid off of Kevin’s lap and stalked into Dean’s personal space.
“What are you doing here?” She growled at him.
“Making sure you don’t do anything stupid,” Dean answered.
Managing to both squint her eyes and glare at Dean, Claire said to him, punctuating each statement by stabbing her finger into his chest, “You are not my dad! Just because your boyfriend happens to look like my dad does not make you my dad. You have no right to come up here and –“
Kevin cut her off by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her away from Dean. With one arm securely around his girlfriend’s waist, he patted Dean’s cheek with his other hand. “Dude, you really need to get laid if the highlight of your Saturday night is crashing a 21 year old’s birthday party.”
Charlie chose that moment to saunter up to them, with Starla wrapped around her. “What’s up, my bitches?” Pause for dramatic effect. “Dean! What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to take your drunk asses home,” he responded to Charlie before looking at her companion. “Do I know you?”
Starla giggled and extended her hand. “Starla. Enchantee, Handsome.”
“Dude, you don’t need to drive us home. Our drunk asses have rooms at the motel across the street,” Charlie explained as if she were speaking to a child. Considering this was Dean Winchester, she may as well be speaking to child.
“Well, come on, I’ll drive you over there.” Dean stated.
He led them out to the parking lot and made them wait while he pulled Baby around. Pouring four drunk idiots into the back of the Impala was no small feat. “If any of you puke in my Baby, I’m leaving you here!”
Dean managed to make it to the motel without incident. He deposited Charlie and Starla into one room and Claire and Kevin into the other, only to find out there was no room left for him. He couldn’t drive back to Lebanon. Sam would never let him live it down. So, he did the only reasonable thing he could think of. Dean parked Baby next to Charlie’s yellow Gremlin and crashed in her back seat.
The next morning, the partiers awoke bright eyes and bushy tailed. Claire and Kevin had the advantage of youth to combat their hangovers, while Charlie and Starla had the advantage of “awesomeness” as Charlie called it. She drove Starla home while Kevin and Claire picked up coffee and breakfast from the diner adjoining the motel. They even picked up food and coffee for Dean, even though Claire had yet to forgive him for interfering.
By the time they met back up at their rooms, Dean still wasn’t awake. After they finished their breakfast (including Dean’s, Claire was starving) Dean was still asleep. Charlie was about to knock on the window to wake him up when Claire stopped her. “Dude, we should totally TP his car.”
“Not cool,” Kevin replied. Not that he was scared of Dean or anything.
“It’ll be awesome, though!” Claire insisted. “We’ll just wrap it up in TP and head back to the bunker. Serves him right for crashing our party.”
The mischievous glint in Charlie’s eyes indicated she was on board with the prank. They raided their rooms as well as asked at the front desk for all the toilet paper they could spare. When they explained to the young clerk what they had in mind, he was more than agreeable. They took their time winding the paper around and around the car, effectively trapping Dean in, at least temporarily. Once they were done, they piled into Charlie’s car and headed back to the bunker.
Once Dean awoke and saw what they had done, it was on. He started plotting retaliation once he was on his way home. There was no way those kids were going to beat him, the Great Dean Winchester, in a prank war.
Years ago, my friends and I took a trip out to his parents cabin. Stocked up with food and booze, we were ready for the weekend. I brought movies with me that they hadn't seen (and the one classic we all had) and proposed to watch, "Scott Pilgrim". Everyone was against it. They heard terrible things, but as the day went on and we were drunker, I convinced them. Guess what movie they ended up loving? Guess what movie my best friend still quotes till this day? Yep. Scott Pilgrim.
