Five hours later he stopped for a drink. Five hours had kept him still in California. Dean didn’t know where he was going-maybe Mexico. He just didn’t know. He was lost, unwanted and aimless. Tequila would help, or take the edge off for awhile. It was a biker bar with some yuppies as ambience. Two shots later, the hollow in his heart was aching a little less.

“Look, I’m sorry, the lady didn’t tell me she was attached.” The man at the bar next to him was attempting to bargain with the larger, more menacing man who had recently approached. “Let me buy you a drink.” The smaller man was gesturing to the bartender, and didn’t notice that the Big Guy didn’t want a drink, he wanted a piece of the wiry guy, and he was going to carve that piece out with a knife.

With a groan, Dean pushed himself away from the bar. “You don’t want to do that.” Evidently, this was another mistake for Dean—do not startle Big Biker Dude who is about to stab another guy, since all it got you for the trouble was a slice on the arm. “Shit,” he exclaimed and launched himself at the guy. An elbow to the face insured that the biker dropped the knife. A palm strike to the solar plexus meant that the guy was not going to get up, and the kick to the side was just for spite, because Dean didn’t want to do this. He looked around to the other occupants of the bar, who had gone silent. “You all want something from me—come on!” He called them out. The wiry man, who he had defended tugged on his arm.

“Come on, buddy, move.”

Dean stepped a few steps backward, propelled by the smaller man. He noticed that the crowd was moving in on them. Although he had a death wish, it wasn’t going to be at a biker bar. He followed the man out.

“I live about ten miles up the road, follow me and we can take care of that arm.” The man gestured to his Harley.

Dean looked at his arm. It would be tough to stitch with his left hand, and if the guy was a psycho that was going to kill him, at least it wouldn’t end at the biker bar.

Ten miles away from the biker bar was another world-beautiful homes and manicured lawns. The Harley signaled and Dean followed in the Impala up the cement driveway to a modern glass ranch sitting at the top of the driveway. Dean pulled the Impala by the Harley.

“I called a doctor friend of mine. He should be here in a minute.” The man opened the door and Dean walked slowly behind him. “Have a seat. Do you want something to drink?”

“Drink would be good.” Dean stood in the middle of the white living room. He looked at his arm again. He didn’t want to get any bloodstains on his host’s furniture.

The man came back in with a scotch, neat. “Thanks back there. My name is Daniel Foster.” Daniel shifted the scotch to his left hand, and held his right hand out to Dean.

Dean accepted the handshake, and then the scotch. “Dean, Dean Winchester. Were you slumming back there?”

“A little bit, I didn’t grow up like this,” He gestured to the large room. “I feel like I owe you.” Daniel sat on the corner of the ottoman, his button down shirt and ripped jeans looked odd in the luxury room.

“A man on a mission.” Daniel ran his hand through his dark curly hair. “You can sit down. A little blood stain will add character.”

 Relieved, Dean sat down, not getting too comfortable and still aware that his arm was bleeding. “Not really, not anymore at least.”

 Dean knew that he was being appraised by Daniel. The man obviously had money, and probably got it by following hunches and knowing who to trust. “What’s your line of work?”

 Dean laughed at the awkwardness of the question. “Used to be hunting-like a family business,” Dean bit his lip, “but that’s over.”

“So you have family?” Daniel smiled. He pointed to a picture on the mantle. Looked like a family portrait circa the early 1980s. There was a mother, father and sister and brother. The perfect family. “My parents are gone now, just me and my sister.”

Dean nodded. “Just a brother—look, I should be going.” The younger man stood up. This was uncomfortable, and his heart was growing heavy again. “Don’t worry about the stitches.”

Dan stood up, putting his hands out. “Whoa, wait a minute. Look, you seem down on your luck and maybe I can help.”

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