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“You are very rude,” I say on a gasp, clutching at my imaginary pearls. My hand misses, though, and I manage to grab my own boob instead. Embarrassed, I immediately drop the boob.

Man-handling myself. Maybe I should have listened to Charlie.

“I want thefuckingshipment.” The man’s ranting now, slipping in and out of another language. Russian, my brain reminds me.

“The shipment?” I repeat, slurring. “Poor thing. I bet you have a consuchion. Concunshion. Consuncion. Concushion. Close enough.” I sigh.

Dean’s knuckles crack.

“Calm down, tiger,” I manage.

He gives me a look that’s full of reproach.

The Russian grabs at my arm, and I slap his hand.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss at him. The effect is slightly minimized by the fact I can’t see straight. “You know you’re bleeding?” I frown at the offending trickle, closing my right eye, then left, trying to focus on it. “Head wounds bleed a lot. A lot, a lot.” I glance back at Dean. “Did you know a lot is two words? A lot of people don’t know that. Anyyyywayyyy.”

Trying to focus, I look back at the man, swatting away his hands again.

Dean’s tucked me up against his chest, and it’s nice. Really warm.

“What was I saying? Oh yeah. You realllllly shouln’t be out and about. Not like this, anyway, with blood. It’s kinda not a good look, you know? Honestly, it’s gross. It’s realllllllly gross. People are trying to eat. This is a family establishment.” I’m not quite sure what I’m talking about. It’s getting harder and hard to think straight. It’s fine, though.I have to fix this.I need to help this poor, grumpy man.

Alcohol!

I know how to fix this. The man reaches for me again, and this time, I let him grab me. Alcohol’s a good sanitizer. Everyone knows that.

Dean makes it harder to get to him though, his hand fisting the back of my blouse.

“Heeeere, here, lemme clean it.”

The man reaches for something behind his back, and Dean stiffens beside me as I splash a little of my drink onto the man’s gashed forehead.

“You dumbbitch.” He howls, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“Oh goshdarnit, your eyes, I’m so sooorry, okay, just let me help.” I reach for his eyes, splashing the remnants of my drink onto his face.

The world shifts and I’m suddenly airborne, hefted over Dean’s shoulder, being rushed out of the bar.

Blowing the hair out of my face, I poke Dean in the side. “I wasn’t done with my queso.”

“Fuck the queso,” Dean growls.

“Why do you hate queso? Are you lactose tolerant? Intolerant. Tolerating lactose badly. Does it make your tummy hurt?”

An alarm blares.

Someone falls into my feet, panicked people fleeing out the front door in a tidal wave of humanity.

“What happened?” I ask, confused. “Where are Pierce and Charlie? Pierson? Person? What was his name?”

Dean just grunts, moving efficiently through the crowd and to the huge Jeep out front.

“Heeeyyyyy. Wait, where are you taking me?” My head bounces as Dean runs. “Ugh, that makes my stomach hurt.”

“Don’t puke on me.”

I snort. “I’m not going to…”