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Author's Chapter Notes:
wheeee! I'm glad someone's reading this. THANK YOU ;) Let me tell you, self-doubt is not a good thing...nope, not at all *as she shakes her head*

And mersey is a little potty mouthed in this fic, she has no idea why but there ya go, you've been warned, although if you've heard at least one of Eminem's song (no hard feelings there dude) this is chicken feet.

Like, the gun?

It wasn’t planned. Like everything else in his life lately, nothing was planned. He thought he had a plan, a solid one, one that he could willingly put a hundred and fifteen percent effort into and knew it would bring him the kind of satisfaction he needed, to feel important and valid, to fall back into routine, the whole writing things and making music, singing their creation…all that felt kind of anti-climatic lately.

So it wasn’t planned, but he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop that small voice in his head challenging him to go on, do it, and no, it was not that voice, which he was thankful for, he didn’t think he could handle the headaches right now. This one was his own, the same voice that had been in his head since he was young. (The same one that had challenged him to go punch the lights out of Todd Wilkinson in third grade, because those name callings? They needed to stop). And he did, grinning like a crazy fool (which was still up in the air, because he sometimes really do think he’s crazy instead of like a crazy…) as he stepped into the pub, dingy, smoky and reeking of spilled beer and to the off tune voice of a guy singing I Will Survive. It was Karaoke night and the stage was everyone’s.

He didn’t take on the mic though, didn’t think he was prepared for the lies that would have to come out of his mouth should the attack of the visionary migraines came to him while in the middle of belting out Moody Blues’ Nights in White Satin – the song he was going to sing if he had wanted to – going: cause I love you, yeah I love you, oh I love you, oh fuck shit ow, which would be followed with yet another slamming of the knees to the ground, hands grabbing head and that terrible, terrible pain, while everyone just assumed it was him being him, emoting all over the place.

Sat at the bar, whiskey, with ice please, because he loved to crunch on the ice once he’d swallowed the drink. Pub was nice, pub was a guarantee that none of the guys would come running to get his ass back to the motel. Howie was still busy researching; God that sounded so out of place, research, when had they ever done any kind of research before, looking for better porn sites not withstanding? AJ might have to think twice or a thousand times before he steps into a pub, especially this kind of pubs, especially when he had woken up on the wrong side of his ass this morning and then admitted, after snapping at him for whistling, that he had woken up with those urges, and it’s hard, and he was really trying but God! And Nick had understood that, understood what it meant to have that voice in your head challenging you to do it, mocking you to a point where you want to shout out loud Go fuck your yellow contact lenses self off!

Well, he didn’t think AJ had the voice of that man with yellow eyes in his head, but since he had associated this yellow eyed thing to a demon, because come on, yellow eyed guys with a Cheshire cat’s grin can’t be an angel, and the fact that it hadn’t been a red eyed guy because that’s just so cliché, so lame, therefore it being yellow and not lame, made it serious and serious meant it wasn't not funny, nothing was funny, so, yeah, come to think of it, AJ had a demon’s voice in his head, but not the kind of demon he was seeing in his fucked up visions, AJ’s demon was a dude from the flower power era of the 70s where booze, drugs, protestors and braided hairs were cool.

The girl behind the bar looked about Angel’s age, and what the fuck was she thinking working in a place like this? She gave him his drink, her stare lingered a few seconds longer than necessary and he took a swallow; here’s to another thread dedicated to Nick fucking Carter, found drinking his life away in some tacky pub on Karaoke night, brought to you by bar girl who happened to be a fucking fan!

“Hi, can I have a beer please?”

He must have been so out of it that he didn’t realised the empty seat next to him was now no longer empty. A guy, about his age or younger, had occupied it and was asking for friggin beer and he almost, almost felt sorry for him. And then he did feel sorry for the guy because while at least this beer drinking guy had like three layers of tops that consisted of a t-shirt under a shirt under a jacket when he only had a friggin shirt on, he could see small cuts and bruises on his hands and some healing ones on his face. What did this guy ran into?

“Just a beer? You sure?” Whatever possessed him to talk to this guy, he’ll never know, but he was feeling chatty, maybe from the whiskey, because normally, he doesn’t just chat up to some random guy, now a girl, maybe, but a guy, not likely. And oh God, he hoped this guy doesn’t think he was trying to chat him up because shit, all the gay insinuations thrown his way just because he was a in boyband was annoying enough.

“Yeah,” the guy shrugged good naturedly and he hoped this guy wasn’t gay because dude, that’d be all kinds of awkward. “Almost running on empty, can’t be picky you know?”

“Yeah well, it’s karaoke night, if you’re not one of them on the stage, you’ll need a stronger drink just to cope with sitting here.” Hey you bar girl who’s going to tell about Nick Carter the drunk chatting up a guy in a cheap bar! “Can you get him a glass of whiskey please?”

Ah shit. Chat up a dude, buys him a drink, what’s next Carter? Bring him back to your room? What was he thinking? It’s called being nice, of course if it’s Nick, nothing he ever did is considered nice.

“Thanks man, you don’t have to do that.”

Shrugged, emptied his own drink. “The beers here taste like crap dude, trust me, I made the mistake of drinking one the first night I was here.”

The girl came back with the drink, lingered a second longer again and he refrained from subjecting her to his infamous eye roll and took an ice chip in his mouth. The guy said thank you to the bar girl and he felt better because at least he’s paying the drink of someone who has manners.

“I’m Sam by the way.” Ah formalities. Checked for a hint, that tiny clue to see if this guy knew who he was but couldn’t find anything there except…honesty?

“I’m Nick.” And it was nice to just be that random guy in a pub, to be ‘I’m Nick’, drop the last name and everything else that clings to it.

“So what brings you here tonight? Not the karaoke I hope, cause then I think I might have just insulted you earlier on.”

Laughs. “Nah. My brother’s outside filling up the gas and I got a little thirsty.”

“You guys passing through or what?”

The guy opened his mouth to reply but paused and glanced at the clock on the wall, which in itself was kind of weird, because he didn’t know they have clocks on a friggin wall in a pub; a little frown now on his face and then he was looking back at him, worried. “I know this is going to sound crazy but if we don’t get out of here in exactly two minutes, you’re going to have another vision, right here, and it’s gonna be a huge one.”

Actually it wasn’t crazy at all, just down right fucking low.

“Great. To think that I was being nice and buy you a fucking drink. Who put you up to this? Brian? Because he and his self righteous, bible humping ass can go fuck himself all right!”

“Look, I don’t know who Brian is and I know this sounds…just…My name is Sam Winchester and I have visions, just like you and I know you have visions because I had a vision of you having a vision, right here, in about a minute, and it’s the worst one yet and your nose is going to bleed and you’re going to pass out and no one will care because they’ll think you’re just drunk on your ass and then it’d be too late.”

He bit his lips. This was seriously fucked up. What are the odds of finding someone else who could see things like he did, especially when you’re in a cheap pub in the middle of fucking nowhere?

“Winchester, like the gun?” Kevin always said he had the gift of actually listening to something important but paying attention to the thing that wasn’t even the whole point of the discussion.

“Yes, like the gun.”

“I don’t even know you man.”

“I know, I’m sorry it had to be this way but we don’t have much time and…look, how about…you take a picture of me on your cellphone, right now, and send it to someone you trust, so if anything bad ever happen to you tonight, I can’t run away.”

That had got to be one of the most original ideas he had ever heard of. And boy was he pissed he didn’t think of that first!

“You have to be quick though, we’re running out of time, unless you want to-”

No, fuck no. And fuck this, he was going to take his chances and besides, after what he had been seeing in his visions, getting tricked and most likely killed by this Sam Winchester dude seemed like an upgrade, and he was aware of how fucked up that thought was too-getting yourself killed equals an upgrade to having visions of seeing some other people getting killed? He needed to get his priorities straight.

“No, just…lets go.”

And there was no turning back, they were out the door in matter of seconds and the night was peaceful and the air was oh so refreshing and did he just ran out of there without paying for the drinks? Great, another thing to add to the thread for the annoying fans to read about!

“Hey, that’s my brother over there, lets go.”

It wasn’t difficult to spot, it was the only car parked, amongst all the motorcycles and trucks.

“Dude that’s a friggin-”

“Oh great, don’t tell me you’re a car guy too.”

“What is it? 65? 67? Man that’s a classic! I wish AJ's here.”

“Oh Dean’s gonna love this.”

“Who’s Dean? Oh, your-” And the blinding, white pain strikes home and he barely registered the pain as his knees met asphalt again, knew he should start investing on kneepads and cartons of painkillers, for the aftermath and oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…

Hands on his waist, dragging his long limbs into the back of the car and wow, he was going to die in the backseat of a friggin Chevy and – images: yellow eyes, abandoned house, a gun, a familiar face and oh, oh fuck no.