Dean Winchester had no idea why he’d agreed
to do this.
Sure, when Bobby had first mentioned it -
right before his shift was due to start at Shots Fired, Bobby and
Ellen’s cocktail bar - it had seemed like a great idea. Go to some rich
couple’s wedding, serve drinks, set some alcohol on fire, put on a show… It
sounded fun. Throw in a larger-than-normal paycheck and a free vacation to
North Carolina with his brother and best friends, and it was a done deal.
Then the other shoe had dropped.
The bride, socialite Anna Milton, was a big
fan of Shots Fired and its famous flair bartending displays. As a
result, she and her fiancé, Michael Novak, had insisted on flying their
specially-hired bartenders out first class to thank them for their service.
When Bobby had told them, Sam, Charlie, Jo and Benny had been thrilled - after
all, first class meant better food, free alcohol, and best of all (according to
Sam), extra leg room.
For Dean, it simply meant travelling in a
metal death-trap in a slightly more comfortable seat than normal. Not that
there was anything normal about flying. He didn’t give a crap about eating
fancy food and stretching his legs when the plane might drop out of the sky and
kill them at any minute.
He’d offered to drive everyone there instead,
but they’d all adamantly refused. Apparently they’d rather risk their necks in
the air than squash into Dean’s car for the thirteen or fourteen hours it took
to drive from Kansas City to the estate in North Carolina. He wasn’t sure how
to take that. His driving was way safer than flying, even if he did run the
occasional red light.
When he’d tried to explain this, Sam had told
him to stop being such a whiney girl, then Charlie had hidden his car keys and
Jo had practically frog-marched him to Benny’s car, which was waiting to take
them to the airport. Ellen and Sam’s wife, Jess, had just stood there laughing,
and Bobby had rolled his eyes and called him an idjit. Dean hated them all.