Just before nightfall, as the sun sinks behind a mirage of empirical buildings, casting a faint orange hue on the eggshell walls of the small living room area of the apartment, Dean hears another soft rapping on the door.

He turns his head to the right to the clock on the wall. 5pm. Dinner time. He runs his hand over his face and drops the rest of photographs he's been trying to sort through for a few hours in a messy pile on the coffee table.

Dean looks through the peephole before opening it with mediated look. "Need something?" He asks softly, looking down at the dark haired woman.

"Dean" London purses her lips, fighting the urge to awkwardly smirk like a schoolgirl. "I have a proposition for you." Her shows seem more interesting that him. Worn out black converse with dull patches hand embroidered wildflowers littered upon them.

"Shoot"

She shifts her footing and eyes him precariously. "Before I say what I'm going to say, I want to preface with the fact that I do have a boyfriend." Dean nods along, motioning for her to continue. "But there's not a lot of people our age that live here and we aren't the party type, and so I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner and a bar with Danny and I on Broadway, on the house of course. Consider it a warm Nashville welcome?"

"Are you trying to set up two guys on a playdate?" He looks down, a quizzical look pulling on this features as he cocks his head.

"When you put it like that it sounds bad." London drops her head and pinches the bridge of her nose.

Dean shrugs. "When are you hitting the road?"

"Oh, um, let me go ask him real quick."

London trots down the hall and turns the corner, disappearing behind white and brown florals.

Dean turns back into the apartment, leaving the door open a crack as he leans against the wall, mind racing as he tries to figure out if that actually just happened or not.

People, seemingly good people, wanting to hang out with him? That's a Sammy thing.

Dean can't remember the last time someone paid him any mind that wasn't directly related to his dad, a case, or highschool-though he dipped out of class most days.

This is weird. Nashville is soooo weird. This apartment is weird. Everything is weird.

Dean picks up on the sound of footsteps and opens the door again to see London and Danny walking down the hall.

"Grab your jacket McClean, were hitting the road."

"Now?"

She nods. "Yep"

Do Nashville folks give any time for preparation? Dean leans back through the doorframe and grabs his brown leather jacket and keys off the kitchen island-thing. "I'm ready"

"As per the wise and wonderful Shania Twain said: Let's go girlsss."

London and Danny are a weird pair. She's a whole head shorter than him, itty bitty next to his broad frame. Danny is tall, about the same height as Dean, wide shoulders and quiet. The silent guardian type.

Danny falls back a few paces to walk even with the Winchester boy, but keeps a close eye on his girlfriend who's a few paces ahead. "So, Dean is it?" He says.

"Yep"

"You like football?"

"Football?" Dean questions as if it's the most absurd comment anyone's ever given him. And in his realm of work and life, it kinda is.

Is this what guys his age think about? Football?

Truthfully he hasn't had much time nor necessity think about such a trifling thing. He's a hunter for Christ's sake not a fanboy-at least for sports. Rock bands is a whole different story.

"Ugh, I'm not much into sports."

"Just say you grew up without a Dad." London turns back with a chuckle.

Dean smiles awkwardly. "I, uh, kinda did."

Danny looks mortified. "Damn. Sorry?" He covers his mouth as he let's out a low fake cough, London looks back wide-eyed and knowingly squints

Dean catches onto the code, a secret language shared and seemingly perfected by the two.

"Nah its all good. Never had a good relationship with him anyway."

"Deadbeat?"

"And then some."

Dean has never talked to anyone about this stuff. Not Bobby, not Sammy, not strangers.

Nashville seems to have a way of making people loose and not just because of the atrocious amount of bars and booze. No, it's something else. Dean can't put his finger on it.

Danny doesn't push the topic further. Not that there's really anything left to push. Opting to point out the staples of Nashville culture instead.

"So you just moved here on a whim?" London questions, falling back to form the line the two boys had started as they walk down the sidewalk.

Dean shrugs, rolling his shoudlers back as he stands a bit taller. "It's not permanent, just staying here for a bit and then moving on."

"Ah!" London exclaims. "Here for your big music debut?" Danny pulls his hand from his jacket pocket and clasps hers as they cross the street.

"Oh, no, no, no." Dean chuckles, following behind a few paces as he looks left and right before crossing. "I'm no musician. Just an opportunist."

Dean internally cringes at the thought of him even picking up an instrument. The thought never really struck him before. Dean Winchester doesn't do domesticity, well, at least he never used to.

Danny points out a little dingy bar on the corner at the end of the street. "This is our go to spot. It's kinda shitty on the outside, but it's the inside that counts, am I right?" He lets out a half cocked tea kettle wheeze-not fully committed to the role but nearly there.

Dean gives a forced chuckle. "Yeah, yeah."

These folks are just too nice. Something feels up, but he doesn't want to be the bearer of an ill night by putting them on the spot with a 'what's the deal with you two?'

Noticing he's lagging behind, Dean picks up the pace and slips into the bar and grill right behind the pair.

The food was quick, good too. Danny has elected to put everything on his tab. Loosely translating to bottomless drinks for Dean-but he doesn't take the bait.

There's a small stage, set up with sound equipment and microphone wires. A big red card stock sign, 'karaoke' written in bold ink, is tapped to the front of the microphone.

London slides out of the booth, stumbling in a Drunken stupor as she walks two steps up to the stage and taps on the microphone. "Is this thing on?" She jokes. "Testing, testinggg."

Dean raises his eyebrows.

"I'm just messing with y'all. Any recommendations?" Her eyes surf the crowd but no one's biting. "Ah, okay. Well, erm, I'll do a little tribute." London takes a step back and wiggles the microphone into the stand. Grabbing one of the acoustic-electric guitars off the rack she plugs it in and throws the cord to the side, adjusting her footing as she maps out the stage.

She mumbles out something that sounds kin to a prayer, something Dean doesn't pick up or have time to decipher as she begins the first notes to an all to familiar tune.

"What'll you do when you get lonely-and nobody's waiting by your side?-you've been running and hiding much too long-you know it's just your foolish pride-Laylaaaaaa"

Dean's heard that name somewhere. And not just in the song. Somewhere familiar, somewhere-

Danny cuts through the Winchester boys thoughts with another inquiry. "You have any other family in the area?"

The sound of shuffling cards and London's karaoke fills the bar.

"I've got a brother in California." Dean replies. He lifts his cup up to his lips and takes a long drink. "What about you?"

"No family, just London."

Dean chuckles lightly. "No friends?"

"A few. They left dodge." Danny seems more interested in his straw wrapper than the conversation. Seeming to shrink in on himself slightly.

Dean nods and turns his head to the pool table on the otherside of the room. "You wanna play a game?" He proposes.

"You seem the hustling type."

"Isn't that a cardinal sin? Thou shalt not hustle pool."

Both men out of the booth and make their way over to the smoke covered pool table.

Danny sets up the triangle and leans over the table to hand Dean a pool cue. "Listen Kansas boy, you might learn a thing or two."

You never told them where you're from. Dean purses his lips. "Yeah, I just might." He spins his cue, the butt of it resting on the floor, as Danny sets up his shot.

Gotcha.