The lights of the highway fly past Dean's eyes as he races his precious Impala down the road, not paying attention to his speed. He hears Sam's voice like a familiar babble in his ears but doesn't decipher any of the words. All Dean can comprehend is the phrase in his mind that is playing like a broken record, the words appearing across his vision like a banner. I messed up, I messed up, oh God above, how did I mess up?

It had been a simple order, and Dean is sure as hell good at taking orders. Michael Novak is giving the Winchester family more trouble than he is worth so John Winchester, head of the "family business," gave the command to take him out. It is a long time coming for the Novak; he had been threatening the Winchesters for ages and frankly everyone is fed up with his games. It is about time he is put in his place, and Dean is the mob's best hitman. He is supposedly perfect for the job.

That is, he is supposed to be. But that all changed when he rolled up to the Novak mansion and was met by the entire family standing out front, guns locked and loaded. Somehow the news that the Winchesters were in town got to the family, and it was seven Novaks to the two Winchesters. Outnumbered, the boys had no choice but to regroup and return to the family headquarters with clean hands, defeated, and Dean couldn't deal with it. He never left a task unfinished, ever. He should've just gone for it, he should've-

"Dean, are you even listening to me at all?"

Dean breaks out of his trance and flicks a quick glance over to his brother. Sam has one hand propped up against the car door and is giving his brother quite the glare.
"Sorry, man. I got distracted. What were you saying?"

Sam huffs and turns away to stare out the side window. "I was saying you shouldn't beat yourself up over this. We weren't expecting them to know; Dad will understand. And don't say you're not, because I see the guilt in your face."

Dean grips the wheel tighter, knowing Sam is only saying empty words. There is a time when their father would have understood, would have told Dean that he had nothing to worry about and that he would "get it right next time," but that man isn't around anymore. Long gone is the father they knew and loved; only an angry shell of the man he once was exists in his place. Ever since the Winchesters lost their mother to a shooting three years ago, he hadn't been the same since. When Mary died, so did John on the inside.

Dean cringes when he imagines the hell that is awaiting him at home when he tells John about the failed mission, that Michael is still alive in the world. It will be a war of hateful words, maybe some punches if Dean feels like defending himself today, and that would be if his father is feeling generous. The only thing that calms Dean is the city lights. The Chicago skyline gleams beautifully in the midnight sky, the stars an iridescent white against the blackness of the night. He smiles as he approaches the city, letting his anxieties fade for the drive in, the skyscrapers making him feel like an ant. And as he cruises his Impala through the city streets, he forgets about the fight that is only minutes away at home.

Then, in a moment of spontaneity, Dean decides his fight with John can wait until morning. This city is too beautiful tonight, and he isn't ready to leave the gorgeous downtown for the slums of his family home. Dean smiles as he swerves the car across three lanes of traffic, making a beeline for a nightclub that is bouncing with activity.

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam asks with a slight laugh as he takes in the street.

"Why don't we live a little tonight, Sammy?" Dean asks with a grin. "You really don't get out enough for a twenty-something."

"Dad is going to kill us, you know," Sam says with a sigh, but doesn't protest as he follows Dean out of the car and up the street.

The two brothers quickly flash their IDs at the bouncer as they walk into the building, the hypnotic music already reaching their ears from the doorway, and Dean's eyes automatically widen when he takes the place in.

Bodies are everywhere, packing the tight space to a maximum. There is hardly any room to navigate through the crowd, and if you try it seems someone will just pull you into a dance without even asking. People are laughing with their drinks, grinding and dancing against one another sensually; there are bartenders slinging drinks down the counter to a group of scantily clad men and women, and smoke billows from the bar in a thick fog. It is oh so entrancing, and Dean can't look away.

"Sam, are you seeing this?" Dean turns around, but his brother has already left his side. Sam is chatting up a blonde across the room, one who looks slightly familiar. Seeing Sam laugh at something the girl says already makes Dean think his little detour home is worth it. Sam hardly ever laughs anymore; he prefers to keep a tough exterior ,now that he is a hitman like Dean, not letting any emotion show. But Dean knows with every kill, no matter how heinous the target, the carefree brother he loves slips farther and farther away.

Dean shakes his head, trying to dispel the dark mood that overtook him. He is here to have some fun, right? He fights his way through the packed bodies, ignoring the hands that are grabbing him as he walks. His eyes are glued to the bar, his favorite drink calling him from behind the counter. Dean knows if he is going to be dealing with John in the near future, he would want to be drunk as hell.

He almost makes it to his beloved haven of stupor, but something catches his attention in the distance. Dean stops in the midst of the dancing bodies, not even caring that sweaty strangers are grinding him in all the wrong places. Because across the room Dean is suddenly mesmerized. Two bright blue eyes glow in the distance, framed by dark lashes.

And they are looking right at him.