that in real life.”
“I think I’m startin’ to figure out who the spirit is,” Dean said as he sat in the stool opposite his brother.
“Really?” Sam sat up straight.
“It’s the ghost of the DJ they named themselves after. He’s haunting Manfred in a desperate attempt to get them to stop desecrating his good name.”
Sam chuckled. “C’mon, Dean, they’re not that bad. I mean, they’re not that good, but they’re a Nevermore
109
cover band in a dive in Westchester County. Whadja expect?”
“Dude, did you hear what they did to ‘Cocaine’?” Showing his total lack of appreciation of the finer things in life, Sam said, “What ever. I assume you took so long ’cause you were hitting on the bartender.” He grinned. “He didn’t strike me as your type.”
“Funny boy,” Dean said tightly as he sipped his beer. “Nah, I got the girl this time. Her name’s Jennifer, and she has good taste in music. Or at least doesn’t like this music.” He looked over at the stage, where several women
were practically throwing
themselves at all five band members for no good reason that Dean could see, and added, “Which is more than I can say for most of the female popula-tion of this bar.”
Minutes later Manfred walked over, with a very short girl hanging all over him. She was wearing a sweatshirt that said iona college. “Hey there, fellas, you havin’ a good time?”
“We’re having a blast,” Sam said quickly. “This is a great place.”
“Yeah, I love this joint.”
The girl nudged Manfred in the ribs. “Freddie, intro duce me.”
“Oh, sorry, baby. Sam, Dean, this here’s Gina.”
“Ja nine, ” she said with a roll of her eyes. “ God .
You always get that wrong.” 110 SUPERNATURAL
Dean Winchester had spent most of his life pretending to be other people in order to hunt more effectively, and also had spent a lot of that time cul-tivating a pretty damn good poker face, and even with all that, it took all of his considerable will-power not to scream.
Sam, thank God, saved him by speaking before he said something that would force them to look for a hotel. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks! Isn’t the band just awe some?” In a tight voice, Dean said, “That wasn’t the fi rst word that came to mind, but it’ll do, yeah.”
“Hey, listen, fellas,” Manfred said, “we got one more set, then we head over to this place in Yonkers for a few drinks and a smoke or two—
th’owner lets us light up, ’long as we stay in the back, and it just ain’t right smokin’ a cigarette standin’ outside.”
Dean was very grateful he was only talking about cigarettes. He didn’t think he could take these guys high.
“Anyways, you’re welcome t’join us.”
“You should come, ” Janine said, “it’ll be fun .”
“You’ll be there?” Dean asked.
Janine let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes again. “Probably not . My stupid mother .”
“Don’t make funna your mother, baby, she’s the best cousin I got.”
Dean’s eyes went wide. “Cousin?” He let out a Never
111
more
relieved breath, since the idea that this young woman—who couldn’t have been older than Sam—
was hugging Manfred for sexual reasons fi lled him with a slightly queasy feeling. But he could live with simple familial affection.
“Yup. My uncle Freddie’s the best .” She extricated herself from Manfred and said, “I gotta go pee. It was so great meeting you guys.” With that, she fl ounced off to the restrooms in the back.
Manfred smiled his almost-toothy grin. “She’s a pistol, that kid. Hate when she calls me ‘Uncle Freddie,’ though—makes me feel old.”
He patted Dean on the shoulder, forcing Dean to resist the urge to punch him. Remember the record collection.
“I’m glad you fellas are havin’ fun.” Then Manfred looked up and saw someone. “Hey, Aldo, come over here!”
Dean winced for a second, then realized that it was the guitarist Manfred
“I think I’m startin’ to figure out who the spirit is,” Dean said as he sat in the stool opposite his brother.
“Really?” Sam sat up straight.
“It’s the ghost of the DJ they named themselves after. He’s haunting Manfred in a desperate attempt to get them to stop desecrating his good name.”
Sam chuckled. “C’mon, Dean, they’re not that bad. I mean, they’re not that good, but they’re a Nevermore
109
cover band in a dive in Westchester County. Whadja expect?”
“Dude, did you hear what they did to ‘Cocaine’?” Showing his total lack of appreciation of the finer things in life, Sam said, “What ever. I assume you took so long ’cause you were hitting on the bartender.” He grinned. “He didn’t strike me as your type.”
“Funny boy,” Dean said tightly as he sipped his beer. “Nah, I got the girl this time. Her name’s Jennifer, and she has good taste in music. Or at least doesn’t like this music.” He looked over at the stage, where several women
were practically throwing
themselves at all five band members for no good reason that Dean could see, and added, “Which is more than I can say for most of the female popula-tion of this bar.”
Minutes later Manfred walked over, with a very short girl hanging all over him. She was wearing a sweatshirt that said iona college. “Hey there, fellas, you havin’ a good time?”
“We’re having a blast,” Sam said quickly. “This is a great place.”
“Yeah, I love this joint.”
The girl nudged Manfred in the ribs. “Freddie, intro duce me.”
“Oh, sorry, baby. Sam, Dean, this here’s Gina.”
“Ja nine, ” she said with a roll of her eyes. “ God .
You always get that wrong.” 110 SUPERNATURAL
Dean Winchester had spent most of his life pretending to be other people in order to hunt more effectively, and also had spent a lot of that time cul-tivating a pretty damn good poker face, and even with all that, it took all of his considerable will-power not to scream.
Sam, thank God, saved him by speaking before he said something that would force them to look for a hotel. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks! Isn’t the band just awe some?” In a tight voice, Dean said, “That wasn’t the fi rst word that came to mind, but it’ll do, yeah.”
“Hey, listen, fellas,” Manfred said, “we got one more set, then we head over to this place in Yonkers for a few drinks and a smoke or two—
th’owner lets us light up, ’long as we stay in the back, and it just ain’t right smokin’ a cigarette standin’ outside.”
Dean was very grateful he was only talking about cigarettes. He didn’t think he could take these guys high.
“Anyways, you’re welcome t’join us.”
“You should come, ” Janine said, “it’ll be fun .”
“You’ll be there?” Dean asked.
Janine let out a long sigh and rolled her eyes again. “Probably not . My stupid mother .”
“Don’t make funna your mother, baby, she’s the best cousin I got.”
Dean’s eyes went wide. “Cousin?” He let out a Never
111
more
relieved breath, since the idea that this young woman—who couldn’t have been older than Sam—
was hugging Manfred for sexual reasons fi lled him with a slightly queasy feeling. But he could live with simple familial affection.
“Yup. My uncle Freddie’s the best .” She extricated herself from Manfred and said, “I gotta go pee. It was so great meeting you guys.” With that, she fl ounced off to the restrooms in the back.
Manfred smiled his almost-toothy grin. “She’s a pistol, that kid. Hate when she calls me ‘Uncle Freddie,’ though—makes me feel old.”
He patted Dean on the shoulder, forcing Dean to resist the urge to punch him. Remember the record collection.
“I’m glad you fellas are havin’ fun.” Then Manfred looked up and saw someone. “Hey, Aldo, come over here!”
Dean winced for a second, then realized that it was the guitarist Manfred
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