Work Text:
Ann-Marie’s breath hitched in her throat as a tall, muscular guy entered the bar. She relaxed when she saw it wasn’t him.
Stop it, just forget about him, he ain’t ever coming back.
She wiped the bar down and took a walk around the roadhouse, collecting the empties. The Black Spur had never been cleaner than it had these past few months. Daryl, her manager, had warned her she was working too hard but she needed the distraction.
She’d made an attempt to find Dean, out of a sense of obligation. Scouring the internet had turned up nothing but some old news articles on a house fire in Kansas and a ridiculous looking web series called Ghostfacers. She’d even attempted to contact his arrogant English friend, but Crowley was even more elusive than Dean himself.
Perhaps it was for the best. Ann-marie straightened up, one hand rubbing the ache in the small of her back. Dean had been violent. Not towards her, but the way he’d laid into her ex…there was something dark in him, and it scared her.
She felt her baby kicking inside her and prayed to God that it wouldn’t take after its father.