Title: Gotta Be Somebody
Pairing/Characters: Lucky Spencer, Sam Winchester
Rating: PG13
Summary: Lucky meets a mysterious stranger at Jake's hustling Jason at pool.
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AN: This story is completely self-indulgent. I wanted Lucky and Sam Winchester to meet so here it is. Takes place some time after Supernatural's Season 3 finale. Implied Jason/Carly and Lucky/Sam Winchester slash-y undertones.
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Lucky has to admit he hasn't intervened because the scene in front of him is kind of amusing. Not many guys go around trying to hustle Jason Morgan so he has to give the guy some credit or maybe just file him under suicidal. Either way, the guy is actually pretty convincing working up his drunkenness and naïveté in the perfect (almost too perfect) combination to make him appear innocent. But Lucky can spot a conman a mile away; he's sure Jason can, too.
Jason's good; Lucky won't deny that but this guy seems to have Jason's number down. Lucky can almost pinpoint the exact moment Jason knows the stranger is playing him. His eyes go cold, face blank and his grip tightens on the pool cue. The guy must notice it, too, because he gives them some space—atmosphere changing in an instant as he holds his pool cue in a way that makes Lucky blink, like the guy knows exactly how to turn it from harmless game accessory to lethal weapon.
Lucky can't sit back anymore. He immediately gets up between them, feeling the cue tip against his side, pressing in but not too painful, not yet anyway. Definitely the wrong move but he holds Jason back with a shake of his head. They're both packing but the scene doesn't need to get any worse.
"Hey, come on, guys." Lucky lays it on thick. "Let's calm down, huh? Jason, man, the last thing my cousin needs is you in a jail cell for something stupid like a barroom brawl. And you? I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you have no clue who you're messing with." Lucky pointedly ignores the guy's snort of disbelief. "But I'll tell you this. You don't want to do this… least of all with him. Whatever death wish you got, find it somewhere else, all right?"
The guy seems to study Lucky's face and then he visibly settles into something calmer, lowering the pool cue and tossing it on the table. He draws his hands in the air in surrender before backing away on mostly steady legs with a mumbled sorry.
Lucky looks back at Jason but Jason's seemingly cool gaze is littered with barely hidden confusion. Lucky understands; he's similarly at a loss as to what has just happened.
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Lucky finds the guy at the pier not too long after the whole Jake's debacle. He watches the guy tense as he approaches shifting so Lucky is in his sight yet still able to look over the riverfront.
"You forgot this," Lucky says, holding out the guy's hoodie. He notices the guy shiver, finally turning around to actually meet Lucky's eyes.
"Uh, yeah, thanks." He mutters, pulling the hoodie carefully from Lucky's grasp. He doesn't put it on instead wringing it between his hands.
"Pretty stupid thing you did tonight."
The guy huffs. "Didn't actually get around to doing anything, Officer."
Lucky blinks. "How'd you know I was a cop?"
The guy smirks then—smug and pleased—though the buzz of alcohol still seems to cloud his eyes. "Learned to scope one out pretty quickly," he explains, bitterness in his voice. Lucky narrows his eyes. The stranger shrugs. "The outline of your badge under your shirt and the gun tucked in your jeans," he continues pointing with a steady finger, "Both are pretty dead giveaways."
"Oh."
"I wasn't lying. I have met a lot of cops… too many actually and they aren't hard to spot."
Lucky scratches his cheek, feeling confused and annoyed and yeah, a lot intrigued. Who flaunts the fact they've run into the law a time or two unless they want people thinking they're a badass. And this guy? Doesn't really seem like the type to flaunt, well, anything.
"So you can make out a cop but not a hit man," Lucky states—soft, matter-of-fact. "You might want to brush up on your observation skills then." Lucky has to give the guy credit for putting on an even more stoic face than Jason Morgan on his best days. He doesn't even flinch at the information but his lips pinch tight, disappointed.
"Hit man? Guess that explains the gun." His tone is dry, detached.
"Yeah. Jason Morgan… works for Sonny Corinthos—kingpin of New York."
"You're joking."
"No. You really never heard of them?" Lucky tries again.
"Can't say that I have... in all fairness though I got a lot more demons to worry about than that." The guy actually smirks, lip curling and eyes shadowing in a display of resentment that makes Lucky freeze and take notice. He doesn't know what to make of this stranger. Lucky's seen weird in Port Charles but this guy has got to take the cake in that department.
But Lucky can also read the line of wariness along the stranger's shoulders and the tightness in his eyes—loneliness, misery. He's seen them before, once or twice in the mirror but never like this. This guy was looking for a fight tonight and Lucky can't be sure he was actually looking to win. If he's honest with himself, the thought scares him a little.
"You got a name?"
"Yeah, a couple," the guy mutters, toe of his right sneaker digging into the dock's worn wood.
"Huh?" Lucky narrows his eyes: maybe the guy's just being a smartass.
The stranger looks over at Lucky, a humorless smile on his face as he tilts his head considering Lucky's question carefully. "Name's Sam. Sam Winchester."
Lucky thinks the name sounds familiar but he doesn't know why. He shrugs, tries to garner a small smile of his own as he asks, "Winchester—like the gun?"
Sam snorts and this time the smile he gives Lucky is a lot more genuine. "Yeah, like the gun," he says. "How 'bout you?"
The guy straightens and Lucky tries not to think about what it does to him that he has to look up to meet Sam's eyes. It's pretty ridiculous how much Lucky's gone from concerned Good Samaritan straight down to horny, interested male. Lucky's really been out of the game too long if this smartass, possibly suicidal stranger is what's getting Lucky all hot under the collar. Yeah he's attractive and quite the mystery but Lucky doesn't miss the faintest lines of the scars on Sam's cheek or along the back of his hands—just the smallest pale tint contrasting against tanned skin.
"Do you have a name. Or should I keep calling you officer?"
Lucky mentally shakes himself out of his reverie. "Lucky Spencer," he rasps.
Sam snickers. "Did your parents really name you Lucky?"
"What's wrong with that?"
Sam's grin is rueful before dimples light up his face once again as he shakes his head. "Nothing. It's just—well Lucky's more of a dog's name, isn't it?"
Lucky's eyes narrow but he can't fight the smile making its way to his lips as he watches the guy run his fingers through his hair, brushing the bangs out of his face. "Lucas Lorenzo Spencer. Junior." Lucky thinks Sam can hear the unspoken father issues underlying those words; Sam doesn't disappoint.
"Ah," Sam offers softly, knowing. "Lucky, it is then. Well, Lucky, you want to tell me why you followed me all the way out here? 'Cause I highly doubt it was simply to return my sweater."
Lucky shrugs. "You look like you're searching for something."
"And what, you think you can help me find it?" Sam chuckles but it sounds angry. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Officer, but what I'm looking for no one can help me find."
"If it's more than a black eye and getting your ass kicked I can always call Jason back here."
"Right—your cousin's boyfriend, yeah?"
"Husband, actually."
"Dude, a cop and a hit man—that must be one awesome family reunion."
"You don't know the half of it," Lucky adds. He rubs the back of his neck, slightly flustered with no idea what to do next. "Look, I don't know about you but it's cold as hell out here." Lucky cannot deny the way Sam's whole demeanor changes then and he has this almost immediate reaction of back away as fast as you can but Lucky doesn't. He doesn't know how to not help someone even more so when they're not looking for the rescue but Lucky's strangely wired that way.
"Sam, you okay?"
"What—yeah, I'm fine." Sam waved him off. "What were you saying?"
Lucky's brow crinkled, befuddled. "It isn't getting any warmer out here and I know this place a couple blocks over. It's a small diner my family owns—Kelly's? They serve a mean cup of coffee, if you're interested that is?"
Sam bites his bottom lip, thoughtful expression on his face like he's warring between yes and no. Lucky almost wants to take the offer back but then Sam's back with him closer than before so the puff of air he breathes hits Lucky's cheek. Lucky swears the guy says 'Christo' but it's too quick he can't really be sure. It's kind of a strange thing to say but Lucky doesn't have much time to think about it. Sam's eyes track Lucky's, gazes locked, and he's looking at him like Lucky's got all the answers mapped out there. It makes Lucky shiver, rub the back of his neck.
"Coffee sounds great." Sam finally says and it almost sounds convincing but there's a hint of uncertainty in Sam's tone.
Lucky tries not to let it dissuade him. Especially since Sam is pulling on his hoodie—Lucky watches carefully, catching the tan strip of skin along his waist where Sam's shirt has ridden up… another scar trails along his flesh, and Lucky's piqued interest kicks up another notch. He has to mentally kick himself in gear but Sam's already caught him out, shadows around his eyes becoming lighter as he smirks.
"You wanna lead the way? Don't really know this town." Sam's voice is softer, inviting.
Lucky licks his lips, nods. He leads the way as Sam follows along beside him, long legs striding at an easy pace. He doesn't speak but Lucky catches him cataloging their surroundings with every step they take; Lucky doesn't know what to make of it.
Sam Winchester is an enigma: one Lucky's already set on figuring out. He only hopes Sam will let him—that Lucky can help Sam with whatever demon he's battling with before it gets to be too much… like it almost did tonight.
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