(by request. Beta'd by my usual, Mish. She's lovely. I took most of your suggestions, see? Then again I tend to do that, or go my own way with them. I needed a laugh. I wrote a really sad bit in my ongoing fic, and needed to crawl out of my emotional black hole. So, you have this. You'll note it says encounter one...meaning more to come. and just in case someone out there is clueless, the title is supposed to be ironic, I suggest googling the lyrics if you don't know the song. Queen, and I've only got it via the Greatest Hits, and I refuse to go and sift thru all my dad's original albums to figure out which one it's from. Anyways, if you loved it, review, please, if you hated it, review please. You wanna see more of these? review please!)
Somebody to Love
Encounter One:
Dean pulled up in front of the local high school, feeling a smile of barely contained pride spreading across his face. Sam, surrounded by a group of laughing girls, and boys, had a huge grin on his face. For once, things were almost normal. Dean, to his own shock, along with that of everyone's but Sam's, had graduation one time with almost a 3.0 GPA. Turns out he hadn't done that badly, after all. Some kids caught sight of the Impala and pointed, he saw Sam's face light up, his lips move 'that's my big brother! I gotta go!' he said, before trying to situate all his books as his legs started moving, and Dean was reminded of Wile E. Coyote when his feet started gong and left the rest behind.
Dean managed to get the window open so when Sam tripped on the curb almost all of his books flew into the window. In fact, Dean was already out of the car, halfway around the front and even managed to catch one of the books. He got a few cheers and some of Sam's friends rushed over, helping collect papers, notebooks, a binder, and of course; books. Dean chuckled appreciatively, opening the door to the back seat so Sam could sling his backpack into it, along with dumping everything else, too. The trunk wasn't safe around civilians. Dean slipped into the car, glancing at Sam who worked to arrange his gangly limbs comfortably in the passenger seat.
"Hey," Sam said breathlessly. "You can laugh, y'know," glancing at his brother's reddening face. Dean, at Sam's permission burst out laughing until tears ran down his cheeks, but all the same he hit the gas and the car peeled away from the curb and onto the road.
"So, you want some ice cream?" Dean's thin black t-shirt was starting to stick to his skin, and his hair was dark with sweat. Sam fared no better, but at least he wore baggy cargo shorts.
"Sure, but dude, in case you don't remember? We don't have any money." A proud grin spread across Dean's face as he held up a twenty dollar bill. "Where'd you get that?"
"Told Dad I wanted to get a job, that garage near our apartment was hiring, and he laughed at me," Dean's face clouded slightly, "And he said if I could get the job then I could work all I wanted." Sam knew that Dean wouldn't divulge more without prompting, but saw Dean's need to share.
"So how'd you get twenty bucks in your first few seconds?" Sam asked with a laugh.
"Well, I drove up in the Impala, said she needed the engine belt replaced, and he said that no one was available to work on the car, and I laughed. Said ain't no one touching my baby but me," Dean winked. "Said I'd pay for the use of the tools and stuff, but I'd do it myself. He laughed in my face, said if I could do it, he'd not only let me use the stuff free, he'd hire me, if I wanted the job. We shook on it," Dean grinned, so proud of himself. Sam laughed, knowing that the store manager wouldn't really regret his rash decision, even if it stung. But his heart also ached for Dean. He was never proud of himself because their dad never gave him a reason to be. Looking at Dean's face one last time to memorize the pleasure in his eyes and the proud strength of his smile, he would hold it as a talisman against the hurt emerald eyes and locked jaw, teeth biting through lower lip.
"So, I pop up the hood, already telling them what I need, even remembered to say please," he added, rolling his eyes. "And it doesn't take me long and the job's done. The guy's so shocked his eyes are gonna fall out of his head." Satisfaction played across Dean's face, lifting the corners of his lips in a smile. "So he hires me, and another mechanic, right? This freakin' Audi pulls in, just needs an oil change, and a brake check, they think the fluid might be leaking –it was so the freakin' cleaning fluid, but the mechanic, right? God he almost puts oil in the cleaning fluid without even checking the dipstick, so of course I'm all over it and taking care of it. Earned myself a tip," he grinned. Sam noticed how Dean's fingertips around the nail are black, and there was smudge of grease along his jaw. Rustling around for anything, he found a rag, and recognized his old Superman shirt. So that's where it went?
"Dean, don't move," he said as he leaned forward, wiping the grease off.
"Thanks," Dean mumbled, rubbing at his face, checking for more grease before making a right turn. Pulling up along the curb under a tree, Dean glanced out the window. "Hot out, huh?" he asked. They slipped out of the car, carefully timing the slamming of their doors. "Watcha want, Sammy?" Too grateful for the ice cream Sam let the nickname slide just this once.
"How about some vanilla?" Sam asked. It's a craving he's been having, even if his favorite is strawberry. It's just an open ice cream stand in the middle of a wall. Like a hotdog stand, but…coming out of the brick. Sam glanced down the street, it was a typical old town styled street, cobbled sidewalk, trees every ten feet or so, all sorts of boutique styled stores and used clothes. And a used bookstore! Mort's Old Fashioned Ice Cream is emblazoned on the lower half of the 'wall' just a window that for all purposes might once have been a drive through. As Dean paid for the ice cream, roughly 50 cents a cone –waffle cone, too, he figured if the owner was the guy selling the ice cream, then no wonder it's old fashioned. The guy must have been half a million years old at the least! "Thanks," he said, returning to Sam. "Eat fast Sammy, or it'll melt," he told his brother. He's already taking a bite out of the cookie dough ice cream. He's been aching to try it, considering it's fairly new, and had to admit it was good. "Wanna try some?" Dean offered.
"Sure, you outta try some of this, I think it's the best vanilla ice cream I've ever had," Sam held his out, Dean lightly catching his wrist to steady it as he took a taste, Sam doing the same.
"It is," Dean agreed with a smile, sitting on the curb in the shade of the tree, Sam joining him. "How was school?"
"Great, you saw!" Sam laughed. "I accidentally showed up the biology teacher," he said, turning dark red. Dean grinned.
"From helping me with biology a year or two ago?" Dean understood biology just fine, he just didn't have the patience to memorize any of it. He was too busy with training and memorizing monsters' weak spots. Sam had proved invaluable to Dean, helping him memorize things without Dean even realizing it –Sam had asked Dean to teach him.
"Yeah, turns out I can skip the class and do an advanced independent study, because the other classes are full, so I get a free period, or I could come home early." Not that he would, he'd take that hour to be in the library, reading or studying. Dean felt another wash of pride spread through him, and he popped the last of the waffle cone into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. Sam was right behind him in finishing his ice cream with the same gusto.
"You wanna wander around the bookstore? It's too hot to go back to the apartment," Dean said, looking at how much money he had left. Enough to get a couple books. Maybe some comics, too.
"Sure," Sam brightened instantly. He didn't want to go back to the stuffy apartment. He and Dean only ever seemed to fight at close quarters like that, but the rest of the time they got along perfectly.
"I've got a lot of money left, we could probably get a whole buncha books," Dean offered. Ice cream wasn't very much money. Dean knew from his father's stories before the days of waffle cones and cookie dough ice cream that you could get a single scoop for ten cents. Dean watched in annoyance as a man came across the street to look at the Impala. If the guy had been older, Dean wouldn't have minded. He liked to impress adults because they always had better stories and knew more. This yuppie was just a wannabe. Not to mention he'd deliberately blocked out this time for him and Sam, and he was enjoying himself. Young, probably good looking, but neither Winchester ever exactly checked out other men. Women? All the time, lord knows he barely managed to avoid being slapped on occasion. When the man got close to the car, walking around it, Dean felt threatened.
"Who's car is this?" the man asked. Dean turned to wink at Sam, deciding to make the other man uncomfortable.
"Mine," he said with a slight smile playing around his lips as he let his eyes travel over the stranger, trying to remember how some men in bars had looked at him. It didn't take too long for him to find what John called a 'liar's place' and Dean slipped into the role with ease, lightly letting his tongue run over his teeth –in all honesty Dean was looking right through him, but for all appearances the teen was checking out the attractive stranger with a lot of interest. The other man was probably about twenty one or two, under twenty five certainly.
"She's a real beauty," the man said, Dean had opened up the back seat to throw Sam's linen outer shirt over his backpack so no one would try and break into the car to take supposed valuables. All they'd find was homework, but it had happened once, and Dean was more careful since then. Still leaning in the car, he turned to look at the man with a slight wink and half smile. Dean knew how to play the game, even if he was currently trying to put the man off.
"You outta see the inside," he said, as he started organizing Sam's crap into a more manageable heap. He looked around for a lighter colored shirt to wear, the black calling the sun to cook him like no other. "God it's hot out," Dean mumbled, dragging his forearm across his forehead.
"Not as hot as you," the man grinned, lightly slapping Dean on the ass. Dean straightened up so fast he slammed his head into the roof of the car with a muffled curse.
Sam had to cover his mouth to stifle helpless laughter as Dean's plan to get rid of the man began to backfire in spades. What were the odds the one man Dean picked to hit on as a joke would actually be gay? And attracted to brunettes. The usual way Dean dealt with any undesired attention was to hit the person in the face, but quite frankly? He'd brought it on himself. Dean looked panicked, Sam could tell. So he stood up deciding to come to the rescue, forcing his face into a scowl.
"What the hell, Dean!? You're here with me!" he said, glancing disgustedly at the other man. Blondish fluffy hair, singular earring, and a light colored linen shirt with pale flowers, and khaki pants. Sam pouted, trying to remember what it felt like when Dean took him to the park to play when he was ten –only to flirt with the girls there.
The man looked startled, pausing only to touch Dean's shoulder, slipping his hand around and down Dean's back to his ass again, bringing his body in closer, leaning so his lips were brushing Dean's ear as he whispered "Maybe I'll see you around, huh, sweetcheeks?" As the man sauntered off, the mortified look on Dean's face was enough to send Sam into helpless fits of laughter. Standing up and closing the door of the Impala, Sam followed Dean down the street to the bookstore, laughing again when Dean slipped his hands into the back pockets of his jeans while he walked with his entire body rigid.
Sam just couldn't stop howling, he couldn't wait to tell their father.