Disclaimer: All hail Kripke; not me.

A/N: A huge thanks to Zubeneschamali; not only for beta-ing, but for having me beta her wonderful fic ("Devil's Arcade" – currently being posted, do check it out), which made my Supernatural muse feel lazy and kick into gear. Hence this one-shot. Enjoy.

Oh, and a very happy Christmas and a wonderful New Year to all :-)

Spiralling

Sam stepped out of what had to have been at least his hundredth shower since Jess had died still smelling of smoke, as had been the case with the last 99 showers. This time, however, his subconscious was aided by the fact that he and Dean had actually been around fire in the last hunt, a salt and burn of a body which had been extra inflammable for no good reason - unless Dean had gotten adventurous with the lighter fluid when Sam hadn't been paying attention, but he doubted it. It may have been taking some time getting used to being attached to his brother's hip again after so long, having to remember his old ways and learn and adapt to his new ones, but his brother wasn't that big of a pyro... was he?

Grabbing a towel off of the rusty towel rack, he wrapped it around his waist as he came to a stand in front of the sink, reaching out for his toiletry kit, which was as new as everything else he owned. The fire had destroyed everything save the clothes on his back when Dean had pulled him out of the blazing apartment building, but Sam had gotten rid of them as well soon after Jess's funeral.

In the week they'd stayed in Palo Alto after, Dean had taken the time out to shop for Sam in the midst of their investigation: Clothes, underwear, toiletries, towels since the Winchesters never used the motel ones save for wiping off mud, blood or grime. Dean's laptop had silently passed into Sam's possession very soon after the younger Winchester had gotten over the shock of Jess's death and the thirst for vengeance had taken over. Nights which became extra long after nightmares ruined whatever precious rest Sam managed to get became prime time for research.

In between the hunt for their father, sometimes Dean would find something hinky in the newspapers that he would insist on investigating, though Sam's two-track mind wanted to only focus on finding their father, and Jess's killer. On a certain level, Sam appreciated the smaller hunts Dean forced them onto, though he would never admit it. It allowed him to get back into hunting mode, something he'd been out of for four years. His research skills were as good, if not better, thanks to his years at college, but handling weapons or going into life-and-death situations? That needed some getting used to again.

All his years in Stanford, the only life-and-death situation he faced regularly was making sure his meagre budget allowed for him to eat regularly, even if it was cheap pesto, and turning his papers in on time and of a certain par so that his scholarship wouldn't be revoked.

They'd just finished a hunt and were spending their last day in town, taking advantage of the fact that the room was already paid for, although it was courtesy of a certain, unknown Alfred Butler. Sam finished brushing his teeth and tossed the towel to the side to dry, reaching for the flannel bottoms and shirt he'd brought into the bathroom with him.

He flipped the light switch as he exited, not surprised to find the bedroom empty. He'd heard the door open and shut whilst in the shower and had known that his brother had gone out, though he wasn't sure where or for how long. But Sam noticed his jacket missing, and with it he assumed the car keys and his cell-phone. Though Sam hadn't been back on the road with his brother that long, he'd noticed Dean's tendency to want some space to himself, usually after a hunt had been completed and there was no rush to head off into the sunset. Although there was no set pattern to what time Dean would return, Sam knew that if he needed to get in touch with his brother, he only had to call.

Which is why he felt a prickle of concern when he noticed the car keys and his brother's phone placed neatly on the table between the two beds as he'd reached for the TV remote - Dean couldn't have gotten far without those two essential items, and there wasn't much in walking distance of the motel that would attract the older Winchester's attention.

He figured a look around couldn't hurt, and if Dean asked - provided he was lurking outside for no good reason - Sam could always say he wanted a breath of fresh air. That was perfectly plausible, right? And not at all little-brotherly and mother-hen combined all in one. Just needed some fresh air, is all.

Shoving his sock-less feet into boots but not grabbing his jacket since it was just a cursory look outside, Sam opened the motel room door, careful to grab a key since the door had an auto-lock. If he needed to expand his search beyond the limits of the car-park, he'd go back inside to grab his and Dean's cell-phones, some weapons and the car keys - all that the Winchesters needed to survive on when it came down to it.

The fresh night air hit Sam immediately and he shivered slightly, his hair still wet from the shower .Being late November, it was chilly outside, even more so than by the Californian standards Sam had grown accustomed to, considering they were currently deep in the Northwest. It wasn't that late at night, but they were in a small town and the local bar was a good fifteen minutes walk. The 'Vacancy' sign was glowing and cast light onto the small car-park, providing enough illumination for Sam's fears to calm as he spotted the silhouette of his brother, perched on the hood of his car some thirty feet away.

Figuring he might as well check up on Dean since he'd come this far already - a good two feet from the doorway - Sam shuffled his way towards the Impala, crossing his arms in front of his chest to protect against the slight breeze that was blowing.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Dean watched the wind whip away the smoke he'd just exhaled, barely pausing as he brought the cigarette back up to his lips for another puff. With his back pressed against the windshield and legs stretched out on top of the hood of his baby, he could honestly say that he was more comfortable here than in some of the motels he'd once stayed in. To be fair, the current motel was actually decent as far as cheap, small-town motels went, which was why he was only going to stay outside for just a little while longer instead of packing everything back into the car and driving until he got tired or they found another hunt.

That, and Sam hadn't been getting enough sleep lately as it was, and it wouldn't do to pass up a night in a decent bed for more hours cramped up in the passenger seat of the car. The poor Sasquatch suffered that enough during the day without Dean forcing it on him during the night as well without due cause.

As he took another swig of beer from the bottle next to him, Dean contemplated going back into the room to grab the car keys so that not only could he have some music, but turning the battery on would probably help in warming his ass some. But he decided that he couldn't be bothered. Sam would probably be done with his shower, even though he took as long as a girl now in the bathroom, and be sitting in the room, alert if not awake. Walking back in only to walk back out would invite further questions which Dean would rather not answer, preferring the slight cold but privacy to them.

He was halfway through his third cigarette when he heard a motel door open and close and knew by instinct that it was Sam coming outside. He only needed to wait a few moments to know for certain that rather than going back inside, Sam was walking towards him.

He didn't bother clearing up the evidence of his activities, Sam wasn't a fool on any level, and trying to pretend and hide would only make him seem guilty of what wasn't a crime. The beer was nothing unusual, but he'd never been a smoker before Sam had left and had only started when his solo jobs and the length of time between seeing his father increased, using the two inch stick for something millions of other people did - as a de-stressor and damn, just something to do with his hands during the down-time.

He could tell himself he wasn't addicted - hell, he'd decreased it a lot since Sam had banded up with him again, not that he was a chain smoker to begin with. He would steal a smoke here and there, definitely at times when the cloud of cigarette smell hanging around as a miasma over him could be blamed on other smokers in bars and other dives.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother come level with him and bit down a snort at the idiot's lack of apparel. Wet hair and wearing just a t-shit in this weather? The kid was begging for pneumonia.

"Hey". Smooth, Sam Winchester was not. Transparent? Yes. For someone who hadn't been in contact with his brother for over two years at a stretch, Sam now suddenly always needed to know where he was, if only for his peace of mind.

"What'cha doing, Sammy? You're going to get sick," Dean responded as he took another sip of beer before proffering it to his brother, who refused it with a shake of his shaggy head; his wet bangs sticking to his forehead and making him appear younger than usual.

"Just wanted to get some fresh air."

"Uh huh," Dean intoned, carefully not reacting to Sam's assessment of him and what he'd been doing. Was doing. Deliberately, he brought the cigarette up to his lips and took another puff, careful not to fleck the ashes on his brother.

"You going to be out here long?"

"Just for a bit but please, don't feel the need to wait up," Dean replied with a mocking lift of his eyebrow and he snuffed out his current cigarette and reached in the carton for a new one, his other hand slipping into his jacket pocket for his Zippo.

x-x-x-x

"Right," Sam nodded. He fought a shiver as another cold breeze passed and sent a waft of cigarette smoke towards Sam. He turned around and headed back towards the motel - Dean was fine, within shouting distance and clearly wanting some space. Besides, the smell of smoke - whether by fire eating up a whole future or two inches worth of tobacco and nicotine - was something Sam wanted to avoid if he could help it, especially when it had nothing to do with a hunt.

What he couldn't help was pausing before he'd gotten more than a few steps away from his brother and turning his head towards Dean, adding: "Those things will kill you, you know?"

He didn't wait for an answer, wasn't even expecting to get one as he started walking back.

He was certain his brother's whispered word wasn't meant to reach his ears either, though his shoulders tensed immediately and his heart ached as he caught his brother's meaning in his response to Sam's warning:

"Optimist."

Khatum (The End)