I do not own Star Trek 2009 or Supernatural

This follows Meet the 'Rents over in Snapshots from a Bar but as always, the order's not horribly skewed if you read this first.

"So I hear you're a big shot now."

Jim glared at his beer bottle and shuffled his feet in the sand, heels drumming against the rock he'd selected as a seat.

"What, Iowa not good enough for you?"

Iowa wasn't the problem. Even if he did like the pretty bay spread before him, glassy black and studded with reflected city lights.

"Still pissed your momma didn't come home to tuck you in?"

He got it. He really did. He'd seen the pictures after all. He looked exactly like George Kirk and his mother had loved her first husband with all her heart.

"Brother wouldn't stick around either."

Yeah well, that wasn't Jim's fault either. Took Bones two years to convince Jim of that fact, but it really wasn't his fault.

"Hey, in the eyes of the law, I'm your dad, brat."

That last one burned. Jim Kirk may not have known his father, may not have always liked the shadow of George Kirk but by God, he was Jim Kirk's father and a man Jim could always be proud of.

His father was not some sodden drunk leering on Jim's small apartment doorstep, asking for a handout because he was on the verge of losing the Kirk family home due to an unpaid mortgage taken out on the house to pay for one of Frank's stupid get-rich-quick schemes.

A quick scan of Winona Kirk's Starfleet file cropped up the information that yes, she was still divorced from Frank, no she hadn't had any contact with the man in at least eight years and yes, she was still out in the boondocks of the Gamma quadrant, buried in her long-term hydroponics experiment. She probably didn't know that Frank had illegally sneaked a mortgage out on the house and now they stood to lose it in court.

Jim honestly couldn't care less about the house. It had never really been a home and that wasn't likely to change any time in the future. What pissed him off was the fear coiling around his heart. It wasn't pervasive, wasn't enough to put him off his game. But the tiny tendril was enough to bring back the memory of a terrified child, a kid so determined not to be afraid he drove George Kirk's prized antique car off a cliff just to prove that Frank couldn't taint everything in their messed up excuse for a family.

Did Captain Jim Kirk fear Frank? Hell no.

Had little Jimmy Kirk feared Frank? Yes. One too many trips to the hospital and an emergency call to Winona Kirk had only reinforced the notion that the world wasn't a safe place and Frank would always be in it. His mother had shown up to take charge of him, a distant stranger who had been terrified and kind and awfully conscious of George Kirk's bright blue eyes in her bruised son's face.

He could have been angry at his mother, he supposed as he stared out at the San Francisco Bay and ignored the other five bottles still in the six-pack. Winona Kirk though, was walking wounded even now, some twenty five years later. The loss of George Kirk had fractured her, left her alone in the world with well-intentioned people who didn't understand her, who patted her back and lauded George Kirk's decision. The one person who might have got it, who might have brought her back to something scarred but whole, needed her to raise him.

Jim understood all this now. How could he not? He and his mother were very similar, drifting through life with a smile and letting everyone think it was okay because they didn't know how to make other people understand. Only Frank and Jim knew Winona Kirk was still hurting, couldn't really take true pride in her husband's decision because it had left her so very terribly alone. Alive, certainly, but alone.

The final sacrifice George Kirk had made? It had been incredibly selfish. Honestly.

Jim threw a pebble at the bay.

Easy, so easy to die for everyone else. Then you're dead. No mess. No worry. No grief.

Maybe that was why Jim was so determined to do the job no one else wanted. Every time he and his crew escaped by the skin of his teeth, he could prove to the ghost of George Kirk that you didn't have to die in order to escape a no-win scenario.

And that cycled back to Jim's shitty family life.

The ultimate no-win scenario.

Even Chekov and his wizardly hacking skills couldn't find Sam Kirk and connecting with his mother was like grabbing at smoke. She was polite, kind, available and oh so slippery. There was no talking to Winona the woman, Winona the mother, because she no longer existed, a barren shell of an individual.

Fuck.

Jim had kept himself had busy by being the first genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest (and didn't that sound cool in retrospect when it came from then-Captain Pike) to just avoid this stupid depressing train of thought.

Then you know, there was saving the world and if that didn't keep a captain occupied, Kirk didn't know what would. And really, this whole angst-fest didn't plague him every day or even every year on the anniversary of George Kirk's death. Jim didn't have the time for such things – he had a life, great friends and a kick-ass star ship named Enterprise.

But right now he was feeling shitty on his last night of shore leave and determined not to rain on his true family's parade before a six month jaunt into space. Chekov was burbling happily in his room over vid-link to his family, Uhura and Spock had a mediation session planned (translation: date night), Sulu was out with his new girlfriend (who might last longer than a week this time), Bones had a vid-date with his favourite girl (Jim was kinda wishing he'd stayed just to say hi to Jo-jo) and Scotty was brainstorming with Bobby.

No one to talk to and wasn't that a laugh. Before Starfleet, Jim Kirk would have never talked to anyone about his problems. Now, he'd grown spoiled by the support system that had magically grown around him. At the same time, he was afraid of taxing it, afraid of weighting it down and hearing it snap and tear the same way Winona Kirk had torn when she had to come all the way back to Earth and pick him up from the hospital.

Ugh, this ruminating was pissing him off. He sucked back another beer and decided to go do something, anything at all, his best remedy for a morose self.

Maybe he'd visit Amanda. She had the fine gift of knowing when to just be an existence in a person's life. Yeah, the bar was a good idea.

On his way to the bar, he finished off the other beers, walking relatively straight down San Francisco's boulevards and kind of wishing he'd run into some idiots just so he'd have an excuse for a fight.

The door swam in front of his eyes an hour later, the small white card she'd tacked on the door allowing Impala and Enterprise crew members in more than a little weather-beaten now, ink beginning to run.

When he staggered into the bar, he knew he looked like a wreck and was spoiling for a bar fight. Actually, he was kind of hoping Tom would say something so Jim didn't get pissed at some newbie who didn't know who he was ticking off or how to defend himself. Tom was former security, tough as nails under the gregarious exterior.

No dice. Tom was former security, tough as nails and not stupid.

At least Amanda was serving the good stuff.

Because she was serving the good stuff and hadn't put the bottle away, he didn't storm out of the bar when she sneakily called Spock on him.

Amanda was a friend after all and if she'd stumbled into the bar like he just had, he'd probably have made the same call (to who, he didn't know, but he would have). So he demanded more of the good stuff and waited until he felt the weight of Spock's presence in the bar, the strong presence of someone who had already been brought to the breaking point and knew the depth of pain.

Vulcan tea magically appeared in front of them with two cups and Jim knew he'd rather have his toenails pulled out a hundred times over rather than admit to Spock that his beloved tea tasted like sizzling coals when hot and the very pits of Hell when cold.

He was pretty sure Spock knew that and therefore never offered to share.

And then they sat.

And then Jim talked.

Spock listened.

Then they sat some more.

Spock emptied the tea pot twice and Jim found himself crazily wondering about a Vulcan's bladder.

Then Frank opened the door of the bar, walked up behind Jim and demanded money again. When Jim politely (it was like pulling teeth) told him to fuck off, Frank slurred both Winona and George Kirk.

Jim hit him just once and damn did it feel good.

He was considering repeating the action just to see if he could get the same result when Dean Winchester's voice broke in. "Jim?" he asked and Jim felt about ten feet tall because that was the sound of Dean's "I'll kill him for you if you ask" voice and he knew Dean Winchester was Jim Kirk's brother.

"Hey Dean," he replied, still trying to decide what exactly he wanted to do next. He was pretty sure he didn't want to go down that seductively violent path but also didn't know how to ask for help.

"So what's going on here?" Sam asked and Jim could relax. Bless Sam Winchester and his ability to lay a nice cooling blanket over just about any situation.

No, that wasn't quite right. Bless that support system he'd been so worried about. Spock and Dean and Sam had just caught a tumbling Jim Kirk without the slightest creak, crack or stagger.

"Everyone, meet Frank. Frank, meet everyone," and Jim took great pleasure in seeing Frank's eyes widen as four scary people circled a very vulnerable person on the floor.

"Hi Frank. What are we going to do with Frank?" Dean asked pleasantly, shuffling into a loose, ready stance, prepared for anything including a beat down that would make Romulans look cuddly. Jim thought about it and decided to test the support system again.

"Nothing. Throw him out."

Sam immediately picked Frank up with a very unfriendly look in his usually calm hazel eyes. "Gladly," he stated coolly and belatedly Jim was wondering if he shouldn't handle Frank himself because he remembered that shit, an unarmed Sam had broken out of the ninth ring of a Romulan prison planet all by himself.

But Sam yanked the man over to the door and pitched him out before dusting his hands off vigorously and everyone settled down at the bar, a wide-eyed Amanda still glaring at the door like a very pissed off tabby cat (in the best way possible. Usually cute, occasionally terrifying).

"So?" Dean asked quietly.

Jim shrugged.

The Winchesters waited, Sam more patiently than Dean, who played with Amanda's little menu folders like they were tinker toy cars, complete with soft sound effects.

"My mom married that asshole when I was four." Jim was surprised at the depth of emotion in those nine words. He had been pretty sure he was over that perceived betrayal.

His friends tensed around him and it was comforting that they were still ready and raring to go. Actually, Jim was pretty sure he knew why Spock had been so quiet. The half-Vulcan (and the distinction was rarely needed) experienced intense emotion rarely and when he did, Spock tended to become unpredictable, even to himself (choking his future best friend, anyone?).

Dean might have been wondering if he needed to kill Frank.

Spock was probably still trying to talk himself out of it.

That was when Amanda reappeared with potato heaven in four hot bowls and Spock eyed the wedges like they were going to jump up and bite his nose off. Jim was hoping Spock would just slide them his way but Amanda was staring at Spock like her potato wedges were a rite of passage.

"Hey Spock, you don't have to eat those. Dean and I can handle it for you, you know," he volunteered, fingers slipping over to the bowl as Spock finished chewing the experimental wedge.

A warm, immovable hand slammed down over his, careful not to squash human bones but definitely asserting ownership over the wedges.

Damn it.

Of course the contrary Vulcan liked them. Only soulless people hated Amanda's wedges and Spock was anything but soulless.

"That will not be necessary, Jim."

"You sure, Spock?" he tried one last time.

"I am, as you say, positive."

Double damn. At least Sam almost stabbed Dean's hand with a fork when the other Winchester tried filch a few. Jim and Dean could be rejected wedge-lovers together.

Then Dean brought up that idiot captain who had flown the brand new courier Sharpe far too close to a black hole and in desperation copied the Enterprise's warp core trick. "Scotty says they're damn lucky they waited that extra five seconds to detonate. Apparently the captain wanted maximum velocity and was going to detonate immediately." Jim chewed on his last tiny crispy potato skin and the four Starfleet personnel snorted in disdain. He was pretty sure Amanda was laughing at their snooty attitude.

Then Spock dragged him out of the bar and they headed (okay, he stumbled) back home to the Enterprise.

All in all, things had gone well. Then a thought occurred with just a hint of hurt.

"Hey, where's Bones? And how did you know Frank was an ass?"

"Dr. McCoy was going to invite you to his call with Joanna and witnessed the conversation. He was insistent on coming along but I did not wish to interrupt his final call with Joanna. Evidently the witch, as you call her, has restricted privileges further. I was confident that should Dr. McCoy's assistance be required, I could notify him at that time."

"Bitch, Spock, she's a bitch. Although witch works too. And how exactly did you keep Bones from following you?"

Spock calmly pulled Jim out of the road as a hover-car zoomed by. "The doors leading from the infirmary experienced an unfortunate electrical failure, as did the communications system. Dr. McCoy was locked inside. Interestingly enough, the vid-link to Joanna survived the glitch."

Jim sputtered in hysterical amusement. Oh this was going to be good. "When Bones gets out, he is going to skin you alive for locking him in."

"Undoubtedly."

Jim was still snickering a good fifteen minutes later. Spock locked Bones in the infirmary. Jim was looking forward to every second of that fiery spat and judging from the faint expression on Spock's face, so was the Vulcan.

And suddenly Jim Kirk realized that in his own unique way, he had beaten that no-win family scenario.