A/N: A little one-shot thingy I had in me, I'll update Wrecks soon, I promise.
Small towns are strange places. No one comes in and no one goes out, they're a little cocoon of resistance, a little circle of earth that refuses to be swayed by the outside world, and even though he's seen them all before, small towns never seem to change. They're the backdrop, the scenery, and sometimes they seem painted on. He's used to the looks that the locals give him, the sideways glances they think he doesn't catch. But hell, can you blame them? It's not every day that a leather wearing, Impala driving stranger rolls into town.
The ghosts, the baddies, they're all the same too. Some nameless, faceless foe that needs to be vanquished to save the innocence, the same plot twists to make it a little more exciting. He's begun to wonder why he bothers protecting innocence anymore, he's just a drop of gun blazing water, in an ocean of evil he's the hero, the leading man, and he's getting tired of it. It's been a long time since he's let a job get to him, ten years to be exact, ten years four months two weeks and one day.
The air is crisp, but the air is always crisp at six in the morning in small towns. He's there for the same reason he's always there. A bad guy, an evil being is threatening this sleepy little settlement, and no one has any idea. It takes an urban cowboy, an unsung hero to get the job done, then get the hell out. He walks up to the diner, there always seems to be one, one of the most popular sets in the collection. One thing that is always the same is there will be one friendly person for every five wary townspeople and he's gotten good at picking the helpful people out. He seesthe other characterfrom across the diner, sitting on a stool a cup of coffee clutched in his hands, one of about twelve types of people, the aging father figure. He pulls a seat up next to the old man and doesn't say anything for a second, but he sees the man's eyelids flutter and he knows his presence is felt.
"Morning" he says gruffly and the man nods in response, taking his time, sipping his coffee and tapping his foot on the scuffed wood floors. It's alright he's got patience; he can wait for the man to speak.
"You're new in town" it's a standard statement, not a question, and he knows exactly how to answer.
"Yes Sir, just passing through" the man nods and sips his coffee again, taking his time.
"Where are you headed?" Now the chit-chat has begun. It's comfortable territory as he picks out his persona. The person he wants to be today, he chooses gruff tough wanderer.
"No where in particular" he keeps his answers short and mimics the tone of the man. The air around them is quiet and still, so they're voices should be short and choppy, it just flows better and it adds to the scene they're acting out.
"Why are you stopped here?" Excellent. Just the question he's been waiting for, the one that lets him do his job.
"I hear there's been a number of mysterious deaths around here lately" the change in subject from chit-chat to business occurred at just the right time and the man didn't blink an eye.
"You keep on driving, son. Nothing good is waiting here." The man's eyes show he's nursing a hurt, and that he's played this part before, almost as if he knows the younger man's lines. "If you dig around, you'll just lose someone." Ah, so he's a family member of a victim. How very opportune, killing two birds, so to speak.
"No, I've got no one to lose…not anymore." That was not part of the script, that show of emotion was exactly what he was trying to avoid, it was not part of his role, and it caught him a little off guard. The man studied his face for a second and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, under the careful eye of the townie.
"So, I assume you know what I'm going through. You lose someone, son?" The man's question seems innocent, but somehow the control has been shifted, and he no longer can manipulate the conversation, the old man now holds the power, and that's not how it was written, he's improvising.
"Uh –yeah, a long time ago" ten years four months two weeks and one day. The man nodded and sipped his coffee one last time before setting it on the table having no intention of picking it up again.
"Who?" He didn't have to answer, he didn't want to answer, and it was really none of this man's business. However, the glint in the man's eye showed that he wasn't giving up anything without something in return. A story for a story, a hurt for a hurt. He cleared his throat and prepared himself to talk as little as possible about that night that had changed his life, the night he had fought so hard to forget.
"My brother." The man's eyes widened and he leaned slightly foreword, as if he was expecting more. He cleared his throat again and continued, "it was an accident, one second he was fine and the next…gone." I should have stopped it, I should have protected him. The guilt was seeping into his eyes again and he had to look away. The man nodded as if he could understand the hurt a complete stranger had unearthed in front of him, but yet, they weren't strangers, they had performed this scene so many times before.
"I'm sorry, son." It looked like he meant it too. He sighed and laced his fingers together, trying to forget it, to wipe the slate clean, but his brother's face, contorted with pain flashed in his mind's eye. A complete stranger was apologizing for his brother's death, that night so long ago changed him, hardened him. He became a machine in a leather jacket, emotion was not an option. If there was one lesson a Winchester could learn in life, it was that if you get close to someone, they die. It's best to be…oh, what's the word, anti-social. And now he's the lead actor in a movie about adventure, secrets, pain, and lies. It would be entertaining, if he didn't have to live it.
He didn't answer, he didn't feel like playing his part in the routine anymore, he had let himself remember the pain, he had remembered why he turned out this way. And the acting suddenly lost its appeal. Looking at the man, he felt so out of character, out of place. He didn't have a wing man to help him out either, no one to pick up the lines he dropped. It was just him, hunting alone, the lone wolf for ten years four months two weeks and one day. The man caught the emotion that was hovering around them and spoke for him, "what's you're name?" He asked feeling that once he knew, the younger man next to him wouldn't be a stranger anymore, however, they knew each other better then they knew already.
"Sam" he said clearing his throat again, shaking the emotion from his head, getting himself back in character. The man smiled and continued glad that the little play was back on track and he could deliver his lines,
"Well, Sam. You want to hear my story, now?"