Actions, Not Words

Chapter 1

Hearing his name being called a few times was what had pulled him out of his state of abstraction. Or, on the other hand, it could have been the gut-feeling that he was being stared at. However, Sam Winchester had just lost at pool. Sam shook his head in defeat, he had never lost a game of pool – Dean Winchester had taught him too well. Dean, on the other hand, wasn't there to coach him.

Or maybe he was. Sam tilted his head to the left, and then to the right – no, if anybody was watching him, it would be from behind. He sauntered, side-stepping his college buddies, to the other side of the table. The only person that could have been watching him was a five year old boy, intensely watching his father play at another table. No, big brother wasn't going to show up anytime soon. It had been three years, and too many emotions had escaped him, yet the bad ones were tugging at him.

Sam stared at the pool stick, long and hard. Maybe it would burst. Spontaneous combustion to a pool stick. That would be interesting to see. He leered down to the green felt; it looked like grass.

"Sam, dude, are you gonna go?" The twenty-two year old looked up to see his friend, Chris, waiting impatiently; Sam was once again forced out of his reverie.

"Nah," Sam placed the stick in his friend's hands, ignoring the glares of the other three college men, and walked towards the owner of the pub.

The pub was new, the wooden floors had fresh coats of gloss over them, and the beer smell hadn't quite seeped in yet. Sam had helped the owner, Tony, build this place. He thought engaging in construction with one of his father's old friends might benefit him, yet he succeeded in diving into more long, drawn out lectures. Why did he leave his family in the first place? He had many excuses, but never really could find the real one.

"Sam," The middle-aged Italian owner looked up, a scar, caused by a werewolf, slid down his left cheek – a black patch over his right eye. "Did you win again?" The man smiled.

Sam shook his head, gazing around. The sensation of being watched, much less stalked, was gripping at him. Maybe Jess had one of her friends guarding him. Maybe one of his buddies had his back. Maybe it was that five year old kid possessed by something. Maybe…

Maybe it was Dean.

The pre-law student frowned and looked down at the bar stools with beer logos on them. "No, Sam," He looked up at Tony, guilt surfacing on his face. "I haven't seen your brother since he was fifteen. And it's been that many years since I've seen John."

Sam swallowed hard; the man knew exactly what he was thinking. Once again, he looked around the bar. Dean was no where to be seen; Dean had no reason to see him – ever again. And it was all Sam's fault. He chose to be alone and independent.

Yet, stronger than ever now, he knew his brother was there. Somewhere in Palo Alto. He needed to see him – it was a brother thing.

Tony watched the boy stride back over to his buddies and to the pool table. Something was wrong – Sam had lost, and the Italian knew with Sam's training, he should never loose. The first thing John taught his son's was how to expertly deceive every player surrounding them and whoop their asses. No, maybe that was the second thing.

The man slowly limped towards the beer keg, a mug in hand. His place was new, and it was busy. If he had gotten his preference, had won the game of pool, he would have built on a more peaceful piece of property. However, John was a Winchester, and so was Dean; the rules were pure and simple: never play against them, especially when a favor is hanging in mid air.

Now he was to watch Sam, and if something drastic happened, report back to his, as they called themselves, 'employers'.

The mug was full now; he limped to the other side of his bar – the farthest corner which was secluded from nearly everyone.

"He knows," Tony spoke in a raspy, low whisper, even though the music was blearing. The hidden man accepted the beer with a smirk and a nod of his head. "I told him his guesses were wrong, though."

Shoving the door to his apartment open, Sam tripped in; magically, the keys made it to their resting position on the granite, antique credenza.

"You're late," The alcohol had melted his brain to the size of a pea, and the sound of his girlfriend's normally pleasant voice, rang out like Hulk strangling a kitten. He grasped the door knob with his left hand.

"T-t-the-"

"I know you were out with the guys. You should have at least called me! You're drunk Sam," The conversation, to Sam, drifted out like the melody of Bohemian Rhapsody. It hurt. Now, Sam realized that Jess had shoved herself out of the sea-foam green chair and was standing with her arms crossed in front of him. "Exactly how many beers did you drink?"

He gulped.

She glared.

"D-D-Dean; I could feel his gaze," His speech was once again drawn out; bile was rising in his throat and Jess's gaze was softening. If he could somehow just make it past the shag-beige carpeting, maybe, just maybe Jessica wouldn't kill him. He blacked out.

"Thank you for helping me," Jessica looked from Sam, unconscious, sprawled out on their white bed sheets and comforter, to the man in front of her.

"No problem, he weighs a ton. Has ever since his three-inch growth spurt at thirteen," The man grinned as he shoved a hand through his hair, and then looked down to the college student in front of him, his grin quickly taken over by guilt.

"He got this way because of you, I think," The blonde stood steady, nearly taller then the guest, with her hands on her hips.

"I should go," He began walking out of his hostess's bedroom. It was awkward seeing everything laid out like this. He'd been buy it, God only knows how many times. But the man cowered down to a drunk before him, now had a different life. A life without him.

"I think you should stay," Hazel green eyes met with diamond blue ones and locked in a glare. "I think your brother needs you to stay."

Dean Winchester let out a sigh; the hallway's lights were dim and flickered at that moment. God, she was demanding.

This has the usual disclaimer - I don't own the boys, or Jess; however, I do own Tony, and the bar, this time around!

A/N: This stands between its own story, and one in the Fair Warning verse. I've written more to it (where the brothers meet), but am not sure if I should post that part. (Please tell me what you think!).

Beta'd: The wonderful Rae Artemis who took the time out of her busy schedule to check-proof this for me. Thank you!