DISCLAIMER: I do not own SUPERNATURAL or any of the characters. I just write fanfiction.
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September 2008
Sam straightened his tie. This was it. His big day. After pounding his way through textbooks and exams and excruciatingly long hours in the library, he'd made it. He was a lawyer.
He tucked his shirt in.
Pushed his hair back.
Smiled. Smiling was hard. He was nervous.
God, Llewelyn and Co. was the top. Who would have thought that he, Sam Winchester of white-picket-fence-nuclear-family-crusts-cut-off background would ever get an opportunity like this.
This was good. This is where he wanted to be, and there was Jess, lying in bed sleeping, hand rested on her already bulging stomach. He kissed her forehead. She didn't stir at all. That made him smile for real.
Shoes, coat, keys... He had pretty much given up on the whole breakfast idea, since his stomach was in knots, but he stopped to grab a granola bar on the way out.
He had to stop again on the steps, because there was someone blocking the stairs.
Someone in a leather jacket with mussed up hair and at least three days of stubble across his chin. Someone who stank like the dumpster behind the liquor store.
"Dean?" Incredulous, Sam grabbed the man's shoulder, so that he could look into who couldn't be- absolutely could not be- Sam's older brother.
"Sammy," the man on the steps forced his mouth into something between a grin and a grimace, and met Sam's eyes with his.
Sam had to look away. Those were his brother's eyes... technically, but Dean's eyes were opaque green, not this confused watered down mixture of regret and pleading.
"Dean- God- hey, what're you doing in California?" That seemed like a logical place to start. And a good way to judge how hammered Dean really was.
That's when he spotted the impala parked cross-ways in the driveway, blocking Sam's cheap beige Honda civic. Did he ever hate that Honda civic.
"Did you drive here?" He was having difficulty keeping the concern from seeping into his voice, "Did you drive here like this?"
Dean pulled a flask from his coat pocket, chuckling, "How else would I get here? Of course I drove."
Sam grabbed the flask from Dean's hands and gave it a sniff. Whatever was in there could kill anyone's liver in a single swig, "Gaah, what are you drinking? Motor oil?" He poured it onto the petunias Jess had planted. They were half dead anyway. "What I meant was, did you drive here as shit-faced as you are now?"
"Thanks, Sammy, real nice of you..."
"Just answer the question?"
"Yeah, alright, I did. Shoot me." He was flailing his arms everywhere. Sam had to duck twice to avoid being smacked in the face.
"Man, I'm not angry," he really wasn't, but his voice was rising, his heart trying to beat out of his chest, "Jesus, you're scaring me, I mean I haven't seen you in forever and you show up on my doorstep five minutes before I have to be at work... This is just-" he took a deep breath, "it's just that this isn't normal. For you. Or me. You shouldn't have driven here like this."
"Where else should I have gone?"
"I don't know-"
"You don't want me here," he stood up lopsidedly. Sam stood with him, stabilizing him by holding his shoulder, "that's clear. You don't need little old me to upset your career as a phony, money-grubbing prick."
It was difficult not to spit back, but Sam reminded himself that his brother wasn't fully capable of what came out of his mouth. "Dean, no, I'm glad you're here. I was just worried that you drove drunk all the way from... Where were you?"
"Lawrence."
"Wait, why'd you drive here? Why not go to Mom and Dad's place?"
"Because," Dean grinned, "Nobody gets me like you do, Sammy."
Dean was being sarcastic, he knew, but Sam hugged his alcohol soaked brother hard. Dean felt thin. He had none of the bulk that he should have had as a mechanic, and none of the fat that his cheeseburger dominated diet would have implied. Sam felt like if he let go, his brother's soul would run out of his feet like thin wine.
Sam cleared his throat, "Come on in."
He opened the door.
He smiled.
