DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural or YouTube

A/N: Yay, another chapter! I'm really enjoying writing this story – I've wanted to do something like this for a long time. I hope you're enjoying it too! Please tell me your opinions and REVIEW!! Come on... you know you want to. Really. Like whoa?


Sam sat slouched over his desk, cheek resting in one palm. It was Friday night, his last day of work for the week, and he'd only had to answer one call so far. It had been a teenage girl, wanting to know if her crush liked her or not. Easy enough – he had just asked her how he acted around her, how much attention he paid her and things like that. Judging by what she told him he hadn't had the heart to say that the guy wasn't at all interested in her, and so he had gone to the old fallback of just being vague. This isn't the right time to be with him, he had said. Bide your time or your relationship may end before it even begins. Hopefully, the girl would bide her time long enough to develop a new crush on someone that she had more of a chance with. She was only fourteen – she would probably have a new crush by end of the week. He hoped.

That call had been an hour ago, and god was he bored. Mrs Moore would be majorly pissed if she caught him slacking off, but he reckoned he had a good excuse. She was out with her husband anyway, and probably wouldn't be back for a long while. For a moment he considered going to the living room where Jess was watching television and having a chat, but he didn't think he could stomach it.

The problem was, she had a very obvious crush on him, and was always trying to flirt. Just like with his previous caller, he couldn't bring himself to let her down and tell her that he thought of her as a friend – a good friend, but only a friend. Jess was a perceptive girl – he bet that she would be able to hear his unspoken and I'm interested in someone else anyway, and he had no intention of telling anyone – least of all Dean himself – about his latest crush.

Sam groaned, dropping his forehead to the desk and banging it lightly against the cool wood. No matter how hard he tried, Dean always managed to pop into his thoughts somehow, day in day out. He had managed to not think about Dean for two hours, a new record, and now he had broken it, and his minds eye was presenting him with variousinteresting images and how he could he jerk off when Jess was just down the hall? He wondered, if he was discovered, how he would explain that to her; he wondered if Jess would tell her mother just what he had been doing. He doubted that Jess would be that mean, but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right?

He tried desperately to think about things like cannibals, and people that ate kittens, and his aunt and uncle getting frisky in the bedroom – oh yeah, that last one worked. A little too well, really – now he had horrible images involving his almost obese relatives using fluffy handcuffs and whips and he didn't think he would ever get a hard on again.

Mouth set in a grimace; he decided to distract himself by going on YouTube. He grabbed his laptop and slid it over the desk towards him, flipping it open and swiftly typing in his password. He drummed his fingers on the desk, waiting impatiently for the damn thing to load so he could watch a video to replace the horrible one playing in his head, when there was a knock on the door.

He spun his seat around, guilt all over his face, and gave a sigh of relief when he saw Jess leaning against the doorframe, smirking over at him. He managed to give her a wobbly smile back, heart beating overtime. For a moment he had thought it was Mrs Moore – and that woman was downright dangerous when you got on her bad side.

"Slacking off, huh, Sam?" Smiling teasingly, she tsked softly and walked up to him, watching as he opened his browser and clicked on the shortcut to YouTube. "You thought I was Mom, didn't you?"

He gave a sheepish grin, turning to face her. Maybe Jess would be a better distraction than the internet after all. "Yeah. I don't want to end up like Richard."

Jess laughed. "You remember that?"

"Hell yeah. How could I forget – he spent that whole week telling everyone at school what a crazy old broad your Mom is." He grinned. "And then she got him back for that, too."

"God, I know." She grinned, eyes sparkling with mirth. "It was bad enough that he called me a bitch, but then he went and insulted Mom even after she gave him the hiding of his life. I dunno if he was brave, stupid, or had a death wish." For a second they sat together, reminiscing, and then Jess started talking once more. "So, why are you slacking off, anyway? Boring night?"

"Yeah, I only got one call."

"Damn, that sucks. What was it about?"

"Some fourteen year old girl wanting to know if her crush liked her or not."

"Really?" He saw the expression on Jess's face, and he only had a second to gather his thoughts before the onslaught began. "What would you say to me if I asked you whether my crush liked me or not?"

"Uhm," Sam mumbled, stalling for time whilst internally cursing himself. He had really left himself wide open for that one – he should have seen it coming. After a long moment of trying to come up with something that wouldn't hurt her feelings, he decided to just tell her the truth. If he continued to string her along like this, it would hurt her more in the end. "I would say that he really likes you, but only as a very good friend."

Jess's whole body fell, slumping down in her seat, the smile sliding off her face. "Oh." And then she was silent for so long that Sam felt he had to explain himself more.

"I'm sorry, I just, I..." He stopped and gulped, nervous as hell. No-one knew he was gay, and though he was sure Jess didn't have any problems with that kind of... sexual orientation, it wasn't like he wanted to tell her about it. "It's not like you're not nice and pretty and intelligent and - stuff, it's just..." Jesus, are you gonna keep babbling all night or just tell her? "I'm gay."

Holding his breath, he peered at Jess in consternation, waiting for a reaction. For a long, horrible moment all she did was stare, an expression of complete shock upon her features. And then she let out a long breath, sitting up straighter in her seat and proceeding to continue with her one sided staring contest. One sided, because Sam's eyes were darting furiously around the room in a desperate attempt not to meet her gaze. He had no idea what she thought of his confession, and he was loathe to find out. He would rather run and keep running until he never had to face her again. When had he become such a coward?

"That... explains a lot." Jess's quiet voice reached his ears, and his eyes darted to meet hers, wide with panic. What did she mean by that? Was his sexual orientation so obvious? "I mean, there are a few things... not really noticeable, but still."

"What sorts of things?" His voice was hoarse.

"Well, you never join in our other friends' conversations about who they find hot and stuff like that. And when I think about it, I've never seen you checking out a girl, ever, when most guys your age are... a little too eager about girls." She gave him a strange look; it was familiar, but the fact that he couldn't place it unnerved him, and he shifted in his seat. "How long have you been gay? Sorry, let me rephrase that... how long have you known that you're gay?"

He frowned. "I always knew that I wasn't interested in girls, but I didn't know anything about being gay when I was a kid. I suppose I must have been nine when I knew for sure."

"Hmm." She was giving him that look again. "How did you know for sure? Did someone explain to you about homosexuality?"

He managed a wan smile. "No, more like my best friend was making fun of 'fags' and I asked him what they were."

"Ouch. What did he say?"

"He said that they were major sinners and that they were all going to burn in hell for eternity. That they liked guys instead of girls, and it was disgusting and unnatural."

"What a dick." Her eyes flashed in anger for a moment as she grimaced, and then what the hell is that look she keeps giving me? "Who was the first guy that you liked?"

Abruptly, Sam realised what the look was, and he immediately had the urge to bolt. It was the look that Jess, a budding scientist, had on her face when they were doing experiments, when they were learning about something new and she picked the topic apart under the flustered gaze of the teacher. He remembered that look vividly from the time that they had each dissected a rat in class. She had been poking at the organs, cutting the animal up with almost surgical skill, leaning so closely over the poor creature that her hair was almost brushing it. It was apparent that, right now, he was the rat in this scenario.

Not eager for any more questioning, he decided to get defensive. "I dunno. Could you stop nosing around in my personal life now?"

"Nope." Her gaze was cold and calculating. "Your refusal to talk about the issue is what caused this mess in the first place. You owe me this."

He should have known that being defensive wouldn't work on Jess.


Sam walked down Rayford Drive, head bowed and hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, trying his best to look innocent. He was convinced everyone knew what he was doing – could see the word FREAK in bright neon across his forehead. Because he was being a major freak. Instead of hanging out in the arcade or something like a normal sixteen year old, he was going to hang out in a narrow alleyway containing a large dumpster in the hopes that he would find a clue, or something.

He greatly doubted that he would find any tangible evidence when the police, theprofessionals, had already looked through it, but he had to feel like he was doing something to help Maureen Carter. He would have loved to have a look at the body – and god did that make him sound like he had a bad case of necrophilia – but it was in some morgue somewhere, and he hadn't progressed from lurking around at crime scenes to breaking and entering. Yet.

He had left work half an hour earlier, after Jess – feeling a little sorry for interrogating him for nigh on an hour – had promised that she would answer any calls that came through when he wasn't there. She had also promised that she wouldn't breathe a word to her mother. Normally he wouldn't have bothered to leave early, but, well... he didn't want to miss his rendezvous with Dean to go dumpster diving.

The top half of Rayford Drive was in the wealthier, touristier part of town, full of five star cafes and small, expensive boutiques. None of the people walking around were wearing scruffy jackets and faded old jeans, and he got plenty of looks from the many that were dressed up for a night out in a gourmet restaurant. It was why he didn't like hanging out in places like this – he hated the judgemental looks, the I'm-better-than-you attitude. They didn't even know him – who were they to judge?

He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he walked across an intersection and came upon the bottom half of Rayford Drive, which was most definitely more middle class. He immediately felt at home. From the intersection he only had to walk a few more feet before he reached a narrow brick alleyway set in between an antiques shop and a Chinese takeaway. He nodded to the teen behind the counter in the takeaway, recognising him from one of his classes, and pulled an empty Coke bottle from his pocket before strolling casually up to the alley.

One large, bright orange metal dumpster was set against the alley wall, both halves of the black plastic lid lowered. Fiddling with the bottle in his hands, Sam moved as close to it as he could manage whilst still looking casual. On the front right corner of the dumpster, at knee height, was a long line of blood, small rusty streaks from the original stain leaking down the sides of the dumpster and dripping onto the concrete. It looked as though someone had hit the side of their head against the dumpster. He glanced around; no-one was watching, and he couldn't see any phone-wielding ghosts hanging around the area. Maybe he'd have to come back at night.

Letting out a long breath, he ducked under the bright yellow tape proclaiming POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS that cordoned the area off. There didn't seem to be any police guarding the place, so he assumed that the forensic scientists had done their job and no-one had gotten around to cleaning up the bloodstains yet. Hunching down, trying to make his body as small and unnoticeable as possible, he took a short glance at the bloodstain before moving around to the front of the dumpster.

It was creepy. One moment he was comfortably warm, jacket protecting him well from the winter wind, and the next he was as cold as if he had been wearing only his boxers. A shiver crept up his spine, both from the cold and from sudden dread, and he wrapped his arms about himself in an attempt to stave off the abrupt chill. He had no doubt that this strange pocket of cold just in front of the dumpster was caused by something supernatural – something like a ghost. He hated it when his sixth sense was correct. It only ever meant trouble.


He pushed the diner door open, a frown on his face, for once not grimacing at the pop music blaring through the old, tinny speakers. The visit to the alleyway had solidified his problem, made everything real. His gut was churning with worry – worry for Maureen, worry for himself. Sure, he had always known he was psychic, had seen a few ghosts and supernatural creatures in his lifetime, but it had never been so close to home. He had never been contacted by one before, never talked to one. He had thought that it was impossible to – that ghosts were just old imprints of people not ready to leave this mortal plane, beings that didn't think or feel, just existed.

His life was getting so messed up, and now he was questioning all the things he had taken for granted. What were ghosts, really? What did all this crap mean – why was he being contacted by a spirit? If there was something she wanted from him, something he could do for her, he had no clue as to what it was, and that both pissed him off and made him feel totally useless.

Sighing, he looked up and met Dean's bright-eyed, slightly concerned gaze, and suddenly the churning in his stomach was replaced with butterflies of a different kind. He smiled at him and slid into his side of the booth, worries completely forgotten. Screw all that mystical mumbo jumbo – he was with Dean, and life was perfect when he was with Dean.

Well, except when he started blushing and bumbling and acting like an imbecile.

"Hey there, Sammy." The nickname caused colour to stain Sam's cheeks and warmth to pool in his belly, and he tried not to beam like an idiot. "Thought you might not come." Waitaminute – under the teasing, jovial tone, was that worry he heard? For a moment he just stared, speechless, convinced that his ears were betraying him. There no way Dean would like him, a teenager, a guy – was there?

Noticing that Dean was giving him a weird look, he blushed even hotter and hurried to fill the void of silence. "Sorry, I'm a bit late aren't I?"

"No worries." Dean grinned at him. "It's not like we're on a schedule, is it?"

Well, we sort of are. I plan my whole week around these, uhm, dates? Meetings? Wow, he really did have no life. He gave a nervous chuckle. "Nope, not at all." He desperately needed to know the answer to the question that had been bugging him all day, and so he bypassed greetings and small talk and instead went straight for the jugular. "So, uhm, you said you were leaving town?"

"Well..." Dean smiled at the waitress that was walking over to their table and then turned to give him a dazzling, breathtaking grin. "I think I'll be staying around for a little while longer yet."

THANK.GOD.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek as he tried furiously not to give a victory whoop or let loose with gleeful, maniacal laughter. His whole body hummed with happiness, and was that a brass band he could hear playing? He wasn't a religious guy, but this? Was a fucking miracle.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy, you awake in there?" Dean raised an eyebrow, and with much effort Sam managed to turn his focus on the outside world once again, though his expression was dazed and dreamy. "You gonna order or what?" The waitress was standing by Sam's chair, chewing on the tip of her pen as she waited for him.

He didn't think he could handle making decisions right now. "Oh..." A pause. "I'll have whatever you're having."

Dean turned to the waitress with a grin plastered on his face. "You heard him." Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to her, speaking in a loud stage whisper. "Sorry, I don't think he's taken his pills today." The waitress gave Dean a nervous giggle and Sam a wary glance, and then high tailed it out of there as though the cops were on her tail.

Well, that had woken him up. Sam blushed furiously (and why did he always have to blush when he was around Dean?), glaring daggers at his dining companion. "You're a prick, you know that?"

Dean responded with a lewd grin, eyes twinkling with mischief as he leant forward, setting his elbows on the table and craning his torso over the cool plastic. Sam's whole body tensed when he felt Dean's hot breath on the bare skin of his neck, sending a shiver of desire down his spine which then headed straight to his groin. "Sure am, babe."Ohmygoddidhejustcallmebabe? He was panting slightly, rock hard, eyes half lidded with lust. Dean was so fucking close (and he wasn't moving away), his lips looking soft and full and he desperately wanted them to be all over his body and oh my god, that sentence had to be an innuendo.

After a blissful eternity of just being close to each other, breathing the same air, Dean leant back into his seat once more. Leaving Sam extremely confused and unbearably aroused, he smirked and carried on the conversation as though nothing had happened. And maybe, for Dean, that was true.