Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: So, yeah, this isn't really a tag; the only thing that links it to the episode is bro-bonding time. But whatever, I'm counting it. I was tired of the angst.

Summary: Sam and Dean enjoy some "we time" at a bowling alley. Tag to 10.04, Paper Moon.


Gone Bowling

The two guys who came in looked, at first, like any of the people who visit the bowling alley on weeknights. Just a couple of dudes there to unwind after a rough day at work. I didn't think there was more to it than that, and I probably wouldn't have noticed them beyond taking their money and handing out the equipment if it hadn't been a quiet night. There was a couple playing in the furthest lane, spending more time making out than actually bowling, but other than that the room was empty.

The first guy was tall, short hair and a leather jacket and a cocky attitude. I see his type all the time, and they're some of my best customers. The second guy was tall, like Bigfoot-tall, and I couldn't see much of his expression behind the hair falling in his face, but he looked harmless.

"No work tomorrow?" I asked idly as the shorter one – Dean Wyatt, apparently – handed me his credit card.

"Nah." I swiped, and he signed. "We've just finished a project, we've got some down time."

"Great." I nodded to the taller one, standing behind his friend. "Have fun."

"Thanks, man," Dean said. "Come on, Sammy. Let me instruct you in the fine art of bowling."

"I know how to bowl, Dean," Sammy protested as he was led off towards the lane nearest the door, as far as possible from Mr. and Ms. PDA. "It's just physics. Like pool."

"Sure it is." Dean smacked his companion on the back. "You might be good at pool, kiddo, but bowling isn't physics. Bowling is a skill learnt through dedication and perseverance." Sammy rolled his eyes. Dean directed him towards the bin of balls. "Let's see if we can find one to fit that great big paw of yours."

Sammy started to sort through them, but Dean made the kind of weird tutting noise that you normally only hear about in books before he took over. He put aside a good half of the balls ("Too light, Sammy, only six-year-olds use those"… "Don't be ridiculous, Sammy, you'll get backache if you spend all night lifting that one"… "I suppose the weight's OK but I don't like the placement of the finger holes") before he finally picked out a few that apparently were neither too heavy nor too light nor too orange nor…

Maybe Dean had some kind of OCD.

But when it came to picking out his own balls he was brisk and efficient, and other than avoiding the brightly-coloured ones he didn't fuss too much.

Maybe Dean had some kind of OCD where Sam was concerned. That was weird, though; what kind of guy had OCDs about his colleagues?

Maybe there was some kind of office romance going on here.

Dean put a navy blue bowling ball in Sammy's hands (he'd been right about one thing; Sammy did have big hands) and pointed him in the direction of the lane. The expression on his face as soon as Sammy's back was turned was so fond, and it made him look so ridiculous in his leather jacket and army boots, that I was sure I was right. Definitely an office romance, on Dean's side at least.

Sammy backed up and took a couple of steps forward, but with his long legs even that was too far into the lane, and he slipped on the polished wood, going down hard on his rear. The ball flew out of his hand and into the gutter, rolling serenely to the end of the lane.

Dean was convulsed with laughter.

Not an office romance, then.

"Don't worry about it, kiddo," he said, still chuckling, as he helped Sammy to his feet. "You'll get better. Now just stand back and watch how it's done."

Sammy rolled his eyes, looking a little grumpy, but he stepped away. I was expecting Dean to be a good bowler – guys like him usually are – but even I wasn't expecting the strike he bowled on his first try.

Dean smirked when he caught my eye, but when he turned to Sammy his smile grew broader. If I didn't know Dean's type, I'd have said he was waiting for Sammy's applause. But people like Dean never let themselves care about anybody's approval.

Sammy grinned. "That's awesome, man."

Dean smile brightened ridiculously.

"Where'd you learn to bowl like that?" Sammy asked.

"I'm just that good." Dean walked around to give Sammy a shove from behind. "And I may have had a few lessons from Brandi."

"Who's Brandi?"

"You remember, that waitress back in Florida, with the legs and the eyes and the really red hair?"

"When we were on that…" Sammy shot me a quick glance. "When we were handling that project in Miami? I thought her name was Candice."

"Brandi, Candice, whatever." Dean shrugged. "I can't believe you remember the names of all my one-night stands. Or, well, two-week stands in Brandi's case."

"Candice. And, really? You were with her two whole weeks?"

"Why do you care? We need to get you some action. Anyway, she liked to hang out at the bowling alley." He clapped Sammy on the back. "Now come on. I'll show you how it's done."

Dean gave Sammy a quick demonstration of the action. Sammy improved marginally: on his second try, he released the ball before he landed on his behind, and it sailed down the lane about half the distance before sliding into the gutter.

Dean caught my eye and grinned.

"Little brothers, huh?"

Oh. Brothers. That explained it.

"So this is big-bro-little-bro bonding time?"

Dean laughed. "You could say that."

Another group came in just then, a bunch of high school kids, so I was a little distracted for the next ten minutes. When I looked back at Dean and Sammy, Sammy had finally knocked down two pins and looked a little frustrated. Dean was clearly torn between the desire to laugh and not wanting to bruise his brother's feelings. He patted Sammy's shoulder.

"Told you, Sammy. It isn't physics. Or statistics or calculus or whatever the hell you pretend poker is. No shortcuts here, only practice."

"Sure, Dean," Sammy muttered.

Dean's phone buzzed. He took it out and scowled at it. "I'm just…" He shot me a wary glance. "I'm going to take this outside. Why don't you practice a little? Do you good."

He went out. Sammy, left alone, tried another shot and ended up knocking down just one pin on the first try. On the second, the ball rolled into the gutter again. He looked so dejected, furrowing his brow and sticking out his lower lip and practically pouting, that I couldn't help snickering and stepping out from behind the counter.

"Hey, Sammy. You want some pointers?"

"It's Sam," he said first. Then, "Pointers? I don't think those are going to help, man."

"Trust me. Your brother's good, but I work here. I've seen people worse than you, and I've helped them." Sam still looked unsure. "What do you have to lose? And I can't bear to stand there watching all your shots go into the gutter. Give it a chance."

"Um…" Sam glanced in the direction of the door through which Dean had gone. "Sure, yeah."

"Great." I stepped up to him. "What you have to remember is you need to make allowance for a few extra inches. So you grip the ball like this…" I showed him, putting a ball in his hand and nudging his fingers around. "And you want to let it go gently. Don't throw it. Just let it go with the movement of your arm."

It took a few tries, but eventually Sam improved a little. He'd just managed to knock down five pins with one shot – the best he'd done so far – and he was looking at me with a delighted little-boy grin. It was infectious, and I couldn't help grinning back.

"Yeah, good job. Now remember the follow-through next time."

"So you guys having fun?"

Dean's voice was right behind me. I whirled, feeling guilty. It was stupid; there was no reason why I should have felt that way. It's my job to help people.

"Dean!" Sam said, sparing me having to say anything. "Dean, I got five of them!"

Dean's expression softened into a warm smile. "Yeah, nice work, kiddo. How about you go again, so I can see it this time?"

As soon as Sam turned his back, Dean was scowling. The scowl deepened when I handed Sam a ball, and when I corrected Sam's grip he looked like he desperately wanted to murder me. I was beginning to feel a little annoyed. Sam was the size of a house, I was pretty sure he was capable of telling me himself if he didn't want my help.

Sam released cleanly, but his aim was a little off and he only got three of them. He looked a little disappointed. I started to tell him where he'd gone wrong, but Dean interrupted to muss up his hair and tell him how great he was.

"My turn," Dean said before I could offer to show Sam how to correct his mistakes.

It probably wasn't very tactful of me to offer criticisms of Dean's stance, but the truth was that he was annoying me. I'd only been trying to help Sam, and Sam had been willing to take my help. There was no reason to behave like I'd been caught trying to kidnap a child.

Dean snarled at me to mind my own business. He was angry, and it threw off his swing enough that, for the first time that evening, he had a ball roll in the gutter.

I definitely shouldn't have made a second offer to help him, and it was probably that that prompted Dean to growl at me and grab another ball for another try. This time Dean was so busy fuming that he overstepped, going down with a thud as his leg slid out from under him.

"Dean!" Sam was on his knees next to his brother in a moment. "Dean! Are you OK?"

Dean started to nod, looked at me, and held out his left hand to Sam. "I think I hurt my wrist. Landed on it."

"Let me see."

Standing behind Sam, even I could tell there was absolutely nothing wrong with Dean's wrist. But he hissed and muttered and grimaced as Sam prodded it gently. Sam looked up at him after a moment.

"Dean." Dean clenched his jaw and looked away. Sam shook his head. "Do you want to go back and ice this?"

Dean stared at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Come on. We can watch a movie or something. And next time we go bowling… You'll be more careful not to land on your wrist, right?"

"Tomorrow. And I'm teaching you."

Sam laughed. "Sure. Come on."

They left together, bickering about which movie to watch.


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