It was Wednesday.

Not four days from when Nick and Sam planned their meeting- not even four years past that ill-fated Monday that never came. It was more like six years and a handful of months. Days and hours and practically a lifetime away from that Monday.

Long enough that Sam couldn't remember the argument he had had with his dad when he caught Sam sneaking in the house after bringing back Nick's clothes. Sam hardly remembered what sort of hunt that John demanded that they leave on, or what state that they had to haul ass to 'tonight, because four women are dead and this thing isn't going to stop on its own'.

Sam did remember Dean yelling at their dad, arguing on Sam's behalf (the only time that Dean ever stood up to John)- because there was only two weeks left of school and Sam deserved to finish it up in one place. Dean would stay with him. They could catch up later. Just this one time.

It's funny sometimes the things that you do remember after so long.

Years ago Sam had lost Nick's smell, the exact blue of his eyes, the tattoos on his arms. All he had left was a name and a hazy memory of gentle lips and strong hands- because even after so many years it's impossible to really forget the first (and only) man that you've made out with.

Life didn't really lend to Sam clinging to that memory anyhow. Dirty thoughts about a man he had never known weren't really conductive to hunting- just as they hadn't helped him in law school. Maybe it was easy to forget.

Maybe he had wanted to, at least on some level.

Risking your neck to save others wasn't an ideal lifestyle to help nourish romantic feelings about handsome men with no last names hiding in the bayous of Alabama. But that was forever ago and a million miles away.

Sam was on the opposite coast now, dragged along in some hell bent road trip with his brother when he should have been at Stanford. He had already missed his finals, so maybe it didn't matter anymore. He couldn't just go back and pretend that he hadn't started hunting again. The only way to go was forward, running from place to place, keeping pace with Dean, searching for a father he never wanted to find.

Now, lots of people romanticized San Francisco- but Sam liked to think that those people had probably never visited. It was an old, rickety city whose buildings seemed under constant threat of sliding down their hills and into the bay. The rich areas were obscenely rich and the poor areas were downright miserable. The whole place smelled like dead fish and piss.

Sam wasn't a fan.

Neither was Dean.

But they were trailing a string of blood lettings from Crescent City all the way down to Frisco. The working theory was migratory vampires.

It wasn't a great theory, but it's all they had so far.

That, and coffee.

They had coffee.

Rain was coming down in a steady, icy drizzle- which was another reason why Sam hated this city. It was always raining here. The morning coffee in their tall white disposable cups were the only things that seemed to cut through the chill.

Dean was leaning up against the glass windows, looking at the grey street and the Impala parked on a dangerous angle half a block away. "You wanna make a break for it, or wait to see if it lets up?"

Sam rolled his cup of coffee between his hands, the heat coming through the cup and lightly scalding his palms. "Let's wait a bit. I need to defrost before we go back out."

The coffee shop had those overly tall tables with bar stools that normal sized people had to hop up into. Sam folded himself into one of the 'tall' chairs and waited for his brother to join him.

Sitting across from him, Dean looked like hell. They hadn't been able to find a motel in the city limits with any vacancy- at least not one in their price range- and they had opted to just sleep in the car the night before.

Dean was a raccoon in need of a shave. His eyes bruised and tired, his mouth in a downward, angry line as he sipped his coffee. "I hope the trail takes us to L.A. next." He stuck out his tongue just a fraction and Sam knew that it must have been burnt on his overheated coffee, black, two sugars. "Or Vegas."

"I hope we kill it." Sam mumbled and frowned, because it would be much better to simply stop finding bodies torn up and drained of blood, than to follow the thing to warmer climates.

"Dude-" Dean said, dragging the word out, grinning in that way he did when Sam knew he wasn't going to like what came next. "Guy over in the corner is totally checking me out."

"You sound way too happy about that." Sam didn't even look over to confirm his brother's suspicions, because this was San Francisco and in this city Dean got as many 'how you doin' smiles and phone numbers from guys as he did from girls.

" 'm just sayin's all." He glanced sideways before looking back at Sam and sipping his coffee in the loudest way possible. "Man just knows a good thing when he sees it."

"There is something very wrong with you." Sam whispered like a secret.

Dean just grinned, all teeth and no offence.

They sat in comfortably fraternal silence, the rain on them drying, warming up inside and out. Dean wasn't much of a morning person, especially when he had only gotten a handful of hours of sleep the night before, slumped against the driver's side window. So Sam would let his brother get lost in his coffee, collect his thoughts- even if those thoughts might have encompassed the dude in the corner 'checking him out'.

Despite so much time together, there were still odd little things about Dean that Sam could never manage to make sense of. His weird, overly masculine tendencies were in complete defiance of the way that he just rolled with the idea of men being interested in him. As if it was normal. As if it was expected.

As far as Sam knew, Dean had never acted on those interests- but even he had, Sam would have been a hypocrite to think worse of him for it.

Dean's sleep darkened eyes darted sideways again and he got a curling little smile.

Out of curiosity more than anything else, Sam pretended to stretch in his chair, twisting as an excuse to sneak a peek at the man that Dean was not making eyes at.

The coffee shop was too crowded for it being so late in the morning, the office workers should all be at their menial jobs in their glass and steel buildings- but all of San Francisco was crowded. All the time. Why should this little building be any different?

People bustled, waiting impatiently in line to order, waiting in mass at the counter to pick up their orders. There were even a cluster of women in expensive looking shoes holding miniature doges under their arms like footballs, texting and chattering all at the same time. But there was no man. At least not one that Sam thought to be a likely suspect, not one he could see from where he sat.

"Aw, don't get jealous, Sammy. You know I've only got eyes for you." Dean lightly kicked him under the table and Sam immediately looked at him, debating if kicking his brother back would be too childish. That had never really stopped him before.

So they kicked at each other until they got a little too violent and jostled the table hard enough to almost spill Sam's coffee.

"Hey, watch it." He lifted his cup high, trying to keep it safe. "You win, you win."

"That's right I do." Dean tipped his own cup at Sam in cheers. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam said like a reflex. He'd left Stanford to follow Dean a few months ago, and already they had fallen back into the glorious patterns of their youth. It was like Sam had never left. It was odd how kicking your brother until you knew you would have bruises could feel like home.

"Dude, dude, he's coming over." Dean's eyes suddenly went a little wide. "What do I do?"

"How would I know?" Sam was trying not to smile, because antagonizing Dean had never got him anywhere good- also it would be more fun to see his brother trying to keep it together while a guy hit on him.

"Act casual." Dean demanded, putting on a deep scowl and sipping his coffee.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw a man approaching- but he didn't turn and look, because he was 'acting casual'.

Despite how good Dean usually was at reading people, apparently he missed the mark this time, because the guy brushed past their table, coming within arm's reach- and he just kept going. Never missed a step.

Sam got a good view of the backside of a tall man, close cropped blonde hair, t-shirt, jeans, lightly muscled arms that were heavily tattooed. He caught a glimpse of a hammerhead shark near the man's writs before he pulled a heavy looking denim jacket over it.

Something pressed against Sam's thoughts, a recognition that felt almost dizzying. Distantly he was aware that Dean was rolling his eyes and mumbling something into his coffee- but that was secondary, because Sam was remembering a humid southern night and arms just like those gripping at back of the bench behind him, strong fingers running through his hair. Sam's stomach felt weak, his heart catching in his throat.

"Nick?" Sam spoke just loud enough to make his voice carry, but not enough to draw attention to himself- the way you do if you think you see a friend in a crowd so you say their name to see if they turn.

And Nick did turn, just glancing over his shoulder, looking just as gorgeous as Sam remembered him- which was completely unfair, because memories were supposed to be overly romanticized, softened and made better over time- they weren't supposed to be this accurate.

Nick didn't smile at him exactly, at least not with his lips. It was all in his eyes, pale blue crinkling warmly.

But then Nick turned away, walking calmly to the door, away from Sam.

And Sam wanted none of it. He set his coffee beside Dean and pushed himself up from the little table. "I'll be right back." He left his brother sputtering behind him, easily darting through the crowd- it was easy to do when he towered head and shoulders over every one there. Nick's arm was solid underneath his hand and the man paused at the door, glancing back again. He was shorter than Sam remembered… but perhaps that was subjective. Or maybe Sam had really just grown that much.

"Hey." He said softly. Six years and all he had was a lame little hey. He was so glad that Dean was too far away to hear him.

"Hi, Sam." Nick inclined his head gently, like greeting someone you see every day. "Sorry." He nodded to the small heard of expensive ladies and their tiny dogs, stepping out of their way and holding the door open to let them file out. They never looked up from their phones and drinks.

"Hey." And Sam felt his mouth turn down as he realized he had already said that.

"You really grew into those legs, didn't you?" Nick said with the smallest hint of a smile, not bringing up Sam's little verbal faults. "Still need a hair cut though."

"I… I like my hair like this." He glanced up at the mess of hair hanging in his eyes, getting a bit of a smile.

"I would say it suites you- but it's pretty much the only part of you that I recognized, so maybe I'm bias." Nick's face lit up for a second. "And that smile of yours. I recognized that too."

Sam fought down a giddy kind of feeling that generally was followed by him blushing. He was too old and in too clear a view of Dean to let himself blush. "What are you doing out here?"

"Same thing you are I'm guessing." Nick leaned against the wall, looking so casual, smile settling into a lazy expression.

"I-I doubt that." Sam kind of laughed. What an odd world it would be if Nick was out here hunting vampires as well.

Nick didn't quite meet his eyes, looking past Sam, over his shoulder, out into the little coffee shop. "It's a beautiful bit of kismet, running into you, Sam- but I don't want to keep you from your boyfriend. He doesn't look too happy that I've stolen your attention this long already."

"Boyfriend?" Sam said the word like he didn't know it. "What- no. That's-" he choked on another laugh, "that's my brother."

"That's your brother?" Nick looked up at Sam, eyebrows hitched in mild surprise. "Those are some damn fine genetics at work."

He couldn't help it, Sam was grinning ear to ear- but it kind of faltered as Dean's hand clapped heavily over his shoulder. His big brother coming into his space like he had been given permission.

"Hey, Sammy. Who's your friend?" Dean had that good ol' boy charm going for him, but Sam could read his brother, all those little flinches and shrugs, the tension in the way he held himself. He wasn't happy, even if he hid it well.

"This is Nick." Sam said carefully, aware that Dean could read him just as easily. "He's an old friend of mine."

Nick was playing with his lip- a very familiar feeling habit- a gentle smile and lazy, unimpressed eyes. "You're the brother I've heard so much about." He lied so easily, Sam had never told him a damn thing about Dean.

"Let me guess, you're not a friend from school?" Dean grinned, holding a little tighter to his brother's shoulder.

Nick looked as unimpressed by Dean as the hunter was by him. "We met while he was in school." He answered in an obtuse way before looking up at Sam. "You just passing through?"

"Yeah." Sam wanted to shake Dean off, push him away and tell him to get lost. He settled for ignoring him- which wasn't easy with his brother holding his shoulder tight enough to bruise. "We're only in town for a few days."

Surprisingly, Nick was just as good at ignoring Dean. "Can I buy you a drink before you leave? For old time's sake?"

"Y-yeah." Sam stumbled over the word, a little thrill going thought him. Before he could register what a glaringly large admission of guilt he had just given to his brother, Nick had produced a sharpie (stolen from the coffee counter) and he was writing a phone number on the coffee cup that he had pulled from Dean's hand.

Easy as you please, he handed the cup to Sam and tossed the pilfered sharpie back to the counter. "Maybe I'll get you that lemonade." He smiled with his languid blue eyes, promises hidden somewhere deep in there, and Sam felt his ears burning.

"I'll call before I leave." Sam promised, not knowing if he would be able to keep it.

"I think you really might this time." Nick held the door open for a harried looking man coming in from the rain, and the blonde slipped out onto the sidewalk, tucking his hands in his pockets and walking away.

Sam watched him go and wondered what good he had done in life to have earned this second chance.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean shook his shoulder before letting go, frowning up at his kid brother, ideas forming on his face, connections being made even without Sam saying anything.

"Just a friend that I never got to say goodbye to." He wasn't lying. That had to count for something.

"From Stanford?" Dean sounded incredibly suspicious.

"Alabama." He said quietly before pulling up the collar of his jacket and heading outside. They were wasting time just standing around, the drizzle of rain wasn't going to give up anytime soon.

"When the hell were you ever in Alabama?" Dean quickly caught up, frowning as hard as he could.

"Right after I turned sixteen." Sam did his best to keep it vague as he trotted across the street back to the gleaming and beautiful car that he had missed more than he thought possible when he ran away to college.

Dean stood on the driver's side of the car, looking at Sam over the black metal. "Was that the… bird thing that dad was hunting out in the swamps?"

"Think so." There had been so many hunts, so many cities, Sam had a hard time keeping them all straight.

"He didn't sound like he was from Alabama."

"Getting soaked out here, Dean." Sam reminded loudly.

Dean's mouth quirked in an unreadable little bend and he popped the locks and slid into the car.

.:.

Two days later they were in a crummy motel out in Emeryville, cleaning blood off their hands and arms and faces, huddled shoulder to shoulder around the little bathroom sink. Dean was grinning wildly, adrenalin making his eyes dangerously dark where he watched Sam in the mirror.

"What do you think that was?" His older brother's voice was jarring. Neither of them had spoken since the whatever-the-hell that thing was had been decapitated with a well aimed swing of Sam's machete. The arterial spray had painted both brothers and the ceiling. The blood had been too dark, almost purple, and it smelled like rancid meat.

They burned the body out back of the sugar refinery, Dean had rolled the head over with a sharp kick and they watched the flames eat away at the sickly grey flesh- its flat, dead eyes watched them, its copper teeth shining red in the fire light. It hadn't been a vampire, whatever it was.

Sam kind of shrugged, feeling boneless and awkward, the scrapes along his knuckles burning like he had poured iodine on them. He scrubbed harder at the sticky, dark blood. The skin beneath was red and irritated.

"Whatever it was, it smelled fucking awful. I need a shower." Dean's grin never faltered. "Then I need a drink. You in?"

Sam glanced up from his hands. "No, that's alright."

Dean got this look, the kind of dark expression that meant trouble for Sam. "You gunna go out with your friend?"

"I was thinking of giving him a call." He confessed carefully while avoiding eye contact.

Dean seemed to consider this for a long moment before nodding almost to himself, as if he understood. "You always did have a thing for blondes."

"What?" Sam managed to sound more offended than guilty and was quite proud of himself.

"Since this will be your first time, Samantha, make sure he goes easy on you." Dean teased with a flash of teeth, obviously loving the reaction he was getting. "We've got to get back on the road tomorrow and I don't want you bitching and moaning about how much your ass hurts."

"Shut up, Dean." He pushed past his brother with a roll of his eyes and heat high on his cheeks, stealing a towel and drying his hands.

"Or you planning to top?" He didn't follow Sam out of the bathroom, just raised his voice to make sure he could still be heard. "Cuz' that's a lot of man for you to take on, Sammy."

Sam was glad that he was safely in the other room, so his big brother couldn't see how embarrassed he really was. Far more than he should be for the normal sort of teasing that was expected to come from Dean. He pulled on a clean shirt and tried to pretend that he wasn't half as mortified by his brother's words as he actually was.

"You're right, Dean. You want to come along and give me pointers?" He teased back because it was expected and if he didn't then Dean would know something was up. "I know you've got a lot more experience with big strong men than I do." And that kind of ribbing could go two ways and Sam held his breath, waiting for Dean to reply.

A slightly baffled brother peeked out of the bathroom. "Dude! He is so not my type." And he ducked back out of sight closing the door behind him. The shower squeaked on and made its rushing white noise.

Sam knew he had about five minutes to himself because Dean was a firm believer of military showers, fast and efficient. In every aspect of his life.

A new pair of jeans replaced the bloodied and stained ones. He would need to burn them in all likelihood, but it's not like they had been his favorite pair or anything. He sat himself down on the edge of his bed and pulled out his cell phone. Nick's number was there, programmed in a few days ago for safe keeping- and Sam wasn't sure he was brave enough to call.

After so many years, he really wasn't sure what to say. He honestly never expected to see Nick again after leaving Alabama, so this wasn't really a contingency that he had needed to plan for. Even after being close enough to touch him only two days ago, Sam hadn't devoted much time to thinking about the blonde man. The hunt had been too exciting. He had other things he had needed to think about. Like staying alive, for one. Now he had a dwindling few minutes to do his best to not sound like a total fool to the man he had been having wet dreams about for over six years.

Nick answered on the fourth ring, his voice as husky and deep as any phone sex operator. "Hello?"

"Hi." So smooth. "It's Sam."

Nick didn't reply so much as make a soft approving noise that made Sam feel dizzy.

"I-I'm in town for one more night." He licked his lips, feeling inappropriately nervous. "Can I take you up on that drink?"

The answer, not surprisingly, was yes.

Dean was kind enough to drive Sam back into San Francisco, as there was only one car between them and he had already decide that tonight was a night for drinking. The bar that Nick wanted to meet Sam at was uptown and from the look of it, way over priced.

They ended up parking about five blocks away and walking it back to the bar. Parking could be such a hassle in the city. Dean made noises about not staying because he couldn't afford to spend time with girls that went to bars like this, and inwardly Sam was grateful. He didn't need a wingman tonight.

"I'll take the BART back to Emeryville, you don't have to stay and babysit me."

"I can't afford to stay and babysit you." Dean pointed out, opening the door and almost holding it for his brother. "I just don't like the idea of leaving you with a stranger."

"I am an adult, Dean." He said a little too loudly, over compensating for the wall of noise that washed over them accompanying the cool blue bar lights. Everything was glass and steel and black marble. Not every guy in the place had on a suit, but it was safe to assume that the brothers were the only people in the joint that shopped at thrift stores.

"You think I don't know what kind of trouble adults get into?" He might have meant it as a joke, but it sounded a little too sharp on the edges, a little too much like a warning. They had only been back together for a few months, but Dean had always taken the protection of his baby brother as priority number one.

Sam scanned the crowd and was relieved that it wasn't a gay bar. Dean could be surprisingly dense sometimes , but even he was bound to notice if every couple in the joint was same sex.

"Does he follow you everywhere?"

Sam staggered to the side, away from Nick who had virtually materialized at his shoulder. "I forgot how damned quiet you are." He whisper/yelled at the man who was smiling in his subtle way.

"I'll make a point of being loud for you tonight." Nick said solemnly.

For some reason that little promise made Sam's face feel hot. He was glad he had turned away from his brother so that Nick was the only one to see the blush. And Sam was too damn old to be blushing, but it didn't stop him.

"Hey, Sammy. You think I can get that redhead at the bar to buy me a drink?" Dean was elbowing him in the ribs, sharp impatient jabs demanding his attention.

Sam glanced over and saw the woman that Dean had noticed, and she was noticing him right back. She had a simple black dress and pale freckled legs that were probably about as long as Sam's. Her mess of red hair curled over one mostly bare shoulder and she had a smile that should have been illegal for public consumption.

"I think she'll give you more than a drink." Sam said carefully. The woman was watching Dean like she planned to take him down right there. Dean just had that affect on some people.

"This could work out better than I thought-" he glanced over at Sam and his eyes narrowed when he took in Nick. "Ah, you showed up." He sounded almost disappointed, which was stupid, because what did he expect Sam to do if Nick wasn't there. It's not like he could tag along and help his brother out with that redhead.

"You gunna take off?" Dean had lost his smile. He obviously didn't like the idea of letting Sam go into the night, despite the fact that they both knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow." It wasn't even a goodbye- it was really more of an 'I'll see you in a few hours'.

Dean's eyes narrowed, but he was pointedly not looking at Nick, who was a warm spot on the peripheral of Sam's awareness. "Come 'ere." He jerked his head back to the entrance and Sam rolled his eyes but knew that it was easier to just not argue and let Dean say his peace.

He followed his brother and had to lean down to hear him. "What, Dean? What is it now?"

"You got protection?" He sounded dead serious and it startled Sam.

"What? No, he's just a friend. We're not going to-"

"He's carrying." His voice was so low and even, calm and hard to hear over the bustle and music of the bar.

"Carrying?" Sam leaned away a fraction. "Carrying what?"

Dean rolled his eyes like he couldn't believe that he was related to someone as slow as Sam. "A gun."

He couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder at the man he had come here to meet, leaning against the bar with a glass of what might have been scotch.

"He doesn't have a gun." He said the word like it was dirty.

Dean didn't justify that- he just stared at Sam like he was a moron.

Sam straightened and felt confused.

"What kind of friend do you got there, Sammich?"

"I-I met him in church."

"Like hell- you've never been to church." It was as if the very idea was ludicrous to Dean.

It was Sam's turn to just stare at his brother.

Dean bristled. "Whatever. I don't give a good god damn where you met the guy. Do you have your gun or not?"

"No, Dean. I don't bring guns on dates." And he was struck by abject horror of letting slip the word 'date' but either Dean didn't notice, or didn't take it seriously. Instead, his award winning brother pulled a browning 9mm from only god knew where and pressed it into Sam's hand.

The little gun practically disappeared beneath the curl of his overly large fingers and he was quick to slip it into the waistband of his jeans, beneath his jacket, before anyone could see it.

"You're insane." He hissed between his teeth, scanning around them to make sure no one was looking too closely.

"I'm a fucking boy scout." Dean poked him in the chest with a very well aimed and strong finger. "I expect a call or text around midnight and another every two hours after that. Otherwise I'm going to assume you're dead in a ditch somewhere and it's going to put a real damper on me boning that hot chick at the bar."

Sam just put his hands up, either in frustration or surrender, neither of them could be sure. "Every two hours." He agreed with a sigh.

"Yeah. You will." Dean pushed past his brother, lingering for a moment in the awkward contact, something affectionate in the movement- before swaggering over the bar and sitting down beside the lovely lady who had waited so patiently for him.

Sam wished that he could have that kind of confidence, but it just wasn't him. He was the awkward one, even after he grew into his long limbs and gained command of his expanded personal space. But he was still just Sam. And there was nothing wrong with that. He liked who he was (most days), but that didn't mean that he knew what to do with Nick.

Nick, who had caught his eye from the other side of the room and was watching him with a steady gaze.

Nick who looked better than he had in memories.

Nick who may or may not have a concealed weapon somewhere on his person- though Sam was looking at him quite thoroughly and he saw no sign of any firearms.

Sam liked to have strategies. He made lists, and elaborate plans, and secondary plans for when the first ones fell apart. But he didn't have that kind of time. Instead he had a man he hardly knew, and wanted to know much better, and no time at all to plan anything. Maybe this would just have to be something he figured it out as he went along.

With something passing for confidence, he joined the man at the bar. Nick nudged a hard lemonade towards Sam before tipping his scotch in the hunter's direction with a smile so wicked its parents should have sent it to military school.

Sam couldn't stop himself from smiling back, and why would he want to?