Jack's Bar was still quiet when they arrived in town. Dean grabbed a couple of menus and led Sam to his favourite booth. Wendy, the waitress, spotted them almost immediately and was at Dean's side within moments.
"Hey, Dean! How are you? It's been ages!" she cried, treating Dean to a beaming smile.
"Too long, Wendy, too long." Dean grinned broadly back at her. "How have you been?"
Wendy rattled off some complaints about her family and a couple of guys she'd dated and ditched since the last time Dean had seen her, added some general gossip about the town and its residents before asking Dean about college. He responded with the highlights of the past semester, neglecting to mention his suspension.
"And how's it going with your girlfriend?" she asked, her smile less sincere as she made the enquiry than it had been formerly.
"Couldn't be better, Wendy," Dean assured her, then added "Have you met Sam? He's new in town. Dad and Stan are grooming him to be the next partner at Winchester & Copes."
Sam's eyes widened in alarm and he stiffened as is if someone had just stuck something cold up somewhere sensitive, but he managed to twitch his lips into a tight, awkward, 'blink and you'll miss it' smile as Wendy turned and gave him a cursory appraisal. "Hi, Sam," she said, and Sam responded with a brief nod.
"He's the strong silent type," Dean explained, and Wendy smiled at Sam again, but without enthusiasm. "So what can I get for you boys?" she asked, turning her attention to Dean once more. "The usual, Dean?"
"Yeah – ah . . . no. I'll have a diet coke. I'm driving," he explained as Wendy raised her eyebrows.
"OK." She still looked surprised. "And for you Sam?"
Sam cleared his throat and ordered a Budweiser, and Wendy sauntered away with a wiggle that Dean was happy to admire as she doubtless intended him to.
"F.Y. I. Sam, the strong silent routine isn't as big a hit with the ladies as slush novels would have you believe," Dean explained helpfully. "You know, what they really go for is a guy with a sense of humour. You really need to work on that."
Sam glared and his lips pruned into an expression of disapproval that, in time, Dean would come to think of as Sam's bitch-face, but any response he might have made was forestalled when Dean was suddenly thumped on the shoulder from behind and a loud male voice proclaimed "Yo! Winch!"
A cheery faced red-headed man appeared round the side of the booth with his arm slung round a pert blonde and Dean introduced Sam to his friends Chad and Nicki. "What you doing here?" Chad demanded, dropping into the seat next to Sam and pulling Nicki down beside him. "Aren't you supposed to be at Folsom U. studying whatever it is this week?"
"Time off for good behaviour, Chad."
"Yeah? What happened to your face? Penny catch you wearing her underwear again?"
"What can I say? I can't resist pink silk." Dean caught the expression on Sam's face and hurriedly added "Kidding, Sam!" to prevent any possible confusion about the matter.
Wendy returned with their drinks and took their orders. Sam asked for a chicken salad and Dean wondered how the guy had ever grown to such impressive proportions on a diet of rabbit food, but then he recalled his father's comments that morning and it occurred to him that Sam had probably ordered the cheapest meal on the menu. Dean ordered his usual bacon cheeseburger with extra sides of fries and onion rings and asked for a plate of mixed breads for the table to share while they were waiting.
Sam had an odd smile on his face and Dean was curious to know what amused him.
"Just wondering why you ordered diet coke," he explained.
"You're drinking coke?" Chad exclaimed.
"I'm driving," Dean reiterated, but this time he took out the keys to the Impala and twirled them round his index finger.
"No!" Chad was aghast. "The old man finally let you drive the old crate?"
"Hey!" Dean pointed an imperious finger at him. "Respect! Or you won't ever get to ride in her."
"We gonna take a spin in her later?"
Dean gave a tight shake of his head. "We do not joy ride in the Impala."
Chad shook his head derisively. "Man, you're as bad as your dad. It's just a car!"
Dean's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Say that again and you can go find your own booth!"
Chad leaned conspiratorially toward Sam. "Doesn't even have a CD player. His old man's still playing audio-tapes."
"I'm not kidding." The smile had dropped off Dean's face and the bantering tone had been replaced with the barest suggestion of a hard edge.
Chad held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, man, don't get your panties in a bunch. I was just yanking your chain."
In the somewhat awkward pause that followed Dean noticed that Sam was watching him. It was hard to read the meaning of the slight crease between his eyebrows, whether it was surprise, curiosity or something more disparaging. Doubtless Dean's protective loyalty toward the car seemed odd to a stranger. He forced himself to relax and he shook his head with a smile. "Nobody appreciates a classic any more," he said sadly. Luckily Wendy arrived at that moment with the plateful of baked breads diffusing any lingering tension in the atmosphere. Chad dived into the plate with a greedy appetite that was balanced out by the fact that Nicki ate like a bird. Nevertheless, Dean was careful to make sure Sam got at least a fair share.
As the evening progressed they were joined by a few more of the local crowd. There tended to be some natural curiosity about the newcomer in their midst, and Sam was fine answering questions about work and how he'd met Dean, but he became uncomfortable if pressed too hard about where he came from or what he'd done in the past. Dean would readily have admitted to having some curiosity of his own about Sam's background but since it was so obviously a sore point he made an effort to change the subject whenever Sam looked uneasy and steered the conversation toward other topics. Unfortunately this inevitably led to Sam being left out of the conversation altogether after a while so Dean suggested a game of pool. Sam acknowledged he hadn't had much practice at the game, but he was an average to fair player and held his own in his team, and he pulled off a couple of lucky shots that earned him the general approval of the group. Dean was a better than fair player and, truth be told, he was probably playing more flamboyantly than usual, relishing the opportunity to show off to Sam with something he was actually good at.
The fries and onion rings disappeared pretty quickly when Dean offered them around but when they were gone he ordered buffalo wings as well. Sam accepted food offerings reluctantly but Dean kept sticking plates under his nose until he capitulated, and until Dean was satisfied that he'd eaten enough to keep a growing boy healthy and active.
As he waved the last wing in Sam's face Dean noticed that he seemed pre-occupied. He was looking down and chalking his cue, apparently with great concentration, and he accepted the wing inattentively. "Those guys behind you, Dean, eleven o'clock," he said quietly, without looking up, "Do you know them?"
Dean glanced round and noticed, for the first time, a pair of strangers seated at a table some feet away. They were watching the group at the pool table until they saw Dean look their way but then they returned to their own conversation and concentrated on drinking their beers.
"Nah. Haven't seen them before," said Dean. "They look like tourists. Why?"
Sam nibbled idly at the buffalo wing. "They've been watching you."
Dean's eyebrows hooked upwards. "Huh." He looked back at the strangers but they were engrossed in their conversation now. "So what d'you think's the attraction, Sam? My chiseled jaw or my firm buttocks?"
Sam glanced up at Dean through his soft fringe of lashes. "Don't think it's your body they're after."
"Hmmph." Dean tossed his head sideways. "Well, they're not my type anyway," he quipped, but he kept a discreet eye on the tourists after that. Once or twice he caught them glancing in his direction but it didn't seem excessive. He wondered if Sam was just being over sensitive. Maybe they were just waiting for the pool table to free up.
Chad and Nicki left after a couple of games, Rob and Emily soon after that. Once the party started breaking up some of the guys suggested heading out of town and going clubbing, but the mention of strippers brought a disapproving wrinkle to Sam's nose and Dean could imagine Penny's face if she knew about it so he made their excuses and the guys moved on without them.
Dean didn't feel ready to head home. He toyed with the idea of playing another game, though he and Sam were hardly an even match on the table. They could just go back to the booth and have some pie . . . As he was deliberating the two tourists approached the pool table and Dean supposed that settled the matter, but just as he turned to clear the way for them the nearest one hailed him.
"Hey, hot shot!" In spite of the challenging salutation the man's smile was affable enough and he was holding out a couple of beers. "My brother and I reckon we can beat you. Fancy a friendly?"
Dean glanced at Sam. Since he'd expressed reservations about this pair already Dean wondered how he'd respond to this overture, but now he appeared indifferent. "What do you think, Sam?" Dean asked. "Are we ready for a challenge?"
The corners of Sam's mouth shrugged down in a non-committal gesture, but he didn't seem unwilling so Dean accepted the beers and shook the newcomer's hand. He introduced himself as Rick and his brother was Kurt. Like Sam, Kurt appeared to be the quiet one of the pair. Rick did all the talking. The brothers were on a road trip touring the States and Rick chatted non-stop about their travels. He paid more attention to boasting about their visits to Hollywood and the Grand Canyon than he did to the game but Dean didn't mind. He was inclined to be talkative too. As it happened he'd taken a year out before college and done some touring himself, and was happy to regale everybody with tales of his trip round Europe. Rick was suitably impressed with the story of Dean's travels, though Dean acknowledged that he regretted not having seen more of his own country.
"Well, there's still time, buddy," Rick said. "Hey, Sam! Your go."
Sam's attention had started wandering toward the end of the game and his play had deteriorated a little as a consequence, though he and Dean were still in the lead. Dean suspected he was bored. After all, he'd spent most of the evening listening to other people's conversations without having much to contribute of his own. Dean determined to quit after this game and skip pie. Sam had work in the morning; he should probably take him home.
In the end Rick and Kurt won by a whisker and Dean was about to shake hands and bid them goodnight and best wishes for the rest of their road trip, but Rick was eager for another game.
"Tell you what, we'll give you best out of three," he insisted.
"Ah, Rick, another night we'd have loved to but Sam's gotta be up early – "
"You're not tired are you, Sam?"
Sam quickly straightened up from where he'd been leaning against a wall. "Hell, no!" he exclaimed, perhaps a little too eagerly. He had a slightly silly grin on his face and it crossed Dean's mind to wonder how much he'd had to drink that evening. He didn't think it had been that much but maybe Sam wasn't used to alcohol. Hell, maybe he'd been a Mormon or something. Maybe that's why he was so prissy and reluctant to talk about his past.
"Want to make it more interesting, Dean?" Rick persisted. "Fifty dollars says we can beat you again." He drew out his wallet and placed a note down on the edge of the pool table.
Dean started to get a bad feeling about this. He shook his head. "That's a little bit rich for my blood – "
"Oh, come on, pretty boy!" Rick laughed. "What have you got to spend your money on besides hair mousse? I thought you were the player round here!"
His tone was bantering but Dean knew when he was being goaded. He looked at Sam who was still wearing that silly smile. He seemed ready to play on and Dean didn't want to look like he was intimidated. He knew he could lift his game another notch or two, he just wasn't so sure about Sam.
Dean pinned a grin on his face and pulled out his own wallet. "You're funny," he told Rick. "Funny guy." And he placed his own fifty on top of Rick's.
"Make it a hundred!"
Dean snapped his head round to stare at Sam as he added a third note to the pile. "Sam, no!" But Rick was already matching Sam's counter.
"We can take `em, Dean," Sam insisted happily.
Dean pulled him away from the table and dropped his voice. "Sam, I don't know how well these guys really play," he hissed. "I think we're being hustled here!"
Sam gave Dean a benign, glassy eyed smile and patted his face. "I have faith in you," he assured him.
Dean felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. After the way he'd been straining the plastic that evening he could ill afford to throw away fifty dollars himself and now he had Sam counting on him, the guy who could barely stretch to a chicken salad! He passed a nervous hand over his mouth and turned back to the table where Rick was waiting for him to break. Behind him there was a noise of bottles falling over and Sam shouted "Jesus Christ!" loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Apparently he'd leaned against the corner of a table and tipped it over and now he was clumsily trying to sop up spilled beer with paper napkins.
"'S ok. I'm all right."
"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed. "Sam, ask Wendy for a cloth."
"Right, right, will do," Sam agreed, wiping his hands on a sodden napkin. "Sorry guys. Don't worry. I'll get us another round in. Same again, everyone?"
Dean gritted his teeth. Another time drunk Sam might be fun. He was certainly a lot more relaxed. But right now he was a freakin' liability. "Just coke for me, Sam." As he picked up his cue he noticed the jeering expression on Rick's face. "I'm driving," he growled.
Sam walked a little unevenly over to the bar where Wendy was just finishing serving another customer.
"Sorry, I had a little accident over there," he told her.
"Yeah, I saw. Don't worry, Sam. I'll take care of it." She made a move toward the pool table but Sam caught her arm and held her back.
"Would you mind getting me three beers, first," he asked. "And a coke and an empty glass, and a glass of water if that's ok."
Wendy served the drinks and glass on a tray for him, then picked up a cloth and went to clean up the mess he'd left by the pool table. Sam glanced back at the tourists. They weren't paying any attention to him but were concentrating on needling Dean now. Since their only reaction when he'd called on the name of Christ was to laugh at his clumsiness he was reasonably confident they weren't demons: just a couple of low rent hustlers who thought they'd spotted a fool and his money.
As relentlessly annoying as Dean could be Sam had decided that, on balance, he was a fundamentally decent guy. He had his father's open friendliness and generosity, he was good humoured on the whole, loyal and protective of his family Sam had noticed, and it hadn't escaped Sam's attention how carefully Dean had protected him from his friends' curiosity all night. If he could just lose the ego and the attitude for five minutes he might even be likeable. The trouble was Dean had been telegraphing his ego and, unfortunately, his generosity to the whole bar all evening. That's why these low-lifes had decided he was an easy mark. Well, they were wrong. He wasn't. Not tonight.
Sam picked up his beer and poured about three quarters of it into the empty glass, then topped up the bottle with water. Replacing his bottle on the tray he left the glasses behind on the bar and carried the tray with exaggerated carefulness back to the pool table. Setting it down he picked up and took a long pull on his beer.
"Easy, Tiger," Dean hissed edgily, grasping Sam's arm and pulling it down from his mouth. "I need you sharp."
"Don't worry, Dean," Sam assured him airily, "I play better when I've had a drink."
Dean had made good progress on the table. Now he was giving the game his full attention he was a very good player, but Rick was better and when Dean just missed a difficult shot Rick was ready to take advantage. He started picking off balls with smug expertise and for a while it looked like it might be a very short game, but then he got over confident and bungled a shot and now it was Sam's turn.
Sam deliberated how to play it. He had been studying these guys very carefully throughout the previous game. Kurt was the more consistent player of the two but Rick was the brains, the leader and the ego of the pair and Sam was confident Kurt wasn't an issue. He would follow his brother's lead. Rick was at least as cocky and smart-ass as Dean without any of Dean's endearing qualities, and Sam had noticed he'd been less than pleased that his road-trip boasts had been trumped by Dean's European tour. Sam was aware if he played the long game he was risking Dean's money as well as his own, but he was sure Rick would be greedy and would grasp an opportunity to hurt and humiliate if it was offered to him.
Sam elected to overplay an apparently easy shot. The ball whizzed across the table, wiped its feet on the edges of the pocket and stayed on the lip. Sam grinned apologetically at Dean. "Oops," he said, and Dean restrained a groan of exasperation. It was hard on him being left out of the loop, but his genuine anxiety was really helping to sell the play and, truth be told, Sam was enjoying a little payback for Dean having ridden him constantly since they'd met. Sam wasn't stupid, though. He'd left the table safe, and all Kurt could do was play a safety shot in return, then it was Dean's turn again.
He circled the table looking for the best angle and found a shot that was possible, though it wasn't easy. He had to use two cushions to make it, but his aim was sure. For a moment it looked like it might not have enough legs, and Sam could see Dean was holding his breath as the ball trickled toward the pocket, but after hanging on the edge for a microsecond that felt like an eternity it dropped in and Sam whistled and applauded noisily. "Go, Dean!" he yelled, tossing Rick an arrogant and provocative leer. The next shot wasn't easy either but Dean made it, and after that he hit his stride again and Sam began to wonder if he might pull off a win after all. But when it came down to one ball Dean was sweating visibly and as he leant over the table there was a tell-tale tremble in his arm, and Sam started to feel bad about putting him under so much pressure. As he drew back his arm to take the shot his hand shook. He miscued, froze for a moment, then his head drooped. Rick had two balls left on the table and a free shot. It was all over and everyone knew it. As Dean turned from the table he looked gutted. "I'm sorry, Sam," he murmured huskily, as if it was all his fault, and suddenly it wasn't fun any more.
Rick cleared the table with a flourish and picked up his winnings. "Thanks for the game, guys," he said with an insolent tone and extended his hand, and when Dean shook it half-heartedly he added, "Guess you're just not the hotshot you thought you were, hey, Dean?"
Dean's face darkened with anger and Sam worried he might blow it, but he didn't bite. He started to walk away from the table but Sam lingered.
"You've gotta give us a chance to win our money back," Sam yelped.
Rick just laughed dismissively and Dean tugged at Sam's arm.
"Forget it, Sam. We've been hustled," he said bitterly. "It's over. Let's go."
Sam roughly shook Dean's hand away, making the transition from happy drunk to angry drunk and fishing awkwardly in his wallet. "Double or nothing!" he challenged.
"Sam, no!" Dean tried to pull him away from the table but Sam shook him off again.
It was a fair offer. If Rick didn't get greedy, Sam was giving him the chance to walk away even, but it was there in his eyes. He was greedy. "Don't think your boyfriend's interested, Sam," he leered. "And you ain't got what it takes."
Sam's nostrils flared. Right. The asshole deserved all he got. Sam lurched toward the table and slammed the rest of the advance John had given him down on the edge. "Three hundred dollars!" he snarled. "It's all I've got. Just you and me, you fucking scum sucking, low life loser!"
Dean tried to make a grab for Sam's money and put himself bodily between him and Rick. "That's it, Sam! We're going home now. Sam!"
Sam pushed him roughly away. "Stay out of this, Dean. This is between me and him!"
"Yeah, that's right, Dean," Rick agreed jeeringly as he matched Sam's bet. "Sam's a big boy. He can make his own decisions."
"He's fucking drunk, you asshole!"
"He's put his money down; I've matched it. It's too late."
"You son of a bitch!"
Dean made a lunge at Rick and Sam was surprised how much of his strength it took to hold him back. He needed to calm the situation quickly. Wendy was starting to turn worried glances in their direction. Draping his arms round Dean's neck and shoulders he sought to gain his attention without Rick seeing. "It's ok, Dean! It's ok! I told you, I play better when I've had a drink."
As Dean tried to disentangle himself from Sam's inappropriate embraces he looked up and Sam held him with a steady and meaningful look. Dean cocked his head questioningly to one side and Sam winked at him. Dean's eyes widened for a moment then he stepped back. He still looked doubtful but he was ready to back Sam's play. "Whatever!" he snapped. "I'm not your keeper," and he dropped irritably into the nearest chair.
Sam kept up his drunk act just a moment longer for Rick's benefit, then he picked up his cue, placed the cue ball and sent it smartly into the edge of the pack dropping two balls with his first shot. As he started smoothly picking the rest off one by one he cast a slightly anxious, slightly apologetic grin at Dean.
Dean's eyes were wide, his lips parted in a silent astonished "oo" and Sam felt a curious wave of something like affection for him. Then Dean threw back his head and indulged in a long, unrestrained peal of laughter. He picked up his coke, drank long and settled back to enjoy the show. Rick and Kurt's mouths were open too, and their expressions were murderous. Now Sam was enjoying himself.
It was a short game and when it was over Sam extended his hand to Rick and Kurt but he had no real expectation that they would accept their defeat gracefully, and he was right.
"You son of a bitch!" Rick spat. "You played us for suckers!"
Sam's lips pursed into their characteristic downward shrug. "I guess the game's only fun if you win, huh?" he suggested.
Rick made a grab for the money but Sam's powerful grip closed around his wrist and he winced in pain as his arm folded back.
"Back off," Sam told him. His voice was low but filled with quiet menace. "You played the wrong mark. Those are the breaks. Now get out of here."
Dean was on his feet. Sam could feel him just behind his shoulder. Then a new voice interrupted.
"Is there a problem here, boys?" A rugged looking man almost Sam's height and built like a brick proverbial appeared behind Dean.
"No, Jack, I don't think so," Dean answered, evenly. "Our friends were just leaving. Right?"
Sam released Rick's arm and the brothers backed towards the door.
"This isn't over!" Rick shot back before they left.
"It is if you're smart," Sam warned.
Jack dropped a gently restraining hand on Sam's shoulder as the hustlers disappeared out of the door. "Ok, son, cool off now," he said.
Sam noted the direction the brothers had taken then turned and nodded politely at the bar owner. "It's ok, I'm good," he assured him.
"Sorry, Jack, we didn't mean for there to be any trouble," Dean apologized. "Sam and I are leaving now, too. Ok, Sam?"
Sam nodded agreement and collected his jacket from their booth. As Dean made to leave he caught his attention and gestured toward the other door, on the other side of the bar to the one the hustlers had left through. Dean nodded and Sam followed him outside. As they left Dean started laughing again. "Man, you're a dark horse you sneaky son of a bitch! You really had me going back there! Have you ever considered a career on the stage?"
Sam was still keeping his eye out for the hustlers as they made their way across the street, he wasn't convinced they'd let the matter drop, but he allowed himself a slightly self-satisfied grin. He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "Nah. I hear TV's where the real money's to be made," he quipped, and he was rewarded with a broad and delighted grin in return from Dean.
"Well, if it comes to that, with your skills you could be making a shit-load of money in the pool halls!" Dean suggested. "You're a natural."
Sam frowned and shook his head. "I don't want to make money that way. Not any more. The only reason I did it tonight was because those guys pissed me off."
Dean paused and gazed at Sam appraisingly for a moment. "Ok, Sam, so it's clear you've got quite a story behind you, and if you don't want to tell me about it that's cool. I won't push. But just so you know, if you ever do feel like sharing any of it, you've officially got my attention."
Sam felt a little awkward. He did feel he owed Dean some kind of explanation, but where would he even start? He shrugged and stared off into the distance for a moment. "It's complicated," he said.
"Yeah, I'm getting that," Dean acknowledged.
Then Sam heard it: the soft scrape of a foot, and the barest movement in the shadows confirmed his worst suspicions. "Dean!" he yelled, grabbing him and hauling him back out of harm's way just as Kurt appeared brandishing a knife. It took Sam a moment to block his lunge and grab his wrist. There was a sickening snap of bone and Kurt shrieked and dropped the knife. Sam kicked it out of the way. Rick wasn't far behind Kurt but a swift kick to the knee-cap dropped him to the floor as well. Kurt was clutching his injured arm and whimpering.
"Take your brother and walk away," Sam told him. "While you can still walk."
Kurt's lip curled back in anger but he backed off. He lifted Rick's arm over his shoulder and the brothers limped off down the street. Sam watched until they'd receded well into the distance, then he glanced at Dean who was backed up against the wall where Sam had pushed him, looking stunned. He saw Sam looking at him and cleared his throat.
He swallowed and laughed uneasily. "Right, well, just let me know when you need back up, Sam, and I'll be right there!"
Sam picked up the knife, closed it and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "I don't think they'll bother us again," he said.
Dean was looking at Sam rather oddly as he moved to walk beside him. "Sam, you are mad, bad and dangerous to know," he breathed. Sam glanced at Dean's face. The remark didn't appear to be a criticism, and it lacked any of Dean's usual mocking tone. After a moment Dean laughed, still a little nervously but laced with something like excitement. "Man, you were awesome!"
Sam wasn't expecting any more trouble but he was relieved when they made it back to the Impala without further incident. Dean shivered as he fumbled for his keys.
"Is it me, or has it gotten really cold?" Sure enough their breath was coming out in a chilly mist. "I should have brought my jacket, but I didn't think I'd need it. It was really warm earlier."
Sam began to feel uneasy. He wanted to get back and check on Amanda. "We should get back to the house," he urged.
As they climbed into the car he handed Dean his share of the pot.
"No, you keep it, Sam. You won it."
"You played your part." Sam insisted.
Dean surveyed him levelly for a few moments and nodded. "Yeah, and my part was to watch you and wet myself, wasn't it? You might have let me know what you were doing, you know."
Sam hesitated. He'd been expecting this sooner or later, but now that it had come up he felt defensive. "It was more convincing if - "
"If I was sweating my balls off. Yeah. I get it." Dean's eyes were dark and serious. "Don't ever play me like that again, Sam."
Sam rankled a little at Dean's tone. Or what? he was tempted to retort. You'll beat me up? Yeah, right. You won't be my friend?
The bubble of Sam's arrogance burst into air as he realized that the latter was exactly what Dean meant. Friendship was being extended here, right along with the threat of its withdrawal. Dean was making it clear that he was offering something of value, and it wasn't to be fucked with.
Sam swallowed and nodded. "Sure," he replied, a little hoarsely. "You got it."
