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Chapter 10

Sam slid back into his seat, staring at his brother. Dean's emotions were on full lock-down now, so he had no idea what just happened. "I missed something, didn't I?"

Dean refused to look him in the eye, confirming that Sam did miss something. Apparently it was something pretty important, too, judging by the level of Dean's avoidance.

"Dean?" Sam took the menu out of his brother's hands to set on the table. "What happened to Mike?"

"He left." From the tone of Dean's voice, it couldn't have been a moment too soon, either. Sam noticed the irritated haze around Dean was back, only it was darker this time and seemed to hover tightly, like Dean was trying to suppress it.

"I thought you said he didn't like to pull the disappearing act?" Sam asked, completely bewildered. He had been ready to storm off, but now felt somewhat annoyed and hungry. Really hungry. He read Dean's menu upside down while he waited for his brother to answer.

"That's what he said last time," Dean replied, shrugging. "Guess he lied."

"Nope," Sam stated matter-of-factly. "That's the reason you can't lie, because they can't."

"You fellas ready now?" Their gum-snapping waitress returned, removing a stained pencil from behind one ear. Sam wondered if that was an indication of how sanitary the kitchen was. Well, whatever didn't kill you…

"Bacon cheeseburger with fries," Dean replied, looking up. His face lit up and he winked. "Unless you'd rather sneak off to a back room?"

Sam sighed, hanging his head in utter shame. Why did Dean have to be such a flirt all the time? It's not like he could be… Sam's head snapped back up. Dean was serious, he had to be. After all, Dean couldn't lie, could he?

Their waitress laughed and flipped her hair back behind one ear. "Honey, you just made my day. Tell you what, you survive our monster cheeseburger and I'll consider it." She looked at him. "And you?"

Sam, once again floored by big brother, managed to stammer, "The same." She laughed again, shaking her head and Dean joined her. Oh god, did he just proposition her too? He felt heat seep into his cheeks. Please, don't let her think he was proposing a three-way. Just thinking about it made him shudder. "Uh, cheeseburger, I mean." He dropped his head onto his arms, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

"Psst! She's gone, Sam."

Sam managed to dredge his head up from the table surface, heat radiating off his face. He could only imagine what Dean thought now. Actually, he didn't have to imagine it, Dean was not hiding his emotions now as his brother chuckled and smirked at him. Sam could feel the hilarity coming off his brother in strengthening waves.

"So did I look like just a huge freaking idiot or what?" Sam asked, resigned to another round of major teasing.

"Pretty much." Dean's grin was infectious. Sam found he could not maintain his current mood in the face of it. Or was that the empathy thing? At any rate, a stupid grin seeped into his face and he could not feel annoyed or even horribly embarrassed like he should.

"Great." Sam leaned back in his chair, running both hands over his face. "I'm an idiot." He waited for Dean to say something, but his brother just sipped at his cola. "Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

Dean shook his head. "You seem to be doing just fine there, Sammy." He grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I was afraid of that." He leaned forward on the table. "Did you set me up?"

Dean laughed then, a real laugh that resounded through the small restaurant. "Nah, I wish." He pushed the water stained cutlery on the table around a little. "She just needed a little pick-me-up." Dean shrugged. "How was I supposed to know you'd turn into more of a doofus than you already are?" That lopsided grin covered Dean's face again.

"Pick-me-up?" Sam blinked a few times, processing that. His voice dropped to a whisper. "She's one of your jobs?"

"Well, I figured as long as we were passing by," Dean shrugged.

Sam sighed. "This is going to take some getting used to."

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean snorted, still amused.

Sam suspected now that Dean was forcing himself to feel amused, because he was covering something else up. But what? "Dean, what happened with Mike?"

"I told you, Sam," Dean's eyes glowed as he glared at Sam, the smile gone, "drop it." It reminded Sam of Dean in the bar, facing those big guys down. A chill ran down his spine.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Sam dropped it.

For now.

Dean's relief at still being able to flirt was palatable. He guessed that meant flirting was not lying, especially if you were willing to follow through. He was almost always willing to follow through. Check that. Always willing.

Dean winked and smiled at the waitress as she delivered their cheeseburgers. He considered making a comment about Sam's botched order, but he didn't. Sam just might be easier to live with if he let it slide. You know, for now. Later? Hey, something like that could come in really handy later for throwing in Sam's face.

She gave him a flirtatious smile as she headed away from their table. Oh yeah, he still had it. He worked really hard to put all thoughts of Mike out of his mind, in case Sam might pick up on it. The blocking thing, he had no idea how Sam did that, but he was a master of suppression. Hell, half his childhood was a freaking blank because he really, really did not want to remember it: nights Dad came home covered in blood or stinking drunk or both, huge fights between Sam and Dad, times where he desperately tried to keep the peace but his family acted like he was not even there. Yep, all that crap was stuffed way down deep, so far he rarely remembered he was not remembering it.

Dean paused in his chewing. What the hell? He swallowed hard, half-chewed burger thick in his throat. Sam and Dad acted like he wasn't even in the room? When did that happen?

With a blink, Dean saw the interior of a crappy apartment. Sam sat on a couch Dean rescued from beside a dumpster reading some English assignment. Dean had a couple of weapons completely disassembled, pieces spread carefully on a green cloth on the floor. He was about eighteen years old, right out of high school, and meticulously oiling and cleaning each piece. Dad walked in, filthy from being out hunting something for nearly a week, clothes torn. Dean leaped to his feet, expecting the customary demand for a hug, but Dad swept through the room with barely a glance at either of them.

Sam snorted in obvious disgust.

"Don't start, Sammy. He's probably just tired," Dean warned, foreseeing trouble.

"It's Sam," his brother replied automatically, but without the usual hostility. Sam closed his book and set it aside. "Let's see how long it takes before he starts yelling." Sam peered down at his watch.

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "I said don't start."

Sam ignored him, concentrating on his watch. Feeling distinctly uneasy, Dean decided maybe now was not the right time to be tending to his favorite weapons. He was still packing things up when Dad burst back into the room.

"Dean! Dean!" Dean shook, eyes squeezed shut, preparing himself for the huge argument coming. He vaguely recalled it had something to do with literature and the fact brain cells could be wasted on math. "Dean!"

The shaking seemed to come from his shoulders. "Damn it, Dean! What happened?"

Head spinning, Dean managed to pry his eyes open. Sam, full grown adult Sam, stood over him. Sam's eyes were wide with – fear?

Dean blinked up a few times, like he was looking in a light that was too bright. "What?" he finally managed to ask.

Sam's breathing was a little heavy, like his brother had been running or something. "You okay? What happened?"

Dean glanced around. They were in that tiny restaurant just off the state highway, his cheeseburger cooling on the table. He pushed it away. "That was weird."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Weird?" his brother whispered, voice low. "Weird as in our kind of weird?"

Dean shook his head. "As in weird – weird." He ran a hand over his face only to discover it was shaking. Clenching it into a fist solved that problem. "Just weird. Finish eating, I want to get the hell out of here."

Sam jumped out of his chair. "Fine, let's roll."

Dean started to argue, to tell Sam to eat some more, but he really wanted to leave. Really, really wanted it. It was like some primal force was pushing him to get in the car and drive just as fast as he could. Dean threw some bills down on the table, plenty to cover the meal and a generous tip, before heading out the door.

When he reached the car, Dean noticed Sam was right on his heels and looked about as freaked as he felt. God, he hated what was happening to them, but there was no time to dwell on that now. They had to leave. Dean slid behind the wheel, waiting only long enough for Sam to close his door before backing out. He shifted into drive, leaving a patch of rubber in the parking lot to commemorate how he felt about this place as he sped toward Seattle.

"How much longer do you think, Sam?" Dean asked after he could breathe properly again.

"Not sure," Sam replied. "Couldn't be too much longer, could it?"

Dean shook his head. He really had no idea how long it would take to get there. It could be days or seconds for all he knew. However, he knew their exact coordinates in about three different mapping systems without thinking about it, felt irresistible pulls in the direction of people who needed his help, and could see in the freaking dark, thank you very much. As if their whole childhoods weren't already just as screwed up as you could get, now they had this.

Suddenly he felt calmer, more rational. Dean felt his heart begin to beat normally and his breathing was no longer something he had to think about to control. Once he allowed it to fully wash over him, cleansing the panic from earlier, Dean realized what it was.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"It worked?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, it worked," Dean replied, unsure if he should be annoyed or relieved. "What did you do?"

He felt the weight of Sam's gaze. "You'll just get mad at me if I tell you."

He wanted to argue, but he had the distinct feeling that Sam was right. "Fine," he reluctantly conceded.

"What happened?" Sam asked a few miles later. "In the restaurant? It was like you were, I don't know, catatonic or something."

Dean frowned at the road in front of them. "I'm not too sure," he admitted, "but I think it was a memory."

"Of what?" Sam asked. Dean figured his brother was trying to sound casual, but years of demanding and whining had pretty much put 'casual' out of Sam's reach.

"You don't want to hear it." There, he said it. It was the truth. It wasn't like he could lie about that anyway.

That pang of guilt from Sam was becoming pretty routine these days. "Yes, I do, Dean. Just tell me." Sam turned in the seat to face him, but Dean kept his eyes on the road. No way was he risking his baby again. "And I want to know what happened with Mike."

He just shook his head, shoving all that emo crap deep, deep, deep down where even that digger guy from the movie about the mediocre superheroes wouldn't be able to get to it. Truth or silence, Mike said. Fine. This time it was going to be silence.