The only things that belong to me are the insanity behind this pairing and a redneck named Delmont. Sam/Dean/Castiel belong to Eric Kripke, Alcide/everyone else to Charlaine Harris.


Sam threw the duffels in the back seat of the Impala before leaning against the door, staring at the screen on his phone. His thumb hovered over the call button, Dean's number pulled up. He shook his head and tapped the button, the screen flashing "calling Lars Ulrich", and brought the phone to his ear. He lost track of how many times it rang before voice mail picked up, filling his ear with his brother's voice. You shouldn't have this number. But, if it's an emergency, call 785-555-0179.

"Hey, Dean. I, uh," Sam paused for a few seconds, unsure of why he'd even called in the first place. He chocked it up to wishful thinking. "Once you get back, I've got a job in Houston for us. I found something you'd be interested in. The things we're used to seeing, everything we thought we knew about this line of work, it's changed. We haven't even scratched the surface on this one. I don't know whether it's just a hybrid, or whether it's an entirely new species, but I'll know soon. I hope you get this. I miss-" an automated voice interrupted him, giving the options of re-recording or deleting the message. Sam deleted it before pocketing his phone and pushing his hair back from his face, the long strands slipping between his fingers and falling back into place.

Alcide rounded the corner of the hotel and approached the car, his long gait covering ground quickly despite his leisurely pace. He leaned against the passenger side door and crossed his bare arms on the sun-warmed roof. It was still too early for the metal to be blisteringly hot to the touch. "Over Houston yet?"

Sam looked across the roof and smiled, though his eyes didn't share the sentiment. "I was over Houston two days ago."

They stopped at a gas station outside the city, Sam filling the tank while Alcide ran in for snacks. He returned with with everything from honey buns to beef jerky, along with two bottles of water. Once back in the car Sam dug through the bag, his face showing his disappointment in the selection. Alcide set a second bag on Sam's lap, pleased to see the younger man's face crack a small smile. Sam pulled out an apple and took a bite as he pulled back onto the road. Alcide tore into a honey bun, the breakfast of champions, and reclined in his seat. Maybe it was the inner wolf, but he'd never understand Sam's love of rabbit food.


Shreveport had remained the same during their trip to Houston, but the city felt different. A calm had settled, blanketing the sounds of daily life into muffled whispers. Compared to the Texan metropolis, where screaming on the streets and sirens in the distance were the soundtrack, the little Louisiana city seemed unnaturally quiet. But for the first time in years, Sam felt like he was returning home. It was a strange sensation for a man who had grown up and lived the majority of his adult life in motels across the continental forty-eight. Walking through the front door of Alcide's home, the bags slung over his shoulder, Sam let out a content sigh. Alcide glanced back at him, a small smile on his face.

"It was your idea to leave, as you'll recall."

"Shut your mouth." Sam grinned before dropping the duffels in the foyer and grabbing Alcide by the waist, resting his cheek against the larger man's back. The warmth radiating from the were was intoxicating. Alcide reached over his shoulder and ran a hand through the younger man's hair, the long strands slipping through his fingers like sand.

"We both know that's something you don't actually want," Alcide turned to face Sam, his shirt bunching under the younger man's arms. His hand found it's way back into Sam's hair, loosely gripping it by the roots, tilting the younger man's head slightly back so they were eye to eye. Alcide's lips parted as if to speak, but he remained silent for a few moments, the corners of his lips dropping into a frown. "We're okay, right?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean after last night. We haven't really discussed-"

Sam raised a finger to Alcide's mouth, pressing it against his lips. "If there were something to discuss, we would discuss it. But we're finally on the same page, so I don't see the need." Alcide considered what Sam said before licking the Winchester's finger, which he immediately drew back and wiped clean on his shirt, his brows furrowed with an amused frown.

"You can't just glaze over what was unearthed last night. You found out I'm a werewolf, I found out you're a hunter, and by all accounts we should be trying to kill each other. You were so upset when you figured it out - you can't be okay with this, not so soon, not when there's so much you still don't know."

Sam released Alcide's waist and entered the living room, settling himself on the couch, before responding. "Then enlighten me. Tell me what I don't know. What is there that could possibly make any of this any easier to handle? I'm trying, Alcide. I'm trying to get past it. But I can't get past it if you keep bringing it up."

"Then let's bury the hatchet, once and for all. I tell you about being a wolf, you tell me about being a hunter. You aren't the only one trying to cope right now." Alcide met Sam's eyes and saw a hint of realization in them, a disappearance of the self-absorbed thoughts that only little Sammy Winchester had the right to be upset. "Deal?"

Sam nodded, his face solemn. He supposed Alcide deserved to know what he was living with, or at the very least about the arsenal in Baby's trunk and why it was there. "I'm still not ready to talk about Dean."

"There has to be more to your past than your brother."

Sam paused with downcast eyes. "You'd be surprised."


Comment, critique, suggest story devices or other characters to bring it, whatever else you can think of. I want your input!

Thanks, dolls.
Chelsea