"So," Nick's voice drawled slow and lazy. "How much trouble am I in?"

Sam shifted the phone where it lay on the pillow beside his head. Nick sounded so distant through the phone's speaker. Hundreds of thousands of miles or just a few inches, it felt the same either way. He was very much alone in the motel room. Dean had been gone for almost an hour, away at a local bar to hustle up some money and pleasant company for the night. He wouldn't be back for a while still.

"How much trouble do you want to be in?" Sam didn't have much energy left at this point, all glowing heat coiled in his belly, making him sleepy and contented. No real reason to move. Basking in the afterglow of the slow, well orchestrated session of touching himself while Nick whispered low and rough in his ear.

They had been at this for almost five months. Sam sometimes called between hunts or when the stretch of highway between towns got a little too long and lonely. Mostly he just texted, because mostly he was trapped in the car with Dean and making his brother listen to the things he said to Nick would have breached what little truce they had established on the matter.

To be fair, the rapid fire messages between him and Nick border lined on innocent, nothing incriminating shared. Over the past few months he had learned that the nice man who missed touching him had been born out East somewhere, was still in contact with a brother named Michael- though they weren't all that close, tried to go to service every Sunday, and seemed to thrive on a liquid diet of coffee and scotch.

Nick was still out in Frisco, (practically on the other side of the world) and Sam had the notion that the man was working some kind of witness protection case, what with the occasional mentions of switching shifts with a partner- but Sam didn't ask. It was none of his business. He was honestly just happy to know that he and Dean hadn't been followed.

All in all, they were nice texts exchanged- if nice was the right word to use. It sounded too clean, even though the words they shared were pleasant. Almost like catching up with an old friend.

It was the aftermath that felt less than nice. Moments like right now, when Sam was still slick with sweat, catching his breath, feeling the beast called desire quietly crawling back down where it belonged. Sam was an ungodly mess. An offering lain out on a dirty bed to a heathen god. Alone and debauched and quite content with the distractions that he had chosen to help keep him sane.

"I'd rather not be in any kind of trouble to be honest." Nick's sex rough voice admitted. "But it's been two weeks since you called last." And a month and a half before that- though he didn't say the words, Sam felt them hanging in the air all the same.

His breath hitch just a little. Knee jerk reaction, chest tight for a heartbeat too long.

John had died about two months ago, and to be honest, having phone sex with Nick had taken a necessary backseat in the aftermath. Dean had only just managed to get really good at pretending that he was alright again and Sam didn't like to let him out unsupervised if he could help it. Worried that his brother would drink his liver into oblivion before stumbling into a dark alley somewhere and Sam wouldn't find him for days- and then it would be too late.

This was only the second time that they had been apart since John passed, and the first time Sam had been too anxious waiting on the edge of his bed for Dean to come back to consider calling Nick.

Over the past months, Sam had learned just enough about Nick that he couldn't be considered a stranger any longer. The conversations didn't really go both ways however and Sam had managed to keep the majority of his life private. Sharing only the smallest memories from his screwed up childhood, only passing comments on the remnants of his everyday, never enough to be incriminating. Never enough to form anything more than a muggy background or road map at best. It sort of went without saying that he couldn't share the news of his father's death. Which rightly sucked, because it meant that the only people he had to talk about it were Dean and Bobby… so Sam had no one to talk to.

He felt like he had been shot in the leg and now everyone was doing their best to pretend it hadn't happened.

But it was ok. They all coped in their own ways.

And he was getting better.

He was managing to walk again.

Even if it hurt.

He'd gotten off easy.

Dean was still having nightmares.

"Hey," Nick pulled him up out of his thoughts. "Did you fall asleep on me again?"

"I'm here. I'm here." He slowly sat up, dizzy for just a moment. "It's just been a little crazy lately."

"That road trip with your brother getting out of hand?" His tone had softened, little thread of worry working its way in. "Was the world's largest ball of twine more than you could handle?"

Sam felt himself smiling, wry little curve to his mouth like he'd been hooked. "It was a lot of twine." He pulled a pair of boxers on before picking up his phone. "Unsettling amounts of twine."

Nick chuckled, warm as molasses, prickling over Sam like a dry heat. "Such things can drive a man mad."

"Or to drink." Sam had good memories of taking his slightly drunk big brother to go see that ball almost a year ago.

"Shouldn't do that." Nick chided in his gentle way. "You're a bit of a lightweight." And that might have been a gentle jab at the little phone call that Sam had made two weeks ago that he only remember in little liquor colored flashes.

There came soft rustling sounds as Nick moved about his apartment. "I need a shower before my shift starts."

"Oh." Sam hated this part of their conversations. He shifted his weight on the bed, ran a hand through his hair and immediately regretted it. Whatever was on his hand was now in his hair, and what was on his hand wasn't good. "So… goodbye then?"

"I'm taking you with me."

"Is your phone waterproof?" Sam laughed happily, then shut down, embarrassed by the little outburst.

"I've got a counter to put you on- which wouldn't be a concern if you were here with me." He tacked on gently. It wasn't the first time he had made some kind of noise about seeing Sam again. And Sam had promised that the next time he was in the area they would make up for lost time. But that was then, and this was now and Sam only sighed gently.

"You could still put me on the counter if I was there." He lay back on the bed, smiling idly. "I could get my legs round you and-"

"You're really going to start that again?" But Nick didn't sound particularly like he was objecting to the idea. "I'm going to be late for work."

Sam was grinning now. "I can behave."

"If you can, you've never shown me." Again, there was no real objection to his tone. Instead he sounded fond. Happy with the situation.

Sam had the sudden awful notion that the feelings he had for Nick might actually be reciprocated. The two of them in this together, just as deep, just as lost.

It should have been a good thing- it was horrifying.

"You like it." He had meant to say something else, almost anything else, but those were the words he found himself saying. It could have been worse.

A shower turned on out in California and Nick raised his voice to be heard over the white noise. "Wicked boy." It was… kind of like a pet name, a gentle sort of thing that he had taken to calling Sam- and it would be a lie if Sam said he didn't like it. "You've given me nothing but trouble since the day you found me." Again, that tenderness, like Sam was the world to him, and the trouble that he supposedly brought was all that Nick had ever wanted.

"Should I apologize?" Sam had that perfectly lost feeling that he always got when talking to Nick. Some things never really change. Some things you don't want to change.

"Don't you dare." Nick sounded a bit more distant, finally in that shower, muffled by the flow of water. "I'm not sure at what point I managed to do something so right as to have earned you. You're … you're everything I shouldn't be doing all rolled into one stunning young man and I love you for it."

Sam looked at his phone, not sure if he heard that right. Positive that he couldn't have heard it right. There was too much noise from the shower. Too many miles between them. Static and doubt and every reason in the world for how Sam hadn't heard what he thought he heard. And if he had- it didn't mean what he thought it meant.

"I had to go to confession after the last time we talked." Nick announced as he turned off the water. Last time. Last time had been drunken and flawed and Sam had no idea what sorts of things he had said or done. Apparently it had been somewhat spectacular. It was a shame to have lost it to his alcohol soaked memories.

"I thought you were Baptist." Sam said finally, still in a bit of a daze. He was almost positive that confessionals were only a Catholic thing.

"I consider myself something of a nonpartisan." Nick replied with an air of pride.

Sam thought he heard Nick smiling, but he hadn't spent long enough face to face with him to be sure. He couldn't read Nick like he could read Dean. Not from his voice alone.

"I'm pretty sure that only works for political groups." He almost ran a hand through his hair again, but remembered why that was a bad idea and settled for shaking the hair for his eyes before crooking a knee, resting his dirty hand on his stomach.

"Were you ever really a priest, Nick?" He honestly had a difficult time reconciling his notion of a priest with the tattooed man and the types of distractions that the two of them enjoyed together.

Nick got quiet and Sam worried that he had crossed a line of some kind. Nick had been fairly open about everything that Sam had ever asked him- but that wasn't saying much on account of Sam tended to not ask too many questions for fear that Nick would return the favor.

They had never really touched too closely on the fact that they had met in a church. Or that Nick had, at some point, mentioned having religious training in the same breath as saying he had been locked in the basement as a child. There were just certain things that felt best to be overlooked.

"I went to seminary to learn to be a priest when I was younger," Nick said like he hadn't noticed the uncomfortably long pause. "It just didn't work out so well. Apparently stealing sacramental wine, getting drunk off your ass and being found naked and spooning with a fellow choir boy behind the altar is frowned on."

Sam found himself laughing at the casual way that confession was made. Rather loudly and inappropriately.

"They were so mad- you'd think they found us sacrificing goats to a pagan god, instead of having a little bit of a hangover."

"I have a feeling that it might have had more to do with the nakedness and less to do with the wine." Sam advised, finding his mood greatly improved. He knew very few people who could drag him though so many rapid mood changes over such a short conversation. He wasn't complaining. It had been a rough two months and he was more than happy to be… happy.

"Really?" Nick managed to sound somewhat surprised. "I've never considered that."

Sam laughed again, tickled with the idea.

"As much as I would prefer to listen to that gorgeous voice of your present one stunning revelation after another, I must go. Being late for a shift is bad form."

"Bad form?"

"My partner will be pissed and won't bring me coffee when he comes to relieve me in the morning."

"And you need your coffee." Sam found he was holding his phone very tightly to his ear, not wanting to let go, even incrementally.

"Next time?" Nick's voice had gone so soft, almost hesitant.

"Yeah." Sam didn't like this part either. "You know, you could call me next time."

Nick chuckled, a rare, warm sound. "I'm afraid you won't answer and it will shatter my delicate pride."

Sam felt his stomach roll with uncertainty and something far more welcome. "I'll answer."

.:.

"That fucking son of a bitch." Dean struck the steering wheel with a few well aimed, open handed blows. "He was gunna kill me."

"You're fine." Sam felt a need to point out.

"I know I'm fine." He glared at his kid brother beside him. "You think I don't know I'm fine?"

Sam sighed, not that Dean could hear it, but because he needed to vent his frustration too.

Dean was driving about as fast as he could, hauling ass out of Maryland. He was swearing up a blue streak, still anxious from the hunt that hadn't exactly gone according to plan, or maybe it was that he had almost been framed and then shot by a cop. That sort of thing tended to set him off for some reason.

Not that Sam was doing much better- but they had both been arrested and interrogated (even if only briefly), and of course, Dean had almost been shot by a cop. It was the sort of thing that set him off as well.

He almost didn't feel his phone vibrating against his leg, he was jostling and yelling back at Dean, though not out of anger- it was just that with all the windows unrolled and the wind roaring, it was the only way he could be heard. He gave up with a growl and fished his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up like a dying star, almost painfully bright in the moonless night. It had been a long quiet week since Sam promised he would answer Nick's call- and luckily for Sam this was not the moment that that call deemed appropriate to come. Sam would have had a hard time talking right now if it were.

Nick had texted him.

Sam almost smiled, grateful for the interruption. Happy for the little break in reality- right up until he opened his phone and saw those beautifully incriminating words.

-what did you do?

Reality didn't have a nice little break- it was cracked and falling apart and there Sam was in the middle of it. The ruin and rubble raining down on him.

-thereis an apb out for 2 brothers who look like you and yours

Along with being arrested yesterday there had been mug shots and reports filed and an official record taken. These weren't earth shattering on their own- but it had never dawned on him that Nick would find out. How the hell had Nick found out?

Maybe Sam had just been kidding himself when he assumed that Detective Ballard wouldn't make the report official. That she could just make it go away.

But she could have at least given them a better head start.

Sam felt sick.

"Who the hell are you texting at a time like this?" Dean demanded.

Sam looked up and he must have done it in a guilty fashion.

"Is it the boyfriend?" Dean managed to say it like a dirty word.

"He's not my boyfriend." Sam said, but offered no better option, because he didn't know if there was a word for what he and Nick were.

"Right." Dean bit off the word, sharp and brittle before he yanked the phone from Sam's hand and threw it out the window.

Just like that.

Like magic.

Phone in Sam's hand- phone on the highway. Fifteen yards back, fifty yards back, gone, gone, gone.

"Christ, Dean! What- that was my phone!"

"And you're using it to talk to a god damned US marshal." Dean managed to sound oddly rational, boiling with unvoiced anger but oh so very calm. "Don't think he can't do that- that GPS tracking thing on your phone."

"He wouldn't." Sam wished that that could have come out even halfway confidant, but right now he wasn't feeling it. Nick knew. Nick knew something. Knew that the police in Maryland were looking for them. And wasn't that so much more than enough?

"You think it's a coincidence that he calls you right after we get arrested?" That righteous anger that burned in Dean like a furnace, the thing that kept him going, was starting to show through. Heat creeping into his words. "You gunna tell me he doesn't know anything about us? You two have been texting for months and he doesn't know a damn thing?"

Sam faltered, still kind of shocked that his phone was now about three miles back in roughly a hundred pieces. "He-"

"Because if he hasn't started getting suspicious and asking some questions about what the hell you do by now, then the man's a fucking idiot, you can do better- and I just did you a favor."

"You have no right to just-"

"Excuse me?" Dean finally raised his voice and the Impala was slowing down, creeping to the shoulder of the highway and Sam knew that they were in or a full blown argument now. He even knew what they would say, like it was all scripted out already. As unavoidable and inescapable as death and taxes (to be fair, neither held much sway over either brother- but no metaphor is perfect). Dean would say how he was just trying to protect Sam. Sam would say that he didn't need protecting- he's an adult. Dean would tell him he needed to start acting like it.

It would all deteriorate rather quickly after that.

And it did.

They both said some things.

So many bad things.

By morning it seemed like they had run out of words altogether.

They sat sullen with two cups of burnt coffee between then in a twenty-four hour truck stop outside of Kingsport, Tennessee. Silent for hours now other than ordering breakfast. It was the first real fight that they'd had since John died and Dean got the Impala back up and running. It was too long to go, there were too many things that had been building up for far too long and it had all come out last night.

Sam was weighing the benefits of storming off in a huff, but he thought that perhaps he had missed that window. There had to be a statute of limitations on those kinds of things, and he was almost positive that dawn marked the cut off for such rash behavior. So he sat and made a point of not looking at his brother who still had a murderous glint in his eyes as he pretended to read over a news paper.

Sam could get a new phone.

He would get a new phone.

The phone wasn't the problem.

The fact that he didn't have Nick's number memorized and now had absolutely no way of contacting him wasn't the problem either.

The real issue was that Dean was right.

No matter what Sam wanted Nick to be- it wouldn't change anything.

Fundamentally Nick would always be bad for Sam.

He took a sip of his coffee, wondering how long he would have to wait until the deep feeling of regret finally passed. As best as Sam could figure- it had been six years from Alabama until California and it hadn't been near enough.

Maybe seven would do it.

If there was one thing that Sam had- it was time.

Time to forget.

Time to get over the grossly inappropriate man-crush that he had been harboring since high school.

He stole Dean's paper and ignored the less than subtle protests that followed.

"How long would it take us to get to Missouri?" Sam interrupted his big brother's irate mutterings.

That shut Dean up and Sam could see the quick calculations and maps running through his mind.

"Why?" He finally asked instead of answering, suspicion replacing the grumpiness.

"Think this might be worth looking into." He turned the paper back around and pointed to an article about an architect jumping to his death from a building he had designed.

It was probably nothing, but Sam needed an excuse to talk to Dean, he needed some reason to move on from last night… and a hunt was almost like an apology.

Or as close as he was going to get until the sting of some of those words wore off.

.:.

As it was they found hellhounds in Missouri.

But that was weeks ago, and many states away.

There had been ghosts, and demons, and vampires, and the strangest virus that Sam had ever seen, all sandwiched between then and now. And for the record, a shape shifter pared with an FBI SWAT team was a horrible way to top it all off.

It seemed that more than just their arrest record from Maryland had gotten around by this point.

The nice officer outside the bank with the booming voice knew a disturbing amount about the brothers, their dad, and what they had been doing for the past few years. Far, far too much. Apparently it wasn't really possible to spend twenty years running from coast to coast, digging up bodies, killing corpses and leaving a trail of salt and ash in your wake and have no one notice. They had made quite a name for themselves. John had started it, but damn it all if the two brothers weren't bound and determined to make a legacy out of all this.

They left Milwaukee in a fever, going anywhere that wasn't crawling with feds, and Sam remembered with stunning clarity the last time that Dean was pushing the Impala past a hundred, blurring over state lines. It was the night that Sam's old phone tried to fly. It had failed miserably and died out on the highway somewhere between two towns not big enough to merit being put on maps.

Sam's new phone was nicer anyhow- despite the fact that it was missing all the old numbers. College friends, takeout places near his old place in Stanford, people whose faces had been forgotten over the years and existed only as a name and number, one man who was all kinds of face and hands and everything other than a phone number. That last was the only one that Sam regretted losing. It was also the only one that he was actively trying to forget.

Things felt complicated even if they probably weren't. It was mostly just stubborn stupidity. Dean didn't own the corner of the market on that particular familial trait. Sam could hold his own in that arena, thank you very much.

"You keep looking at that damn thing. You expecting a call?" Dean managed to sound delightfully innocent despite the fact that he was still half dressed in SWAT gear, bruised and bloodied and gripping the steering wheel like it might try to get away from him.

"Shut up." He said with very little heat, tucking the phone back into a pocket.

"You've got to stop mooning over him, dude."

"Excuse me?" Sam was positive that his brother hadn't just used the word mooning.

"He was a cop. How'd you think it was going to end?"

"Not with you throwing my phone out the window." Sam grumbled back.

"Better safe than sorry." Dean fumbled with the radio till he found a station between the static and a beautiful guitar solo filled the car. "We've got the feds on both our asses now. Don't need any Marshalls too."

"He wasn't-"

"On your ass?" Dean asked with that same damnable innocence, and Sam realized that he had walked into that one.

"You really want to talk about this?" He asked instead of acknowledging his brother's complete lack of tack.

"Oh hell no." Dean laughed, but it was strained. "I just need you to stop moping and sighing 'bout him all the time. We can find you another blonde dude if that's what you need."

"I don't need a-"

"You need to stop interrupting me is what you need." Dean lightly thumped him on the shoulder, which was a dangerous move because lesser displays of violence between them had caused full blow fights under other circumstances.

"It was great that you found someone. You were in a bad place for a while there… we both were." He added softly before continuing. "But you can't keep a guy on hold for whenever you want to get your freak on. Not one like him. Sooner or later he was going to figure out what was going on and one or both of us was going to end up in cuffs. You want to fuck around between hunts? Great. I will be the first to congratulate you in your new and healthy way to blow off steam and maybe you'll be less of a tightass all the time. But no long term commitments, Sammy. You know we can't do that. I don't care how cute he or she is. This isn't the kind of life you can bring people into. Not even to the outskirts."

Sam imagined what sort of car accident they might have if he just gave in to that beautiful desire to punch Dean in his stupid face.

"And no fucking law enforcement next time. Got it? I'm still convinced that the next town we stop in there's going to be a road block with your boyfriend at the head, asking why you didn't text him back."

"Just shut up, Dean." It was all Sam had to offer, because honestly? He had the same fear.

It might have been weeks later, it felt like days, maybe only hours. Everything on the road just tended to blur together. They were either driving, researching, or hunting and all those little points did was serve to roughly mark the passage of time. Uneven little rhythm, and Sam was in the middle of the dance. Researching. It was the part he was best at… at least he liked to think of it that way- the alternative was too violent to be in his acknowledged skill set.

So he buried himself in books. Local college library open all night to those poor students struggling through their midterms. Sam had spent a comfortable four years in and out of a library just like this one. He felt at home. Which was more than could be said for Dean. Dean didn't blend. Dean didn't settle in. Dean didn't help.

He lazily flipped through an old book, not even stopping for the pictures like he normally did. "I've got nothing." He dragged the first word out too long, like the start of a song, only to taper off in a bored groan.

Sam did his best not to roll his eyes. He loved Dean. He really did. Some days he just needed to remind himself. "I'm gunna go look in the reference section." Or he needed to remove himself.

It was wise to know when to stay and when to leave.

"You do that, college boy." Dean smiled up at Sam, tipping onto the back two legs of his chair. "I think I'm going to see if anyone here knows anything about this ghost."

"It's not a ghost, Dean." Sam said with a sigh.

"I know, I know. It's some kind of something or other- that's definitely not a ghost." His chair thumped back level on the floor as he made eye contact with a delicately small and lovely Asian coed in a nearby study corner.

Sam sighed again, and if he kept this up much longer he was going to end up light headed.

The reference room was closed for the night, but that was alright. Sam made his way to the bay of computers with the intent of using the school's database to look and see if he could point himself in a better direction than the mythology section he had already burned through.

Every computer was full.

Every one.

It was one of those obnoxious coincidences.

It was eleven at night- and even if it was in the full swing of midterms, there was no reason that every computer should be in use.

Sam gritted his teeth, because nothing had been going his way since they came to this town and discovered that what they had thought was a ghost terrorizing college students late at night, did not at all respond to salt or other things that ghosts should.

But whatever. He ran a hand through his hair and left the computers, looking for the card catalogs. The dewy decimal system was his friend and when he found the long, neglected room with its wooden drawers and old paper smell, he felt a level of peace settle over him.

He made his way to one of the rear banks of cards, a few rows in, pulled open a drawer and ran his fingers over the yellowed cards, wondering how long it had been since someone had bothered to find their way in here.

A few minutes later he was lost to the little letters printed and faded. He almost didn't hear the footsteps coming across the grey carpets, slow heavy steps, and Sam felt his shoulders tighten, because he didn't want to deal with Dean right now. He was in his happy place and his big brother had been doing his best to get under his skin for days now.

"Find anything good?" He asked without looking up, because it was easier to talk sometimes when Dean couldn't see how hard Sam was rolling his eyes.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder, up near the nape of his neck, warm and solid.

Sam grunted and shrugged it off, not in a touchy feely mood.

Dean's hand found his hip, and Sam didn't shrug it off. He froze.

A hundred thoughts exploded through Sam's mind, a Big Bang of 'what the hell' before he settled on the simple perfect understanding that it was simply not his brother standing behind him. With glacial slowness he looked over his shoulder, half twisting away from the card catalog. He didn't know what he expected to find.

The non-ghost that they were hunting.

The librarian telling him to get out.

What he hadn't expected was a sleepy eyed blond just a few inches shorter than him, shadow of a smile on a mouth that promised all the best and worst things that hedonism had to offer.

"I found you. Does that count as something good?"

"I-" Sam made a soft noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between fear and panic and disbelief. "No, I don't think so."

Nick shrugged, still not shifting his hand where it rested against Sam's hip, as comfortable as an old friend. "Pity."